6303	----	Ralph Zimmerman, David Starner, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. THE DUEL BETWEEN FRANCE AND GERMANY REPRINTED FROM "ADDRESSES ON WAR" BY CHARLES SUMNER THE DUEL BETWEEN FRANCE AND GERMANY, WITH ITS LESSON TO CIVILIZATION. LECTURE IN THE MUSIC HALL, BOSTON, OCTOBER 26, 1870. "When kings make war, No law betwixt two sovereigns can decide, But that of arms, where Fortune is the judge, Soldiers the lawyers, and the Bar the field." DEYDEN, _Love Triumphant_, Act I. Sc. 1. LECTURE. MR. PRESIDENT,--I am to speak of the Duel between France and Germany, with its Lesson to Civilization. In calling the terrible war now waging a Duel, I might content myself with classical authority, _Duellum_ being a well-known Latin word for War. The historian Livy makes a Roman declare that affairs are to be settled "by a pure and pious duel"; [Footnote: "Puro pioqne duello."--_Historie_, Lib. I. cap. 32.] the dramatist Plautus has a character in one of his plays who obtains great riches "by the duelling art," [Footnote: "Arte duellica."--_Epidicus_, Act. III. Sc. iv. 14.] meaning the art of war; and Horace, the exquisite master of language, hails the age of Augustus with the Temple of Janus closed and "free from duels," [Footnote: "Vacuum duellis."--_Carmina_, Lib, IV. xv. 8.] meaning at peace,--for then only was that famous temple shut. WAR UNDER THE LAW OF NATIONS A DUEL. But no classical authority is needed for this designation. War, as conducted under International Law, between two organized nations, is in all respects a duel, according to the just signification of this word,--differing from that between two individuals only in the number of combatants. The variance is of proportion merely, each nation being an individual who appeals to the sword as Arbiter; and in each case the combat is subject to rules constituting a code by which the two parties are bound. For long years before civilization prevailed, the code governing the duel between individuals was as fixed and minute as that which governs the larger duel between nations, and the duel itself was simply a mode of deciding questions between individuals. In presenting this comparison I expose myself to criticism only from those who have not considered this interesting subject in the light of history and of reason. The parallel is complete. Modern war is the duel of the Dark Ages, magnified, amplified, extended so as to embrace nations; nor is it any less a duel because the combat is quickened and sustained by the energies of self-defence, or because, when a champion falls and lies on the ground, he is brutally treated. An authentic instance illustrates such a duel; and I bring before you the very pink of chivalry, the Chevalier Bayard, "the knight without fear and without reproach," who, after combat in a chosen field, succeeded by a feint in driving his weapon four fingers deep into the throat of his adversary, and then, rolling with him, gasping and struggling, on the ground, thrust his dagger into the nostrils of the fallen victim, exclaiming, "Surrender, or you are a dead man!"--a speech which seemed superfluous; for the second cried out, "He is dead already; you have conquered." Then did Bayard, brightest among the Sons of War, drag his dead enemy from the field, crying, "Have I done enough?" [Footnote: La tresjoyeuse, plaisante et recreative Hystoire, composee par le Loyal Serviteur, des Faiz, Gestes, Triumphes et Prouesses du Bon Chevalier sans Paour et sans Reprouche, le Gentil Seigneur de Bayart: Petitot, Collection des Memoires relatifs a l'Histoire de France, Tom. XV. pp. 241, 242.] Now, because the brave knight saw fit to do these things, the combat was not changed in original character. It was a duel at the beginning and at the end. Indeed, the brutality with which it closed was the natural incident of a duel. A combat once begun opens the way to violence, and the conqueror too often surrenders to the Evil Spirit, as Bayard in his unworthy barbarism. In likening war between nations to the duel, I follow not only reason, but authority also. No better lawyer can be named in the long history of the English bar than John Selden, whose learning was equalled only by his large intelligence. In those conversations which under the name of "Table-Talk" continue still to instruct, the wise counsellor, after saying that the Church allowed the duel anciently, and that in the public liturgies there were prayers appointed for duellists to say, keenly inquires, "But whether is this lawful?" And then he answers, "If you grant any war lawful, I make no doubt but to convince it." [Footnote: Table- Talk, ed. Singer, London, 1856, p. 47,--_Duel_.] Selden regarded the simple duel and the larger war as governed by the same rule. Of course the exercise of force in the suppression of rebellion, or in the maintenance of laws, stands on a different principle, being in its nature a constabulary proceeding, which cannot be confounded with the duel. But my object is not to question the lawfulness of war; I would simply present an image, enabling you to see the existing war in its true character. The duel in its simplest form is between two individuals. In early ages it was known sometimes as the Judicial Combat, and sometimes as Trial by Battle. Not only points of honor, but titles to land, grave questions of law, and even the subtilties of theology, were referred to this arbitrament, [Footnote: Robertson, History of the Reign of Charles V.: View of the Progress of Society in Europe, Section I. Note XXII.]--just as now kindred issues between nations are referred to Trial by Battle; and the early rules governing the duel are reproduced in the Laws of War established by nations to govern the great Trial by Battle. Ascending from the individual to corporations, guilds, villages, towns, counties, provinces, we find that for a long period each of these bodies exercised what was called "the Right of War." The history of France and Germany shows how reluctantly this mode of trial yielded to the forms of reason and order. France, earlier than Germany, ordained "Trial by Proofs," and eliminated the duel from judicial proceedings, this important step being followed by the gradual amalgamation of discordant provinces in the powerful unity of the Nation,----so that Brittany and Normandy, Franche-Comte and Burgundy, Provence and Dauphiny, Gascony and Languedoc, with the rest, became the United States of France, or, if you please, France. In Germany the change was slower; and here the duel exhibits its most curious instances. Not only feudal chiefs, but associations of tradesmen and of domestics sent defiance to each other, and sometimes to whole cities, on pretences trivial as those which have been the occasion of defiance from nation to nation. There still remain to us Declarations of War by a Lord of Frauenstein against the free city of Frankfort, because a young lady of the city refused to dance with his uncle,--by the baker and domestics of the Margrave of Baden against Esslingen, Reutlingen, and other imperial cities,--by the baker of the Count Palatine Louis against the cities of Augsburg, Ulm, and Rottweil,--by the shoe-blacks of the University of Leipsic against the provost and other members,--and by the cook of Eppstein, with his scullions, dairy-maids, and dish-washers, against Otho, Count of Solms. [Footnote: Coxe, History of the House of Austria. (London, 1820) Ch. XIX., Vol. I. p. 378.] This prevalence of the duel aroused the Emperor Maximilian, who at the Diet of Worms put forth an ordinance abolishing the right or liberty of Private War, and instituting a Supreme Tribunal for the determination of controversies without appeal to the duel, and the whole long list of duellists, whether corporate or individual, including nobles, bakers, shoe-blacks, and cooks, was brought under its pacific rule. Unhappily the beneficent reform stopped half-way, and here Germany was less fortunate than France. The great provinces were left in the enjoyment of a barbarous independence, with the "right" to fight each other. The duel continued their established arbiter, until at last, in 1815, by the Act of Union constituting the Confederation or United States of Germany, each sovereignty gave up the right of war with its confederates, setting an example to the larger nations. The terms of this important stipulation, marking a stage in German unity, were as follows:-- "The members of the Confederation further bind themselves under no pretext to make war upon one another, or to pursue their differences by force of arms, but to submit them to the Diet." [Footnote: Acte pour la Constitution federative de l'Allemagne du 8 Juin 1815, Art. 11: Archives Diplomatiques, (Stuttgart et Tubingen, 1821-36,) Vol. IV. p. 15.] Better words could not be found for the United States of Europe, in the establishment of that Great Era when the Duel shall cease to be the recognized Arbiter of Nations. With this exposition, which I hope is not too long, it is easy to see how completely a war between two nations is a duel,--and, yet further, how essential it is to that assured peace which civilization requires, that the duel, which is no longer tolerated as arbiter between individuals, between towns, between counties, between provinces, should cease to be tolerated as such between nations. Take our own country, for instance. In a controversy between towns, the local law provides a judicial tribunal; so also in a controversy between counties. Ascending still higher, suppose a controversy between two States of our Union; the National Constitution establishes a judicial tribunal, being the Supreme Court of the United States. But at the next stage there is a change. Let the controversy arise between two nations, and the Supreme Law, which is the Law of Nations, establishes, not a judicial tribunal, but the duel, as arbiter. What is true of our country is true of other countries where civilization has a foothold, and especially of France and Germany. The duel, though abolished as arbiter at home, is continued as arbiter abroad. And since it is recognized by International Law and subjected to a code, it is in all respects an Institution. War is an institution sanctioned by International Law, as Slavery, wherever it exists, is an institution sanctioned by Municipal Law. But this institution is nothing but the duel of the Dark Ages, prolonged into this generation, and showing itself in portentous barbarism. WHY THIS PARALLEL NOW? Therefore am I right, when I call the existing combat between France and Germany a Duel. I beg you to believe that I do this with no idle purpose of illustration or criticism, but because I would prepare the way for a proper comprehension of the remedy to be applied. How can this terrible controversy be adjusted? I see no practical method, which shall reconcile the sensibilities of France with the guaranties due to Germany, short of a radical change in the War System itself. That Security for the Future which Germany may justly exact can be obtained in no way so well as by the disarmament of France, to be followed naturally by the disarmament of other nations, and the substitution of some peaceful tribunal for the existing Trial by Battle. Any dismemberment, or curtailment of territory, will be poor and inadequate; for it will leave behind a perpetual sting. Something better must be done. SUDDENNESS OF THIS WAR. Never in history has so great a calamity descended so suddenly upon the Human Family, unless we except the earthquake toppling down cities and submersing a whole coast in a single night. But how small all that has ensued from any such convulsion, compared with the desolation and destruction already produced by this war! From the first murmur to the outbreak was a brief moment of time, as between the flash of lightning and the bursting of the thunder. At the beginning of July there was peace without suspicion of interruption. The Legislative Body had just discussed a proposition for the reduction of the annual Army Contingent. At Berlin the Parliament was not in session. Count Bismarck was at his country home in Pomerania, the King enjoying himself at Ems. How sudden and unexpected the change will appear from an illustrative circumstance. M. Prevost-Paradol, of rare talent and unhappy destiny, newly appointed Minister to the United States, embarked at Havre on the 1st of July, and reached Washington on the morning of the 14th of July. He assured me that when he left France there was no talk or thought of war. During his brief summer voyage the whole startling event had begun and culminated. Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen being invited to become candidate for the throne of Spain, France promptly sent her defiance to Prussia, followed a few days later by formal Declaration of War. The Minister was oppressed by the grave tidings coming upon him so unprepared, and sought relief in self- slaughter, being the first victim of the war. Everything moved with a rapidity borrowed from the new forces supplied by human invention, and the Gates of War swung wide open. CHALLENGE TO PRUSSIA. A few incidents exhibit this movement. It was on the 30th of June, while discussing the proposed reduction of the Army, that Emile Ollivier, the Prime-Minister, said openly: "The Government has no kind of disquietude; at no epoch has the maintenance of peace been more assured; on whatever side you look, you see no irritating question under discussion." [Footnote: Journal Officiel du Soir, 3 Juillet 1870.] In the same debate, Gamier-Pages, the consistent Republican, and now a member of the Provisional Government, after asking, "Why these armaments?" cried out: "Disarm, without waiting for others: this is practical. Let the people be relieved from the taxes which crush them, and from the heaviest of all, the tax of blood." [Footnote: Journal Official du Soir, 2 Juillet 1870.] The candidature of Prince Leopold seems to have become known at Paris on the 5th of July. On the next day the Duc de Gramont, of a family famous in scandalous history, Minister of Foreign Affairs, hurries to the tribune with defiance on his lips. After declaring for the Cabinet that no foreign power could be suffered, by placing one of its princes on the throne of Charles the Fifth, to derange the balance of power in Europe, and put in peril the interests and the honor of France, he concludes by saying, in ominous words: "Strong in your support, Gentlemen, and in that of the nation, we shall know how to do our duty without hesitation and without weakness." [Footnote: Ibid., 8 Juillet.] This defiance was followed by what is called in the report, "general and prolonged movement,--repeated applause"; and here was the first stage in the duel. Its character was recognized at once in the Chamber. Gamier-Pages exclaimed, in words worthy of memory: "It is dynastic questions which trouble the peace of Europe. The people have only reason to love and aid each other." [Footnote: Ibid.] Though short, better than many long speeches. Cremieux, an associate in the Provisional Government of 1848, insisted that the utterance of the Minister was "a menace of war"; and Emmanuel Arago, son of the great Republican astronomer and mathematician, said that the Minister "had declared war." [Footnote: Ibid.] These patriotic representatives were not mistaken. The speech made peace difficult, if not impossible. It was a challenge to Prussia. COMEDY. Europe watched with dismay as the gauntlet was thus rudely flung down, while on this side of the Atlantic, where France and Germany commingle in the enjoyment of our equal citizenship, the interest was intense. Morning and evening the telegraph made us all partakers of the hopes and fears agitating the world. Too soon it was apparent that the exigence of France would not be satisfied, while already her preparations for war were undisguised. At all the naval stations, from Toulon to Cherbourg, the greatest activity prevailed. Marshal MacMahon was recalled from Algeria, and transports were made ready to bring back the troops from that colony. Meanwhile the candidature of Prince Leopold was renounced by him. But this was not enough. The King of Prussia was asked to promise that it should in no event ever be renewed,--which he declined to do, reserving to himself the liberty of consulting circumstances. This requirement was the more offensive, inasmuch as it was addressed exclusively to Prussia, while nothing was said to Spain, the principal in the business. Then ensued an incident proper for comedy, if it had not become the declared cause of tragedy. The French Ambassador, Count Benedetti, who, on intelligence of the candidature, had followed the King to Ems, his favorite watering- place, and there in successive interviews pressed him to order its withdrawal, now, on its voluntary renunciation, proceeding to urge the new demand, and after an extended conversation, and notwithstanding its decided refusal, seeking, nevertheless, another audience the same day on this subject, his Majesty, with perfect politeness, sent him word by an adjutant in attendance, that he had no other answer to make than the one already given: and this refusal to receive the Ambassador was promptly communicated by telegraph, for the information especially of the different German governments. [Footnote: Bismarck to Bernstorff, July 19, 1870, with Inclosures: Parliamentary Papers, 1870, Vol. LXX.,--Franco-Prussian War, No. 3, pp. 5-8. Gerolt to Fish, August 11, 1870, with Inclosures: Executive Documents, 41st Cong. 3d Sess., H. of R., Vol. I. No. 1, Part 1,--Foreign Relations, pp. 219-221. The reader will notice that the copy of the Telegram in this latter volume is the paper on p. 221, with the erroneous heading, "_Count Bismarck to Baron Gerolt._"] PRETEXT OF THE TELEGRAM. These simple facts, insufficient for the slightest quarrel, intolerable in the pettiness of the issue disclosed, and monstrous as reason for war between two civilized nations, became the welcome pretext. Swiftly, and with ill-disguised alacrity, the French Cabinet took the next step in the duel. On the 15th of July the Prime-Minister read from the tribune a manifesto setting forth the griefs of France,--being, first, the refusal of the Prussian King to promise for the future, and, secondly, his refusal to receive the French Ambassador, with the communication of this refusal, as was alleged, "officially to the Cabinets of Europe," which was a mistaken allegation: [Footnote: Bismarck to Bernstorff, July 18, and to Gerolt, July 19, 1870: Parliamentary Papers and Executive Documents, Inclosures, _ubi supra._] and the paper concludes by announcing that since the preceding day the Government had called in the reserves, and that they would immediately take the measures necessary to secure the interests, the safety, and the honor of France. [Footnote: Journal Officiel du Soir, 17 Juillet 1870.] This was war. Some there were who saw the fearful calamity, the ghastly crime, then and there initiated. The scene that ensued belongs to this painful record. The paper announcing war was followed by prolonged applause. The Prime-Minister added soon after in debate, that he accepted the responsibility with "a light heart." [Footnote: "De ce jour commence pour les ministres mes collegues, et pour moi, une grande responsibilite. ["Oui!" _gauche_.] Nous l'acceptons, le coeur leger."] Not all were in this mood. Esquiros, the Republican, cried from his seat, in momentous words, "You have a light heart, and the blood of nations is about to flow!" To the apology of the Prime-Minister, "that in the discharge of a duty the heart is not troubled," Jules Favre, the Republican leader, of acknowledged moderation and ability, flashed forth, "When the discharge of this duty involves the slaughter of two nations, one may well have the heart troubled!" Beyond these declarations, giving utterance to the natural sentiments of humanity, was the positive objection, most forcibly presented by Thiers, so famous in the Chamber and in literature, "that the satisfaction due to France had been accorded her---that Prussia had expiated by a check the grave fault she had committed,"--that France had prevailed in substance, and all that remained was "a question of form," "a question of susceptibility," "questions of etiquette." The experienced statesman asked for the dispatches. Then came a confession. The Prime-Minister replied, that he had "nothing to communicate,--that, in the true sense of the term, there had been no dispatches,--that there were only verbal communications gathered up in reports, which, according to diplomatic usage, are not communicated." Here Emmanuel Arago interrupted: "It is on these reports that you make war!" The Prime-Minister proceeded to read two brief telegrams from Count Benedetti at Ems, when De Choiseul very justly exclaimed: "We cannot make war on that ground; it is impossible!" Others cried out from their seats,--Garnier Pages saying, "These are phrases"; Emmanuel Arago protesting, "On this the civilized world will pronounce you wrong"; to which Jules Favre added, "Unhappily, true!" Thiers and Jules Favre, with vigorous eloquence, charged the war upon the Cabinet: Thiers declaring, "I regret to be obliged to say that we have war by the fault of the Cabinet"; Jules Favre alleging, "If we have war, it is thanks to the politics of the Cabinet;....from the exposition that has been made, so far as the general interests of the two countries are concerned, there is no avowable motive for war." Girault exclaimed, in similar spirit: "We would be among the first to come forward in a war for the country, but we do not wish to come forward in a dynastic and aggressive war." The Duc de Gramont, who on the 6th of July flung down the gauntlet, spoke once more for the Cabinet, stating solemnly, what was not the fact, that the Prussian Government had communicated to all the Cabinets of Europe the refusal to receive the French Ambassador, and then on this misstatement ejaculating: "It is an outrage on the Emperor and on France; and if, by impossibility, there were found in my country a Chamber to bear and tolerate it, I would not remain five minutes Minister of Foreign Affairs." In our country we have seen how the Southern heart was fired; so also was fired the heart of Franco. The Duke descended from the tribune amidst prolonged applause, with cries of "Bravo!"--and at his seat (so says the report) "received numerous felicitations." Such was the atmosphere of the Chamber at this eventful moment. The orators of the Opposition, pleading for delay in the interest of peace, were stifled; and when Gambetta, the young and fearless Republican, made himself heard in calling for the text of the dispatch communicating the refusal to receive the Ambassador, to the end that the Chamber, France, and all Europe might judge of its character, he was answered by the Prime-Minister with the taunt that "for the first time in a French Assembly there were such difficulties on a certain side in explaining _a question of honor_." Such was the case as presented by the Prime-Minister, and on this question of honor he accepted war "with a light heart." Better say, with no heart at all;--for who so could find in this condition of things sufficient reason for war was without heart. [Footnote: For the full debate, see the _Journal Officid du Soir_, 17 Juillet 1870, and Supplement.] During these brief days of solicitude, from the 6th to the 15th of July, England made an unavailing effort for peace. Lord Lyons was indefatigable; and he was sustained at home by Lord Granville, who as a last resort reminded the two parties of the stipulation at the Congress of Paris, which they had accepted, in favor of Arbitration as a substitute for War, and asked them to accept the good offices of some friendly power. [Footnote: Earl Granville to Lords Lyons and Loftus, July 15, 1870,--Correspondence respecting the Negotiations preliminary to the War between France and Prussia, p. 35: Parliamentary Papers, 1870, Vol. LXX.] This most reasonable proposition was rejected by the French Minister, who gave new point to the French case by charging that Prussia "had chosen to declare that France had been affronted in the person of her Ambassador," and then positively insisting that "it was this boast which was the _gravamen_ of the offence." Capping the climax of barbarous absurdity, the French Minister did not hesitate to announce that this "constituted an insult which no nation of any spirit could brook, and rendered it, much to the regret of the French Government, impossible to take into consideration the mode of settling the original matter in dispute which was recommended by her Majesty's Government." [Footnote: Lord Lyons to Earl Granville, July 15, 1870,--Correspondence respecting the Negotiations preliminary to the War between France and Prussia, pp. 39, 40: Parliamentary Papers, 1870, Vol. LXX.] Thus was peaceful Arbitration repelled. All honor to the English Government for proposing it! The famous telegram put forward by France as the _gravamen_, or chief offence, was not communicated to the Chamber. The Prime- Minister, though hard-pressed, held it back. Was it from conviction of its too trivial character? But it is not lost to the history of the duel. This telegram, with something of the brevity peculiar to telegraphic dispatches, merely reports the refusal to see the French Ambassador, without one word of affront or boast. It reports the fact, and nothing else; and it is understood that the refusal was only when this functionary presented himself a second time in one day on the same business. Considering the interests involved, it would have been better, had the King seen him as many times as he chose to call; yet the refusal was not unnatural. The perfect courtesy of his Majesty on this occasion furnished no cause of complaint. All that remained for pretext was the telegram. [Footnote: See references, _ante_, p. 19, Note 1. For this telegram in the original, see Aegidi und Klauhold, _Staatsarchiv_, (Hamburg, 1870,) 19 Band, S. 44, No. 1033.] FORMAL DECLARATION OF WAR. The scene in the Legislative Body was followed by the instant introduction of bills making additional appropriations for the Army and Navy, calling out the National Guard, and authorizing volunteers for the war. This last proposition was commended by the observation that in France there were a great many young people liking powder, but not liking barracks, who would in this way be suited; and this was received with applause. [Footnote: Journal Officiel du Soir, 17 Juillet 1870.] On the 18th of July there was a further appropriation to the extent of 500 million francs,---440 millions being for the Army, and 60 for the Navy; and an increase from 150 to 500 millions Treasury notes was authorized. [Footnote: Ibid., 20 Juillet.] On the 20th of July the Duc de Gramont appeared once more in the tribune, and made the following speech:--- "Conformably to customary rules, and by order of the Emperor, I have invited the _Charge d'Affaires_ of France to notify the Berlin Cabinet of our resolution to seek by arms the guaranties which we have not been able to obtain by discussion. This step has been taken, and I have the honor of making known to the Legislative Body that in consequence a state of war exists between France and Prussia, beginning the 19th of July. This declaration applies equally to the allies of Prussia who lend her the cooperation of their arms against us." [Footnote: Ibid., 23 Juillet.] Here the French Minister played the part of trumpeter in the duel, making proclamation before his champion rode forward. According to the statement of Count Bismarck, made to the Parliament at Berlin, this formal Declaration of War was the solitary official communication from France in this whole transaction, being the first and only note since the candidature of Prince Leopold. [Footnote: Substance of Speech of Bismarck to the Reichstag, [July 20, 1870,] explanatory of Documents relating to the Declaration of War,--Franco-Prussian War, No. 3, p. 29: Parliamentary Papers, 1870, Vol. LXX. Discours du Comte de Bismarck am Reichstag, le 20 Juillet 1870: Angeberg, [Chodzko,] Recueil des Traites, etc., concernant la Guerre Franco-Allemande, Tom. I. p. 215.] How swift this madness will be seen in a few dates. On the 6th of July was uttered the first defiance from the French tribune; on the 15th of July an exposition of the griefs of France, in the nature of a Declaration of War, with a demand for men and money; on the 19th of July a state of war was declared to exist. Firmly, but in becoming contrast with the "light heart" of France, this was promptly accepted by Germany, whose heart and strength found expression in the speech of the King at the opening of Parliament, hastily assembled on the 19th of July. With articulation disturbed by emotion and with moistened eyes, his Majesty said:-- "Supported by the unanimous will of the German governments of the South as of the North, we turn the more confidently to the love of Fatherland and the cheerful self-devotion of the German people with a call to the defence of their honor and their independence." [Footnote: Aegidi und Klauhold, Staatsarchiv, 19 Band, S. 107, No. 4056. Parliamentary Papers, 1870, Vol. LXX.: Franco-Prussian War, No. 3, pp. 2-3.] Parliament responded sympathetically to the King, and made the necessary appropriations. And thus the two champions stood front to front. THE TWO HOSTILE PARTIES. Throughout France, throughout Germany, the trumpet sounded, and everywhere the people sprang to arms, as if the great horn of Orlando, after a sleep of ages, had sent forth once more its commanding summons. Not a town, not a village, that the voice did not penetrate. Modern invention had supplied an ally beyond anything in fable. From all parts of France, from all parts of Germany, armed men leaped forward, leaving behind the charms of peace and the business of life. On each side the muster was mighty, armies counting by the hundred thousand. And now, before we witness the mutual slaughter, let us pause to consider the two parties, and the issue between them. France and Germany are most unlike, and yet the peers of each other, while among the nations they are unsurpassed in civilization, each prodigious in resources, splendid in genius, and great in renown. No two nations are so nearly matched. By Germany I now mean not only the States constituting North Germany, but also Wurtemberg, Baden, and Bavaria of South Germany, allies in the present war, all of which together make about fifty-three millions of French hectares, being very nearly the area of France. The population of each is not far from thirty-eight millions, and it would be difficult to say which is the larger. Looking at finances, Germany has the smaller revenue, but also the smaller debt, while her rulers, following the sentiment of the people, cultivate a wise economy, so that here again substantial equality is maintained with France. The armies of the two, embracing regular troops and those subject to call, did not differ much in numbers, unless we set aside the authority of the "Almanach de Gotha," which puts the military force of France somewhat vaguely at 1,350,000, while that of North Germany is only 977,262, to which must be added 49,949 for Bavaria, 34,953 for Wuertemberg, and 43,703 for Baden, making a sum-total of 1,105,867. This, however, is chiefly on paper, where it is evident France is stronger than in reality. Her available force at the outbreak of the war probably did not amount to more than 350,000 bayonets, while that of Germany, owing to her superior system, was as much as double this number. In Prussia every man is obliged to serve, and, still further, every man is educated. Discipline and education are two potent adjuncts. This is favorable to Germany. In the Chassepot and needle-gun the two are equal. But France excels in a well- appointed Navy, having no less than 55 iron-clads, and 384 other vessels of war, while Germany has but 2 iron-clads, and 87 other vessels of war. [Footnote: For the foregoing statistics, see _Almanach de Gotha, 1870, under the names of the several States referred to,--also, for Areas and Population, _Tableaux Comparatifs_, I., II., III., in same volume, pp. 1037-38.] Then again for long generations has existed another disparity, to the great detriment of Germany. France has been a nation, while Germany has been divided, and therefore weak. Strong in union, the latter now claims something more than that _dominion of the air_ once declared to be hers, while France had the land and England the sea. [Footnote: "So wie die Franzosen die Herren des Landes sind, die Englaender die des groessern Meeres, wir die der Beide und Alles umfassenden Luft sind."--RICHTER, (Jean Paul,) _Frieden-Predigt an Deutschland_, V.: Saemtliche Werke, (Berlin, 1828-38,) Theil XXXIV. s. 13.] The dominion of the land is at last contested, and we are saddened inexpressibly, that, from the elevation they have reached, these two peers of civilization can descend to practise the barbarism of war, and especially that the laud of Descartes, Pascal, Voltaire, and Laplace must challenge to bloody duel the laud of Luther, Leibnitz, Kant, and Humboldt. FOLLY. Plainly between these two neighboring powers there has been unhappy antagonism, constant, if not increasing, partly from the memory of other days, and partly because Prance could not bear to witness that German unity which was a national right and duty. Often it has been said that war was inevitable. But it has come at last by surprise, and on "a question of form." So it was called by Thiers; so it was recognized by Ollivier, when he complained of insensibility to a question of honor; and so also by the Due de Gramont, when he referred it all to a telegram. This is not the first time in history that wars have been waged on trifles; but since the Lord of Frauenstein challenged the free city of Frankfort because a young lady of the city refused to dance with his uncle, nothing has passed more absurd than this challenge sent by France to Germany because the King of Prussia refused to see the French Ambassador a second time on the same matter, and then let the refusal be reported by telegraph. Here is the folly exposed by Shakespeare, when Hamlet touches a madness greater than his own in that spirit which would "find quarrel in a straw when honor's at the stake," and at the same time depicts an army "Led by a delicate and tender prince, Exposing what is mortal and unsure To all that Fortune, Death, and Danger dare, _Even for an egg-shall._" There can be no quarrel in a straw or for an egg-shell, unless men have gone mad. Nor can honor in a civilized age require any sacrifice of reason or humanity. UNJUST PRETENSION OF FRANCE TO INTERFERE WITH THE CANDIDATURE OF HOHENZOLLERN. If the utter triviality of the pretext were left doubtful in the debate, if its towering absurdity were not plainly apparent, if its simple wickedness did not already stand before us, we should find all these characteristics glaringly manifest in that unjust pretension which preceded the objection of form, on which France finally acted. A few words will make this plain. In a happy moment Spain rose against Queen Isabella, and, amidst cries of "Down with the Bourbons!" drove her from the throne which she dishonored. This was in September, 1868. Instead of constituting a Republic at once, in harmony with those popular rights which had been proclaimed, the half-hearted leaders proceeded to look about for a King; and from that time till now they have been in this quest, as if it were the Holy Grail, or happiness on earth. The royal family of Spain was declared incompetent. Therefore a king must be found outside,----and so the quest was continued in other lands. One day the throne is offered to a prince of Portugal, then to a prince of Italy, but declined by each,----how wisely the future will show. At last, after a protracted pursuit of nearly two years, the venturesome soldier who is Captain-General and Prime-Minister, Marshal Prim, conceives the idea of offering it to a prince of Germany. His luckless victim is Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen, a Catholic, thirty-five years of age, and colonel of the first regiment of the Prussian foot-guards, whose father, a mediatized German prince, resides at Duesseldorf. The Prince had not the good sense to decline. How his acceptance excited the French Cabinet, and became the beginning of the French pretext, I have already exposed; and now I come to the pretension itself. By what title did France undertake to interfere with the choice of Spain? If the latter was so foolish as to seek a foreigner for king, making a German first among Spaniards, by what title did any other power attempt to control its will? To state the question is to answer it. Beginning with an outrage on Spanish independence, which the Spain of an earlier day would have resented, the next outrage was on Germany, in assuming that an insignificant prince of that country could not be permitted to accept the invitation,---- all of which, besides being of insufferable insolence, was in that worst dynastic spirit which looks to princes rather than the people. Plainly France was unjustifiable. When I say it was none of her business, I give it the mildest condemnation. This was the first step in her monstrous _blunder-crime_. Its character as a pretext becomes painfully manifest, when we learn more of the famous Prince Leopold, thus invited by Spain and opposed by France. It is true that his family name is in part the same as that of the Prussian king. Each is Hohenzollern; but he adds Sigmaringen to the name. The two are different branches of the same family; but you must ascend to the twelfth century, counting more than twenty degrees, before you come to a common ancestor. [Footnote: Conversations-Lexikon, (Leipzig, 1866,) 8 Band, art. HOHENZOLLERN. Carlyle's History of Friedrich II., (London, 1858,) Book III. Cli. 1, Vol. I. p. 200.] And yet on this most distant and infinitesimal relationship the French pretension is founded. But audacity changes to the ridiculous, when it is known that the Prince is nearer in relationship to the French Emperor than to the Prussian King, and this by three different intermarriages, which do not go hack to the twelfth century. Here is the case. His grandfather had for wife a niece of Joachim Murat,[Footnote: Antoinette, daughter of Etienne Murat, third brother of Joachim.--- Biographic Genemle, (Didot,) Tom. XXXVI. col. 984, art. MURAT, note.] King of Naples, and brother-in-law of the first Napoleon; and his father had for wife a daughter of Stephanie de Beauharnais, an adopted daughter of the first Napoleon; so that Prince Leopold is by his father great-grand- nephew of Murat, and by his mother he is grandson of Stephanie de Beauharnais, who was cousin and by adoption sister of Horteuse de Beauharnais, mother of the present Emperor; and to this may be added still another connection, by the marriage of his father's sister with Joachim Napoleon, Marquis of Pepoli, grandson of Joachim Murat.[Footnote: Almanach de Gotha, 1870, pp. 85-87, art. HOHENZOLLERN-SIGMARINGEN.] It was natural that a person thus connected with the Imperial Family should be a welcome visitor at the Tuileries; and it is easy to believe that Marshal Prim, who offered him the throne, was encouraged to believe that the Emperor's kinsman and guest would be favorably regarded by France. And yet, in the face of these things, and the three several family ties, fresh and modern, binding him to France and the French Emperor, the pretension was set up that his occupation of the Spanish throne would put in peril the interests and the honor of France. BECAUSE FRANCE WAS READY. In sending defiance to Prussia on this question, the French Cabinet selected their own ground. Evidently a war had been meditated, and the candidature of Prince Leopold from beginning to end supplied a pretext. In this conclusion, which is too obvious, we are hardly left to inference. The secret was disclosed by Rouher, President of the Senate, lately the eloquent and unscrupulous Minister, when, in an official address to the Emperor, immediately after the War Manifesto read by the Prime- Minister, he declared that France quivered with indignation at the flights of an ambition over-excited by the one day's good-fortune at Sadowa, and then proceeded:--- "Animated by that calm perseverance which is true force, your Majesty has known how to wait; but in the last four years you have carried to its highest perfection the arming of our soldiers, and raised to its full power the organization of our military forces. _Thanks to your care, Sire, France is ready,_" [Footnote: Address at the Palais de Saint-Cloud, July 50, 1870: Journal Officiel du Soir, 18 Juillet 1870.] Thus, according to the President of the Senate, France, after waiting, commenced war because she was ready,--- while, according to the Cabinet, it was on the point of honor. Both were right. The war was declared because the Emperor thought himself ready, and a pretext was found in the affair of the telegram. Considering the age, and the present demands of civilization, such a war stands forth terrific in wrong, making the soul rise indignant against it. One reason avowed is brutal; the other is frivolous; both are criminal. If we look into the text of the Manifesto and the speeches of the Cabinet, it is a war founded on a trifle, on a straw, on an egg-shell. Obviously these were pretexts only. Therefore it is a war of pretexts, the real object being the humiliation and dismemberment of Germany, in the vain hope of exalting the French Empire and perpetuating a bawble crown on the head of a boy. By military success and a peace dictated at Berlin, the Emperor trusted to find himself in such condition, that, on return to Paris, he could overthrow parliamentary government so far as it existed there, and reestablish personal government, where all depended upon himself,--thus making triumph over Germany the means of another triumph over the French people. In other times there have been wars as criminal in origin, where trifle, straw, or egg-shell played its part; but they contrasted less with the surrounding civilization. To this list belong the frequent Dynastic Wars, prompted by the interest, the passion, or the whim of some one in the Family of Kings. Others have begun in recklessness kindred to that we now witness,---as when England entered into war with Holland, and for reason did not hesitate to allege "abusive pictures."[Footnote: Humo, History of England, Ch. LXV., March 17, 1672.----The terras of the Declaration on this point were,----"Scarce a town within their territories that is not filled with abusive pictures." (Hansard's Parliamentary History, Vol. IV. col. 514.) Upon which Hume remarks: "The Dutch were long at a loss what to make of this article, till it was discovered that a portrait of Cornelius de Witt, brother to the Pensionary, painted by order of certain magistrates of Dort, and hung up in a chamber of the Town-House, had given occasion to the complaint. In the perspective of this portrait the painter had drawn some ships on fire in a harbor. This was construed to be Chatham, where De Witt had really distinguished himself," during the previous war, in the way here indicated,----"the disgrace" of which, says Lingard, "sunk deep into the heart of the King and the hearts of his subjects." History of England, Vol. IX. Ch. III., June 13, 1667.]. The England of Charles the Second was hardly less sensitive than the France of Louis Napoleon, while in each was similar indifference to consequences. But France has precedents of her own. From the remarkable correspondence of the Princess Palatine, Duchess of Orleans, we learn that the first war with Holland under Louis the Fourteenth was brought on by the Minister, De Lionne, to injure a petty German prince who had made him jealous of his wife.[Footnote: Briefe der Prinzessin Elisabeth Charlotte von Orleans an die Gaugraefin Louise, 1676-1722, herausg. von W. Menzel, (Stuttgart, 1843,)---Paris, 3) Mertz, 1718, s. 288.] The communicative and exuberant Saint-Simon tells us twice over how Louvois, another Minister of Louis the Fourteenth, being overruled by his master with regard to the dimensions of a window at Versailles, was filled with the idea that "on account of a few inches in a window," as he expressed it, all his services would be forgotten, and therefore, to save his place, excited a foreign war that would make him necessary to the King. The flames in the Palatinate, devouring the works of man, attested his continuing power. The war became general, but, according to the chronicler, it ruined France at home, and did not extend her domain abroad. [Footnote: Memoires, (Paris, 1829,) Tom. VII. pp. 49-51; XIII pp. 9-10.] The French Emperor confidently expected to occupy the same historic region so often burnt and ravaged by French armies, with that castle of Heidelberg which repeats the tale of blood,--and, let me say, expected it for no better reason than that of his royal predecessor, stimulated by an unprincipled Minister anxious for personal position. The parallel is continued in the curse which the Imperial arms have brought on France. PROGRESS OF THE WAR. How this war proceeded I need not recount. You have all read the record day by day, sorrowing for Humanity,--how, after briefest interval of preparation or hesitation, the two combatants first crossed swords at Saarbruecken, within the German frontier, and the young Prince Imperial performed his part in picking up a bullet from the field, which the Emperor promptly reported by telegraph to the Empress,--how this little military success is all that was vouchsafed to the man who began the war,--how soon thereafter victory followed, first on the hill-sides of Wissembourg and then of Woerth, shattering the army of MacMahon, to which the Empire was looking so confidently,--how another large army under Bazaine was driven within the strong fortress of Metz,--how all the fortresses, bristling with guns and frowning upon Germany, were invested,--how battle followed battle on various fields, where Death was the great conqueror,--how, with help of modern art, war showed itself to be murder by machinery,--how MacMahon, gathering together his scattered men and strengthening them with reinforcements, attempted to relieve Bazaine,--how at last, after long marches, his large army found itself shut up at Sedan with a tempest of fire beating upon its huddled ranks, so that its only safety was capitulation,--how with the capitulation of the army was the submission of the Emperor himself, who gave his sword to the King of Prussia and became prisoner of war,--and how, on the reception of this news at Paris, Louis Napoleon and his dynasty were divested of their powers and the Empire was lost in the Republic. These things you know. I need not dwell on them. Not to battles and their fearful vicissitudes, where all is incarnadined with blood, must we look, but to the ideas which prevail,--as for the measure of time we look, not to the pendulum in its oscillations, but to the clock in the tower, whose striking tells the hours. A great hour for Humanity sounded when the Republic was proclaimed. And this I say, even should it fail again; for every attempt contributes to the final triumph. A WAR OF SURPRISES. The war, from the pretext at its beginning to the capitulation at Sedan, has been a succession of surprises, where the author of the pretext was a constant sufferer. Nor is this strange. Falstaff says, with humorous point, "See now how wit may be made a Jack-a- lent, when't is upon ill employment!"[Footnote: Merry Wives of Windsor, Act V. Sc. 5.]--and another character, in a play of Beaumont and Fletcher, reveals the same evil destiny in stronger terms, when he says,-- "Hell gives us art to reach the depth of sin, But leaves us wretched fools, when we are in." [Footnote: Queen of Corinth, Act IV. Sc. 3.] And this was precisely the condition of the French Empire. Germany perhaps had one surprise, at the sudden adoption of the pretext for war. But the Empire has known nothing but surprise. A fatal surprise was the promptitude with which all the German States, outside of Austrian rule, accepted the leadership of Prussia, and joined their forces to hers. Differences were forgotten,--whether the hate of Hanover, the dread of Wuertemberg, the coolness of Bavaria, the opposition of Saxony, or the impatience of the Hanse Towns at lost importance. Hanover would not rise; the other States and cities would not be detached. On the day after the reading of the War Manifesto at the French tribune, even before the King's speech to the Northern Parliament, the Southern States began to move. German unity stood firm, and this was the supreme surprise for France with which the war began. On one day the Emperor in his Official Journal declares his object to be the deliverance of Bavaria from Prussian oppression, and on the very next day the Crown Prince of Prussia, at the head of Bavarian troops, crushes an Imperial army. Then came the manifest inferiority of the Imperial army, everywhere outnumbered, which was another surprise,--the manifest inferiority of the Imperial artillery, also a surprise,--the manifest inferiority of the Imperial generals, still a surprise. Above these was a prevailing inefficiency and improvidence, which very soon became conspicuous, and this was a surprise. The strength of Germany, as now exhibited, was a surprise. And when the German armies entered France, every step was a surprise. Wissembourg was a surprise; so was Woerth; so was Beaumont; so was Sedan. Every encounter was a surprise. Abel Douay, the French general, who fell bravely fighting at Wissembourg, the first sacrifice on the battle-field, was surprised; so was MacMahon, not only at the beginning, but at the end. He thought that the King and Crown Prince were marching on Paris. So they were,--but they turned aside for a few days to surprise a whole army of more than, a hundred thousand men, terrible with cannon and newly invented implements of war, under a Marshal of France, and with an Emperor besides. As this succession of surprises was crowned with what seemed the greatest surprise of all, there remained a greater still in the surprise of the French Empire. No Greek Nemesis with unrelenting hand ever dealt more incessantly the unavoidable blow, until the Empire fell as a dead body falls, while the Emperor became a captive and the Empress a fugitive, with their only child a fugitive also. The poet says:-- "Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping by."[Footnote: Milton, II Penseroso, 97-98.] It has swept before the eyes of all. Beneath that sceptred pall is the dust of a great Empire, founded and ruled by Louis Napoleon; if not the dust of the Emperor also, it is because he was willing to sacrifice others rather than himself. OTHER FRENCH SOVEREIGNS CAPTURED ON THE BATTLE-FIELD. Twice before have French sovereigns yielded on the battle-field, and become prisoners of war; but never before was capitulation so vast. Do their fates furnish any lesson? At the Battle of Poitiers, memorable in English history, John, King of France, became the prisoner of Edward the Black Prince. His nobles, one after another, fell by his side, but he contended valiantly to the last, until, spent with fatigue and over-come by numbers, he surrendered. His son, of the same age as the son of the French Emperor, was wounded while battling for his father. The courtesy of the English Prince conquered more than his arms. I quote the language of Hume:- "More touched by Edward's generosity than by his own calamities, he confessed, that, notwithstanding his defeat and captivity, his honor was still unimpaired, and that, if he yielded the victory, it was at least gained by a prince of such consummate valor and humanity. "[Footnote: History of England, (Oxford, 1826,) Cli. XVI., Vol. II. p. 407.] The King was taken to England, where, after swelling the triumphal pageant of his conqueror, he made a disgraceful treaty for the dismemberment of France, which the indignant nation would not ratify. A captivity of more than four years was terminated by a ransom of three million crowns in gold,--an enormous sum, more than ten million dollars in our day. Evidently the King was unfortunate, for he did not continue in France, but, under the influence of motives differently stated, returned to England, where he died. Surely here is a lesson. More famous than John was Francis, with salamander crest, also King of France, and rich in gayety, whose countenance, depicted by that art of which he was the patron, stands forth conspicuous in the line of kings. As the French Emperor attacked Germany, so did the King enter Italy, and he was equally confident of victory. On the field of Favia he encountered an army of Charles the Fifth, but commanded by his generals, when, after fighting desperately and killing seven men with his own hand, he was compelled to surrender. His mother was at the time Regent of France, and to her he is said to have written the sententious letter, "All is lost except honor." No such letter was written by Francis,[Footnote: Sismondi, Histoire des Francais, Tom. XVI. pp. 241-42. Martin, Histoire de France, (genie edit.,) Tom. VIII. pp. 67, 68.] nor do we know of any such letter by Louis Napoleon; but the situation of the two Regents was identical. Here are the words in which Hume describes the condition of the earlier:--- "The Princess was struck with the greatness of the calamity. She saw the kingdom without a sovereign, without an army, without generals, without money, surrounded on every side by implacable and victorious enemies; and her chief resource, in her present distresses, were the hopes which she entertained of peace, and even of assistance from the King of England." [Footnote: History of England, (Oxford, 1826,) Ch. XXIX., Vol. IV. p. 51.] Francis became the prisoner of Charles the Fifth, and was conveyed to Madrid, where, after a year of captivity, he was at length released, crying out, as he crossed the French frontier, "Behold me King again!" [Footnote: Sismondi, Tom. XVI. p. 277. Martin, Tom. VIII. p. 90.] Is not the fate of Louis Napoleon prefigured in the exile and death of his royal predecessor John, rather than in the return of Francis with his delighted cry? LOUIS NAPOLEON. The fall of Louis Napoleon is natural. It is hard to see how it could be otherwise, so long as we continue to "assert eternal Providence, And justify the ways of God to men." [Footnote: Paradise Lost, Book I. 25-26.] Had he remained successful to the end, and died peacefully on the throne, his name would have been a perpetual encouragement to dishonesty and crime. By treachery without parallel, breaking repeated promises and his oath of office, he was able to trample on the Republic. Taking his place in the National Assembly after long exile, the adventurer made haste to declare exultation in regaining his country and all his rights as citizen, with the ejaculation, "The Republic has given me this happiness: let the Republic receive my oath of gratitude, my oath of devotion!"--and next he proclaimed that there was nobody to surpass him in determined consecration "to the defence of order and to the establishment of the Republic." [Footnote: Seance du 26 Septembre 1848: Moniteur, 27 Septembre.] Good words these. Then again, when candidate for the Presidency, in a manifesto to the electors he gave another pledge, announcing that he "would devote himself altogether, without mental reservation, to the establishment of a Republic, wise in its laws, honest in its intentions, great and strong in its acts"; and he volunteered further words, binding him in special loyalty, saying that he "should make it _a point of honor_ to leave to his successor, at the end of four years, power strengthened, liberty intact, real progress accomplished." [Footnote: A ses Concitoyens: OEuvres, Tom. III. p. 25.] How these plain and unequivocal engagements were openly broken you shall see. Chosen by the popular voice, his inauguration took place as President of the Republic, when he solemnly renewed the engagements already assumed. Ascending from his seat in the Assembly to the tribune, and holding up his hand, he took the following oath of office: "In presence of God, and before the French people, represented by the National Assembly, I swear to remain faithful to the Democratic Republic One and Indivisible, and to fulfil all the duties which the Constitution imposes upon me." This was an oath. Then, addressing the Assembly, he said:" The suffrages of the nation and the oath which I have just taken prescribe my future conduct. My duty is marked out. I will fulfil it as _a man of honor_." Again he attests his honor. Then, after deserved tribute to his immediate predecessor and rival, General Cavaignac, on his loyalty of character, and that sentiment of duty which he declares to be "the first quality in the chief of a State," he renews his vows to the Republic, saying, "We have, Citizen Representatives, a great mission to fulfil; it is to found a Republic in the interest of all"; and he closed amidst cheers for the Republic.[Footnote: Seance de 20 Decembre 1848: Moniteur, 21 Decembre.] And yet, in the face of this oath of office and this succession of most solemn pledges, where he twice attests his honor, he has hardly become President before he commences plotting to make himself Emperor, until, at last, by violence and blood, with brutal butchery in the streets of Paris, he succeeded in overthrowing the Republic, to which he was bound by obligations of gratitude and duty, as well as by engagements in such various form. The Empire was declared. Then followed his marriage, and a dynastic ambition to assure the crown for his son. Early in life a "Charcoal" conspirator against kings, [Footnote: A member of the secret society of the Ciram in Italy.] he now became a crowned conspirator against republics. The name of Republic was to him a reproof, while its glory was a menace. Against the Roman Republic he conspired early; and when the rebellion waged by Slavery seemed to afford opportunity, he conspired against our Republic, promoting as far as he dared the independence of the Slave States, and at the same time on the ruins of the Mexican Republic setting up a mock Empire. In similar spirit has he conspired against German Unity, whose just strength promised to be a wall against his unprincipled self-seeking. This is but an outline of that incomparable perfidy, which, after a career of seeming success, is brought to a close. Of a fallen man I would say nothing; but, for the sake of Humanity, Louis Napoleon should be exposed. He was of evil example, extending with his influence. To measure the vastness of this detriment is impossible. In sacrificing the Republic to his own aggrandizement, in ruling for a dynasty rather than the people, in subordinating the peace of the world to his own wicked ambition for his boy, he set an example of selfishness, and in proportion to his triumph was mankind corrupted in its judgment of human conduct. Teaching men to seek ascendency at the expense of duty, he demoralized not only France, but the world. Unquestionably part of this evil example was his falsehood to the Republic. Promise, pledge, honor, oath, were all violated in this monstrous treason. Never in history was greater turpitude. Unquestionably he could have saved the Republic, but he preferred his own exaltation. As I am a Republican, and believe republican institutions for the good of mankind, I cannot pardon the traitor. The people of France are ignorant; he did not care to have them educated, for their ignorance was his strength. With education bestowed, the Republic would have been assured. And even after the Empire, had he thought more of education and less of his dynasty, there would have been a civilization throughout France making war impossible. Unquestionably the present war is his work, instituted for his imagined advantage. Bacon, in one of his remarkable Essays, tells us that "Extreme self-lovers will set an house on fire, and it were but to roast their eggs." [Footnote: Of Wisdom for a Man's Self: Essay XXIII.] Louis Napoleon has set Europe on fire to roast his. Beyond the continuing offence of his public life, I charge upon him three special and unpardonable crimes: first, that violation of public duty and public faith, contrary to all solemnities of promise, by which the whole order of society was weakened and human character was degraded; secondly, disloyalty to republican institutions, so that through him the Republic has been arrested in Europe; and, thirdly, this cruel and causeless war, of which he is the guilty author. RETRIBUTION. Of familiar texts in Scripture, there is one which, since the murderous outbreak, has been of constant applicability and force. You know it: "All they that take the sword shall perish with the sword"; [Footnote: Matthew, xxvi. 52.] and these words are addressed to nations as to individuals. France took the sword against Germany, and now lies bleeding at every pore. Louis Napoleon took the sword, and is nought. Already in that _coup d'etat_ by which he overthrew the Republic he took the sword, and now the Empire, which was the work of his hands, expires. In Mexico again he took the sword, and again paid the fearful penalty,--while the Austrian Archduke, who, yielding to his pressure, made himself Emperor there, was shot by order of the Mexican President, an Indian of unmixed blood. And here there was retribution, not only for the French Emperor, but far beyond. I know not if there be invisible threads by which the Present is attached to the distant Past, making the descendant suffer even for a distant ancestor, but I cannot forget that Maximilian was derived from that very family of Charles the Fifth, whose conquering general, Cortes, stretched the Indian Guatemozin upon a bed of fire, and afterwards executed him on a tree. The death of Maximilian was tardy retribution for the death of Guatemozin. And thus in this world is wrong avenged, sometimes after many generations. The fall of the French Emperor is an illustration of that same retribution which is so constant. While he yet lives, judgment has begun. If I accumulate instances, it is because the certainty of retribution for wrong, and especially for the great wrong of War, is a lesson of the present duel to be impressed. Take notice, all who would appeal to war, that the way of the transgressor is hard, and sooner or later he is overtaken. The ban may fall tardily, but it is sure to fall. Retribution in another form has already visited France; nor is its terrible vengeance yet spent. Not only are populous cities, all throbbing with life and filled with innocent households, subjected to siege, but to bombardment also,--being that most ruthless trial of war, where non-combatants, including women and children, sick and aged, share with the soldier his peculiar perils, and suffer alike with him. All are equal before the hideous shell, crashing, bursting, destroying, killing, and changing the fairest scene into blood-spattered wreck. Against its vengeful, slaughterous descent there is no protection for the people,--nothing but an uncertain shelter in cellars, or, it may be, in the common sewers. Already Strasbourg, Toul, and Metz have been called to endure this indiscriminate massacre, where there is no distinction of persons; and now the same fate is threatened to Paris the Beautiful, with its thronging population counted by the million. Thus is the ancient chalice which France handed to others now commended to her own lips. It was France that first in history adopted this method of war. Long ago, under Louis the Fourteenth, it became a favorite; but it has not escaped the judgment of history. Voltaire, with elegant pen, records that "this art, carried soon among other nations, served only to multiply human calamities, and more than once was dreadful to France, where it was invented." [Footnote: Siecle de Louis XIV., Ch. XIV.: (Euvres, (edit. 1784- 89,) Tom. XX. p. 406.) The bombardment of Luxembourg in 1683 drew from Sismondi, always humane and refined, words applicable to recent events. "Louis the Fourteenth," he says, "had been the first to put in practice this atrocious and newly invented method of bombarding towns,....of attacking, not fortifications, but private houses, not soldiers, but peaceable inhabitants, women and children, and of confounding thousands of private crimes, each one of which would cause horror, in one great public crime, one great disaster, which he regarded as nothing more than one of the catastrophes of war." [Footnote: Histoire des Francis, Tom. XXV. pp. 452-53.] Again is the saying fulfilled, "All they that take the sword shall perish with the sword." No lapse of time can avert the inexorable law. Macbeth saw it in his terrible imaginings, when he said,-- "But in those cases We still have judgment here,--that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor." And what instruction more bloody than the bombardment of a city, which now returns to plague the French people? Thus is history something more even than philosophy teaching by example; it is sermon with argument and exhortation. The simple record of nations preaches; and whether you regard reason or the affections, it is the same. If nations were wise or humane, they would not fight. PEACE AFTER CAPITULATION AT SEDAN. Vain are lessons of the past or texts of prudence against that spirit of War which finds sanction and regulation in International Law. So long as the war system continues, men will fight. While I speak, the two champions still stand front to front, Germany exulting in victory, but France in no respect submissive. The duel still rages, although one of the champions is pressed to earth, as in that early combat where the Chevalier Bayard, so eminent in chivalry, thrust his dagger into the nostrils of his fallen foe, and then dragged his dead body off the field. History now repeats itself, and we witness in Germany the very conduct condemned in the famous French knight. The French Emperor was the aggressor. He began this fatal duel. Let him fall,--but not the people of France. Cruelly already have they expiated their offence in accepting such a ruler. Not always should they suffer. Enough of waste, enough of sacrifice, enough of slaughter have they undergone. Enough have they felt the accursed hoof of War. It is easy to see now, that, after the capitulation at Sedan, there was a double mistake: first, on the part of Germany, which, as magnanimous conqueror, should have proposed peace, thus conquering in character as in arms; and, secondly, on the part of the Republic, which should have declined to wage a war of Imperialism, against which the Republican leaders had so earnestly protested. With the capitulation of the Emperor the dynastic question was closed. There was no longer pretension or pretext, nor was there occasion for war. The two parties should have come to an understanding. Why continue this terrible homicidal, fratricidal, suicidal combat, fraught with mutual death and sacrifice? Why march on Paris? Why beleaguer Paris? Why bombard Paris? To what end? If for the humiliation of France, then must it be condemned. THREE ESSENTIAL CONDITIONS OF PEACE. In arriving at terms of peace, there are at least three conditions which cannot be overlooked in the interest of civilization, and that the peace may be such in reality as in name, and not an armistice only,--three postulates which stand above all question, and dominate this debate, so that any essential departure from them must end in wretched failure. The first is the natural requirement of Germany, that there shall be completest guaranty against future aggression, constituting what is so well known among us as "Security for the Future." Count Bismarck, with an exaggeration hardly pardonable, alleges more than twenty invasions of Germany by France, and declares that these must be stopped forever. [Footnote: Circular of September 16, 1870: Foreign Relations of the United States,--Executive Documents, 41st Cong. 3d Sess., H. of R., Vol. I. No. 1, Part 1, pp. 212-13.] Many or few, they must be stopped forever. The second condition to be regarded is the natural requirement of France, that the guaranty, while sufficient, shall be such as not to wound needlessly the sentiments of the French people, or to offend any principle of public law. It is difficult to question these two postulates, at least in the abstract. Only when we come to the application is there opportunity for difference. The third postulate, demanded alike by justice and humanity, is the establishment of some rule or precedent by which the recurrence of such a barbarous duel shall be prevented. It will not be enough to obtain a guaranty for Germany; there must be a guaranty for Civilization itself. On careful inquiry, it will be seen that all these can be accomplished in one way only, which I will describe, when I have first shown what is now put forward and discussed as the claim of Germany, under two different heads, Indemnity and Guaranty. INDEMNITY OF GERMANY. I have already spoken of Guaranty as an essential condition. Indemnity is not essential. At the close of our war with Slavery we said nothing of indemnity. For the life of the citizen there could be no indemnity; nor was it practicable even for the treasure sacrificed. Security for the Future was all that our nation required, and this was found in provisions of Law and Constitution establishing Equal Eights. From various intimations it is evident that Germany will not be content without indemnity in money on a large scale; and it is also evident that France, the aggressor, cannot, when conquered, deny liability to a certain extent. The question will be on the amount. Already German calculators begin to array their unrelenting figures. One of these insists that the indemnity shall not only cover outlay for the German Army,--pensions of widows and invalids,--maintenance and support of French wounded and prisoners,--compensation to Germans expelled from France,--also damage suffered by the territory to be annexed, especially Strasbourg; but it is also to cover indirect damages, large in amount,--as, loss to the nation from change of productive laborers into soldiers,--loss from killing and disabling so many laborers,--and, generally, loss from suspension of trade arid manufactures, depreciation of national property, and diminution of the public revenues:--all of which, according to a recent estimate, reach the fearful sum-total of 4,935,000,000 francs, or nearly one thousand million dollars. Of this sum, 1,255,000,000 francs are on account of the Army, 1,230,000,000 for direct damage, 2,250,000,000 for indirect damage, and 200,000,000 for damage to the reconquered provinces. Still further, the Berlin Chamber of Commerce insists on indemnity not only for actual loss of ships and cargoes from the blockade, but also for damages on account of detention. Much of this many-headed account, which I introduce in order to open the case in its extent, will be opposed by France, as fabulous, consequential, and remote. The practical question will be, Can one nation do wrong to another without paying for the damage, whatever it may be, direct or indirect,-- always provided it be susceptible of estimate? Here I content myself with the remark, that, while in the settlement of international differences there is no place for technicality, there is always room for moderation. GUARANTY OF DISMEMBERMENT. Vast as may be the claim of indemnity, it opens no question so calculated to touch the sensibilities of France as the claim of guaranty already announced by Germany. On this head we are not left to conjecture. From her first victory we have been assured that Germany would claim Alsace and German Lorraine, with their famous strongholds; and now we have the statement of Count Bismarck, in a diplomatic circular, that he expects to remove the German frontier further west,--meaning to the Vosges Mountains, if not to the Moselle also,--and to convert the fortresses into what he calls "defensive strongholds of Germany."[Footnote: Circular of September 16,1870,--ubi supra, p. 49, Note 1.] Then, with larger view, he declares, that, "in rendering it more difficult for France, from whom all European troubles have so long proceeded, to assume the offensive, we likewise promote the common interest of Europe, which demands the preservation of peace." Here is just recognition of peace as the common interest of Europe, to be assured by disabling France. How shall this be done? The German Minister sees nothing but dismemberment, consecrated by a Treaty of Peace. With diplomatic shears he would cut off a portion of French territory, and, taking from it the name of France, stamp upon it the trade-mark of Germany. Two of its richest and most precious provinces, for some two hundred years constituent parts of the great nation, with that ancient cathedral city, the pride of the Rhine, long years ago fortified by Vauban as "the strongest barrier of France," [Footnote: Voltaire, Siecle de Louis XIV., Ch. XIV: OEuvres, (edit. 1784-89,) Tom. XX. p. 403.] are to be severed, and with them a large and industrious population, which, while preserving the German language, have so far blended with France as to become Frenchmen. This is the German proposition, which I call the Guaranty of Dismemberment. One argument for this proposition is brushed aside easily. Had the fortune of war been adverse to Germany, it is said, peace would have been dictated at Berlin, perhaps at Koenigsberg, and France would have carried her frontier eastward to the Rhine, dismembering Germany. Such, I doubt not, would have been the attempt. The conception is entirely worthy of that Imperial levity with which the war began. But the madcap menace of the French Empire cannot be the measure of German justice. It is for Germany to show, that, notwithstanding this wildness, she knows how to be just. Dismemberment on this account would be only another form of retaliation; but retaliation is barbarous. To the argument, that these provinces, with their strongholds, are needed for the defence of Germany, there is the obvious reply, that, if cut off from France contrary to the wishes of the local population, and with the French people in chronic irritation on this account, they will be places of weakness rather than strength, strongholds of disaffection rather than defence, to be held always at the cannon's mouth. Does Germany seek lasting peace? Not in this way can it be had. A painful exaction, enforced by triumphant arms, must create a sentiment of hostility in France, suppressed for a season, but ready at a propitious moment to break forth in violence; so that between the two conterminous nations there will be nothing better than a peace where each sleeps on its arms,--which is but an Armed Peace. Such for weary years has been the condition of nations. Is Germany determined to prolong the awful curse? Will her most enlightened people, with poetry, music, literature, philosophy, science, and religion as constant ministers, to whom has been opened in rarest degree the whole book of knowledge, persevere in a brutal policy belonging to another age, and utterly alien to that superior civilization which is so truly theirs? There is another consideration, not only of justice, but of public law, which cannot be overcome. The people of these provinces are unwilling to be separated from France. This is enough. France cannot sell or transfer them against their consent. Consult the great masters, and you will find their concurring authority. Grotius, from whom on such a question there can be no appeal, adjudges: "In the alienation of a part of the sovereignty it is required _that the part which is to be alienated consent to the act._" According to him, it must not be supposed "that the body should have the right of cutting off parts from itself and giving them into the authority of another."[Footnote: De Jure Belli et Pads, tr. Whewell, Lib. II. Cap. 6, S: 4] Of the same opinion is Pufendorf, declaring: "The sovereign who attempts to transfer his kingdom to another by his sole authority does an act in itself null and void, and not binding on his subjects. To make such a conveyance valid, the consent of the people is required, as well as of the prince." [Footnote: De Jure Naturae et Gentium, Lib. VIII. Cap. 5, Section 9.] Vattel crowns this testimony, when he adds, that a province or city, "abandoned and dismembered from the State, is not obliged to receive the new master proposed to be given it." [Footnote: Le Droit des Gens, Liv. I. Ch. 21, Section 264.] Before such texts, stronger than a fortress, the soldiers of Germany must halt. Nor can it be forgotten how inconsistent is the guaranty of Dismemberment with that heroic passion for national unity which is the glory of Germany. National unity is not less the right of France than of Germany; and these provinces, though in former centuries German, and still preserving the German speech, belong to the existing unity of France,--unless, according to the popular song, the German's Fatherland extends "Far as the German accent rings"; and then the conqueror must insist on Switzerland; and why not cross the Atlantic, to dictate laws in Pennsylvania and Chicago? But this same song has a better verse, calling that the German's Fatherland "Where in the heart love warmly lies." But in these coveted provinces it is the love for France, and not for Germany, which prevails. GUARANTY OF DISARMAMENT. The Guaranty of Dismemberment, when brought to the touchstone of the three essential conditions, is found wanting. Dismissing it as unsatisfactory, I come to that other guaranty where these conditions are all fulfilled, and we find security for Germany without offence to the just sentiments of France, and also a new safe-guard to civilization. Against the Guaranty of Dismemberment I oppose the Guaranty of Disarmament. By Disarmament I mean the razing of the French fortifications and the abolition of the standing army, except that minimum of force required for purposes of police. How completely this satisfies the conditions already named is obvious. For Germany there would be on the side of France absolute repose, so that Count Bismarck need not fear another invasion,--while France, saved from intolerable humiliation, would herself be free to profit by the new civilization. Nor is this guaranty otherwise than practical in every respect, and the more it is examined the more will its inestimable advantage be apparent. 1. There is, first, its most obvious _economy_, which is so glaring, that, according to a familiar French expression, "it leaps into the eyes." Undertaking even briefly to set it forth, I seem to follow the proverb and "show the sun with a lantern." According to the "Almanach de Gotha," the appropriations for the army of France, during the year of peace before the war, were 588,852, 970 francs, [Footnote: Almanach de Gotha, 1870, p. 599.] or about one hundred and seventeen millions of dollars. Give up the Standing Army and this considerable sum disappears from the annual budget. But this retrenchment represents only partially the prodigious economy. Beyond the annual outlay is the loss to the nation by the change of producers into non-producers. Admitting that in France the average production of a soldier usefully employed would be only fifty dollars, and multiplying this small allowance by the numbers of the Standing Army, you have another amount to be piled upon the military appropriations. Is it too much to expect that this surpassing waste shall be stopped? Must the extravagance born of war, and nursed by long tradition, continue to drain the resources of the land? Where is reason? Where humanity? A decree abolishing the Standing Army would be better for the French people, and more productive, than the richest gold-mine discovered in every department of France. Nor can imagination picture the fruitful result. I speak now only in the light of economy. Relieved from intolerable burden, industry would lift itself to unimagined labors, and society be quickened anew. 2. Beyond this economy, winch need not be argued, is the positive _advantage, if not necessity,_ of such change for France. I do not speak on general grounds applicable to all nations, but on grounds peculiar to France at the present moment. Emerging from a most destructive war, she will be subjected to enormous and unprecedented contributions of every kind. After satisfying Germany, she will find other obligations at home,--some pressing directly upon the nation, and others upon individuals. Beyond the outstanding pay of soldiers, requisitions for supplies, pensions for the wounded and the families of the dead, and other extraordinary liabilities accumulating as never before in the same time, there will be the duty of renewing that internal prosperity which has received such a shock; and here the work of restoration will be costly, whether to the nation or the individual. Revenue must be regained, roads and bridges repaired, markets supplied; nor can we omit the large and multitudinous losses from ravage of fields, seizure of stock, suspension of business, stoppage of manufactures, interference with agriculture, and the whole terrible drain of war by which the people are impoverished and disabled. If to the necessary appropriation and expenditure for all these things is superadded the annual tax of a Standing Army, and that other draft from the change of producers into non-producers, plainly here is a supplementary burden of crushing weight. Talk of the last feather breaking the back of the camel,-- but never was camel loaded down as France. 3. Beyond even these considerations of economy and advantage I put the transcendent, priceless benefit of Disarmament in the _assurance of peace_. Disarmament substitutes the constable for the soldier, and reduces the Standing Army to a police. The argument assumes, first, the needlessness of a Standing Army, and, secondly, its evil influence. Both of these points were touched at an early day by the wise Chancellor of England, Sir Thomas More, when, in his practical and personal Introduction to "Utopia," he alludes to what he calls the "bad custom" of keeping many servants, and then says: "In France there is yet a more pestiferous sort of people; for the whole country is full of soldiers, that are still kept up in time of peace,--if such a state of a nation can be called a peace." Then, proceeding with his judgment, the Chancellor holds up what he calls those "pretended statesmen" whose maxim is that "it is necessary for the public safety to have a good body of veteran soldiers ever in readiness." And after saying that these pretended statesmen "sometimes seek occasion for making war, that they may train up their soldiers in the art of cutting throats," he adds, in words soon to be tested, "But France has learned, to its cost, how dangerous it is to feed such beasts." [Footnote: Utopia, tr. Burnet, (London, 1845,) Book I. pp. 29, 30.] It will be well, if France has learned this important lesson. The time has come to practise it. All history is a vain word, and all experience is at fault, if large War Preparations, of which the Standing Army is the type, have not been constant provocatives of war. Pretended protectors against war, they have been real instigators to war. They have excited the evil against which they were to guard. The habit of wearing arms in private life exercised a kindred influence. So long as this habit continued, society was darkened by personal combat, street-fight, duel, and assassination. The Standing Army is to the nation what the sword was to the modern gentleman, the stiletto to the Italian, the knife to the Spaniard, the pistol to our slave-master,--furnishing, like these, the means of death; and its possessor is not slow to use it. In stating the operation of this system we are not left to inference. As France, according to Sir Thomas More, shows "how dangerous it is to feed such beasts," so does Prussia, in ever-memorable instance, which speaks now with more than ordinary authority, show precisely how the Standing Army may become the incentive to war. Frederick, the warrior king, is our witness. With honesty or impudence beyond parallel, he did not hesitate to record in his Memoirs, among the reasons for his war upon Maria Theresa, that, on coming to the throne, he found himself with "troops always ready to act." Voltaire, when called to revise the royal memoirs, erased this confession, but preserved a copy;[Footnote: Brougham, Lives of Men of Letters, (London and Glasgow, 1856,) p. 59,--_Voltaire_. See also Voltaire, _Memoires pour servir a la Vie de, ecrits par lui-meme, (edit/ 1784-89,) Tom. LXX. p. 279; also Frederic II., _Histoire de mini Temps_, OEuvres Posthumes, (Berlin, 1789,) Tom. I. Part. I. p. 78.] so that by his literary activity we have this kingly authority for the mischief from a Standing Army. How complete a weapon was that army may be learned from Lafayette, who, in a letter to Washington, in 1786, after a visit to the King, described it thus:--- "Nothing can be compared to the beauty of the troops, to the discipline which reigns in all their ranks, to the simplicity of their movements, to the uniformity of their regiments..... All the situations which can be supposed in war, all the movements which these must necessitate, have been by constant habit so inculcated in their heads, that all these operations are done almost mechanically." [Footnote: Memoires, Tom. II. p. 133.] Nothing better has been devised since the Macedonian phalanx or the Roman legion. With such a weapon ready to his hands, the King struck Maria Theresa. And think you that the present duel between France and Germany could have been waged, had not both nations found themselves, like Frederick of Prussia, with "troops always ready to act"? It was the possession of these troops which made the two parties rush so swiftly to the combat. Is not the lesson perfect? Already individuals have disarmed. Civilization requires that nations shall do likewise. Thus is Disarmament enforced on three several grounds: first, economy; secondly, positive advantage, if not necessity, for France; and, thirdly, assurance of peace. No other guaranty promises so much. Does any other guaranty promise anything beyond the accident of force? Nor would France be alone. Dismissing to the arts of peace the large army victorious over Slavery, our Republic has shown how disarmament can be accomplished. The example of France, so entirely reasonable, so profitable, so pacific, and so harmonious with ours, would spread. Conquering Germany could not resist its influence. Nations are taught by example more than by precept, and either is better than force. Other nations would follow; nor would Russia, elevated by her great act of Enfranchisement, fail to seize her sublime opportunity. Popular rights, which are strongest always in assured peace, would have new triumphs. Instead of Trial by Battle for the decision of differences between nations, there would be peaceful substitutes, as Arbitration, or, it may be, a Congress of Nations, and the United States of Europe would appear above the subsiding waters. The old juggle of Balance of Power, which has rested like a nightmare on Europe, would disappear, like that other less bloody fiction of Balance of Trade, and nations, like individuals, would all be equal before the law. Here our own country furnishes an illustration. So long as slavery prevailed among us, there was an attempt to preserve what was designated balance of power between the North and South, pivoting on Slavery,--just as in Europe there has been an attempt to preserve balance of power among nations pivoting on War. Too tardily is it seen that this famous balance, which has played such a part at home and abroad, is but an artificial contrivance instituted by power, which must give place to a simple accord derived from the natural condition of things. Why should not the harmony which has begun at home be extended abroad? Practicable and beneficent here, it must be the same there. Then would nations exist without perpetual and reciprocal watchfulness. But the first step is to discard the wasteful, oppressive, and pernicious provocative to war, which is yet maintained at such terrible cost. To-day this glorious advance is presented to France and Germany. KING WILLIAM AND COUNT BISMARCK. Two personages at this moment hold in their hands the great question teeming with a new civilization. Honest and determined, both are patriotic rather than cosmopolitan or Christian, believing in Prussia rather than Humanity. And the patriotism so strong in each keeps still the early tinge of iron. I refer to King William and his Prime-Minister, Count Bismarck. More than any other European sovereign, William of Prussia possesses the infatuation of "divine right." He believes that he was appointed by God to be King--differing here from Louis Napoleon, who in a spirit of compromise entitled himself Emperor "by the grace of God and the national will." This infatuation was illustrated at his coronation in ancient Konigsberg,--first home of Prussian royalty, and better famous as birthplace and lifelong home of Immanuel Kant,--when the King enacted a scene of melodrama which might be transferred from the church to the theatre. No other person was allowed to place the crown on his royal head. Lifting it from the altar, where it rested, he placed it on his head himself, in sign that he held it from Heaven and not from man, and next placed another on the head of the Queen, in sign that her dignity was derived from him. Then, turning round, he grasped the sword of state, in testimony of readiness to defend the nation. Since the Battle of Sadowa, when the Austrian Empire was so suddenly shattered, he has believed himself providential sword-bearer of Germany, destined, perhaps, to revive the old glories of Barbarossa. His habits are soldierly, and, notwithstanding his seventy-three winters, he continues to find pleasure in wearing the spiked helmet of the Prussian camp. Republicans smile when he speaks of "my army," "my allies," and "my people"; but this egotism is the natural expression of the monarchical character, especially where the monarch believes that he holds by "divine right." His public conduct is in harmony with these conditions. He is a Protestant, and rules the land of Luther, but he is no friend to modern Reform. The venerable system of war and prerogative is part of his inheritance handed down from fighting despots, and he evidently believes in it. His Minister, Count Bismarck, is the partisan of "divine right," and, like the King, regards with satisfaction that hierarchical feudalism from which they are both derived. He is noble, and believes in nobility. He believes also in force, as if he had the blood of the god Thor. He believes in war, and does not hesitate to throw its "iron dice," insisting upon the rigors of the game. As the German question began to lower, his policy was most persistent. "Not by speeches and votes of the majority," he said in 1862, "are the great questions of the time decided,--that was the error of 1848 and 1849,--_but by iron and blood_." [Footnote: "Nicht durch Reden und Majoritaetsbeschluesse werden die grossen Fragen der Zeit entschieden,--das ist der Fehler von 1848 und 1849 gewesen,--sondern durch Eisen und Blut."--_Aeusserungen in der Budgetkommission_, September, 1862.] Thus explicit was he. Having a policy, he became its representative, and very soon thereafter controlled the counsels of his sovereign, coming swiftly before the world; and yet his elevation was tardy. Born in 1815, he did not enter upon diplomacy until 1851, when thirty-six years of age, and only in 1862 became Prussian Minister at Paris, whence he was soon transferred to the Cabinet at Berlin as Prime-Minister. Down to that time he was little known. His name is not found in any edition of the bulky French Dictionary of Contemporaries, [Footnote: Vapereau, Dictionnaire Universel des Contemporains.] not even its "Additions and Rectifications," until the Supplement of 1863. But from this time he drew so large a share of public attention that the contemporary press of the world became the dictionary where his name was always found. Nobody doubts his intellectual resources, his courage, or strength of will; but it is felt that he is naturally hard, and little affected by human sympathy. Therefore is he an excellent war minister. It remains to be seen if he will do as much for peace. His one idea has been the unity of Germany under the primacy of Prussia; and here he encountered Austria, as he now encounters France. But in that larger unity where nations will be conjoined in harmony he can do less, so long at least as he continues a fanatic for kings and a cynic towards popular institutions. Such is the King, and such his Minister. I have described them that you may see how little help the great ideas already germinating from bloody fields will receive from them. In this respect they are as one. TWO INFLUENCES _VERSUS_ WAR SYSTEM. Beyond the most persuasive influence of civilization, pleading, as never before, with voice of reason and affection, that the universal tyrant and master-evil of Christendom, the War System, may cease, and the means now absorbed in its support be employed for the benefit of the Human Family, there are two special influences which cannot be without weight at this time. The first is German authority in the writings of philosophers, by whom Germany rules in thought; and the second is the uprising of the working-men: both against war as acknowledged arbiter between nations, and insisting upon peaceful substitutes. AUTHORITY OF THE GERMAN MIND. More than any other nation Germany has suffered from war. Without that fatal gift of beauty, "a dowry fraught with never-ending pain," which tempted the foreigner to Italy, her lot has been hardly less wretched; but Germany has differed from Italy in the successful bravery with which she repelled the invader. Tacitus says of her people, that, "surrounded by numerous and very powerful nations, they are safe, not by obsequiousness, but by battles and braving danger"; [Footnote: "Plurimis ac valentissimis nationibus cincti, non per obsequium, sed prutiis et periclitando tuti sunt."--_Germania_, Cap. XL.] and this same character, thus epigrammatically presented, has continued ever since. Yet this was not without that painful experience which teaches what Art has so often attempted to picture and Eloquence to describe, "The Miseries of War." Again in that same fearless spirit has Germany driven back the invader, while War is seen anew in its atrocious works. But it was not merely the Miseries of War which Germans regarded. The German mind is philosophical and scientific, and it early saw the irrational character of the War System. It is well known that Henry the Fourth of France conceived the idea of Harmony among Nations without War; and his plan was taken up and elaborated in numerous writings by the good Abbe de Saint-Pierre, so that he made it his own. Rousseau, in his treatise on the subject, [Footnote: J. J. Rousseau, Extrait du Projet de Paix Perpetuelle de M. l'Abbe de Saint-Pierre; avec Lettre a M. de Bastide, et Jugement sur la Paix Perpetuelle: Oeuvres, (edit. 1788-93,) Tom. VII. pp. 339-418.] popularized Saint-Pierre. But it is to Germany that we must look for the most complete and practical development of this beautiful idea. If French in origin, it is German now in authority. The greatest minds in Germany have dealt with this problem, and given to its solution the exactness of science. No greater have been applied to any question. Foremost in this list, in time and in fame, is Leibnitz, that marvel of human intelligence, second, perhaps, to none in history, who, on reading the "Project of Perpetual Peace" by the Abbe de Saint-Pierre, pronounced this judgment: "I have read it with attention, and am persuaded that such a project is on the whole feasible, and that its execution would be one of the most useful things in the world." [Footnote: Observations sur le Projet d'une Paix Perpetuelle de M. l'Abbe de Saint-Pierre: Opera, ed. Dutens, (Genevae, 1768,) Tom. V. p. 56.] Thus did Leibnitz affirm its feasibility and its immense usefulness. Other minds followed, in no apparent concert, but in unison. I may be pardoned, if, without being too bibliographical, I name some of these witnesses. At Goettingen, renowned for its University, the question was opened, at the close of the Seven Years' War in 1763, in a work by Totze, whose character appears in its title, "Permanent and Universal Peace in Europe, according to the Plan of Henry IV." [Footnote: Der ewige und allgemeine Friede in Europa, nach dem Entwurf Heinrichs IV.] At Leipsic, also the seat of a University, the subject was presented in 1767 by Lilienfeld, in a treatise of much completeness, under the name of "New Constitution for States," [Footnote: 2 Neues Staatsgebaeude.] where, after exposing the wretched chances of the battlefield and the expense of armaments in time of peace, the author urges submission to Arbitrators, unless a Supreme Tribunal is established to administer International Law and to judge between nations. In 1804 appeared another work, of singular clearness and force, by Karl Schwab, entitled "Of Unavoidable Injustice," [Footnote: Ueber das unvermeidliche Unrecht.] where the author describes what he calls the Universal State, in which nations will be to each other as citizens in the Municipal State. He is not so visionary as to imagine that justice will always be inviolate between nations in the Universal State, for it is not always so between citizens in the Municipal State; but he confidently looks to the establishment between nations of the rules which now subsist between citizens, whose differences are settled peaceably by judicial tribunals. These works, justly important for the light they shed, and as expressions of a growing sentiment, are eclipsed in the contributions of the great teacher, Immanuel Kant, who, after his fame in philosophy was established, so that his works were discussed and expounded not only throughout Germany, but in other lands, in 1795 crave to the world a treatise entitled "On Perpetual Peace," [Footnote: Zum ewigen Frieden.] which was promptly translated into French, Danish, and Dutch. Two other works by him attest his interest in the subject, the first entitled "Idea for a General History in a Cosmopolitan View," [Footnote: Idee zu einer allgemeinen Geschichte in weltburgerlicher Absicht.] and the other, "Metaphysical Elements of Jurisprudence." [Footnote: Metaphysische Anfangsgrunde der Rechtslehre.] His grasp was complete. A treaty of peace which tacitly acknowledges the right to wage war, as all treaties now do, according to Kant is nothing more than a truce. An individual war may be ended, but not the _state of war_; so that, even after cessation of hostilities, there will be constant fear of their renewal, while the armaments known as Peace Establishments will tend to provoke them. All this should be changed, and nations should form one comprehensive Federation, which, receiving other nations within its fold, will at last embrace the civilized world; and such, in the judgment of Kant, was the irresistible tendency of nations. To a French poet we are indebted for the most suggestive term, "United States of Europe"; [Footnote: Victor Hugo, Discours d'Ouverture du Congres de la Paix a Paris, 21 1849: Treize Discours, (Paris, 1851,) p. 19.] but this is nothing but the Federation of the illustrious German philosopher. Nor was Kant alone among his great contemporaries. That other philosopher, Fichte, whose name at the time was second only to that of Kant, in his "Groundwork of the Law of Nature," [Footnote: Grundlage des Naturrechts.] published in 1796, also urges a Federation of Nations, with an established tribunal to which all should submit. Much better for civilization, had the King at Konigsberg, instead of grasping the sword, hearkened to the voice of Kant, renewed by Fichte. With these German oracles in its support, the cause cannot be put aside. Even in the midst of war, Philosophy will be heard, especially when she speaks words of concurring authority that touch a chord in every heart. Leibnitz, Kant, and Fichte, a mighty triumvirate of intelligence, unite in testimony. As Germany, beyond any other nation, has given to the idea of Organized Peace the warrant of philosophy, it only remains now that she should insist upon its practical application. There should be no delay. Long enough has mankind waited while the river of blood flowed on. UPRISING OF WORKING-MEN. The working-men of Europe, not excepting Germany, respond to the mandate of Philosophy, and insist that the War System shall be abolished. At public meetings, in formal resolutions and addresses, they have declared war against War, and they will not be silenced. This is not the first time that working-men have made themselves heard for international justice. I cannot forget, that, while Slavery was waging war against our nation, the working-men of Belgium in public meeting protested against that precocious Proclamation of Belligerent Rights by which the British Government gave such impulse to the Rebellion; and now, in the same spirit, and for the sake of true peace, they declare themselves against that War System by which the peace of nations is placed in such constant jeopardy. They are right; for nobody suffers in war as the working-man, whether in property or in person. For him war is a ravening monster, devouring his substance, and changing him from citizen to military serf. As victim of the War System he is entitled to be heard. The working-men of different countries have been organizing in societies, of which it is difficult at present to tell the number and extent. It is known that these societies exist in Germany, France, Spain, Italy, and England, as well as in our own country, and that they have in some measure an international character. In France, before the war, there were 438,785 men in the organization, and in Germany 150,000. Yet this is but the beginning. [Footnote: La Solidarite, 25 Juin 1870,--as cited by Testu, _L' Internationale, (me edit.,) p. 275.] At the menace of the present war, all these societies were roused. The society known as the International Working-Men's Association, by their General Council, issued an address, dated at London, protesting against it as a war of dynasties, denouncing Louis Napoleon as an enemy of the laboring classes, and declaring "the war-plot of July, 1870, but an amended edition of the _coup d'etat_ of December, 1851." The address then testifies generally against war, saying,-- "They feel deeply convinced, that, whatever turn the impending horrid war may take, _the alliance of the working classes of all countries will ultimately kill war_." [Footnote: The General Council of the International Working-Men's Association on the War, (London, July 23, 1870.) p. iv.] At the same time the Paris branch of the International Association put forth a manifesto addressed "To the Working-Men of all Countries," from which I take these passages:-- "Once more, under the pretext of European equilibrium, of national honor, political ambitions menace the peace of the world. "French, German, Spanish working-men! _let our voices unite in a cry of reprobation against war!_ * * * * * * "War for a question of preponderance, or of dynasty, can, in the eyes of working-men, be nothing but a criminal absurdity. "In response to the warlike acclamations of those who exonerate themselves from the impost of blood, or who find in public misfortunes a source of new speculations, we protest,--we who wish for peace, work, and liberty. * * * * * * "Brothers of Germany!....our divisions would only bring about _the complete triumph of despotism on both sides of the Rhine._ * * * * * * "Working-men of all countries! whatever may be the result of our common efforts, we, members of the International Association of Working-Men, who know no frontiers, we send you, as a pledge of indissoluble solidarity, the good wishes and the salutations of the working-men of France." [Footnote: Testu, L'Internationale, pp. 279-80. The General Council of the International Working-Men's Association on the War, p. ii.] To this appeal, so full of truth, touching to the quick the pretence of balance of power and questions of dynasty as excuses for war, and then rising to "a cry of reprobation against war," the Berlin branch of the International Association replied:-- "We join with heart and hand in your protestation..... Solemnly we promise you that neither the noise of drums nor the thunder of cannon, neither victory nor defeat, shall turn us aside from our work for the union of the proletaries of all countries." [Footnote: Testu, pp. 284-85. The General Council, etc., p. iii.] Then came a meeting of delegates at Chemnitz, in Saxony, representing fifty thousand Saxon working-men, which put forth the following hardy words:-- "We are happy to grasp the fraternal hand stretched out to us by the working-men of France.... Mindful of the watchword of the International Working-Men's Association, _Proletarians of all countries, unite!_ we shall never forget that the working-men of all countries are our friends, and the despots of all countries our enemies." [Footnote: The General Council of the International Working-Men's Association on the War, p. iii.] Next followed, at Brunswick, in Germany, on the 16th of July,--the very day after the reading of the war document at the French tribune, and the "light heart" of the Prime-Minister,--a mass meeting of the working-men there, which declared its full concurrence with the manifesto of the Paris branch, spurned the idea of national antagonism to France, and wound up with these solid words:-- "We are enemies of all wars, but above all of dynastic wars" [Footnote: Ibid.] The whole subject is presented with admirable power in an address from the Workmen's Peace Committee to the Working-Men of Great Britain and Ireland, duly signed by their officers. Here are some of its sentences:-- "Without us war must cease; for without us standing armies could not exist. It is out of our class chiefly that they are formed." "We would call upon and implore the peoples of France find Germany, in order to enable their own rulers to realize these their peace-loving professions, _to insist upon the abolition of standing armies_, as both the source and means of war, nurseries of vice, and locust-consumers of the fruits of useful industry." "What we claim and demand--what we would implore the peoples of Europe to do, without regard to Courts, Cabinets, or Dynasties--is _to insist upon Arbitration as a substitute for war_, with peace and its blessings for them, for us, for the whole civilized world." [Footnote: Herald of Peace for 1870, September 1st, pp. 101-2.] The working-men of England responded to this appeal, in a crowded meeting at St. James's Hall, London, where all the speakers were working-men and representatives of the various handicrafts, except the Chairman, whose strong words found echo in the intense convictions of the large assemblage:-- "One object of this meeting is to make the horror universally inspired by the enormous and cruel carnage of this terrible war the groundwork for appealing to the working classes and the people of all other European countries to join in protesting against war altogether, [_prolonged cheers_,] as the shame of Christendom, and direst curse and scourge of the human race. Let the will of the people sweep away war, which cannot he waged without them. [_'Hear!'_] Away with enormous standing armies, [_'Hear!'_] the nurseries and instruments of war,--nurseries, too, of vice, and crushing burdens upon national wealth and prosperity! Let there go forth from the people of this and other lands one universal and all-overpowering cry and demand for the blessings of peace!" [Footnote: Ibid., October 1st, p. 125.] At this meeting the Honorary Secretary of the Workmen's Peace Committee, after announcing that the working-men of upwards of three hundred towns had given their adhesion to the platform of the Committee, thus showing a determination to abolish war altogether, moved the following resolution, which was adopted:--- "That war, especially with the present many fearful contrivances for wholesale carnage an destruction, is repugnant to every principle of reason, humanity, and religion; and this meeting earnestly invites all civilized and Christian peoples to insist upon the abolition of standing armies, and the settlement by arbitration of all international disputes." [Footnote: Herald of Peace for 1870, October 1st, p. 125.] Thus clearly is the case stated by the Working-Men, now beginning to be heard; and the testimony is reverberated from nation to nation. They cannot be silent hereafter. I confidently look to them for important cooperation in this great work of redemption. Could my voice reach them now, wherever they may be, in that honest toil which is the appointed lot of man, it would be with words of cheer and encouragement. Let them proceed until civilization is no longer darkened by war. In this way will they become not only saviours to their own households, but benefactors of the whole Human Family. ABOLITION OF THE WAR SYSTEM. Such is the statement, with its many proofs, by which war is exhibited as the Duel of Nations, being the Trial by Battle of the Dark Ages. You have seen how nations, under existing International Law, to which all are parties, refer their differences to this insensate arbitrament,--and then how, in our day and before our own eyes, two nations eminent in civilization have furnished an instance of this incredible folly, waging together a world- convulsing, soul-harrowing, and most barbarous contest. All ask how long the direful duel will be continued. Better ask, How long will be continued that War System by which such a duel is authorized and regulated among nations? When will this legalized, organized crime be abolished? When at last will it be confessed that the Law of Right is the same for nations as for individuals, so that, if Trial by Battle be impious for individuals, it is so for nations likewise? Against it are Reason and Humanity, pleading as never before,--Economy, asking for mighty help,--Peace, with softest voice praying for safeguard,--and then the authority of Philosophy, speaking by some of its greatest masters,--all reinforced by the irrepressible, irresistible protest of working- men in different nations. Precedents exist for the abolition of this duel, so completely in point, that, according to the lawyer's phrase, they "go on all fours" with the new case. Two of these have been already mentioned: first, when, at the Diet of Worms, in 1495, the Emperor Maximilian proclaimed a permanent peace throughout Germany, and abolished the "liberty" of Private War; and, secondly, when, in 1815, the German Principalities stipulated "under no pretext to make war upon one another, or to pursue their differences by force of arms." [Footnote: See, _ante_, p. 247.] But first in time, and perhaps in importance, was the great Ordinance of St. Louis, King of France, promulgated at a Parliament in 1260, where he says: "_We forbid battles [i. e. TRIALS BY BATTLE] to all persons throughout our dominions,... and in place of battles we put proofs by witnesses_... AND THESE BATTLES WE ABOLISH IN OUR DOMINIONS FOREVER." [Footnote: "Nous deffendons a tous les batailles par tout, nostre demengne,.... et on lieu des batailles nous meton prueves de tesmoins..... Et ces batailles nous ostons en nostre demaigne a toujours."----_Recueil General des Anciennes Lois Francaises_, par Jourdan, etc., (Paris, 1822- 33,) Tom. I. pp. 283-90.] These at the time were great words, and they continue great as an example. Their acceptance by any two nations would begin the work of abolition, which would be completed on their adoption by a Congress of Nations, taking from war its existing sanction. THE WORLD A GLADIATORIAL AMPHITHEATRE. The growing tendencies of mankind have been quickened by the character of the present war, and the unexampled publicity with which it has been waged. Never before were all nations, even those separated by great spaces, whether of land or ocean, the daily and excited spectators of the combat. The vast amphitheatre within which the battle is fought, with the whole heavens for its roof, is coextensive with civilization itself. The scene in that great Flavian Amphitheatre, the famous Colosseum, is a faint type of what we are witnessing; but that is not without its lesson. Bloody games, where human beings contended with lions and tigers, imported for the purpose, or with each other, constituted an institution of ancient Rome, only mildly rebuked by Cicero, [Footnote: "Crudele gladiatorum spectaculum et inhumanum nonnullis videri solet: et hand scio an ita sit, ut nunc fit."_--Tusculanae Quaestiones_, Lib. II. Cap. XVII. 41.] and adopted even by Titus, in that short reign so much praised as unspotted by the blood of the citizen. [Footnote: Suetonius: _Titus_, Cap. IX. Merivale, History of the Romans under the Empire, (London, 1862,) Ch. LX., Vol. VII. p. 56.] One hundred thousand spectators looked on, while gladiators from Germany and Gaul joined in ferocious combat; and then, as blood began to flow, and victim after victim sank upon the sand, the people caught the fierce contagion. A common ferocity ruled the scene. As Christianity prevailed, the incongruity of such an institution was widely felt; but still it continued. At last an Eastern monk, moved only by report, journeyed a long way to protest against the impiety. With noble enthusiasm he leaped into the arena, where the battle raged, in order to separate the combatants. He was unsuccessful, and paid with life the penalty of his humanity. [Footnote: St. Telemachus, A. D. 401. Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, ed. Milman, (London, 1846,) Ch. XXX., Vol. III. p. 70. Smith, Dict. Gr. and Rom. Biog. and Myth., art. TELEMACHUS.] But the martyr triumphed where the monk had failed. Shortly afterwards, the Emperor Honorius, by solemn decree, put an end to this horrid custom. "The first Christian Emperor," says Gibbon, "may claim the honor of the first edict which condemned the art and amusement of shedding human blood." [Footnote: Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, _ubi supra_.] Our amphitheatre is larger than that of Rome; but it witnesses scenes not less revolting; nor need any monk journey a long way to protest against the impiety. That protest can be uttered by every one here at home. We are all spectators; and since by human craft the civilized world has become one mighty Colosseum, with place for everybody, may we not insist that the bloody games by which it is yet polluted shall cease, and that, instead of mutual-murdering gladiators filling the near-brought scene with death, there shall be a harmonious people, of different nations, but one fellowship, vying together only in works of industry and art, inspired and exalted by a divine beneficence? In presenting this picture I exaggerate nothing. How feeble is language to depict the stupendous barbarism! How small by its side the bloody games which degraded ancient Rome! How pygmy the one, how colossal the other! Would you know how the combat is conducted? Here is the briefest picture of the arena by a looker- on:-- "Let your readers fancy masses of colored rags glued together with blood and brains, and pinned into strange shapes by fragments of bones,--let them conceive men's bodies without heads, legs without bodies, heaps of human entrails attached to red and blue cloth, and disembowelled corpses in uniform, bodies lying about in all attitudes, with skulls shattered, faces blown off, hips smashed, bones, flesh, and gay clothing all pounded together as if brayed in a mortar extending for miles, not very thick in any one place, but recurring perpetually for weary hours,--and then they cannot, with the most vivid imagination, come up to the sickening reality of that butchery." [Footnote: Scene after the Battle of Sedan: Herald of Peace for 1870, October 1st, p. 121] Such a sight would have shocked the Heathen of Rome. They could not have looked on while the brave gladiator was thus changed into a bloody hash; least of all could they have seen the work of slaughter done by machinery. Nor could any German gladiator have written the letter I proceed to quote from a German soldier:-- "I do not know how it is, but one wholly forgets the danger one is in, and thinks only of the effect of one's own bullets, rejoicing like a child at the sight of the enemy falling like skittles, and having scarcely a compassionate glance to spare for the comrade falling at one's side. One ceases to be a human being, and turns into a brute, a complete brute." Plain confession! And yet the duel continues. Nor is there death for the armed man only. Fire mingles with slaughter, as at Bazeilles. Women and children are roasted alive, filling the air with suffocating odor, while the maddened combatants rage against each other. All this is but part of the prolonged and various spectacle, where the scene shifts only for some other horror. Meanwhile the sovereigns of the world sit in their boxes, and the people everywhere occupy the benches. PERIL FROM THE WAR SYSTEM. The duel now pending teaches the peril from continuance of the present system. If France and Germany can be brought so suddenly into collision on a mere pretext, what two nations are entirely safe? Where is the talisman for their protection? None, surely, except Disarmament, which, therefore, for the interest of all nations, should be commenced. Prussia is now an acknowledged military power, armed "in complete steel,"--but at what cost to her people, if not to mankind! Military citizenship, according to Prussian rule, is military serfdom, and on this is elevated a military despotism of singular grasp and power, operating throughout the whole nation, like martial law or a state of siege. In Prussia the law tyrannically seizes every youth of twenty, and, no matter what his calling or profession, compels him to military service for seven years. Three years he spends in active service in the regular army, where his life is surrendered to the trade of blood; then for four years he passes to the reserve, where he is subject to periodic military drills; then for five years longer to the _Landwehr_, or militia, with liability to service in the _Landsturm_, in case of war, until sixty. Wherever he may be in foreign lands, his military duty is paramount. But if this system be good for Prussia, then must it be equally good for other nations. If this economical government, with education for all, subordinates the business of life to the military drill, other nations will find too much reason for doing the same. Unless the War System is abandoned, all must follow the successful example, while the civilized world becomes a busy camp, with every citizen a soldier, and with all sounds swallowed up in the tocsin of war. Where, then, are the people? Where are popular rights? Montesquieu has not hesitated to declare that the peril to free governments proceeds from armies, and that this peril is not corrected even by making them depend directly on the legislative power. This is not enough. The armies must be reduced in number and force. [Footnote: De l'Esprit des Lois, Liv. XI. Ch. 6.] Among his papers, found since his death, is the prediction, "France will be ruined by the military." [Footnote: "La France se perdra par les gens de guerre."_--Pensees Diverses,--Varietes_: (Oeuvres Melees et Posthumes, (Paris, 1807, Didot,) Tom. II. p. 138.)] It is the privilege of genius like that of Montesquieu to lift the curtain of the future; but even he did not see the vastness of suffering in store for his country through those armies against which he warned. For years the engine of despotism at home, they became the sudden instrument of war abroad. Without them Louis Napoleon could not have made himself Emperor, nor could he have hurried France into the present duel. If needed in other days, they are not needed now. The War System, always barbarous, is an anachronism, full of peril both to peace and liberal institutions. PEACE. An army is a despotism; military service is a bondage; nor can the passion for arms be reconciled with a true civilization. The present failure to acknowledge this incompatibility is only another illustration how the clear light of truth is discolored and refracted by an atmosphere where the cloud of war still lingers. Soon must this cloud be dispersed. From war to peace is a change indeed; but Nature herself testifies to change. Sirius, brightest of all the fixed stars, was noted by Ptolemy as of reddish hue, [Footnote: Almagest, ed. et tr. Halma, (Paris, 1816- 20,) Tom. II. pp. 72, 73.] and by Seneca as redder than Mars; [Footnote: Naturales Quaestiones, Lib. I. Cap. 1.] but since then it has changed to white. To the morose remark, whether in the philosophy of Hobbes or the apology of the soldier, that man is a fighting animal and that war is natural, I reply,--Natural for savages rejoicing in the tattoo, natural for barbarians rejoicing in violence, but not natural for man in a true civilization, which I insist is the natural state to which he tends by a sure progression. The true state of Nature is not war, but peace. Not only every war, but every recognition of war as the mode of determining international differences, is evidence that we are yet barbarians,--and so also is every ambition for empire founded on force, and not on the consent of the people. A ghastly, bleeding, human head was discovered by the early Romans, as they dug the foundations of that Capitol which finally swayed the world. [Footnote: Dionysius Halicarnassensis, Antiquitates Romanae, Lib. IV. Capp. 59-61.] That ghastly, bleeding, human head is the fit symbol of military power. Let the War System be abolished, and, in the glory of this consummation, how vulgar all that comes from battle! By the side of this serene, beneficent civilization, how petty in its pretensions is military power! how vain its triumphs! At this moment the great general who has organized victory for Germany is veiled, and his name does not appear even in the military bulletins. Time is the glory of arms passing from sight, and battle losing its ancient renown. Peace does not arrest the mind like war. It does not glare like battle. Its operations, like those of Nature, are gentle, yet sure. It is not the tumbling, sounding cataract, but the tranquil, fruitful river. Even the majestic Niagara, with thunder like war, cannot compare with the peaceful plains of water which it divides. How easy to see that the repose of nations, like the repose of Nature, is the great parent of the most precious bounties vouchsafed by Providence! Add Peace to Liberty,-- "And with that virtue, every virtue lives." As peace is assured, the traditional sensibilities of nations will disappear. Their frontiers will no longer frown with hostile cannon, nor will their people be nursed to hate each other. By ties of constant fellowship will they be interwoven together, no sudden trumpet waking to arms, no sharp summons disturbing the uniform repose. By steam, by telegraph, by the press, have they already conquered time, subdued space,--thus breaking down old walls of partition by which they have been separated. Ancient example loses its influence. The prejudices of another generation are removed, and the old geography gives place to a new. The heavens are divided into constellations, with names from beasts, or from some form of brute force,--as Leo, Taurus, Sagittarius, and Orion with his club; but this is human device. By similar scheme is the earth divided. But in the sight of God there is one Human Family without division, where all are equal in rights; and the attempt to set up distinctions, keeping men asunder, or in barbarous groups, is a practical denial of that great truth, religious and political, the Brotherhood of Man. The Christian's Fatherland is not merely the nation in which he was born, but the whole earth appointed by the Heavenly Father for his home. In this Fatherland there can be no place for unfriendly boundaries set up by any,--least of all, place for the War System, making nations as hostile camps. At Lassa, in Thibet, there is a venerable stone in memory of the treaty between the courts of Thibet and China, as long ago as 821, bearing an inscription worthy of a true civilization. From Eastern story learn now the beauty of peace. After the titles of the two august sovereigns, the monument proceeds: "These two wise, holy, spiritual, and accomplished princes, foreseeing the changes hidden in the most distant futurity, touched with sentiments of compassion towards their people, and not knowing, in their beneficent protection, any difference between their subjects and strangers, have, after mature reflection and by mutual consent, resolved to give peace to their people... In perfect harmony with each other, they will henceforth be good neighbors, and will do their utmost to draw still closer the bonds of union and friendship. Henceforward the two empires of Han (China) and Pho (Thibet) shall have fixed boundaries... In preserving these limits, the respective parties shall not endeavor to injure each other; they shall not attack each other in arms, or make any more incursions beyond the frontiers now determined." Then declaring that the two "must reciprocally exalt their virtues and banish forever all mistrust between them, that travellers may be without uneasiness, that the inhabitants of the villages and fields may live at peace, and that nothing may happen to cause a misunderstanding," the inscription announces, in terms doubtless Oriental: "This benefit will be extended to future generations, and the voice of love (towards its authors) will be heard wherever the splendor of the sun and the moon is seen. The Pho will be tranquil in their kingdom, and the Han will be joyful in their empire." [Footnote: Travels of the Russian Mission through Mongolia to China, and Residence in Peking, in 1820-21, by George Timkowski, Vol. I. pp. 460-64.] Such is the benediction which from early times has spoken from one of the monuments erected by the god Terminus. Call it Oriental; would it were universal! While recognizing a frontier, there is equal recognition of peace as the rule of international life. THE REPUBLIC. In the abolition of the War System the will of the people must become all-powerful, exalting the Republic to its just place as the natural expression of citizenship. Napoleon has been credited with the utterance at St. Helena of the prophecy, that "in fifty years Europe would be Republican or Cossack." [Footnote: See the _New York Times_ of August 11, 1870, where the reputed prophecy is cited in these terms, in a letter of the 27th July from the London correspondent of that journal, with remarks indicating an expectation of its fulfilment in the results of the present war.] This famous saying has been variously represented; but the following are its original terms, as recorded at the time by Las Cases, to whom it was addressed in conversation, and as authenticated by the Commission appointed by Louis Napoleon for the collection and publication of the matters now composing the magnificent work entitled "Correspondance de Napoleon Ier":--- _"Dans Petat actuel des choses, avant dix ans_, toute l'Europe peut etre cosaque, ou toute en republique."--LAS CASES, _Memorial de Sainte-Hellene_, (Reimpression de 1823 et 1824,) Tom. III. p. 111,--Journal, 18 Avril 1816. _Correspondence de Napoleon I_, (Paris, 1858-69,) Tom. XXXIL p. 326.] Evidently Europe will not be Cossack, unless the Cossack is already changed to Republican,--as well may be, when it is known, that, since the great act of Enfranchisement, in February, 1861, by which twenty- three millions of serfs were raised to citizenship, with the right to vote, fifteen thousand three hundred and fifty public schools have been opened in Russia. A better than Napoleon, who saw mankind with truer insight, Lafayette, has recorded a clearer prophecy. At the foundation of the monument on Bunker Hill, on the semi-centennial anniversary of the battle, 17th June, 1825, our much-honored national guest gave this toast: "Bunker Hill, and the holy resistance to oppression, which has already enfranchised the American hemisphere. The next half-century Jubilee's toast shall be,--To _Enfranchised Europe_."[Footnote: Columbian Centinel, June 18, 1825.] The close of that half-century, already so prolific, is at hand. Shall it behold the great Jubilee with all its vastness of promise accomplished? Enfranchised Europe, foretold by Lafayette, means not only the Republic for all, but Peace for all; it means the United States of Europe, with the War System abolished. Against that little faith through which so much fails in life, I declare my unalterable conviction, that "government of the people, by the people, and for the people"-- thus simply described by Abraham Lincoln [Footnote: Address at the Consecration of the National Cemetery at Gettysburg, November 19, 1863: McPherson's Political History of the United States during the Great Rebellion, p. 606.]--is a necessity of civilization, not only because of that republican equality without distinction of birth which it establishes, but for its assurance of permanent peace. All privilege is usurpation, and, like Slavery, a state of war, relieved only by truce, to be broken by the people in their might. To the people alone can mankind look for the repose of nations; but the Republic is the embodied people. All hail to the Republic, equal guardian of all, and angel of peace! Our own part is simple. It is, first, to keep out of war,--and, next, to stand firm in those ideas which are the life of the Republic. Peace is our supreme vocation. To this we are called. By this we succeed. Our example is more than an army. But not on this account can we be indifferent, when Human Rights are assailed or republican institutions are in question. Garibaldi asks for a "word," [Footnote: "The cause of Liberty in Italy needs the word of the United States Government, which would be more powerful in its behalf than that of any other."--Message to Mr. Sumner from Caprera, May 24,1869.] that easiest expression of power. Strange will it be, when that is not given. To the Republic, and to all struggling for Human Rights, I give word, with heart on the lips. Word and heart I give. Nor would I have my country forget at any time, in the discharge of its transcendent duties, that, since the rule of conduct and of honor is the same for nations as for individuals, the greatest nation is that which does most for Humanity. 
22060	----	The Young Franc Tireurs And Their Adventures in the Franco-Prussian War By G. A. Henty. Contents Preface. Chapter 1: The Outbreak Of War. Chapter 2: Terrible News. Chapter 3: Death To The Spy! Chapter 4: Starting For The Vosges. Chapter 5: The First Engagement. Chapter 6: The Tunnel Of Saverne. Chapter 7: A Baffled Project. Chapter 8: The Traitor. Chapter 9: A Desperate Fight. Chapter 10: The Bridge Of The Vesouze. Chapter 11: A Fight In The Vosges. Chapter 12: The Surprise. Chapter 13: The Escape. Chapter 14: A Perilous Expedition. Chapter 15: The Expedition. Chapter 16: A Desperate Attempt. Chapter 17: A Balloon Voyage. Chapter 18: A Day Of Victory. Chapter 19: Down At Last. Chapter 20: Crossing The Lines. Chapter 21: Home. Illustrations Rescue of a Supposed Spy. Among the German Soldiers. The Children on the Battlefield. The Sea! The Sea! Preface. My Dear Lads, The present story was written and published a few months, only, after the termination of the Franco-German war. At that time the plan--which I have since carried out in The Young Buglers, Cornet of Horse, and In Times of Peril, and which I hope to continue, in further volumes--of giving, under the guise of historical tales, full and accurate accounts of all the leading events of great wars, had not occurred to me. My object was only to represent one phase of the struggle--the action of the bodies of volunteer troops known as franc tireurs. The story is laid in France and is, therefore, written from the French point of view. The names, places, and dates have been changed; but circumstances and incidents are true. There were a good many English among the franc tireurs, and boys of from fifteen to sixteen were by no means uncommon in their ranks. Having been abroad during the whole of the war, I saw a good deal of these irregulars, and had several intimate friends amongst them. Upon the whole, these corps did much less service to the cause of France than might have been reasonably expected. They were too often badly led, and were sometimes absolutely worse than useless. But there were brilliant exceptions, and very many of those daring actions were performed which--while requiring heroism and courage of the highest kind--are unknown to the world in general, and find no place in history. Many of the occurrences in this tale are related, almost in the words in which they were described to me, by those who took part in them; and nearly every fact and circumstance actually occurred, according to my own knowledge. Without aspiring to the rank of a history, however slight, the story will give you a fair idea of what the life of the franc tireurs was, and of what some of them actually went through, suffered, and performed. Yours sincerely, The Author. Chapter 1: The Outbreak Of War. The usually quiet old town of Dijon was in a state of excitement. There were groups of people in the streets; especially round the corners, where the official placards were posted up. Both at the Prefecture and the Maine there were streams of callers, all day. Every functionary wore an air of importance, and mystery; and mounted orderlies galloped here and there, at headlong speed. The gendarmes had twisted their mustaches to even finer points than usual, and walked about with the air of men who knew all about the matter, and had gone through more serious affairs than this was likely to be. In the marketplace, the excitement and buzz of conversation were at their highest. It was the market day, and the whole area of the square was full. Never, in the memory of the oldest inhabitant, had such a market been seen in Dijon. For the ten days preceding, France had been on the tiptoe of expectation; and every peasant's wife and daughter, for miles round the town, had come with their baskets of eggs, fowls, or fruits, to attend the market and to hear the news. So crowded was it, that it was really difficult to move about. People were not, however, unmindful of bargains--for the French peasant woman is a thrifty body, and has a shrewd eye to sous--so the chaffering and haggling, which almost invariably precede each purchase, went on as briskly as usual but, between times, all thoughts and all tongues ran upon the great event of the day. It was certain--quite certain, now--that there was to be war with Prussia. The newspapers had said so, for some days; but then, bah! who believes a newspaper? Monsieur le Prefect had published the news, today; and everyone knows that Monsieur le Prefect is not a man to say a thing, unless it were true. Most likely the Emperor, himself, had written to him. Oh! There could be no doubt about it, now. It was singular to hear, amidst all the talk, that the speculation and argument turned but little upon the chances of the war, itself; it being tacitly assumed to be a matter of course that the Germans would be defeated, with ease, by the French. The great subject of speculation was upon the points which directly affected the speakers. Would the Mobiles be called out, and forced to march; would soldiers who had served their time be recalled to the service, even if they were married; and would next year's conscripts be called out, at once? These were the questions which everyone asked, but no one could answer. In another day or two, it was probable that the orders respecting these matters would arrive and, in the meantime, the merry Burgundian girls endeavored to hide their own uneasiness by laughingly predicting an early summons to arms to the young men of their acquaintance. At the Lycee--or great school--the boys are just coming out. They are too excited to attend to lessons, and have been released hours before their usual time. They troop out from the great doors, talking and gesticulating. Their excitement, however, takes a different form to that which that of English boys would do, under the same circumstances. There was no shouting, no pushing, no practical jokes. The French boy does not play; at least, he does not play roughly. When young he does, indeed, sometimes play at buchon--a game something similar to the game of buttons, as played by English street boys. He may occasionally play at marbles but, after twelve years of age, he puts aside games as beneath him. Prisoners' base, football, and cricket are alike unknown to him; and he considers any exertion which would disarrange his hair, or his shirt collar, as barbarous and absurd. His amusements are walking in the public promenade, talking politics with the gravity of a man of sixty, and discussing the local news and gossip. This is the general type of French school boy. Of course, there are many exceptions and, in the Lycee of Dijon, these were more numerous than usual. This was due, to a great extent, to the influence of the two boys who are coming out of the school, at the present moment. Ralph and Percy Barclay are--as one can see at first sight--English; that is to say, their father is English, and they have taken after him, and not after their French mother. They are French born, for they first saw the light at the pretty cottage where they still live, about two miles out of the town; but their father, Captain Barclay, has brought them up as English boys, and they have been for two years at a school in England. Their example has had some effect. Their cousins, Louis and Philippe Duburg, are almost as fond of cricket, and other games, and of taking long rambles for miles round, as they are themselves. Other boys have also taken to these amusements and, consequently, you would see more square figures, more healthy faces at the Lycee at Dijon than at most other French schools. The boys who joined in these games formed a set in themselves, apart from the rest. They were called either the English set or, contemptuously, the "savages;" but this latter name was not often applied to them before their faces, for the young Barclays had learned to box, in England; and their cousins, as well as a few of the others, had practised with the gloves with them. Consequently, although the "savages" might be wondered at, and sneered at behind their backs, the offensive name was never applied in their hearing. At the present moment, Ralph Barclay was the center of a knot of lads of his own age. "And so, you don't think that we shall get to Berlin, Ralph Barclay? You think that these Prussian louts are going to beat the French army? Look now, it is a little strong to say that, in a French town." "But I don't say that, at all," Ralph Barclay said. "You are talking as if it was a certainty that we were going to march over the Prussians. I simply say, don't be too positive. There can be no doubt about the courage of the French army; but pluck, alone, won't do. The question is, are our generals and our organization as good as those of the Prussians? And can we put as many, or anything like as many, men into the field? I am at least half French, and hope with all my heart that we shall thrash these Germans; but we know that they are good soldiers, and it is safer not to begin to brag, till the work is over." There was silence, for a minute or two, after Ralph ceased speaking. The fact was, the thought that perhaps France might be defeated had never once, before, presented itself to them as possible. They were half disposed to be angry with the English boy for stating it; but it was in the first place, evident now that they thought of it, that it was just possible and, in the second place, a quarrel with Ralph Barclay was a thing which all his schoolfellows avoided. Ralph Barclay was nearly sixteen, his brother a year younger. Their father, Captain Barclay, had lost a leg in one of the innumerable wars in India, two or three years before the outbreak of the Crimean war. He returned to England, and was recommended by his doctors to spend the winter in the south of France. This he did and, shortly after his arrival at Pau, he had fallen in love with Melanie Duburg; daughter of a landed proprietor near Dijon, and who was stopping there with a relative. A month later he called upon her father at Dijon and, in the spring, they were married. Captain Barclay's half pay, a small private income, and the little fortune which his wife brought him were ample to enable him to live comfortably, in France; and there, accordingly, he had settled down. His family consisted of Ralph, Percy, and a daughter--called, after her mother, Melanie, and who was two years younger than Percy. It had always been Captain Barclay's intention to return to England, when the time came for the boys to enter into some business or profession; and he had kept up his English connection by several visits there, of some months' duration, with his whole family. The boys, too, had been for two years at school in England--as well as for two years in Germany--and they spoke the three languages with equal fluency. A prettier abode than that of Captain Barclay would be difficult to find. It was in no particular style of architecture, and would have horrified a lover of the classic. It was half Swiss, half Gothic, and altogether French. It had numerous little gables, containing the funniest-shaped little rooms. It had a high roof, with projecting eaves; and round three sides ran a wide veranda, with a trellis work--over which vines were closely trained--subduing the glare of the summer sun, casting a cool green shade over the sitting rooms, and affording a pretty and delightfully cool retreat; where Mrs. Barclay generally sat with her work and taught Melanie, moving round the house with the sun, so as to be always in the shade. The drawing and dining rooms both opened into this veranda The road came up to the back of the house; and upon the other three sides was a garden, which was a compromise between the English and French styles. It had a smooth, well-mown lawn, with a few patches of bright flowers which were quite English; and mixed up among them, and beyond them, were clumps of the graceful foliaged plants and shrubs in which the French delight. Beyond was a vineyard, with its low rows of vines while, over these, the view stretched away to the towers of Dijon. In the veranda the boys, upon their return, found Captain Barclay reading the papers, and smoking. He looked up as they entered. "You are back early, boys." "Yes, papa, there was so much talking going on, that the professor gave it up as hopeless. You have heard the news, of course?" "Yes, boys, and am very sorry to hear it." Captain Barclay spoke so gravely that Ralph asked, anxiously: "Don't you think we shall thrash them, papa?" "I consider it very doubtful, Ralph," his father said. "Prussia has already gained an immense moral victory. She has chosen her own time for war; and has, at the same time, obliged France to take the initiative, and so to appear to be the aggressor--and therefore to lose the moral support of Europe. She has forced this quarrel upon France, and yet nine-tenths of Europe look upon France as the inciter of the war. History will show the truth, but it will then be too late. As it is, France enters upon the war with the weight of public opinion dead against her and, what is worse, she enters upon it altogether unprepared; whereas Prussia has been getting ready, for years." "But the French always have shown themselves to be better soldiers than the Prussians, papa." "So they have, Percy, and--equally well led, disciplined, and organized--I believe that, in anything like equal forces, they would do so again. The question is, have we generals to equal those who led the Prussians to victory against Austria? Is our discipline equal--or anything like equal--to that of the Prussians? Is our organization as good as theirs? And lastly, have we anything like their numbers? "I don't like the look of it, boys, at all. We ought, according to published accounts, to be able to put a larger army than theirs in the field, just at first and, if we were but prepared, should certainly be able to carry all before us, for a while. I question very much if we are so prepared. Supposing it to be so, however, the success would, I fear, be but temporary; for the German reserves are greatly superior to ours. Discipline, too, has gone off sadly, since I first knew the French army. "Radical opinions may be very wise, and very excellent for a nation, for aught I know; but it is certain that they are fatal to the discipline of an army. My own opinion, as you know, is that they are equally fatal for a country, but that is a matter of opinion, only; but of the fact that a good Radical makes an extremely bad soldier, I am quite clear, and the spread of Radical opinion among the French army has been very great. Then, too, the officers have been much to blame. They think of pleasure far more than duty. They spend four times as much time in the cafes and billiard rooms as they do in the drill ground. Altogether, in my opinion, the French army has greatly gone off in all points--except in courage which, being a matter of nationality, is probably as high as ever. It is a bad lookout, boys--a very bad lookout. "There, don't talk about it any more. I do not want to make your mother unhappy. Remember not to express--either as my or your own opinion--anything I have said, in the town. It would only render you obnoxious, and might even cause serious mischief. If things go wrong, French mobs are liable to wreak their bad temper on the first comer." "Percy," Mrs. Barclay said, coming into the room, "please to run down to the end of the garden, and cut some lettuces for salad. Marie is so upset that she can do nothing." "What is the matter with her, mamma?" both the boys asked, at once. "Victor Harve--you know him, the son of the blacksmith Harve, who had served his time in the army, and came back two months ago to join his father in his forge, and to marry our Marie--has left to join his regiment. He was here, an hour since, to say goodbye. By this time he will have started. It is not wonderful that she weeps. She may never see him again. I have told her that she must be brave. A Frenchwoman should not grudge those she loves most to fight for France." "Ah! Melanie," Captain Barclay said, smiling, "these little patriotic outbursts are delightful, when one does not have to practice them at one's own expense. 'It is sweet and right to die for one's country,' said the old Roman, and everyone agrees with him but, at the same time, every individual man has a strong objection to put himself in the way of this sweet and proper death. "Although, as you say, no Frenchwoman should grudge her love to her country; I fancy, if a levee en masse took place, tomorrow, and the boys as well as the cripples had to go--so that Ralph, Percy, and I were all obliged to march--you would feel that you did grudge us to the country, most amazingly." Mrs. Barclay turned a little pale at the suggestion. "Ah! I can't suppose that, Richard. You are English, and they cannot touch you, or the boys; even if you could march, and if they were old enough." Captain Barclay smiled. "That is no answer, Melanie. You are shirking the question. I said, if they were to make us go." "Ah, yes! I am afraid I should grudge you, Richard, and the boys, except the enemy were to invade France; and then everyone, even we women, would fight. But of that there is no chance. It is we who will invade." Captain Barclay made no reply. "The plums want gathering, papa," Percy said, returning from cutting the lettuces. "It was arranged that our cousins should come over, when they were ripe, and have a regular picking. They have no plums, and Madame Duburg wants them for preserving. May we go over after dinner, and ask them to come in at three o'clock, and spend the evening?" "Certainly," Captain Barclay said; "and you can give your mamma's compliments, and ask if your uncle and Madame Duburg will come in, after they have dined. The young ones will make their dinner at our six o'clock tea." In France early dinner is a thing scarcely known, even among the peasantry; that is to say, their meals are taken at somewhat the same time as ours are, but are called by different names. The Frenchman never eats what we call breakfast; that is, he never makes a really heavy meal, the first thing in the morning. He takes, however, coffee and milk and bread and butter, when he gets up. He does not call this breakfast. He speaks of it as his morning coffee; and takes his breakfast at eleven, or half-past eleven, or even at twelve. This is a regular meal, with soup, meat, and wine. In England it would be called an early lunch. At six o'clock the Frenchman dines, and even the working man calls this meal--which an English laborer would call supper--his dinner. The Barclays' meals, therefore, differed more in name than in reality from those of their neighbors. Louis and Philippe Duburg came in at five o'clock, but brought a message that their sisters would come in with their father and mother, later. Melanie was neither surprised nor disappointed at the non-arrival of her cousins. She greatly preferred being with the boys, and always felt uncomfortable with Julie and Justine; who, although little older than herself, were already as prim, decorous, and properly behaved as if they had been women of thirty years old. After tea was over, the four boys returned to their work of gathering plums; while Melanie--or Milly, as her father called her, to distinguish her from her mother--picked up the plums that fell, handed up fresh baskets and received the full ones, and laughed and chattered with her brothers and cousins. While so engaged, Monsieur and Madame Duburg arrived, with their daughters, Julie and Justine. Monsieur Duburg--Mrs. Barclay's brother--was proprietor of a considerable estate, planted almost entirely with vines. His income was a large one, for the soil was favorable, and he carried on the culture with such care and attention that the wines fetched a higher price than any in the district. He was a clear-headed, sensible man, with a keen eye to a bargain. He was fond of his sister and her English husband, and had offered no opposition to his boys entering into the games and amusements of their cousins--although his wife was constantly urging him to do so. It was, to Madame Duburg, a terrible thing that her boys--instead of being always tidy and orderly, and ready, when at home, to accompany her for a walk--should come home flushed, hot, and untidy, with perhaps a swelled cheek or a black eye, from the effects of a blow from a cricket ball or boxing glove. Upon their arrival at Captain Barclay's, the two gentlemen strolled out to smoke a cigar together, and to discuss the prospects of the war and its effect upon prices. Mrs. Barclay had asked Julie and Justine if they would like to go down to the orchard; but Madame Duburg had so hurriedly answered in their name, in a negative--saying that they would stroll round the garden until Melanie returned--that Mrs. Barclay had no resource but to ask them, when they passed near the orchard, to call Milly--in her name--to join them in the garden. "My dear Melanie," Madame Duburg began, when her daughters had walked away in a quiet, prim manner, hand in hand, "I was really quite shocked, as we came along. There was Melanie, laughing and calling out as loudly as the boys themselves, handing up baskets and lifting others down, with her hair all in confusion, and looking--excuse my saying so--more like a peasant girl than a young lady." Mrs. Barclay smiled quietly. "Milly is enjoying herself, no doubt, sister-in-law; and I do not see that her laughing, or calling out, or handing baskets will do her any serious harm. As for her hair, five minutes' brushing will set that right." "But, my dear sister-in-law," Madame Duburg said, earnestly, "do you recall to yourself that Milly is nearly fourteen years old; that she will soon be becoming a woman, that in another three years you will be searching for a husband for her? My faith, it is terrible--and she has yet no figure, no manner;" and Madame Duburg looked, with an air of gratified pride, at the stiff figures of her own two girls. "Her figure is not a bad one, sister-in-law," Mrs. Barclay said, composedly; "she is taller than Julie--who is six months her senior--she is as straight as an arrow. Her health is admirable; she has never had a day's illness." "But she cannot walk; she absolutely cannot walk!" Madame Duburg said, lifting up her hands in horror. "She walked upwards of twelve miles with her father, yesterday," Mrs. Barclay said, pretending to misunderstand her sister-in-law's meaning. "I did not mean that," Madame Duburg said, impatiently, "but she walks like a peasant girl. My faith, it is shocking to say, but she walks like a boy. I should be desolated to see my daughter step out in that way. "Then, look at her manners. My word, she has no manners at all. The other day when I was here, and Monsieur de Riviere with his sons called, she was awkward and shy; yes, indeed, she was positively awkward and shy. It is dreadful for me to have to say so, sister-in-law, but it is true. No manners, no ease! Julie, and even Justine, can receive visitors even as I could do, myself." "Her manners are not formed yet, sister-in-law," Mrs. Barclay said, quietly, "nor do I care that they should be. She is a young girl at present, and I do not wish to see her a woman before her time. In three years it will be time enough for her to mend her manners." "But in three years, sister-in-law, you will be looking for a husband for her." "I shall be doing nothing of the sort," Mrs. Barclay said, steadily. "In that, as in many other matters, I greatly prefer the English ways. As you know, we give up our house in two years, and go to England to reside. We have economized greatly, during the seventeen years since our marriage. We can afford to live in England, now. "At sixteen, therefore, Milly will have good masters; and for two years her education will be carried on, and her walk and manner will, no doubt, improve. In England, fathers and mothers do not arrange the marriage of their children; and Milly will have to do as other girls do--that is--wait until someone falls in love with her, and she falls in love with him. Then, if he is a proper person, and has enough to keep her, they will be married." Madame Duburg was too much shocked at the expression of these sentiments to answer at once. She only sighed, shook her head, and looked upwards. "It is strange," she said at last, "to hear you, sister-in-law--a Frenchwoman--speak so lightly of marriage. As if a young girl could know, as well as her parents, who is a fit and proper person for her to marry. Besides, the idea of a young girl falling in love, before she marries, is shocking, quite shocking!" "My dear sister-in-law," Mrs. Barclay said, "we have talked this matter over before, and I have always stated my opinion, frankly. I have been a good deal in England; and have seen, therefore, and know the result of English marriages. I know also what French marriages are; and no one, who does know the state of things in the two countries, can hesitate for a moment in declaring that married life in England is infinitely happier, in every respect, than it is in France. The idea of telling your daughter that she is to marry a man whom she has never seen--as we do in France--is, to my mind, simply monstrous. Fortunately, I myself married for love; and I have been happy, ever since. I intend Milly, when the time comes, to do the same thing." Before Madame Duburg had time to answer, the gentlemen joined them, and the conversation turned upon the war. In a short time the three girls came up. "What a rosy little thing you are, Milly," her uncle said; "where do you get your plump cheeks, and your bright color? I wish you could give the receipt to Julie and Justine. Why, if you were to blow very hard, I do think you would blow them both down." "I am really surprised at you, Monsieur Duburg," his wife said, angrily. "I am sure I do not wish Julie and Justine to have as much color as their cousin. I consider it quite a misfortune for poor Milly. It is so very commonplace. Poor child, she looks as if she had been working at the vintage." "That is right, madame; stand up for your own," and her husband, who was accustomed to his wife's speeches, laughed. "But for all that, commonplace or not commonplace, I should like to see some of Milly's bright, healthy color in my girls' cheeks; and I should like to see them walk as if they had forgotten, for a moment, their tight boots and high heels." His wife was about to make an angry reply, when the arrival of the four boys--bearing in triumph the last basket of plums--changed the conversation; and shortly afterwards, Madame Duburg remarking that the evening was damp, and that she did not like Julie and Justine to be out in it any later, the Du burgs took their leave. Chapter 2: Terrible News. The ten days succeeding the declaration of war were days of excitement, and anticipation. The troops quartered at Dijon moved forward at once; and scarcely an hour passed but long trains, filled with soldiers from Lyons and the South, were on their way up towards Metz. The people of Dijon spent half their time in and around the station. The platform was kept clear; but bands of ladies relieved each other every few hours, and handed soup, bread, fruit, and wine to the soldiers as they passed through. Each crowded train was greeted, as it approached the station, with cheers and waving of handkerchiefs; to which the troops as heartily responded. Most of the trains were decorated with boughs, and presented a gay appearance as, filled with the little line men, the sunburned Zouaves, swarthy Turcos, gay hussars, or sober artillerymen, they wound slowly into the town. Some of the trains were less gay, but were not less significant of war. Long lines of wagons, filled with cannon; open trucks with the deadly shell--arranged side by side, point upwards, and looking more like eggs in a basket than deadly missiles--came and went. There, too, were long trains of pontoons for forming bridges while, every half hour, long lines of wagons filled with biscuits, barrels of wine, sacks of coffee, and cases of stores of all sorts and kinds passed through. The enthusiasm of Dijon, at the sight of this moving panorama of war, rose to fever heat. The sound of the Marseillaise resounded from morning to night. Victory was looked upon as certain, and the only subject of debate was as to the terms which victorious France would impose upon conquered Prussia. The only impatience felt was for the news of the first victory. Captain Barclay sent down several casks of wine, for the use of the passing troops; and his wife went down, each day, to assist at the distribution. In the evening she and Milly scraped old rags, to make lint for the wounded. The Lycee was still closed--as it was found impossible to get the boys to attend to their studies--and Ralph and Percy spent their time in watching the trains go past, and in shouting themselves hoarse. Captain Barclay did not share in the general enthusiasm and, each morning at breakfast, he looked more and more grave as, upon opening the papers, he found there was still no news of the commencement of hostilities. "What difference does it make, papa?" Ralph asked, one day; "we are sending fresh troops up, every hour, and I do not see how a few days' delay can be any disadvantage to us." "It makes all the difference, Ralph, all the difference in the world. We had a considerably larger standing army than the Prussians, and had the advantage that the main body of our troops were very much nearer to the frontier than those of the Prussians. If things had been ready, we ought to have marched two hundred thousand men into Germany, three or four days--at latest--after the declaration of war. The Germans could have had no force capable of resisting them. We should have had the prestige of a first success--no slight thing with a French army--and we should also have had the great and solid advantage of fighting in an enemy's country, instead of upon our own. "The German reserves are far greater than our own. We know how perfect their organization is, and every hour of delay is an immense advantage to them. It is quite likely now that, instead of the French invading Germany, it will be the Prussians who will invade France." The boys were but little affected by their father's forebodings. It was scarcely possible to suppose that everyone could be wrong; still more impossible to believe that those great hosts which they saw passing, so full of high hope and eager courage, could be beaten. They were, however, very glad to sit round the table of an evening, while Captain Barclay opened a great map on the table, explained the strength of the various positions, and the probability of this or that line of attack being selected by one or the other army. Day after day went by until, on the 2nd of August, the news came at last. The first blow had been struck, the first blood shed--the French had taken Saarbruck. "It is too late," Captain Barclay said, as Ralph and Percy rushed in, to say that the news was posted up at the Prefecture. "It is too late, boys. The English papers, of this morning, have brought us the news that the Germans are massing at least seven or eight hundred thousand men, along the line from Saar Louis to Spiers. It is evident that they fell back from Saarbruck without any serious resistance. In another two or three days they will be in readiness and, as they must far outnumber our men, you will see that the advantage at Saarbruck will not be followed up, and that the Prussians will assume the offensive." "Then what do you really think will be the result, papa?" "I think, Ralph, that we shall be forced to do what--not having, at once, taken the offensive--we ought to have done from the first. We shall have to fall back, to abandon the line of frontier--which is altogether indefensible--and to hold the line of the Moselle, and the spurs of the Vosges; an immensely strong position, and which we ought to be able to hold against all the efforts of Prussia." The exultation of Dijon was but short lived for, on the 5th, the boys came up in the afternoon, from the town, with very serious faces. "What is the matter, Ralph?" "There is a rumor in the town, papa, that the Swiss papers have published an account of the capture of Weissenburg, by the Prussians. A great many French are said to be prisoners. Do you think it can be true?" "It is probable, at any rate, Ralph. The Swiss papers would, of course, get the news an hour or so after it is known in Germany. We must not begin by believing all that the telegram says, because both sides are certain to claim victories; still, the absolute capture of a town is a matter upon which there can be no dispute, and is therefore likely enough to be true. We know the Prussians were massed all along that line and, as I expected, they have taken the offensive. Their chances of success in so doing were evident; as neither party know where the others are preparing to strike a blow, and each can therefore concentrate, and strike with an overwhelming force at any given point. "Now that the Germans have made the first move, and shown their intention, both parties will concentrate in that direction. You see, from Weissenburg the Germans can either march south upon Strasburg, or southwest upon Metz or Nancy; but to reach this latter place they will have to cross the spurs of the Vosges. The French will, of course, try to bar their further advance. We may expect a great battle, in a day or two." The news came but too soon for--two days later--Dijon, as well as all France, stood aghast at the news of the utter rout of MacMahon's division, after the desperately contested battle of Woerth; and the not less decided, though less disastrous, defeats of the French left, at Forbach, by the troops of Steinmetz. Some little consolation was, however, gleaned by the fact that the French had been beaten in detail; and had shown the utmost gallantry, against greatly superior numbers. They would now, no doubt, fall back behind the Moselle; and hold that line, and the position of the Vosges, until fresh troops could come up, and a great battle be fought upon more even terms. Fresh levies were everywhere ordered, and a deep and general feeling of rage prevailed. No one thought of blaming the troops--it was evident that they had done their best; the fault lay with the generals, and with the organization. Captain Barclay pointed out, to the boys, that the officers and men were somewhat to blame, also; for the utter confusion which prevailed among MacMahon's troops, in their retreat, showed that the whole regimental system was faulty; and that there could have been no real discipline, whatever, or the shattered regiments would have rallied, a few miles from the field of battle. In Dijon, the change during the last fortnight was marvelous The war spirit was higher than ever. Cost what it might, this disgrace must be wiped out. The Mobiles were hard at work, drilling. The soldiers who had long left the army were starting, by every train, to the depots. The sound of the Marseillaise rang through the streets, night and day. The chorus, "To arms," gained a fresh meaning and power and, in spite of these first defeats, none dreamed of final defeat. Every day, however, the news became worse. Strasburg was cut off; and the Prussians marched unopposed across the spurs of the Vosges, where a mere handful of men might have checked them. "Boys, there are terrible days in store, for France," Captain Barclay said, when the news came that the enemy had entered Nancy. "The line of the Moselle is turned. Bazaine will be cut off, unless he hurries his retreat; and then nothing can stop the Prussians from marching to Paris." The boys sat speechless at this terrible assurance. "Surely it cannot be as bad as that," Mrs. Barclay said. "Frenchmen cannot have lost all their old qualities; and all France will rise, like one man, to march to the defense of Paris." "Raw levies will be of no use, whatever, against the Prussian troops, flushed with victory," Captain Barclay said; "even if they were armed--and where are the arms, for a levy en masse, to come from? If Bazaine be beaten, the only hope of France is for all the troops who remain to fall back under the guns of the forts of Paris; and for France to enter upon an immense guerrilla war. For hosts of skirmishers to hang upon their flanks and rear; cutting every road, destroying every bridge, checking the movements of every detached body, and so actually starving them out, on the ground which they occupy. "This, however, will demand an immense amount of pluck, of endurance, of perseverance, of sacrifice, and of patriotism. The question is, does France possess these qualities?" "Surely, Richard, you cannot doubt the patriotism of the French," Mrs. Barclay said, a little reproachfully. "My dear Melanie," her husband said, "I am sorry to say that I very greatly doubt the patriotism of the French. They are--more than any people, more even than the English, whom they laugh at as a nation of shopkeepers--a money-making race. The bourgeoise class, the shopkeepers, the small proprietors, are selfish in the extreme. They think only of their money, their business, and their comforts. The lower class are perhaps better, but their first thoughts will be how the war will affect themselves and, unless there is some chance of the enemy approaching their homes, driving off their cattle, and plundering their cottages, they will look on with a very calm eye at the general ruin. "I believe, remember, that those who will be called out will go and, if affairs go as I fear that they will do, every man under fifty years old in France will have to go out; but it is not enough to go out. For a war like this, it will require desperate courage and endurance, and an absolute disregard of life; to counterbalance the disadvantages of want of discipline, want of arms, want of artillery, and want of organization I may be wrong--I hope that I am so--but time will show." "And do you think that there is any chance of their coming down here, as well as of going to Paris, papa?" Percy asked. "That would depend upon the length of the resistance, Percy. If France holds out, and refuses to grant any terms which the Prussians might try to impose upon them, they may overrun half the country and, as this town is directly upon their way for Lyons--the second town of France--they are exceedingly likely to come this way." "Well, if they do, papa," Ralph said, with heightened color, "I feel sure that every man who can carry a gun will go out, and that every home will be defended." "We shall see, Ralph," Captain Barclay said, "we shall see." Another pause, and then came the news of that terrible three days' fighting--on the 14th, 16th, and 18th--near Metz; when Bazaine, his retreat towards Paris cut off, vainly tried to force his way through the Prussian army and, failing, fell back into Metz. Even now, when the position was well-nigh desperate--with the only great army remaining shut up and surrounded; and with nothing save the fragment of MacMahon's division, with a few other regiments, collected in haste, and the new levies, encamped at Chalons, between the victorious enemy and the capital--the people of France were scarcely awake to the urgency of the position. The Government concealed at least a portion of the truth, and the people were only too ready to be deceived. In Dijon, however, the facts were better known, and more understood. The Swiss newspapers, containing the Prussian official telegrams and accounts, arrived daily; and those who received them speedily spread the news through the town. The consternation was great, and general, but there was no sign of despair. Those of the Mobiles who were armed and equipped were sent off, at once, to Chalons. At every corner of the street were placards, calling out the Mobiles and soldiers who had served their time; and, although not yet called to arms, the national guard drilled in the Place d'Armes, morning and evening. "You will allow, Richard, that you were mistaken as to the patriotism of the people," Mrs. Barclay said, one evening, to her husband. "Everyone is rushing to arms." "They are coming out better than I had expected, Melanie; but at the same time, you will observe that they have no choice in the matter. The Mobiles are called out, and have to go. All who can raise the most frivolous pretext for exemption do so. There is a perfect rush of young men to the Prefecture, to obtain places in the clothing, medical, arming, and equipping departments; in any sort of service, in fact, which will exempt its holder from taking up arms. "At the same time, there is a great deal of true, earnest patriotism. Many married men, with families, have volunteered; and those belonging to the categories called out do go, as you say, cheerfully, if not willingly and, once enrolled, appear determined to do their duty. "France will need all the patriotism, and all the devotion of her people to get through the present crisis. There is no saying how it will end. I have no hope, whatever, that MacMahon's new army can arrest the march of the enemy; and his true course is to fall back upon Paris. Our chance, here, of remaining free from a visit of the enemy depends entirely upon the length of time which Strasburg and Metz hold out. Bazaine may be able to cut his way out but, at any rate, he is likely to remain where he is, for some little time, under the walls of Metz; for he occupies the attention of a considerably larger force than that which he commands. "The vital point, at present, is to cut the roads behind the Germans. If it were not for this cork leg of mine, Melanie, I would try and raise a small guerrilla corps, and set out on my own account. I have lived here for seventeen years, now, and the French fought by our side, in the Crimea. Could I do so, I should certainly fight for France, now. It is clearly the duty of anyone who can carry a musket to go out." Just at this moment the door opened, and Ralph and Percy entered hastily. They both looked excited, but serious. "What is it, boys?" "Papa," Ralph said, "there is a notice up, signed by your friend Captain Tempe. He calls for a hundred volunteers, to join a corps of franc tireurs--a sort of guerrillas, I believe--to go out to harass the Germans, and cut their communication. Those who can are to provide their own arms and equipments. A meeting is to be held, tonight, for subscribing the money for those who cannot afford to do so. "We have come to ask you to let us join, papa. Louis and Philippe have just gone to ask uncle's leave." Captain Barclay listened in silence, with a very grave face. Their mother sat down in a chair, with a white face. "Oh, my boys, you are too young," she gasped out. "We are stronger, mamma, than a great many of the men who have been called out; and taller and stouter, in every way. We can walk better than the greater portion of them. We are accustomed to exercise and fatigue. We are far more fit to be soldiers than many young men who have gone from here. You said yourself, mamma, that everyone who could carry a gun ought to go out." "But you are not French, boys," Mrs. Barclay said, piteously. "We are half French, mamma. Not legally, but it has been home to us, since we were born and, even if you had not been French, we ought to fight for her." Mrs. Barclay looked at her husband for assistance, but Captain Barclay had leaned his face in his hands, and said nothing. "Ah, Ralph; but Percy at least, he is only fifteen." "I am nearly as big, nearly as strong as Ralph, mamma. Besides, would it not be better to have two of us? If one is ill or--or wounded--the other could look after him, you know. "Mamma, dearest, we have talked it over, and we think we ought to go. We are very strong for our ages; and it is strength, not years, which matters. Mamma, you said a Frenchwoman should not grudge those she loves to France; and that if France was invaded all, even the women, should go out." Mrs. Barclay was silent. She could not speak. She was so deadly pale, and her face had such an expression of misery, that the boys felt their resolution wavering. Captain Barclay looked up. "Boys," he said, very gravely, "I have one question to ask; which you will answer me truly, upon your faith and honor Do you wish to go merely--or principally--from a desire to see the excitement and the adventure of a guerrilla war; or do you go out because you desire earnestly to do your best, to defend the country in which you were born, and lived? Are you prepared to suffer any hardship and, if it is the will of God, to die for her?" "We are, papa," both boys said. And Ralph went on: "When we first talked over the possibility of everyone being called out--and of our going, too--we did look upon it as a case of fun and excitement; but when the chance really came, we saw how serious it was. We knew how much it would cost you, and dear mamma; and we would not have asked you, had we not felt that we ought to go, even if we knew we should be killed." "In that case, boys," Captain Barclay said, solemnly, rising and laying one hand on the shoulder of each of his sons, "in that case, I say no more. You are a soldier's sons, and your example may do good. It is your duty, and that of everyone, to fight for his country. I give you my full consent to go. I should not have advised it. At your age, there was no absolute duty. Still, if you feel it so, I will not stand in your way. "Go then, my boys, and may God watch over you, and keep you, and send you safe home again." So saying, he kissed them both on the forehead, and walked from the room without saying another word. Then the boys turned to their mother, who was crying silently and, falling upon her neck, they kissed her and cried with her. It was understood that her consent was given, with their father's. Milly, coming in and hearing what was the matter, sat down in sudden grief and astonishment on the nearest chair, and cried bitterly. It was a sad half hour, and the boys were almost inclined to regret that they had asked for leave to go. However, there was no drawing back now and, when they left their mother, they went on to tell their cousins that they were going. They found Louis and Philippe in a state of great disappointment, because their father had altogether refused to listen to their entreaties. Upon hearing, however, that Ralph and Percy were going, they gained fresh hope; for they said, if English boys could go and fight for France, it was shameful that French boys should stay at home, in idleness. Captain Barclay, after giving permission to his sons to go as franc tireurs, first went for a walk by himself, to think over the consequences of his decision. He then went down into Dijon, and called upon Captain Tempe. The commander of the proposed corps had served for many years in the Zouaves, and was known to be an able and energetic officer. He had left the service, five or six years previously, upon his marriage. He lived a short distance, only, from Captain Barclay; and a warm friendship had sprung up between them. Upon Captain Barclay telling him why he had come to see him, Captain Tempe expressed his satisfaction at the decision of the young Barclays. "I have already the names of one or two lads little, if any, older than your eldest boy," he said; "and although the other is certainly very young yet, as he is very stout and strong for his age, I have no doubt he will bear the fatigue as well as many of the men." "I wish I could go with you," Captain Barclay said. "I wish you could, indeed," Captain Tempe replied, warmly; "but with your leg you never could keep up, on foot; and a horse would be out of the question, among the forests of the Vosges mountains. "You might, however--if you will--be of great use in assisting me to drill and discipline my recruits, before starting." "That I will do, with pleasure," Captain Barclay said. "I had been thinking of offering my services, in that way, to the municipality; as very few of the officers of the Mobiles, still less of the national guard, know their duty. As it is, I will devote myself to your corps, till they march. "In the first place, how strong do you mean them to be?" "One strong company, say one hundred and twenty men," Captain Tempe answered. "More than that would be too unwieldy for guerrilla work. I would rather have twenty less, than more; indeed, I should be quite satisfied with a hundred. If I find that volunteers come in, in greater numbers than I can accept, I shall advise them to get up other, similar corps. There ought to be scores of small parties, hanging upon the rear and flank of the enemy, and interrupting his communication." "How do you think of arming them?" "Either with chassepots, or with your English rifles. It is of no use applying to Government. They will not be able to arm the Mobiles, for months; to say nothing of the national guard. We must buy the rifles in England, or Belgium. It will be difficult to get chassepots; so I think the best plan will be to decide, at once, upon your Sniders." "I know a gentleman who is connected with these matters, in England; and will, if you like, send out an order at once for, say, eleven dozen Sniders; to be forwarded via Rouen, and thence by rail." "I should be very glad if you would do so," Captain Tempe said. "I have no doubt about getting that number of recruits, easily enough. I have had a good many calls already, this morning; and several thousand francs of subscription have been promised. In another three or four days, the money will be ready; so if you write to your friends, to make an agreement with a manufacturer, I can give you the money by the time his answer arrives. When the guns arrive, those who can pay for them will do so, and the rest will be paid for by the subscriptions. "Of course, we shall want them complete with bayonets. If, at the same time, you can order ammunition--say, two hundred rounds for each rifle--it would be, perhaps, a saving of time; as the Government may not be able to supply any, at first. However, after the meeting, this evening, I shall see how the subscriptions come in; and we can settle on these points, tomorrow. The municipality will help, I have no doubt." "What is your idea as to equipment, Tempe?" "As light as possible. Nothing destroys the go of men more than to be obliged to carry heavy weights on their shoulders. We shall be essentially guerrillas Our attacks, to be successful, must be surprises. Speed, therefore, and the power to march long distances, are the first of essentials. "I do not propose to carry knapsacks--mere haversacks, bags capable of containing a spare shirt, a couple of pairs of socks, and three days' biscuits. Each man must also carry a spare pair of boots, strapped to his belt, behind. A thick blanket--with a hole cut for the head, so as to make a cloak by day, a cover by night--will be carried, rolled up over one shoulder like a scarf; and each man should carry a light, waterproof coat. "I do not propose to take even tents d'abri. They add considerably to the weight and, unless when we are actually engaged in expeditions, we shall make our headquarters at some village; when the men can be dispersed among the cottages, or sleep in stables, or barns. When on expeditions, they must sleep in the open air." "I quite approve of your plan," Captain Barclay said. "Exclusive of his rifle and ammunition, the weight need not be above fifteen pounds a man and, with this, they ought to be able to march, and fight, with comfort. The way your soldiers march out, laden like beasts of burden, is absurd. It is impossible for men either to march, or fight, with a heavy load upon their backs. "Have you thought about uniform?" "No, I have not settled at all. I thought of letting the men fix upon one of their own choice." "Do nothing of the sort," Captain Barclay said. "The men will only think of what is most becoming, or picturesque. You cannot do better than fix upon some good, serviceable uniform of a dark-grayish color; something similar to that of some of our English Volunteer Corps. I will give you a drawing of it. "Let the tunics be made of a thick and good cloth. Let the men have short trousers--or, as we call them, knickerbockers--with leather gaiters and lace boots. The shoes of your soldier are altogether a mistake. I will bring you a sketch, tomorrow; and you will see that it is neat, as well as serviceable." "Thank you. "By the way, I suppose that you have no objection to my mentioning, at the meeting this evening, that your sons have joined? If there should be any inclination to hang back--which I hope there will not be--the fact that your boys have joined may decide many who would otherwise hesitate." "Certainly. "I will not detain you longer, at present. I shall see you in a day or two, and any assistance which I can give is at your service." "Thanks very much. I only wish that you could go with us. "Goodbye. Tell the boys that their names are down, and that we shall begin drill in a day or two." Chapter 3: Death To The Spy! The next morning Madame Duburg arrived, at ten o'clock; an hour at which she had never, as far as Mrs. Barclay knew, turned out of her house since her marriage. She was actually walking fast, too. It was evident that something serious was the matter. Mrs. Barclay was in the garden, and her visitor came straight out from the house to her. "Is anything the matter?" was Mrs. Barclay's first question. "Yes, a great deal is the matter," Madame Duburg began, vehemently. "You and your English husband are mad. Your wretched boys are mad. They have made my sons mad, also; and--my faith--I believe that my husband will catch it. It is enough to make me, also, mad." Notwithstanding the trouble in which Mrs. Barclay was, at the resolution of her sons, she could scarcely help smiling at the excitement of Madame Duburg; the cause of which she at once guessed. However, she asked, with an air of astonishment: "My dear sister-in-law, what can you be talking about?" "I know what I say," Madame Duburg continued. "I always said that you were mad, you and your husband, to let your boys go about and play, and tear and bruise themselves like wild Indians. I always knew that harm would come of it, when I saw my boys come in hot--oh, so unpleasantly hot, to look at--but I did not think of such harm as this. My faith, it is incredible. When I heard that you were to marry yourself to an Englishman, I said at once: "'It is bad, harm will come of it. These English are islanders. They are eccentric. They are mad. They sell their wives in the market, with a cord round their neck.'" "My dear sister-in-law," Mrs. Barclay interrupted, "I have so often assured you that that absurd statement was entirely false; and due only to the absolute ignorance, of our nation, of everything outside itself." "I have heard it often," Madame Duburg went on, positively. "They are a nation of singularities. I doubt not that it is true, he has hidden the truth from you. True or false, I care not. They are mad. For this I care not. My faith, I have not married an Englishman. Why, then, should I care for the madness of this nation of islanders? "This I said, when I heard that you were to marry an Englishman. Could I imagine that I, also, was to become a victim? Could I suppose that my husband--a man sensible in most things--would also become mad; that my boys would grow up like young savages, and would offer themselves to go out to sleep without beds, to catch colds, to have red noses and coughs, perhaps even--my faith--to be killed by the balls of German pigs? My word of honor, I ask myself: "'Am I living in France? Am I asleep? Am I dreaming? Am I, too, mad?' "I said to myself: "'I shall go to my sister-in-law, and I will demand of her, is it possible that these things are true?'" "If you mean by all this, sister-in-law, is it true that I have consented to my boys going out to fight for France, it is quite true," Mrs. Barclay said, quietly. Madame Duburg sat down upon a garden seat, raised her hands, and nodded her head slowly and solemnly. "She says it is true, she actually says that it is true." "Why should they not go?" Mrs. Barclay continued, quietly. "They are strong enough to carry arms, and why should they not go out to defend their country? In a short time, it is likely that everyone who can carry arms will have to go. I shall miss them sorely, it is a terrible trial; but other women have to see their sons go out, why should not I?" "Because there is no occasion for it, at all," Madame Duburg said, angrily; "because they are boys and not men, because their father is English; and stupid men like my husband will say, if these young English boys go, it will be a shame upon us for our own to remain behind. "What, I ask you, is the use of being well off? What is the use of paying taxes for an army, if our boys must fight? It is absurd, it is against reason, it is atrocious." Madame Duburg's anger and remonstrance were, alike, lost upon Mrs. Barclay; and she cut her visitor short. "My dear sister-in-law, it is of no use arguing or talking. I consider, rightly or wrongly, that the claims of our country stand before our private convenience, or inconvenience. If I were a man, I should certainly go out to fight; why should not my boys do so, if they choose? At any rate, I have given my consent, and it is too late to draw back, even if I wished to do so--which I say, frankly, that I do not." Madame Duburg took her departure, much offended and, late in the evening, her husband came in and had a long talk with Captain Barclay. The following morning Louis and Philippe came in--in a high state of delight--to say that their father had, that morning, given his consent to their going. In three days after the opening of the list, a hundred and twenty men had inscribed their names; and Captain Tempe refused to admit more. Numbers were, he argued, a source of weakness rather than of strength, when the men were almost entirely ignorant of drill. For sudden attacks, for night marches, for attacks upon convoys, number is less needed than dash and speed. Among large bodies discipline cannot be kept up, except by immense severity upon the part of the officers; or by the existence of that feeling of discipline and obedience, among the men, which is gained only by long custom to military habits. Besides which, the difficulty of obtaining provisions for a large body of men would be enormous. Indeed, Captain Tempe determined to organize even this small corps into four companies, each of thirty men; to act under one head, and to join together upon all occasions of important expeditions; but at other times to be divided among villages, at such distance as would enable them to watch a large extent of country, each company sending out scouts and outposts in its own neighborhood. By far the larger proportion of those who joined were either proprietors, or the sons of proprietors, in and around Dijon. At that time Government had made no arrangement, whatever, concerning franc tireurs; and no pay was, therefore, available. The invitation was, therefore, especially to those willing and able to go out upon their own account, and at their own expense. Other recruits had been invited but, as these could join the regular forces and receive pay, and other advantages, the number who sent in their names was small. The men who did so were, for the most part, picked men; foresters, wood cutters, and others who preferred the certainty of active and stirring service, among the franc tireurs, to the pay and comparative monotony of the regular service. There were some forty of these men among the corps, the rest being all able to provide at least their outfit. Subscriptions had come in rapidly and, in a week, an ample sum was collected to arm and equip all those not able to do so for themselves; and to form a military chest sufficient to pay for the food of the whole corps, in the field, for some time. When the list of volunteers was complete, a meeting was held at which, for the first time, the future comrades met. Besides Ralph and Percy, and their cousins, there were six or eight others of their school friends, all lads of about sixteen. It was an important moment in their lives, when they then felt themselves--if not actually men--at least, as going to do the work of men. Upon the table in the room in which the meeting was held was a document, which each in turn was to sign and, behind this, Captain Tempe took his seat. As many of those present knew each other, there was a considerable buzz and talk in the room, until Captain Tempe tapped the table for silence, and then rose to speak. "My friends," he began, "--for I cannot call you comrades, until you have formally entered your names--before you irrevocably commit yourselves to this affair, I wish you each to know exactly what it is that we are going to do. This will be no holiday expedition. I can promise all who go with me plenty of excitement, and a great deal of fighting; but I can also promise them, with equal certainty, an immense deal of suffering--an amount of hardship and privation of which, at present, few here have any idea, whatever. The winter is fast coming on, and winter in the Vosges mountains is no trifle. Let no one, then, put down his name here who is not prepared to suffer every hardship which it is well possible to suffer. "As to the danger, I say nothing. You are Frenchmen; and have come forward to die, if needs be, for your country." Here the speaker was interrupted by loud cheering, and cries of "Vive la France!" "Next, as to discipline. This is an extremely important point. In our absence from military stations, it is essential that we, ourselves, should keep and enforce the strictest discipline. I have this morning received from General Palikao--under whom I served, for many years--an answer to an application I wrote to him, a week since. He highly approves of my plan of cutting the roads behind the Prussians, and only wishes that he had a hundred small corps out upon the same errand. He has already received other proposals of the same nature. He enclosed, with his letter, my formal appointment as Commandant of the Corps of Franc Tireurs of Dijon; with full military authority, and power." Great cheering again broke out. "This power, in case of need, I warn you that I shall use unhesitatingly. Discipline, in a corps like ours, is everything. There must be no murmuring, under hardships; no hesitation in obeying any order, however unpleasant. Prompt, willing, cheerful obedience when at work; a warm friendship, and perfect good fellowship at other times: this is my programme." The speaker was again interrupted with hearty cheering. "I intend to divide the corps into four companies, each of thirty men. Each company will have an officer; and will, at times, act independently of each other. I have deliberated whether it is best to allow each company to choose its own officer, or whether to nominate them myself. I have determined to adopt the latter course. You can hardly be such good judges, as to the qualities required by officers during an expedition like the present, as I am; and as I know every man here, and as I shall have the opportunity of seeing more of each man, during the three weeks which we shall spend here upon drill, I shall then choose an officer for each company; but I will leave it to each company to decide whether to accept my choice, or not. There may be points in a man's character which may make him unpopular. "Now, as to drill. We have three weeks before us. Not long enough to make men good soldiers; but amply sufficient--with hard work--to make them good skirmishers. I have already arranged with four men who have served as non-commissioned officers in the army, one of whom will take each company. "Captain Barclay--who is well known to most of you--has kindly offered to give musketry instruction, for four hours each morning. Ten men of each company will go, each morning for a week, to drill at the range; so that, in three weeks, each man will have had a week's instruction. The hours will be from seven to eleven. The others will drill during the same hours. "All will drill together, in the afternoon, from three to six. The officer commanding the troops, here, has promised us the loan of a hundred and twenty old guns, which are in store; and also of twenty chassepots for rifle practice. "That is all I have to say. All who are ready and willing to enter, upon these terms, can now sign their names. Those who are not perfectly sure of their own willingness can draw back, before it is too late." When the cheering ceased, each man came forward and signed his name. "The first parade will take place, at seven tomorrow morning, in the Place d'Armes. A suit of uniform, complete, will be exhibited here at twelve o'clock. A man has offered to supply them, at contract prices; but any who prefer it can have it made by their own tailor. "Now, good night, boys." "Vive les franc tireurs du Dijon!" "Vive la France!" and, with a cheer, the men separated. The next morning the corps met, and were divided into companies. The division was alphabetical, and the young Barclays and Duburgs were all in the first company. This was a matter of great pleasure to them, as they had been afraid that they might have been separated. The following day, drill began in earnest and, accustomed as the boys were to exercise, they found seven hours a day hard work of it. Still, they felt it very much less than many of the young men who, for years, had done little but lounge in cafes, or stroll at the promenade. All, however, stuck to their work and, as their hearts were in it, it was surprising how quickly they picked up the rudiments of drill. Fortunately, they were not required to learn anything beyond the management of their firearms, the simplest movements, and the duty of skirmishers; as all complicated maneuvers would have been useless, in a small corps whose duties would be confined entirely to skirmishing. With this branch of their work, Captain Tempe was determined that they should be thoroughly acquainted, and they were taught how to use cover of all kinds with advantage; how to defend a building, crenelate a wall, fell trees to form an obstacle across roads, or a breastwork in front of them; and how to throw themselves into square, rapidly, to repel cavalry. Captain Barclay was indefatigable as a musketry instructor and, with the aid of a few friends, got up a subscription which was spent in a number of small prizes, so as to give the men as much interest as possible in their work. Captain Tempe impressed most strenuously, upon the men, the extreme importance of proficiency in shooting; as it was upon the accuracy and deadliness of their fire that they would have to rely, to enable them to contend with superior forces in the combats they would have to go through; and each man would probably have frequently to depend, for his life, upon the accuracy of his fire. The original plan--of instructing a third of the men, each week, in musketry--was abandoned; and the parties were changed each day, in order to enable all to advance at an equal rate. Besides, their ammunition was supplied; so that those who chose to do so could practice shooting, for their own amusement, between their morning and afternoon drill. The Barclays were constant in their attendance at the shooting ground; and the steady hand and eye which cricket, fencing, and other exercises had given them now stood them in good stead for, by the end of the time, they became as good marksmen as any in the corps. They still lived at home, as did all those members of the corps whose residences were in and around Dijon. For those who lived too far away to come in and out every day to drill, a large empty barn was taken, and fitted up as a temporary barracks. The time did not pass away without great excitement for, as the end of August drew on, everyone was watching, in deep anxiety, for the news of a battle near Chalons--where MacMahon had been organizing a fresh army. Then came the news that the camp at Chalons was broken up, and that MacMahon was marching to the relief of Bazaine. Two or three days of anxious expectation followed; and then--on the 3rd of September--came the news, through Switzerland, of the utter defeat and surrender of the French army, at Sedan. At first, the news seemed too terrible to be true. People seemed stunned at the thought of a hundred thousand Frenchmen laying down their arms. Two days later came the news of the revolution in Paris. This excited various emotions among the people; but the prevailing idea seemed to be that--now there was a republic--past disasters would be retrieved. "What do you think of the news, papa?" the boys asked as, drill over, they hurried up to talk the matter over with their father. "With any other people, I should consider it to be the most unfortunate event which could have possibly occurred," Captain Barclay said. "A change of Government--involving a change of officials throughout all the departments, and a perfect upset of the whole machinery of organization--appears little short of insanity. At the same time, it is possible that it may arouse such a burst of national enthusiasm that the resistance which, as far as the civil population is concerned, has as yet been contemptible--in fact, has not been attempted at all--may become of so obstinate and desperate a character that the Prussians may be fairly wearied out. "There is scarcely any hope of future victories in the field. Raw levies, however plucky, can be no match for such troops as the Prussians, in the open. The only hope is in masses of franc tireurs upon the rear and flanks of the enemy. Every bridge, every wood, every village should be defended to the death. In this way the Prussians would only hold the ground they stand on; and it would be absolutely impossible for them to feed their immense armies, or to bring up their siege materiel against Paris. "The spirit to do this may possibly be excited by the revolution; otherwise, France is lost. Success alone can excuse it; for a more senseless, more unjustifiable, more shameful revolution was, in my mind, never made. It has been effected purely by the Radicals and roughs of Paris--the men who have, for years, been advocating a war with Prussia; and who, a month ago, were screaming 'To Berlin.' For these men to turn round upon the Emperor in his misfortune and, without consulting the rest of France, to effect a revolution, is in my mind simply infamous. "Even regarded as a matter of policy, it is bad in the extreme. Austria, Italy, and Russia--to say nothing of England--would, sooner or later, have interfered in favor of an established empire; but their sympathies will be chilled by this revolution. The democratic party in all these countries may exult, but the extreme democratic party do not hold the reins of power anywhere; and their monarchs will certainly not feel called upon to assist to establish a republic. "Prussia herself--intensely aristocratic in her institutions--will probably refuse to treat, altogether, with the schemers who have seized the power; for the King of Prussia is perhaps the greatest hater of democracy in Europe. "Still, boys, these changes make no difference in your duty. You are fighting for France, not for an empire or a republic and, as long as France resists, it is your duty to continue. In fact, it is now more than ever the duty of you, and of every Frenchman, to fight. Her army is entirely gone; and it is simply upon the pluck and energy of her population that she has to trust." "Do you think Paris will hold out, papa?" "She is sure to do so, boys. She has made the revolution, and she is bound to defend it. I know Paris well. The fortifications are far too strong to be taken by a sudden attack, and it will be a long time before the Prussians can bring up a siege train. Paris will only be starved out and, if her people are only half as brave as they are turbulent, they ought to render it impossible for the Prussians to blockade such an immense circle. At any rate, France has two months; perhaps much longer, but two months ought to be quite enough, if her people have but spirit to surround the enemy, to cut off his supplies, and to force him to retreat." The next morning, when the corps assembled for drill, Captain Tempe addressed them on the subject of the events in Paris. He told them that, whether they approved or disapproved of what had taken place there, their duty as Frenchmen was plain. For the present they were not politicians, but patriots; and he hoped that not a word of politics would be spoken in the corps, but that everyone would give his whole thought, his whole strength and, if must be, his life in the cause of France. His address was greatly applauded, and gave immense satisfaction to the men; for already differences of opinion were becoming manifest among them. Some had exulted loudly at the downfall of Napoleon; others had said little, but their gloomy looks had testified sufficiently what were their opinions; while many among the gentlemen in the corps, especially those belonging to old families, were well known to be attached either to a Legitimist or Orleanist Prince. The proposal, therefore, that no politics should be discussed during the war, but that all should remember only that they were fighting for France, gave great satisfaction; and promised a continuance of the good fellowship which had hitherto reigned in the corps. It was a great day when, a fortnight from its first organization, the corps turned out for the first time in their uniforms. The band of the national guard headed them, as they marched down the high street of Dijon to the parade ground; and--as the spectators cheered, the ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and the whole corps joined in cheers, to the stirring notes of the Marseillaise--the young Barclays felt their cheeks flush, their hands tighten upon their rifles, and their hearts beat with a fierce longing to be face to face with the hated Prussians. A day or two after this, the Snider rifles ordered from England by Captain Barclay arrived; and although the men at first preferred the chassepots, with which they were familiar, they were soon accustomed to the new weapons; and readily acknowledged the advantage which--as their commander pointed out to them--the dark-brown barrels possessed, for skirmishers, over the bright barrels of the chassepots which, with the sun shining upon them, would betray them to an enemy miles away. A day or two afterwards, as Ralph and Percy were returning in the evening from drill, they heard a great tumult in the streets. They hurried forward to see what was the matter, and found an excited crowd shouting and gesticulating. "Death to the spy!" "Death to the spy!" "Hang him!" "Kill the dog!" were the shouts, and two gendarmes in the center of the crowd were vainly trying to protect a man who was walking between them. He was a tall, powerful-looking man; but it was impossible to see what he was like, for the blood was streaming down his forehead, from a blow he had just received. Just as the boys came up, another blow from a stick fell on his head; and this served to rouse him to desperation, for he turned round, with one blow knocked down the fellow who had struck him, and then commenced a furious attack upon his persecutors. For a moment they drew back, and then closed upon him again. Blows from sticks and hands rained upon him, but he struggled desperately. At last, overwhelmed by numbers, he fell; and as he did so he raised a wild shout, "Hurroo for ould Ireland." "He is an Englishman, Percy," Ralph exclaimed; "he is not a Prussian, at all. Come on! "Here, Louis, Philippe, help; they are killing an Englishman." Followed by their cousins--who had just arrived at the spot--the boys made a rush through the crowd; and arrived in another moment by the prostrate man, whom his assailants were kicking savagely. The rush of the four boys--aided by the butt-end of their rifles, which they used freely on the ribs of those who stood in their way--cleared off the assailants for an instant; and the two gendarmes--who had been hustled away--drawing their swords, again took their place by the side of their insensible prisoner. The mob had only recoiled for a moment; and now, furious at being baulked of their expected prey, prepared to rush upon his defenders; shouting, as they did so: "Death to the spy!" The moment's delay had, however, given time to the boys to fix bayonets. Illustration: Rescue of a Supposed Spy. "Keep off," Ralph shouted, "or we run you through! The man is not a spy, I tell you. He is an Englishman." The noise was too great for the words to be heard and, with cries of "Death to the spy!" the men in front prepared for a rush. The leveled bayonets and drawn swords, however, for a moment checked their ardor; but those behind kept up the cry, and a serious conflict would have ensued, had not a party of five or six of the franc tireurs come along at the moment. These--seeing their comrades standing with leveled bayonets, keeping the mob at bay--without asking any questions, at once burst their way through to their side; distributing blows right and left, heartily, with the butt-end of their rifles. This reinforcement put an end to the threatened conflict; and the gendarmes, aided by two of the franc tireurs, lifted the insensible man and carried him to the Maine; the rest of the franc tireurs marching on either side as a guard, and the yelling crowd following them. Once inside the Maine the gates were shut and--the supposed spy being laid down on the bench--cold water was dashed in his face; and in a few minutes he opened his eyes. "The murdering villains!" he muttered to himself. "They've kilt me entirely, bad luck to them! A hundred to one, the cowardly blackguards! "Where am I?" and he made an effort to rise. "You're all right," Ralph said. "You're with friends. Don't be afraid, you're safe now." "Jabers!" exclaimed the Irishman in astonishment, sitting up and looking round him, "here's a little French soldier, speaking as illegant English as I do, meself." "I'm English," laughed Ralph, "and lucky it was for you that we came along. We heard you call out, just as you fell; and got in in time, with the help of our friends, to save your life. Another minute or two, and we should have been too late." "God bless your honor!" the man--who had now thoroughly recovered himself--said earnestly. "And it was a tight shave, entirely. You've saved Tim Doyle's life; and your honor shall see that he's not ungrateful. Whenever you want a lad with a strong arm and a thick stick, Tim's the boy." "Thank you, Tim," Ralph said, heartily. "Now you had better let the surgeon look at your head. You have got some nasty cuts." "Sure, and my head's all right, your honor It isn't a tap from a Frenchman that would break the skull of Tim Doyle." The gendarmes now intimated that, as the prisoner was restored, he must go in at once before the Maire. The young Barclays accompanied him, and acted as interpreters at the examination. The story was a simple one, and the passport and other papers upon the Irishman proved its truth conclusively. Tim was an Irishman, who had come out as groom with an English gentleman. His master had fallen ill at Lyons, had parted with his horses and carriage, and returned to England. Tim had accepted the offer of the horse dealer who had purchased the horses to remain in his service, and had been with him six months when the war broke out. He had picked up a little French, but had been several times arrested in Lyons, as a spy; and his master had at last told him that it was not safe for him to remain, and that he had better return to England. He had reached Dijon on that morning; but the train, instead of going on, had been stopped, as large numbers of Mobiles were leaving for Paris, and the ordinary traffic was suspended. Tim had therefore passed the day strolling about Dijon. The hour had approached at which he had been told that a train might leave, and Tim had asked a passer by the way to the station. His broken French at once aroused suspicion. A crowd collected in a few minutes; and Tim was, in the first place, saved from being attacked by the arrival of two gendarmes upon the scene. He had at once told them that he was English, and had produced his passport; and they had decided upon taking him to the Maire, for the examination of his papers--but on the way the crowd, increased by fresh arrivals, had determined to take the law into their own hands; and only the arrival of the young Barclays, and their cousins, had saved his life. The Maire saw at once, upon examination of the papers, that the story was correct; and pronounced that Tim was at liberty to go where he pleased. The poor fellow, however--though he made light of his wounds and bruises--was much shaken; and it would, moreover, have been dangerous for him to venture again into the streets of Dijon. Ralph therefore at once offered to take him out, and to give him a night's shelter; an offer which the Irishman accepted, with many thanks. It was now getting dark and, accompanied by their cousins, the Barclays were let out with Tim Doyle from a back entrance to the Maine; and made their way unnoticed through the town; and arrived, half an hour later, at home. Captain and Mrs. Barclay, upon hearing the story, cordially approved of what the boys had done; and Captain Barclay having--in spite of Tim's earnest remonstrance that it was of no consequence in the world--put some wet rags upon the most serious of the wounds, bandaged up his head, and sent him at once to bed. In the morning, when the lads started for drill, the Irishman was still in bed; but when they returned to dinner, they found him working in the garden, as vigorously as if the events of the previous day had been a mere dream. When he saw them coming, he stuck his spade into the ground and went forward to meet them. "God bless your honors, but I'm glad to see you again; and to thank you for saving my life, which them bastes had made up their minds they were going to have. I ain't good at talking, your honors; but if it's the last drop of my blood that would be of any use to you, you'd be heartily welcome to it." "I am very glad we arrived in time, Tim," Ralph said. "And it's lucky for you that you shouted 'Hurrah for old Ireland!' as you went down; for of course we had no idea you were a countryman and, although we were disgusted at the brutality of that cowardly mob, we could hardly have interfered between them and a German spy. "What are you thinking of doing now? It will hardly be safe for you to travel through France while this madness about spies lasts for, with your broken French, you would be getting taken up continually." "I'm not thinking of it at all, your honor," the Irishman said. "The master has been telling me that your honors are starting for the war, and so I've made up my mind that I shall go along wid ye." The boys laughed. "You are not in earnest, Tim?" "As sure as the Gospels, your honor I've served five years in the Cork Militia, and wore the badge as a marksman; and so I mean to 'list, and go as your honors' sarvint." "But you can't do that, Tim, even if we would let you," Ralph laughed. "There won't be any servants at all." "Sure, your honor is mistaken, entirely," Tim said, gravely. "In the sarvice, a soldier is always told off as a sarvint for each officer." "But we are not going as officers, Tim," Percy said. "We are going as simple soldiers." "What! Going as privates?" Tim Doyle said, in astonishment. "Does your honor mane to say that you are going to shoulder a firelock, and just go as privates?" "That's it, Tim. You see, this is not a regular regiment; it is a corps of irregulars, and more than half the privates are gentlemen." "Holy Mother!" ejaculated Tim, in astonishment, "did one ever hear of the like?" Then, after a pause: "Then your honor will want a sarvint more than iver. Who is to clean your boots, and to pipeclay your belts; to wash your linen, to clean your firelock, and cook your dinners, and pitch your tent, if you don't have a sarvint? The thing's against nature, entirely." "We shall do it all ourselves, Tim--that is to say, as far as cleaning the rifles, washing our linen, and cooking the dinner. As for the other things, I don't suppose we shall ever have our boots cleaned; we have no white belts to pipeclay, for they are made of buff leather; and we shall not have to pitch tents, for we don't take them with us, but shall, when necessary, sleep in the open air." Tim was too surprised to speak, for a time. At last, he said doggedly: "Sarvint or no sarvint, your honor, it is evident that it's rough times you're going to have; and Tim Doyle will be there with you, as sure as the piper." "We should like you with us very much, Tim, if you make up your mind to go," Ralph said; "but the corps is quite full. We have refused dozens of recruits." Tim looked downcast. At last he said: "Well, your honor, it may be that they won't have me as a soldier; but I'll go sure enough, if I die for it. There's no law to punish a man for walking after a regiment of soldiers and, wherever your regiment goes, sure enough I'll tramp after ye. There's many an odd way I might make myself useful, and they'll soon get used to see me about, and let me come and go into the camp." No persuasion could alter Tim's determination and, as they felt that having so attached a fellow near them might be of real utility, and comfort, when the boys went down in the afternoon they spoke to Captain Tempe about it. At first he said that it was impossible, as he had already refused so many offers of service; but upon hearing all the story, and thinking the matter over, he said suddenly: "By the bye, there is a way by which he might go with us. You know I have ordered a light two-wheel cart, built very strong for the mountains, to carry our spare ammunition, powder for blowing up bridges, cooking pots, and stores. I have not engaged a driver as yet. If your Irishman--who you say understands horses--likes to go as a driver, to begin with, I will promise him the first vacant rifle. I fear that he will not have long to wait, after we once get near the enemy; and as he has already served, you say, he will be better than a new recruit, and we can get a countryman to take his place with the cart." Upon their return in the evening with the news, Tim Doyle's joy knew no bound; and he whooped and shouted, till Milly laughed so that she had to beg of him to stop. The next day, Tim went down with Captain Barclay and signed the engagement. He remained with the captain during the time that the latter was giving his instructions in musketry--entering upon his duties in connection with the corps by going down to the butts, and acting as marker--and then returned with him to the cottage; as it was agreed that he had better remain there, quietly, until the corps was ready to march--as, if he were to venture alone in the town, he might at any time be subject to a repetition of the attack upon the day of his arrival. At the cottage he soon became a general favorite His desire to make himself useful in any way, his fund of fun and good temper, pleased everyone. Even Marie and Jeannette--the two servants, who could not understand a word of what he said--were in a constant broad grin, at the pantomime by which he endeavored to eke out his few words of French. Milly became quite attached to him; and Captain and Mrs. Barclay both felt cheered, and comforted, at the thought that this devoted fellow would be at hand to look after and assist the boys, in time of danger, suffering, or sickness. Chapter 4: Starting For The Vosges. The day for the departure of the corps was near at hand. The party at the Barclays were all filled with sadness, at the thoughts of separation; but all strove to hide their feelings, for the sake of the others. Captain and Mrs. Barclay were anxious that the boys should leave in good spirits, and high hope; while the boys wished to keep up an appearance of merely going upon an ordinary excursion, in order to cheer their parents. The day before starting, the whole corps marched to the cathedral; where mass was celebrated, a sermon preached, and a blessing solemnly prayed for for them. The boys had asked their father if he had any objections to their taking part in this ceremonial, in a Roman Catholic Church; but Captain Barclay had at once said that, upon the contrary, he should wish them to do so. Protestants might not approve of many things in the Catholic Church; but that could be no reason, whatever, against a Protestant taking part in a solemn prayer to God, wherever that prayer might be offered up. The young Duburgs were unaffectedly glad that the time for their departure had come, for the month that had passed had been a most unpleasant one to them. Their mother had in vain tried to persuade them to stay; first by entreaty, and then by anger and, finding these means fail, she had passed her time either in sullen silence, or in remaining in bed; declaring that her nerves were utterly shattered, and that she should never survive it. She had refused to see Mrs. Barclay when the latter called, a day or two after their visit to the cottage, and she had not been near her since. Julie and Justine were forbidden to go in to see Milly and, altogether, there was quite an estrangement between the two families. The boys however were, of course, constantly together; and Monsieur Duburg came in as usual, every day or two, for a chat with Captain Barclay. September the fifteenth--the day of separation--arrived. They were to march at eight in the morning; and left home, therefore, at seven. This was so far fortunate that it left less time for the painful adieus. Captain Barclay had a long talk with the boys the night before, repeating all the hints and instructions which he had before given them. It is not necessary to describe the parting. Every one of my readers can imagine for themselves how sad was the scene. How Milly sobbed aloud, in spite of her efforts; how Mrs. Barclay kissed her boys, and then ran up to her own room to cry alone; how their father wrung their hands and, after giving them his blessing, turned hastily away, that they might not see the tears which he could not keep back; and how the boys, in spite of their uniform and their dignity as soldiers, cried, too. Tim Doyle had gone on an hour before, taking their blankets; so they had nothing to do but to snatch up their guns and hasten away, half blinded with tears, towards the town. They reached it just as the bugle sounded the assembly. By this time they had steadied themselves and, in the work of preparing for the start, soon lost all feeling of despondency. It would be difficult to find a more workmanlike little corps than the franc tireurs of Dijon as, with the band of the national guard at their head, playing the Marseillaise, they marched through the old city. Their uniform was a brownish gray Their blankets--rolled up tight and carried, like a scarf, over one shoulder and under the other arm--were brown, also. Their belts and gaiters were of buff leather. Their caps had flat peaks, to shade their eyes; but round the cap was rolled a flap lined with fur, which let down over the ears and back of the neck, tying under the chin. On the outer side of the fur was thin India-rubber, to throw the rain off down over the light waterproof cloaks; which each man carried in a small case, slung to his belt. The waterproof on the caps, when rolled up, did not show; the caps then looking like fur caps, with a peak. Slung over the shoulder, on the opposite side to the blanket, was a haversack--or stout canvas bag--brown like the rest of the equipments. Each bag was divided into two compartments; the larger one holding a spare shirt, a few pairs of socks and handkerchiefs, a comb, and other small necessaries. In the other, bread, biscuits or other provisions could be carried. Each man had also a water bottle, slung over his shoulder. On either side of the ammunition pouch, behind, was strapped a new boot; so placed that it in no way interfered with the bearer getting at the pouch. Next was fastened the tin box; the lid of which forms a plate, the bottom a saucepan or frying pan. On one side hung the bayonet; upon the other a hatchet, a pick, or a short-handled shovel--each company having ten of each implement. It will be judged that this was a heavy load, but the articles were all necessaries; and the weight over and above the rifle and ammunition was not--even including the pick or shovel--more than half that ordinarily carried by a French soldier. At the head of the corps marched its commandant. The French term commandant answers to an English major, and he will therefore in future be termed Major Tempe. Each of the four companies was also headed by its officer. Major Tempe had chosen for these posts four men who, like himself, had served--three in the army, and one in the navy. He had written to them as soon as the corps was organized, and they had arrived ten days before the start. One or two only of the franc tireurs--who had entertained a hope of being made officers--were at first a little discontented but, as it was evidently vastly to the advantage of the corps to have experienced officers, the appointments gave great satisfaction to the rest of the men. Fortunately, there were in the ranks several men who had served as privates or non-commissioned officers; and from these Major Tempe selected a sergeant, and a corporal, for each company. Behind the corps followed the cart; loaded with the stores of the corps, a considerable amount of ammunition, two or three cases of gun cotton for blowing up bridges, several small barrels of powder, a large quantity of fine iron wire, three or four crowbars, bags of coffee and rice, and a keg of brandy, four kettles and as many large saucepans, together with all sorts of odds and ends. By the side of the horse walked Tim Doyle; dressed in the uniform of the corps, but without the equipments, and with a long blouse worn over his tunic. He was, in fact, already enrolled as an active member of the corps. This was done, in the first place, at his own earnest request; and upon the plea that thus only could he escape the chance of being seized as a spy, whenever he might for a moment be separated from the corps; and also that, unless he had a uniform like the rest, how could he take any vacancy in the ranks, even when it should occur? Major Tempe, in exceeding the hundred and twenty determined upon, was influenced partly by these arguments; but more by the fact that difficulties would arise about food, cooking, and various other points, if the driver were not upon the same footing as the rest of the corps. The march was not a long one--only to the railway station. A few carriages, with a truck for the cart, and a horse box, were drawn up alongside the platform in readiness; and in ten minutes more all were in their places, the carriages attached to the ordinary train and--amidst great cheering and waving of handkerchiefs and hats, from hundreds of people collected in the station to see them off--they started for the Vosges. Railway traveling, at no time rapid, was extremely slow at this period; and it was evening before they arrived at Epinal, where they were to pass the night. The journey, shortened by innumerable songs and choruses, had scarcely seemed long. The railway ran throughout its whole distance through pretty, undulating country; indeed, towards the end of their journey, when they were fairly among the Vosges, the scenery became wild and savage. At Vesoul, which was about halfway, the train had stopped for two hours; and here wine, bread and cheese, cold sausages, and fruits were distributed to the men by the inhabitants--who were assembled in large numbers at the station, and gave the corps an enthusiastic reception. They were the first band of franc tireurs who had passed through, and the inhabitants regarded them as protectors against the wandering Uhlans; whose fame, although as yet far off, had caused them to be regarded with an almost superstitious fear. At Epinal, a similar and even warmer greeting awaited them; Epinal being so much nearer to the enemy that the fear of Uhlans was more acute. The station was decorated with green boughs; and the Maire, with many of the leading inhabitants, was at the station to receive them. The corps formed upon the platform; and then marched through the little town to the Hotel de Ville, loudly cheered by the people as they passed along. Here they were dismissed, with the order to parade again at half-past four in the morning. There was no trouble as to billets for the night, as the Maire had already made out a list of the inhabitants who had offered accommodation--the number being greatly in excess of the strength of the corps. These persons now came forward, and each took off the number of franc tireurs who had been allotted to them. The sergeant of the first company, knowing the relationship and friendship of the young Barclays and Duburgs, had promised them that--when practicable--he would always quarter them together. Upon the present occasion, the four were handed over to a gentleman whose house was a short distance outside the town. Upon the way, he chatted to them on the proposed course of the corps, upon its organization and discipline; and they asked for the first time the question which was so often, in future, to be upon their lips: "Had he any news of the enemy?" The answer was that none, as yet, had come south of Luneville; and that indeed, at present they were too much occupied at Metz, and Strasburg, to be able to detach any formidable parties. Small bodies of Uhlans occasionally had made raids, and driven in sheep and cattle; but they had not ventured to trust themselves very far into the mountains. Upon arriving at the residence of their host, they were most kindly received by his wife and daughter; who, however, could not refrain from expressing their surprise at the youthfulness of their guests. "But these are mere boys!" the lady said to her husband, in German; "are all the franc tireurs like these?" "Oh no," her husband said, in the same language, "the greater part are sturdy fellows but, as they marched by, I observed some twelve or fourteen who were scarcely out of their boyhood. "It is cruelty to send such youngsters out as these. What can they do against these Prussians, who have beaten our best soldiers?" "Fortunately," Ralph said in German--which he spoke fluently, as has already been stated--and with a merry laugh--which showed that he was not offended at the remark--"fortunately, fighting now is not an affair of spears and battle axes Age has nothing to do with shooting; and as for fatigue, we shall not be the first in the corps to give up." "I must really apologize very much, but I had no idea that you understood German, or I should not have made any remarks," the lady said, smiling; "but so few French boys, out of Alsace, do understand it that it never struck me that you spoke the language. You will find it an immense advantage for, outside the towns, you will scarcely meet a person understanding French. But I am sure you must be all very hungry, and supper is quite ready." They were soon seated at a well-spread table--waited upon by the daughter of the family--while their host and hostess sat and chatted with them, as to their corps, while the meal went on. "Excuse another remark upon your personal appearance," the lady said, smiling, "but two of you look more like Alsatians than French. You have the fair complexion and brown, wavy hair. You do not look like Frenchmen." "Nor are we," Ralph laughed. "My brother and myself, although French born, are actually English. Our father is an English officer, but our mother is French and, as you see, we take after him rather than her." "But I wonder that, as your father is English, he lets you go out upon this expedition--which is very perilous." "We wished to go--that is, we thought it was our duty," Ralph said; "and although they were very sad at our leaving, they both agreed with us." "I wish all Frenchmen were animated by the same feeling," their host said warmly. "Your gallant example should shame hundreds of thousands of loiterers and skulkers. "You speak French perfectly. I should have had no idea that you were anything but French--or rather, from the way you speak German, that you were Alsatian." "We have lived in France all our lives, except for two years which we passed in Germany; and two years at one time, together with one or two shorter visits, in England." "And do you speak English as well as French?" "Oh yes, we always speak English at home. Our father made a rule that we should always do so; as he said it would be an immense disadvantage to us, when we returned to England, if we had the slightest French accent. Our mother now speaks English as purely and correctly as our father." "Are your friends any relations of yours?" "They are our cousins," Ralph said; "their father is our mother's brother." For some time longer they chatted, and then their host said: "It is half-past nine; and we are early people, here. You will have to be up by five, so I think that it is time you were off to bed. We shall scarcely be up when you start; but you will find a spirit lamp on the table, with coffee--which only requires heating--together with some bread and butter. You will have some miles to march before you breakfast. "And now, you must all promise me that, if you come to this place again, you will come straight up here, and look upon it as your home. If you get ill or wounded--which I hope will not happen--you will, of course, go home; but something may occur not sufficiently important for you to leave the corps, but which could be set straight by a few days' nursing, and rest. In that case, you will come to us, will you not?" The boys all gratefully promised to avail themselves of the invitation, in case of need; and then said good night and goodbye to their host, and went off to the room prepared for them. In the morning they were up in good time, dressed as quietly as they could--so as not to disturb their host--and went downstairs; lit the spirit lamp under a glass bowl full of coffee and milk and, in ten minutes, were on their way towards the town. "We shall be lucky if we are often as comfortable as that," Percy said, looking back; and there was a general assent. "There goes the bugle," Louis Duburg said; "we have a quarter of an hour, yet. "What pretty girls those were!" Louis was nearly seventeen and, at seventeen, a French lad considers himself a competent judge as to the appearance and manners of young ladies. "Were they?" Percy said carelessly, with the indifference of an English boy of his age as to girls. "I did not notice it. I don't care for girls; they are always thinking about their dress, and one is afraid of touching them, in case you should spoil something. There is nothing jolly about them." The others laughed. "I am sure Milly is jolly enough," Philippe Duburg said. "Yes, Milly is jolly," Percy answered. "You see, she has been with us boys, and she can play, and doesn't screech if you touch her, or mind a bit if she tears her frock. So are our cousins in England--some of them. Yes, there are some jolly girls, of course; still, after all, what's the good of them, taking them altogether? They are very nice in their way--quiet and well behaved, and so on--but they are better indoors than out." The clock was just striking half-past five, as the boys reached the place of assembly. Most of the men were already upon the spot, and the bugler was blowing lustily. In another five minutes all were assembled; including Tim Doyle, with his horse and cart. "Good-morning, Tim," the boys said, as they came up to him. "I hope you had as comfortable quarters as we had, last night." "Splendid, your honor--downright splendid; a supper fit for a lord, and a bed big enough for a duchess." The boys laughed at the idea of a duchess wanting a bed bigger than anyone else, and Tim went on: "Ah, your honor, if campaigning was all like this, sure I'd campaign all my life, and thank you; but it's many a time I shall look back upon my big supper, and big bed. Not that I should like it altogether entirely; I should get so fat, and so lazy, that I shouldn't know my own shadow." And now the bugle sounded again, and the men fell in. As they started, they struck up a lively marching song; and several windows opened, and adieus were waved to them as they passed down the street into the open country. Everyone was in high spirits. The weather, which had for some time been unfavorable, had cleared up; the sun was rising brightly, and they felt that they had fairly started for work. The road was rough, the country wild and mountainous, thick forests extended in every direction, as far as the eye could carry. "There is one comfort, Percy," Ralph said, "if we are beaten and driven back, we might get into this forest, and laugh at the Prussians." Percy cast rather a doubtful eye at the dark woods. "The Prussians might not be able to discover us, Ralph; but I would as leave be killed by Prussian balls as die of hunger, and our chances of getting food there, for a hundred men, would be very slight." "They don't look hospitable, certainly, Percy. I agree with you. We had better keep in the open country, as long as possible." The first village at which they arrived was Deyvilliers. Here a halt was called for ten minutes, five miles having already been marched. Many of the men--less fortunate than the Barclays and Duburgs--had had nothing to eat upon starting and, when the arms were piled, there was a general dispersal through the village, in search of provisions. Bread had been bought over night, at Epinal, and brought on in the cart; which was fortunate, for the village was a very small one, and there would have been a difficulty in obtaining more than a loaf or two. Cheese and fruit were in abundance; and the boys bought some apples, and sat down by the little feeder of the Moselle which passes through the village, and watched it tumbling past on its way to join the main stream, a few miles below Epinal. In a quarter of an hour, they were again on the march. In another five miles they reached Fontaine, lying a little off the road to their right. They had now marched ten miles, and Major Tempe ordered a halt for three hours. A piece of level ground was chosen, arms were piled, blankets and haversacks taken off, and then preparations began for their first meal. Men were sent off with kettles, for water. Others went up to the village with cans for wine--or beer for, in Alsace, beer is more common than wine. Tim took the horse out of the shafts, and gave him some oats. Some of the men were sent from each company to fetch wood, and the old soldiers prepared for the important operation of cooking. Several little fireplaces were made, with stones and turf, open on the side facing the wind. In these sticks were placed and, when they were fairly alight, the saucepans--each holding the allowance of ten men--were placed on them. In these the meat--cut up in pieces of about half a pound--was placed; with pepper, salt, onions, rice, and potatoes peeled and cut up, and the whole filled up with water. When the preparations were finished, the men threw themselves down under the shade of some trees; and smoked and chatted until, in about an hour, the cooking was complete. Each man then brought up his tin canteen, and received his portion of soup in the deep side, and his meat and vegetables in the shallow can. The bread had already been cut up. The tin drinking pots which, with knives, forks, and spoons, were carried in the canteens, were filled with beer and, with much laughing and fun, each man sat down on the grass, or scattered rocks, to eat his breakfast. Many of the villagers had come down; and these brought, for the most part, little presents: a few apples, a little fresh cheese, or a bunch of grapes. It was a merry meal, and the boys agreed that it was the jolliest picnic that they had ever been at. At two o'clock the bugle sounded. The cooking things were packed up and placed in the cart again; the blankets and haversacks slung on, and the rifles shouldered and, with many a good wish from the peasants, they marched forward again. Eight miles further marching brought them to the end of their day's journey, the village of Destord. It was a tiny place, with scarcely over a half-dozen houses. Major Tempe in consequence determined, as the weather was fine, upon bivouacking in the open air. For a time, all were busy collecting wood. A sheltered place was chosen, for the village lay very high, close to the source of a little stream running into the river Mortagne. The cooking places were again prepared for supper. At seven o'clock the meal was served, differing but little from that of the morning; except that after the men had eaten the soup, and the meat from it (in France called bouilli), they fried some thin slices of meat in the lids of their canteens, and concluded the meal with a cup of coffee. Then four large fires were lit--one for each company--and a smaller one for the officers. Blankets were spread out on the ground round these fires, and the men lit their pipes and chatted gaily. All were more or less tired for, although their month's hard drill had accustomed them to work, eighteen miles with arms, ammunition, and accouterments had tired them more than they had anticipated. As this was their first night out, Major Tempe told them that he should not place a regular cordon of sentries; but that in future he should do so, whether they were near the enemy or not. By nine o'clock the fires began to burn low, the talking gradually ceased, and the men--rolling themselves up in their blankets, and putting their haversacks under their heads, for pillows--soon dropped off to sleep; a solitary sentry keeping guard against pilferers. A short march of ten miles took them, next day, to Rambervillers, where they were billeted among the inhabitants; and fourteen miles on the day after to Baccarat, on the river Meurthe, where they also obtained quarters. They were now approaching the neighborhood of the enemy, and Major Tempe advised a halt for the next day; in order that he might make inquiries, and investigate thoroughly the best route to be pursued. Chapter 5: The First Engagement. The news which the commandant of the franc tireurs heard, at Baccarat, determined him to change his intentions; and to push on without delay to Halloville--a tiny hamlet on the lower spurs of the Vosges, some four miles from Blamont; and overlooking the valley of the Vexouse, in which the latter town was situated. It was a long march, and the weather had again changed, the rain descending all day in a steady pour. The men--in their light, waterproof cloaks, and the flaps of their forage caps down--plodded steadily on; their spirit sustained by the thought that, ere another twenty-four hours, they might be in action. The news which hurried them forwards had been to the effect that a body of two hundred Uhlans had left Sarrebourg, and were advancing towards Blamont. They were going quietly, stopping to levy contributions at the villages on the way. It was probable that they would enter Blamont on the same evening that the franc tireurs reached Halloville. It was supposed that they would proceed, with the sheep and cattle that they had swept up, by the valley of the Vexouse to Luneville. To within four miles of Halloville, the road had been a fair one; but it was here necessary to turn off, by a track that was little better than a goat path. In vain, a dozen of the men were told off to help with the cart; in vain they pushed behind, and shoved at the spokes of the wheels. The road was altogether impracticable. At last the horse and cart were taken aside into a thick wood and left there; with Tim Doyle, a corporal, and six of the men who were the most footsore, and incapable of pushing on. Tim was dreadfully disgusted at being thus cut off from the chance of seeing, and joining in, any fighting; and only consoled himself with the hope that a vacancy would be likely to occur the next day, and that he would then be able to exchange his whip for a rifle. The rest of the corps plodded on until, long after dusk, they arrived at the half-dozen houses which form the village of Halloville. Their appearance, as they marched up to it, was greeted by a scream from a woman, followed by a perfect chorus of screams and cries. Men, women, and children were seen rushing out of the houses, and taking to flight; and it was with the greatest difficulty that they were made to understand the truth, that the formidable body, which had so suddenly dropped upon them, was not composed of the dreaded invaders. When the truth was known, they did their best to receive them hospitably. Their means, however, were small; their houses equally so. However, in a short time blazing fires were lighted on the hearths; blankets having been put up before the windows, to prevent any light being visible from the valley. A fire was allotted for the cooking of each company, and preparations for supper were soon commenced. Then an examination was made of the facilities in the way of sleeping; and two barns were found, well provided with straw. This was shaken out and, after eating their suppers, the men packed close together upon the straw, and soon forgot both damp and fatigue; numerous sentries being thrown out, in various directions, to prevent the possibility of surprise--for the peasants had informed them that the information which they had received was correct; and that the Uhlans, about two hundred strong, had entered Blamont that afternoon, and had laid a requisition of twenty thousand francs upon the inhabitants, besides a considerable amount of stores of all sorts. At three o'clock they were roused and found, to their great pleasure, that the rain had ceased. Guided by one of the villagers, they made their way down to a point where the wood approached quite close to the road, at a narrow point of the valley. Here Major Tempe posted his men along in the wood. Several coils of wire had been brought with them; and these were now stretched tightly from tree to tree, at a distance of about eighteen inches from the ground. Some forty yards farther back, young trees were felled and branches cut; and these were laid with the bushy parts towards the road, wires being twisted here and there among them, so as to form abattis perfectly impenetrable for horsemen, and difficult in the extreme for infantry. All worked hard and, by eight o'clock in the morning, everything was in readiness. A small party had been left upon the high ground near Halloville, and one of them had brought down news every half hour. Soon after daybreak, a party of Uhlans had been seen to leave Blamont, and to visit Barbas and Harboise--two villages in the flat of Blamont--and then to retire, driving some cattle and sheep before them. At ten o'clock the rest of the men from Halloville came down, with the news that the Uhlans--about two hundred strong--had just left Blamont, and were coming down the valley. Each man now took the station allotted to him: thirty men behind the trees, next to the road; the main body being stationed behind the abattis, each man having previously settled upon a spot where he could fire through the leaves, which entirely concealed them from view from the road. Number one company was placed to the right and, consequently, near to Blamont. Ralph and Percy were both in the front line, behind the trees. Not a shot was to be fired, on any consideration, until Major Tempe gave the word. The men behind the trees were all ordered to lie down among the low undergrowth and brushwood. The line extended nearly a hundred yards. The waterproofs, blankets, and all other impediments had been left behind at Halloville, so that the men had the free use of their arms. The rifles were loaded, the pouches shifted round so as to be ready at hand and--orders having been given that not a word should be spoken, even in a whisper--a perfect silence reigned over the spot. Ralph and Percy were near to each other. They had exchanged a hearty grip of the hand, before lying down; and now lay, with beating hearts and hands firmly grasping their rifles, in readiness for the signal. The time was not very long--only a few minutes--but it seemed to them an age before they heard the tramp of horses. Nearer and nearer they came, and now they could hear the jingling of accouterments First, through their leafy screen, they could see two Uhlans pass at a walk; scanning keenly the woods, and looking for possible danger. The bushes were thick, and they noticed nothing, and kept on at the same pace. It is probable, indeed, that they really anticipated no possibility of an attack, as the Dijon franc tireurs were the first who appeared upon the scene of action; and the Prussians were, consequently, in entire ignorance of the vicinity of any armed body of the enemy and, at worst, apprehended a stray shot from a straggler from one of the French armies, hidden in the woods. In another minute or two four more Uhlans passed; and after the same interval came the main body, escorting a number of cattle and sheep. The greater portion had passed the spot where the boys were lying, and were opposite the whole line of franc tireurs, when the silence of the wood was broken by Major Tempe's shout: "Now!" Before the Uhlans had time to rein in their horses, or to ask each other what was the meaning of the cry, the flash of thirty rifles broke from the trees, and several men fell from their horses. There was a momentary panic, followed by a hurried discharge of carbines at the invisible foe. The captain of the Uhlans--a handsome young officer, with light mustache and beard--shouted to his men: "Steady, they are only a handful. Form line, charge!" Quickly as the maneuver was executed, the franc tireurs had time to fire again; and then--in accordance with their orders--retreated, and joined their comrades by passages left in the abattis, on purpose. In another instant the Uhlans charged but, as quickly, the direst confusion reigned, where before had been a regular line. The wire had served its purpose. Horses and men went down on the top of each other, and thirty rifles again fumed their deadly hail into the confused mass. The second line of Uhlans--who had not charged--returned the fire of their invisible enemies and, although they could not see them, several of the balls took effect. Nothing could be cooler than the officers of the Uhlans, and their voice and example steadied their men. Under cover of the fire of their comrades the men, in part, extricated themselves and their horses, and drew back behind the wood. Orders were then given for all to dismount and, leaving their horses to be held by parties of their comrades--four horses to one man--the rest advanced on foot against their apparently greatly inferior foe, keeping up a heavy fire with their carbines. This was what the commandant of the franc tireurs had hoped for, and expected. The wire had been broken down by the weight of the horses; and the Prussians advanced, opposed only by a feeble return to their heavy fire, until within five paces of the leafy wall. Then the fire from a hundred rifles flashed out upon them. The effect was terrible, and a cry of surprise and rage burst from those who had escaped its effect. It was evident that they had fallen into an ambush. The captain--wild with rage and mortification, at the fault he had committed--rushed forward; and his men gallantly seconded his efforts. In vain, however, did they try to separate the interlaced boughs while, as they struggled, the shots from the enemy flashed out thick and fast. In another moment the young captain threw up his arms and fell, shot through the heart. The officer next in command ordered a retreat, the horses were regained and, amidst a continuous fire from the franc tireurs, the diminished troop galloped back towards Blamont. The franc tireurs now quitted their leafy fortress. A small party was at once sent forward up the valley, to give notice if the Uhlans showed any signs of returning. A strong body set to work to drive in the scattered animals--which were galloping wildly about the valley--while the rest collected the dead and wounded. Of the franc tireurs eight were killed, fourteen wounded. Of the Uhlans forty-seven were killed, and nineteen wounded remained on the ground. Their large number of killed, in proportion to the wounded, was accounted for by the fact that the firing was so close that, in many cases, the coats of the dead men were actually singed by the explosion; while the slightly wounded men had been able to regain their horses, and escape. The first impulse of the young Barclays, when the fire ceased, was to turn round and to embrace each other with delight--on finding that they had each escaped without a scratch--and then to shake hands heartily with their cousins, whose fortune had been equally good. There was no time for words, however; for Major Tempe's order came, sharp and decisive: "You the Barclays, you also the Duburgs, sling your arms, and go assist to drive in the cattle. Quick, lose no time. "You have done well. I am content with you, my boys." With a flush of pleasure, the boys started off to carry out the orders; which had been given, by their commander, with the kind thought of sparing the lads the terrible sight of the battle ground. The short but desperate conflict through which they had passed seemed, to the young Barclays, almost like a dream. In the excitement of loading and firing, in the tumult and the rattle, they had scarcely had time even to give a thought to the danger. Fear is seldom felt by the soldier when engaged in close conflict. The time when his nerves are most tried is while waiting inactive, at a distance, exposed to a heavy shell fire; or while advancing to an attack, under a storm of musketry and artillery. In a hand-to-hand conflict, he has no time to think. His nerves are strung up to so high a pitch that he no longer thinks of danger, or death. His whole thoughts are given to loading and firing. Any thought that the boys had given to danger was not for themselves, but for each other; and Ralph--though his own position was unsheltered--had once or twice spoken, to Percy, to keep his body better sheltered by the trees behind which he was standing. It was a long chase before the frightened animals were collected together, and driven up towards the spot where the fight had taken place. By the time that it was accomplished, the wounded had been collected, and the surgeons had bandaged many of their wounds. A qualified surgeon had accompanied the corps, as its regular doctor, and two other young surgeons had enlisted in its ranks; and these, their arms laid by, were now assisting to stanch the wounds and to apply bandages. Of the franc tireurs, there were only four so seriously wounded that they were unable to walk. By that time two carts arrived from the village of Douteppe, which stood in the valley, half a mile only from the scene of action; and to which place Major Tempe had sent off a messenger directly the affair had terminated. In one of these the wounded were placed, while in the other were piled the arms and accouterments of the fallen Uhlans. One of the young surgeons was to accompany the wounded as far as Baccarat, where they were to remain for treatment. Twenty-three horses of the Uhlans had also been captured, by the party who had driven in the cattle--among whom they were galloping. Four men were told off to take them back to Epinal, and there dispose of them, with their accouterments, for the benefit of the military chest of the corps. The question then arose as to what was to be done with the Prussian wounded. Major Tempe decided this by saying that, as it was quite impossible for the corps to be burdened with wounded men, the best plan was to allow one of the slightly wounded among the prisoners to walk back to Blamont; with a message that the Uhlans could come back to fetch their wounded without molestation, as the franc tireurs were upon the point of taking their departure. The corps then assembled round a grave which had already been dug, and into it the bodies of their comrades who had fallen were placed. Major Tempe then said a few brief words of adieu, hoping that all who fell might die equally bravely, and victoriously. Then the sods were shoveled in; and the men, saddened by the scene--though still flushed with the triumph of their first, and signal, success--prepared to leave the spot. Major Tempe had already held a consultation with his officers, and their plan of operation had been decided upon. The difficulty which they had encountered the evening before, with the horse and cart, had already proved that it would be impossible to drag it about with them. They had also taken thirty fine cattle, and upwards of a hundred sheep from the enemy; and it was therefore resolved to establish a sort of headquarters in the mountains, where they could retire after their expeditions, and defy the efforts of the Prussians to disturb them. The spot fixed upon was the forest of Bousson, high up among the Vosges, and distant two hard days' marching. A portion of the troop, therefore, went round to Halloville, to fetch the accouterments, blankets, etc. which had been left there; while the rest marched, by the road, to the place where the cart had been left the night before. Two peasants were engaged as guides and, in the afternoon, the corps started for their destination. It was a terrible march. The roads were mere tracks, and the weather was terrible. Over and over again, the men had to unload the carts, shoulder the contents, and carry them for a considerable distance, until ground was reached where the cart could again be loaded. It was not until late on the evening of the third day's march that, thoroughly done up by fatigue and hardship, the corps reached the little village of Raon, in the heart of the forest of Bousson. There was no possible fear of attack, here; and the commandant decided that, for the night, there was no occasion for any of the men to be out as sentries. The villagers at once took charge of the animals, and turned them into a rough enclosure. The men were too much done up even to care about keeping awake until supper could be cooked and--being divided among the houses of the village--they threw themselves down, and were fast asleep in a few minutes. The next morning, the sun shone out brightly; and the men, turning out after a long sleep, felt quite different creatures to the tired band who had wearily crawled into the village. The bright sky, the fresh morning air, the pleasant odor of the great pine forest around them, and the bracing atmosphere--at the height of fifteen hundred feet above the sea--at once refreshed and cheered them. There was a brief morning parade--at which Tim Doyle, for the first time, took his place with a rifle on his shoulder--and then the major dismissed them, saying that there would be no further parade that day, and that the men could amuse themselves as they liked. In a short time, every man was following the bent of his own inclination. First, however, there was a general cleaning of the rifles and accouterments; then most of the men went down to the stream, and there was a great washing of clothes, accompanied with much laughing and joking. Then needles and thread were obtained, from the women of the village, and there was much mending and darning--for the past three days' work, among rocks and woods, had done no little damage to their uniforms. Next came the grand operation of breakfast, for which two of the sheep had been killed. This, being the first regular meal that they had had, for three days, was greatly enjoyed. After it was eaten most of the men lit their pipes, and prepared to pass a day of delightful idleness. Two or three of the village boys had been engaged, as cowherds and shepherds; and the animals were all driven out into the woods where, in the open glades, they would find an abundance of food. The cart was unanimously condemned as worse than useless. An empty shed was turned into a storehouse; and it was determined that such stores of powder, etc. as might be required, upon each expedition, should be packed upon the horse's back and, if the horse could not take all required, that other horses should be hired. The Barclays, with their cousins, started for a ramble in the wood; taking with them the Irishman, whose good humor and unflagging spirits, during the last three days, had made him a general favorite. "Sure, and are there any wild bastes in the wood, your honor Because, if there be, it would be well to take our rifles with us. It would be mighty unpleasant to come across a lion, or a tiger, and not to be able to pass him the time of day." "No, Tim, we shall meet neither lions nor tigers, so you need not trouble yourself with a rifle. A hundred years ago, we might have met with a bear, or a wild boar; but they have disappeared, long since. It is possible that there are a few wolves scattered about; but they are never formidable to any but a solitary person, even in winter; and at all other times fly from man's approach." The party had a charming ramble, for the scenery here was very fine. At times, the forest was so thick that they could see no glimpse of the sky, and the trunks of the trees seemed to make a wall, all round them; then again, it would open, and they would obtain a glimpse over the country far away, rise beyond rise, to the plain of Champagne or--if the view were behind, instead of in front of them--they could see the tops of the highest range of the Vosges, rising hill above hill, and often wooded to the very summit--the Donon, one of the highest points of the range, being immediately behind them. The villages are, here, few and far between, and the people extremely poor; for the soil is poor, and although in summer the cattle--which form their only wealth--are able to pick up an abundance of food, in the forests, they have a hard struggle to keep them alive during the winter. Their language is German, and their appearance and dress rather German than French but, notwithstanding this, they were thoroughly French in spirit, and regarded the invaders with an intense hatred. Another day, passed in rest, completely restored the most exhausted of the band. Orders were therefore issued for an early start, the next morning; the object, this time, being to endeavor to cut the railway. The band were to march in a body for the slopes of the Vosges, behind Sarrebourg and Saverne; and were then to divide into companies, and scatter themselves among the villages between Lorquin and Marmontier, so as to act together or separately, as it might seem expedient. Chapter 6: The Tunnel Of Saverne. It is needless to follow the corps, step by step, through their marches; for the names of the little villages through which they passed would not be found in any maps published in England, and would therefore possess little interest for English readers. After two days' long marches, the main body of the corps reached a village situated in a wood, at about four miles from the great rock tunnel of Saverne. The fourth company had been left at a village, five miles to the left; while the third company were, next day, to march forward to a place at about the same distance to the right. Their orders were to keep a sharp lookout, to collect news of the movements and strength of the enemy; but not to undertake any expedition, or to do anything, whatever, to lead the enemy to guess at their presence in the neighborhood--as it was of vital importance that they should not be put upon their guard, until the great blow was struck. As soon as they had marched into the village, the principal inhabitants came forward, and a consultation was held as to providing lodgings. After some conversation, it was agreed that the officers should have quarters in the village; and that the schoolrooms--two in number--should be placed at the disposal of the men. They were good-sized rooms, and would hold thirty men each, without difficulty. The company who were to march forward in the morning were provided with quarters in the village. Ralph and Percy Barclay, as usual, acted as interpreters between Major Tempe and the inhabitants; for neither the major, nor any of his officers, spoke German. That language, indeed, was spoken only by a few men in the whole corps; and these the commandant had divided among the other companies, in order that each company might be able to shift for itself, when separated from the main body. "Have you seen this proclamation?" one of the villagers asked. "You see that we are running no little risk, in taking you in." Ralph read it, and as he did so his face flushed with indignation, and he exclaimed: "This is infamous! Infamous!" "What is it?" Major Tempe asked. "It is a proclamation from the Prussian General commanding the district, major, giving notice that he will shoot every franc tireur he may catch; and also giving notice to the inhabitants that if any Prussian soldier be killed, or even shot at, by a franc tireur--if a rail be pulled up, or a road cut--that he will hold the village near the spot accountable; will burn the houses, and treat the male inhabitants according to martial law, and that the same penalties will be exacted for sheltering or hiding franc tireurs." "Impossible!" Major Tempe said, astounded. "No officer of a civilized army could issue such an edict. Besides, during an invasion of Germany, the people were summoned by the King of Prussia to take up arms, to cut roads, destroy bridges, and shoot down the enemy--just as we are going to do, now. It is too atrocious to be true." "There it is, in black and white," Ralph said. "There can be no mistake as to the wording." Major Tempe looked grieved, as well as indignant. "This will be a terrible business," he said, "if the war is to be carried on in this way. Of course, if they give us no quarter, we shall give them none. That is, we must make as many prisoners as we can in order that, if any of our men are taken prisoners, we may carry out reprisals if they shoot them. "It will, besides this, do us great harm. Naturally, the villagers, instead of looking upon us as defenders, will regard us as the most dangerous of guests. They will argue: "'If we make no resistance, the Prussians may plunder us, but at least our houses and our lives are safe; whereas if these franc tireurs are found to have been with us, or if they make any attack in our neighborhood, we are not only plundered, but burnt out, and shot!' "Of course, we are always liable to treachery. There are scoundrels always to be found who would sell their own mothers, but now even the most patriotic cannot but feel that they are running an immense risk in sheltering us. "Never before, I believe, in the annals of civilized nations, did a man in authority dare to proclaim that persons should suffer for a crime with which they had nothing, whatever, to do. If we arrive at a little village, how are the people to say to us, 'We will not allow you to pull up a rail!'? And yet, if they do not prevent us, they are to be punished with fire and sword. And these people call themselves a civilized nation! "One of the evil consequences of this proclamation is that we shall never dare trust to the inhabitants to make inquiries for us. They will be so alarmed, in case we should attempt anything in their neighborhood, that they would be sure to do and say everything they could to dissuade us from it and, if inclined to treachery, might even try to buy their own safety by betraying us." Major Tempe was speaking to the other officers, who thoroughly agreed with his opinion. Ralph and Percy had remained in the room, in case any further questions might be asked in reference to the proclamation. They now asked if anything else were required and, upon a negative answer being given, saluted and took their leave. It was dusk when they went out and, as they walked towards the schoolroom, they heard a great tumult of voices raised in anger, among which they recognized that of Tim Doyle. "Howld yer jaw, you jabbering apes!" he exclaimed, in great wrath. "Give me a lantern, or a candle, and let me begone. The boys are all waiting for me to begin." Hurrying up, they found Tim surrounded by a few of the principal inhabitants of the village, and soon learned the cause of the dispute. Supper was served, but it was too dark to see to eat it; and Tim--always ready to make himself useful--had volunteered to go in search of a light. He had in vain used his few words of French with the villagers he met, and these had at last called the schoolmaster, the only person in the village who understood French. This man had addressed Tim first in French and then in German and, upon receiving no coherent answer in either language, had arrived at the conclusion that Tim was making fun of them. Hence the dispute had arisen. The boys explained matters, and the villagers--whose knowledge of England was of the very vaguest description; and most of whom, indeed, had previously believed that all the world spoke either French or German--were profuse in apologies, and immediately procured some candles, with which Tim and the boys hastened to the schoolroom. Two candles were given to each company and--one being lighted at each end of the room, and stuck upon nails in the wall--the boys were enabled to see what the place was like. Clean straw had been littered, a foot deep, down each side of the room; and fifteen blankets were folded, side by side, along by each wall. Upon pegs above--meant for the scholars' caps--hung the haversacks, water bottles, and other accouterments; while the rifles were piled along the center of the room, leaving space enough to walk down upon either side, between them and the beds. At the farther end of the room was a large fireplace, in which a log fire was blazing; and a small shed, outside, had been converted into a kitchen. "We might be worse off than this, a long way, Ralph," said Louis Duburg, as Ralph took his place on the straw next to him. "That we might, Louis. The fire looks cheerful, too, and the nights are getting very cold." "That they are, Ralph. "Ah! Here is supper. I am quite ready for that, too." The men who officiated as cooks--and who, by agreement, had been released from all night duty in consideration of their regularly undertaking that occupation--now brought in a large saucepan full of soup; and each man went up with his canteen, and received his portion, returning to his bed upon the straw to eat it. "Anything new, Barclay?" one of the men asked, from the other side of the room. "Yes, indeed," Ralph said. "New, and disagreeable. Mind none of you get taken prisoners, for the Prussian General has issued a proclamation that he shall shoot all franc tireurs he catches." "Impossible!" came in a general chorus, from all present. "Well, it sounds like it, but it is true enough," and Ralph repeated, word for word, the proclamation which he had translated to Major Tempe. As might have been expected, it raised a perfect storm of indignation; and this lasted until, at nine o'clock, the sergeant gave the word: "Lights out." In the morning, after parade, Ralph and Percy strolled away together and had a long talk and, at the end of an hour, they walked to the house where Major Tempe had established his headquarters. "Good morning, my friends," he said, as they entered. "Is there anything I can do for you? Sit down." "We have been thinking, sir--Percy and I--that we could very easily dress up as peasants, and go down to Saverne, or anywhere you might think fit, and find out all particulars as to the strength and position of the enemy. No one would suspect two boys of being franc tireurs. It would be unlikely in the extreme that anyone would ask us any questions and, if we were asked, we should say we belonged to some village in the mountains, and had come down to buy coffee, and other necessaries. The risk of detection would be next to nothing, for we speak German quite well enough to pass for lads from the mountains." Major Tempe was silent a minute. "You know you would be shot, at once, if you were detected." "No doubt, sir, but there is no reason in the world why we should be detected. The Prussians can't know everyone by sight, even within the town itself; and will not notice us, at all. If they do, our answer is sufficient." "I tell you frankly, boys, I was thinking only last night of the matter; but--however much you may make light of it--there is, of course, a certain amount of danger in acting as spies; and your father--my friend Captain Barclay--might say to me, if evil came of it: "'I gave you my boys to fight for France, and you have sent them to their death, as spies.' "So I resolved to say nothing about it." "But now we have offered, sir, the case is different," Ralph said. "From our knowledge of the language, and from our age, we are better fitted than anyone in the corps to perform this service; and therefore it would be clearly our duty to perform it, were it greatly more dangerous than it is. Our father said to us, at starting: "'Do your duty, boys, whatever the danger.' "We will see about our clothes--there can be no difficulty about that, there are several lads in the village whose things would fit us. Shall we come in this afternoon, for instructions?" "Thank you, lads," Major Tempe said, warmly. "I trust, with you, that no harm will come of it. But your offer is of too great advantage to the corps for me to persist in my refusal." Upon leaving the quarters of the commandant, the boys went at once to the house of a farmer a short distance from the village where, the day before, they had noticed two boys of about their own size. They explained to the farmer that they wanted to buy of him a suit of the working clothes of each of his sons. Greatly surprised at this request, the farmer had inquired what they could possibly want them for; and Ralph--who thought it better not to trust him with the secret--replied that, as the Prussian General had given notice that he should shoot all franc tireurs he might take prisoners, they wanted a suit of clothes, each, which they might slip on in case of defeat or danger of capture. The pretense was a plausible one; and the farmer sold them the required clothes, charging only about twice their cost, when new. The boys took the parcel and, instead of returning to the village direct, they hid it carefully in a wood, at a short distance away. They then returned and, in the afternoon, received detailed instructions from Major Tempe. It was arranged that the matter should be kept entirely secret, lest any incautious word might be overheard and reported. They were to start at daybreak, upon the following morning. Their cousins and Tim Doyle being--alone--taken into their confidence, their friends regretted much that they could not accompany them, and share their danger. The boys pointed out however that--even could they have spoken German fluently--they could not have gone with them as, although two strangers would excite no attention, whatever, five would be certain to do so. The next morning they started together, as if for a walk. Upon reaching the spot in the wood where the peasants' clothes were hidden, the boys took off their uniforms--which were wrapped up, and concealed in the same place--and put on the clothes. They fitted fairly; and more than that was not necessary, as peasants' clothes are seldom cut accurately to the figure. Rounding their shoulders, and walking with a clumping sort of stride, no one would have imagined that they were other than they pretended to be--two awkward-looking young Alsatian lads. They cut two heavy sticks, exchanged a hearty goodbye with their friends, and started for Saverne. Two hours later they were walking in its streets; staring into the shop windows, and at everything that was going on, with the open-mouthed curiosity of two young country lads. Then they made a few purchases--some coffee, sugar, and pepper--tied them in a colored pocket handkerchief, and then went into a small cabaret--where they saw some German soldiers drinking--sat down at a table, and called for some bread and cheese and beer. While they were taking them, they listened to the conversation of the soldiers. The only information that they gleaned from it was that the men seemed to have no expectation, whatever, of any early movement; and that they were heartily sick of the monotony of the place, and the hard work of patrolling the line of railway, night and day. Presently the soldiers paid for their beer, and left; and some of the townspeople came in, and took the places they had left. Their conversation, of course, turned on the Prussian occupation, and deep were the curses heaped upon the invaders. The only thing mentioned in their favor was the smallness of their number. There were not over two hundred men; and this amount weighed but lightly upon Saverne, compared with the fifty, sixty, or a hundred quartered at every little village along the line of railway. The boys had now learned what they most wanted to know and, paying for their refreshment, went out again into the street. Then they walked to the railway station--where they saw several soldiers, on guard--and then set off to a point where they could see the entrance to the tunnel. There two soldiers were on guard; while others were stationed, at short distances, all along the line. The boys now went up to a wood whence, unseen themselves, they could watch the trains passing. They came along nearly every half hour; immensely long trains, filled with stores of all kinds. As it became dusk, they saw a body of Prussian soldiers marching down the line; relieving the sentries, and placing fresh ones at distances of little more than fifty yards apart. These marched backwards and forwards, until they met each other; then returning, until they faced their comrade at the other end of their beat. "We can be off now, Percy," Ralph said, rising. "Our news is bad, for it will be by no means so easy to cut the line as we had expected. These weasels won't be very easily caught asleep." "No, indeed," Percy said. "The idea of cutting the line sounded so easy, when we were at a distance; but it is quite a different matter, now we are here." Upon their return they found--with some difficulty--the place where they had hidden their uniforms; again changed clothes, and then--carrying those they had just taken off, made up into bundles--they re-entered the village, and went straight to headquarters. Major Tempe was at dinner with the other officers, and received them with great pleasure; for he had been anxious, all day, lest any misfortune might befall them. Finding that they had had nothing to eat, since early in the morning, he at once invited them to sit down to dinner; for military discipline is far less strict in these matters, in France, than it is in England; and among the corps of franc tireurs especially--as among the English volunteers, where the private is in many cases equal to, or superior to, his officer in social standing--the difference of rank is very much put aside, except on duty. "And you say that they have a sentinel at every fifty or sixty yards, along the line?" Major Tempe said, when Ralph had given an account of their day's investigation. "That appears, to me, to be fatal to our plans." "Why so?" Lieutenant de Maupas--who commanded the first company--asked. "It seems to me that nothing could be easier. Suppose we fell upon any given point, the sentries near it would be at once killed, or made prisoners; and even allowing--as young Barclay says--that there are troops in all the villages, it would be a good half hour before a force, sufficient to disturb us, could arrive." "That is true enough," Major Tempe answered. "But what could we do, in half an hour? We might pull up two hundred yards of rail. What real advantage would be gained by that? The line of sentries along the rail would, by firing their rifles, pass the news ten miles, in half as many minutes; and the trains would be stopped long before they arrived at the break. Each train carries, I know, workmen and materials for repairing the line; and as it would be impossible for us to carry away the rails, after pulling them up, they would be replaced in as short a time as it took us to tear them up; and the consequence would be that the traffic would only be suspended for an hour or two, at most. For a break to be of any real utility, whatever, it must last for days, if not for weeks. "The great coup, of course, would be the destruction of the rock tunnel of Saverne, which was the special object of our presence here. Failing that, we must try a bridge. The tunnel, however, is the great affair. Once destroyed, there would be no repairing it, for many weeks. My proposition is, therefore, that we turn our attention at once to that point." There was a general murmur of assent. "The best course would be for Hardin's company to march direct to the other end of the tunnel, seize it, and prevent interference from that end; while the others then seize the Saverne end, and hold it while preparations are made for blowing it up. Then, when the match is lighted, fall back--if possible--before the arrival of heavy bodies of the enemy." "Nothing could be better," Lieutenant de Maupas exclaimed, and the other officers agreed with him. "What day do you propose for the movement?" "The day after tomorrow, at daybreak," Major Tempe said. "That will give us plenty of time to send orders to the other two companies; and the sooner it is done, the better." The conference was about to break up, when the surgeon--who had listened in silence--said: "The general plan is simple enough but, tell me, how do you propose to set about blowing the tunnel up? You may be able to hold it for half an hour, at most. How do you think of proceeding?" Major Tempe and his officers looked at each other. They had not, as yet, thought the matter over; but the instant it was put plainly before them, they saw the difficulty. "Oh," Lieutenant de Maupas said, confidently, "we shall, of course, put the nitroglycerine somewhere in the middle of the tunnel, and blow the whole affair up." Lieutenant de Maupas had been a sailor; and his quickness of decision and go-ahead, straight-forward way of doing everything made him, at once, a favorite and an amusement to the men; who had nicknamed him "Grande Vitesse," or, as we should say in English, the "Express." "I am afraid the matter is rather more difficult than you imagine, De Maupas," Major Tempe said, with a smile. "This is in Ribouville's way; as he was in the Engineers, he will know all about it." The officer named, however, did not reply for some little time; but sat with his head on his hand, in deep thought. "I feel ashamed to own it," he said, at last; "but I really do not know how one could set about the matter so as to have a chance of really destroying the tunnel, after so short a time for preparation. Were the tunnel an ordinary, brick-lined tunnel, the proposition of De Maupas--slightly modified--would no doubt have the effect of bringing down the brick lining, and the earth behind would fall in, of itself; but with a tunnel cut in the solid rock, it would be difficult. The natural strength of the tunnel would be so great that the force of the explosion would simply be lost, through the ends. It might or might not bring down a few masses of rock, but one could not rely upon it doing even that. "If I had time, the matter would be easy enough. I should make a deep chamber in the solid rock, at the side of the tunnel; insert my charge, and then tamp or fasten it in, with masonry. This would ensure its destruction, at the point of explosion; but I have no hope of any great damage being done, by merely putting two barrels of nitroglycerine down upon the line, and then firing them. I can assure you the point mooted by the doctor is more serious and, as far as I see at present, I could do nothing in half an hour which would, in any way, ensure the destruction of the tunnel. To make such a chamber as I speak of to hold two barrels of nitroglycerine would be the work of four or five days, working night and day--even with the aid of powder--and of course, it would be out of the question to hope for as many hours." There was a pause of consternation, as Lieutenant Ribouville spoke. Here was the end of the grand scheme, from which they had expected so much. At this time, the Germans had no other line of rail at their command; and the destruction of the tunnel would have been a disaster, equal to that of the loss of a pitched battle. "There would be no chance, would there, of our hiding in the woods under which the tunnel runs; so as to bore down to it, and blow it in from above?" Major Tempe asked. "None whatever. The depth to be bored would be considerable. The stone is hard, and it could not be pierced without the use of powder, which would betray our presence; and even could we use it, and were the men all good miners, it would be a work of months, at the very least." There was a silence for some minutes, and then the commandant said: "We cannot give it up, without a trial. Think it over, Ribouville, for the next three or four days. You may be able to pitch upon some plan. If you cannot do so, we must at least try the experiment of exploding our nitroglycerine in the middle of the tunnel--or, at any rate, as far in as we can carry it--and make our retreat in the half hour, which is all the time we can calculate upon holding the entrance." Chapter 7: A Baffled Project. Before leaving the headquarters of the commandant, the young Barclays asked if he wished that they should continue to keep silence upon the subject of their expedition. The commandant replied that he did not see that it could do any harm, provided that they impressed upon their comrades the necessity of maintaining an absolute silence upon the subject, when any of the people of the neighborhood were present. Although the villagers might appear to understand no language but German, they might yet know enough French to glean what was said and, if traitorously inclined, to warn the Germans, and thus enormously increase the danger when the Barclays should again go down to the town. Their cousins had already heard of their return; for the boys, upon sitting down to dinner at the commandant's, had requested leave to send a line to their cousins, who would be anxiously expecting them. "Hallo! You Barclay, where have you been to, all day?" was the general exclamation, as they entered. "On duty," Ralph said. "On duty--yes, but what duty? The Duburgs have been mysterious, and would say nothing. The sergeant here knew nothing about it, except that our lieutenant told him that you had leave; and Irish Tim has been hanging about all day, as restless as a cow that has lost its calf." "We have been down to Saverne," Ralph said. There was a general exclamation of astonishment. Those of the men who had already lain down upon their straw for the night sat up again, and all crowded round to hear Ralph's story, which he at once told at length; and which, when finished, gave rise here--as it had done at the officers' table--to an animated discussion. Several of the men shook hands warmly with the Barclays, congratulating them on their offer to undertake this dangerous service, and upon the valuable--though unfavorable--information which they had obtained. From this time forward, the men ceased to attempt to pass jokes at the expense of any of the boys. When the corps was first raised, many of the young men had been inclined to protest against boys being accepted, when the list could have been readily filled with men but, by this time, the boys had proved that they were quite as capable of supporting fatigue as were the men. They had behaved equally well in action; and now the enterprise of the Barclays testified to the fact that, in a dangerous expedition requiring coolness, presence of mind, and nerve, they were equally to be relied upon. Henceforward there was no distinction, or difference, between the various members of the corps. Another four days passed and--as the ex-officer of Engineers could suggest no certain plan, for the destruction of the tunnel, which could be carried out in the time which a surprise of the sentries at its mouth would give them--Major Tempe resolved upon delaying no longer; but on sending four men into the tunnel, under Lieutenant Ribouville, with instructions to go as far as they could in a quarter of an hour, to set down the barrels against the rock, to light a fuse cut to burn a quarter of an hour, and then to return at full speed to the mouth of the tunnel. One company was to seize the other end, to tear up seven, eight, or ten rails, and to retire at once into the woods; as the delay in getting the rails into their places again would prevent any train entering, from that end, in time for its occupants to see and extinguish the burning fuse. The other company--which was absent--was to join the headquarters, the evening before the attempt; and it was hoped that the three companies would be able to keep the enemy at bay for half an hour, so as to give time to the party with the nitroglycerine to take it to the required position, and rejoin their comrades. Immediately upon their doing so the retreat was to commence; as the enemy could not possibly penetrate the tunnel, and extinguish the fuse, before the explosion took place. The attempt was not to be made till the following evening; in order that the Barclays might go down, and see that all was as before at Saverne, and along the line. The next day, accordingly, the boys again put on their disguises and started; as before, taking the precaution to change in the wood, so as not to be seen by any of the villagers. Upon reaching the spot from which a view of the tunnel was obtainable, they stopped, with a simultaneous exclamation of dismay. Not only were two sentries stationed near the entrance; but some fifteen or twenty German soldiers were sitting or standing by a small building, at a short distance, which had evidently been turned into a guard house. "This looks very much against us, Ralph. One would think that they had got information of our being near." "It looks bad, indeed, Percy. Let us go on into the town. We shall, perhaps, learn something about it, there." A sharp walk soon brought them to Saverne. A sentry was on duty at the entrance to the town, and several of his comrades stood near. The sentry looked as if about to stop them; but seeing, when they came up, that they were only boys, he let them pass without question. "Worse and worse, Percy. Something is up, sure enough." This became more evident at every step they took, for the little town was absolutely crowded with German soldiers. "Unless they are merely halting here, upon their march through, it is all up with our plan, Percy. There must be over two thousand men here, at the very least." Upon questioning a lad of the town, of about their own age, they found that the fresh troops had arrived upon the preceding day; the infantry--two thousand strong--coming in by train, late in the evening before; and three hundred cavalry marched in, only half an hour before the boys' arrival. They were all quartered upon the inhabitants, and there appeared to be no sign of their early departure. For some time the boys walked about, without obtaining any information; although they entered a dozen cabarets, and drank considerable quantities of beer. At last, before one of the principal cafes, they saw ten or twelve German officers sitting, talking. None of the inhabitants were sitting at the cafe; and the boys dared not go in to ask for anything, there, as it would not have been in accordance with their appearance. "How are we to get within hearing, Percy?" "Look here, Ralph; I will limp along, as if I had something in my shoe which hurts me. Then I will sit down on a doorstep, close to them, and take off my boot. You can sit down, too, and take some of the bread and cheese which we put in our pockets, because we could not eat it at the last place we went in. I will keep my boot off, to ease my foot; and we can eat our bread and cheese, as slowly as we like." "That will do capitally, Percy." In another couple of minutes the two lads were sitting, as agreed, upon the step of a door close to the cafe. They could not hear all that was said; but could catch the sense, as the German officers--as is their custom--spoke in a very loud voice. They belonged to the infantry; and were, it appeared, in ignorance of the reason of their sudden move to Saverne. Presently a captain of the cavalry came along the street. "Ah, Von Rausen," a major in the infantry exclaimed, "are you here? I have not seen you since the day you marched from Coblentz." "No, indeed, major," the other said, saluting--as a Prussian officer always does, to his superior in rank--the other infantry officers all rising, and saluting in turn. "We have just come in from Hagenau." "Are you in a hurry?" asked the major. "If not, sit down and let us talk." The cavalry officer accepted the invitation and, for a few minutes, their talk ran upon mutual friends. Then the major said: "By the way, do you know what we are here for? We were bustled off at a moment's notice; no one knows why, except of course the colonel, and he has not thought necessary to tell us and, naturally, we have not asked him." "Do you not know?" Captain Von Rausen said. "It is no secret--at least, no secret from us, but a secret from the people here. I will speak in French; no doubt there are plenty of spies about." "There is no one in hearing," the major said, "except those two stupid-looking lads, munching bread and cheese." "The more likely to be spies," Von Rausen said. "Fellows who look like fools are just the people chosen." "Well, speak in English then, Von Rausen," the major said; "we both understand it, and we should be safe, then, if all Saverne were listening." "Yes, that will be safe. "Well, then, the general received information, yesterday, that that corps of franc tireurs who cut up our cavalry near Blamont, the other day, are hid up in some village in the woods, four or five miles from here; no doubt with the intention of making an attempt to blow up the tunnel. The idea is a daring one and, if the plan had succeeded, it would have done us incalculable harm. As it is, we are safe; and tomorrow night we shall, I believe, make an expedition, and sweep the woods clear of these troublesome gentry. "These franc tireurs will be mischievous if we do not give them a sharp lesson. The general's proclamation gave notice that every one of them taken would be shot, and our colonel is just the man to carry out the order." "This is indeed important," the major said. "But how did we get the information? Is it certain?" "Quite certain. A scoundrel of a schoolmaster at Grunsdorf--a village somewhere up in the woods--turned traitor; and sent a letter to the general, bargaining that he should be taken on as a spy, at some fabulous salary, and offering to begin by leading the troops to the village where these franc tireurs are hidden." "An infamous scoundrel!" the major said warmly. "Of course, one cannot refuse to deal with traitors, when the information is of importance; but one longs to put a pistol bullet into them. Badly as the French have come out in many particulars, since the war began, there is not one which gives me such a mean idea of them as the number of offers which have been sent in to supply information, and betray their countrymen." "Put on your boots, Percy," Ralph said, in a low voice. "It is time for us to be off. Don't hurry; and above all, if they should take it into their heads to address us suddenly in French, or English, don't start or seem to notice." The major was, however, so absorbed in the information he had received--and so confident that the English, in which it had been told, would be unintelligible to anyone who might overhear it--that he paid no attention to the boys who--one of them limping badly--went slowly down the street; stopping, occasionally, to look in at the shop windows. It was not until they were fairly outside the town, and out of sight of the German sentries, that they either spoke or quickened their pace. "The franc tireurs of Dijon may thank their lucky stars that they sent down spies to Saverne today, Percy; and especially that we, of all the members of the corps, were selected. If we had not been where we were, just at that moment, and if we had not understood English, it would have been all up with the corps, and no mistake." "What an infamous scoundrel, as the major said, that schoolmaster must be, Ralph! What do you think the commandant will do?" "He has nothing to do but to retreat, as quickly as we can go, Percy; but if it costs him half the corps, I hope he will hang that schoolmaster, before he goes." "I hope so, too," Percy said; and scarcely another word was spoken, until they reached the village. It was still early, scarcely two o'clock, and Major Tempe was drilling the whole corps--the two detached companies having arrived that morning--when the boys, having again put on uniform, approached him. Major Tempe nodded to them, as they came up. "You are back early," he said. "You are excused from drill. I will see you at my quarters, when it is over." "If you please, major," Ralph said, respectfully, "you had better dismiss the men, at once. We have news of the highest importance to tell you." The major looked surprised but, seeing by the boys' faces that the news was very serious, he at once dismissed the men; telling them to keep near, as they might be wanted. Then, calling his officers, he proceeded at once with the Barclays towards his quarters. "Excuse me, major," Ralph said, "but instead of going to your quarters, would you move to some open space, where we can speak without a possibility of being overheard by anyone?" Still more surprised, Major Tempe led the way to some felled trees at the edge of the forest, a short distance from the village. Here he sat down, and motioned to the others to do the same. Ralph then told his story, interrupted many times by exclamations of rage, upon the part of his auditors; and giving full credit to Percy for his idea of the plan by which, unnoticed, they had managed to get within hearing of the German officers. The fury of the French officers knew no bounds. They gesticulated, they stamped up and down, they swore terribly, they were ready to cry from sheer rage. Major Tempe, alone, uttered no remark during the whole narration. When it was concluded, he sat silent for a minute or two; with his lips pressed together, and a look of deep indignation on his face. Then he rose, and said in a solemn tone: "As sure as the sun shines, and as sure as my name is Edward Tempe, so sure shall that schoolmaster, of Grunsdorf, be hung before tomorrow morning! "Lieutenant Ribouville, order the assembly to be sounded, and form the men here in hollow square. "Messieurs Barclay, you will fall in with your company." A little surprised--and hurt that the commandant had said no word of commendation to them, for the service they had performed--the boys hurried off to their quarters, to get their rifles. "Sure, Master Ralph, and what is the matter, at all?" Tim Doyle said, as they entered. "Sure the major, honest man, must have gone off his head, entirely! Scarcely had we finished our male, and began to smoke the first pipe in aise and comfort, when the bugle blows for parade. "'Confound the bugle!' says I, and I shoved me pipe aside, and put on my belt and fell in. "Hardly had we begun the maneuvers when your honors arrived and said a word, private, to the major. The words weren't out of your mouth before he dismisses us from drill. "'Botheration!' says I, 'is there no pace for the wicked?' "Back I comes again, and takes off me belt and piles me firelock; and before I had got three draws at me pipe, and was just beginning to enjoy the creetur when, crack! and there goes the assimbly again. Sure and the major, honest man, has lost his head entirely; and it's a pity, for he is an illegant man, and a good officer, says I." "Come along, Tim," Ralph said, laughing, "else you'll be late for parade. You will hear all about it in time, I have no doubt." In five minutes the men were all assembled in a hollow square, two deep, facing the officers in the center The men saw at once, by the faces of Major Tempe and the officers, that something very serious had happened; and they had no sooner taken their places than there was a deep hush of expectancy, for it was evident that the commandant was about to address them. "My men," he said, after a pause of a minute or two, "a great calamity has happened; and a still greater one would have happened, had we not providentially received warning in time. It had been resolved--as you would have heard this evening, had all gone well--that tonight we should attack the German sentries, and blow up the rock tunnel of Saverne. The affair would have been hot, but it would have been a vital service to France; and the franc tireurs of Dijon would have merited, and obtained, the thanks of all France. It was for the purpose of the attack that the two companies detached from us were recalled. "All promised well for success. Two of your number had been down into Saverne, in disguise, and had brought us full information respecting the force and disposition of the enemy. All was prepared, the chance of success favorable, and the force the enemy could have brought against us was no larger than our own. We should have saved France, and immortalized ourselves. "At the present moment there are two thousand five hundred men in Saverne. Tomorrow night this village is to be attacked, and every franc tireur found here put to the sword." A cry of surprise and rage broke from the men. "And how, think you, has the change been wrought? By treachery!" Those cries of rage were renewed. "By treachery! A Frenchman has been found, base and vile enough to sell us to Prussia. All hope of success is over, and we have only to retreat." "Who is he? Who is he?" burst from the infuriated men. "Death to the traitor! Death to the traitor!" "Yes, men, death to the traitor!" the major said, solemnly. "It is the schoolmaster of Grunsdorf who has sold you to the Prussians; who wrote that letter to their general, telling him of your intentions, which has caused these great reinforcements to be sent; and who has offered to guide a force to surround us, tomorrow night." Another low cry of horror and indignation broke from the men. "Is it your opinion that this man has deserved death?" "Yes," was the unanimous answer. "Then he dies," Major Tempe said, solemnly. "You were to have been his victims; you are his judges. "Grunsdorf is three miles from here, in the woods, not far from Saverne. A party will be told off, presently, who will be charged with the execution of this sentence. "I have now another duty. The corps has been saved from destruction. You--all of us--have been preserved from death by the intelligence and courage of two of your number. "Ralph and Percy Barclay, stand forward!" The two boys stepped two paces forward into the hollow square. "Selected by me," continued Major Tempe, "for the duty, from their perfect acquaintance with German; they, upon their first visit to Saverne, obtained all the information required. Upon their second visit, this morning--finding the enemy had been immensely reinforced--they perceived the extreme importance of discovering the reason for the arrival of the reinforcements, and their intention. With a coolness and tact which does them the greatest credit, they contrived to arrive, and to remain within hearing of, a number of officers; and then learned the whole particulars of the treachery of this man, and of the intention of our enemies. So important was the secret judged that the Germans were afraid of telling it in German, or in French, lest they might be overheard. To prevent the possibility of this, they conversed in English; and the consequence is that we are saved, almost by a miracle. "Ralph and Percy Barclay, your names will be inserted in the order of the day, being the first of the corps to whom that honor has been given; and I hereby offer you, in the name of myself, my officers, and the whole corps, my hearty thanks for your courage, coolness, and devotion. "The parade is dismissed. The men will assemble at five o'clock, in full marching order, with all necessaries and accouterments." As Major Tempe ceased speaking, the men broke up from the order in which they had been standing, and crowded round the young Barclays; shaking them by the hand, patting them on the shoulder, and congratulating them heartily upon the service that they had rendered, and upon the terms in which their commandant had thus publicly acknowledged it. At five o'clock the corps assembled again in heavy marching order and, after inspection, the second, third, and fourth companies marched off; with their officers, who alone knew their destination, at their head. Major Tempe remained on the ground, with the first company. After waiting for a few minutes, they were marched off in the direction which the others had taken but--after getting out of sight of the village, and fairly entering the forest--they turned sharp off, and took the direction of Saverne. Chapter 8: The Traitor. After the company had marched for half an hour, a halt was called, and their commandant said: "I daresay you have all guessed the object which we have in view. We are going to carry out the sentence pronounced by the whole corps. We are going to have that schoolmaster--that traitor--who has sold our lives to the Prussians; and who--which is of infinitely greater importance--has done immense injury to France, by betraying our intention of blowing up the tunnel. That traitor I intend to have, tonight; and if I have him, I will hang him, as sure as fate. "This lane which we are following leads to Grunsdorf; which, according to the information I collected before leaving, cannot be above a mile distant. Now, we must be cautious. It is quite possible that a detachment of the enemy may have been sent up to the village, and in that case we might catch a Tartar. Even if there are no Germans there, we must be cautious, or the bird will escape. We neither know him, nor the house he lives in and--as he would naturally guess that his treachery had been discovered, and that we had come for him--he would slip out into the forest, the instant he saw the first bayonet approaching. It is essential, therefore, that we should obtain accurate information of the state of affairs, and of the position of this traitor's house. "In another half hour it will be dusk. The Barclays have again volunteered to go in, and find out what we require. They will go on at once; and in an hour we will follow, and remain concealed, just outside the village, until they return. "Sergeant, you will go forward with them, and agree upon the place where we shall remain hid, until they join us. "Now, my lads, you have already received your instructions. Change your things, and go forward at once." The distance was farther than they had expected, and it was nearly dark before the boys entered Grunsdorf. There was no one moving in the quiet village, for a fine rain was falling as the boys walked slowly along. "There is no one to ask, Percy. We must go into the public house, as arranged, and ask where the priest's house is. It would not do for two strangers to ask for the schoolmaster. The priest will tell us where he lives." So saying, they entered the little cabaret, walked down a long passage leading from the door, and paused for a moment at the threshold--for in the room were some eight or ten Prussian soldiers. "It is too late to retreat, Percy. Come in boldly." Lifting their caps, they walked up to an unoccupied table; and called for some bread, cheese, and beer. The landlord brought the refreshments, and the boys had scarcely begun to eat when a Prussian sergeant--who had exchanged a word with the landlord, evidently in reference to them--strode up to them and, laying his hand upon Ralph's shoulder, said: "Who are you, young fellows? The landlord says you do not belong to the village." "We belong to a party of woodcutters, from Colmar," Ralph said, quietly. Illustration: Among the German Soldiers. "Oh, indeed!" the sergeant said, in an incredulous voice, "and where are your party?" "Out in the forest, at the place where we have begun to fell trees," Ralph said. "But people do not come to cut wood without horses, or carts to take it away," the sergeant persisted. "They are up in the forest with our father," Ralph said. "Have you heard anything about this party?" the sergeant asked the landlord. The man hesitated a moment. He evidently suspected, also, that the boys might belong to the franc tireurs; and was anxious to say nothing which could harm them. "No," he said, after a pause, "I can't say that I have heard of them; but I know some of the forest was sold, not long ago, and they might have come from Colmar without coming this way." "We only arrived this morning," Percy said, quietly, "so that you could hardly have heard of us, unless some of the people of your place happened to pass, when we were at work; and we have not seen anyone, all day." "At any rate," the sergeant said, "I shall see if your story be true, and you will at once take us to the place. "Corporal, get ten men in readiness." "Certainly," Ralph said, "if you will allow us to finish our supper, we will show you the way, at once." The sergeant nodded, and resumed his seat. "Look here, Percy," Ralph said, quietly, "we are in a nasty fix, this time. There is only one thing to be done, that I can see. If we both go they will shoot us, to a certainty; for although one might make a bolt in the wood, it is certain we could not both get away. "Only one thing is to be done. I will say your foot is bad, and ask for you to stay here. Directly we have gone, you slip out and go--as hard as you can--to the place where our men are hid. I will bring them in that direction. We shall have passed the place before you can reach it--at least, unless you can get out, at once--and pass on in the darkness. Take off your shoes, so as to run lightly. As we pass, fire a volley right into us; and I will make a dart into the wood, in the confusion." "But you might be shot by our men, Ralph. They could not possibly distinguish you, in the dark. No, I will go with the men, and you make your way to Tempe." "No, no, Percy, I won't have that." "Very well," Percy said, doggedly, "then we will go together." There was a silence for a minute or two, and then Ralph said: "Look here, Percy, this is madness; however, as you won't do as I tell you, we will draw lots. I will put a piece of crumb in one of my hands. You shall guess which it is in. If you guess right, I will go with the Germans. If you guess wrong, you shall go." "Very well," Percy said; "I agree to that." Ralph then broke off a small piece of bread, and put it in one of his hands--having already, before he made the proposition, broken off a similar piece, unobserved by Percy. He then put both hands under the table, and then lifted them again; all the time trying to appear not to be engaged upon anything out of the way, as he knew that some of the Germans were watching them. "Left," Percy said. Ralph replied by opening the left hand, and dropping the piece of bread on the table; at the same time putting his right hand back into his pocket, as if to get out his handkerchief--and dropping, as he did so, the piece of bread it contained into the place. "There, Percy, fortune has decided it. "Goodbye; God bless you. I daresay I shall get out of it but, if not, give my love to them all, at home." Then he finished his beer and rose, without giving Percy time to reply, even could he have done so; but the lad was so much choked, with the effort to keep from crying, that he could not have spoken. Ralph turned to the sergeant and--stretching his arms, with the natural air of a tired boy, objecting to be disturbed--said: "Now, sir, I am ready to start. I suppose there is no occasion for us both to go, for my brother has hurt his foot. We shouldn't have come in, tonight; but it is his first time out with the woodmen, and he is not accustomed to sleeping out, in the wet." "Yes, one is enough. He can stay," the sergeant said. "You had better ask the landlord to show you a corner, where you can sleep on the straw, Karl," Ralph said. "It is no use waiting for me. I shall be back in an hour." With a nod to Percy, Ralph now walked steadily to the door. The sergeant, with the men told off for the duty, accompanied him. When they reached the street, it was raining heavily. "I wonder," Ralph said, "whether the landlord would lend me a sack, to put on my shoulders." "Is this place far off, youngster?" the sergeant asked, peering out into the darkness. Ralph's heart gave a jump; for he detected, in the tone, a certain hesitation as to taking the men out in such a night, upon such slight suspicion. He was, however, too shrewd to show any desire to dissuade the sergeant from it, so he replied: "No, it is no distance to speak of; not a mile, at most. We should be there and back in half an hour, if it was light; but there is only a path among the woods and it is dark. "I think we had better have some lanterns, for I do not think I could find my way without them, tonight; at any rate, it would take us much longer." "There, boy, that will do," the sergeant said, laying his hand on his shoulder. "I am satisfied, now, with the truth of your story. I thought, for a bit, you had something to do with the franc tireurs who are about here, but I see I was mistaken. "Turn in again, lads. It is no use taking you out on a useless search, such a night as this, among these forests." Ralph laughed aloud, as they turned to go down the passage again to the corner. "Won't father laugh," he said, "when he hears that you thought I was a franc tireur. We haven't seen any, about Colmar. I don't think you need be afraid of them, if they ain't bigger or older than I am." By this time they had entered the room again, and Ralph saw that Percy was already talking to the landlord--with whom, indeed, he was on the point of leaving the room. He turned round, upon hearing the party come in again, and gave a slight start of pleasure. "I am soon back, Karl, and am glad that it is so for, frankly, I too am tired; and it is not a night for a dog to be out. I will go in with you." "Stay, landlord," the sergeant said. "Give the boys another glass, each, before they go off." "Thank you," Ralph said. "A glass of good beer never comes amiss." The boys stopped, while the landlord filled their glasses. "Now," said the sergeant, raising his arm. "Here's a health, to King William." "Here's a health, to King William," Ralph repeated. "I am sure I wish him no harm. "And now, with your permission, I will be off." The landlord led them to an outhouse, in which were some trusses of straw. Just as he was about to leave them, Ralph said, suddenly: "Ah! I had nearly forgotten about the priest. You have a priest here, have you not?" "Of course," the landlord said. "Do you take us for heathens?" "Not at all," Ralph said, apologetically; "but father told me to call, and pay him for some masses. My eldest sister was very ill, when we came away, and father worries about her. "Where does the priest live?" "The last house on the left, as you go out from the farther end of the village. But anyone will show you it, in the morning. "You don't want the light any longer?" For the boys had, while speaking, been taking off their boots, and making a show of preparing to lie down on the straw. "No, thank you. Good night. "Oh, I forgot--what do you charge, a cask, for your best beer? Father wanted to know and, if the price suits, will send down a cart to fetch it." The landlord named the price, and then said good night, and left them. When he returned to the room where he had left the German soldiers, the sergeant asked him a question or two concerning the boys; and the landlord repeated the substance of the conversation which he had just had. This allayed the last suspicions which had remained in the sergeant's mind; and he congratulated himself, greatly, that he had not taken his men out, in such a night, upon a mere groundless suspicion. "If the landlord repeats that yarn to the Germans, it will allay all suspicion," Ralph said, when they were left alone. "Otherwise the sergeant might have taken it into his head to come to have a look at us and, although it would not very much matter that he should discover that the birds had flown, still it would have put him on his guard, and he might have doubled the sentries, and made it much more difficult for us. "We have had a very narrow squeak for it this time, Percy, old boy." "Very, Ralph! I would rather go through twenty battles, again, than feel as I felt when I saw you start, and thought that I should never see you again, alive." "Well, we have no time to lose now, Percy. Have you got your boots on again? If so, let us start at once. The major and men must be very anxious, long before this. It must be full an hour since we came." "It has been the longest hour I ever passed, Ralph. There now, I am ready, if you are." "We must go out very quietly, Percy. I have no doubt that they have got sentries posted all about. They know that we are in the neighborhood I wish I knew how many there are of them." "I found out, from the landlord, that all the fifteen men we saw here were billeted upon him," Percy said. "He told me at first, when I asked him, that he could do nothing for me in the way of a bed, because there were three or four in every room. I said that a stable and a little straw would do for us, very well, and then he thought of this outhouse. "At the same rate, there must be at least a hundred men in the village." They now opened the door of the outhouse, went quietly out, and made their way through a garden at the back of the house towards the wood. "Stand still a few minutes, Percy," Ralph said, in a whisper, "and let us see if we can find out where the sentries are placed. I expect that they form a cordon round the village. "Lie down by this wall. We can see them, there, and they cannot see us." It was well that they did so for, in another minute, they heard a tread quite close to them; and a Prussian soldier passed, within a yard of where they were lying. They could dimly see that his hood was over his head, and hear that he was humming to himself a scrap of some German air. They lay there until he had again passed the spot; and then--having found out the direction of his beat--they crawled noiselessly away and, in five minutes, had reached the edge of the forest. They did not enter it, as it would have been impossible--in the dense darkness--to have made their way without running against trees, and snapping off boughs, which would have given the alarm. They therefore skirted the edge--knowing that, with the trees behind them, they would be invisible at the distance of a yard or two--and in ten minutes reached the place where their company was awaiting them. As they approached the spot, they gave a short, low whistle; which was the agreed sign, among the band, for knowing each other on night expeditions. It was answered at once and, in another minute, they were among their friends. "What has happened?" Major Tempe asked. "We were getting very anxious about you. I sent Favarts to reconnoiter, ten minutes ago; and he has just returned, saying that he can hear someone pacing backwards and forwards on the road, and that he believes it to be a sentry." "He was quite right," Ralph said; "the village is full of Germans. There must--as far as we can see--be seventy or eighty of them, at the very lowest; and there are probably a hundred. We have been prisoners, or something very like it, and have had a monstrously close shave of it. "But I will tell you all that, when we have time. Do you still think of carrying out your plans?" "Certainly," Major Tempe said, "that schoolmaster I am determined to have, even if we fight our way in, and shoot him in bed. Have you found out where he lives?" "No, sir, but we have found out where the priest lives. It is this end house: the end of the village, on the left-hand side as you come out." "Are the sentries very close together?" "They are pretty close, but not too close to prevent our crawling between them, unobserved, on such a night as this." Major Tempe hesitated for a while. "It would be too hazardous," he said. "We know nothing of the ground over which we should have to crawl, and it would be hardly possible for thirty men--with our accouterments, and firearms--to crawl along without snapping sticks, or striking rifles against a stone and giving the alarm. "No, the sentry at the entrance of the village must be silenced." So saying, the commandant turned to the men who were standing round, and explained briefly the purport of the whispered conversation which he had had with Ralph. He then chose two active young men, and told them to take off their cloaks, belts, and accouterments of all kinds; and to leave them, with their rifles, with the men who were to remain at the spot at which they then were--to cover their retreat, if necessary. They were to take nothing with them but their sword bayonets--which were not to be used, except in case of necessity--and a coil of light rope. Definite instructions were given them as to the manner in which their attack was to be made. They then took off their boots, and set off noiselessly upon their enterprise. They went on rapidly, until they were within plain hearing of the footsteps of the sentinel; and then very cautiously and, crouching almost to the ground, so as not to bring their bodies on a level with his eye, they crept up foot by foot to the end of his beat. Here they waited a short time, while he passed and repassed them, unthinking of the deadly foe who, had they stretched out their hands, could have touched his cloak as he went past them. At last, the second time he passed them on his way towards the village, they rose together behind him. In an instant one had garroted him--with a choking grip, that almost strangled him, and prevented him uttering the slightest sound--while the other grasped his rifle by the lock, so as to prevent the possibility of its being fired. In another instant, the rifle was torn from the grasp of the almost stupefied man; cords were passed tightly round his arms and legs; a handkerchief was thrust into his mouth, and fastened there by a cord going across the mouth and tied behind the head and, before the bewildered man fairly knew what had happened, he was lying bound and gagged by the roadside. One of the franc tireurs now ran back, to tell the commandant that the men could advance; while the other--selected specially because he understood a little German--put on the spiked helmet of the captured sentry, and began to walk up and down, in readiness to repeat the cry of "All well," should it be passed round. The whole company were now moved up. Ten men were left at the point where the sentry was posted, to cover a retreat; or to assist the sentry, in case of any party coming out to relieve guard, and so discovering the change which had taken place. The others, led by the commandant, proceeded forward until opposite the priest's house, in which lights were still burning; for it was not, as yet, ten o'clock. Major Tempe, accompanied only by two men--and by Ralph Barclay, to interpret, if necessary--now went cautiously up to the house. The light was in a room on the ground floor. To this Major Tempe advanced and, looking in, saw the priest sitting reading, alone. He tapped very gently at the window; and the priest, looking up, gave a start upon seeing an armed man looking in at the window. Major Tempe put his finger to his lips, to enforce the necessity for silence, and made signs to him to open the window. After a moment's hesitation the priest rose from his seat, came to the window, and unfastened it; taking great precautions against noise. "Are you French?" he asked, in a whisper. "Yes; a commandant of franc tireurs." "Hush, then, for your life," the priest said, earnestly. "The village is full of Prussians. The officer, with a soldier as his servant, is upstairs. He arrived in a state of fever; and is, tonight, quite ill. The soldier is up with him. I believe the sergeant, who is at the inn, is in command for to-night. A soldier was dispatched, this evening, to ask for another officer to be sent out. "What can I do for you?" "I only want you to tell me in which house the schoolmaster lives. He is a traitor, and has betrayed us to the Prussians. It is owing to him that they are here." "He has a bad name, in the village," the priest said; "and we had applied to have him removed. He lives in the third house from here, on the same side of the road." "Has he any Germans quartered upon him?" "Twenty or thirty men," the priest said. "The schoolroom is full of them." "Do you know which is his room?" Major Tempe asked. "It would be a great thing, if we could get at him without alarming the enemy. I have thirty men here, but I do not want to have a fight in the village, if I can help it." "I know his house," the priest said. "The schoolroom is at the side of the house, and his sitting room and kitchen on the ground floor of the house itself. There are three bedrooms over. His room is in front of the house, to the right as you face it." "Thank you," Major Tempe said. "Have you a ladder?" "There is one lying on the ground by the wall, to the left. I hope you do not intend to shed blood?" "No," Major Tempe said, grimly. "I think that I can promise that there will be no blood shed--that is to say, unless we are attacked by the Prussians. "Good night, and thank you. I need not say that--for your own sake--you will not mention, in the morning, having seen us." The commandant now rejoined his party, and they advanced to the house indicated. He then chose ten men to accompany him; ordering the rest to remain at a distance of twenty yards, with their rifles cocked, and in readiness for instant action. The ladder was then brought forward by the men selected, and placed against the window. Major Tempe had, before starting, provided himself--from the carpenter of the village--with an auger, a small and fine saw, a bottle of oil, and a thin strip of straight iron. He now mounted the ladder and, after carefully examining the window--which was of the make which we call, in England, latticed--he inserted the strip of iron, and tried to force back the fastening. This he failed in doing, being afraid to use much force lest the fastening should give suddenly, with a crash. He had, however, ascertained the exact position of the fastening. Having, before mounting, carefully oiled the auger and saw, he now applied the former; and made a hole through the framework at the junction of the two sides of the window, just above the fastening. Introducing the saw into this hole, he noiselessly cut entirely round the fastening, with a semi-circular sweep, to the junction of the window below it; and as he did so, the window swung partially open, by its own weight. He now descended the ladder again, took off his boots; and ordered two of the men to do the same, and to put aside all arms, and accouterments, that could strike against anything and make a noise. Then, taking a coil of strong rope in his hand, and followed by the two men, he again mounted the ladder. The instructions to the men were that one was to enter at once, with him; the other to remain where he was, until he received the signal. The major entered the room noiselessly, and dropped at once on to his hands and knees; and was, a minute after, joined by his follower. He now crawled forward--groping his way with the greatest caution, so as to make no noise--until he found the bed. Then, rising to his feet, he threw himself upon the sleeping man and, in a moment, had him tightly by the throat with one hand, while the other was placed firmly on his mouth. Paralyzed by the suddenness of the attack, and with his arms tightly kept down by the bedclothes, and the weight of his assailant, the schoolmaster was unable to struggle. "Now, light the light," Major Tempe said, quietly. His follower at once struck one of the noiseless German matches--which are used almost exclusively, in these parts of France--and lighted a lamp which was standing upon the table. He then came up to the bed, and assisted the major to securely gag and bind the prisoner--whose looks, when he saw into whose hands he had fallen, betokened the wildest terror. "Search his pockets," Major Tempe said. "We may find something of importance." In the breast pocket of his coat was a pocket book; and in it among the papers was a letter, from the colonel commanding at Saverne--which had evidently been brought to him by the officer of the detachment, that morning--telling him to come down to Saverne, on the following evening, to guide the troops to the village in which the franc tireurs were stationed. The letter also enclosed ten hundred-thaler notes [a thaler is about equal to two shillings]. "They are part of our blood money," the major said, grimly. "Bring them away, they are the fair spoil of war. "Tell Barre to come in." The man on the ladder now joined them; and together they quietly lifted the schoolmaster, and carried him to the window. They then fastened a rope round the prisoner's body, lifted him out on to the ladder, and lowered him gradually down to the men below. They now blew out the light, and descended the ladder. The two men who had waited at its foot raised the prisoner on their shoulders, and carried him off to their comrades; while the commandant and the other two men hastily put on their boots, seized their arms and accouterments and, in two minutes, the whole party were marching quietly down the village. No incident, whatever, marked their retreat. The sentry had been undisturbed, during their absence; and in a few minutes the whole party were out of the village, without the slightest alarm having been raised. They followed the road by which they had come, for about a mile; and then turned off a side path in the forest, to the left. They followed this for a short distance, only, into the forest; and then, when they arrived at a small, open space, a halt was ordered. The prisoner was dropped unceremoniously to the ground, by the two franc tireurs who carried him on their shoulders, and a fire was speedily lighted. Major Tempe then ordered the prisoner to be unbound and ungagged and, with a guard upon either side of him, to be placed in front of the company--drawn up in a semi-circle by the fire. The prisoner was a man of about fifty-five, with a sallow, cunning face. He could scarcely stand and, indeed, would have sunk on his knees, in his abject terror, had not the guards by his side held him by the arms. "Men," Major Tempe said, "undoubted as the guilt of the prisoner appeared to be, we had got no absolute proof; and a mistake might have been possible, as to the name of the village whose schoolmaster had betrayed us. This letter found in his coat pocket, and this German money--the price of our blood--leave no further doubt possible." And here the major read the Prussian colonel's letter. "Are you still of opinion that he merits death?" "Yes, yes," the men exclaimed, unanimously. "Prisoner," Major Tempe said, "you have heard your sentence. You are a convicted traitor--convicted of having betrayed your country, convicted of having sold the blood of your countrymen. I give you five minutes to ask that pardon, of God, which you cannot obtain from man." The miserable wretch gave a cry of terror, and fell on his knees; and would have crawled towards his judge, to beg for mercy, had not his guard restrained him. For the next five minutes, the forest rang with alternate cries, entreaties, threats, and curses--so horrible that the four boys, and several of the younger men, put their hands to their ears and walked away, so as not to see or hear the terrible punishment. At the end of that time there was a brief struggle, and then a deep silence; and the body of the traitor swung from a branch of one of the trees, with a paper pinned on his breast: "So perish all traitors." "Louis Duburg," Major Tempe said, "take this paper, with 'Those who seek a traitor will find him here,' and fasten it to a tree; so that it may be seen at the point where this path turned from the road." Louis took it, and ran off. In a quarter of an hour, when he returned, he found the company drawn up in readiness to march. He fell in at once, and the troop moved off; leaving behind them the smoldering fire, and the white figure swinging near it. Chapter 9: A Desperate Fight. Daylight was just breaking, when Major Tempe marched with his men into Marmontier; at which place the other three companies had arrived, the night previously. It was a large village--the chief place of its canton--and the corps were most hospitably received by the inhabitants. Had they arrived the evening before, it would have been impossible to provide them all with beds; and they would have been obliged, like the majority of their comrades, to sleep on straw in the schoolroom. The inhabitants, however, were up and about, very shortly after the arrival of Major Tempe's command; and his men were soon provided for, in the beds which they had left. Beds were now a luxury, indeed, as the corps had not slept in them since they had been quartered at Baccarat, two nights before their first encounter with the Prussians, near Blamont. It was with great unwillingness, then, that they turned out when the bugle sounded, at two o'clock in the afternoon. They partook of a hearty meal--provided by the people upon whom they were quartered--and an hour later the whole corps marched out towards Wasselonne, a small town situated on the Breuche; a little river which, winding round by Molsheim, falls into the Rhine at Strasburg. A branch line of railroad terminates at this place. When they arrived within three miles of it, they turned off to the right--for Wasselonne had frequently been visited by the Prussians--and slept at the little village of Casswiller, at the edge of the forest of OEdenwald. Another day's short, but weary, marching over the mountains brought them to the village of Still; lying high upon the western slope of the Vosges, above Mutzig. From this point they had a splendid view over the valley of the Rhine. From their feet, at Mutzig, the railway ran through Molsheim straight across the country to Strasburg; the beautiful spire of whose cathedral rose above the flats, at a distance of about fifteen miles. The day happened to be a quiet one, and the deep booming of the guns of the besiegers could be distinctly heard. The inhabitants reported that the German troops patrolled the whole valley, pushing sometimes down to the walls of Schlestadt, levying contributions and carrying off cattle. The village was very poor, and was able to furnish little accommodation in the way of quarters, still less in that of food. Six of the villagers were, therefore, sent through the forest of OEdenwald to Raon; with an order to fetch over two oxen, and thirty sheep, of those left there in charge of the head man of the village. They returned in three days, Raon being only about fifteen miles east of Still. The corps was now broken up into its four companies; who were stationed in the villages on the Vosges, and at the edge of the forest of Trieswald and Bar--the first company remaining at Still. From these villages they commanded a view over the whole plain; and could, with the aid of glasses, distinctly see any bodies of men going south from Strasburg. Each company was to act independently of the other, uniting their forces only when ordered to do so by Major Tempe; who took up his headquarters with the second company, that having the most central position. Each company was to keep a sharp watch over the country, to attack any body of the enemy not superior to themselves in force, and to cut off, if possible, any small parties pillaging in the villages of the valley, near the foot of the mountains. The first company--under their lieutenant, De Maupas--turned their special attention to Mutzig; which was not, they learned, actually occupied by the Germans, but which was frequently visited by parties from Molsheim, where a portion of the army of the besiegers was stationed. The young Barclays, their cousins, and Tim Doyle were quartered together, in one of the largest houses in the village; and from thence a fine view over the plain was attainable. They were not destined to remain long in inactivity. Upon the fourth day after their arrival, they saw a party of some twenty horsemen approaching Mutzig. In five minutes every man had assembled and, at once, rapidly marched down the hill; taking advantage of its irregularities, so as to follow a track in which they would be invisible from the road. Making a long detour, they gained the road about half a mile beyond Mutzig and, posting themselves among some trees by its side, awaited the return of the Uhlans. It was upwards of two hours before they returned. They were laughing, and singing; and the boys felt a sensation of repugnance, as they raised their rifles to their shoulders, and awaited the order to fire into their unsuspecting foes. They had not, as yet, become hardened to the horrors of war. As the word was given, the rifles flashed out; and six of the horsemen fell. The rest, putting spurs to their horses, galloped furiously away. Molsheim was so close--and the enemy might come back again, largely reinforced, in so short a time--that the order was given to retreat, at once. Reaching the hill and looking back, an hour later, they saw a dark mass coming from Molsheim; and the glasses soon made them out to be about a hundred cavalry, and as many infantry. It was dark as they entered Mutzig and--although it was not probable that they would ascend the hill, at night--sentries were thrown out, far down its sides, to give the alarm; and the men were ordered to hold themselves in readiness for an immediate retreat to the forest. It happened that none of the boys were on duty and, just as they were sitting down to dinner, Tim--who had been out to fetch some wood--came running in. "Heavenly Mother! The brutes are setting fire to Mutzig, your honor." The boys ran out. Below, a mass of red flame was rising; and it was evident that several houses were in flames. The sight was a grand one, for the light showed the outline of the slopes of the hills and, reflected on the roofs of the houses of the little town, made them look as if red hot. Out upon the plain, round Molsheim, were the scattered lights of innumerable camp fires while, in the distance, flickering flashes--like the play of summer lightning--told of the ceaseless rain of fire kept up upon the unhappy town of Strasburg. "What a shame!" Percy said, indignantly; "as if the inhabitants of Mutzig could help our attacking the Uhlans. "Look, Ralph, there are six distinct fires." "I suppose that is one for each man we killed or wounded, Percy. You may be sure they will make them pay, too. Thirty thousand francs, I should think, at least. "War used to be looked upon as a chivalrous proceeding. There is no romance in German warfare. They call us a nation of shopkeepers; they make war, themselves, in the spirit of a nation of petty hucksterers." "What do you think of that, lads?" Lieutenant de Maupas said, coming up to where they were standing. "It is shameful, sir, shameful," Ralph said. "Yes," the officer said, gloomily. "This is to make war as the Vandals made it, not as it is made in the nineteenth century. In the Crimea, in Italy--ay, even in China--we did not make war in this way. In China we burnt the Emperor's summer palace, because his soldiers had murdered our prisoners in cold blood, but we did not burn a single village." "No," Ralph said; "and I have read that, in Abyssinia, we never as much as took a fowl or a bundle of grass from the natives, without paying for it; and we only burned the fortress of Magdala after offering it, in succession, to the various kings of the country; and destroyed it, at last, to prevent it becoming a stronghold of the Gallas--the enemies of Abyssinia. "Don't you think," he asked, after a pause, "we shall have fighting tomorrow, sir?" "I think it very likely, indeed," the lieutenant said. "I have just sent off a messenger to the commandant, with a full report; and asked him to send over a reply whether he will come to our assistance, or if we are to fall back." "Faith, and I hope that it's not falling back we'll be, till after we've had the satisfaction of spaking to them a bit," Tim Doyle put in. "Barring the little affair of today--which isn't worth mentioning--I haven't had a chance of a scrimmage since I joined the corps. It's been jist marching and counter-marching, over the most onraisonable country; nothing but up hill and down hill and through trees, with big stones breaking our poor feet into pieces, and the rain running down us fit to give us the ague. "Sure, lieutenant, ye won't be for marching us away, till we've had a little divarshin?" The boys all laughed at Tim's complaint, which had been delivered in English; for although he could now understand French, he never attempted to speak it, except to ask some necessary question. Percy translated it to the lieutenant. "You will have fighting enough, before you have done, Tim. Whether you will have it tomorrow, I don't know. There are a hundred infantry--they can't use their cavalry--and we are only twenty-six men, all told. Fortunately, we have a strong line of retreat; or I should not even wait for the chance of being attacked." "At any rate, you think that we are safe until morning, sir?" "Yes, I think so," the lieutenant said. "Then we will go in to our dinner," Ralph said. "Who knows where we may dine, tomorrow?" Day was just beginning to break, when Percy Barclay started up in his bed. He listened for an instant, and heard the crack of a rifle. "Up, Ralph; up all of you!" he shouted. "We are attacked." The others were on their feet in an instant. None of them had thought of undressing and, as they seized their arms and equipments, the whistle of Lieutenant de Maupas sounded loud and shrill. As they issued out there was, already, a scene of bustle and confusion in the village. The franc tireurs were rushing from the doors. The villagers were also pouring out, women screaming and men swearing. "You had better drive off your animals up into the forest, and carry off whatever you can of value, and send the women and children off, at once," De Maupas shouted, to the head man of the village. "We will give you as much time as we can but, if they are in full strength, it will not be long. "Now, lads, forward! Don't throw away a shot. Take advantage of every possible cover, and fall back as slowly and steadily as you can. The commandant will be here, with the second company, in half an hour. I had a message from him, late last night." The men advanced at once, at the double, and in an instant had a view of what was going on. The six men out, as sentries, were falling back rapidly towards the village; and two dark bodies of infantry were approaching, abreast of each other, but at a distance of two or three hundred yards apart. They were some five hundred yards beyond the retreating sentries; who were, themselves, a few hundred yards below the village. The enemy had, at present, made no reply whatever to the fire of the sentries. "Advance slowly, in skirmishing order," De Maupas said. "One flank of the company oppose each column. Open fire at once, sight for seven hundred yards, take advantage of cover, and fire steadily." A steady fire was at once opened and, although its effects could not be perceived, they were evidently sensible; for the columns immediately threw out half their strength, as skirmishers, and opened fire. In a hundred paces De Maupas halted his men, and told them to lie down behind shelter. The enemy were now five hundred yards off, and the franc tireurs had been joined by the sentries. The numbers were four to one and, although the position was of considerable advantage to the smaller force--as well as the fact that they were lying quiet, in shelter, while their adversaries had to fire as they advanced--the odds were far too great to hope for success. Every moment, however, it was getting lighter; and the franc tireurs could see that their fire was doing considerable execution, whereas only two of their men had received slight wounds. The enemy, however, pushed on steadily; and were now little more than three hundred yards distant. "Fall back," the lieutenant shouted; "six men, alternately, of each half company. Back fifty paces, at the double!" At the word, twelve men retreated, at full speed, for fifty yards; the others redoubling the fire from their breechloaders, to cover the retreat. The instant that the first men had gone fifty yards, they turned, threw themselves upon the ground, and opened fire; while those in front ran back at full speed, passed them, and halted, in turn, fifty paces in the rear. The maneuver was repeated three times, and they then gained the end house of the village. Under shelter of a low wall, another stand was made; but the superior force of the enemy enabled them to threaten to outflank them. Many of the Germans had fallen; but the rest advanced, with as much coolness and precision as if on parade. "How beautifully these fellows do fight!" Ralph exclaimed, in admiration. "Now, lads, we must retreat," the lieutenant said. "We have done very well. Now, across the village, and then make for the forest as hard as you can. It's not over five hundred yards. When you are once there, make a stand again." The men turned and, in another moment, would have carried out the order when--from a house in a line with them, but about fifty yards off--a heavy fire of musketry suddenly broke out. "Hurrah, lads, there's the commandant! Stand to your wall; we'll thrash them, yet." Staggered by this sudden and heavy fire, the Germans paused; and then fell back, to a spot where a dip in the ground sheltered them from the fire from above. For a short time, there was a cessation of the fight. At this moment, the commandant joined the first company. "Well done, indeed!" he exclaimed. "Gallantly done, lads! We heard the firing, and feared you would be crushed before we could get up. It is fortunate I started half an hour before daybreak. We have done the last two miles at a run. "Have you suffered much?" There was a general look round. Four men had fallen, in the retreat. Another lay dead, shot through the head as he fired over the wall. Four others were wounded; three seriously, while Ralph Barclay had a ball through the fleshy part of his arm. "Fortunately," Major Tempe said, "half a dozen men from the other village volunteered to come over to help the wounded. I will send them over here, at once. They can take some doors off their hinges, and carry these three men right back into the forest, at once. We have not done yet. "Get your men into skirmishing line, De Maupas. I will form mine to join you. Occupy the line of gardens, and walls." Scarcely was the movement effected, when the Germans again appeared on the hillside. They had still a very great superiority in numbers; for the two companies of franc tireurs only numbered, now, forty-five men, while the Germans--who had lost upwards of twenty men--were still nearly eighty strong. Ralph Barclay still kept his place in the ranks. Tim Doyle had bandaged up his arm; for Percy, who had at first attempted it, had nearly fainted at the sight of the blood. The Irishman was in the highest glee; and occasionally indulged in whoops of defiance, and in taunting remarks--which would not have flattered the enemy, could they have heard and understood them. The Germans, as they emerged from their shelter, were about four hundred yards distant; and the fire at once recommenced. The franc tireurs were all lying down, and this gave them a great advantage over the Germans and, the disparity of numbers being less, the fight raged with greater obstinacy than before. Very gradually, the enemy won their way--taking advantage of every rock and inequality of ground--until they were within two hundred yards of the village. Nearer than this they could not come, for the ground was open and, in the face of the force in shelter, armed with breech loaders, it would have been madness to have attempted a rush. For some time, the combatants remained in the same position; merely exchanging an occasional shot, when a head or a hat was exposed. At last, Major Tempe became uneasy at the prolonged inaction upon the part of the enemy. "De Maupas," he said, "run up to the upper story of that house, and try and see what they are doing. Look all round. I don't like this long hesitation. They are greatly superior in force, and know it. I think that they must be going to try some flanking movement." The lieutenant obeyed and, going up to the upper story of the house pointed out by his commander, peered cautiously out. As far as he could see, nothing was stirring. The Germans appeared to be lying in the little hollow in which they were sheltered. He was about to descend, when he remembered his orders to look around in all directions. He therefore went to a window at the end of the house, and looked carefully out. As he did so he gave a start; and his heart seemed, for a moment, to stand still. Then, with a bound, he reached the door, sprang downstairs, and rushed out to where Major Tempe was standing, behind a wall. "The cavalry are upon us," he said. "They are not five hundred yards off. They have made a great detour and are--" Major Tempe stopped to hear no more. "Fall back, men," he shouted. "Keep well together. The cavalry are upon us. Now, at a double to the forest, for your lives. "Steady, steady!" The men sprang from the position behind which they had been firing, fell in hurriedly in the street; and then went off, at a fast double, towards the forest. There were a few trees near, but no shelter sufficient to be of any use nearer than five hundred yards. Fortunately they were unimpeded by wounded, every man having been carried back into the forest, immediately he was struck. Still, it was evident that they could not gain the forest in time. They had seen the leading horsemen turn into the end of the village, not more than three hundred yards distant, as they started; and the carbine balls were already whizzing over their heads. With the rapidity and steadiness which mark the movements of the Prussian cavalry, they formed in line as they issued from the village and, before the fugitives were halfway to the forest, a line of horsemen, fifty abreast, were in full gallop behind. Then followed another, of equal strength, fifty yards behind. The franc tireurs, with their rifles and accouterments, were already slackening their speed. "We must form square, major. They are not a hundred and fifty yards behind," De Maupas exclaimed. "We can beat them off, easily enough." Major Tempe shook his head, and shouted cheerily: "Keep on to the last moment, men, well together. I will tell you when the moment is come. Hold your rifles in readiness." In ten more seconds, he gave the word. The men were in readiness, and the square was formed as if by magic. The Uhlans were not more than eighty yards off. "File firing," the major shouted. "Steady! Don't throw away a shot." Now was the time for breech-loading weapons, and so deadly was the fire that the center of the Prussian line melted away before it; and the men who remained reined aside their horses, as they reached the hedge of bayonets. The flanks kept on, and united again behind the square; drawing up near the edge of the wood, a hundred and fifty yards distant. The charge of the second line was attended with precisely similar results. The instant that they had passed, however, Major Tempe shouted to his men: "On again for the woods. Steady! Keep square. Reserve your fire till I tell you. We must break through the cavalry. They only want to keep us. Their infantry will be here in three minutes. They are through the village, already." The position of the franc tireurs was now critical in the extreme. The enemy's cavalry--between them and safety, only a hundred yards distant--had unslung their carbines, and opened fire. The infantry were nearly two hundred yards behind but, fortunately, dared not fire for fear of hitting their own cavalry. At a rapid pace--for they were running for life--the little knot of franc tireurs dashed forward. One or two fell from the fire of the cavalry and, as they were fifty yards distant from the wood, there was a cry and Philippe Duburg fell to the ground. In an instant Tim Doyle--who was his next man--stopped, caught him up as if he had been a feather and, with a desperate effort, again joined the others, just as they were within twenty yards of the cavalry. "Fire!" Major Tempe cried; and from the front, and from each side of the little square--which was but six deep, either way--the rifles flashed out. "Level bayonets; charge!" There was a short struggle. The second ranks poured their fire into the cavalry line. There was a clashing of bayonets against swords, and then the band ran through the broken line of cavalry. There was a rush into the brushwood; and then, from behind the shelter of the trees, the fire opened again; and the cavalry fell sullenly back, having lost upwards of thirty men in that short five minutes since they had left the village. The German infantry halted, at a distance of two hundred yards; but they would have lost too many men, in crossing the open, to make it worth while to attack the sheltered foe--who could pick them off, to the last moment, only to withdraw deeper into the forest when they approached its edge. Accordingly they too fell back, exchanging fire with the franc tireurs until they gained the shelter of the village. The conflict over. The men sank, exhausted, upon the ground where they stood. Major Tempe went round to each; saying a word of praise, and giving a little of the brandy--with which he had filled his canteen, before starting--with some water from their own kegs. Then he gave a sharp whistle, and the men again gathered round him. "Once more, lads, I must thank you for your conduct," he said. "You have defended yourselves against forces, altogether, four times your own. You fairly kept at bay an infantry force of twice your own number. You have withstood a charge of cavalry, also double your own strength; and have performed the unusual feat of successfully charging cavalry. You have inflicted a very heavy loss upon the enemy. Not less than forty of the infantry must have been placed hors de combat; and fifteen or twenty of the cavalry, at the lowest estimate. Altogether, although forced to fall back, the affair is more creditable than many a brilliant victory. "Our own loss has been heavy--as heavy, in proportion to our numbers, as that of the enemy--though, owing to an advantage of position, while engaged with the infantry, it is actually far less than theirs. Still, lads, it is very, very heavy," and the major looked round, with a saddened face, on the diminished band. "Our only consolation is that our friends have died doing their duty, and setting a noble example. If all Frenchmen were but animated with a spirit like that which, I am proud to say, animates the franc tireurs of Dijon, there are few of the invaders who would ever recross the Rhine. "Lieutenant Ribouville, go through the muster roll of the two companies. Our brave friend De Maupas has, alas! fallen. He was at my side when a rifle ball struck him, in the temple." The list was now called over, and the result was a sad one. The two companies, including officers, had gone into the fight fifty-five strong. Only thirty-one answered to their names. Besides these, eight had been removed farther into the forest, severely wounded; and Philippe Duburg lay a short distance off--the surgeon being employed bandaging his leg, which a rifle ball had entered, above the knee. Fifteen, therefore, were dead or missing--which, as the Germans bayoneted all wounded franc tireurs, was the same thing. Of the thirty-one who answered to their names, nine had wounds more or less severe; and the surgeon, with his assistants, had work on his hands which would take him far into the night. The instant that they were dismissed from parade, the boys hurried to their cousin. He was very pale from loss of blood, but was perfectly sensible. His brother sat on a bench beside him, holding his head on his knee. Philippe smiled faintly as the boys came up. "I am so glad you have escaped," he said, in a low voice. They clasped his hand. "Does it hurt you much, Philippe?" "Not very much; not so much as I should have thought." "Did the doctor say anything about it, Philippe?" "Yes, he said that it had just missed the great arteries; and that he thinks it struck the bone, and has glanced up somewhere; but he can't say till he probes it, when--" "Then your leg is not broken?" "No, he says it is certainly not broken, but it may be splintered." "Thank God for that, anyhow," the boys said. "We owe his life to Tim Doyle," Louis said. "I was not next to him; and did not see him fall, or know he was hit till I saw Tim come up, with him on his shoulders--and even if I had, I could not have lifted him, and carried him off. Tim saved his life. There is no doubt about that." As it was evident that Philippe was too weak to talk, and would be better for being quiet awhile, the boys now left him with his brother. Looking through the trees towards the village, a dense smoke could now be seen rising in several places and, in a few minutes, the whole village was in a blaze. Moved by the sight, the unfortunate inhabitants came out from their hiding places in the forest; wringing their hands, crying, and cursing the invaders. In spite of the advice of Major Tempe, several of the women went off towards the scene of conflagration, to endeavor to save some little household treasure from the flames. In a short time one of them returned to fetch her husband, saying that the enemy had all left before they reached the village, and were already far down the hillside. Major Tempe at once sent forward the unwounded men; to assist the villagers to put out the fire, and to save property. Their efforts were, however, altogether unavailing; the Germans had scattered large quantities of petroleum, before leaving, upon the beds and such other furniture as they could not carry away, or destroy. It was a pitiable sight to see the poor homeless people sitting about, looking at the ruins of their houses. Some cried piteously; others gazed with listless faces, but with a cold despair even more painful to see. Fortunately, they had saved all their animals but, at present, they were too much absorbed in the thoughts of what they had lost, to bestow even a thought of satisfaction on what they had saved. Major Tempe, grieved and touched at the painful scene of which he and his men had been the cause, called the franc tireurs together; and made a proposition to them, which was at once heartily agreed to. He then called together the cure and schoolmaster and--after a few well-chosen words of regret, at the ills which he and his had involuntarily brought upon the village--he handed over to them, in the name of the whole corps, the hundred pounds in thaler notes which had been found upon the schoolmaster whom they had executed for treachery; to be distributed among the inhabitants, according to their necessities. The offer was gratefully received, and the priest and schoolmaster at once went round and told the poor people, whose gratitude and delight were unbounded. To so poor a population, the sum seemed immense; and although it would not replace what was destroyed, it would go far towards making their abodes habitable. The village only contained about twenty houses. The walls were still standing. Timber for the roofs and floors was to be had for cutting, in the forest. Bushes for thatching could be found in abundance. The principal portion of the houses, therefore, would cost only labor, and this money would suffice to keep them alive, while engaged upon it; and enough would remain to get at least a few blankets to lay upon the straw--which would, for the time, serve for beds--together with a few other simple necessaries. The sale of a portion of the animals would do the rest and, in their gratitude to the franc tireurs, for having thus relieved their first and most pressing difficulties, the inhabitants altogether forgot the ill-feeling which they had before felt against them, as the authors of their disaster. After burying their dead, the men set to work to assist the villagers in building temporary huts--or rather bowers--to the edge of the forest; in which, before nightfall, they had the satisfaction of seeing them installed. The few articles of bedding, blankets, etc. saved at the approach of the Prussians were spread on heaps of freshly-cut grass; and one of the oxen of the franc tireurs, which had arrived the day before, was killed and divided. Great fires were lighted and--had it not been for the bandages on the heads, and the arms in slings of several of the franc tireurs--no one coming upon the scene would have guessed how desperate a skirmish had raged here. The next day the carts which had been sent for arrived; and the wounded were placed in them, upon heaps of straw, and sent off with one of the surgeons; with instructions to travel among the hills, until they reached a point where it would be quite safe to descend into the valley, and take the train to Dijon, at the first station at which it was open. Among them was Philippe Duburg, who was accompanied by his brother. Louis had obtained a week's leave of absence, for the purpose; and was the bearer of letters, and innumerable messages, from the boys to their parents and sisters. A few hours later, the remnants of the first and second companies marched to join their comrades. Chapter 10: The Bridge Of The Vesouze. The very day after the fight, news arrived which induced a sudden change of position. Upon the Sixteenth of September the Baden troops occupied Mulhouse, having entered Colmar on the preceding day. It was evident that the railway was so strongly guarded, between Strasburg and Nancy, that it was hopeless to expect to be able to interrupt it, seriously, with so small a force as that at Major Tempe's command; still less possible was it to render any assistance, whatever, to the doomed city of Strasburg. After taking counsel, therefore, with his officers, Major Tempe decided to march more to the south; so as to assist to oppose the passage of the enemy west from Colmar, or Mulhouse, through the passes of the Vosges. The alarm was, however, but temporary for, having made requisitions as usual, the Prussians retired; and the corps returned to their old quarters. There another ten days passed; spent not in ease, but in constant marchings and counter-marchings. Whenever news arrived that any parties of Uhlans were approaching the mountains, with the object of making requisitions, the corps were instantly set in motion. Sometimes severe skirmishes were the result. Sometimes the news turned out to be untrue and, after a long day's march, and a night spent watching, the men had nothing to do but to march back again. Upon the 28th came the news of the surrender of Strasburg, upon the preceding day, after one of the most heroic defenses in history. There was now no doubt that the Germans would, ere long, advance seriously. By this time, the total of the French forces among the Vosges mountains was considerable. Scarce a day passed without the arrival of a corps of franc tireurs and--had all these corps been animated with a spirit such as that evinced by the franc tireurs of Dijon; and had they acted in unity, with discipline and intelligence--they might have rendered immense services to France. Unfortunately, this was very far from being the case. Very many of the men had entered the ranks only to avoid being called upon to go out with the Mobiles--or mobilized national guard. Others had only entered from the impulse of the moment. Very many were altogether unwilling to submit to any steady discipline while, in a great number of cases, the corps were completely paralyzed from the utter incapacity of their officers. Owing to these various causes, the corps of franc tireurs distinguished themselves, in a great number of cases, only by the extreme ingenuity and foresight which they displayed in keeping at a prudent distance from the enemy. Some, too, earned a bad name not only for themselves, but for the whole body of franc tireurs, by their conduct towards the villagers; helping themselves freely to what they required, and making themselves almost as much dreaded by the peasantry as even the Germans, themselves. At the same time the villagers had, in very many cases, only themselves to blame for the rough measures adopted by the franc tireurs; for often, instead of doing all in their power for the men who had taken up arms in the cause of France, the villagers looked upon them only as strangers, out of whom the richest possible harvest was to be obtained; and charged the most exorbitant prices for all articles of necessity supplied to them. In fact, they sometimes did not hesitate to say that they would not provide them, at any price, with the provisions required; as these would be wanted to satisfy the requisition of the Germans, upon their arrival. Perhaps in the whole world there is no class of people so completely engrossed by the thought of gain as are the French bourgeois, and rustic population. Every change of Government, every political alteration, every law passed, is regarded by them simply, and solely, from the view of how it will affect their own pockets. Thus, instead of driving away their flocks and herds, at the approach of the invaders; the people remained quietly in their houses, and shamelessly trafficked with the invaders. This apathy, faint heartedness, and want of patriotism, upon the part of the inhabitants of the small towns and villages, caused innumerable difficulties to the franc tireurs; and Major Tempe was sometimes obliged to take the law into his own hands, when the villagers absolutely refused to sell provisions, or to give quarters to his men. In these cases he summoned the priest, the schoolmaster, and two other head men of the place, and formed a committee with them and his own officers. These fixed a fair price upon the articles required, and Major Tempe then sent round a notice to the effect that, if these articles were furnished in two hours, they would be paid for at the agreed rates; but that if not furnished, he should quarter his men upon the inhabitants, in accordance with the size of their houses, and should remain there at least a week--a threat that never failed in producing the required effect. It was but seldom, however, that the major encountered any difficulties of this sort. The corps was, for the most part, composed of men with some money. They had now, too, sold the sheep and cattle which they had captured at Blamont; finding the inconvenience of sending for them, whenever meat was required. The proceeds of these, and of the horses captured at the same time, had given them a good sum in their regimental chest; and they were, therefore, able and willing to pay a fair price for such articles as they required. Besides this, the report of the actions of Blamont and Still had now widely circulated and--as a general thing--the people were glad to do all in their power, for a corps composed of men who really meant work, and had given good proofs of their courage and energy. By this time, the boys had received several letters from home; and it may be readily imagined the pleasure these letters afforded them. Major Tempe's official report of the doings of his corps had been published in the Dijon papers and, from these, had been copied far and wide through France; and the people of Dijon were not a little proud of their corps. The names of the two Barclays had appeared, in the report, as specially distinguishing themselves; and their father had written, saying how pleased and gratified he was at their conduct. Mrs. Barclay and Milly had also written; but their expressions of pleasure were mingled with many hopes that the boys would not expose themselves, unnecessarily. The band had dwindled much, in the month since they left Dijon. Upwards of thirty had been killed, or disabled, in the fights of Blamont and Still. Half as many more had been killed or wounded in smaller skirmishes; and ten or twelve had gone home, or into hospital, completely knocked up with the hard work and exposure. Only about sixty men, therefore, remained. Schlestadt and Neu Brisach were now invested by the Germans and, after waiting for a few days, to ascertain the course that they were likely to take, Major Tempe determined (as General Cambriels was forming an army, down by Besancon) to defend the upper passes of the Vosges and--as it was rumored that a second German army was likely to advance south, from Nancy--that he would recross the Vosges, and aid in the defense against this second army of invaders. Three days' fatiguing marches brought them to Epinal; where the boys, in accordance with their promise, went straight to the house of the gentleman who had so hospitably served them, at their last visit. Their friends were delighted to see them, and expressed great regret that one of the party was missing. The boys were, however, able to say that their last letter from Dijon had given good accounts of Philippe Duburg, who was now considered out of danger. There was, however, no hope of his being able to rejoin them; as the surgeon considered it probable that his leg would be a very long time, before it would be sufficiently healed to allow him to use it. Their host had read the account in the papers of the doings of the franc tireurs; and his wife laughingly made a further apology to the Barclays, and their cousin, for her remark at their first visit about boys. "My girls have talked about nothing else but your doings, ever since we had the news of your attack upon the Uhlans, near Blamont," she said. "One would think, from the interest they take in the corps, that the whole future of France depended upon the franc tireurs of Dijon." The young Barclays laughed, and Percy muttered something under his breath; while Louis Duburg replied, seriously, that he hoped the franc tireurs of Dijon would always do their best to deserve the kind thoughts of mademoiselles--at which piece of politeness Percy muttered, "Bosh!" Epinal had, as yet, escaped; but it was feared that, ere long, the enemy would advance. The town looked deserted, for all the young men had left with the Mobiles--or mobilized national guard--and all men under forty were drilling, in readiness to march at a moment's notice. No serious movement of the enemy, south of Luneville, was as yet signalized. After two days' rest, the corps again marched north; their destination being kept a profound secret, even from the men. So anxious, apparently, was Major Tempe that, this time, their object should not be foiled by treachery; that after the first day's march he left the main road and, having secured the services of a peasant, as a guide, he made two long days' marches through forests, and over mountains--avoiding even small villages. Four led horses accompanied the march; one laden with the gun cotton, and the other three carrying provisions, so that they might be independent of the local supply. Each night they bivouacked in the forests but, as the weather was now fine--although the nights were cold--this was no hardship, whatever. Upon the morning of the fourth day from their leaving Epinal, Major Tempe told his men that he had learned, at Epinal, that the line was no longer so closely guarded as before--the Germans being confident, now, of the impotence of the French to harm them--and that they were now in the forest of Moudan, within three miles of the railway between Luneville and Rechicourt, on the line to Strasburg. His intention was to reconnoiter that day and--if success should be found possible--to attempt, at daybreak next morning, to blow up the railway bridge over the Vesouze. The news was received with great satisfaction, as the corps were burning to distinguish themselves; and in no way could they do such service as to cut the line of communication--although, as the Germans were no longer dependent upon a single line, the advantage would not be of so signal a nature as it would have been, could they have cut it at the time when they first made the attempt. The Barclays were naturally selected to reconnoiter and, as their change of clothes had been always--by Major Tempe's orders--carried on the baggage horse, they had no difficulty upon that score. Their expedition was uneventful. At the village nearest to the bridge, they went in and bought some cheese and other articles and--after gaining all the information they were able, without exciting attention--they made their way, through broken ground, to a point near enough to the bridge to enable them to reconnoiter it, undiscovered. A sentry was posted at each end. At a cottage hard by were ten others, while there were twenty in the village they had just left. There were also sentries down the line; but these were far enough apart to render it certain that they could not muster in time to interfere, seriously, with the enterprise. With this information, they returned to the forest. A council of war was held; and it was decided that the news was satisfactory, and that the attack should take place at daybreak. Each man was instructed in the work he would have to perform. Lieutenant Houdin, with thirty men, was to surprise the German party in the village. The rest--having made a detour to avoid the village--were to be in readiness to attack the posts near the bridge, immediately a gun was fired in the village. The attack was to be made at daybreak. From the bridge, to the nearest point where the forest was thick enough to afford a safe shelter, was a distance of about two miles. As soon as it became dark, the camp fires were allowed to bum low; and shortly afterwards the whole corps, with the exception of the sentries, were sound asleep. At four o'clock they were roused, and marched silently off in the appointed direction. By five o'clock each party was at its post and, for half an hour, they lay in expectancy. The Barclays were with Major Tempe's party, near the bridge. Louis Duburg, and Tim, were with the party at the village. The attack upon the village was to take place at half-past five; and never did moments appear so slow, to the boys, as those which passed as they awaited the signal. At last the silence was broken by the sharp crack of a rifle, followed by three or four others. "There goes the Prussian sentry, and there is our reply," Major Tempe said. "Now, lads, forward!" As he spoke, the sentry on the bridge fired his rifle; immediately, this was repeated by the next sentry on the line, and the signal was taken up by each sentry, until the sound died in the distance. As it had done so, the franc tireurs had made a rush forwards. They were met by a straggling discharge from the Germans as, half asleep, they hurried out from the guard room. This was answered by the fire of the franc tireurs, who surrounded them. Five fell; and the others, surprised and panic stricken, threw down their arms. They were instantly secured, and the bridge was at once seized. The firing still continued in the village; but in another five minutes it ceased and, shortly afterwards, Louis Duburg ran up with the tidings that the village was taken. The Germans, surprised in their beds, had offered but a slight resistance. Four were killed, and sixteen taken prisoners; one franc tireur, only, was slightly wounded. "Take two men with you," Major Tempe said, "and escort those five prisoners to the village. Give them over to Lieutenant Houdin; and tell him to send them, with the prisoners he has taken, under charge of six men to the forest. Let their hands be tied behind their backs, for we cannot spare a larger escort. Tell him to be sure that the escort are loaded, and have fixed bayonets. Directly he has sent off the prisoners let him join me here, with the rest of his force." Lieutenant Ribouville now set to work to inspect the bridge; and ordered the men--who were provided with the necessary implements--to set to, and dig a hole down to the crown of the principal arch. It was harder work than they had expected. The roadway was solid, the ballast pressed down very tightly, and the crown of the arch covered, to a considerable depth, with concrete. Only a few men could work at once and, after a half-hour's desperate labor, the hole was nothing like far enough advanced to ensure the total destruction of the bridge, upon the charge being fired. In the meantime the Prussian sentries were arriving from up and down the line and, although not in sufficient force to attack, had opened fire from a distance. "Don't you think that will do, Ribouville?" Major Tempe asked. "No, sir," the other replied. "It might blow a hole through the top of the arch, but I hardly think that it would do so. Its force would be spent upwards." At this moment Ralph--who had done his spell of work, and had been down to the stream, to get a drink of water--came running up. "If you please, Lieutenant Ribouville, there is a hole right through the pier, just above the water's edge. It seems to have been left to let any water that gets into the pier, from above, make its escape. I should think that would do to hold the charge." "The very thing," Lieutenant Ribouville said, delightedly. "What a fool I was, not to have looked to see if such a hole existed! "Stop work, men, and carry the barrels down to the edge of the water." The stream was not above waist deep; and the engineer officer immediately waded into it, and examined the hole. He at once pronounced it to be admirably suited to the purpose. It did not--as Ralph had supposed--go straight through; but there were two holes, one upon each side of the pier, nearly at the same level, and each extending into the center of the pier. The holes were about four inches square. The barrels of gun cotton were now hastily opened on the bank, and men waded out with the contents. Lieutenant Ribouville upon one side, and Ralph upon the other, took the cotton and thrust it, with long sticks, into the ends of the hole. In five minutes the contents of the two barrels were safely lodged, the fuse inserted, and the operation of tamping--or ramming--in dry sand, earth, and stones commenced. "Make haste!" Major Tempe shouted. "Their numbers are increasing fast. There are some fifteen or twenty, on either side." A brisk fire of rifles was now going on. The day had fairly broken; and the franc tireurs, sheltered behind the parapet of the bridge, on the bank of the river, were exchanging a lively fire with the enemy. Three-quarters of an hour had passed since the first shot was fired. Suddenly a distant boom was heard, followed in a few seconds by a slight whizzing noise, which grew rapidly into a loud scream and, in another moment, there was an explosion close to the bridge. The men all left off their work, for an instant. "And what may that be, Mister Percy? A more unpleasant sound I niver heard, since I was a baby." "I quite agree with you, Tim, as to its unpleasantness. It is a shell. The artillery are coming up from Luneville. The fire of the sentries would take the alarm, in a couple of minutes; give them another fifteen to get ready, and half an hour to get within range. "Here comes another." "Are you ready, Ribouville?" the commandant shouted. "They have cavalry, as well as artillery. We must be off, or we shall get caught in a trap." "I am ready," was the answer. "Barclay, strike a match, and put it to the end of your fuse, till it begins to fizz. "Have you lit it?" "Yes, sir," Ralph said, a moment later. "So have I," the lieutenant said. "They will burn about three minutes. "Now for a run!" In a couple of minutes the franc tireurs were retreating, at the double; and they had not gone a hundred yards when they heard the sound of two tremendous explosions, following closely one upon another. Looking back, they saw the pier had fallen in fragments; and that the bridge lay, a heap of ruins, in the stream. "Hurrah, lads!" shouted the commandant. "You have done your work well. Those who get out of this with a whole skin may well be proud of their day's work. "Don't mind the shells," he continued, as two more of the missiles burst, in quick succession, within a short distance of them. "They make an ugly noise; but they won't hurt us, at this distance." The German artillerymen had apparently arrived at the same conclusion, for they now ceased to fire; and the retreating corps were only exposed to an occasional shot from the infantry, who had followed them from the bridge. "The artillery and cavalry will be up, before we reach the wood," Percy said to his brother, as they trotted along, side by side. "They may come up," Ralph said, "but they can do us no harm, on the broken ground; and will catch a Tartar, if they don't mind." The ground was indeed unfavorable for cavalry, and artillery. It was broken up with the spurs of the hill. Here and there great masses of rock cropped out of the ground, while patches of forest extended over a considerable portion of the ground. In one of these, standing upon rising and broken ground, Major Tempe halted his men; and opened so heavy a fire upon the enemy's cavalry, when the column appeared, that they were at once halted; and although, when the artillery arrived, a few shells were fired into the wood, the franc tireurs had already retired, and gained the forest without further molestation. Upon calling the roll, it was discovered that six men, only, were missing. These had fallen--either killed or wounded--from the fire of the enemy's infantry, during the time that the operation at the bridge were being carried out. There was great rejoicing at the success of their enterprise, the effect of which would certainly be to block the traffic along that line, for at least a week. Their satisfaction was, however, somewhat damped by the sight of several dense columns of smoke in the plain; showing that the Germans had, as usual, wreaked their vengeance upon the innocent villagers. The feeling of disgust was changed to fury when some of the peasants--who had fled into the woods, upon the destruction of their abodes--reported that the Germans, having found that three of the franc tireurs were only wounded, had dragged them along to the entrance to the village; and had hung them there upon some trees, by the roadside. Had it not been for Major Tempe's assurance, that their comrades should be avenged, the franc tireurs would at once have killed their prisoners. In the evening the men were formed up, the prisoners ranged in line, and twelve were taken by lot; and these, with the officer taken with them--when night fell--were bound and marched off, under a guard of thirty men. Neither of the boys formed part of the escort, which was an immense relief to them for, although they were as indignant as the rest, at the murder of their wounded comrades by the Germans; and quite agreed in the justice of reprisal, still, they were greatly relieved when they found that they would not have to be present at the execution. Two hours later Major Tempe returned, with the escort. The officer, and eleven of his men, had been hung on trees by the roadside, at a distance of half a mile, only, from the village; the twelfth man had been released, as bearer of a note from Major Tempe to the German commanding officer saying that, as a reprisal for the murder of the three wounded franc tireurs, he had hung twelve Germans; and that, in future, he would always hang four prisoners for every one of his men who might be murdered, contrary to the rules of war. This act of retributive justice performed, the corps retreated to join the army of the Vosges, under General Cambriels. The news of the destruction of the bridge across the Vesouze had preceded them; and when, after three days' heavy marching, they reached the village which formed the headquarters of the general, they were received with loud cheers by the crowds of Mobiles who thronged its little streets. It was out of the question to find quarters; and the major therefore ordered the men to bivouac in the open, while he reported himself to General Cambriels. The commandant of the franc tireurs was personally known to General Cambriels, having at one time served for some years under his command; and he was most warmly received by the veteran, one of the bravest and most popular of the French generals. As general of the district, he had received all Major Tempe's reports; and was therefore acquainted with the actions of the corps. "Ah, major!" he said, after the first greetings, "if I had only a few thousand men, animated with the spirit and courage of your fellows, the Germans would never get through the Vosges. As it is I shall, of course, do my best; but what can one do with an army of plow boys, led by officers who know nothing of their duty, against troops like the Germans? "As for my franc tireurs, they are in many cases worse than useless. They have no discipline, whatever. They embroil me with the peasantry. They are always complaining. The whole of them, together, have not done as much real service as your small band. They shoot down Uhlans, when they catch them in very small parties; but have no notion, whatever, of real fighting. "However, I cannot thank you too warmly. Your name will appear in the Gazette, tomorrow, as colonel; and I must ask you to extend the sphere of your duties. We want officers, terribly; and I will brigade four or five of these corps of franc tireurs under your orders, so as to make up a force of a thousand men. You will have full authority over them, to enforce any discipline you may choose. I want you to make a body to act as an advanced guard of skirmishers to my army of Mobiles. I have a few line troops, but I want them as a nucleus for the force. "What do you say?" "Personally, general, I should greatly prefer remaining with my own little corps, upon every man of whom I can rely. At the same time, I should not wish for a moment to oppose my own likings, or dislikings, to the general good of the service. Many of these corps of franc tireurs are composed of excellent materials and, if well led and disciplined, would do anything. I can only say I will do my best." "Thank you, Tempe. Is there anything else I can do for you?" "I should like to see a step given to the three officers serving under me," the major said. "They have all served in the regular army, and all have equally well done their duty." "It shall be done; and two of them shall be posted to other corps, while one takes the command of your own," the general said. "Do you wish commissions for any of the men?" Major Tempe named three of the men, and then added: "The two members of the corps who have most distinguished themselves I have not mentioned, general, because they are too young to place over the heads of the others; at the same time, their services certainly deserve recognition. I mentioned them, in the dispatches I sent to you, as having done immense service by going down, in disguise, into the midst of the Germans. In fact, at Saverne they saved the corps from destruction. They are two young English lads, named Barclay." "I remember distinctly," General Cambriels said. "They speak French fluently, I suppose, as well as German?" "Both languages like natives," the major answered. "And can they ride?" "Yes, admirably," Major Tempe said. "I knew them before the war, and they are excellent horsemen." "Then they are the very fellows for me," General Cambriels said. "I will give them commissions in the provisional army, at once; and put them upon my own staff. They would be of great value to me. "You will spare them, I hope?" "I shall be extremely sorry to do so, general; but for their own sakes, and for the good of the service, I will of course do so." "Thanks, colonel. I shall put the franc tireurs of Dijon in general orders, tomorrow, as having performed good service to the country; and please to thank them, in my name, for their services." "Thank you very much, general. It will give me more pleasure than even the step that you have been kind enough to give to myself." "Good evening, colonel. We must have a long chat together, one of these days. "The chief of my staff will give you the names of the corps to be placed under your orders. The matter was settled this morning, and I have picked out the best of those here. Orders have been sent for them to assemble at Raoul--a village, a mile from here--in the morning; with a notification that they are placed under your command. "Goodbye." Chapter 11: A Fight In The Vosges. Upon Colonel Tempe's rejoining the men--who were already busy preparing their suppers--he ordered the assembly to be sounded and, when they were formed up, he formally thanked them, in the name of the general, for the service that they had rendered; adding that they would appear in general orders, upon the following day. The men replied with a cheer of "Vive la France!" Their commander then informed them that he, himself, had received a step in rank and would, in future, command them with several other corps; that Lieutenant Ribouville would, in future, be their special commander, with the rank of captain; that the other two lieutenants would be promoted; and that three of their number would receive commissions and, while one of them remained under Captain Ribouville, the others would--with the newly-made captains--be attached to other corps. The two Barclays would receive commissions as officers, on the staff of General Cambriels, himself. When Colonel Tempe finished speaking, the boys could hardly believe their ears; and looked at each other, to inquire if they heard aright. There could be no mistake about it; for Colonel Tempe called them forward and, shaking hands with them, congratulated them on the promotion which, he said, they had well earned. The men gave a hearty cheer; for the young English lads were general favorites, for their good temper and willingness to oblige. Directly the men were dismissed, the colonel again called the lads to him. "I am sorry to lose you," he said, "but of course it is for your good. Come with me, at once, to General Cambriels. I will introduce you, and you had better ask for four days' leave. You can get the railway in four hours' ride from here. You will have no difficulty in finding a place in some of the commissariat cities going to fetch stores. If you start tonight, you can catch a train before morning, and be in Dijon quite early. A couple of days will be sufficient to get your uniforms made, and to buy horses. "Your cousin will go with you. I gave him leave, last night, to start upon our arrival here. He is not so strong as you are; and the surgeon says that he must have rest, and quiet. He is quite worn out. "Now, pile your rifles--you will not want them any more--and come with me. I have said good night to the general, but he will excuse me." Still bewildered, the boys did as they were ordered. As they were piling their rifles, they heard a loud blubbering. Looking round, they saw Tim Doyle, weeping most copiously. "What is the matter, Tim?" "Matter! Your honor, ain't yer going to lave us? What am I going to do, at all?" The boys hurried away, without reply--for Colonel Tempe was waiting for them--and, on the way to headquarters, mentioned Tim's grief at parting with them. The general received the lads most kindly and, at once, granted them four days' leave to go to Dijon, to procure uniform. Colonel Tempe then said: "You do not want orderlies, do you, general?" "I do, indeed," the general answered. "I have about a dozen cavalry men, of different regiments, who form my escort and act as orderlies; but they are my entire force of cavalry." "I have an Irishman in my corps, general, who only joined to be near these young fellows. He was brought up among horses; and you have only to put him in a hussar uniform, and he would make a capital orderly, and would act as servant to your new staff officers." "By all means," the general said; "send him over, in the morning. We will make a hussar of him, in half an hour; we have got a few uniforms in store." What a meeting that was, near Dijon! The boys, upon reaching the station, had found a train on the point of starting; and it was seven in the morning when they reached the town. The shops open early, in French country towns; and although their tailor had not as yet taken his shutters down, he was up and about, and willingly measured them for their new uniforms--promising that they should have them, without fail, the next afternoon. They then walked up to the cottage; and dropped in just as the party, there, were sitting down to breakfast. There was a loud exclamation from Captain Barclay, and a scream of delight from their mother, and Milly; and it was a good ten minutes before they were sitting round the table, talking coherently. It was but six weeks since they had left, but it seemed like years; and there was as much to tell, and to talk about, as if they had just returned, after an absence of half a lifetime, in India. "How long have you got leave for?" was one of the first questions. "Only four days," Percy said. "The corps has now joined the army of the Vosges, and will act regularly with it. A move forward will take place, in a few days, so that we could not ask for longer." "Only four days!" Mrs. Barclay and Milly repeated, aghast. "It is not much, mamma," Ralph put in, "but it is better than nothing. You see, you did not expect us at all." "Quite so," Captain Barclay said, cheerfully. "It is a clear gain, and we waste the time in regretting that it is not longer. It is a great delight to have you back again, even for a few hours. You both look wonderfully well, and fully a year older than when you left. Roughing it, and exposure, evidently suits you. "Has Louis come back with you?" "Yes, papa, he has come back to stay, for some time. He is completely done up, and the surgeon has ordered rest and quiet, for a while. "How is Philippe?" "He is getting on well; and will walk, the doctor hopes, in another fortnight, or three weeks; but I have not seen him for--although your uncle comes in, as usual, for a chat with me--Madame Duburg has never forgiven me for having, as she says, influenced him in allowing the boys to go; and of course, since this wound of Philippe's, she has been more angry than ever." The boys laughed. They understood their aunt's ways. "Tim has not been hurt, I hope?" Milly asked. "Oh no; Tim is as well as ever, and the life and soul of the corps." As breakfast went on, the boys gradually related the changes that were taking place: Major Tempe's promotion to be colonel, and the fact that he was placed in command of several corps of franc tireurs, who were hereafter to act together. They said no word, however, about their own promotion; having agreed to keep that matter secret, until the uniforms were completed. They had also asked their cousin to say nothing about it, at home; as otherwise their uncle would have been sure to have come in to congratulate them, and the secret would have been at an end, at once. An hour later, Monsieur Duburg came in to see them. After the first talk, he said to Captain Barclay: "The way in which your boys have stood the fatigue is a proof, in itself, how much the prosperity of a nation depends upon the training of its boys. England is strong because her boys are all accustomed, from their childhood, to active exercise and outdoor, violent games. In case of a war, like this which we are going through, almost every man could turn soldier, and go through the fatigues of a campaign; and what is more, could make light of--not to say enjoy--them. "Here, upon the contrary, our young fellows do nothing and, in an emergency like the present, want both spirit and strength to make soldiers. Almost all the boys who went from here in Tempe's corps have returned, completely worn out. Even Louis is a wreck; although, thanks to the companionship of your boys, he has supported it better, and longer, than the majority of them. Had he began, as a child, to take pleasure in strong exercise; no doubt he could have stood it as well as Ralph and Percy, who look absolutely benefited by it. Unfortunately, I allowed my wife's silly objection to prevail; until the last three years, when I insisted that they should do as they liked. "As I have said before, Barclay, I say again: I congratulate you on your boys. You have a right to be proud of them. I wish the race of young Frenchmen were only like them." Great indeed was the astonishment--upon the afternoon of the following day--when Ralph and Percy walked into the sitting room, dressed as staff officers; feeling a little awkward with their swords, but flushed with an honorable pleasure and pride--for their epaulets had been gained by no family interests, no private influence. They were worn as the reward of good service. Captain Barclay wrung the boys' hands, silently. Their mother cried with delight, and Milly danced round the boys like a small possessed one. "It is not for the absolute rank itself, boys, that I am pleased," their father said, when they had related the whole circumstances; "for you have no idea of remaining in the French service and, consequently, the rank will be of no use to you, after the end of the war. Still, it is a thing all your lives to be proud of--that you won your commission in the French army, by good service." "What I am thinking of most," Mrs. Barclay said, "is that, now they are officers in the regular army, they will run no risk of being shot, if they are taken prisoners." "We don't mean to be taken prisoners, mamma. Still, as you say, it is certainly an advantage in favor of the regular uniform." "And what is to become of Tim?" Milly asked. "Oh, Tim is going to become a hussar, and act as one of the general's orderlies; and be our servant, when he has nothing else to do. You see, now we are officers, we have a right to servants." "I am very glad Tim is going with you," Mrs. Barclay said. "My brother tells us that he saved Philippe's life, and it seems a comfort to know that he is with you." The next morning Captain Barclay went down with them to the town, and purchased a couple of capital horses which, by great good fortune, were on sale. Upon the morning of the fourth day of their visit, the boys took leave of their father and mother, and left to join the headquarters of General Cambriels. The parting was far less trying than it had been, the first time they went away. The boys were not, now, going out to an unknown danger. Although the risk that a staff officer runs is, absolutely, somewhat greater than that incurred by a regimental officer; still, it is slight in comparison with the risk run by a franc tireur, employed in harassing an enemy, and in cutting his communications--especially when capture means death. Those who remained behind were encouraged partly by this thought, but still more by the really irrational one that, as the boys had gone away and come back safe, once, they would probably do so again. The evening of the same day, the Barclays reported themselves for duty to the general and, next morning, began work. Their duty was hard, though simple. By day they were constantly on duty--that is to say, either riding over the country, or waiting near the general's quarters in readiness for a start or--more seldom--writing, and drawing up reports in the office. By night they took it in turns with the other staff officers to be on duty--that is to say, to lie down to sleep in uniform, with the horse saddled at the door, in readiness to start at an instant's notice. Tim's duties as an orderly were not heavy, and were generally over by five o'clock; after which he acted as servant to the boys. It was impossible, under the circumstances, for the staff to mess together, as usual. There was neither a room available nor, indeed, any of the appliances. Among Tim's other duties, therefore, was that of cooking. They had also another orderly allotted to them, and he devoted himself to the care of the horses; Tim undertaking all other work. The boys liked their new duties much. The work was hard, but pleasant. Their fellow officers were pleasant companions, and their general most kind, and genial. A week after they had joined, General Cambriels advanced into the Vosges to oppose the Prussians, who were marching south. The progress of the army was slow, for they had to carry what supplies they required with them. Colonel Tempe kept, with his command, a few hours' march ahead; and one or other of the boys was frequently dispatched with orders, etc. to obtain reports from him. After three days' marching, they neared the enemy. All was now watchfulness, and excitement. The franc tireurs were already engaged in skirmishing and, early one morning, Ralph received orders to ride forward and reconnoiter the enemy's position. Passing through the posts of franc tireurs, he rode cautiously along the road; with his hand on the butt of his revolver, and his horse well in hand--ready to turn and ride for his life, on an instant's notice. Presently, as the road wound through a narrow gorge, lined with trees, he heard a voice say, close in his ear, "Stop!" He reined in his horse, and drew his pistol. The leaves parted; and a man of some sixty years of age, armed with an old double-barreled fowling piece, stepped out. "The Germans are just beyond," he said. "I expect them every moment." "And what are you doing here?" Ralph asked. "What am I doing?" repeated the peasant. "I am waiting to shoot some of them." "But they will hang you, to a certainty, if they catch you." "Let them," the old man said, quietly; "they will do me no more harm than they have done me. I had a nice farm, near Metz. I lived there with my wife and daughter, and my three boys. Someone fired at the Prussians from a wood near. No one was hit, but that made no difference. The black-hearted scoundrels came to my farm; shot my three boys, before their mother's eyes; ill treated her, so that she died next day and, when I returned--for I was away, at the time--I found a heap of ashes, where my house had stood; the dead bodies of my three boys; my wife dying, and my daughter sitting by, screaming with laughter--mad--quite mad! "I took her away to a friend's house; and stayed with her till she died, too, a fortnight after. Then I bought this gun, and some powder and lead, with my last money; and went out to kill Prussians. I have killed thirteen already and, please God," and the peasant lifted his hat, devoutly, "I will kill two more, today." "How is it that you have escaped so long?" Ralph asked, in surprise. "I never fire at infantry," the peasant said. "It was Uhlans that did it, and it's only Uhlans I fire at. I put myself on a rock, or a hillside, where they can't come--or in a thick wood--and I content myself with my two shots, and then go. I don't want to be killed, yet. I have set my mind on having fifty--just ten for each of mine--and when I've shot the last of the fifty, the sooner they finish me, the better. "You'd better not go any farther, sir. The valley widens out, round the corner; and there are Prussians in the nearest village." "Thank you," Ralph said, "but my orders are to reconnoiter them, myself, and I must do so. I am well mounted, and I don't think that they will catch me, if I get a couple of hundred yards' start. There are franc tireurs in the village, a mile back." Ralph now rode carefully forward, while the peasant went back into his hiding place by the wood. As he had said, the gorge widened into a broad valley, a few hundred yards farther on. Upon emerging from the gorge, Ralph at once saw a village--almost hidden among trees--at a distance of less than a quarter of a mile. After what he had heard, he dared not ride on farther. He therefore drew his horse aside from the road, among some trees; dismounted, and made his way carefully up the rocky side of the hill, to a point from which he could command a view down the whole valley. When he gained this spot, he looked cautiously round. Below, beyond the village, he could see large numbers of men; could make out lines of cavalry horses, and rows of artillery. A considerable movement was going on, and Ralph had no doubt that they were about to advance. In his interest in what he saw, he probably exposed his figure somewhat; and caught the eye of some sharp-sighted sentry, in the village. The first intimation of his danger was given him by seeing some twenty Uhlans dart suddenly out of the trees, in which the village lay, at the top of their speed while, almost at the same moment, eight or ten rifles flashed, and the balls whizzed round him in most unpleasant propinquity. Ralph turned in an instant; and bounded down the rock with a speed and recklessness of which, at any other moment, he would have been incapable. Fierce as was the pace at which the Uhlans were galloping, they were still a hundred yards distant when Ralph leaped upon his horse, and galloped out in front of them. There was a rapid discharge of their carbines, but men at full gallop make but poor shooting. Ralph felt he was untouched but, by the convulsive spring which his horse gave, he knew the animal was wounded. For a couple of hundred yards, there was but little difference in his speed; and then Ralph--to his dismay--felt him flag, and knew that the wound had been a severe one. Another hundred yards, and the animal staggered; and would have fallen, had not Ralph held him up well, with knee and bridle. The Uhlans saw it; for they gave a shout, and a pistol bullet whizzed close to his head. Ralph looked round. An officer, twenty yards ahead of his men, was only about forty yards in his rear. In his hand he held a revolver, which he had just discharged. "Surrender!" he shouted, "or you are a dead man!" Ralph saw that his pursuers were too close to enable him to carry out his intention of dismounting, and taking to the wood--which, here, began to approach thickly close to the road--and was on the point of throwing up his arm, in token of surrender; when his horse fell heavily, with him, at the moment when the Prussian again fired. Almost simultaneously with the crack of the pistol came the report of a gun; and the German officer fell off his horse, shot through the heart. Ralph leaped to his feet, and dashed up the bank in among the trees; just as another shot was fired, with a like fatal result, into the advancing Uhlans. The rest--believing that they had fallen into an ambush--instantly turned their horses' heads, and galloped back the road they had come. Ralph's first impulse was to rush down into the road, and catch the officer's horse; which had galloped on a short distance when its master fell, and was now returning, to follow its companions. As he did so, the old peasant appeared, from the wood. "Thank you," Ralph said warmly. "You have saved my life or, at any rate, have saved me from a German prison." The peasant paid no attention to him; but stooped down to examine, carefully, whether the Germans were both dead. "Two more," he said, with a grim smile. "That makes fifteen. Three apiece." Then he picked up the officer's revolver, took the cartridge belonging to it from the pouch and, with a wave of the hand to Ralph, strode back into the wood. Ralph removed the holsters from the saddle of his own horse--which had fallen dead--placed them on the horse of the German officer and then, mounting it, rode off at full speed, to inform General Cambriels of the results of his investigation. "Hallo, Barclay!" one of his fellow officers said, as he rode up to the headquarters, "what have you been up to? Doing a little barter, with a German hussar? You seem to have got the best of him, too; for your own horse was a good one, but this is a good deal better, unless I am mistaken. "How has it come about?" Quite a crowd of idlers had collected round, while the officer was speaking; struck, like him, with the singularity of the sight of a French staff officer upon a horse with German trappings. Ralph did not wish to enter into explanations, there; so merely replied, in the same jesting strain, that it had been a fair exchange--the small difference in the value of the horses being paid for, with a small piece of lead. Then, throwing his reins to his orderly--who came running up--he went in to report, to the general, the evident forward movements of the Germans. "Are they as strong as we have heard?" the general asked. "Fully, I should say, sir. I had no means of judging the infantry, but they seemed in large force. They were certainly strong in cavalry, and I saw some eight or ten batteries of artillery." "Let the next for duty ride, with all speed, to Tempe; and tell him to hold the upper end of this valley. Send Herve's battery forward to assist him. Have the general assembly sounded." Ralph left to obey these orders, while the general gave the colonel of his staff the instructions for the disposition of his forces. The army of the Vosges--pompous as was its name--consisted, at this time, of only some ten thousand men; all Mobiles or franc tireurs, with the exception of a battalion of line, and a battalion of Zouaves. The Mobiles were almost undisciplined, having only been out a month; and were, for the most part, armed only with the old muzzle loader. Many were clothed only in the gray trousers, with a red stripe, which forms part of the mobile's uniform; and in a blue blouse. Great numbers of them were almost shoeless; having been taken straight from the plow, or workshop, and having received no shoes since they joined. Half disciplined, half armed, half clothed, they were too evidently no match for the Germans. The fact was patent to their general, and his officers. Still, his instructions were to make a stand, at all hazards, in the Vosges; and he now prepared to obey the orders--not hoping for victory, but trusting in the natural courage of his men to enable him to draw them off without serious disaster. His greatest weakness was his artillery, of which he had only two batteries; against eight or ten of the Germans--whose forces were, even numerically, superior to his own. In half an hour, the dispositions were made. The valley was wide, at this point; and there were some five or six villages nestled in it. It was pretty thickly wooded and, two miles behind, narrowed again considerably. Just as the troops had gained their appointed places, a faint sound of heavy musketry fire was heard, in the gorge ahead; mingled, in a few minutes, with the deep boom of cannon. The general, surrounded by his staff, moved forward towards the spot. From the road at the entrance to the narrow part of the valley, nothing could be seen; but the cracking of rifles among the trees and rocks on either side, the bursting of shells and the whistling of bullets were incessant. The general and his staff accordingly dismounted, handed their horses to the men of the escort, and mounted the side of the hill. After a sharp climb, they reached a point from whence they could see right down the long narrow valley. On beyond, the trees--except near the road--were thin; the steep sides of the hills being covered with great blocks of stone, and thick brushwood. Among these--all down one side, and up the other--at a distance of some five hundred yards from the post taken up by the general, a succession of quick puffs of smoke told where Colonel Tempe's franc tireurs were placed; while among the trees below there came up great wreaths of smoke from the battery, which was supporting them by firing at the Germans. These formed a long line, up and down the sides of the valley, at three or four hundred yards distance from the French lines. Two German batteries were down in the road, a few hundred yards to the rear of their skirmishers; and these were sending shells thickly up among the rocks, where the franc tireurs were lying hid; while two other batteries--which the Germans had managed to put a short way up on the mountain sides, still farther in the rear--were raining shell, with deadly precision, upon the French batteries in the road. A prettier piece of warfare it would have been difficult to imagine--the lofty mountain sides; the long lines of little puffs of smoke, among the brushwood and rocks; the white smoke arising from the trees, in the bottom; the quick, dull bursts of the shells--as a spectacle, it was most striking. The noise was prodigious. The steep sides of the mountain echoed each report of the guns into a prolonged roar, like the rumble of thunder. The rattle of the musketry never ceased for an instant, and loud and distinct above the din rose the menacing scream of the shells. "This is grand, indeed, Ralph!" Percy said, after a moment's silence. "Splendid!" Ralph said, "but it is evident we cannot hold the gorge. Their skirmishers are three to our one, and their shells must be doing terrible damage." "Barclay," General Cambriels said, "go down to the battery, and bring me back word how they are getting on." The scene quite lost its beauty to Percy, now, as he saw Ralph scramble rapidly down the hillside in the direction of the trees; among which the French battery was placed, and over and among which the shells were bursting, every second. It seemed like entering a fiery furnace. It was a terribly long ten minutes before Ralph was seen, climbing up the hillside again; and Percy's heart gave a jump of delight, when he first caught sight of his figure. As Ralph came near, his brother saw that he was very pale, and had a handkerchief bound round one arm. This was already soaked with blood. He kept on steadily, however, until he reached the general; who had, upon seeing he was wounded, advanced to meet him. "One gun is dismounted, sir, and half the men are killed or wounded." "Go down, Harcourt, and tell Herve to fall back at once; and to take position in the clump of trees, a quarter of a mile down the valley, so as to sweep the entrance. "Laon, go to the right, and you, Dubois, to the left. Order the franc tireurs to retreat along the hillside and, when they get to the end of the gorge, to form in the plain, and fall back to the first village. "You are wounded, Barclay. Not seriously, I hope?" he said, kindly, as the officers hurried away on their respective missions. "A splinter of a shell, sir," Ralph said, faintly. "I don't think it has touched the bone, but it has cut the flesh badly." Ralph was just able to say this, when his head swam; and he would have fallen, had not Percy caught him in his arms, with a little cry. "He has only fainted from loss of blood," the general said. "Two or three handkerchiefs, gentlemen. "Now, major, bind them round his arm. "Now take off his sash, and bind it as tightly as you can, over them. That's right. "Now carry him down the rocks, to the horses. We have no time to lose." Two of the officers at once put their arms under Ralph's shoulders, while Percy took his feet; and they hastened down to the horses. As they did so, Ralph opened his eyes. "I am all right, now," he said, faintly. "Lie quiet," the major said, kindly. "It is only loss of blood. There is no real harm done. "There, here are the horses." Ralph was placed, sitting, on the ground; a little brandy and water was given to him and, as the blood was oozing but slowly through the bandage, he felt sufficiently restored to sit on his horse. "Doyle, you go with Lieutenant Barclay," the colonel of the staff said. "Ride slowly, and keep close beside him; so as to catch him, if you see him totter. You will find the surgeons ready at the general's quarters. "Halt, stand aside for a moment. Here comes the artillery." "Well done, lads, well done!" the general said, as the diminished battery rattled past, at full gallop. Then he himself, with his staff, put spurs to his horse and went off at full speed; while Tim followed at a walk, riding by the side of Ralph. The flow of blood had now stopped, and Ralph was able to sit his horse until he reached the house which had served as the general's headquarters, in the morning. Here one of the staff surgeons had fitted up a temporary ambulance; and Ralph's bandages were soon taken off, and his coat removed. Tim turned sick at the sight of the ugly gash in his young master's arm, and was obliged to go out into the air. The artillery were already at work, and their fire told that the franc tireurs had retired from the gorge, and that the Germans were entering the wider valley. "You have had a narrow escape," the surgeon said, after examining Ralph's arm, "a quarter of an inch lower, and it would have cut the main artery; and you would have bled to death in five minutes. As it is, there is no great harm done. It is a deepish flesh wound but, with your youth and constitution, it will heal up in a very short time. I will draw the edges together, with a needle and thread: put a few straps of plaster on, and a bandage; and then you had better get into an ambulance wagon and go to the rear, at once." "Can't I go into the field again, now?" Ralph asked; "I feel as if I could ride again, now." "No, you can do nothing of the sort," the surgeon said. "You have lost a lot of blood; and if you were to ride now, it might set off the wound bleeding again, and you might be a dead man before you could be brought back here. Keep quiet, and do as you are ordered, and in a week you may be in the saddle again." "It seems very hard," Ralph began. "Not at all hard," the surgeon said. "You will see plenty more fighting, before this war is over. "This is a hard case, if you like; you have every reason to be thankful." As he spoke, he pointed to a young mobile who was brought in, his chest literally torn open with a shell. "I can do nothing for him," the surgeon said, after a brief inspection of his wound; "he has not half an hour to live, and will probably not recover consciousness. If he does, give him some weak brandy, and water." Wounded men were now being brought in fast, and Ralph went out and sat down by the door. "Fasten my horse up here, Tim. The ambulance will be full of poor fellows who will want them more than I shall. If I see that we are being driven back, I shall mount and ride quietly back. "No, there is nothing more you can do for me. Go and join Percy." The fight was now raging furiously. The Germans, covered by the fire of their artillery, had debouched from the pass and were steadily pressing forward. They had already carried the village nearest to them. This the French had set fire to, before retreating, to prevent its serving as a shelter for the enemy. The Mobiles stood their ground, for the most part well, under the heavy fire of shot and shell; but their muzzle loaders were no match for the Germans' needle guns, and the enemy were pressing steadily forward. Just as Tim Doyle rode up to the staff, the Germans had taken another village. "That village must be retaken," the general said. "Barclay, ride and order the Zouaves to carry it, with the bayonet." Percy galloped off to where the Zouaves, lying behind a ridge in the ground, were keeping up a heavy fire in answer to the storm of shot and shell which fell around them. He rode up to the officer in command. "The Zouaves are to retake the village, with the bayonet," he said. The colonel gave the order, but the fire was so heavy that the men would not face it. Again and again the officer reiterated the order; standing exposed on the bank, in front of his men, to give them confidence. It was in vain, and the colonel looked towards Percy with an air of despair. Percy turned his horse, and galloped back to the general. "The colonel has done all he can, sir, but the men won't advance." "The fire is very heavy," the general said, "but we must have the village back again." And he rode off, himself, to the battalion of Zouaves. The shot and shell were flying around him, but he sat on his horse as immovable as if at a review. "My lads," he said, in a loud, clear tone, "generally the difficulty has been to prevent the Zouaves rushing to an attack. Don't let it be said that a French general had to repeat, to French Zouaves, an order to charge before they obeyed him." In an instant the Zouaves were on their feet and, with a cheer, went at the village. The Germans in possession fired rapidly, as the French approached, and then hastily evacuated it; the Zouaves taking possession, and holding it, under a tremendous fire. All the afternoon the battle raged, villages being taken and retaken, several times. The Germans, however, were gradually gaining ground. Some of the regiments of Mobiles had quite lost all order and discipline, and their officers in vain tried to persuade them to hold the position in which they were placed. Two of the staff officers were killed, three others wounded. Percy had escaped, almost by a miracle. Over and over again, he had carried the general's orders across ground swept by the enemy's shot and shell. A horse had been killed under him, but he had not received even a scratch; and now, mounted upon the horse of one of the officers, who was killed, he was returning from carrying an order across a very open piece of ground, at full gallop. Suddenly he came upon a sight which--hurried as he was, and exposed as was the position--caused him instantly to draw his rein, and come to a full stop. Illustration: The Children on the Battlefield. There, in the open field, were two children: the one a boy, of six or seven years old; the other a little flaxen-haired, blue-eyed girl, of five. They were quietly picking flowers. "What are you doing here?" Percy asked, in astonishment. He spoke in French and, receiving no answer, repeated the question in German. "What are you doing here?" "If you please, sir," the boy answered, "I have been out in the wood, with Lizzie, to pick flowers; and when I came back there was a great fire in the house, and a great noise all round, and I couldn't find father and mother; and so we came out, to look for them." Percy did not know what to do. It was too pitiful to leave the poor little creatures where they were; and yet, he could not carry them away. He had no doubt that their parents were hid in the woods. "Look here," he said; "if I take Lizzie upon my horse, will you run along after me?" "No, no," the little girl said, vehemently. There was no time for parley. "Look here, do you see those soldiers lying down in a ditch?" Percy asked, pointing to a line of Mobiles, not fifty yards in front. The children nodded. "Now look here, the best thing you can possibly do is to play at being soldiers. It is capital fun. You lie down quite flat in that ditch, and throw little stones over the bank. Don't you go away. Don't get up, whatever you do; and if you are good children, and play nicely, I will send father and mother to you, if I can find them. If they don't come, you go on playing at soldiers till all this noise stops; and then, when it is quite quiet, you go home, and wait there till father and mother come back." The children were delighted with the idea, and threw themselves flat in the bottom of the ditch; and Percy went on again, at full gallop. The French were now being driven back, towards the point where the valley narrowed again; and many of the Mobiles were in full flight. General Cambriels, therefore, withdrew his artillery to a point where they could cover the movements; and then ordered a rapid retreat--ten regiments of line, and the Zouaves, acting as rear guard. It was already getting dark, and the movements were carried out with but slight loss. The Germans, contented with their success, attempted no movement in pursuit. Chapter 12: The Surprise. After the check in the Vosges, General Cambriels found it impossible to restore sufficient order, among the Mobiles, to enable him to show face again to the enemy. He was, besides, in want of many articles of urgent necessity. Half his force were shoeless; and the thin blouses which were--as has been said--all the covering that many of the Mobiles had, were ill calculated to resist the bitter cold which was already setting in. Ammunition, too, as well as food, was short. The general determined, therefore, upon falling back upon Besancon, and reorganizing his forces there. A wound in his head, too, which was insufficiently healed when he took the command, had now broken out again; and his surgeon ordered absolute repose, for a while. Upon the day of the fight, Ralph had ridden slowly to the rear, when he saw that the fight was going against the French. Hardened as he was by his work, and with an excellent constitution, his wound never for a moment assumed a troublesome aspect; but at the end of a week he was able--keeping it, of course, in a sling--to mount his horse, and report himself ready for duty. The headquarters were now at Besancon; and Ralph could, had he applied for it, have obtained leave to go to Dijon; but he had not done so, as he had been so lately at home, and he thought that the sight of his arm in a sling would be likely to make his mother more nervous, and anxious on their account, than before. The Germans were still at some distance from Besancon, being watched by Colonel Tempe and his franc tireurs, and by the irregular forces. A considerable army was now fast gathering at Besancon, and the regimental and superior staff officers were hard at work at the organization As aides-de-camp, the boys had little to do; and therefore requested leave, for two or three days, to go up to their old friends, the franc tireurs of Dijon. The general at once granted the required permission; adding, with a smile: "Don't forget you are officers now, lads, and get into any hare-brained adventures, you know; and be sure you are back on Thursday, as I expect General Michel--my successor--to arrive on Friday; and I shall have to give you, as part of my belongings." "We are sure to be back, general." And so they set off; taking, as usual, Tim Doyle with them, as orderly and servant. "Faith, and I am glad enough to be out in the open again, Mister Ralph," Tim said, as they left Besancon behind. "After living out in the woods, for six weeks; there does not seem room to breathe, in a crowded town." "It's jolly to be out again, Tim; but I don't know that I mind a town again, for a few days." "Ah, it's all very well for the likes of yees, Mister Ralph--with your officer's uniform, and your arm in a sling, and the girls all looking at you as a hero--but for me it's different, entirely. Out in the open I feel that--except when there's anything to do for your honors--I am my own master, and can plase myself. Here in the town I am a common hussar; and my arm is just weary with saluting to all the fellows, with a sword by their side, that I meet in the street. "Then there's no chance of any fighting, as long as we're shut up in the walls of a town; and what's the use of being decked up in uniform, except to fight? Is there any chance of just the least scrimmage in the world, while we are back again with the boys?" he asked, persuasively. The boys laughed. "Not much, Tim; but we shall be pretty close to the enemy, and something may turn up, at any moment. But surely you've had enough, in the last six weeks?" "Pretty well, Mister Percy--pretty well; but you see, the last affair didn't count." "Oh, didn't it count!" Ralph said, looking at his arm. "I think it counted for two or three fights and, if you were not hit, I am sure you were fired at often enough to satisfy the most desperate lover of fighting, Tim." "I was fired at often enough, I daresay, Mister Ralph; and I can't say that I liked it, entirely. It isn't so mighty pleasant--sitting like a stiff statue behind the general, with the shells falling about you like peas, and not allowed the divarshin of a single shot back, in return. "'Shoot away,' says I, 'as hard as you like; but let's shoot back, in return.'" The boys laughed, and the day passed pleasantly as they rode, and talked. The dusk had already fallen when they reached a party of franc tireurs. It was not their own corps, nor could the officer in command tell exactly where they could find them. "We are scattered over a considerable extent of country," he said; "and the colonel, alone, could tell you how we are all placed. I expect that he will be here, tonight; and your best plan will be to stay here, till he comes. We have not much to offer you, but such as it is, it is at your service." After a moment's consultation, the boys agreed to accept the offer; as they had palpably more chance of meeting Colonel Tempe, there, than in a journey through the woods, at night; and in another ten minutes their horses were tied to trees, and they were sitting by a blazing fire, with the officers of franc tireurs. The village consisted of only three or four houses and, as there were fifty men in the party upon which they had come, they bivouacked under the trees, hard by. "How far off are the Germans?" Ralph asked, when dinner was over; and they lay by the fire, smoking cigars. "Ten miles or so," the officer answered, carelessly. "No chance of their coming this way, I hope," Ralph laughed. "We were very nearly caught near Saverne, once." "So I heard," the officer said, "but I am rather skeptical as to these night surprises. In nine cases out of ten--mind, I don't mean for a moment that it was so in your case--but in nine cases out of ten, these rumors of night attacks are all moonshine." "Perhaps so," Ralph said, a little gravely--for he had already noticed that the discipline was very different, among these men, than that to which he had been accustomed among the franc tireurs of Dijon; "perhaps so, but we can hardly be too careful. "How do you all like Colonel Tempe?" "The colonel would be an excellent fellow, were he not our colonel," the officer laughed. "He is a most unconscionable man. For ever marching, and drilling, and disciplining. If he had his way, he would make us like a regiment of line; as if there could be any good in carrying out all that sort of thing, with franc tireurs. He had about half of us together, for three or four days; and I give you my word it was as bad as slavery. Drill, drill, drill, from morning till night. I was heartily glad, I can tell you, when I got away with this detachment." Ralph saw that his new acquaintance was one of that innumerable class who conceived that drill and discipline were absurdities, and that it was only necessary for a Frenchman to shoulder a gun for him to be a soldier; so he easily avoided argument, by turning the subject. For a couple of hours they chatted; and then, as the fire was burning low, and the men had already laid down to sleep, Ralph suggested that they should do the same. "I will walk round the sentries first, with you, if you like," he said. "Sentries!" the other said, with a laugh; "there is my sentry," and he pointed to a man standing, ten paces off, leaning against a tree. "The men have marched all day--they only came in an hour before you did--and I am not going to waste their strength by putting half of them out to watch the forest. "No, no, I am no advocate for harassing my men." "Good night, then," Ralph said, briefly, and he wrapped himself in his cloak, and lay down. "We are not accustomed to this sort of thing, Percy," he whispered to his brother, in English, "and I don't like it. No wonder our franc tireurs do so badly, if this is a sample of their discipline." "I don't like it either, Ralph. The Prussians are advancing; and if that fellow last heard of them as ten miles off, they are as likely as not to be only two. I shan't be sorry when morning comes." "Nor I either, Percy. However, here we are, and we have no authority over this fellow; so we must make the best of it, and hope that--for once--folly will not have its just reward." So saying, the boys remained silent for the night. But although silent, neither of them slept much--Ralph especially, whose arm was still very sore, and at times painful, hardly closed his eyes. He told himself it was absurd, but he could not help listening, with painful attention. Had the night been a quiet one, he need not have strained his ears; for as he knew, from the many hours he had passed at night upon guard, the hush is so intense--in these great forests--that one can hear the fall of a mountain stream, miles away; and the snapping of a twig, or almost the falling of a leaf, will catch the ear. The night, however, was windy; and the rustle of the pine forest would have deadened all sound, except anything sharp, and near. The sentry did not appear similarly impressed with the necessity for any extraordinary attention. He was principally occupied in struggling against cold, and drowsiness. He walked up and down, he stamped his foot, hummed snatches of songs, yawned with great vigor, and so managed to keep awake for two hours; when he roused the next for duty, and lay down with a grunt of relief. At last, after keeping awake for hours, Ralph dozed off. How long he slept, he knew not; but he was roused into full wakefulness by a touch on the shoulder, and by hearing Tim Doyle whisper: "Hist, Mister Ralph, I've my doubts that there is something wrong. I couldn't sleep, in this camp without watch or outposts; and for the last quarter of an hour, I fancy I've been hearing noises. I don't know which way they are coming, but it seems to me they are all round us. I may be wrong, sir, but as sure as the piper--" "Hush, Tim!" Ralph said to the Irishman, who had crawled noiselessly along, and had lain down by his side. "Percy, are you awake?" "Yes, I woke at Tim's whisper. Listen." They did listen; and distinctly, above the sighing of the wind, they could hear a rustling, cracking noise. Day was just breaking, but the light was not sufficiently strong to show objects with any distinctness, among the trees. "By Jove, we are surrounded!" Percy said; and was just going to alarm the camp when the sentry, startled into wakefulness, challenged and fired. The franc tireurs woke, and leaped to their feet. Percy and Tim were about to do the same, when Ralph held them down. "Lie still," he said, "for your lives." His words were not out of his lips, when a tremendous volley rang out all round them; and half the franc tireurs fell. "Now!" Ralph said, leaping up, "make a rush for a house. "To the houses, all of you," he shouted, loudly. "It is our only chance. We shall be shot down, here, like sheep." The officer of the franc tireurs had already atoned for his carelessness, by his life; and the men obeyed Ralph's call and, amidst a heavy fire, rushed across the fifty yards of open space to the houses. The door was burst in, with the rush. Ralph had not stopped at the first house but, followed by his brother and Tim Doyle, had run farther on; and entered the last house in the village. "Why did you not go in with the others, Ralph? We have no chance of defending ourselves, here. We have only our revolvers." "We have no chance of defending ourselves anywhere, Percy," Ralph said. "There must be a couple of hundred of them, at least; and not above fifteen or twenty, at most, of the franc tireurs gained the houses. Resistance is utterly useless; and yet, had I been with those poor fellows, I could not have told them to surrender, when they would probably be shot, five minutes afterwards. We should be simply throwing away our lives, without doing the least good." There was a heavy firing now heard and, a moment after, half a dozen shots were fired through the window. Then there was a rush of soldiers towards the door, which Ralph had purposely left open. "We surrender," Ralph shouted, in German, coming forward to meet them. "We are French officers." "Don't fire," a voice said, and then a young officer came forward. "You are not franc tireurs?" he asked, for the light was still insufficient to enable him to distinguish uniforms. "We are officers of the army, upon General Cambriels' staff. This man is an orderly. "Here are our swords. We surrender, as prisoners of war." The German officer bowed. "Keep your swords, for the present, gentlemen. I am not in command." At this moment, another officer came up. "Who have we here, Von Hersen? Why do you make prisoners?" "They are two staff officers, major." "Hem," said the major, doubtfully. "Well, if you are an officer," he continued, "order your men to cease their resistance." The franc tireurs, most of whom had taken refuge in the same cottage, were still defending themselves desperately; and were keeping up a heavy fire, from the windows. "I will order them to surrender, at once," Ralph said, quietly; "if you give me your word that they shall be treated as prisoners of war." "I will do nothing of the sort, sir," the German answered. "Then I shall certainly not advise them to surrender," Ralph said, firmly. "I have no authority, whatever, over them; but if I give advice, it would be that they should sell their lives as dearly as possible." The officer swore a deep German oath, and strode off. For five more minutes the fight continued round the cottage, many of the Germans falling; then a rush was made, there was a fierce contest inside the house--shouts, shrieks, cries for mercy--and then all was still. The young Barclays and Tim were now told to sit down near a tree, at a short distance off; with two sentries, with loaded rifles, standing over them. The German soldiers took from the houses what few articles they fancied, and then set fire to them; sitting down and eating their breakfast as the flames shot up. At a short distance from where the Barclays were sitting was a group of some eight or ten franc tireurs, and six or seven peasants, guarded by some soldiers. Near them the German major and two lieutenants were talking. One of the young men appeared to take little interest in the conversation; but the other was evidently urging some point, with great earnestness; and the major was equally plainly refusing his request, for he stamped his foot angrily, and shook his head. "What a type that major is, of the brutal species of German," Ralph said. "One used to meet them, sometimes. Their officers are either particularly nice fellows, mere machines, or great brutes; apparently we have a specimen of each of them, here." The officers passed near enough for the Barclays to catch what they were saying. The young lieutenant was very pale. "For the last time, major, I implore you." "For the last time, Lieutenant von Hersen," the major said, brutally, "I order you to do your duty and, by Heavens, if you speak another word, I will put you in arrest!" The young lieutenant turned silently away, called up twenty men, and ordered them to place the franc tireurs and the peasants against a wall. "This is horrible, Ralph," Percy said. "That scoundrel is going to shoot them, in cold blood." "I protest against this execution," Ralph said, in a loud tone, advancing towards the major, "as a cold-blooded murder, and a violation of all the rights of war." "Hold your tongue, sir," the German major said, turning to him furiously, "or, by Heavens, I will put you up there, too!" "You dare not," Ralph said, firmly. "Outrage, as you do, every law of civilization and humanity; you dare not shoot an officer of the army, in cold blood." The major turned black with passion. "By Heavens!" he exclaimed. But the officer who had not--hitherto--interposed, threw himself before him. "Pardon me, major," he said, respectfully, "but the Frenchman is right. It would bring discredit upon the whole army to touch these prisoners of war. "In the other matter, I have nothing to say. The order has been published that franc tireurs, and peasants sheltering them, shall be shot; and it is not for me to discuss orders, but to obey them--but this is a matter affecting all our honors." The major stood, for a moment, irresolute; but he knew well that the German military authorities would punish, probably with death, the atrocity which he meditated; and he said hoarsely, to some of the men near: "Tie their arms behind their backs, and take them farther into the wood." Ralph, his brother, and Tim Doyle were hurried into the wood by their guards but--strict as is the discipline of the German army--they could see that they disapproved, in the highest degree, of the conduct of their commanding officer. They were still near enough to see what was passing in the village. Not a man of the franc tireurs begged his life, but stood upright against the wall. Two of the peasants imitated their example, as did a boy of not over thirteen years of age. Two other lads of the same age, and a peasant, fell on their knees and prayed piteously for life. The young officer turned round towards the major in one, now mute, appeal. It was in vain. "Put your rifles within a foot of their heads," the lieutenant said. "Fire!" When the smoke cleared away, the soldiers were standing alone; and the peasants and franc tireurs lay, in a confused mass, on the ground. The lieutenant walked up to the major with a steady step, but with a face as pale as ashes. "I have done my duty, Major Kolbach; your orders are obeyed." Then, without another word, he drew out his revolver, put it rapidly to his temple, and blew out his brains [an historical fact]. Brutal as Major Kolbach was, he started back in horror as the young lieutenant fell dead at his feet; while a cry of surprise and consternation broke from the men. The major did not say a word, but turned away and paced up and down, with disturbed steps; while the other lieutenant bent over the body of his comrade and, seeing that he was dead, in a hushed voice ordered the men who had run up to dig a grave, under the trees, and bring him there. When this was done he ordered the men to fall in--placing the Barclays, and Tim in their midst--and then went up to the major and saluted, saying coldly that the men were ready to march. The major nodded, signed to the orderly who was holding his horse to approach, vaulted into the saddle, and rode along the road back toward the main body of the army. The lieutenant gave the word, and the column marched off; leaving behind it the still smoking houses, and the still warm bodies of some sixty men. There was a general gloom over the faces of the men; and no one could suppose, from their air, that they were returning from a successful expedition, in which they had annihilated a body of enemy fifty strong, with the loss of only five or six of their own men. Discipline was, however, too strict for a word of blame, or even of comment to be spoken; and not a sound was heard but the heavy, measured tramp as the troops marched back through the forests. The major rode on, moodily, some forty or fifty yards ahead of the main body. They had not gone half a mile before there was a shot fired in the wood, close to the road. The major gave a start, and nearly fell from his horse; then recovered himself, and turned to ride back to the column, when there was another shot, and he fell off his horse, heavily, to the ground. The column had instinctively halted, and the lieutenant gave the word, "Load." A shout of triumph was heard in the wood, "Thirty-one!" and then all was still. "That's the old fellow who saved my life, ten days ago, Percy," Ralph said; "and by Jove! much obliged to him as I was, then, I do think that I am more grateful now." Finding that the shots were not repeated, some twenty or thirty skirmishers were sent into the woods; but returned, in ten minutes, without finding any trace of the man who had shot the major. The lieutenant now took the command. There was a continuation of the halt, for ten minutes, while the major was hastily buried by the roadside; a rough cross being put up to mark the spot, and a deep cross cut made in the two nearest trees so that, even if the cross were overthrown, the place of the burial might be found afterwards, if necessary. Then the corps marched on again. The first use which the lieutenant made of his authority--even before giving directions for the burial--was to order the cords of the prisoners to be cut. Then the corps continued its march and, by the brightened faces of the men, it could be seen easily enough how unpopular their late commander had been; and that they cherished but slight animosity against the slayer. In a short time they struck up one of their marching songs and--prisoners as they were--the Barclays could not but admire the steady, martial bearing of the men, as they strode along, making the woods echo with the deep chorus. In three hours' march they reached the village which the troops had left, the evening before, to surprise the franc tireurs; having, as Ralph had learned from the lieutenant in command, received information from a spy of their arrival at the village, late at night; and having started at once, under his guidance. Here a considerable German force was assembled. The prisoners were not unkindly treated; but Tim Doyle was, of course, separated from them. Some astonishment was expressed at their youth; but it was assumed that they had been pupils at Saint Cyr or the Polytechnic, many of whom received commissions owing to the impossibility of finding officers for the immense new levies. Several of the officers came in to chat with them and, as these had been also engaged in the fights, ten days before, there were many questions to ask, upon either side. The boys learned that they would be sent on, next day; would be marched to Luneville, and sent thence by train. "They are a fine set of fellows," Ralph said, when their last visitor had left them. "Good officers, unquestionably; and when they are nice, capital fellows. I can't make out why they should be so brutal, as soldiers; for they are undoubtedly a kindly race." "No doubt," Percy said, but he was thinking of other matters, and not paying much attention to his brother. "Do you think we have any chance of making our escape, Ralph?" "Oh, we shall escape, fast enough," Ralph answered, confidently. "With our knowledge of German, and looking so young, there can be no great difficulty about it, when we once get to the end of our journey; but it's no use our thinking about it, at present. We shall be a good deal too closely looked after. I only hope they will send us to Mayence, or Coblentz; and not to one of the fortresses at the other end of Germany. "Mind, we must not give our parole." The next day, when they were summoned to start, they found that there were fifty or sixty other prisoners who had been brought in, from other directions. Some belonged to line regiments; but the greater portion, by far, were Mobiles who, in the retreat of General Cambriels, had been cut off or left behind and, after hiding in the woods for some days, were being gradually found and brought in. The Barclays were the only officers. They therefore took their places at the head of the prisoners; who formed, four deep--with an escort of Uhlans--and set off on their march. It was four days' march. The weather was cold and clear, and the Barclays were but little fatigued when they marched into Luneville. The greater part of the prisoners were, however, in a pitiable condition. Some were so footsore that they could hardly put one foot before the other. Others tottered with fatigue, and the men of the escort frequently used the flats of their swords, to compel them to keep together. As they marched through the streets of Luneville, the people in the streets uncovered; and the women waved their hands to them, and pressed forward and offered them fruit and bread, in spite of the orders of the escort. They were taken straight to the railway station, where they were put into a shed. Ralph and Percy had gained the goodwill of the sergeant in command of the escort, by the manner in which they had aided him by interpreting to the rest of the prisoners, and by doing their best to cheer them up, and take things smooth; and they now asked him to request the officer in command, at the railway station, to allow them to walk about until the train started, on parole. The request was--upon the favorable report of the sergeant--granted at once; and they were told that no train would go off until next morning, and that they might sleep in the town, if they chose. Thanking the officer for the permission, they went out of the station; when a tall, big-bearded German sergeant stopped before them. "Donner wetter!" he exclaimed, "so here you are, again!" The boys gave a little start; for they recognized, at once, the sergeant who had so closely questioned them in the cabaret, upon the night when they had carried off and hung the schoolmaster. Ralph saw, at once, the importance of conciliating the man; as a report from him of the circumstances might render their position a most unpleasant one and--even in the event of nothing worse coming of it--would almost ensure their captivity in some prison upon the farther side of Prussia, instead of at one of the frontier fortresses. "Ah, sergeant, how are you?" he said, gaily. "It is our fate, you see, to be made prisoners. You were very nearly taking us, and now here we are." "A nice trick you played me," the sergeant said, surlily, "with your woodcutters, and your lame brother, and your sick sister, and your cask of beer. I got a nice reprimand over that affair." "Come, sergeant," Ralph said, laughing, "let bygones be bygones. All is fair in war, you know, and we did not touch a single hair of any of your men's heads. All we wanted was the schoolmaster. It would not do you any good to talk about it, now, and it might do us harm. It's quite bad enough for us, as it is." "You're nice boys, you are," the sergeant said, with his face relaxing into a smile. "To think of my being taken in, by two lads like you. Well, you did it well--monstrously well, I will say--for you never flinched an eyelash. "So you are officers, after all. I never suspected anything about it, till three hours afterwards, when we went to relieve the sentry; and found him lying there, tied up like a bundle. We couldn't think, even then, what it meant, for you had made no attack; and it wasn't till morning that we found that the old schoolmaster had been fetched out of bed, and carried off on the heads of twenty men. "Well, it was well done, and I bear you no malice." "That's right, sergeant. Now come and have a jug of beer with us; you know, we had one with you, before. Don't you remember, we drank to the health of King William? If you like, you shall return the pledge, by drinking to Napoleon." The sergeant laughed. "I'll do that," he said. "You said, if you remember, when I proposed the king, that you did not wish to hear of his death; and I can say the same for your Napoleon. Especially," he added with a chuckle, "as he's our prisoner." The boys went into a cabaret near, and drank a glass of beer with the sergeant; and then--saying "Goodbye," very heartily--left him, and went into the town; well pleased to have got so well out of a scrape which might have been a very unpleasant one. They slept at a hotel, and were down at the station at the appointed time. It was a long journey--thirty-six hours--to Mayence. But the boys were too pleased--when they saw the line that the train was following--to have cared, had it been twice as far. The difficulties of escape from the western fortresses would have been immense; whereas, at Mayence, they were comparatively close to the frontier. At Mayence, too, the position of the prisoners was comfortable. They were allowed to live anywhere in the town, and to take their meals when they chose. They were obliged, twice a day, to answer at the muster roll; and were not, of course, allowed to go outside the fortifications. The one drawback, to the position of the French officers, was the utterly insufficient sum which the Prussian Government allowed them for board and lodging--only forty-five francs a month; that is to say, fifteen pence a day. It is needless to say that the officers who had nothing else to depend upon literally starved, upon this pittance; which was the more inexcusable that the French Government allowed more than twice this sum to the German officers who were taken prisoners. Upon this head, however, the boys had no discomfort. They had plenty of money in their pockets, for present uses; and they knew that they could obtain further supplies by writing home, via Switzerland. They were, therefore, unaffectedly glad when the train came to a stop at the station of Mayence, and the order was given for all to alight. Chapter 13: The Escape. The first thing that the Barclays did, after reporting themselves, was to settle themselves in a lodging--no very easy thing to find, for the town was crowded with troops, and prisoners. However, as they were able to pay a higher sum than the great majority of French officers, in their position, they had no very great difficulty in finding a place to suit them. The rooms were purposely taken in a large house, with a staircase common to a number of families living on different floors; so that anyone going in or out would be less likely to be noticed than in a smaller house. They were also careful in choosing rooms so placed that they could go in and out of the door on to the staircase, without being noticed by the people with whom they lodged. Ralph's arm was now extremely painful, the long march having inflamed the wound. He had, therefore, on reporting himself, begged that a surgeon might attend him; and had also asked, as a great favor, that his servant--the hussar Doyle--might be allowed to remain with him; stating that, in that case, he would pay for his lodgings and provide him with food. As the prison in which the private soldiers were confined was, at the time, crowded; the request was complied with. For the next week Ralph suffered greatly with his arm, and had to keep his room. After that the inflammation subsided; and in another fortnight he was able to dispense, for the first time since he received his wound, with a sling. In the meantime he had made the acquaintance of the people with whom he lodged; who were very kind to their wounded lodger, and whose hearts he completely won by being able to chat to them in their native tongue, like one of themselves. The family consisted of a father, who was away all day at the railway station, where he was a clerk; the mother, a garrulous old woman; and a daughter, a pretty blue-eyed girl of about Ralph's age, who assisted her mother to wait upon them. She had a lover, away as a soldier in the army besieging Paris; and the thought that he might be wounded, or taken prisoner, made her very pitiful to the young officers. Ralph Barclay had--for some days--been intending to sound her as to her willingness to aid them when she, herself, began it one day. She had cleared away their dinner, and was standing--as she often did--talking with them, when she lowered her voice, so as not to be overheard by her mother in the next room: "I wonder you don't try to get away. Lots of French officers have done so." "That is just what we are thinking of, Christine. We have only been waiting till my arm was out of a sling, and we want you to help us." "How can I help you?" the girl asked. "In the first place, you can buy us clothes. It would excite suspicion if we were to buy them, ourselves. Percy and I were thinking of going as girls--not pretty girls, of course, like you, Christine--but great, rough peasant girls." Christine laughed, and colored "You would be too tall," she said. "We should be rather tall," Ralph said, ruefully. "We have grown so horribly, in the last few months. Still, some women are as tall as we are." "Yes, some women are," Christine said, "but men look after them and say, 'What big, gawky women!' and you don't want to be looked after. If people did so, they would see that you didn't walk one bit like a woman, and that your shoulders were very wide, and your arms very strong, and-- "Oh no! It wouldn't do at all. I must think it over. "I suppose you want that great blue-coated bear to go?" and she nodded at Tim Doyle who--not being able to speak a word of her language--was always indulging in the most absurd pantomime of love and devotion; causing screams of laughter to the merry German girl. "Yes, Tim must go too, Christine." "Ha, ha!" laughed the girl. "Fancy him as a woman." "What is she saying about me, Mister Percy?" "She says you would make a very pretty woman, Tim." "Tare and ages, Mister Percy," Tim said, taking it quite seriously, "how could I do it, at all? I'd have to shave off all my beautiful beard and mustaches and, even then, I doubt if you would mistake me for a woman." The boys screamed with laughter, and translated the Irishman's speech to Christine; who laughed so that her mother came into the room. "Look here, children," she said, smiling, "I don't want to know what you are talking about. If anything of any sort happens, I may be asked questions; and I don't want to have to tell stories. I can't help hearing, if you leave the door open, and laugh so--indeed, all the neighborhood might hear it; so please shut the door, in future." So saying, she again went back to her work in the next room. "Goodbye, I'm going, too," Christine said. "I will think it over, by tomorrow morning, and tell you what you are to do." The next morning, the boys were very anxious to hear Christine's proposals; for although they had quite made up their minds to try their own plan, if hers was not feasible, still they felt that, with her knowledge of the country, she was likely, at any rate, to give them good advice. Until she had cleared away breakfast, Christine said nothing. Then she took out her knitting, and sat against the window. "Now," she began, "I will tell you what I have thought of. It would be easy enough, if it was not for him. He's so big, and so red, and he doesn't speak German. "Oh dear, he's very tiresome!" and she shook her head at Tim; who smiled, laid his hand on his breast, and endeavored to look affecting. Christine laughed. "The only thing I can think of, for him, is that he shall go out as a Jew peddler; with one of their broad hats, and a tray of little trinkets. He might pass, if none of the soldiers took it into their heads to buy." The proposition was translated to Tim Doyle. "Is it me, your honor--me, Tim Doyle, a good Catholic, and come of honest people--that's to turn myself into a haythin Jew?" the Irishman burst out, with great indignation. "It was bad enough that I should be made into a woman, but a haythin Jew! I put it to your honors, it's nayther sinsible nor dacent." The boys went off in screams of laughter. Christine laughed for a moment, too, when they translated Tim's speech to her; and then looked indignant that the proposition, which had cost her so much thought, should be so scornfully rejected. Tim saw the look, and at once went on, persuasively: "Sure now, darlint Miss Christine, don't be angry wid me, out of your bright blue eyes! But is it raisonable--is it natural to ask a Christian man to make a haythin Jew of himself? Would you like it, yourself?" When the boys could stop laughing, they translated Tim's appeal. "Did you ever see such an absurd man?" she said, laughing. "As if it could make any difference to his religion. Tell him I am a good Catholic, too, but I should not mind dressing up as a Jewess." "Sure, thin, darlint," Tim exclaimed, when her speech was translated, "I will go as a Jew, directly, if you'll go with me and be my Jewess." Christine laughed, blushed, shook her head and said, "Nonsense!" upon hearing Tim's proposition. "But seriously, Christine," Ralph said, "the objection which you mention to the Jew pedlar's disguise is important. Full as the streets are of soldiers looking about, he could hardly hope to go from here through the streets, and out at the gate, without someone asking him about the contents of his box." Christine allowed--a little pettishly, at the failure of her plan--that it certainly was likely. "The real difficulty is to get outside the gate," Ralph said, thoughtfully. "After that, I should have no fear." "What are you thinking of doing, then?" Christine asked. "I was thinking of dressing Percy, and myself, in the clothes of young peasants; and putting Tim into something of the same sort, with a great bandage round his face. Then I should say that we were two lads, from some place near the frontier, who had come here to meet our uncle; who had had his jaw shattered, in battle. That would explain Tim's not being able to talk at all; and as to looks, he is red enough for a German, anywhere." "Yes," Christine said, "that would do, very well; but of course, you would be liable to be asked for papers." "Of course," Ralph said, "but we must risk something." "I have an idea," Christine said, suddenly, clapping her hands. "I have some cousins living at Wiesbaden. These are three boys, and I am sure they would do anything for me. I will go out to Wiesbaden, tomorrow, and ask them to lend me their papers, just for one day. Wiesbaden is not your way, at all; but for that very reason you would get out more easily there, and be less likely to be suspected, or followed. You could cross the Rhine somewhere near Saint Goar. "I shall have to tell some sad stories to my cousins, and coax them a great deal. Still, I daresay I shall succeed; and then you can go boldly across the bridge, and into the railway station, and take a ticket for Wiesbaden. You can have an envelope, ready directed, and put the papers into the post there." "The very thing, Christine. You are a darling!" Ralph exclaimed, catching her by the waist and kissing her, before she had time to think of resistance. "I shan't do anything at all for you," Christine said, laughing and blushing, "if you misbehave in that way." "I couldn't help it, Christine--not even if your mother had been looking on. "And now, about our clothes." "I couldn't buy them," Christine said. "I never could go into a shop and buy men's clothes." The thing was so evident that, for a moment, the boys' looks fell. Then Christine said, coloring very much: "There is a box, in my room, of Karl's things. He is my cousin, you know; and he was working as a gardener, here, till he had to go out in the Landwehr--so, of course, he left his things here, for us to take care of. He is about your size. I will take out one suit--it won't hurt it--and you can put it on, and go out into the town, and buy the things for all three of you." "Capital!" the boys exclaimed. "It couldn't be better." Ten minutes afterwards, Ralph went down the stairs and out into the street, dressed as a German laborer in his best suit. He was a little uneasy, at first; but no one noticed him, and he was soon in a shop, haggling over the price of a peasant's coat--as if the matter of a thaler, one way or other, was a thing of vital importance to him. He bought the three suits at three different shops--as he thought that it would look suspicious, if he were to get them all at the same--and in an hour was back again. An hour afterwards, Christine started for Wiesbaden. The Barclays had reason to congratulate themselves that they had not longer deferred their preparations for escape; for when presenting themselves, as usual, that afternoon at the roll call, they were told that they must hold themselves in readiness to leave for one of the eastern fortresses, upon the following evening; as another large batch of prisoners, from Metz, was expected to arrive upon the following day. In the evening, Christine returned from Wiesbaden; which is distant only a quarter of an hour, by rail, from Mayence. "I have got them," she said, "but if you only knew the trouble I have had! What a bother boys are, to be sure!" "Especially cousins--eh, Christine?" "Especially cousins," Christine said, demurely. After thanking her very warmly for her kindness, the Barclays started out, and bought a variety of things which they thought might be useful. They also bought a pretty gold watch and chain, to give to Christine as a parting present. The next morning they answered, as usual, to their early roll call; and then, returning at once to their lodgings, changed their clothes for those which Ralph had purchased. It was agreed that they should not say goodbye to Christine's mother; in order that, whatever she might suspect, she might be able to say that she knew nothing of any idea, on the part of her lodgers, to make their escape. Then Christine herself came in, to say goodbye; and went half wild with delight, at the present. Then she said goodbye, kissed the boys--without any affectation of objecting to it--and then went to a window, to watch if they went safely down the street. The boys had no uneasiness, whatever, upon their own account--for they had before passed so easily, among the Prussian troops, that they felt quite confident in their disguise--but they were uncomfortable as to Tim, whose inability to answer questions would have at once betrayed them, had anyone addressed him. They had not ventured to bandage up his face, as if wounded; as he would have naturally, in that case, had a military pass. As the best thing they could think of, they had shoved a large lump of cotton into one of his cheeks--which gave him the appearance of having a swelled face--and had instructed him to frequently put his hand up to it, as if in great pain. Tim had plenty of shrewdness, and acted his part admirably. They passed across the bridge of boats, without question; and into the railway station, which is just opposite its end. Here soldiers and other officials swarmed; but the three walked along carelessly, the two boys chatting together in German, Tim walking with his hand up to his face, and giving an occasional stamp of pain. He sat down with Percy on a seat in the station, while Ralph went to the little window where tickets were being delivered. There were a good many people waiting and, when it came to Ralph's turn, and he put the papers in at the window, and asked for three third-class tickets to Wiesbaden, the clerk scarcely glanced at them; but handed the tickets over, without a question. They then went into the third-class waiting room, and sat down. There were a good many peasants, and others there; and when the doors opened for them to go on to the platform, and enter the carriages, they saw it was hopeless to try and get a carriage to themselves. They did, therefore, the best they could; putting Tim next to the window, while Percy sat next to, and Ralph opposite to him. The rest of the compartment was filled with country people. "He seems in great pain," a good-natured peasant woman said, to Ralph; as Tim rocked himself backwards and forwards, in his anguish. "Yes, he is very bad," Ralph said. "Toothache?" asked the woman. "Worse than that," Ralph said, gravely, "an abscess in the jaw. He has just been to the hospital." "Poor fellow!" the woman said. "Why does he not poultice it? "I should advise you to poultice," she said, addressing Tim. Tim gave a grunt--which might have meant anything--and Ralph said, in a whisper: "Don't talk to him. Poor uncle, he is so bad tempered, now, it puts him in a rage if anyone speaks to him; because it hurts him so, to answer. At ordinary times, he is very good tempered; but now, oh!" and Ralph made a little pantomime, to express the extreme badness of Tim's temper. "You are not of Wiesbaden, are you?" the woman asked. "I do not know you by sight." "No," Ralph said; "we are from Holzhausen, a village some eight miles upon the other side of Wiesbaden." "Ah!" the woman said, "I have a sister living there; surely you must know her. She is the wife of Klopstock, the carpenter." "Surely," Ralph said, "she is my neighbor; everyone knows her. She is very like you." "Well now, you are the first person who has ever said that," the woman said, surprised. "I am so short, and she is so tall." "Yes, she is tall--very tall," Ralph said, very gravely; "but there is something about the expression of your eyes which reminds me of Mrs. Klopstock. "Yes, the more I look at you, the more I see it," and Ralph looked so earnestly, at the woman, that Percy had the greatest difficulty in preventing himself going off into a shout of laughter. "I wonder I have never seen you, at Holzhausen," Ralph continued. "Well," the woman said, "it is years since I have been there. You see, it is a long way, and my sister often comes into Wiesbaden, and I see her; but in truth, her husband and I don't get on very well together. You know his temper is--" and she lifted up her hands. "Yes, indeed," Ralph said. "His temper is, as you say, terrible. Between ourselves, it is so well known that we have a saying, 'As bad tempered as Klopstock the carpenter.' One can't say more than that-- "But we are at Wiesbaden. Good morning." "Good morning. I hope your uncle's tooth will be better, ere long." "I hope so, indeed, for all our sakes," Ralph said. "He is as bad as Klopstock, at present." So saying, they got out of the train and walked into the town. When they had separated from the crowd, Percy could restrain himself no longer, and went off into a scream of laughter. "What is it, Mister Percy?" Tim asked, opening his lips for the first time since they had left the house. "Oh, Tim, if you had but heard!" Percy said, when he recovered his voice. "Do you know you are as bad tempered as Klopstock, the carpenter?" "Sure, I never heard tell of him, Mister Percy; and if I have been bad tempered, I haven't said much about it; and if the carpenter had a wad of cotton as big as a cricket ball in one cheek, as I have, it's small blame to him if he was out of temper." Both the boys laughed, this time; and then Ralph explained the whole matter to Tim, who laughed more heartily than either of them. "Which way shall we go, Ralph?" "I looked at the map, the last thing before starting, Percy; and I noticed that the road went out past the gambling place. I dare not take out the map again, to look at the plan of the town--it would look too suspicious--so let us wander about, till we find the place. It has large grounds, so we cannot miss it." They were not long in finding the place they were looking for. There was no mistaking it; with its long arcades leading up to the handsome conversation rooms, its piece of water, and its beautifully laid-out grounds. "I should like to go in, and have a look at it," Percy said. "I can hear the band playing, now." "So should I," Ralph said, "but time is too precious. They will find out at the muster, this afternoon, that we are missing and, as we answered this morning, they will know that we cannot have got far. We had better put as many miles between us as we can. "First of all, though, let us put those papers Christine got us into the envelope, and drop them into that post box. We should not do badly, either, to buy three dark-colored blankets before we start. It is terribly cold; and we shall want them, at night." They therefore turned up into the town again; and then Ralph separated from the others, and went in and bought the blankets. Ten minutes later they were walking along, at a steady pace, from the town. Each carried a stick. The boys carried theirs upon their shoulder; with a bundle, containing a change of clothes and other articles, slung upon it. Tim carried his bundle in one hand, and walked using his stick in the other. When a short distance out of the town, they stopped in a retired place; and put some strips of plaster upon Tim's cheeks, and wrapped up his face with a white bandage. It was, as he said, "mighty uncomfortable," but as he was now able to dispense with the ball of cotton in his mouth, he did not so much mind it. The day was bitterly cold, for it was now the beginning of the second week of November; but the party strode on, full of the consciousness of freedom. They met but few people, upon their way; and merely exchanged a brief good day with those they did meet. They had brought some bread and cold meat with them, from Mayence; and therefore had no need to go into any shops, at the villages they passed. They did not dare to sleep in a house, as it was certain that some official would inquire for their papers; and therefore, when it became dark, they turned off from the road and made for a wood, at a short distance from it. Here they ate their supper, laid a blanket on the ground, put the bundles down for pillows, and lay down close together, putting the other two blankets over them. "It's mighty cold," Tim said, "but we might be worse." "It's better than a prison in Pomerania, by a long way," Ralph answered. "By the look of the sky, and the dropping of the wind, I think we shall have snow before morning." At daybreak, next morning, they were up; but it was some little time before they could start, so stiffened were their limbs with the cold. Ralph's prognostication as to the weather had turned out right, and a white coating of snow lay over the country. They now set off and walked, for an hour, when they arrived at a large village. Here it was agreed they should go in, and buy something to eat. They entered the ale house, and called for bread, cheese, and beer. The landlord brought it and, as they expected, entered into conversation with them. After the first remarks--on the sharpness of the weather--Ralph produced a tin of portable soup, and asked the landlord if he would have it heated, for their uncle. "He cannot, as you see, eat solid food," Ralph said; "He had his jaw broken by a shell, at Woerth." "Poor fellow!" the landlord said, hastening away with the soup. "Are you going far?" he asked, on his return. "To Saint Goar," Ralph said. "But why does he walk?" the landlord asked. "He could have been sent home, by train." "Of course he could," Ralph said. "We walked over to see him, and intended to have walked back again; but when the time came for us to start, he said he would come, too. The surgeon said he was not fit to go. Uncle had made up his mind to be off and, as the surgeon would not give him an order, he started to walk. He says it does not hurt him so much as the jolting of the train, and we shall be home to breakfast." An hour later they arrived at Saint Goarshaus. They were now quite out of the track which prisoners escaping from Mayence would be likely to take, and had not the slightest difficulty in getting a boat to cross the Rhine. "How beautiful the river is, here," Percy said. "Yes it is, indeed," Ralph answered. "I believe that this is considered one of the most lovely spots on the whole river. I can't say that I think that that railway, opposite, improves it." They landed at Saint Goar, and tramped gaily on to Castellan, and slept in a barn near that village. The next morning they were off before daybreak and, eight miles farther, crossed the Moselle at Zell. They left the road before they arrived at Alf; for they were now approaching the great road between Coblentz and the south, and might come upon bodies of troops upon the march, or halting; and might be asked troublesome questions. They therefore struck upon a country lane and, keeping among the hills, crossed the main road between Bertrich and Wittlech; and slept in a copse, near Dudeldf. They had walked five-and-thirty miles, and were so dead beat that even the cold did not keep them awake. Next morning they got a fresh supply of bread and cheese, at a tiny village between Dudeldf and Bittburg and, leaving the latter place to the left, made straight for the frontier, across the hills. The road to the frontier ran through Bittburg; but they were afraid of keeping to it, as there were sure to be troops at the frontier. Several times they lost their way; but the pocket compass and map, which they had brought with them, stood them in good stead and, late in the evening, they arrived at the stream which forms the frontier. It was, fortunately, very low; for the cold had frozen up its sources. They had, therefore, little difficulty in crossing and, tired as they were, gave a cheer upon finding themselves in Luxembourg. They tramped along merrily, until they came to a cottage; where they boldly entered, and were received with the greatest kindness, and hospitality. The Luxembourg people at once feared and hated Prussia, and were delighted to do anything in their power for the escaped prisoners. The peasant made a blazing fire, and some hot coffee; and the tired travelers felt what a blessing it was to sit down without listening, every moment, for the step of an enemy. The peasants told them, however, that they were not yet altogether safe for that, owing to the complaints of Prussia, both the Dutch and Belgian Governments were arresting, and detaining, escaped prisoners passing through their territories. After some discussion the boys agreed that, next morning, they should dress themselves in the change of clothes they had brought--which were ordinary shooting suits--and should leave their other clothes behind; and then walk as far as Spa, twenty miles to the north. They would excite no suspicion in the minds of anyone who saw them arrive; as they would merely be taken for three Englishmen, staying at one of the numerous hotels there, returning from a walk. Their feet however were so much swollen, the next morning, that they were glad to remain another day quiet in the cottage; and the following day they started, and walked gaily into Spa. After strolling about the place, some time, they went to the railway station at the time the evening train started for Brussels; asked for tickets--in very English French--and, at eleven o'clock at night, entered Brussels. Here their troubles were over. A good night's rest, in a good hotel, completely set them up again and, the next morning, they left by train for Dunkirk. There they reported themselves to the French officer in command; and received permission to go on board a Government steamer which was to leave, the next morning, for Cherbourg. Chapter 14: A Perilous Expedition. Upon the eleventh of November the boys arrived at Tours. They had started for that place, as the national headquarters, the moment they arrived at Cherbourg. At Tours men's hopes were high for, a week before, Aurelles de Paladine had driven back Von der Tann, and reoccupied Orleans. Every hour fresh troops were arriving, and passing forwards. The town was literally thronged with soldiers, of all sorts: batteries of artillery, regiments of cavalry, squadrons of Arab Spahis--looking strangely out of place in their white robes, and unmoved countenance, in this scene of European warfare--franc tireurs, in every possible variety of absurd and unsuitable uniform. In all this din and confusion, the young Barclays felt quite bewildered. The first thing was, evidently, to get new uniforms; then to report themselves. There was no difficulty about the former matter, for every tailor in Tours had, for the time being, turned military outfitter and, by dint of offering to pay extra, their uniforms were promised for the next morning. That matter settled, they determined to go at once to the Prefecture, and report themselves. As they turned out of the crowded Rue Royal, they received two hearty slaps on the shoulder, which almost knocked them down; while a hearty voice exclaimed: "My dear boys, I am glad to see you!" They looked round and--to their astonishment and delight--saw Colonel Tempe. For a minute or two, the hand shakings and greetings were so hearty that no questions could be asked. "I thought a German prison would not hold you long, boys," the colonel said. "I saw your father, as I came through Dijon; and I said to him that I should be surprised if you did not turn up soon, especially when I heard from him that you were at Mayence, only two days' tramp from the frontier." "But what are you doing here, colonel?" "Just at present, I am working at headquarters. Between ourselves, the army of the east is coming round to join Aurelles. Our poor fellows were pretty nearly used up, and I found that I could do little real good with the other corps. So I gave up the command; and was sent here to confer with Gambetta, and he has kept me. "Now, what are you going to do?" "We were going to report ourselves, colonel." "No use going today--too late. Come and dine with me, at the Bordeaux. Have you got rooms?" "Not yet, colonel." "Then I can tell you you won't get them, at all. The place is crowded--not a bed to be had, for love or money. I've got rooms, by the greatest good luck. One of you can have the sofa; the other an armchair, or the hearth rug, whichever suits you best." "Thank you, very much; we shall do capitally," the boys said. "And now, have you any news from Paris?" "We have no late news from Paris but, worse still, the news gets very slowly and irregularly into Paris. The pigeons seem to get bewildered with the snow, or else the Prussians shoot them." "But surely, with such an immense circle to guard, there could be no great difficulty in a messenger finding his way in?" "There is a difficulty, and a very great one," Colonel Tempe said; "for of all who have tried, only one or two have succeeded. Now come along, or we shall be late for dinner." It was a curious medley at the table d'hote, at the Hotel de Bordeaux. Generals, with their breasts covered with orders, and simple franc tireurs; officers, of every arm of the service; ministers and members of the late Corps Legislatif; an American gentleman, with his family; English newspaper correspondents; army contractors; and families, refugees from Paris. After dinner they went to a cafe--literally crowded with officers--and thence to Colonel Tempe's rooms, where they sat down quietly, to chat over what had taken place since the last visit. "But where is your Irishman? Your father told me he was with you. I suppose you could not get him out." "Oh yes, Tim's here," Ralph said, laughing, "but he ran across a couple of Irishmen belonging to the foreign legion and--as he would have been in our way, and we did not know where we were going to sleep--we gave him leave till to-morrow morning, when he is to meet us in front of the railway station." "By the way, boys, I suppose you know you have each got a step?" "No," the boys cried. "Really?" "Yes, really," the colonel said. "That good fellow, Cambriels, sent in a strong report in your favor upon resigning his command; rehearsing what you did with us, and requesting that the step might be at once given to you. As a matter of course it was, in the next Gazette." "Of course, we feel pleased, colonel; but it seems absurd, so young as we are. Why, if we go on like this, in another six months we may be majors." "In ordinary times it would be absurd, lads; and it would not be possible for you to hold the grade you do now--still less higher ones--unless you understood thoroughly your duty. At the present moment, everything is exceptional. A man who, perhaps, only served a few months in the army, years ago, is made a general, and sent to organize a camp of new levies. Of course, he could not command these troops in the field, could not even drill them on the parade ground. But that is of no matter. He has a talent for organization, and therefore is selected to organize the camp and, to enable him to do so efficiently, he receives the nominal rank of general. "In ordinary times a man could not get promoted--three or even four times, in as many weeks--over the heads of hundreds of others, without causing an immense amount of jealousy; without, in fact, upsetting the whole traditions of the army. "Now, it is altogether different. The officers of the regular army are almost all prisoners. Everyone is new, everyone is unaccustomed to his work; and men who show themselves to be good men can be rewarded and promoted with exceptional rapidity, without exciting any feeling of jealousy, whatever. Besides which, the whole thing is provisional. When the war is over, everyone will either go back into private life or, if they continue to serve, will be gazetted into the regular army, according to some scale or other to be hereafter determined upon. Some inconveniences no doubt will arise, but they will hardly be serious. "I was offered a general's rank, a month ago; but I declined it, as it would have entailed either my undertaking duties for which I am unfit; or setting to, to organize young levies, and giving up active service. "No, if you go on as you have hitherto done, boys, you may be colonels in another six months; for when a name is recommended for promotion for good service, by a general, you may well suppose there is no question asked as to his age. Of course, no general would recommend you as captains to command companies in a regiment, because you are altogether ignorant of a captain's duty; but you are quite capable of filling the duties of captain, on the staff, as those duties require only clear headedness, pluck, attention, and common sense. "What I should like to win, even more than a company--were I in your place--would be a commander's cross in the legion of honor. I had the cross, years ago; but I only had the commander's cross a fortnight ago, for the Bridge of Vesouze." "Ah, yes," Ralph said, "that would be worth winning, but that is hopeless." Colonel Tempe was silent. Ralph and Percy looked at him. "You mean," Ralph said, after a pause, "that there is a chance of our winning it." "Well, boys," Colonel Tempe said, "I don't know that I am right in leading you into danger, but I do think that you might win it. I was mentioning your names, only yesterday, to Gambetta. A dispatch had just come in from Paris, grumbling at receiving no news from the country; and Gambetta was lamenting over the impossibility of arranging for simultaneous movements, owing to the breakdown of the pigeons, and the failure of the messengers; when I said: "'There were two young English fellows with us, in the Vosges--they were on Cambriels' staff last, and are now prisoners--who if they were here would, I believe, get in if anyone could. They went down, over and over again, among the Germans; and I could lay any money that they would succeed.' "'How did they get taken prisoners?' Gambetta asked, as sharp as a knife. "'By no fault of their own,' I answered. 'They went out on leave, to see me; and slept with a party of franc tireurs--where they of course had no authority, as to sentries--and the party was surprised, at night, and completely cut up. They were taken prisoners, but I do not expect that they will remain so for long.' "Gambetta did not say anything, then; but when I left him, an hour afterwards, he remarked: "'If you hear of those young fellows you were speaking of having returned, send them to me, Tempe.'" Ralph looked at Percy, and checked the offer to go which he saw was on his brother's lips. "I think it might be done, colonel," he said, quietly; "but it is a serious matter, and we will think it over, before we give an opinion." Ralph then changed the subject, and they talked over the events which had happened in the Vosges, the strategy and maneuvers of General Michel, the arrival of Garibaldi, the doings of the franc tireurs, etc. "By the way," the colonel said, "there was a telegram in, this evening--just as I left the office--that the Germans occupied Dijon, yesterday." "You don't say so!" the boys said, jumping from their seats. "Was there any fighting?" "Yes, some Mobiles and franc tireurs made a very plucky defense, outside the town. Owing to some gross mismanagement, the great bulk of the troops had been withdrawn, only the day before. After two or three hours' fighting, our men fell back; the Prussians, as usual, shelled the town; and the authorities surrendered." "The fighting could not have been our side of the town," Ralph said, thoughtfully. "No, just the other side," Colonel Tempe said. "As my wife is still at home, and our place is not many hundred yards from yours, that was the first thing I thought of." "I wonder if papa was in the fight?" Percy said, anxiously. "I should think it probable, boys, that my old friend would have gone out; but I do not think that you need be uneasy about it for, from what the telegram said, our loss was small. The troops fell back into the town, and retreated unmolested through it. So your father would, no doubt, have changed his things in the town, and have walked quietly back again. "He had volunteered into the national guard, when I came last through Dijon; and was hard at work, drilling them. Of course, he had his old rank of captain." At ten o'clock the boys said that they would go for a stroll, before lying down for the night. They were out upwards of an hour; and returned, at the end of that time, with serious but resolved faces. The colonel was out, when they returned; and found them stretched on the sofa and hearth rug, when he came in. They gave him a sleepy good night, and no other word was exchanged. In the morning, they were up at eight o'clock. Colonel Tempe was already dressed, and they went out together to get their coffee and milk. As they were taking it, Ralph told him that they had made up their minds to make the attempt to enter Paris, with dispatches; but that they saw but one way to do so; and that, unless they could be furnished with the necessary papers, they should abandon all idea of the enterprise. Ten minutes later, they entered the Prefecture. Colonel Tempe went in at once to see Gambetta, while the boys remained in the anteroom. In ten minutes their friend came out again, and beckoned to them to come into the next room. "These are the Lieutenants Barclay," he said. The boys bowed; and examined, with attentive curiosity, the man who was, at that time, the absolute ruler of France. A dark man; with a short black beard, keen eyes, and a look of self reliance and energy. A man who committed endless mistakes, but who was the life and soul of the French resistance. A man to whom--had he lived in olden times--the Romans would have erected a statue because, in her deepest misfortunes, he never despaired of the Republic. He looked keenly at the young men. "Colonel Tempe tells me that you have rendered very great service, by going among the enemy in disguise; and that you are willing to make an attempt to carry dispatches into Paris." "We are ready to try," Ralph said, respectfully; "but after talking it over in every way, we can see but one disguise which would enable us to penetrate the enemy's lines, near enough to the ground between the two armies to render an attempt possible; and even that disguise will be useless, unless we can procure certain papers." "What is your plan?" Monsieur Gambetta asked. "We intend to go as German Jews," Ralph said. "The Prussians strip all the clocks, pictures, and furniture of any value from the villas they occupy, and send them back to Germany. There are a number of Jews who follow the army; and either buy these stolen goods from them, or undertake to convey them back to Germany at a certain price. Several of these Jews--with their wagons full of clocks, and other articles--have been captured by our franc tireurs or troops and, no doubt, papers of some kind have been found upon them. These papers would naturally be sent here. If we could be provided with them we could, I have little doubt, penetrate their lines." "An excellent idea," the minister said. "I have no doubt that we have such papers." And he struck a small hand bell on the table. An attendant entered. "Tell Captain Verre I wish to speak to him." "Captain Verre," he said, when that officer entered, "there were some papers came last week, from General Faidherbe, relative to those wagons--laden with clocks, ladies' dresses, and so on--that were captured near Mezieres. Just look through them, and see if there were any German permits for the bearers to pass freely, for the purpose of trading. If so, let me have them at once." The officer at once left the room. "Supposing--as I have no doubt--that we can give you the papers, what is your course?" "Speed is, naturally, an essential," Ralph said. "We shall disguise ourselves at once and, upon receipt of the dispatches, start from here to Orleans by train; with two good horses--which can, of course, be furnished us. We shall ride through the forest of Orleans, and so to Montargis; cross the Loing there, and make straight for Melun--keeping always through by-lanes. As far as we know, there are no large bodies of the enemy along that line. "When we get near the town, we shall leave our horses with some village Maire, or give them to a farmer, and walk into the place boldly. You will furnish us with a note to the Maire of Melun, as well as a circular to all French authorities, to give us any help; and we shall get him to assist us at once to buy a wagon, and two strong horses. With these we shall drive round, direct, to Versailles. Our pass will admit us into the town, without difficulty; and then we shall naturally be guided by circumstances. We must be furnished with a considerable sum of money, to make purchases of plunder." "An admirable plan," said the minister, warmly, "and one that deserves--even should it not obtain--success. "I need not speak to you of reward because, as gentlemen, I know that you make the attempt from the love of honor Colonel Tempe has before spoken to me of you, and you were highly commended by General Cambriels. Your names will, therefore, be in the next Gazette for the cross of the legion of honor; and if you succeed, you will come back captains and commanders of the Legion. I may mention--although I know that it will not add to your motive to succeed--that you will be entitled to the reward, of fifty thousand francs, which has been offered to anyone who will carry in dispatches to Paris." At this moment the officer entered. "Here are the papers the Jews with the captured wagons carried," he said. "They are signed by the general at Frankfort, and countersigned by at least a dozen military authorities. There are three of them." The minister glanced at them. "They will do well," he said. "Will you be ready to start tomorrow morning?" "Quite ready," Ralph said. "Very well. Then if you will be here at half-past five, the dispatches will be ready; written, of course, so as to fold up in the smallest possible compass. "Captain Verre, will you see that two of the best horses in my stable are put into boxes, in the train that leaves at six tomorrow morning." The boys now rose to leave. "Good morning," the minister said. "All the letters of recommendation, the dispatches, and the money will be ready when you come, in the morning." The boys, on going out, held a long consultation over their disguises. Examining the papers, they found that one was for two persons of the same name--Isaac Kraph and Aaron Kraph--father and son; the father, as described in the pass, forty-five years old, the son eighteen. This pass they determined to use. The task of changing Percy into a Jew boy, of eighteen, was evidently an easy one. His clear complexion was the only difficulty, and this could be readily disguised. Ralph's disguise was a more difficult one; and there was a considerable debate as to whether he had better go as a red Jew, or a dark Jew. The latter was finally determined upon as, otherwise, the contrast between the supposed father and son would be too striking. They then went to their tailor, and found their uniforms ready. They at once put them on, as the peculiarity of the purchases they intended to make was so great that, had they been in their civilian dress, it was certain that they would have been regarded with suspicion; and would have, perhaps, had difficulty in obtaining what they wanted. Their first visit was to a hairdresser's shop. Rather to the astonishment of the proprietor, they told him that they wished to speak to him in a private room; and still more to his astonishment, when the door was closed, they told him that they wanted their hair dyed quite black. The hairdresser could hardly believe his ears. The boys had both brown, wavy hair--Percy's being the lightest--and that two young officers of the staff should, at such a time, desire to dye their hair struck the man almost dumb with astonishment. Ralph smiled. "No wonder you are surprised, but we have an important mission to carry out, and it is essential that we should be completely disguised. We are going as spies into Von der Tann's camp. This, of course, is in the strictest confidence." The hairdresser was at once struck with the importance of the occasion. "You want an instantaneous dye?" he asked. "Certainly," Ralph said, "and one that will last, at any rate, for a week." There was no difficulty whatever in complying with the request and, in ten minutes, the boys' heads were raven in their blackness. "Now," Ralph said, "I want my brother's hair--which is fortunately very long--to be completely frizzled; and I want a pair of the tongs you do it with, so as to be able to do it for ourselves." This also was easy enough. "Now," Ralph went on, "for myself, I want my hair to be very long; to come down over my ears on to my collar, all the way round." "But the only way to do that is to have a wig specially made for you." "Not at all," Ralph said. "I could not put on a wig, even if you had one just as I want it, ready. The parting always shows, if it is narrowly looked at. I want some long flat bands of hair, like those you use for chignons. It must be black, to match my hair as it is now; but put a few streaks of gray into it. I must have a band of this hair, long enough to go round the head, from just above one ear to just above the other. If you part my hair, just at the place where the band is to go; brush the hair up; put the band of artificial hair on, with shoemaker's wax, or something else to hold tight; then brush the hair back again over the band, it would be absolutely impossible to see it was not all natural. Then cut the long hair so as to lie on my coat collar, frizzle it and the natural hair, and I will defy the keenest-eyed Prussian to see anything wrong about it." As soon as the hairdresser understood exactly what Ralph wanted, he entered heartily into his plans; and several of the short flat bands of black hair, used for chignons, were sewn on to a band. This was fastened on to Ralph's head, in the way he had suggested; the long tresses were cut to the required length; the tongs were used on them, and on the natural hair; and plenty of oil put on and, in an hour, his headdress was perfect--an immense bush of frizzly hair. The cloth was taken from round his neck and, as he looked at himself in the glass, he joined heartily in Percy's shout of laughter. "But, Ralph, how are you to go out in your uniform, and that head of hair?" "Dear me," Ralph said, "I had quite forgotten that. Go to the tailor's, Percy, and tell them to send the suit I changed there in here, directly." Percy went off for the clothes, and Ralph then went on: "Now I want a black or grayish beard, whiskers, and mustache." "I have not got such a thing," the hairdresser said, "but I know a man who keeps them. I will get it for you, in a quarter of an hour." In a few minutes Percy returned, with a boy with Ralph's clothes. In a short time they were ready to start. "You do look a strange object, Ralph." "Never mind, Percy, there are plenty of strange objects here. No one will notice me." Then saying that they would call in again in half an hour, for the beard, they went to a chemist's; from whom--after some talk--they obtained a mixture to give a slightly brown tinge to their faces. They now dived into the back streets of the town, found a second-hand clothes shop, and speedily got the articles they required. Ralph had a long greatcoat, with a fur collar; and a pair of high boots, coming up to his knees and to be worn over the trousers. A black fur cap completed his costume. Percy had a black cap, made of rough cloth, with a peak and with flaps to come down over the ears; an old greatcoat, with fur round the pockets and collar; a bright-colored handkerchief, to go two or three times round the neck; and high boots like those of Ralph. They then returned to the hairdresser, and Ralph insisted that the beard and mustache should be fastened on not only in the ordinary manner--with springs--but with cobbler's wax. "My life," he said, "might depend upon the things not slipping, at any moment." They now went home. The moment that they entered their rooms, Ralph exclaimed: "Why, we have forgotten all about Tim!" "So we have," Percy said. "He was to have met us in front of the railway station at nine o'clock and, of course, he has no idea where to find us. I will go there. Very likely the poor fellow is waiting still." Percy hurried off; and found Tim, as he had expected, sitting upon the steps going up to the railway station. He jumped up, with a cry of joy, upon seeing Percy. "The Vargin be praised, Mister Percy! I began to think that you must have been sent off somewhere, without time to warn me; and I couldn't, for the life of me, make out what to do." "We have not gone, Tim," Percy said, not wishing to hurt the attached fellow's feelings, by telling him that he had been forgotten; "but we are starting tomorrow. I will tell you all about it, when we get in. We have been to see Monsieur Gambetta, this morning and, do you know, we met Colonel Tempe last night, and are stopping in his rooms." So saying, he walked along at a quick pace towards their lodgings; Tim occasionally glancing a puzzled look at him. By the time they reached the room, Ralph had stained his face and hands, and was busy dressing in his disguise. His back was to the door, when they entered; but he had heard the Irishman's voice on the stair. "Well, Tim, how are you?" he said, turning round. "Holy Vargin!" ejaculated Tim, dropping into a chair, and crossing himself with great fervor "Sure, I'm bewitched. Here's an ould gentleman, wid a wonderful head of hair, has been staleing Mister Ralph's voice." The two boys went off in a shout of laughter at Tim's genuine terror. "Sure, I'm bewitched, entirely," he went on. "He laughs for all the world like Mister Ralph. Did ye iver see the like? "What is it all, Mister Percy dear?" Percy had by this time taken off his cap; and Tim, as he looked him fairly in the face, gave another start. "By the mother of Moses!" he exclaimed, in terror, "we're all bewitched. Mister Ralph's turned into an ould man, with a furze bush of hair; and Mister Percy's beautiful hair has all turned black, and shriveled itself up. Am I turning, myself, I wonder?" and he looked into the glass, to see if any change had taken place in his own abundant crop of red hair. The boys were laughing so that they could not speak for some time, and Tim sat gazing at them in speechless bewilderment. At last Percy, by a great effort, recovered himself; and explained to him the whole circumstances of the case. The Irishman's astonishment ceased now, but his dismay was as great as ever. "Then is it alone you're going?" he said, at last. "Are you going into danger again, without taking me with you? You'd never do that, surely, Mister Ralph?" "I am very sorry, Tim, to be separated from you," Ralph said; "but it is quite impossible for you to go with us. If you understood French and German as well as we do, the case would be different; but as it is, the thing is absolutely impossible. You know how great a trouble it was to disguise you, before; and it would treble our anxieties and difficulties. Not only that; but even if, in the face of every possible danger, we got you into Paris with us, there would be great difficulty in getting you out. Gambetta will give orders for us to be allowed to come out, in the first balloon; but it is by no means easy to get places in balloons, and it is unlikely in the extreme that we should be able to bring you out with us. So there you would be, shut up in Paris and separated from us, for months. "No, no, Tim, the matter is altogether impossible. You stay quietly here and, in ten days or a fortnight--if all goes well--we shall be back again with you." "And is it in a balloon you're thinking of coming out, Mister Ralph; flying like a bird through the air? Och, wirra, wirra! I'll never see yees again." "Nonsense, Tim, there's no danger in a balloon. If getting in were no more dangerous than getting out, there would not be much peril in the matter." "Ah, Mister Ralph dear, how can you be risking your life, and the life of your brother in that way? Shooting at a Prussian, or getting shot at, is all well enough; or going among them with your hair all puffed out, and your face painted brown, and the hair growing all over your face before its time, I say nothing against; but flying through the air, in a balloon, is just tempting the good Providence. I know what it will be. You'll be just touching against a cloud, and tumbling out, and breaking yourselves into smithereens; and nothing to take home to your dear father and mother, not to mention Miss Milly," and Tim fairly blubbered with grief, at the thought. The boys had great difficulty in pacifying the attached fellow; at last, with a face expressive of mournful resignation, he agreed to remain with Colonel Tempe until they returned; or until their prolonged absence rendered it likely that they would not return at all--Tim evidently making up his mind that the latter contingency would happen. In that case, as Tim--now his corps had ceased to exist--need no longer serve, he expressed his determination to return to Dijon; and to stay with Captain Barclay until the end of the war--as he should not, he said, have the heart to fight any more, when his masters were both killed. While the conversation had been going on, the boys had continued their toilettes. The preparation which they had obtained gave them an olive complexion; and their transformation was now so complete that the boys would have passed each other unknown, even had they looked steadily at each other. Ralph, especially, was utterly unlike himself. They now told Tim to go out and get his breakfast, and to return in two hours' time; and then started themselves, rounding their shoulders, and so narrowing their chests as much as possible. Ralph stopped at an optician's, bought a pair of slightly-colored spectacles, and put them on. It was now twelve o'clock--the preparations having taken them three hours--and they went to the cafe where they were to meet Colonel Tempe, to breakfast. He was already there, and they walked up to the table where he was sitting. "These seats are engaged," Colonel Tempe said, shortly. The Barclays sat down at the next table; and called, in a foreign accent, for two glasses of beer. Then they spoke together, for some little time, about a journey from Saint Malo which they had just made; and Ralph then turned to Colonel Tempe, still speaking French with a strong foreign accent. "Pardon me, colonel," he said, "we have just arrived from England. We have a very large quantity of army shoes, and I should feel under a great obligation if you could inform me who is the proper person to whom to apply." Colonel Tempe at once informed them, adding: "If your shoes are good ones, and the price fair, and you can deliver them soon, you will not have to wait long; for they are greatly wanted." "We have also some harness, for artillery horses," Ralph added. "I do not know about that," the colonel said; "but you will obtain all information from the officer I have mentioned." "Thank you very much," Ralph said, and returned to his seat. Colonel Tempe looked at his watch, a little impatiently. Ralph, after a minute or two, again approached him. "Don't you think we may as well have breakfast, colonel?" he said, in his natural voice. The colonel looked at him, in speechless surprise. "So the disguises are pretty good?" Ralph said, smiling. "Impossible!" the colonel exclaimed. "Do my eyes or my ears deceive me? Can it really be--?" "It's us, sure enough, colonel; and now, I suppose we may as well sit down." So saying, the boys took their seats at the table; but Colonel Tempe still looked from one to the other, in astonishment. "Wonderful!" he at last said, "wonderful! Even now I know who it is, I do not see the faintest possible resemblance. "Percy is, of course, less altered than you are, Ralph, because he is still young looking; but even now I should not recognize him. As for you, with that wonderful head of hair, and that beard, you look fifty; and as unlike yourself as possible. Upon my word, if it were anywhere else but here in Tours--where there are all sorts of oddities--I should be ashamed, as a colonel in the army, to sit down to table with you." "You are a little ashamed, as it is," Ralph laughed. "We had not intended to come out in our new character, so soon; but when my hair was once done, you see, it was impossible to go about in uniform." "But what in the world have you done with your hair?" the colonel said, examining him closely; for Ralph had taken off his fur cap and laid it beside him. "You have not got a wig on; and yet, all that frizzly bunch cannot be your own." Ralph explained how it was managed, and added: "And now, colonel, that you have recovered from your surprise, let us have breakfast." Breakfast was ordered, to which the boys did full justice; but Colonel Tempe was still getting on but slowly, for he could not take his eyes off Ralph's face. "Will all that frizzle keep in?" he asked, presently. "Yes; the man said that the false hair--which is the greater portion of it--will keep as well for a week; and we have got a small curling iron, so we can beautify ourselves up when we like." "Well, boys, I have no doubt, now, that you will be able to get as far as Versailles; as to getting through, that's another matter--but if anyone can, you will, I am convinced." "I have not much doubt about it, colonel," Ralph said. "I seem to see my way quite clearly into Paris. Much more clearly, indeed, than I do to getting out again." "Oh, it does not matter about getting out again, boys. You can stop quietly in there, until the end of the siege." "That is just what we don't want to do," Percy said. "Would you kindly ask them to put into the dispatches a request that we may be sent out again, by the first balloon that comes? We have no fancy, either of us, for eating rats and cats; which I suppose is what it will come to, before it is over." "I will see to it, boys," the colonel said, smiling; "but really, I should advise your staying there. You have done all--and more than--your share of work." The boys shook their heads; and it was arranged that, if they got in, they should come out again in a balloon. The next morning, the boys were up at half-past four and, at half-past five, were at the Prefecture. Colonel Tempe sent in his name to the minister, and they were at once admitted. Gambetta was at his writing table. "Good morning, Colonel Tempe," he said, cordially; and then added, in some surprise, "who are these men you have with you, and where are your young Englishmen? I hope they will not be late." "These are they," the colonel said, smiling. "They are who?" Gambetta said, puzzled. "I do not understand you, colonel." "These are the Lieutenants Barclay," Colonel Tempe said. The minister looked from the colonel to the two boys, and back again. "Do you mean to say--?" he began, incredulously. "Yes, sir, it is us," Ralph said; "and I do not think there is much fear of our being recognized." "So little that I do not recognize you, now. "There is no mistake, colonel?" he said, gravely; "no mystification? You give me your pledge, and assurance, that these are the officers who have volunteered for this duty? Remember, any mistake might be fatal." "These are certainly the Barclays, sir. I give you my word." "It is a marvelous disguise," Gambetta said, his doubts now laid at rest; "and does them immense credit. "There are the dispatches, gentlemen. They are done up in these two quills, and sealed. They are of the utmost importance; and must not, at any hazard, fall into the hands of the enemy. The dispatches are in duplicate so that, in case one only gets in, the purpose is served. "This is a circular letter, to all maires and other French authorities, ordering them to give you every possible assistance. "This is a special note, to the Maire of Melun. "Here is a letter to General Aurelles, at Orleans. If he is not in when you arrive, the chief of his staff will do. He is ordered to send a staff officer with you, through the lines, as far as you require him. The horses are in the train. "Now, goodbye. I wish you a very good future, for you are gallant young fellows." So saying, he shook them warmly by the hand; and they hurried off to the train. Chapter 15: The Expedition. A special telegram had been sent forward from Tours to station master at Orleans, to request him to order the two horses, sent forward in the train, to be got out of their boxes without any loss of time; and to do anything else which the owners of the horses required. Accordingly, as the train was waiting outside the station, the guard came round and asked at each carriage for the owners of the horses. He appeared a little surprised, when two Jews answered the inquiry; as he had expected that they were officers of high rank, and importance. "The compliments of the stationmaster," he said, "and is there anything he can do with the horses?" "Yes," Ralph said. "Give my compliments to the station master; and say that I shall be much obliged if he will get them out of the horse boxes, without loss of time, and send them on at once to the headquarters of General Aurelles. We will go on at once, in a vehicle." Five minutes afterwards the train drew up at the platform, and the guard ran up. "This way, gentlemen. A carriage is engaged." Upon arriving at headquarters they found that--owing to the forethought of Colonel Tempe--they were expected for, upon sending in their names, they were at once admitted; although several officers, of all grades, were waiting in the anteroom. The colonel of the staff gave a movement of surprise. "There is some mistake here," he said, to the orderly who had shown them in; "I ordered the Lieutenants Barclay to be admitted." "These are the gentlemen who gave me the card, colonel," the orderly answered. "It is so," Ralph said. "If you will favor us with a moment alone, we will explain the matter to you." The colonel led the way into a small cabinet, adjoining. "We are bearers of dispatches, for General Trochu," Ralph said; "and have disguised ourselves, to endeavor to pass through the German lines." "Oh, is that it?" the colonel said. "I must really apologize; but no one," he said, smiling, "could recognize you, in that disguise, to be French officers. Before we speak further, I must ask you for some proof that you are what you state yourselves to be; for at present I have only your cards." "Here is our letter from Monsieur Gambetta to General Aurelles," Ralph said. "It is directed to be opened by you, should he be absent." "That is all right," the colonel said, when he had read it. "My surprise at your appearance was natural, for the telegram we received this morning only said: "'The two Lieutenants Barclay will arrive, by six o'clock train. Their business is most important. Have a well-mounted officer of staff ready to accompany them through lines.' "I thought, of course, that you had orders to report on position of troops; and felt, I admit, rather angry that Gambetta should wish to send subaltern officers to inspect matters concerning which he has full reports. "You wish, of course, to go on at once?" "Our horses will be here in five minutes," Ralph said, "and we wish to get as far as possible, tonight. We mean to cross the Loing at Montargis, and get as far as we can, tonight; so as to arrive either at Meaux, or Melun, tomorrow evening. We should, of course, prefer Melun, as being much the shortest route towards Versailles. We shall, of necessity, be guided by the position of the Germans." "You have not breakfasted, of course?" the colonel said. "I was just going to sit down, when you came in; for I go out to the front at ten, and it is half-past nine, now. You will have no chance of getting anything, before you arrive at Montargis. "I can introduce you to the officer who will accompany you." The boys readily accepted the invitation, and at once followed the colonel into another room; where breakfast was laid, and several officers of the staff were waiting for the arrival of the colonel, to begin. There was a general look of surprise, when he entered with two strange-looking Jews; which was not a little increased when he said: "Gentlemen, the Lieutenants Barclay. You look surprised; but your astonishment will cease when I tell you that they are upon an important mission, and do not look like themselves. And now to table, for they have to start in ten minutes. "Captain Duprat, let me make you specially acquainted with these gentlemen. They are bound for Montargis, and you will see them through our outposts." In another quarter of an hour, the boys were issuing from the streets of Orleans; and were soon going along, at a hand gallop, by the road along the banks of the Loire; while to the north stretched the flat and densely-wooded country known as the Forest of Orleans. As far as Chateauneuf they kept near the river. Here they halted half an hour, to give breathing time to their horses; then started again, and rode fast to Bellegarde. Here was the last post of regular troops, but Cathlineau's franc tireurs were scattered throughout the country, as far as Montargis; and it would have been more difficult for the Barclays to have passed through them than through the regular troops, as they had less respect for passes. After another halt, they again started; and Captain Duprat accompanied them as far as Montargis, where there was a small body of franc tireurs. Captain Duprat's orders were to sleep at Montargis, and then return to Chateauneuf the next day. The boys felt rather stiff and tired, as they rode into Montargis; for they had not been on horseback since the day when they were taken prisoners, in the Vosges, and they had ridden forty miles since breakfast. They would, however, have willingly pushed on another twenty miles; but their horses had even a longer day's work before them, on the morrow. Being accompanied by a staff officer, no questions whatever were asked them and, after a good dinner at the hotel, they went to the Maire, to inquire whether he could tell them as to the advanced posts of the Germans. This functionary--like such functionaries in general--could give them but slight information but, as far as he knew, there were no German troops on the right bank of the Loing, south of its junction with the Yonne. Beyond the Yonne they were scattered pretty thickly, everywhere. At daybreak the next morning, they started. Captain Duprat turned his horse's head westward again, while the Barclays rode north. Their pace was rapid; as they never drew rein, except at villages, to ask whether the Prussians had been heard of. They heard of parties at Lorrez, and Cheroy; but as they kept through by-lanes, and as the country was thickly wooded, the risk was--at present--small. They had with them an excellent map, which enabled them to follow the smallest footpaths. At eleven o'clock, they stopped at the little hamlet of Montarlet. There they breakfasted, and gave the horses an hour's rest while they consulted with the Maire. He was a miller, and turned out a shrewd fellow; entering into the matter with great warmth. He advised them to ford the Yonne between Montereau and its junction with the Loing; to keep to the woods for ten miles, and then to turn to the left, and to cross the Seine--at one of the numerous fords there--into the Forest of Fontainebleau; and they would then find themselves between that town and Melun, and could ride boldly into Melun, as if they had come from Fontainebleau. "I know every foot of the country," he said, "and will guide you, till you are safely across the Seine. If we should, by any chance, fall upon a patrol of the enemy, it will be simple enough to say that I am a miller of Montarlet; and that you have shown me your permission to travel about, through the German line; and have asked me to guide you, by the shortest way, to Melun." They had every reason to be thankful to their guide, for they found that there were a great many scattered parties of Uhlans about. By dint of making detours through woods, however, they succeeded in striking the Seine, at Fontaine le Port, without once meeting them. This village was, however, occupied by some half-dozen cavalry; and it was impossible to pass the river, unseen by them. The Barclays thanked, very warmly, their friend the Maire, and promised to mention his conduct, upon their return to Tours; and then, saying goodbye to him, rode into the village alone. The sergeant of Uhlans came to the door of the principal cabaret, and looked out. "Good day," Ralph said, in German, reining up his horse. "Is it here that I cross the river, for Fontainebleau? They told me, at Le Chatelet, that it was shorter than going round by the main road." "Yes, you are right here," the sergeant said. "Have you passes?" "Oh yes," Ralph said, laughing. "It would have been no easy matter to get from Frankfort here, without them." So saying, he pulled out the Prussian permit. "That is right," the sergeant said. "Your horses look very done." "We have ridden from Coulommiers through Rozoy, and Normant." "It would have been an easier road to have gone from Normant through Melun," the sergeant said. And he took out a map, and examined it. "No, I see le Chatelet is a more direct line." "We have time to wait an hour," Ralph said, turning to Percy; "and it will be better for our beasts. See that they are rubbed down, and fed." The sergeant gave a peremptory shout, and the master of the wine shop ran out. The sergeant pointed to the horses. "Do you speak French?" he asked Ralph. "No," Ralph said, "but my son does. "Aaron, tell him to rub them down, and feed them well; and see to it, yourself. These dogs are capable of cheating even a horse." Ralph then entered the cabaret, and called for some bread and cheese and a bottle of the best wine, with three glasses. The Prussian sergeant sat down with them, and talked of Germany for an hour. Then they started again, crossed the river and, an hour and a half later, entered Melun. Here, as they came in by the road from Fontainebleau--which was held in force by the Germans--no question was asked. They rode their tired horses through the streets, until they saw a quiet hotel. Riding into the yard, they told the hostler to put up their horses, and to clean and feed them well; enforcing their request with a five-franc piece. They then entered the hotel, and found that they could have beds; as the number of German officers quartered upon this house was smaller than usual, owing to the greater portion of the troops having been pushed on, to reinforce Von der Tann. It was now half-past five, and was already dusk. They therefore went at once to the Maire; to whom they presented Gambetta's letter, and requested his assistance in purchasing a van, with a pair of good strong horses, at once. "It will be next to impossible to get horses," the Maire said, "but I will do my best. I have two carriage horses, of good breed; but I fear, if I were to let you have them, the Prussians might remark it." "We have two first-rate animals," Ralph said, "from Gambetta's own stables. They have carried us a hundred miles, since breakfast time yesterday. They are likely to be at least as good as yours are, only they want a few days' rest. Will you exchange?" "Certainly," the Maire said, at once. "If any inquiries were to be made about it, I need make no secret of that transaction. "As for the covered cart, I will send round at once to those of my neighbors who have one; and as you are ready to pay for it, and as the Prussians are requisitioning them without payment, you can rely upon having one tomorrow morning, ready for your start. I will send a note round to you, tonight, to tell you where it is, at present." "We had better go now to the German commandant's office, and get our passes countersigned. When that is done, we shall be all right for Versailles." "Yes, I should advise you to do that," the Maire said. "You will not have much difficulty. They are civil enough about passes, and matters of that kind. Will you mention you have seen me?" "Not unless any question is asked about horses; in which case we should of course mention that--hearing you had a pair of horses, and ours requiring rest--we had changed with you." They now went boldly to the orderly room. An officer was on duty. "Will you please to visa this for Versailles?" Ralph said, in German. The officer took it, glanced at it, and at them. "The last visa I see was at Meaux, a fortnight since." "We have been traveling on horseback, since," Ralph said; "and have had no occasion to have it visaed, as it has always passed us without trouble. As we are now going to Versailles, with a wagon, we thought it better to have the pass visaed here." "Where have you come from, now?" "From Fontainebleau," Ralph said. "We have been down to Pithiviers, and I sent off four wagon loads of things from there, for the frontier." "Your best way is through Corbeil, and Longjumeau," the officer said, handing back the paper. "Thank you, sir," Ralph replied, "that is the way we are intending to go." In the evening, the Maire himself came in to look at the horses; and told them that he had obtained a good light-covered wagon, with springs, which had been used for the removal of furniture. The price was a thousand francs. "If you like," he said, "to come round with me now; my servant shall take the horses round there, put them in, and bring the wagon here; and he can then take your horses back with him to my stables. "Please to write me a paper--signed by the name on your German pass--saying that you have bought my horses of me, and have sold me yours. Put down any figures you like as having passed between us. You are upon a very perilous expedition and, in case of anything happening to you, it would be well for me that nothing, beyond a mere business transaction, could be traced between us." At seven o'clock the next morning they started. The distance was only thirty miles, but the roads were terribly slippery from the deep snow, now trampled flat by the immense traffic of the army. It was five in the afternoon when they reached the first sentries, at the entrance to Versailles. The pass was sufficient, and they went on uninterrupted. Percy drove, and Ralph sat beside him. The town swarmed with officers and soldiers, of all ranks. No one paid them any attention, and they drove through the Place d'Armes and on to the marketplace; where they knew there were many inns, frequented by the market people. Here--as they expected--they found it impossible to get a bed; but they had no difficulty in obtaining permission for the wagon to stand in a yard, and were lucky enough to get stable room for the horses. They went into the town and bought four blankets; and as, at starting, they had filled the wagon two feet deep with straw, they had--in spite of the cold weather--every hope of passing a comfortable night. Dinner was the next thing and, that over, they strolled about until nine o'clock. It was a singular sight, this army of invaders comfortably quartered in the ancient capital of France. The palace, the statues in front of it, everything told of the glories of France; every park around, every little palace was infinitely associated with its sovereigns; and here, in the midst of these memorials, the German invaders stalked carelessly, drank in the cafes, or feasted in the hotels, as if the place had belonged to them from time immemorial. Afar off, in the quiet of the evening, could be heard the distant boom of the guns round the beleaguered city. There were several things which the Barclays wanted to get; but they had no difficulty with them, as the shops were all open, as usual. The population had a depressed look. All classes were suffering much, with the exception of the shopkeepers, whose business was as brisk as ever--save only those tradesmen who dealt in articles of female attire, for which there was no demand, whatever. The ladies of Versailles went as little as possible into the streets; and when they did so, all dressed themselves in black, or other somber colors. By nine o'clock the shops were all closed; and the Barclays returned to their wagon, with their purchases in their hands. "It's awfully cold, Ralph!" Percy said, as they rolled themselves in their blankets, and covered themselves over with straw. "It is, Percy; but it will be a deal colder, in the river." Percy gave a shudder at the thought. "Don't you think, Ralph, that there is any possibility of entering on either of the other sides?" "Not the slightest, Percy. It must be across the river, or not at all. The sentries will not be anything like so thick, upon that side." Had anyone looked into the wagon, at eight o'clock next morning, he would have been surprised at the occupation upon which the boys were engaged. Each was sewing a piece of thin waterproof cloth upon a pair of white woolen gloves; so that the fingers, when outspread, had the appearance of the webbed foot of a frog. "That ought to help us," Ralph said, when they finished. "For a really long swim, I daresay they would be very fatiguing; but it is cold, not fatigue, we have to fear, and speed is therefore everything." At nine o'clock, Ralph went to the office of the general in command. There were a number of other persons waiting for permits, and Ralph waited his turn to go in to the officer engaged in signing them. "I am from Frankfort, as my papers show," he said, handing the officer his pass. "I wish for a pass to go, with my horse and cart, to Bellevue. There are, I hear, many officers desirous of selling, or sending home, articles they have saved." Saved, it may be mentioned, was the word employed in the German army for stolen--which has an ugly sound. The officer signed the paper. "You must not go by the Sevres route," he said. "You must turn off at Viroflay, and go by Chaville." Half an hour later they started in the wagon At the gates of Versailles--a mile from the town--they were stopped by sentries; but allowed to pass on production of the order, with the necessary stamp. "Everything is going on well, thus far," Ralph said, as they turned off from the main road, at Viroflay. "It looks like snow, too, which would exactly suit us." Viroflay was crowded with Prussian troops. An officer stopped them, as they passed. "Where are you going to?" "We are going to Bellevue," Ralph said. "We are purchasers of any curiosities or souvenirs of the war--such as pictures, or clocks--and we also undertake to deliver, in Germany, any article which may be entrusted to our charge. We have our passes and papers, in regular order." "Wait a minute," the officer said. "Draw up at that villa there." The wagon drew up to the villa, the officer walking in front. He motioned to Ralph to dismount, and to follow him into the house; leaving Percy in charge of the wagon Five or six officers were sitting in what had been the drawing room of the villa. "Who have you got here?" one of them asked, as Ralph's conductor entered. "A worthy Hebrew," the other laughed, "who will either purchase, or carry home, articles saved." There was a general movement of interest. The furniture of the room was a wreck, the papers were hanging in strips, a broken chair was blazing upon the fire; several family portraits on the wall were pierced with holes, having evidently served the purpose of targets, for pistol shooting. Ralph's conductor left the room for a moment, and returned with a very handsome drawing room clock; worth, Ralph knew, at least fifteen hundred francs. "How much will you give for that?" Ralph examined it critically. "Four hundred francs," he said. "Nonsense! It cost five times that." "About four times," Ralph said, "when it was new. It is not new, now, and it has to be taken to Germany. If you prefer it, I will carry it to Frankfort; and send it on thence by rail, at ten percent upon its value." "Yes, I will agree to that," the officer said. "How much will that be?" "I am content to take it at your own valuation," Ralph said. "The value you set upon the clock was two thousand francs." There was a laugh among the other officers. "He has you there, major." "Not at all," the officer said. "He shall take it at the valuation he placed upon it--four hundred francs." "Pardon me," Ralph said, "I did not value it at that sum, I only offered to give that sum for it; besides which, that was an estimate of the value I set upon it at Viroflay, not the value I should set upon it at Frankfort. "I will say one thousand francs; that is, I will undertake it at a hundred, if you will get it put into a case of some sort." The other officers now offered various objects, either for sale or transport--pictures, vases, clocks, and even pianos. Ralph haggled over the price of each article, in a way which would have done honor to his appearance. At last--having arranged all their matters--he said that he was going on to Bellevue; but would call and complete the purchases, and receive the goods entrusted to him, either that night or the next morning. "If any of you gentleman would kindly give me your card, to give to the officer of the regiment at Bellevue, saying that you have found me fair in my dealing, I should feel very grateful," Ralph said, humbly. The officer laughed, but one of them took out his card, and wrote upon it: "Dear Von Koch, this man is--for a Hebrew--tolerably fair in his ideas." "That is for the major of the regiment, at Bellevue," he said; and Ralph bowed, as if he had received a recommendation of the warmest kind. "I was beginning to be alarmed, Ralph," Percy said, when his brother again took his place in the wagon. "I have been haggling over prices," Ralph said. "Fortunately, we are not pressed for time." They had another stop, of some duration, at Chaville; and it was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon before they came down to the back of Bellevue. Here they were stopped and, upon Ralph producing his pass, an officer came up. "You cannot go any farther," he said. "You are close to Bellevue, now; but if you were to take this wagon into the main road, you would draw Valerien's fire upon us, at once. "You will find most of the officers there," pointing to a large house, near. "I have this card, for Major Von Koch," Ralph said. "I am here to buy, or carry home on commission, goods of all kinds." The officer went with Ralph; and the scene at Viroflay was repeated, but upon a much larger scale. Viroflay is a small village, containing only a few large villas; Bellevue is composed almost entirely of handsome residences, owned by Parisians. The quantity of articles "saved" was proportionately large. After examining and bargaining for a large number of valuable articles of furniture, pictures and clocks; Ralph left, with some of the officers, to view other articles in the villas upon the side of Bellevue, looking down upon the river. Percy had taken the horses out of the wagon, and accompanied his brother, ostensibly to carry back any articles purchased. At one of the villas Ralph expressed a great desire to go out into the garden, to look over Paris; and the officer with him--being in an excellent humor, at the disposal of some articles at much higher prices than he had expected to receive; and at having the proceeds, in German bank notes, in his pockets--went out himself, and pointed out all the various objects of interest. The fog of a winter's evening was already shutting in the view, but the boys could see the principal buildings of Paris. The towers of Notre Dame, the domes of the Pantheon and Invalides, the heights of Montmartre and Vilette, and the forts of Issy and Vanves were distinctly visible. The boys' eyes turned, however, more to the river at their feet, and the intervening ground, than upon the objects--however interesting--of distant Paris. "Do not show yourself," the officer said. "If we were caught sight of, from Issy or Point du Jour--or from that gunboat, below--we should have a rain of shells about us, in no time. You can look out from among the trees; but do not get beyond their shelter, or you will be seen, instantly." The house in whose garden they were standing stood upon the brow of the hill. Behind was a little wood, and gardens sloping pretty-steeply down. Then along by the water was a street, with houses upon either side. The river was, here, divided by an island; the lower end of which, however, scarcely extended low enough to be opposite to the spot upon which the boys were standing. "Bless me," Ralph said, "it must be very dangerous, living down there. Why, that gunboat could blow the place into the air." "That she could," the officer said, "and consequently, none of our men live there. We have sentries along the river bank, and a few others scattered about; but none of the troops are quartered there, nor even in this line of villas where we now are. If we were to show a light at night, in any window here, we should have a shell in in a couple of minutes. We have no fear, whatever, of a sortie in this direction; and have plenty of force behind." Ralph and Percy lingered, upon one excuse or another; asking questions as long as they could, and making the best use of their time, to gain a fair idea of the ground that they would have to cross. They had with them, in the wagon, a map of Bellevue and Meudon upon a large scale, with every house marked upon it. "It is going to be a dark night," the officer said, as they hurried away, "and we shall have snow before midnight." Another hour or two was spent in purchasing various articles, taken from the French villas. Darkness had come on, and Ralph told the officers that he should not return until the next morning to Versailles; and that if the articles to be entrusted to his care for delivery were put in rough cases--of which there were plenty, which had come full of stores--and brought by ten o'clock in the morning, carefully directed, it would be in sufficient time. "Will you give us leave to sleep in one of the villas, upon the farther side of the road?" Ralph asked the officer in command. "My boy has never seen a shot fired, in earnest; and I should like him to be able to say he had watched the fire of the forts, round Paris." "If you sleep there," the colonel said, "you must not light a fire, or show a light, or you would bring the fire of a hundred guns upon us." "I will be very careful, sir," Ralph answered. "Will you kindly let an orderly go with us, to pass us through the sentries? For, as it's dark now, they would not let us pass." The colonel gave the order, and an orderly went with them. They stopped at the wagon, and each took out a large bundle. "We shall want our blankets, tonight," Ralph said. "It is bitterly cold. "Would you like a glass of brandy, to help keep it out, my man?" The soldier smiled an assent, drank off a glass of brandy, and then accompanied them to the villa. Short as was the distance, they were challenged twice, and the sign and counter-sign had to be exchanged. They reached the deserted villa, threw down the bundles in a corner; and then the orderly said good night, and left them to themselves. Chapter 16: A Desperate Attempt. "So far, so good, Percy!" Ralph said, when they heard the street door slam, as the orderly left. "Hitherto we have had the most extraordinary good fortune and, as it's going to snow--for I felt a few flakes, as we came along--I look upon it as good as done." "It will take away from us risk of being hit, but I don't see that it will make much difference in our risk of being drowned," Percy said. "I own, Ralph, I am a great deal more afraid of that, than of the other." "But it does, Percy. It makes all the difference in the world. We had agreed that we would put on life belts; but that we would blow the smallest quantity of air possible into them, so that they might give us some slight assistance, and yet not be too buoyant to prevent us from diving. Now we can blow them up with wind, so as to prevent the possibility of our being drowned. Once in the water, and we are safe from everything except a stray bullet. In a snowstorm, on such a dark night as this, they could not see our heads five yards off." "But what is worse, Ralph, we shall not be able to see five yards, either; and should have no idea where we were swimming." "I had not thought of that, Percy. Yes, that would be very serious," and Ralph thought, for some time. "It seems a risk, this, Percy; but I can see no plan, except to draw their fire." "How do you mean?" Percy asked, puzzled. "You see, Percy, our idea before was to get down to the shore, to put our dummy into the water, and to let it float down a hundred yards--the length of its string--and then to start ourselves, holding the other end of the string, in hopes that--if the sentries are really sharply on the lookout--they would see the dummy, instead of us, as it will be a much more conspicuous object; especially as we intended to do as much diving as we could, and our movements forward would jerk the dummy's string, and make him bob, like a man swimming. If they once caught sight of it, they would be too busy firing at it to look about for anyone else. "Well now, I think that instead of giving up the dummy altogether--as we might have done, now that the snow has come on--we must let it float gently down, for seventy or eighty yards; and then throw a stone into the water by it, so as to draw the attention of the sentry. Or--if the sentries are pretty far apart--one of us might make a great splash in the water, when the dummy is floating; and then run back before the sentry gets up, and get into the water quietly, higher up. Their fire will act as a guide to us." "We had better start soon, Ralph. It may take us an hour, or even two, to get down to the water; for we must go along like ghosts, so as not to alarm the sentries; and we shall have walls to get over, and all sorts of difficulties." "All right, Percy. I do not see the use of waiting. We shall not get any warmer, by stopping here. It's like having a tooth out. One's got to do it, and the sooner it's done, the better. "Now for our bundles." They went downstairs into a cellar--where the light could not be seen from outside--struck a light, and lit a candle. The first thing taken out of the bundle was the dummy--a net, rather larger than a man's head, tightly filled with corks; with a cord, a hundred yards in length, attached. Next were two complete suits, made of white calico; with caps, with long flaps of the same material. Next were two large rolls of India rubber webbing, about six inches wide, which they had brought from Tours with them. "I can't think that that will be any good, Ralph." "It will, indeed, Percy. The water will, of course, soak through; but what gets in will remain in, and the heat of the body will warm it, a good deal. I can assure you, it will be a great deal warmer than having the icy water flowing past you." Both boys now took off their coats and waistcoats, put on a warm flannel jersey over their flannel shirts, and then wound the bandages of India rubber round each other's bodies. They began under the arms; drawing the webbing tight, as they wound it round, so that its natural elasticity caused each turn to press tightly upon the turn above, which it overlapped. This bandage was continued down to the lower part of the body. Then they put on the life belts. Over them they put their suits of white calico, white shoes with India rubber soles, the white caps, and swimming gloves. They then put the "dummy" in a pillow case, which they had bought for it at Versailles. Before putting on their caps, they fastened the quills with the dispatches in their hair. In a belt, underneath their jackets, each carried a heavy revolver. "This India rubber stuff regularly squeezes me, Ralph." "All the better, Percy. You will feel the benefit of it, when you are in the water, believe me." The boys now knelt down together, and asked for protection through the peril which they were about to encounter. A few minutes later they rose, grasped each other's hand; and then--blowing out the light--groped their way upstairs, opened a window which led into the garden, and stepped out. The wind was blowing strongly. Snowflakes were being whisked hither and thither, like spray from a wave. Had it not been for the gleam from the snow-covered ground, it would have been impossible to see ten paces, here. As it was, it was intensely dark. "It's lucky that it's downhill, Percy, or we should never find our way to the water's edge. If we keep descending, we must be there, at last." Before starting, the boys went a few paces from each other; and were pleased to find that their white costumes suited admirably as, between the driving snow and the white sheet upon the ground, they could not make each other out at more than eight or ten yards, even when they knew exactly where they stood. They now began to descend the hill, very carefully, step by step. The snow upon the ground made walking much more easy than it otherwise would have been. Their footsteps--muffled alike by the India-rubber soles, and the snow upon which they walked--were inaudible, even to themselves. They had several walls to climb, and the noiseless India-rubber soles were of good service, here. Several times they could hear the sentries, beating their feet upon the ground to warm them; but in no case were they near enough to see them. At last, after an hour and a half--spent in passing the three hundred yards which separated them from the river--they reached, in safety, the wall of the road which runs along by the river. Here the sentries were pacing along at distances of thirty or forty yards apart. The white houses, upon the opposite side of the road, could be faintly seen; and the boys moved along until opposite an opening between them, by which they could get through to the river. Looking over the wall, they could watch the sentries and--choosing their time when one had just passed, so that his back would be turned towards them--he no sooner disappeared in the darkness than they dropped noiselessly into the road, ran across the street, climbed a low railing, and stood in a garden which reached down to the river. They stood watching, for some time, to assure themselves that no sentry was placed in the garden; but at last they stole forwards and stood at the end of the garden, with the river at their feet. The snow--which was at their backs--was falling faster than ever. The river deepened rapidly from the wall; but the water was low enough for anyone to get along on the sloping side--faced with rough stone--between the foot of the wall and the water. The boys got over the wall, took the dummy from the bag and, holding one end of the cord, put it quietly into the water; and allowed it to float down, about sixty yards. "Now, Percy," Ralph said, "you get ready to slip into the water, as quietly as possible, the moment you hear a splash. I will leave this bag here, so as to know exactly where you have gone in and--as the rope is plenty long enough--you keep hold of it here, at sixty yards from the dummy; and I will fasten the slack end to the stone so that, when I go in, I have only to hold the rope in my hand, to be able to join you. I will take this heavy coping stone in my hand; will crawl along on this shelving bank, till I arrive at the dummy; and will then throw the stone in, and run back at full speed, and be in the water a few seconds after you are." "All right, Ralph, I understand. Keep your pistol cocked in your hand, as you go." Ralph crept quietly along, under the wall, until he saw the dummy floating at the edge of the water, a few feet below him. He rose on his feet, to throw in the stone; when he heard a deep exclamation behind him and, looking round, he saw a dark figure within two feet of him. Another moment, and the sentry would have brought his rifle to his shoulder--for he sprang back, giving a loud shout--but Ralph wheeled round instantaneously, threw up his revolver, and fired at the sentinel's body. He saw him fall; turned round, hurled the heavy stone with a loud splash into the water, and then--crawling low under the wall--ran at full speed back again. As he did so, two sentries in the garden over his head fired, in the direction of the splash in the water; and shouts were heard all along the bank. In another instant Ralph grasped the line, and slid down the snowy slopes into the water; entering so quietly that no sound, whatever, betrayed his entry. It was icy cold, and almost took away his breath. Twenty strokes, and he joined Percy. "All right, old man, they can't see us now." "You are not hit, are you, Ralph?" Percy gasped. "No, it was my revolver. I had to shoot a sentry, to save my life. It's lucky we have got these life belts on, for I am sure we should never get across." "There! There!" was shouted, in German. "I see his head bobbing up and down," and eight or ten rifle shots were fired, from the garden where the sentry had fallen, in the direction of the dummy. The boys swam on desperately, then Ralph said: "You can slip the string now, Percy. The dummy has done its work. It must be quite out of sight from the bank. "Do not you feel the benefit of the India rubber?" "Yes," Percy said, "I am warm enough, in the body; but my legs are in agony, from the cold. These gloves are helping us on, though, at a great rate." "Well, there is one blessing," Ralph said, "we can't miss the way, now." As he spoke, a heavy fire of musketry opened from the French, upon the other side. Alarmed at the sudden fire on the part of the Germans, they fired at the flashes of their guns and, fresh reinforcements coming up on either side, a heavy exchange of musketry shots took place across the river; partially over the boys' heads, but principally a hundred yards lower down the stream, in the direction where the dummy was seen by the Germans. The boys swam with long, steady, noiseless strokes. "We must be halfway across," Ralph said. "I am getting deadly cold, all over, Ralph. I can't sink, of course; but I shall freeze to death, before I reach the opposite bank." "No, no, Percy," Ralph said, as cheerily as he could; though he felt, himself, that the intense cold was rapidly overcoming his strength. "Keep up your heart. Strike as hard as you can. The more you exert yourself, the better." In another minute or two, Ralph found he was leaving Percy behind, and slackened his speed. "Goodbye, Ralph. My legs are all cramped up, and my arms are numbed. I can't swim another stroke. It is all up with me," he said, faintly. "God bless you. Don't stop with me; you can do no good, and your only chance is to go on." Ralph, however, put one hand upon Percy's life belt, and struck out for shore; but he felt that it was hopeless. Frightful pains were shooting through his limbs, and he breathed what he believed to be a last prayer; when a boom like thunder, a few yards off, galvanized him into life again--for he saw the gunboat, which they had seen in the morning, only a few yards distant. She had just fired a gun, loaded with grape, in the direction of the Germans who were firing. She was still at anchor, and the stream was drifting them down fast upon her. "Help!" Ralph shouted. "Help! We are drowning, and have dispatches Throw a rope, quick!" "Where are you?" answered a voice. "Here, close to you, just abreast," Ralph shouted. In another instant a rope struck his face. He grasped it, twisted it tightly round Percy's body and his own, tied a rough knot with his last strength, and then lost consciousness. When he recovered his senses, his first sensation was that of intense pain--so intense that it extracted a groan from him. "That's right, rub away; and pour some more brandy down his throat," a voice said. Then he became conscious that he was being rubbed with hot flannels. He opened his eyes, and saw a gleaming of moving machinery, and the red glare of furnaces. "Where am I?" he asked, at last. "In the engine room of the gunboat Farcey," a voice said. "I am suffering agony," Ralph murmured, between his teeth. "I daresay," the officer who was standing by him answered. "You were pretty near frozen to death. Luckily your life belts kept you from taking in any water, but it was a near squeak. Another three minutes in the water, and the doctor says it would have been all up with you." "Where is my brother?" Ralph asked suddenly; sitting up, with a full consciousness of all that had passed. "He is coming round," the officer said. "He was farther gone than you were; and his heart's action was altogether suspended, from the cold. His limbs are twitching now, and the doctor says he will do. "You call him your brother, but I suppose you mean your son?" "Please lend me some clothes," Ralph said. "I can stand, now." Some clothes had already been got in readiness, and warmed; and in a couple of minutes Ralph was kneeling by his brother's side. Percy was now coming to, and was suffering agonies similar to those which Ralph himself had experienced, from the recommencement of circulation in his limbs. He looked round, utterly bewildered; for he had become insensible before the Farcey's gun had given notice of her proximity. He smiled, however, when his eyes fell on Ralph's face. "It is all right, Percy, thank God," Ralph said. "We are on board the gunboat Farcey and, in ten minutes, we shall be landed in the heart of Paris." In another five minutes, Percy was sufficiently recovered to begin to dress. The commander of the Farcey now turned to Ralph. "Your son has had a very narrow shave of it, sir." "Son!" Ralph said, "He is my brother." The officer looked surprised. "How old do you take me to be?" Ralph asked. "Forty-five or fifty," the officer said. "I shall not be seventeen for some months," Ralph answered. The officer looked at him with an air of intense astonishment, and there was a burst of laughter from the men standing round. The commandant frowned angrily at them. "Quite so, my dear sir," he said, soothingly. "I was only joking with you. It is evident that you are not yet seventeen." "You think I have lost my senses, with the shock," Ralph said, smiling. "I can assure you that that is my age. My beard and whiskers are so firmly fixed on, with cobbler's wax, that I shall have an awful trouble to get them off; and my hair the same. If you feel along here, from one ear to the other, you will feel a ridge. That is the cobbler's wax, that sticks all this mass of frizzled hair on. "Did you not notice that both my brother's and my face and hands were much darker than the rest of our skin?" "Yes, the doctor did notice that," the captain said--now beginning to think that Ralph was not insane, after all. Passing his finger where Ralph directed him, he felt the ridge of the false hair. "Who are you then, may I ask?" he said. "My brother and myself are named Barclay," Ralph said. "We are lieutenants in the army, and are both decorated for service in the field. We left Tours four days ago, and are bearers of dispatches from Gambetta to General Trochu." A cheer broke from all who were standing within hearing; and the boys' hands--for Percy came up at the moment--were warmly shaken by the officers of the boat, one after another. Congratulations of all sorts were heaped upon them, and those around were unable to make enough of them. "No pigeon has come in, for ten days," the commander said. "You will indeed be welcome." At this moment, a sailor came down to say that they were passing the Louvre and, in another two minutes, the gunboat lay alongside the wharf. "You do not know, I suppose, where Trochu is to be found?" the commander of the Farcey asked. "No, indeed," Ralph said. "I will go with you, myself," the officer said. "If the general has gone to bed, we must knock him up. He won't mind, when he hears the reason." It was but a short distance to walk, but the boys had great difficulty in getting there; for their limbs were stiff and aching, and they felt a burning sensation all over them, as if they had been dipped in boiling water. General Trochu had not yet gone to bed and--upon the message being delivered by the orderly, "The commander of the Farcey, with officers bearing dispatches, from Tours,"--he ordered them to be instantly admitted. "These are the Lieutenants Barclay, general," the commander of the Farcey said. "A heavy firing broke out, suddenly, from the water side at Lower Meudon. It was answered from our side and--thinking that it might be someone trying to swim across--I fired a round of grape into the Germans, and ordered a sharp lookout to be kept. I had scarcely spoken the words before we were hailed for a rope; and in another minute these officers--both insensible from cold--were pulled on board. Thinking they might have dispatches, I at once started up the river; and when they were brought round, by the surgeon, they stated that they were the Lieutenants Barclay, bearers of dispatches from Tours." "Gallantly done, gentlemen! Bravely done!" the general said warmly, shaking both boys by the hand. The burning heat of Percy's hand struck him, at once. "Where are your dispatches, gentlemen? You have preserved them, I hope?" Ralph produced the two quills. "They are duplicate, general," he said. "We each carried one, in case any accident might befall one of us." "Thank you," the general said. "I need now detain you no longer. I have work here for all night, and you had better go instantly to bed. Your brother is in a high state of fever." He touched a bell, and an officer in waiting came in. "Captain Bar, will you kindly take these gentlemen to a hotel, at once. The horses are, as usual, in the carriage I suppose; and,"--he dropped his voice--"send a message from me to request Doctor Marcey to see them, at once. The younger one is in a state of high fever." In another quarter of an hour the boys were in comfortable beds, in rooms adjoining each other. Ralph--who was heavy and stupid, with the effects of the cold--was asleep almost the instant his head touched the pillow. He was roused a short time afterwards by being shaken and, opening his eyes, he saw someone leaning over him. "Drink this," the gentleman said, holding a glass to his lips. Ralph mechanically did as he was told; and fell off again into a heavy sleep, from which he did not awake until late the next afternoon. His first impulse was to look at his watch. It had stopped at eleven o'clock, the night before--the hour at which he had entered the Seine. Then he rang the bell. "What o'clock is it?" he asked, when the servant entered. "Just struck five, sir." "What, five in the afternoon?" Ralph exclaimed. "Yes, sir." "I have slept," Ralph said, with a laugh. "However, I feel all right again, now. "Is my brother up?" "No, sir," the man said. "Percy!" Ralph shouted, "It is five o'clock in the afternoon. Get up." "The other gentleman is not in the next room, sir," the servant said. "Is he not?" Ralph said, puzzled. "I was desperately sleepy last night, certainly; but not too sleepy, I should have thought, to have made a mistake about that. I feel sure he was in the next room." "He was, sir," the servant said, "but Doctor Marcey, when he came to see you--just after you got into bed--ordered him to be carried at once into another room, in order that he might not disturb you. He said it was essential that you should have your sleep out, undisturbed." "But why should my brother disturb me?" Ralph asked, anxiously. "Is he not well?" "No, sir, he has got fever. He has been calling out, a great deal. He has got two sisters with him, and the doctor has been every hour." By this time Ralph was out of bed. "Here are some clothes, sir," the man said, handing them to him. "The landlord thought you would want some at once, when you woke; and ordered three or four suits for you to try." Ralph seized the first that came to hand, and threw them on. "All Paris was talking about your getting through the enemy, last night, sir. There have been hundreds of people here to call." Ralph did not even hear what was said. "Now," he said, "take me to him, at once." The servant led Ralph along a passage and stopped at a door, at which he knocked. A Sister of Mercy opened the door. "This is the other gentleman." The sister opened the door for Ralph to enter. "He is quiet now," she said, in a soft, compassionate tone. Ralph went into the room. Percy lay in the bed, with his head surrounded with ice. His face was flushed, and his eyes wild. He was moving uneasily about, talking to himself. "It is that schoolmaster who is at the bottom of it," he muttered. "He was a traitor, and I thought we hung him, but I suppose we didn't. Perhaps he got down, after we had gone off. If not, how could he have betrayed us again? "I have heard of liquid fire, but that was liquid ice. It got into my veins, somehow, instead of blood. I tell you, Ralph, it's no good. I can't stand it any longer; but I will pay off that schoolmaster, first. Let me get at him," and he made an effort to rise. The sister tried to restrain him, but so violent were his efforts to rise that Ralph--who was looking on, with tears streaming down his cheeks--was obliged to assist to hold him down. When he became quiet, the sister forced some medicine between his lips--Ralph holding up his head. "Shall I speak to him?" Ralph asked. "He may know my voice." "Better not, sir," the nurse said, "it would probably only set him off again." "What does the doctor say about him?" Ralph asked. "He says it is brain fever," the nurse said. "He only said it might be some days, before the crisis came; and that he could not give any decided opinion, at present. But he seemed to have hope." "Thank God, at least, for that!" Ralph said, earnestly. Percy, turning his head round again, caught sight of Ralph. "Ah, there is that schoolmaster again! If no one else will hang him, I will do it, myself. Let me get at him!" And he again made desperate efforts to get out of bed. "You had better go, sir," one of the sisters said, urgently. "The sight of you makes him worse, and you can do him no good." Seeing that it was so, Ralph reluctantly left the room; his only comfort being that Percy was as carefully tended, and looked after, as it was possible for him to be. He had scarcely returned to his room, when an officer was shown in. "I daresay you hardly remember me," he said. "I came here with you, last night." "I am very glad to see you again, and to thank you for the trouble you took," Ralph said. "I was too sleepy to do so, last night." "Not at all," the officer answered. "However, I am here with a message from the general, now. He would have asked you to dine with him but, hearing of the state of your brother, he could not ask you to leave him for so long a time; but he would be glad if you would come to see him, for an hour, this evening. He wishes to know how you managed to pass through the German lines; and he also desires to be informed, as far as you can give such information, of the number and position of the enemy. "What surprises us all, more than anything, is that the dispatches are dated the morning of the thirteenth instant; and you were picked up, by the Farcey, upon the evening of the sixteenth. It seems incredible that you should have done the distance, and managed to get through the German lines, in the time. Only one other messenger has got through; and his dispatches were more than ten days old, when they reached us, and had been forestalled by some pigeons. Your news is six days later than any we have received." "We slept, on the night of the thirteenth, at Montargis," Ralph said; "on the fourteenth at Melun, on the fifteenth at Versailles; and last night--as you know--here." "I must not get the information before the general," the officer said, with a laugh. "It is half-past six, now. The general dines at seven. At what time will you be with him? Shall we say nine?" "I will be there at nine," Ralph said, "but the general will, I hope, excuse my coming either in uniform, or full dress of any kind. I have, of course, nothing with me." "General Trochu will of course understand that," the officer said. "Goodbye." Ralph now went back to Percy's room. The doctor had just come. He was accompanied by another medical man. Ralph stood by, in silent attention, while the doctor felt Percy's pulse, and asked a few questions of the nurse. They then gave some orders, and said that fresh medicine should be sent in, in a quarter of an hour; and that they would come in again, at ten o'clock, to see how he was going on. "What do you think of him, sir?" Ralph asked, as the doctor came out. "He has a sharp attack of brain fever," the doctor said, "but he is young, with an excellent constitution. I trust we shall pull him through. I cannot say anything for certain, at present--till the fever takes a turn, one way or the other--but I have strong hopes." Ralph ordered some dinner to be sent up to his room, for he began to be keenly awake to the fact that he had eaten nothing, for more than twenty-four hours. After he had taken the meal, he sat in Percy's room, until it was time to go to General Trochu's; keeping himself, however, in a position so as to be hidden by the curtain--for the sight of him evidently excited the patient. Percy was, as far as his brother could see, in just the same state as before: sometimes talking to himself, in disconnected sentences; sometimes raving wildly, and imagining himself repeating the scenes through which he had passed, since he left home. At nine o'clock, exactly, Ralph sent in his name to the governor; and was at once shown in. The general had already left the table, and was smoking in a small study. With him were Generals Ducrot and Vinoy. General Trochu rose, and shook him cordially by the hand; presented him to the other generals, and asked him to take a cigar, and sit down. "Generals Ducrot and Vinoy are surprised, I see, at your appearance, Captain Barclay," General Trochu began. "By the way," he interrupted himself, "you are in the Gazette, this morning, as captain." Ralph bowed, and expressed his thanks. "No thanks are due at all, Captain Barclay," the old veteran said. "You have well earned your promotion; and Gambetta--who speaks of you, I may say, in the highest terms--tells me that he promised you the step, if you got in. I need not say that, whether he had done so or not, I should have given it to you. "But I was saying, I see Generals Vinoy and Ducrot are surprised--as I am, myself--at your appearance. Gambetta, in his letter, twice uses the expression young officers. Once he said, 'these young officers have greatly distinguished themselves, and have gained the cross of the legion of honor;' and again he says, 'these young officers have volunteered to carry dispatches.' "Naturally, my friends were looking for a younger man; and having only seen you for an instant last night, and not having observed your features, specially, I confess that I was expecting a younger man. "You see," he said, with a smile, "we can quite understand Gambetta's calling your brother a young officer, for he is a mere lad; but one would hardly have applied the same term to yourself." Ralph had flushed crimson, at the commencement of this speech. "I must apologize very greatly, general," he said, when the Governor of Paris stopped; "for the mistake is certainly due to my own forgetfulness." His hearers looked surprised. "I slept until five o'clock this afternoon," Ralph continued; "owing, I believe, to a powerful opiate that the doctor you kindly sent us gave me. Since I woke, my thoughts have been entirely given to my brother; and the thought of my singular appearance never entered my mind. I have become so accustomed--in the few days since I left Tours--to this beard, mustache, and hair, that I never thought of them, for a moment. Had I thought of it, I could not have presented myself before you, this evening; for I should not have presumed to do so, in my present state; and it will take me some hours of hard work, and not a little pain, before I get rid of them--for they are fastened on with shoemaker's wax and, I fear, will not come off, without taking a considerable portion of skin with them." The three generals laughed heartily at Ralph's apology, and their own mistake; and General Trochu then asked him to give them a full account of what had happened to him, what he had seen, and what information he had gained since he left Tours. Ralph told the story unaffectedly, from beginning to end, and received warm commendation from his listeners. "Your story began at Tours," General Trochu said; "where had you last been, before that?" "We had only arrived, ten days before, from a German prison," Ralph answered. The generals all laughed. "You are adventurous fellows, you and your brother," General Vinoy said. "How did you get taken, and how did you get out?" Ralph again told his story. "You are cool hands, you Barclays," General Ducrot said. "How did you get commissions first? Were you at the Polytechnic, or Saint Cyr?" "No, general," Ralph said, modestly, "we had no such advantages. We won our commissions--and the cross of the Legion--in the Vosges, as franc tireurs." "In which corps?" General Trochu asked, a little sharply. "They have not done any very great things, the franc tireurs." "We were in the franc tireurs of Dijon," Ralph said, a little proudly. "We several times beat superior forces. We blew up the bridge of the Vesouze; and should have blown up the tunnel of Saverne, had it not been for treachery." "Yes, yes," General Trochu said; "I remember Gambetta has once or twice mentioned your corps, especially. You see, we don't hear much from outside. "Let us hear of the affairs you have mentioned. Your account will give us a better idea of the state of things, in the Vosges, than fifty dispatches would do." Thus asked, Ralph gave an account of the doings of the corps; from the day they arrived in the Vosges, to the day he had left them--reduced to a fourth of their original strength. The three generals sat and smoked their cigars while he spoke, asking questions occasionally. "Very good," General Trochu said, when he finished; and the other generals cordially assented. "But how come you to speak German so well?" General Trochu asked; "and how was it you understood the English in which the officer spoke, at Saverne?" "We are English," Ralph said; and his hearers gave a simultaneous start of surprise. "That is to say, our nationality is English, though we are half French. Our father--an officer in the English army--was wounded, left the service, married a French lady, and settled in France for a time. We have been educated partly in England, Germany, and France; so that we speak the three languages nearly equally well." "Well, Captain Barclay," General Trochu said, "I am almost sorry that you are not French; for you would be a credit to any country. "And now, I think it is time to be going to bed," and he drew out his watch. "Bless me, it is one o'clock! I had no idea it was so late. Good night. "I will not ask you to call again, for a day or two; as your brother will naturally occupy your attention, and care. I trust that I shall soon hear good news of him." "Good night, Captain Barclay," the other generals said, cordially, each giving him their hands; and Ralph made his way across the dark streets--for there was no gas--back to his hotel. He went at once up to Percy's room; and found that, if not decidedly better, he was at least no worse; and the Sisters of Charity, who were nursing him, said that the doctors had spoken hopefully at their last visit. Ralph had intended to sit up all night, but the nurses assured him that he could be of no use, whatever; and indeed, that he would be worse than useless, as his presence excited Percy. They themselves were keeping watch, by turns. Accordingly Ralph--who still felt the effects of the cold immersion--went off to bed and--in spite of the late hour at which he had risen--was in a few minutes sound asleep. Chapter 17: A Balloon Voyage. For eight-and-forty hours, Percy's fever and delirium continued unabated. At the end of that time, he fell into a long sleep; and the doctor, as he felt his hand and heard his breathing, told his brother that he thought the crisis was over, and that he would awaken, conscious. His prognostication turned out well founded and, to Ralph's intense delight, Percy knew him when he opened his eyes. He was weak--weaker than Ralph could have supposed anyone could possibly have become, after only two days' illness. But he was fairly convalescent. Ralph had scarcely left him, during these two days; and had only been out once from the hotel. He had sent for a newspaper; to read for himself, in the Gazette, the promotion which General Trochu had notified to him and, after doing so, he turned to another portion; and there, among the lists of decorations given, were the names of Percy and himself, as promoted to be commanders of the Legion for having, with extreme gallantry, conveyed dispatches from Tours to Paris, through the German lines. It was after reading this newspaper that Ralph went out. His walk was not a long one. He went first to a tailor, and ordered two captain's uniforms; for Percy was so nearly his own size that--except that his shoulders were an inch less in width--Ralph's clothes fitted him exactly. He then went to the Palais Royal, where there are several shops which sell nothing but medals, and decorations; and bought two ribbons of the commander's rank, in the legion of honor. One terrible morning Ralph spent in a hairdresser's hands and, at the cost of no little pain, got rid of all that mass of hair which had so transformed him. The stain was now nearly worn off the skin; and Ralph was quite surprised, when he again looked at himself in the glass. "I was about beginning to forget," he said, with a laugh, "that I was a boy, after all." The first day of Percy's convalescence, he dozed a good deal; but the next day he woke, much brighter and better. "Look here, Percy," Ralph said, laying the ribbon before him; "that's better than medicine for you. There is the ribbon of a commander of the legion of honor. You can safely boast that you are the youngest who ever wore it; and earned it well, too, old man. Won't they be pleased, at home? And we are both gazetted as captains." Percy smiled with pleasure. His attack had been a very sharp one; but so short an illness, however severe, is speedily got over. The doctor had, that morning, said that all he wanted now was building up; and that, in a very few days, he would be about. Indeed, Percy wanted to get up that day; insisting that he was quite strong. When he once stood up, however, he found he was much weaker than he had imagined; but sat up in an armchair, all the evening. The next day he remained up all day and, three days after, he felt strong enough to go to the governor with Ralph, to ask for their promised places in the next balloon. It was now the twenty-third of November. A carriage was sent for and, after some difficulty, procured; for carriages were already becoming scarce, in Paris. They drove up to the entrance, and went in; but were told by an orderly--who could scarcely conceal his surprise at these lads, in the uniform of captains of the staff, and with decorations scarcely ever seen, except upon the breasts of superior officers--that the general was out. They turned and went out but, as they reached the steps, a number of officers rode up. "There is General Trochu himself, with Vinoy and Ducrot," Ralph said. The generals dismounted, and came up the steps. As they did so their eyes fell upon the boys, who both saluted. They paused, in surprise. "What masquerade is this, young gentlemen?" General Trochu asked, sternly. "Allow me to ask how you venture to dress up as captains, on the staff; and still more how you dare to put on the ribbons of commanders of the legion of honor? "It is no laughing matter," he said, angrily, as Ralph could not resist a smile. "It is a punishable offence; and your impudence in showing yourselves off, at my door, makes the matter the more unpardonable." "I see, general, that you do not remember us." "I do not, sir," General Trochu said, looking at him sternly. "To the best of my belief, I never set eyes upon you before." The numerous staff of officers--who had accompanied the generals, and who were scattered thickly around them--gave an angry murmur; for scarce one among them wore the coveted decoration. "I am Ralph Barclay, and this is my brother Percy," Ralph said, respectfully. "Impossible!" the three generals exclaimed, simultaneously; while there was a general exclamation of surprise, from the officers round--for the courageous deed of the Barclays, in making their way through the enemy's lines, had been a general topic of conversation, and all Paris was familiar with their names. "It is so, general," Ralph said, respectfully. "I explained to you, at the interview that I had the honor of having with you, in the presence of Generals Ducrot and Vinoy, that it was the false hair which made all the difference; and that I was but little older than my brother." The generals no longer doubted. They all shook both boys by the hand. "I am astounded," General Trochu said; "astounded that two such mere boys, as I now see you are, should have accomplished what you have done. However, courage is of no age; and I do not think that there are any here,"--and he turned to the officers round him--"who will not agree with me that these ribbons are worthily placed." "No, indeed," was the general reply; and the officers all pressed round, to shake hands with the boys, as they accompanied the governor back into the house. General Trochu went at once into his private study, and told the boys to sit down. "Now, what can I do for you, boys?" "Monsieur Gambetta promised us that he would write, to ask for us to have places in the first balloon which came out, after we arrived," Ralph said. "Owing to my brother's illness, I have not been able to ask, before; but I am now anxious to leave as soon as possible, especially as the doctor says that change is desirable for my brother, and that he ought to have at least a month's nursing, at home, before he gets on horseback again." "A balloon will start tomorrow morning," General Trochu said, "but if you choose to stay here, I will promise you both places upon my own staff; or upon those of Generals Ducrot or Vinoy--either of whom would, I am sure, be very glad to receive you." "You are very kind, indeed, sir--very kind; and we feel greatly honored by your offer," Ralph said, gratefully. "Had we any intention, whatever, of remaining in the army, we should accept it, with many thanks; but it is not so. We are English; and at the end of the war we leave France, and go back to live at home. We entered the ranks with no thought of winning promotion, or favor; but simply from a sense of duty to the country to which our mother belonged, and in which we were born. "There will, I suppose, be a great battle fought near Orleans, shortly; and I should like to be present, if possible--and Percy wants rest. Therefore, general, while thanking you most warmly for your kindness, we would rather go out." "Very well," the general said, "it shall be as you wish. There is certainly more chance of your seeing stirring service, in the field, than in here. I do not blame you for your choice. I will send a note at once to Monsieur Teclier--who has charge of the balloon--to say that you will accompany him. "Goodbye, lads, goodbye; you are fine young fellows, and your father has every right to be proud of you. Tell him so, from me." The boys rose, and bowed; but the general held out his hand, and shook theirs warmly. Upon leaving the room, they found several of the officers of the staff waiting outside; who begged them to stay, and have a chat with them. Ralph at once accepted the invitation; upon the condition that Percy should have a sofa upon which to lie down, for his brother was looking pale, and faint. They were most warmly received, in a large drawing room, in which were over a dozen officers of different ranks. Some bottles of champagne were opened, cigars were lit and, while Percy lay quietly upon the sofa, Ralph chatted with the officers; relating, at their earnest request, several of their adventures in the Vosges, as well as the story of their entering into Paris. His new friends warmly pressed them to stop and dine with them; but Ralph pleaded that the balloon was to start at five in the morning, and that he wished Percy to lie down, and get a good night's sleep before starting. The carriage had been discharged, hours since; but one of the officers ordered a carriage of General Trochu's to the door and, after a hearty leave taking, the boys returned to their hotel. "What a curious scene it is, Percy," Ralph said. "Who would think that we were in a besieged city? Everything looks very much as usual: the shops are open; people walk about and chat, and smoke, and drink their coffee or absinthe, just as usual. The only difference is, that everyone is in some sort of uniform or other. One does not see a single able-bodied man altogether in civilian dress; and at night the streets are very dismal, owing to there being no gas." "How much longer do they seem to expect to hold out, Ralph?" "Another two months, anyhow; perhaps three, or even more. There seems to be a large stock of everything, and everyone is put on to a regular allowance--just enough to live upon, and no more." "I seem to have everything I want, Ralph; lots of beef tea, and soup, and jelly, and so on." "Yes, Percy; but you obtain your food from the hospital. The hotel could not furnish anything of the kind, I can tell you. "Here we are. Now you lie down at once, and get to sleep. I will wake you in plenty of time." At ten minutes before the appointed time, the boys arrived at the Northern Railway Station; which presented a very different appearance to that which it ordinarily wore. No whistle of locomotives, or rumble of heavy trains, disturbed the silence of the station. A smell of varnish pervaded the whole place; and several empty balloons hung from the roof, undergoing the process of drying. The official--who had received them at the entrance--conducted them outside the station; and there, in the light of some torches, a great black mass could be seen, swaying heavily to and fro. The aeronaut was standing beside it. "Here are the gentlemen who accompany you," the officer said to him. "How are you, gentlemen?" he said, cheerily. "We have a fine night, or rather morning; the wind is northerly. I suppose this is your first ascent?" "Yes, indeed," Ralph said, "and I own I hope it will be the last. Have the dispatches arrived?" "No; I have the mail bags, but not the dispatches Hush! There are a horse's hoofs." A few minutes afterwards a railway official brought a note, which he delivered to Monsieur Teclier. "Bah!" he said, in an annoyed tone, "why cannot they be punctual?" "What is it, sir?" Ralph asked. "A note from the general, to say that the dispatches will not be ready for an hour. That means an hour and a half; and by that time it will be light enough to be seen, and we shall have to run the gauntlet. However, I suppose it cannot be helped. "The best thing will be to pass the time as cheerfully as we can; and that certainly will not be in waiting out here, in this bitter cold. I have, fortunately, a few bottles of excellent wine in the car; so I propose, gentlemen, that we go in to a fire, have a glass of wine, and smoke a cigar, tranquilly." Monsieur Teclier gave a few directions concerning the balloon; and they then adjourned to a work shed near, where a good fire was blazing, for the use of the men employed in filling the balloon. Here the hour and a half of waiting passed pleasantly. At a quarter to seven, the dispatches arrived. They were hastily placed in the car, in which everything else had already been packed. The Barclays took their place, the word was given, "Let go all!" and, in another instant, the earth seemed to sink away from under them, and they were rising over the tops of the houses. The dawn had already broken, gray and uncertain. Light clouds were floating overhead. For two or three minutes, not a word was spoken. The scene was so wonderful--the effect so extraordinary, to the boys--that they were unable to utter a word. Every instant, the earth seemed to sink away from them; every instant, their view extended farther and farther; and the distant fields, villages, and hills seemed actually to spring into sight. "It is wonderful!" Ralph said, at last. "Magnificent!" Percy responded. "I wonder whether they see us?" Ralph said. "We shall soon know," Monsieur Teclier said. "We have crossed the river, and over the walls already. In another five minutes, we shall be over their lines." There were good telescopes in the car, and the boys directed them upon the immense panorama below them. "What fort is that, immediately beneath us?" Ralph asked. "That is Vanves. The village you see there is Chatillon. Look out now, we may expect visitors, in a minute." He had hardly spoken before they heard a faint sound, followed by others similar. "That is musketry," Monsieur Teclier said. "Listen." They did listen, and heard a peculiar whistling sound; which seemed below, around, and about them. "That is a whistle of bullets; there is no mistaking them," Ralph said. "We are too low," Monsieur Teclier said. "Throw out that bundle of newspapers; we will go up a little." Ralph did so. "What would be the consequence, if a bullet hit the balloon?" "No consequence at all, except that a slight escape of gas would take place. "There, we are going into the clouds now, and they will not trouble any more about us." "I thought that we were going to have wind," Ralph said. "The barometer at the hotel had fallen a good deal; and the clouds, before we started, looked like it but, now we are once up here, we do not seem to move." In another two minutes, they passed through the layer of clouds, and the sun shone brightly upon them. They looked down on a sea of white mist, without a break. "There," Ralph continued, "we are entirely becalmed. These clouds below do not move, nor do we." "You cannot tell that," Monsieur Teclier said. "We go in the same direction, and at the same speed, as the clouds. It is just as if you were in a boat, at night, upon a rapid stream. If you could see no banks, or other stationary objects, you might believe yourself to be standing still; while you were being drifted forward, at the rate of twenty miles an hour. We may be traveling, now, forty or fifty miles an hour; and as I agree with you, as to the look of the clouds before starting, I believe that we are doing so--or, at any rate, that we are traveling fast--but in what direction, or at what rate, I have no means, whatever, of knowing. "Even if we found that we moved, relatively to the clouds below us, that would only show that this upper current was somewhat different from that below." "But how are we to find out about it?" Percy asked. "We must keep a sharp lookout for rifts in the clouds. If we could get a peep of the earth, only for a minute, it would be sufficient to tell us the direction and, to some extent, the speed at which we are going." The boys, in vain, hung over the side. The sea of clouds beneath them changed, and swelled, and rolled its masses of vapor over each other; as if a contest of some gigantic reptiles were going on with them. "There must be a great deal of wind, to account for these rapid changes of form," Percy said, after a long silence. "Suppose you see nothing of the earth? At what time will you begin to descend?" "In five hours from the time of starting, at twenty-five miles an hour--supposing that the wind holds north--we should fall south of the Loire, somewhere between Orleans and Bourges. At eleven o'clock, then, I will let out gas; and go down below the clouds, to see whereabouts we are. If we cannot recognize the country, or see any river which may guide us, we shall at least see our direction and rate of movement; and can either throw out more newspapers, and keep on for awhile, or descend at once." It was just ten o'clock, when Ralph gave a sudden cry. "The sea!" he said; "the sea!" "Impossible," Monsieur Teclier said, hanging over the side; "I can see nothing." "Nor can I, now," Ralph said; "but I caught a glimpse, just now, and I will almost swear to its being the sea--though how we could get there, I don't know." "If it is," the aeronaut said, "the wind must be blowing half a gale, up here; and must have changed entirely, either to the west or south. It is too serious to hesitate; we must find out if your eyes have not deceived you." So saying, he pulled the valve. "Keep a sharp lookout, and look at the compass." "There, there!" the boys cried, as the clouds opened again, for an instant. "It is the sea, and we are going west." "Then we are over the Atlantic," Monsieur Teclier said. The gas was roaring from the valve above, and the balloon sank rapidly into the stratum of clouds. For a minute, all was silent; and then a cry broke from them all. They were a considerable distance from the coast, and were driving along with great rapidity. Immediately under the balloon was an island, of no great size and, beyond that, no land whatever was visible. "We must descend on that island, or we are lost. It is our only chance." The valve was still open; and its influence was easily seen, for the balloon sank rapidly down through the opening of the clouds. "We shan't be down in time," the boys exclaimed, simultaneously. It was but too evident. The balloon, when the first general view of the situation had been obtained, was fully a mile high; and was traveling seaward at the rate of thirty miles an hour. The island, at the point at which they were crossing, was about three miles wide; but they had passed fully half a mile over it, before they obtained a fair view. In five minutes, therefore, they would be beyond the land again; and they had to fall a mile, in that time. "Cut the balloon to pieces," Monsieur Teclier said. "Tear it up. We must risk everything." The boys seized the silk, tore, and hacked at it; as did the aeronaut. In two minutes, a vast quantity of gas had escaped from the rents, and the silk was doubled up near the top of the net. Illustration: The Sea! The Sea! "That will do," Monsieur Teclier said. "We shall be down in time, now." The boys looked over the car and, accustomed as they had been to face danger, were appalled. "It is all up with us, this time," Ralph said; "we shall he smashed, altogether." "No," the aeronaut exclaimed, "the silk is acting as a parachute, now, and checking the descent. Now, help me to throw out all the bundles." They did so, working silently and with difficulty; for the car was oscillating so greatly that they were obliged to hold on, by its side, not to be thrown out. The descent was less rapid than it had been, but was still sufficiently alarming. "Is there a chance?" Ralph said. "We shall get off with a shaking," Monsieur Teclier said. "The car is made of wicker work, and is as elastic as a ball. Drop the grapnel, now; in another minute, we shall be within holding distance." As the balloon neared the ground, the oscillation became less violent, and the pace diminished. "The grapnel is on the ground," Percy said, looking over. "Hold tight, hold tight," Monsieur Teclier said, warningly. "We shall catch fast on to those trees." There was a tearing and rending, a series of tremendous jerks, and then a bump against the ground; which threw them all into the bottom of the car, from which the next jerk threw them out on to the ground. Fortunately the ground was even, and the soil had lately been plowed; but the shock was so violent that it was some minutes before either of the boys recovered consciousness. When they did so, they found that two or three gentlemen were leaning over them; while several peasants were endeavoring, under the direction of Monsieur Teclier, to hold the balloon--which was thrashing the ground with great violence. "Thank God, you are all alive," one of the gentlemen said. A peasant now came running up, with some water. The gentleman who had spoken dashed a little in their faces. "I do not think any of your limbs are broken," he said. "Do you feel any pain?" "I feel sore and bruised, all over," Ralph said, getting up with some assistance; "but I don't think that anything serious is the matter. "How are you, Percy?" "I don't think I am hurt seriously, Ralph; but I would rather lie still, for the present." Ralph explained to the gentleman--who again leaned over Percy, and felt his pulse--that his brother had been recently ill, and was still weak. "Ah, that accounts for it," the gentleman said. "I do not think that he is seriously hurt. I am a doctor; and was luckily out riding with these gentlemen, when we happened to look up and saw your balloon falling, like a stone, from the clouds. We thought at first that you must be dashed to pieces; but when we saw that the speed was being a little checked, we had some hope, and galloped in the direction in which it was falling. We were within five hundred yards when you fell, but we hardly expected to see anyone alive. "Do not try to move," he said to Percy. "We sent a man for a vehicle, and a few necessaries, before we set off ourselves." "Where have we fallen?" Ralph asked. "We were astonished to find ourselves over the sea, for the wind was north when we started." "You have fallen upon Belle Isle," the gentleman said, "so the wind must have changed materially, since you started." Monsieur Teclier now came up. "I must really congratulate you both," he said to Ralph, "upon your coolness and presence of mind, in a very frightful position. The oldest aeronaut could not have shown more nerve." "You see," Ralph said, "we have been pretty often in danger, now; and although the sort of danger was new, the degree of danger was not." The gentlemen smiled a little, as Ralph spoke. The Barclays had come out in plain clothes, bringing their uniform in the balloon for, in the event of the balloon having fallen among the Germans, it was of course essential that they should be able to get off, unobserved. They therefore looked mere lads; and their talk, of having passed through as great a danger as that which had just made the spectators of it feel faint and sick only to witness, appeared to be a mere bit of exaggerated braggadocio. A light cart now arrived, in which some mattresses had been laid; some bandages, and other surgical necessaries had also been added, together with a bottle of brandy. "Fortunately we do not want any of these, except the brandy," the surgeon said. "A little of that will do you all good. "Now a few strips of plaster,"--this was to Monsieur Teclier, whose face was cut a good deal--"and then you will do, till you get to the town." The three voyagers were now helped into the cart; for they were all very stiff and greatly shaken, and were glad to stretch themselves out on the mattresses, covered over with blankets, until they reached the little town. Here they were met by the whole population, cheering lustily. Another wagon had been sent off for the balloon; and a number of people now set out to search for the bags of dispatches, etc. which had been thrown out during the last part of the descent. The Sous Prefect at the island placed his house at once at their disposal. But they said that they would rather go to a hotel, first, and take a hot bath--which the doctor recommended them--but should be very happy to breakfast with him, after that. Before going to the hotel, however, Monsieur Teclier sent off a dispatch to Tours; saying that he had arrived at Belle Isle with news from Paris, at a quarter to seven; and that, at that time, everything was going on well. He next inquired as to means of reaching the mainland. The wind was dead off shore, and a sailing vessel would have taken a long time to make the passage. However, there was a small steamer in harbor; and the Sous Prefect took upon himself to engage that the fires should be lighted, at once, and that they should cross in two or three hours. After reaching the hotel they were examined carefully by the surgeon; who pronounced that no harm, whatever, had been done to them, and that they had escaped with a few contusions, and a good shaking. The breakfast was quite an ovation. All the principal people of the place were assembled; and when Monsieur Teclier entered, followed by the young Barclays, the gentlemen clapped their hands and cheered, and the ladies waved their handkerchiefs. After breakfast, the Sous Prefect proposed an adjournment into the drawing room; and now the voyagers each became the center of a knot of questioners as to the voyage. Monsieur Teclier--as was natural--conversed with the Sous Prefect and other leading men of the town, while their wives and daughters gathered round the lads. Ralph had given his name as Barclay, and had stated that Percy was his brother; but he had said nothing as to their being in the army, as he wished to avoid the oft-repeated tale which the declaration of his rank was sure to necessitate. He had even said a word to Monsieur Teclier, begging him to say the Messieurs Barclay, instead of Captains Barclay--unless, of course, he were actually questioned upon the matter. Percy was allowed to sit in an easy chair, unmolested--for he was quite done up--and Ralph talked for both, relating many details of their journey from Paris; and the ladies examined him most minutely as to his sensation, and especially whether he was not horribly frightened. Among those standing in a group round the young Barclays was a lieutenant of Mobiles; who evidently by no means approved of the attention, and interest which they excited among the ladies; and who had made several sarcastic remarks, during the course of the narrative. Presently a servant came in and, walking up to Monsieur Teclier, said that two swords had been picked up; had they fallen from the balloon? "Yes," Monsieur Teclier said, "they belong to those gentlemen." The servant came up to Ralph, and told him that the swords had been picked up. Ralph at once drew out a five-franc piece, and asked the servant to give it to the man who had found them. "Ah," said the officer of Mobiles, with a scarcely concealed sneer, "so you have come out from Paris to serve? I should have imagined that there were plenty of opportunities to distinguish yourselves, there. However, you must have had good interest, to get places in a balloon." "We have fair interest," Ralph said calmly, "as apparently you have, yourself. Each of us have, you see, used our interest in the way most pleasing to us. We have used ours to enable us to go with the army in the field, instead of being forced to remain inactive in Paris. You, upon your part, have used yours to get away from the army in the field, and to remain inactive, here." These words were spoken with such an air of boyish frankness, and an apparent innocence of any desire to say anything unpleasant, that everyone within hearing was ready to burst with laughter at Ralph's hit--which happened to be thoroughly well deserved. The officer turned white; and would have burst out into a violent answer, had not a couple of friends at his elbow begged him to restrain himself. The boy evidently meant nothing; besides, he was only a boy, and what could be done with him? Besides which, again, one of them put in, though he was only a boy, he looked an awkward customer. This latter argument weighed more with the lieutenant than any other. Ralph was not yet seventeen, and looked much younger than a French lad of the same age would do; but in point of size he was considerably taller than the officer of Mobiles, and his broad shoulders gave promise of unusual strength. There was, too, a look of fearlessness and decision about his face which marked him emphatically as an "awkward customer." Seeing this, the lieutenant burst into a constrained fit of laughter; and said that it was "very good--really very good, for a boy." Everyone else was so occupied in the endeavor to stifle their laughter that the lieutenant again took up the part of questioner. "I suppose, young gentleman, that you come from Saint Cyr or the Polytechnic; although I should hardly imagine that you have completed your studies, in either of them?" "I have not the advantage of having been at either of the military academies," Ralph said quietly. "Have you?" Again there was a laugh and, by this time, most of those in the room had gathered round. "May I ask to which arm of the service you belong?" the officer asked, with difficulty keeping his temper. "You may ask, certainly; and I have no objection to answer," Ralph said. "My brother and myself both belong to the general staff." The officer looked surprised. "Have you served already, sir, or has your service yet to commence?" "I have seen some little service already," Ralph said. "May I ask what general has had the benefit of your assistance?" the lieutenant said, with an affectation of politeness. At this moment the Sous Prefect pushed forward. "Silence, sir!" he said to the officer. "There has been too much of this. These gentlemen have performed a great service to France, and are my guests; and I look upon it as a personal attack upon myself." "Excuse me, sir," Ralph said, rising from his seat for the first time. "I am grateful to you, for your interference in my behalf; but I can make no claim, upon the present occasion, to have rendered any service to France. I had nothing to do with the dispatches, nothing to do with the balloon. I came out as a passenger, upon my private desire and pleasure, at the risk of course of being killed. Undoubtedly I nearly was killed; and I look upon the entertainment that you have given us as a kind congratulation upon our not having broken our necks. "Kindly, then, permit me to answer this officer for myself. I think I can hold my own." The Sous Prefect shrugged his shoulders; to signify that, in that case, he washed his hands of the whole business. "Now, sir," Ralph said, "I will answer the question. The general upon whose staff my brother and myself served was General Cambriels." The officer shrugged his shoulders. "Since that time," Ralph said, more sternly than he had yet spoken, "my brother and myself have had the offer of posts upon the staffs of General Trochu, General Ducrot, and General Vinoy." "Oh, come now," the lieutenant said, with a laugh of derision, "that is a little too strong. Imagine a scramble upon the part of Trochu, Ducrot, and Vinoy for the services of these very young officers." This time the speaker had the laugh with him, for no one could believe that Ralph could be speaking the truth. Ralph grew a little pale. "Monsieur Teclier," he said, "do me the favor to introduce my brother and myself to this lieutenant of Mobiles, in due form." The matter had now become so serious that there was a dead hush in the room, while Monsieur Teclier advanced. He had once or twice already made a motion of coming forward, to take Ralph's part; but a motion from the latter had arrested him. He was aware of the furore which the gallant and successful expedition of the Barclays had created, in Paris; and he had been greatly struck and pleased by the calmness of the boys in a great--and to them altogether new--peril. He now advanced slowly. "May I ask your name, sir, and regiment?" he said to the officer. "Lieutenant Desmaret, of the Mobiles of Vienne," the officer said, frowning. "Lieutenant Desmaret of the Mobiles of Vienne, I beg to introduce you to--" "No, sir," the officer said, passionately, "you introduce them to me, not me to them. The inferior rank is introduced to the superior." "I know perfectly well what I am doing, sir, and require no lesson from you," Monsieur Teclier said, quietly. "I repeat, I introduce you--Lieutenant Desmaret, of the Mobiles of Vienne--to Captain Ralph Barclay, and Captain Percy Barclay, staff officers, and commanders of the legion of honor." There was a dead silence of surprise throughout the room. "Is it possible?" the Sous Prefect said, coming forward again, "that these gentlemen are the Captains Barclay, of whom the Paris papers--which we received three days since--were full, as having passed through the German lines, and having swam the Seine at night, under fire? They had previously been decorated for great acts of bravery, in the Vosges; and were now made commanders of the Legion. "Is it possible that you are those officers, gentlemen?" "It is so, monsieur," Ralph said. "We had the good fortune to distinguish ourselves but, as we did not wish to make ourselves conspicuous by new uniforms, and new ribbons, we have put aside our uniforms until required for service; and asked Monsieur Teclier to be silent upon the subject. Of course, we could not guess that, upon our way, we should meet so rude and unmannerly a person as Monsieur the Lieutenant of the Mobiles of Vienne." The lieutenant stamped his feet furiously. "You shall answer to me, sir," he said, "for this insult." "Stop, sir," Ralph said, in a steady voice--which silenced those who were about to interfere. "You have asked me questions, with rare freedom. I have answered them. I am now going to give you my opinion of you, and my advice to you, equally freely. "If you mean, by what you have said, that you are going to challenge me to a duel, I tell you at once that I shall not accept it. I have, sir," and he raised his head proudly, "proved my courage; and France has recognized it, in the rank and honor she has given me. We English--for I am English--do not fight duels. "But I will make an exception. When you, Monsieur Desmaret, come to me decorated as I am; or having, in any signal way, proved your courage and devotion to France, I will meet you. At present I see that you--an officer in the French army, well in health--are staying here in idleness, instead of being in the field. Go and fight the enemies of France, first, Monsieur Desmaret; and after that talk, if you like, about fighting her friends." There was a loud exclamation of applause and satisfaction, at these words, from those who had been looking on at this unpleasant scene; and the Sous Prefect warmly shook Ralph by the hand. "Well said, Captain Barclay; well said, indeed. I believe I may say that everyone here agrees with you, entirely. There are too many officers continually absent from the army upon 'private affairs;' and those of Monsieur Desmaret have taken longer to arrange than usual, for he has been staying here for five weeks now. "However," he said, significantly, "he will hardly prolong his stay in the island. "Enough upon that subject," he said, as Monsieur Desmaret left the room, pale and furious. "I am glad--I am proud, sir--to make the acquaintance of yourself and your brother; and I can really, at heart, feel grateful to that fellow, for having forced you to declare who you are. Had he not done so, you would have left without our knowing that we had you among us." There was now quite an ovation to the boys. The ladies, especially, would hardly conceive that it was possible that these quiet-looking young fellows had performed feats of such daring. They now begged to hear the details of the adventures but, at this moment, word was brought that steam was up, and the vessel ready to start; and as Monsieur Teclier was most anxious to get on, and as Percy was quite done up, Ralph was glad to seize the excuse, and to make his apologies for leaving at once. The Sous Prefect, all the breakfast party, and a large proportion of the population of the little place accompanied them thence to the landing place; and then, amidst hearty cheering, the little steamer--carrying the voyagers, the dispatches, and the remains of the balloon--started for the mainland. Chapter 18: A Day Of Victory. After traveling all night, the Barclays arrived at Tours at ten o'clock, on the morning of the day after that upon which they had left Belle Isle. At the station they said adieu to Monsieur Teclier; who went at once to Gambetta, with the dispatches; while the Barclays turned away to Colonel Tempe's lodgings and, to their great surprise as well as delight, found him in. The colonel gave quite a shout of joy, when he saw them. "Ah, my brave boys, my brave boys, I am glad to see you," and he took them in his arms, and kissed them as heartily and as earnestly as if he had been their father. "I am glad to see you," he repeated, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. "I was sure you would do it. I never really doubted--I told Gambetta it was as good as done--but I could not help being nervous, horribly nervous; and when the news came, five days ago, by the balloon which left three days after you got in, I almost lost my head. I laughed, I cheered, I shook everyone by the hand--ma foi, I don't know what I did, I was so pleased. "Your Irishman was the funniest thing. He was not surprised, or pleased, or even interested. I explained to him over and over again, thinking he did not understand; but he only shook his head and said, in his strange English: "'Sure, colonel, I never doubted them for a moment. Aren't they clever enough to decaive the ould gintleman, himself? It was as sartin as peas is peas that they would slip in, somehow; and if they did get into a scrape, that they were the boys for getting themselves out of it. It's the coming out I am afraid of.' "I looked surprised, naturally enough, and he went on: "'And doesn't your honor know that they are talking of coming out in a balloon? Only to think of it, colonel, flying through the clouds, shut up in a big ball of silk! It's just flying in the face of Providence. What's the use of scheming, or of courage? You can't decaive a cloud, though it's as aisy as dancing to take in a German. When you tell me, colonel, that they're safe out of the balloon; then I'll shout, as loud as you like.' "Yesterday, when the telegram from Teclier came--saying that he had fallen in Belle Isle, had had a narrow escape of being driven into the sea, but had avoided that by running the risk of breaking his neck--and mentioned that you were with him; and had, like himself, escaped with a few bruises, Tim went nearly out of his mind with joy. He has been cleaning his sword and accouterments, this morning. "I am off tomorrow, and you are only just come in time to see the fighting. "But you are looking ill, Percy; far too ill for service, just at present." "Yes, he has been very ill," Ralph said. "He had a touch of brain fever, the night we got into Paris; and was delirious for two days. He has picked up quickly, but that balloon descent was not the thing for an invalid. The doctor in Paris ordered a month, at least, of absolute rest; and has given him a sick certificate." "He needs rest, certainly," Colonel Tempe said, "but he cannot go home, at present. The Prussians hold Dijon in considerable strength. There are far too many people in the town who have heard of your connection with the franc tireurs. Some spy or other would be certain to peach." "Yes," Ralph assented, "we have been talking it over, and quite agree that Percy could not go back as--although he would willingly run the risk, himself--it would bring such serious consequences upon them at home, if he were found there, that he has determined to go down to Nice for a while, and rejoin as soon as he gains strength again." "Yes," Colonel Tempe said, "but above all things, do not let him be in a hurry. "You have gone through an immense deal, Percy; and have done a great deal more than your share for France, and have gained great honor and credit. Be content with that. You might ruin your constitution for life, by further exertions." "But about yourself colonel, where are you going?" "I am starting, tomorrow, to join General Chanzy's staff." "I have not heard his name before," Ralph said. "He commands the Sixteenth Corps. He has not had much opportunity yet, but he is a good soldier. If you like, Ralph, I will go with you at once, to Freysinet, and get you attached with me." "Thank you very much, colonel. I should like it of all things." "Come along, then; Freysinet is in his office." Percy accompanied them, to obtain a signature to his leave of absence, and left next day for the south. An hour later, Colonel Tempe and Ralph were in the train, upon their way to Orleans--Tim, again in his hussar uniform, and half wild with delight--being, with Colonel Tempe's orderly, in charge of the horses. Colonel Tempe, as Ralph was not mounted, had offered to lend him one of his own; but Ralph had refused it, unless the colonel would sell it, as he said he should be always afraid of getting the animal shot, unless it was his own. Seeing that Ralph was determined upon this score, the colonel had reluctantly agreed to take the sum he had paid for the horse. Ralph's only other purchase in Tours was a fur greatcoat. "And now, colonel," Ralph said, when the train had started, "we have time to talk--tell me, what chances have we of success?" "Between ourselves, Barclay," Colonel Tempe said, "I do not think that our prospects are brilliant. In my opinion, Aurelles de Paladine--or rather Gambetta, for it was he who ordered the advance--made an immense mistake in attacking Von der Tann when he did. Of course, he drove him back, and took Orleans; but what was the use of that? Absolutely nothing. He was not strong enough to push his advantage; but the movement served to draw the attention of the Germans to his force, and Prince Frederick Charles--who was marching south from Metz--has been hurried towards Orleans, and has now united his forces with those of Von der Tann and the Duke of Mecklenburg; so that, although we have received large reinforcements--for the whole of the army of the east is up, now--the Germans have been equally reinforced, and are quite as strong as we are. "We ought never to have attacked, until we were ready to follow up our advantage at once. It was nothing short of madness; yet what can you expect, with a civilian acting as commander-in-chief? I believe that we shall make a tough fight of it, but I can hardly hope that our new levies can prove a match for the veterans of Frederick Charles." "When do we begin, do you think?" "In two or three days at latest. You have not seen a great battle yet, Barclay." "No," Ralph said, "nor shall I see much of it, now; for the country is so perfectly flat that it will be impossible to get anything like a general view of it. Do you know, colonel, I feel a good deal more comfortable than I did during my last journey between Tours and Orleans; for although I thought that we should manage, somehow, to get through into Paris; still, I could not conceal from myself that it was a very serious undertaking. "How bitterly cold it is." "It is, indeed," Colonel Tempe assented. "Being upon the staff we shall, no doubt, manage to get a roof of some sort over our heads; but for the sentries it must be terrible. The tents d'abri--if the men can scrape away the snow, and get an armful of straw to lie on--are snug enough; the men lie close together, and share their blankets." Half an hour after arriving at Orleans, Colonel Tempe and Ralph were riding out upon the north road; followed by Tim Doyle, and the colonel's orderly. The frost was keen, but the afternoon was bright and clear; and as they cantered along the road--beaten flat and hard, with the enormous traffic--their spirits rose, and Ralph regretted that Percy was not there to share in his enjoyments. Colonel Tempe shook his head when the wish was mentioned. "No, no, Barclay, it is far better as it is. You are young enough, in all conscience, for this iron work of war; your brother has done far more than a man's share already, and will find it difficult enough to go back as a schoolboy. He has escaped thus far, almost by a miracle; but he was looking shaken, and worn. I am glad that he is not here." Three hours' riding took them to the little village near which General Chanzy was quartered. The Sixteenth Corps lay to the left of the French army, facing the Germans; who held the line of villages of Guillonville, Terminiers, and Conier. It was already dark when they arrived. The general's quarters were in a chateau, a quarter of a mile distant from the village. When they reached it, they were at once shown in; and found General Chanzy leaning over a map, which he was trying to examine by the light of a solitary candle. "How are you, colonel?" he asked, shaking hands with him heartily--for they were old friends. "I am very glad you have come. There is plenty to do, and few to do it; at least, very few indeed who know anything about their work. "Who have you here?" "Allow me to introduce Captain Barclay, general. Freysinet has attached him to your staff. He served with me in the Vosges, distinguished himself greatly, and won his lieutenancy and the Cross. Since then he has been into Paris. No doubt you saw the account of his swimming the Seine, with his brother." "Of course, of course," General Chanzy said, warmly. "I am very glad to have you with me, Captain Barclay. You will not be long before you are at work, for the affair is just beginning. I have just got news that there has been some sharp fighting, today, at Beaurre la Rolande." "With what results, sir?" Colonel Tempe asked. "We gained a great deal of ground, in the morning," General Chanzy said; "but they brought up reinforcements, and no material advantage is claimed. "And now," the general went on, "as to quarters, you must shift for yourselves. Beds are out of the question; but you will find some empty rooms upstairs and, fortunately, there is a little straw in the stable. The outhouses are extensive, and you will be able to get your horses under shelter. I should advise you to see about them, at once. In an hour we shall have something to eat. I cannot call it dining. "Captain Barclay, will you kindly see to these matters? I shall be glad to go through this map, at once, with Colonel Tempe." Ralph at once obeyed the order, much pleased with his new commander. General Chanzy was a man to inspire confidence in all those who served under his orders. He was a young man, for a general; but was very bald, and had a quiet and thoughtful air which made him look older than he was. He was a man of few words; and had a sharp, steady look which seemed to master, at once, the important points of anything that was said to him. When he smiled, the whole of his face seemed to light up. "Just the man to serve under," Ralph thought to himself. "Cool, self possessed, and with an eye that will see a weak point in a moment. "Is my orderly still at the door?" he asked a soldier in the passage. "Yes, sir; two orderlies, with the four horses." "Can you get me a light of any sort?" Ralph asked. "I want to go round to the stables, and get the horses somewhere in shelter." "I will get you a lantern, sir," the man said. "But I fear that you will find the place all crowded; but of course, you can turn some of them out." The orderly accompanied Ralph, with a lantern, across the yard; Tim and Colonel Tempe's orderly following. Round the yard were many cavalry horses, tied to pegs; driven in close by the wall of the stables, so as to give them some little shelter from the intense cold. The poor animals stood, side touching side, for warmth. The orderly opened the door of one of the stables; and Ralph entered, and looked round by the light of the lantern. The horses were ranged together in the stalls, as closely as they could stand; while the rest of the area was completely covered with cavalry soldiers, some sitting up smoking and talking, others already wrapped in their cloaks and stretched at full length. A sergeant, seeing the marks of Ralph's rank, at once rose to his feet and saluted. "I have two horses here, sergeant; my own, and one of Colonel Tempe's. General Chanzy told me I should find room here, but it does not look like it." "I will turn two of these horses out, sir," the sergeant said. "Is there no other place?" Ralph asked. "They are all as full as this, sir." "There is a little shed, down at the end of the garden," one of the men said. "I noticed it this afternoon. The door was locked. I looked in, and it seemed a cow shed. I don't know whether anyone is there. I will go down with you, sir, and show you the way, if you like." The shed was soon found, and the soldier forced the door open with his sword bayonet. The place had, as he supposed, been a cow shed; but the walls and roof were in good order, and the ground hard. "This will do first rate, your honor," Tim said. "There is room for all four horses, if they squeeze a bit; and for Jacques here, and myself. I suppose, your honor, there will be no harm in knocking up some of this woodwork, to make a bit of a fire? It's too dark to look for sticks, tonight; and they would be so damp, from the snow, that the smoke would choke the bastes entirely--to say nothing of us." "Well, under the circumstances, Tim, I agree with you; but don't do more damage than you can help, and only make enough fire to make the water hot for coffee, and so on. You will be warm enough, here, with the four horses. You must go and see if you can get them some forage." "But how about your honor's and the colonel's dinner?" Tim asked. "I haven't drawn rations; but I have got plenty of bread and meat, in the haversack. I got them at Tours, for I thought there wouldn't be much to be had here." "Thank you for thinking of it, Tim, but we dine with the general. When you have got the horses comfortable, and lit your fire, one of you bring up our cloaks to the house. Keep the horses' saddles on, with loosened girths. We may want them suddenly, at any moment of the night." The next morning, General Chanzy said to Ralph: "I should recommend you, Captain Barclay, to spend an hour studying this map; and getting up, from these lists, the exact position of our forces. When you think you have mastered them, ride through the whole of the positions occupied by the corps and, without exposing yourself, gain as good an idea as you can of the country beyond. Tomorrow you may have to ride straight to certain points, with orders; and it may save important time if you are thoroughly acquainted with the ground, and position." After a couple of hours' study of the staff map, so as to know every little by-lane and hamlet, for ten miles on either side, Ralph mounted his horse and went for a long ride. When he returned, Colonel Tempe told him that General Chanzy was gone over to General D'Aurelle's quarters, to arrange the details; and that the attack was to take place the next day. At five o'clock the general returned; and Colonel Tempe and the chief of his staff were occupied with him, for two hours, in drawing up the specific orders for each corps. Colonel Tempe had not been out, all day; and he therefore offered his horse to Ralph, in order that Ralph's own might be fresh for the next day. Four staff officers set off in various directions with the dispatches; and Ralph congratulated himself upon having been upon the ground he was now traversing once before that day as, even with that previous acquaintance, it was hard work to find the way through the darkness, from the snow altering the general appearance and apparent distance of each object. Thanks, however, to his ride of the morning, he reached the various corps to which he was dispatched without any serious mistakes in his way; and got back to headquarters by eleven o'clock. Tim was waiting up for him. "Sure, your honor, and it's a mighty cold night. I've got a pot of coffee on the boil in the stables." "Thank you, Tim. I will just go in and make my report to the general, and then go off to bed. Bring the coffee into my room. We shall be up early, for we fight tomorrow." "Do we, now?" Tim said, admiringly. "And it's about time; for we should be all frozen into skeletons, if we were to wait here doing nothing much longer. Bad luck to the weather, says I." At ten o'clock the next morning the French troops were in motion, the objects of their attack being the villages of Guillonville, Terminiers, and Conier. The country was extremely flat and, for an hour, they saw no bodies of the enemy. A few videttes, only, were seen. These galloped off hastily, the moment they caught sight of the heavy masses of the French debouching from the wood. Ralph was riding, with the rest of the staff, behind the general. "That is Terminiers," Colonel Tempe said, pointing to a house or two at a distance, on the plain. As he spoke, a puff of smoke came from the houses. "There is the first shell," was the general exclamation. In another instant the missile burst near some infantry, at two hundred yards to the right. "Take orders to that battery, there, to take position on that little eminence to the left there, Captain Barclay. Tell them to keep the guns a little back among the trees, and to open sharply upon Terminiers." It was just twelve o'clock now and, in five minutes, there was a roar of cannon along the whole length of both lines. For half an hour the combat continued a mere artillery duel. The shells fell in all directions; cutting the dry branches from the trees, tearing up the ground, and leaving deep black gashes in the white snow; crashing through a wall or, occasionally, exploding among the troops. "Their fire is slackening a little," General Chanzy said. "It is time to be pushing forward. "Lieutenant Porcet, take my orders to the colonel of that regiment of Mobiles to advance at once, covered by skirmishers. "Captain Barclay, order that Line regiment to support. "Captain Maillot, order the artillery to concentrate their fire upon the village, and to advance by batteries." The orders were carried out, and the Mobiles advanced to within five hundred yards of the village. The musketry fire was now tremendous, and the Mobiles wavered. The Germans were entrenched in the gardens and walled enclosures of the village. Every wall, every house was loopholed; and rough barricades had been erected, to fill up the breaks in the walls. General Chanzy was sitting on horseback, a short distance in the rear of the fighting. Mounted officers rode up and left again, every moment, with news of the battle going on near the other villages. "Ride up and order the Mobiles to lie down, Captain Barclay; then tell the colonel of the Line to bring his troops up in line with them. Let them lie down, also. "Tempe, have the two reserve batteries of artillery brought up, at full speed, to silence that battery in the wood to the left of the village. Its fire crosses the ground we have to pass over." Ten minutes more of continuous cannonading, and then it was apparent that the Prussian fire was weakening. "Now, Barclay, tell them to charge, at the double." Ralph set spurs to his horse but, just as he reached the troops, a shell exploded just under his horse. Ralph heard a crash; felt a shock, and a whirling through the air; and then fell heavily upon the ground. Believing he was dangerously wounded, he made no effort to get to his feet; but sat up and shouted to the colonel of the Mobiles, who were not thirty yards from him: "The Mobiles and Line are to charge, at the double, and to carry the village with the bayonet." The Mobiles had flinched a little before, as they had advanced with the deadly fire of shot and shell; but they did not flinch now, and leaping upon their feet, with a cry of "Vive la France!" the Mobiles and Line soldiers literally made a race of it for the village. Ralph, after having given his message, lay back again, with a sort of bewildered sensation. A minute afterwards he heard a rapid galloping; and Colonel Tempe rode up, followed by Tim Doyle. "Are you badly hurt, my dear boy?" the former exclaimed, as he leaped from his horse. "The general himself asked me to come, and see after you." "I don't quite know, colonel," Ralph answered. "I feel, at present, as if my head was knocked in, and my legs shot off." "You had a tremendous shake," said Colonel Tempe--who was, with Tim, by this time kneeling beside him--"and your horse is blown almost to pieces; but I don't think, as far as I can see, at present, that you are hit anywhere. Here, take a sip of brandy. It will bring you round; you are stunned a little, you know. "There, you are better now," he said; as Ralph, having drunk a little brandy, sat up and looked round. "I am all right, I think, colonel; don't stay any longer. Tim will wait here. I don't think I was stunned, else I could not have given the order. No, I imagine I had a near escape of breaking my neck. "Please, don't wait. I shall be all right again, in five minutes. I will take Tim's horse, and join you again. Tim will pick up a musket--there are plenty about--and do a little fighting on his own account." Colonel Tempe jumped on his horse, and rode off. In a minute or two, Ralph was able to mount Tim's horse, and ride slowly up to the village, where a heavy musketry fire was still going on; but as no shell or shot were now coming in the direction in which Ralph was, it was evident that the French had taken the position, and had opened fire upon the retreating Germans. The fight still raged, both to the right and left; but in another quarter of an hour it slackened also, here, and the three villages were all in the hands of the French. In a quarter of an hour, Ralph felt quite himself again and, seeing one of his fellow staff officers gallop up, he asked him where he could find the general. "He is at Guillonville. But he will be here, in a few minutes. The advance is to continue. We are to carry the villages of Monneville, Villepani, and Faverolles." In half an hour, the troops were again moved forward; but this time the resistance was more obstinate than before, the Prussians having received reinforcements. Hour after hour the fight continued. The short winter day faded, and the gathering darkness was favorable to the assailants and, at half-past five, they carried the villages by assault. The scene was a wild one. It was perfectly dark, save from the incessant flashes of rifle and cannon. In the streets of the village men fought, hand to hand. Some of the Germans, taking refuge in the houses, refused to surrender. Others threw down their arms, and cried for quarter. Shouts, screams, curses, cheers, the explosion of firearms and the clash of steel mingled, in one wild and confusing din. When it ceased, the village remained in the hands of the French; and the Prussians retreated, sullenly, into the darkness. There was no rest for the staff, for hours--they were galloping about, carrying orders--but at last Ralph returned to Villepani, at which village General Chanzy had his headquarters. At the door of the cottage which was pointed out, as that in which the general was, Tim was waiting. "Faith, your honor, if this is war, I've had enough of it." "What is it, Tim?" "What is it, your honor! Here have we been fighting all day, and not a blessed thing to eat or to drink. No one knows what became of the wagons; and here we are, without as much as a biscuit to ate--and in such weather as this, too; and another battle in the morning." "Ay, Tim, it's bad enough, but think of the thousands of poor fellows lying wounded, and freezing to death, on the snow." "I do think of them, Mister Ralph; and I've been at work, ever since we got in here, carrying the poor creatures in from the gardens and fields. There is not a house here that's not full, from the top to the bottom. "Have you lost the wallet off my saddle, your honor?" "No, Tim; why should I do that?" "I don't know why you should, sir, but I have been making up my mind that you would, all along; either that you would have had it shot off, or that you'd throw it away to aise the horse. Now, we shall do." "Why, what's in the wallet, Tim?" "Just a big chunk of bread, your honor It was left on the table when you had breakfast, this morning; and I said to myself, it may be useful before night, and so just slipped it into the wallet." In another minute the bread was taken out, and cut into two portions. "I would not eat it all tonight, Tim, if I were you," Ralph said. "It is not by any means too large for supper, but a mouthful in the morning will be a great comfort. I suppose there is no chance of getting anything for the horse?" "Trust me, your honor One of the first things I did, when the firing was over, was to pop into a stable and to get a big armful of hay; and take it out and hide it away, under a hedge. It was lucky I did; for the minute afterwards we could not have got a handful, if we had offered a Napoleon for it." "Where are you going to sleep, Tim?" "Under that same hedge, Mister Ralph. The horse always lies down; and he's so tired he won't break the rule, tonight; so I'll give him half the hay for his supper and, when he's laid down, I'll put the rest between him and the hedge, and roll myself up in my cloak and--what with the cloak, and the horse, and the hedge, and the hay, not to mention the supper--I shall be as warm as a lord; and it's a comfort to think that there will be something to eat, both for the baste and myself, in the morning." "Well, good night then, Tim." "Good night, your honor." If Tim Doyle slept, there were not many of his comrades that did, on that night. The cold was fierce, in the extreme; and those who could obtain wood of any kind made fires, and crouched over them. Others lay on the ground, and huddled together for warmth. Others dragged their feet wearily backwards and forwards. Many and deep were the curses poured out upon the intendance--or commissariat--whose utter incompetence, throughout the war, was one of the great reasons of the continuous bad fortune of the French. When Ralph entered the room, he was saluted by a variety of voices. The only light was a dim lantern. The room was half full of officers; some dozing in corners, others sitting round the table, smoking. "Where is the general?" "He has got a room, about half the size of this, for the use of himself, Tempe, and the chief of the staff. They are writing; and will go on writing all night, I expect. These are the only two rooms not full of wounded in the whole village. "You had a narrow escape, today. We have had our share of casualties. Poor Maillet and Porcet are both killed, and we have three wounded. Were you hurt at all?" "No," Ralph said; "but I was tremendously shaken, and feel stiff all over. I will lie down by the wall, here, and get a few hours' sleep." And so ended the 1st of December. Chapter 19: Down At Last. At half-past eight o'clock the next morning horsemen came dashing in, with the news that the Germans were advancing in force. Stiff--many half frozen, and half starved--it was an absolute relief, to the men, to have some break to the monotony of cold and hunger. They were already assembled under arms and, in a few minutes, the artillery upon both sides was at work. "I fear you will see that we shall be beaten, today," Colonel Tempe said to Ralph as they mounted. "The men are worn out with hunger; disgusted at the wretched mismanagement, which sends them into a battle without having had food for twenty-four hours, and with no prospect whatever of it for another twenty-four. Besides, we ought to have been reinforced. "Our line is too long, Ralph. There is neither direction nor management." For a time the French held their position well, against the tremendous artillery fire which was maintained upon them. Gradually, however, the Germans pushed their heavy masses of troops forwards; and the French reserves had already been brought up. Several of the mobile regiments showed signs of wavering. General Chanzy rode backwards and forwards along the front of the position; exposing himself recklessly, in order to give courage and confidence to his men. Cigar after cigar he smoked, as tranquilly as if sitting in an armchair, a hundred miles away from the din of battle. At last, after exchanging a few words with the generals of brigade, he called Ralph--who happened to be the only aide-de-camp unemployed--up to him. "Captain Barclay," he said, "ride at once to General Sonis. Tell him that my division--not having received the promised reinforcements--must fall back. He has already sent, to say he is hard pressed. Ask him to hold his ground, if possible, for another half hour; by which time I shall have fallen back towards the position I left yesterday morning--but will draw rather to my right, so as to keep our connections nearer, and to afford him help, if necessary." Without a word Ralph turned his horse, and galloped off at full speed. A quarter of an hour's riding, and he rode up to General Sonis; who was just calling upon several regiments, among whom were the Papal Zouaves, to make a charge. This fine body of men--the Papal Zouaves--acquired, and justly acquired, more glory than any other French corps throughout the war. They behaved, upon every occasion, magnificently. In the first fight at Orleans, upon this 2nd of December, and afterwards at the battle of Le Mans, the Zouaves of Charette fought with the courage of lions. A great many of them were men of good family. All were inspired by the ardor and spirit of their chief. Their uniform was similar in cut to that of the French Zouaves; but was of a quiet gray color, trimmed with a little red braid. Ralph rode up, and delivered his message. "I am going to carry that position, sir," the general said; "and in that case I shall not have to fall back at all, and General Chanzy can close up on me--throwing back his left, so as not to be outflanked. If you wait a few minutes, you will see the result of this charge. "Now, gentlemen." So saying he rode, with his staff, in front of the line. "Forward, men!" he shouted, drawing his sword. Ralph had naturally fallen in with the staff, and was now able to see and admire the daring of the proposed movement which, if successful, would have changed the fortunes of the day. Upon an eminence, some three-quarters of a mile distant, were several batteries of artillery; supported by a large body of infantry, who extended to within about half the distance between the French line and their own reserves. The fire was terrific--so terrific that several of the French regiments refused to advance. Others started; but withered away so fast, under the deadly fire, that only two corps--besides the Zouaves--persevered to the end. The Zouaves advanced at a double, but with as much coolness as if on parade. They did not fire a shot, but made straight at the Prussian infantry. As they approached the enemy's line, General Sonis and his staff fell in between the Zouaves, and a regiment of Mobiles next to them, in order not to interfere with the fire. "For God and France!" Charette shouted, as he led the charge; and the whole regiment responded, as one man, "For God and France!" So fierce was this onslaught that the Prussian infantry refused to face it, and fell back upon their supports. Still the Zouaves rushed on, and again the Prussians fell back; but the assault was growing more and more hopeless. The Zouaves were unsupported, save by a few hundred men. The other regiments were far in the rear. The shot and shell were mowing lanes through them. An army was in front. At last, they halted. Colonel Charette marched on in front, waving his sword. General Sonis, with his staff, again rode forward. It was heroic, but it was heroic madness. Again the Zouaves advanced. Again a storm of shell poured upon them, and then a regiment of German cavalry swept down. There was a crash. Charette and his officers disappeared, beneath the hoofs of the cavalry. General Sonis and his staff went down like straw before them; but the Zouaves stood firm, fired a volley into them; and then--having lost eight hundred men, in that desperate attempt to retrieve the fortunes of the day--the remainder retreated, sullenly, with their faces to the foe. Ralph Barclay, when the cavalry swept upon them, had shot the first two of his foes with his revolver; and had then been cut down by a tall German dragoon, just at the moment that his horse fell dead, shot through the head. Ralph had a momentary vision of gleaming hoofs above him; and then he remembered nothing more, until he came to himself, hours afterwards. His first sensation was that of intense cold. He endeavored to rise, but was powerless to move hand or foot. He lay quiet for a few minutes; and then made another effort, but with a similar want of success. This time, however, he felt that his limbs would have moved, had they not been fastened down by some weight. He now concentrated all his strength upon one arm. It yielded suddenly and, when it was free, he was able to turn partly round, so as to feel what it was that had confined it. He found that his own blood, and that of the horse, had frozen his arm fast to the ground. It required a considerable effort before he could get altogether free, for he was stiff with the cold. Putting his sword up to his head, he found that he had been saved by the very means which were now giving him so much pain. The intense cold had frozen the blood, as it flowed; and stanched it more effectively than any surgeon could have done. Ralph--after rubbing his hands and arms, to restore circulation--now endeavored, by the remains of twilight, to see where he was, and how he had been saved. His horse lay next to him, and almost covering him. The poor animal had fallen on to its back; or had rolled over, afterwards and, in the latter case, it was fortunate indeed, for Ralph, that it had not taken another half turn. Had it done so, it would have crushed him to death. As it was, it had reached to within an inch or two of him; partly concealing him from sight, protecting him from the cold, and also greatly diminishing his chance of being trampled upon by cavalry passing over. A short distance off, Ralph could see parties with lanterns; and one of them seemed approaching. Far in his rear, he could hear an occasional shot; and it rushed across his mind, at once, that the French had been defeated, and were falling back upon Orleans. These lights, therefore, must be in the hands of Germans. The thought that a German prison awaited him roused Ralph from his inactivity. It flashed across his mind that, as he had escaped before, they would take care and give him but little chance of escaping again and--although stiff, and bruised from head to foot; half frozen, and faint from loss of blood--the hope of liberty roused him to new exertion. With some effort, he got at the holster of his pistol; in which was a flask of strong brandy and water which, though icy cold, had yet a sensibly warming influence. The lights were still at some distance off; and Ralph, after considerable trouble, and after cutting the straps which fastened it to the saddle, succeeded in getting at his fur overcoat. This he put on, picked up the cap of one of the German troopers who had fallen near, and then walked slowly away, over the deserted battle ground. Ten minutes later, he heard a horse's hoofs upon the hard ground. He cocked the pistol--which had remained fastened to his belt, when he fell--pulled forward the German soldier's cap, and walked quietly on. "Who goes there?" shouted a voice, and two German officers rode up. It was far too dark, now, to distinguish faces. "Karl Zimmerman, of the Seventh Dragoons," Ralph said, in German, saluting. "What are you doing here?" "I am servant to Lieutenant Falchen, who fell today; and I had been to look for his body. It was somewhere about here, when we charged the gray Zouaves." "But your regiment is miles off," one of the officers said. "I saw them an hour ago." "I don't know where they are, sir," Ralph said, "for I had my head laid open, with a sword bayonet, just as I was cutting down the man I had seen shoot my master. I was carried to the rear, but the surgeon had gone on; and my wound stopped of itself and, when I reached the hospital, the doctors were so busy that I asked leave to go, and see if I could find my master." "Where are the ambulances now?" one of the officers asked, as they turned to ride off. "Over in that direction. Look, sir, there are some of the searchers, with lanterns. They will direct you, at once." "Thanks," the officer said, riding off; "good luck in your search." Ralph had noticed a cottage, standing by itself at the edge of a wood, at some little distance from the bivouac of the night of the 30th of November; and had stopped for a moment, and asked a few questions of the woman who lived there. She had appeared a kind-hearted woman, full of hatred for the invader; and had two sons in the Mobiles, who had marched north when Paris was first threatened, and who were now besieged there. For this cottage Ralph determined to make, in order--if the owners would receive him--to take shelter in the house; otherwise, to find a refuge in the wood, itself, where he doubted not that they would assist him to lie hid for a few days. He had no great fear of a very active search being made for fugitives, at present, as the Prussians had only driven back two divisions of the French army; and had, Ralph believed, plenty of work on their hands, for some time. It was fortunate for Ralph that he had studied the ground so carefully; for he soon came upon the road, and the stars--which were shining brightly--gave him his direction and bearings. The battle had extended over the whole of this ground. Many times Ralph could hear groans; and saw, in places, dark forms thickly scattered over the ground--showing where a stand had been made, or where a regiment had lain exposed, for hours, to an artillery fire. The distance was considerable to the place Ralph had marked out for himself. Eight miles, at least, he thought; for it was away behind what had, two days before, been Chanzy's left. It was, in Ralph's state of feebleness, a very long journey. Over and over again, he had to sit down and rest. He did not feel the cold, now; the fur coat, and the exertion of walking, kept his body in a glow. He took great pains, however, not to exert himself, so as to make himself too hot; as he feared that his wound might break out, if he did so. He was fully twelve hours upon the road; and daylight was just breaking in the east when--exhausted by hunger, fatigue, and loss of blood--he crawled up to the door, and knocked. There was a movement inside, but it was not until he had knocked twice that a voice within asked: "Who is there?" "A wounded officer," Ralph said. There was a whispered talk, inside. "Let me in, my friends," he said, "for the remembrance of your boys in Paris. There is no danger to you in doing so as, if the Germans come, you have only to say you have a wounded officer. I can pay you well." "We don't care for pay," the woman of the house said; opening the door, with a candle in her hand--and then falling back, with a cry of horror, at the object before her: a man, tottering with fatigue, and with his face a perfect mask of stiffened blood. "You do not remember me," Ralph said. "I am the captain of the staff who chatted to you, two days ago, about your boys in Paris." "Poor boy!" the woman said, compassionately. "Come in. "Monsieur will pardon me," she went on, apologetically, "for speaking so, but I called you the boy captain, when I was telling my good man what a bright-- "But there, what you want now is rest, and food. The question is where to put you. We may be searched, at any time; though it's not likely that we shall be, for a few days. The battle has gone away in the direction of Orleans, and we have not seen half a dozen men since I saw you, two days ago. "The first thing is to give you something warm. You are half frozen. Sit down for a few minutes. I will soon make a blaze." Ralph sank down--utterly exhausted and worn out--in the settle by the fireplace; and fell into a half doze, while the woman lit a bright fire on the hearth. In a few minutes she had drawn some liquor from the pot-au-feu--the soup pot--which stands by the fireside of every French peasant, however poor; and into which all the odds and ends of the household are thrown. This liquor she put into a smaller pot; broke some bread into it, added an onion--which she chopped up while it was warming--together with a little pepper and salt and, in ten minutes from the time of Ralph's entry, she placed a bowl of this mixture, smoking hot, before him. At first, he seemed too exhausted to eat; but gradually his appetite returned, and he finished off the hot broth. "What shall I do to your wound, sir?" the woman said. "It is a terrible sight, at present." "It is the cold which saved my life, I fancy," Ralph said, "by stopping the bleeding; but now it wants bathing in warm water, for some time, and then bandaging. "But where are you going to put me?" "In the boys' room, upstairs, sir. It is just as they left it." "I have no doubt it is very comfortable," Ralph said, "but all this country is certain to be scoured, by the enemy's cavalry. I do not want to be taken prisoner; and rather than that I would go and live out in the woods, and only crawl here, once a day, for some food." The husband had now come downstairs and, as he aided his wife to first bathe and then bandage the wound, they talked over the matter; and agreed that Ralph could be hid in a loft over a shed, a hundred yards from the house, and very much concealed in the woods, without much fear of discovery. The farmer at once started to make the place as comfortable as he could; and the wife followed with a couple of blankets, a quarter of an hour later. Ralph, by this time, could scarcely crawl along. The fever consequent upon the wound, the fatigue, and the cold made his head throb so terribly that he could scarcely hold it up and, had it not been for the assistance of the farmer's wife, he could not have crawled across the short distance to the shed. The loft was low and small and, when the wooden shutter of the window--or rather opening, for it was unglazed--was closed, it was lighted only by the light which came in at the crevices. The shed was altogether of wood; so that the shutter--which happened to be at its back--would scarcely have been noticed while, from the shed being high and the loft very low, anyone inside would scarcely have suspected the existence of any loft, at all. It was reached by a ladder and trap door. The farmer assisted Ralph up the ladder. The shutter was open, and Ralph saw that the farmer had made a bed of straw, upon which his wife was spreading one of the blankets. Ralph now took off his uniform, and lay down; and was covered first by the other blanket, and then with his own fur-lined coat. The farmer's wife had thoughtfully brought a pillow with her; and Ralph in a few minutes was lying in what--had it not been for the pain of his wound--would have been intense comfort, after the cold and fatigue. His hostess went away, and returned with a large jug of water and a glass, which she put down within reach of his arm. "There is nothing else you want?" she asked. "Nothing, thank you, except to sleep," Ralph said. "I shall shut this shutter," the farmer said. "Enough light will come through the cracks to see well, when your eyes get accustomed to the darkness. I shall shut the trap close down after me, as I go, and lift down the ladder. It is very light, and my wife can easily put it into its place again. We will come and see you again, in the afternoon. Goodbye." "Goodbye," Ralph answered, faintly; and before the sound of their footsteps had died away, he fell into a sort of feverish doze. For a time he turned uneasily, muttered incoherent words, and moved his hands restlessly. Soon, however, the effects of the cloth soaked in icy-cold water, which the farmer's wife had placed on the bandages over the wound, began to subdue the feverish heat; and in half an hour he was sleeping soundly, and quietly. He woke at last, with a flash of light in his face and, opening his eyes, saw the good woman again bending over him. "I am glad," were her first words. "I thought, for a moment, you were dead." "No, no," Ralph said, with a faint smile; "a long way from that, yet. My sleep has done me a world of good. What o'clock is it?" "Nine o'clock," his hostess said. "I could not come before, for I have had several parties going past, and the house was searched once. I kept on wondering whether you wanted me, until I nearly worked myself into a fever." "Thank you," Ralph said. "I have been all the better for being allowed to sleep on. I have had nearly thirteen hours of it. I feel queer, about the head; but otherwise I feel all right. "I am terribly thirsty." "I have got nothing but water to offer you," the woman said. "The Germans drank the last drop of our wine up, months ago. But I had a few apples; and I have roasted them, and put them in this jug of water. It will give it a taste, and is good for fever. "In this jug is some herb tea, which you must drink when you feel feverish. "And now, do you feel as if you could eat some broth?" "That I do," Ralph said. His hostess put her arm under him, and raised him up into a sitting posture; in which she retained him by kneeling down beside him, and holding him up as if he had been a child. Then she gave him a basin of bread broth, and a drink of water; shook up his pillow, arranged the things over him; and put a fresh cloth, dipped in water, on his head. "Here is a box of matches," she said, "and here is the water and herb tea, in reach of your arm. You're not cold, are you?" "No, thank you," Ralph said, "and in spite of the sleep I have had, I feel as if I could go off again till morning, comfortably." "Be patient, if I am late," the woman said. "I will come as soon as I can. If I am late, you will know that there are Germans about." Ralph's idea of his capacity for sleep turned out correct. It was still dark when he woke but, striking a match, he found that it was nearly seven o'clock. He at once blew out the match, felt for the apple water, took a drink, and then nestled down deep into the fur coat. "It will be getting light in another hour," he said to himself. "It's awfully cold, too; but I am better off, here, than I should be in the field. I hope she will be here soon; I want to know if she has any news. Well, there is only an hour to lay awake," and, almost as he murmured the words, Ralph dropped off again, and slept until ten o'clock. This time, he woke with the slight creaking which the trap door made. "How are you today, Monsieur le Capitaine?" his hostess said. "I am getting on capitally, thanks to your care," Ralph said. "And what have you there?" "Your breakfast and some plaster. My husband started, yesterday evening, to walk to the doctor, who lives twelve miles off. He told him all about you; but the doctor would not come, himself. However, he sent word that the wound was to be washed well, twice a day, with warm water; and that a little lint is to be laid in it each time, after the bathing and, when the inflammation ceases to look angry, I am to draw the edges together as closely as I can, and strap them together with these strips of plaster." "It is very kind of your husband," Ralph said, "very kind. Did the doctor say how long I should be, before I could be about again?" "No," the woman said. "Jacques asked him, but he said that he could not say without seeing the wound, and examining you. Jacques described its position: coming down from the back of the head, taking off just a little bit of the top of the ear, and then ending on the cheekbone. He said that Monsieur le Capitaine must have a head as thick as a wall, or it would have killed him." Ralph smiled, and his hostess set to work to carry out her instructions. "Shall I take away your uniform and hide it away so that, in case the enemy search and find you, they will have no proof against you?" "No, no," Ralph said; "the uniform shows I am not a franc tireur; and so will prevent my being hung, and you having your house burnt over your head. Besides which, I should be entitled to be treated as an officer. My uniform is the best protection for us all. "Have you any news of what is going on?" "We heard firing yesterday," the woman said, "and today we can hear a constant booming, from the direction of Orleans." Ralph listened, but the bandage prevented his hearing anything. "You are very kind," he said, "but you can hardly think how I want to be off. However, I fear that I am here for a week, at the very least. Just think what I am missing." "It seems to me," the woman said, "you are missing a great many chances of being killed; which I should consider to be a very fortunate miss, indeed. I should not like Jacques to have that gash on the head; but I would a great deal rather that he was lying here wounded, just as you are, than to know that he was in the middle of all that fighting at Orleans. "Be patient, my friend. We will do our best for you. If you have no fever, tomorrow, Jacques will try and buy some meat and some wine for you, at one of the villages; and then you will soon get quite strong." When Ralph had eaten his breakfast, he again laid down; and his kind hostess left him, as her husband was obliged to be out and at work, and it was necessary that she should be at home, to answer any straggling troops of the enemy who might pass. "I wish I had Tim with me," Ralph said, to himself. "Tim would amuse me, and make me laugh. It would be desperately cold for him. I am all right, under my blanket and this warm coat. Well, I suppose I must try to sleep as many hours away as I can." Chapter 20: Crossing The Lines. Ralph was destined to a longer stay upon his hay bed in the loft than he had anticipated. The next day, instead of being better he was a good deal worse. Inflammation had again set in, and he was feverish and incoherent in his talk. He was conscious of this, himself, by seeing the dismay in the face of the nurse, when he had been rambling on to her for some time, in English. At last, with an effort, he commanded his attention, and said to her: "How far is it from here to Orleans?" "Seventeen miles," she said. "Look here," he said, "you are very kind, and I know that you do not want to be paid for your kindness; but I am well off, and I know you have lost your horse and cow, and so you must let me pay you for what you do for me. "I am afraid I am going to have fever. I want your husband to go into Orleans. The Prussians went in yesterday, you say; and so your husband will not have to cross any outposts to get there. There is an English ambulance there. I will write a line in pencil; and I am sure they will give him some fever medicine, and anything else I may require. Please feel in the breast pocket of my coat; you will find a pocket book, with a pencil in it." The woman did as he told her; and Ralph, with a great effort, wrote: "I am an Englishman, though a captain in the French service. I am wounded with a saber, in the head; and am sheltered in a loft. Inflammation has set in and, I fear, fever. I am obliged, indeed, to make a great effort to master it sufficiently to write this. Please send some fever medicine, by the bearer, and some arrowroot. A lemon or two would be a great blessing. "Ralph Barclay." He then tore out the leaf, folded, and directed it to the head of the English ambulance, Orleans. "How is he to know the English ambulance?" "It has a red cross on a white ground, as all the others have; and an English flag--that is, a flag with red and white stripes going from corner to corner, and crossing each other in the middle. But anyone will tell him." "I am sure he will set out at once," the woman said, and left the loft. In ten minutes she returned. "He has started," she said, "but not to Orleans. My husband, directly I gave him the message, said that he had heard that there was an English ambulance at Terminiers, attending to the wounded picked up on the battlefield. It is only five miles from here." "Thank God for that," Ralph said. Three hours later the farmer returned, with a bottle of medicine, some arrowroot, lemons, a bottle of wine, some Liebig's essence of meat--for making broth--and a message that the English surgeon would ride over, as soon as he could get away. The farmer had given him detailed instructions for finding the house; but was afraid of stopping to act as his guide as, had he been seen walking by the side of the surgeon's horse, the suspicions of any German they might encounter would be at once excited. The surgeon arrived an hour later, and was at once taken to Ralph's bedside. Ralph, however, could not speak to, or even recognize the presence of his countryman; for he was in a high state of fever. The surgeon examined his wound carefully. "I think he will get over it," he said, to the farmer's wife. "It is a nasty cut; but there is nothing dangerous in the wound, itself. It is the general shock to the system, together with the hardships and suffering he had gone through. He is a mere boy--not above seventeen or eighteen. He says in his note he is a captain, but it can hardly be so." "He is a captain, sir. There is his uniform hanging up." "Yes," the surgeon said, "that is the uniform of a captain in the staff, and he has got the commander's button of the legion of honor. I wonder who he can be. "Ralph Barclay," he said thoughtfully, looking at the pencil note Ralph had sent him. "Ah, now I remember the name. I thought it was familiar to me. This is the young Englishman who made his way through the lines into Paris, with dispatches He is a fine young fellow. We must do what we can for him." "Could you take him into your hospital, sir?" the woman asked. "He will be better where he is, if you will continue to nurse him." "Yes, I will do that; but I thought he would be so much better looked after, in the hospital." "No," the surgeon said, "that is just what he would not be. Every room is literally crowded with wounded; and wounds do infinitely better in fresh, pure air, like this, than in a room with a close atmosphere, and other bad wounds. "The fever medicine I sent over will last him for some days. I have brought over a tin of little biscuits. Give him the fever medicine, every two hours, until there is a change; and whenever you can get him to take it, give him a little broth made of a spoonful of the essence of meat in a liter of boiling water or, for a change, some arrowroot. I will show you how to make it, when we get back to the house. "Can you manage to stay with him? He will want a good deal of looking after, for the next two days." "Yes, sir, I was talking to Jacques about it, today. He will go over to the next village--it is only a mile away--and will fetch my sister, who lives there, to keep house for a bit." "That is capital," the surgeon said. "And now, watch attentively how I put this bandage on; and do it the same way, once a day. When you have put the bandage on, you must put wet cloths to his head, as long as he remains delirious. I am awfully busy; but I will ride over again, in three or four days, to see how he is getting on. "By the way, it may be an advantage to you if I give you a paper, signed by me, to say that you are taking care of a wounded French officer at my request as--although you wished to send him to the ambulance--I refused because, in the first place, he could not bear moving; and in the second, the ambulance was as full as it could possibly hold. That will clear you, in case any German parties come along and find him." It was a week before Ralph opened his eyes with any consciousness of what he saw. He looked round, with a vague wonderment as to where he was. In a minute or two, a look of recognition came into his face. Looking round, he saw that there were changes. A small piece had been sawn out of the shutter, so as to let in air and light while it remained closed. A table and a chair were beside his bed. In a corner of the loft was a small flat stove, with a few embers glowing upon it, and a saucepan standing upon them. Upon the opposite side of the loft to that where he was lying was a heap of hay, similar to his own; with a figure, rolled up in a blanket, lying on it. For some time, Ralph thought all this over in the vague, wondering way peculiar to people recovering from a long illness. Most, he puzzled over the occupant of the other bed; and at last concluded that it was some fugitive, like himself. For some time he lay and watched the figure until, presently, it moved, threw off the blanket and rose and, to his surprise, he saw that it was his nurse. "Thanks to all the saints!" she exclaimed, when she saw him looking at her. "You are better, at last. I think that I was asleep, too. But you were sleeping so quiet, that I thought I would take a nap; for I was so sleepy." "How long have I been here?" Ralph asked. "Just a week, from the time the fever took you. The English doctor came over and saw you, and sent lots of things for you, and said you were not to be left; so I had the bed made up here, and my sister came over to take care of Jacques. And now, you must not talk any more. Drink this broth, and then go off to sleep again." Ralph complied. He was too tired and weak to ask any more questions, and it was not until next day that he heard of the obstinate battles which General Chanzy had fought--on the 7th, 8th, and 10th--near Beauguency. "Thank goodness," Ralph said, "we can't have been very badly beaten, if we were able to fight three drawn battles within about twenty miles of a first defeat." For the next two days, Ralph improved in health. Then he had a relapse, and was very ill, for some days. Then he began, steadily but slowly, to gain strength. It was three weeks after his arrival at the cottage before he could walk, another week before he had recovered his strength sufficiently to think of moving. One of his first anxieties--after recovering consciousness after his first, and longest, attack of fever--had been upon the subject of the terrible anxiety which they must be feeling, at home, respecting him. They would have heard, from Colonel Tempe, that he was missing and, as he would have been seen to fall, it was probable that he was reported as dead. Ralph's only consolation was that, as the Germans were at Dijon, the communication would be very slow, and uncertain; and although it was now ten days since the engagement, it was possible--if he could but get a letter sent, at once--that they would get it nearly, if not quite as quickly as the one from Colonel Tempe; especially if as was very probable the colonel would be a great deal too engaged, during the week's tremendous fighting which succeeded the day upon which Ralph was wounded, for him to be able to write letters. The first time that he saw the English surgeon, he mentioned this anxiety, and the doctor at once offered to take charge of a letter; and to forward it with his own, in the military post bag, to the headquarters of the ambulance at Versailles, together with a note to the head of the ambulance there, begging him to get it sent on in the first bag for Dijon. In this way, it would arrive at its destination within four or five days, at most, of its leaving Orleans. It was on the 2nd of January--exactly a month from the date of the fight in which he was wounded--that, after very many thanks to his kind host and hostess, and after forcing a handsome present upon them, Ralph started--in a peasant's dress which had been bought for him--for Orleans. He had still plenty of money with him; for he had drawn the reward, of fifty thousand francs, in Paris. The greater portion of this money he had paid into the hands of a banker, at Tours, but Percy and he had kept out a hundred pounds each; knowing by experience how useful it is, in case of being taken prisoner, to have plenty of money. Ralph's wound was still bound up with plaster, and to conceal it a rabbit-skin cap with flaps had been bought so that, by letting down the flaps and tying them under the chin, the greater part of the cheeks were covered. The farmer had made inquiries among his neighbors and, finding one who was going into Orleans, with a horse and cart, he had asked him to give Ralph a lift to that place. The start had been effected early, and it was three o'clock when they drove into Orleans. Here Ralph shook hands with his driver--who wished him a safe journey home--and strolled leisurely down the streets. Orleans presented a miserable aspect. The inhabitants kept themselves shut up in their houses, as much as possible. The bishop was kept a prisoner, by the Prussians, in his own palace; troops were quartered in every house; the inhabitants were, for the most part, in a state of poverty; and the shops would have been all shut, had not the Prussians ordered them to be kept open. The streets were thronged with German troops, and long trains of carts were on their way through, with provisions for the army. These carts were requisitioned from the peasantry, and were frequently taken immense distances from home; the owner--or driver, if the owner was rich enough to pay one--being obliged to accompany them. Many were the sad scenes witnessed in these convoys. The grief of a father dragged away, not knowing what would become of his wife and children, during his absence. The anguish of a laborer at seeing his horse fall dead with fatigue, knowing well that he had no means of taking his cart home again; and that he had nothing to do but to return to his home, and tell his wife that the horse and cart--which constituted his sole wealth--were gone. Ralph waited until, late in the afternoon, he saw a long train halt by one of the bridges. It was evidently intending to cross, the next morning, and go down south. In a short time the horses were taken out, and fastened by halters to the carts; two or three soldiers took up their posts as sentries, and the drivers were suffered to leave--the Germans knowing that there was no chance of their deserting, and leaving their horses and carts. The poor fellows dispersed through the town. Those who had any money bought food. Those who had not, begged; for the Germans allowed them no rations, and left them to shift for themselves--or starve--as they liked. Ralph joined in conversation with a group of these, who were relating their hardships to two or three sympathetic listeners. An old man, especially, was almost heartbroken. His wife was dying, and he had been forced from her bedside. "What could I do?" he asked, pitifully. "I was a carrier. My horse and cart were all I had in the world. If I had not gone with them they were lost for ever. What was I to do?" No one could answer him but, when the party had broken up, Ralph went up to him. "How much are your horse and cart worth?" he asked. "The horse is worth five hundred francs," he said. "The cart is an old one--two hundred and fifty would pay for it. It is not much, you see, but it is all I have." "Look here, old man," Ralph said, "I am not what I look. I am a French officer, and I want to get down near the Prussian outposts, but without passes I could not get on. Besides I have been wounded, and am too weak to walk far. I will give you the seven hundred and fifty francs which are the value of your horse and cart, and will take your place as driver; so that you can start back, at once, to your wife. Do you agree?" The old man was so affected with joy that he burst into tears. "God bless you, sir," he said. "You have saved my life, and my poor wife's life, too." "Very well, it is a bargain, then," Ralph said. "Here is half the money. You shall have the rest tomorrow. "Now you must go with me tomorrow morning, at the hour for starting; and tell the officer in charge that I am a nephew of yours--living here, but out of work, at present--and that you have arranged with me to drive the cart, as long as it's wanted, and then to take it home again." After a few more words, the peasant took him back and showed him his cart; in order that he might know where to find him, in the morning. "We start at daybreak," he said, "so you had better be here by half-past six." "Where do you sleep?" Ralph asked. "I? Oh, I don't sleep much. I lie down for a bit, underneath the carts; and then walk about to warm myself." "Take this warm fur coat of mine," Ralph said. "It will keep you warm tonight, anyhow. I shan't want it; I shall get a bed somewhere." The coat was the one Ralph had worn on his night walk, after being wounded. He had had all the braid, and the fur of the collar and cuffs taken off; and had had it purposely dirtied, so that it was no longer a garment which could attract attention, on the back of a man with a cart. After some difficulty, Ralph got a bed; and was at the agreed place at the appointed time. The old man went up to the Prussian sergeant in command, and told the tale Ralph had dictated to him. The sergeant agreed to the arrangement, with a brief nod. The old man handed Ralph his whip, and returned him the fur coat; which Ralph was glad enough to put on, for the morning was bitterly cold, and Ralph--enfeebled by his illness--felt it keenly. In another five minutes, the carts were in motion across the bridge, and then away due south. For half an hour Ralph walked by the side of his cart and--being, by that time, thoroughly warm--he jumped up in the cart and rode, during the rest of the day; getting down and walking--for a short time only--when he found his feet getting numbed with the cold. In the afternoon they arrived at La Ferte, some fifteen miles from Orleans. There they remained for the night. There were not very many troops here, and Ralph could have obtained a bed by paying well for it; but he feared to attract attention by the possession of unusual funds and, therefore, slept in a hay loft; afraid, in spite of his fur coat, to sleep in the open air. The next morning the train was divided, twenty of the carts going down towards Romorantin; while the rest--now fifteen in number--kept on towards Salbris. Ralph's cart formed part of this latter division. The night after they left La Ferte, they halted at La Motte Beuvron, where there was a strong force of Germans. The following day only four carts continued their route to Salbris, Ralph happening again to be among them. He had regretted two days before that he had not formed part of the division for Romorantin, as from that place he would have been less than twenty miles from Tours, which the Prussians had not yet entered; but as he had the good fortune to go on to Salbris, he did not mind--as Salbris, like Romorantin, was one of the most advanced stations. They arrived late in the afternoon, and the carts were at once unloaded. The sergeant in charge told them to wait, while he got their papers for them; and in ten minutes he returned. "You will have tomorrow to rest your horses, and the next day a train will start for the north. Your work is over now, as there is nothing to go back. Here are the passes for you, saying that you have carried goods down here for the army; and are therefore to return back, without your carts being further requisitioned." Ralph put up his horse and cart for an hour in the village, while he went to search for some farm house upon which no Prussian soldiers were quartered. He was unable, for some time, to find one; but at last, over a mile from the town, he found a small place which had escaped the attention of the Prussian quartermaster, and where there was a small, unoccupied stable. Ralph soon struck a bargain with its owner; returned to Salbris, mounted his cart, drove out; and was soon settled in the little farm house. He anticipated no great difficulty in passing out through the outposts; as there was no French force of any importance, near, and the German troops interfered but little with the movements of the country people. The affair, however, turned out more easy than he had anticipated for, towards morning, he was awoke by the distant sound of bugles. "Something is up," he said to himself; "either a French attack, a general advance, or a recall. If it should be the latter, I am in luck." It turned out to be as Ralph hoped. The peasant in whose house he was stopping went into Salbris, early; and came back with the news that there was no longer a German there. Orders had come for them to fall back, towards Orleans. "I am not at all surprised," Ralph said, when he heard it, "for Orleans was emptying fast of troops. This sudden march of Bourbaki for the east, and the necessity to reinforce Frederick Charles, near Vendome must try even Prussian resources to the utmost." Half an hour later, Ralph was jogging along on his way to Vierzon. There he found that the railway was open to Bourges, from which town he should have no difficulty in getting on to Dijon. He soon found a purchaser for his horse and cart, at ten pounds, and the next morning started on his way home. Chapter 21: Home. It was a long journey from Vierzon to Dijon. At Bourges Ralph had taken advantage of a delay of some hours--necessitated by the fact that no train was going--to get some suitable clothes, instead of the peasant's suit in which he had traversed the lines. He had, of course, brought his papers with him; so that he had no difficulty, whatever, in getting on by the train. But the train itself made but slow work of it. Bourbaki had passed west only the week before, with all his army, upon his march to the relief of Belfort; and the railway was completely choked. However, Ralph was not inclined to grumble at the cause of his delay; for it was only upon Bourbaki's approach that the Germans had evacuated Dijon--which was now held by Garibaldi's irregulars, and a considerable force of Mobiles. So great were the delays that it was evening when the train reached Dijon. Ralph had scarcely stepped out on to the platform when Percy bounded upon him, and threw his arms round his neck. "Dear, dear old Ralph! Thank God you are back again." "My dear Percy, where did you spring from?" "I have been home five days. I was still down at Marseilles, when I heard that Dijon was open again; and I came straight up. "And how are you, Ralph?" "Oh, I am getting all right again. How are they all, at home?" "Well--quite well--but dreadfully anxious about you." By this time the boys were out of the station, and were walking homeward. "But you have not told me how you happened to be at the station." "Well, I was waiting there, just on the chance of seeing you. Mamma was so dreadfully anxious about you that I wanted to do something. At any rate, I could not sit quiet at home. There are never more than two trains with passengers in a day, sometimes only one; so I have been staying down in the town, most of the days since I came home--having paid one of the railway people to send me word, directly the train was telegraphed as starting from Dole." "How long is it since my letter arrived?" "Nearly three weeks, Ralph; fortunately it came four or five days before a letter from Tempe, saying that he feared you were killed. Not having heard again, they were terribly anxious." "I had no means of writing," Ralph said. "The English ambulance--through whom my letter was sent--moved down to Vendome, the very day after I wrote; and I had no other way of sending my letter." "I said it was something of that sort. I pointed out to them that it was evident, by what you said, that the fever had passed off, and that you only wanted strength; but that being in hiding, of course, you could not write. I gave you three weeks to get strong enough to start, and four or five days to manage to get through the lines; so that by my calculation you were just due, when you arrived. "It has pulled you down, Ralph, very much. I wish I had been there to nurse you." "Thank you, Percy. Fortunately I did fall into very good hands, and was well looked after. I hope papa has not been over anxious about me?" "I think he has been nervous, Ralph; but he did not show it, but talked cheerfully to keep up mamma and Milly." "And are you quite strong again, Percy?" "Yes, I think I am nearly as strong as ever, Ralph. "There, we are just at the house, now. You had better wait outside; while I go in and let them know, gradually, that you are home. I came in like a fool, suddenly, and mamma fainted--she says for the first time in her life--and Milly went into hysterics, and cried and laughed so wildly that you might have heard her in Dijon. She frightened me nearly out of my senses." Ralph remained, accordingly, outside the door; while Percy went in alone. The others had finished tea. "You are a little late, Percy," Mrs. Barclay said. "We gave you twenty minutes' law. It is not the least matter, your being late; but I do not think it is wise to be out, these bitter nights, until you are quite strong." "I am quite strong, mamma, as strong as ever," Percy laughed; but his laugh was, in spite of himself, a little unnatural. His father looked sharply up. Percy sat down, and drank a little of the tea his mother handed to him. "I waited for the train to come in," he said, "and--of course it may not be so--but I heard of someone who, by the description, seemed to be Ralph." "What was it, Percy, what was it?" Milly cried; while her mother gazed at him with a pale face, and appealing eyes. "Don't agitate yourself, mamma dear--you see, it may not be true, after all--but among the people in the train was one who had come straight from Bourges. I spoke to him, and he said that he had heard--by a friend who had come straight from Vierzon--that a young officer had just arrived there, in disguise; who had been wounded, and in hiding, ever since the capture of Orleans. You know, mamma, it is just the time I calculated he would be coming; and from the fact of his being a young staff officer, and in disguise, I have very little doubt it is Ralph." Captain Barclay rose from his seat and--standing for a moment behind his wife's chair--looked at Percy, and then at the door, inquiringly. Percy nodded. Captain Barclay leaned over, and kissed his wife "Thank God, dear, for all His mercies! Another day or two, and we shall be having him home." "Thank God, indeed!" Mrs. Barclay said; "but though I hope--though I try to think it was him--perhaps it was not, perhaps--" "No, mamma," Percy said, "from some particulars he gave, and from what he said, I feel almost sure--I may say I am quite sure--it is Ralph. I would not say so, you know, unless I felt very certain." Mrs. Barclay felt that he would not, and fell into her husband's arms, crying softly with happiness. Milly was no longer in the room. She had caught the glance between her father and Percy, and had rightly interpreted it. She had risen to her feet, but a warning gesture from Captain Barclay had checked the cry of gladness on her lips; and she had stolen quietly from the room, closed the door noiselessly, had flown to the front door and out into the road beyond, and was now crying happily in Ralph's arms. "And when do you think he can get here, Richard?" Mrs. Barclay asked her husband. "Soon, dear--quite soon," he answered. "He may come tomorrow. He would be certain to come almost as quickly as the news." "Oh, how happy I am!" Mrs. Barclay said. "Thank God for His mercies! To think that, tomorrow, I may have both my boys back again." "Will there be another train in, tonight, Percy?" Captain Barclay asked. "Quite possibly," Percy said; "indeed, indeed,"--and he hesitated--"you see, I walked up fast; it is just possible that he may have arrived by this train." Mrs. Barclay understood now. "He is come," she exclaimed, looking up. "I know it, now." Captain Barclay took her up in his arms. "You can bear it, can't you, Melanie? Yes, dear, he has come." Percy saw that it was safe now. He went to the door, and opened it. Ralph was standing outside, in readiness; and in another moment his mother was in his arms. Later in the evening, Captain Barclay said to Ralph: "I suppose tomorrow you will obtain a medical certificate, and write to General Chanzy: saying that you are alive, but unable to rejoin?" "Yes," Ralph answered, "I suppose that will be the best plan. I must have a month's rest." "That means, my dear boy, that you will not have to go out any more. Another month will see the end of the struggle--or at any rate, if the end has not absolutely arrived, it will be unmistakable. "The game is, I am convinced, altogether lost. A fortnight ago, I had still hope. Chanzy and Bourbaki had each an army, nearly or quite equal to that of Prince Frederick Charles. He could not attack one in force, without leaving the road to Paris open to the other. "Bourbaki has come upon this mad expedition to the east; and you will see Prince Frederick Charles will throw his whole strength upon Chanzy, crush him, and then attend to Bourbaki. Bourbaki may relieve Belfort, but in that corner of France what is he to do? Prussian reinforcements are coming down to Werder, every day. Troops are marching on this town from Paris and, if Bourbaki is not wonderfully quick, we shall have another Sedan here. "After the defeat of these, the last two armies of France, it would be madness to continue the war. Paris must surrender, for there would be no further possibility of relief; and there would be no advantage, whatever, in enduring further sufferings. "No, my boys, I said 'Go' when I thought that there was a possibility of saving France. You have done your duty--more than your duty. It would be worse than folly--it would be wickedness--to voluntarily put your lives into danger, when success has ceased to be possible. I should be the last man to hinder you from what was your duty. I said 'Go' before, when few fathers would have said so. I would say 'Go' again, now, if your duty called you; but as you can both obtain sick leave, for another six weeks, I say take that leave. Do not do more than your duty, for heroism is now of no use to France." "I agree with you altogether, papa," Ralph said. "I have seen, and had, quite enough fighting for my lifetime. Of course, if the war goes on Percy and I, as officers, must return to our duty, but I am willing to obtain all the sick leave I can get; for although I still believe in the individual bravery of the French soldiers, I am quite convinced that it is altogether out of the question that--with their want of organization, want of generals, want of officers, want of discipline, want of everything--they can drive out the magnificent armies of Germany. "Has Percy got his leave extended?" "Yes," Percy said; "I am fairly well, but I am still shaky. I have not quite got over that swim; and the surgeon said, without my applying for it, that I must have prolonged rest so, at the end of the month, he extended it for two months longer. "I thoroughly agree with you both. We have had quite enough of it. We shall always have the satisfaction that we did our duty to France, and our rank; and these ribbons,"--and he touched the rosette of the legion of honor, in his buttonhole--"will prove that we have distinguished ourselves. We have had great good fortune, hitherto; it might turn, next time." And so it was settled that the boys should remain at home, for the next two months; by which time they agreed, with their father, the resistance would be fairly worn out. Ralph wrote to General Chanzy, relating the whole circumstances of his absence. General Chanzy wrote in reply--in spite of the demands upon his time--saying how pleased he was that Ralph had escaped, as he had quite given him up. He ended his note by saying that he had already mentioned his name, in dispatches, and should now make a fresh report. Colonel Tempe--or rather General Tempe, for he now commanded a brigade--wrote also to congratulate him. One portion of his letter contained bad news; for he mentioned that Tim had lost an arm, at the battle of the 8th December, but that he was now doing well. Those were exciting days at Dijon. The news of the victory at Villersexel, followed by the fighting which ended in the capture of Montbeliard; and then the obstinate contests near Belfort, when Bourbaki in vain endeavored to drive back the Germans, and to relieve the besieged town--all this kept the excitement up, at fever heat. It was not fated that the war should end without the boys seeing service once more for, upon the 21st, heavy firing was heard upon the northwest of Dijon. The Barclays' house was on the southwest of the town. Upon the northwest the ground rises in two steep hills--or rather one steep hill, with two summits about a mile apart. One of these summits is called Talant, the other Fontaine les Dijon. Behind the latter, and upon even higher ground--at a distance of two and three miles, respectively--lay the villages of Daix and Hauteville. It was about ten o'clock in the morning that the boys heard the faint boom of a cannon. "Listen, papa," Percy shouted; "there are cannon. The Prussians are attacking the heights, on the other side." Captain Barclay came out into the garden, and listened for a while with them. The enemy had taken up positions upon some of the numerous heights surrounding, and were playing upon the batteries at Talant, Fontaine les Dijon, Daix, and Hauteville. The French replied vigorously; and it was evident that they were stronger, in artillery, than were the enemy. "I fancy," Captain Barclay said, "that it is no attack. It is merely, I think, a fire opened to occupy our attention; in order that a body of troops may pass along to the northward of Dijon, to fall upon Bourbaki's rear. However, my place is with my company of national guards. There is no fear of an attack, at present; but they will get under arms no doubt." "We will go down into the town with you, papa." The firing continued until five o'clock, when it gradually died away, the Germans retiring. An hour later, the greater portion of the troops marched back to the town. The enemy, they reported, were not over 15,000 strong while, in all, the Garibaldians and mobilized national guards in the town were 30,000 to 40,000 strong. The French were also much stronger in artillery. Captain Barclay returned home with the boys. They sat up late, talking over the affair, and it was nearly midnight when they went up to their rooms. Suddenly, they were startled by a fresh outburst of fire upon the heights. In a minute or two, all the household were in the garden. "It is a night attack," Captain Barclay said; "and judging by the sound, they are in earnest. I can hear musketry, as well as artillery." As they listened, it came nearer. "They have taken Daix and Hauteville," Ralph said. "What shall we do, papa? We can't stay here, quiet. It is our plain duty to go down, and report ourselves to General Pelissier." "I think you ought to do so," Captain Barclay answered, gravely. The boys went off to put on their uniforms--for Ralph had replaced the one he had left behind, in the cottage near Orleans. "I do not think you need be uneasy, Melanie," Captain Barclay said to his wife. "It is our duty to go; but I hardly think that they can have been reinforced in sufficient strength to attack the town." The boys were soon down. "Goodbye, mamma; goodbye, Milly. Don't be alarmed about us. We have no horses, and there can be no risk of our being sent on any perilous service, tonight." Two silent kisses, and then father and sons hurried away towards the town. "They have taken Fontaine les Dijon," Ralph said. "We shall soon see if they are in earnest." Dijon they found in utter confusion. Mounted orderlies galloped about. The troops were all under arms. Engineers were at work, crenelating the walls and houses upon the side threatened with attack. General Garibaldi was sitting in his carriage, in readiness to move in any direction, instantly. General Pelissier--who commanded the mobilized guards--was in his office, and staff officers came in and out with reports, every five minutes. The boys entered, and briefly reported themselves for service. They had already reported their presence in the place, upon their arrival. "Thank you, gentlemen," he said. "I do not think that you can be of any use, just at present; but if the Germans press the attack, I shall be greatly obliged. In that case, please dismount two of the orderlies, and take their horses." The night passed off, however, quietly. The Germans, satisfied with the advantage, remained in the positions they had taken; and the French prepared to drive them back again, in the morning. At daybreak, the troops began to pour out from the town; and the cannonade commenced with greater fury on both sides. Two of the orderlies, in obedience to General Pelissier's orders, gave up their horses to the Barclays; who rode out with the general's staff. The Prussians had evidently been reinforced, in the night; but the French nevertheless gained ground, gradually. After several hours' heavy cannonading, the Mobilises were ordered to take the position of Fontaine les Dijon, with the bayonet. Three Zouaves--who happened to be present--took their places at the head of the column and, at the double, they went up the hill amidst a storm of shot and shell. The Germans did not await the assault, but fell back upon Daix. The spirit of the Mobilises was now up and, still led by the three Zouaves, they dashed forward. The resistance here was obstinate; but the Germans were driven back, with great loss. The pursuers gave them no rest; but went forward at the double, and drove them out of Hauteville at the bayonet's point, thus winning back all the positions lost in the night. The Barclays had little to do during the affair as, after the orders had once been given, the spirit of the troops carried them on over everything. The loss upon both sides was considerable, and one of General Werder's sons was among the prisoners taken by the French. The fight over, the boys returned home for a few hours. Their father had come in half an hour before them. The next morning they returned, at daybreak, to Dijon. The Prussians had received considerable reinforcements, in the night; and had executed a long detour, advancing this time by the Langres Road, nearly due north of the city. They left the road and took up their position upon a plateau, near the village of Pouilly, about three miles from Dijon. The French positions were about a mile nearer to the town, extending from the foot of Fontaine les Dijon through the villages of Saint Marten, and Fontaine. From the morning, until three in the day, a heavy artillery fire was kept up, on both sides. At that hour, the Prussians gave signs of an intention to advance. Their artillery took up fresh positions, their fire increased in rapidity, and it was evident that the crisis of the day was at hand. Up to this time, the boys had had but little to do. Sitting on their horses, or leaning against them, they had chatted with the officers of the general staff. At this period, however, General Garibaldi drew up; and there was a brief consultation between him and General Pelissier. A few hasty orders were given and, in an instant, the whole of the staff were dashing away to different parts of the ground. "Charge in line!" was the order and, forming shoulder to shoulder, the Garibaldians and Mobiles moved forward in a grand line, a mile and a half long; uttering loud and inspiriting cheers. The boys had been sent to the regiments next to each other and, their message delivered, they joined each other and rode on with the advancing line. "This is grand, Ralph," Percy said, enthusiastically. "We have seen a good many defeats. We are going to wind up with a victory, at last." For a while the Germans stood their ground, pouring a shower of shot and shell into the advancing French; but the dash and go of the latter--excited by their successes of the two preceding days--were irresistible. The Germans wavered and fell back as the French advanced and, from that moment, the fate of the day was decided. Isolated German regiments fought desperately, but in vain. The French pushed them back, from position to position, until nightfall covered the retreat. The German loss was very heavy; and the French, in addition to a considerable number of prisoners, had the satisfaction of taking a German color--the only one captured throughout the war. This was the last fight in which the Barclays took part during the war. The boys escaped unhurt; as did their father, who had joined one of the regiments of Mobiles, and had advanced with them. The events followed fast, day after day. In rapid succession, they heard of the defeat of Chanzy at Le Mans, the retreat of Bourbaki; the terrible sufferings of the troops, as they fell back upon the Swiss frontier, for refuge. Simultaneously with the news of this retreat came the intelligence of the surrender of Paris, and of the armistice and, grieving over France's misfortune, they were yet heartily rejoiced that the hopeless contest was over. No sooner were the preliminaries of peace signed than Captain Barclay carried out his intention of leaving for England. Monsieur Duburg had already agreed to purchase the cottage, and adjoining grounds; which he intends for Louis, when he marries. The Barclays were sorry to leave their uncle and cousins, but there was no great grief with reference to the separation from Madame Duburg. General Tempe they parted from with regret. That officer's fighting days were over, for he lost a leg in the battle before Le Mans. Ralph obtained the step as major, in consequence of General Chanzy's report in his favor, but he never put on the uniform of the rank; nor is it likely that he ever will do so, although he hopes, some day, to attain the grade in the British service. He is at present studying hard for an examination in the artillery which, if practical knowledge goes for anything, he is pretty certain to get. Percy has had enough of fighting, and his present idea is that he shall go to the Bar; but he has plenty of time before him, yet. Both never boast of their achievements--indeed, are straightforward, unaffected English lads, still--and it is only to intimate friends that they ever speak of their adventures in the war. The Barclays live now a short distance out of London; and the pony chaise in which Captain Barclay drives his wife and Milly can be seen, any day, on the Richmond road. If you stop and watch it turn into the little drive, up to the house, you will observe that a one-armed man--who has previously been busy in the garden--throws down his spade, and takes the ponies off to the stables and, should he not happen to be at the front of the house, as the ponies draw up, you will hear Milly summon him with a loud call of "Tim!" 
28295	----	Distributed Proofreading Canada Team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 28295-h.htm or 28295-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/8/2/9/28295/28295-h/28295-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/8/2/9/28295/28295-h.zip) THE MAIDS OF PARADISE A Novel by ROBERT W. CHAMBERS Author of "Cardigan" "The Conspirators" "Maid-at-Arms" etc. Illustrated [Illustration: "'LOOK THERE!' SHE CRIED, IN TERROR" [See p. 81]] [Illustration] New York and London Harper & Brothers Publishers 1903 Copyright, 1902, by Robert W. Chambers. All rights reserved. Published September, 1903. PREFACE As far as the writer knows, no treasure-trains were actually sent to the port of Lorient from the arsenal at Brest. The treasures remained at Brest. Concerning the German armored cruiser _Augusta_, the following are the facts: About the middle of December she forced the blockade at Wilhelmshafen and ran for Ireland, where, owing to the complaisance of the British authorities, she was permitted to coal. From there she steamed towards Brest, capturing a French merchant craft off that port, another near Rochefort, and finally a third. That ended her active career during the war; a French frigate chased her into the port of Vigo and kept her there. To conclude, certain localities and certain characters have been sufficiently disguised to render recognition improbable. This is proper because "The Lizard" is possibly alive to-day, as are also the mayor of Paradise, Sylvia Elven, Jacqueline, and Speed, the latter having barely escaped death in the _Virginius_ expedition. The original of Buckhurst now lives in New York, and remains a type whose rarity is its only recommendation. Those who believe they recognize the Countess de Vassart are doubtless in error. Mornac, long dead, is safe in his disguise; Tric-Trac was executed on the Place de la Roquette, and celebrated in doggerel by an unspeakable ballad writer. There remains Scarlett; dead or alive, I wish him well. ROBERT W. CHAMBERS. Ormond, Florida, _Feb. 7_, 1902. [Illustration: To E.M.C.] CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. At the Telegraph 3 II. The Government Interferes 21 III. La Trappe 34 IV. Prisoners 50 V. The Immortals 65 VI. The Game Begins 87 VII. A Struggle Foreshadowed 110 VIII. A Man to Let 136 IX. The Road to Paradise 159 X. The Town-Crier 171 XI. In Camp 180 XII. Jacqueline 195 XIII. Friends 207 XIV. The Path of the Lizard 229 XV. Forewarned 253 XVI. A Restless Man 265 XVII. The Circus 280 XVIII. A Guest-Chamber 303 XIX. Trécourt Garden 318 XX. The Semaphore 339 XXI. Like Her Ancestors 353 XXII. The Secret 381 ILLUSTRATIONS "'LOOK THERE!' SHE CRIED, IN TERROR" _Frontispiece_ "'ACROSS THAT MEADOW,' SAID THE YOUNG GIRL" _Facing p_. 22 "TO RIGHT AND LEFT, PRUSSIAN LANCERS WERE RIDING" " 62 "A COMPANY OF TURCOS CAME UP" " 74 "'HALT! HALT!' HE SHOUTED" " 84 "EVERY BRIDGE WAS GUARDED" " 124 "SISTERS OF CHARITY WERE GIVING FIRST AID" " 132 "I WAS ON MY KNEES" " 298 PART FIRST THE MAIDS OF PARADISE I AT THE TELEGRAPH On the third day of August, 1870, I left Paris in search of John Buckhurst. On the 4th of August I lost all traces of Mr. Buckhurst near the frontier, in the village of Morsbronn. The remainder of the day I spent in acquiring that "general information" so dear to the officials in Paris whose flimsy systems of intelligence had already begun to break down. On August 5th, about eight o'clock in the morning, the military telegraph instrument in the operator's room over the temporary barracks of the Third Hussars clicked out the call for urgency, not the usual military signal, but a secret sequence understood only by certain officers of the Imperial Military Police. The operator on duty therefore stepped into my room and waited while I took his place at the wire. I had been using the code-book that morning, preparing despatches for Paris, and now, at the first series of significant clicks, I dropped my left middle finger on the key and repeated the signal to Paris, using the required variations. Then I rose, locked the door, and returned to the table. "Who is this?" came over the wire in the secret code; and I answered at once: "Inspector of Foreign Division, Imperial Military Police, on duty at Morsbronn, Alsace." After considerable delay the next message arrived in the Morse code: "Is that you, Scarlett?" And I replied: "Yes. Who are you? Why do you not use the code? Repeat the code signal and your number." The signal was repeated, then came the message: "This is the Tuileries. You have my authority to use the Morse code for the sake of brevity. Do you understand? I am Jarras. The Empress is here." Instantly reassured by the message from Colonel Jarras, head of the bureau to which I was attached, I answered that I understood. Then the telegrams began to fly, all in the Morse code: _Jarras._ "Have you caught Buckhurst?" _I._ "No." _Jarras._ "How did he get away?" _I._ "There's confusion enough on the frontier to cover the escape of a hundred thieves." _Jarras._ "Your reply alarms the Empress. State briefly the present position of the First Corps." _I._ "The First Corps still occupies the heights in a straight line about seven kilometres long; the plateau is covered with vineyards. Two small rivers are in front of us; the Vosges are behind us; the right flank pivots on Morsbronn, the left on Neehwiller; the centre covers Wörth. We have had forty-eight hours' heavy rain." _Jarras._ "Where are the Germans?" _I._ "Precise information not obtainable at headquarters of the First Corps." _Jarras._ "Does the Marshal not know where the Germans are?" _I._ "Marshal MacMahon does not know definitely." _Jarras._ "Does the Marshal not employ his cavalry? Where are they?" _I._ "Septeuil's cavalry of the second division lie between Elsasshausen and the Grosserwald; Michel's brigade of heavy cavalry camps at Eberbach; the second division of cavalry of the reserve, General Vicomte de Bonnemain, should arrive to-night and go into bivouac between Reichshofen and the Grosserwald." There was a long pause; I lighted a cigar and waited. After a while the instrument began again: _Jarras._ "The Empress desires to know where the château called La Trappe is." _I._ "La Trappe is about four kilometres from Morsbronn, near the hamlet of Trois-Feuilles." _Jarras._ "It is understood that Madame de Vassart's group of socialists are about to leave La Trappe for Paradise, in Morbihan. It is possible that Buckhurst has taken refuge among them. Therefore you will proceed to La Trappe. Do you understand?" _I._ "Perfectly." _Jarras._ "If Buckhurst is found you will bring him to Paris at once. Shoot him if he resists arrest. If the community at La Trappe has not been warned of a possible visit from us, you will find and arrest the following individuals: "Claude Tavernier, late professor of law, Paris School of Law; "Achille Bazard, ex-instructor in mathematics, Fontainebleau Artillery School; "Dr. Leo Delmont, ex-interne, Charity Hospital, Paris; "Mlle. Sylvia Elven, lately of the Odéon; "The Countess de Vassart, well known for her eccentricities. "You will affix the government seals to the house as usual; you will then escort the people named to the nearest point on the Belgian frontier. The Countess de Vassart usually dresses like a common peasant. Look out that she does not slip through your fingers. Repeat your instructions." I repeated them from my memoranda. There was a pause, then click! click! the instrument gave the code signal that the matter was ended, and I repeated the signal, opened my code-book, and began to translate the instructions into cipher for safety's sake. When I had finished and had carefully destroyed my first pencilled memoranda, the steady bumping of artillery passing through the street under the windows drew my attention. It proved to be the expected batteries of the reserve going into park, between the two brigades of Raoult's division of infantry. I telegraphed the news to the observatory on the Col du Pigeonnier, then walked back to the window and looked out. It had begun to rain again; down the solitary street of Morsbronn the artillery rolled, jolting; cannoneers, wrapped in their wet, gray overcoats, limbers, caissons, and horses plastered with mud. The slim cannon, with canvas-wrapped breeches uptilted, dripped from their depressed muzzles, like lank monsters slavering and discouraged. A battery of Montigny mitrailleuses passed, grotesque, hump-backed little engines of destruction. To me there was always something repulsive in the shape of these stunted cannon, these malicious metal cripples with their heavy bodies and sinister, filthy mouths. Before the drenched artillery had rattled out of Morsbronn the rain once more fell in floods, pouring a perpendicular torrent from the transparent, gray heavens, and the roar of the downpour on slate roofs and ancient gables drowned the pounding of the passing cannon. Where the Vosges mountains towered in obscurity a curtain of rain joined earth and sky. The rivers ran yellow, brimful, foaming at the fords. The semaphore on the mountain of the Pigeonnier was not visible; but across the bridge, where the Gunstett highway spanned the Sauer, gray masses of the Niederwald loomed through the rain. Somewhere in that spectral forest Prussian cavalry were hidden, watching the heights where our drenched divisions lay. Behind that forest a German army was massing, fresh from the combat in the north, where the tragedy of Wissembourg had been enacted only the day before, in the presence of the entire French army--the awful spectacle of a single division of seven thousand men suddenly enveloped and crushed by seventy thousand Germans. The rain fell steadily but less heavily. I went back to my instrument and called up the station on the Col du Pigeonnier, asking for information, but got no reply, the storm doubtless interfering. Officers of the Third Hussars were continually tramping up and down the muddy stairway, laughing, joking, swearing at the rain, or shouting for their horses, when the trumpets sounded in the street below. I watched the departing squadron, splashing away down the street, which was now running water like a river; then I changed my civilian clothes for a hussar uniform, sent a trooper to find me a horse, and sat down by the window to stare at the downpour and think how best I might carry out my instructions to a successful finish. The colony at La Trappe was, as far as I could judge, a product of conditions which had, a hundred years before, culminated in the French Revolution. Now, in 1870, but under different circumstances, all France was once more disintegrating socially. Opposition to the Empire, to the dynasty, to the government, had been seething for years; now the separate crystals which formed on the edges of the boiling under-currents began to grow into masses which, adhering to other masses, interfered with the healthy functions of national life. Until recently, however, while among the dissatisfied there existed a certain tendency towards cohesion, and while, moreover, adhesive forces mutually impelled separate groups of malcontents to closer union, the government found nothing alarming in the menaces of individuals or of isolated groups. The Emperor always counted on such opposition in Paris; the palace of the Tuileries was practically a besieged place, menaced always by the faubourgs--a castle before which lay eternally the sullen, unorganized multitude over which the municipal police kept watch. That opposition, hatred, and treason existed never worried the government, but that this opposition should remain unorganized occupied the authorities constantly. Groups of individuals who proclaimed themselves devotees of social theories interested us only when the groups grew large or exhibited tendencies to unite with similar groups. Clubs formed to discuss social questions were usually watched by the police; violent organizations were not observed very closely, but clubs founded upon moderate principles were always closely surveyed. In the faubourgs, where every street had its bawling orator, and where the red flag was waved when the community had become sufficiently drunk, the government was quietly content to ignore proceedings, wisely understanding that the mouths of street orators were the safety-valves of the faubourgs, and that through them the ebullitions of the under-world escaped with nothing more serious than a few vinous shrieks. There were, however, certain secret and semi-secret organizations which caused the government concern. First among these came the International Society of Workingmen, with all its affiliations--the "Internationale," as it was called. In its wake trailed minor societies, some mild and harmless, some dangerous and secret, some violent, advocating openly the destruction of all existing conditions. Small groups of anarchists had already attracted groups of moderate socialistic tendencies to them, and had absorbed them or tainted them with doctrines dangerous to the state. In time these groups began to adhere even more closely to the large bodies of the people; a party was born, small at first, embodying conflicting communistic principles. The government watched it. Presently it split, as do all parties; yet here the paradox was revealed of a small party splitting into two larger halves. To one of these halves adhered the Red Republicans, the government opposition of the Extreme Left, the Opportunists, the Anarchists, certain Socialists, the so-called Communards, and finally the vast mass of the sullen, teeming faubourgs. It became a party closely affiliated with the Internationale, a colossal, restless, unorganized menace, harmless only because unorganized. And the police were expected to keep it harmless. The other remaining half of the original party began to dwindle almost immediately, until it became only a group. _With one exception_, all those whom the police and the government regarded as inclined to violence left the group. There remained, _with this one exception_, a nucleus of earnest, thoughtful people whose creed was in part the creed of the Internationale, the creed of universal brotherhood, equality before the law, purity of individual living as an example and an incentive to a national purity. To this inoffensive group came one day a young widow, the Countess de Vassart, placing at their disposal her great wealth, asking only to be received among them as a comrade. Her history, as known to the police, was peculiar and rather sad: at sixteen she had been betrothed to an elderly, bull-necked colonel of cavalry, the notorious Count de Vassart, who needed what money she might bring him to maintain his reputation as the most brilliantly dissolute old rake in Paris. At sixteen, Éline de Trécourt was a thin, red-haired girl, with rather large, grayish eyes. Speed and I saw her once, sitting in her carriage before the Ministry of War a year after her marriage. There had been bad news from Mexico, and there were many handsome equipages standing at the gates of the war office, where lists of killed and wounded were posted every day. I noticed her particularly because of her reputed wealth and the evil reputation of her husband, who, it was said, was so open in his contempt for her that the very afternoon of their marriage he was seen publicly driving on the Champs-Élysées with a pretty and popular actress of the Odéon. As I passed, glancing up at her, the sadness of her face impressed me, and I remember wondering how much the death of her husband had to do with it--for his name had appeared in the evening papers under the heading, "Killed in Action." It was several years later before the police began to take an interest in the Comtesse Éline de Vassart. She had withdrawn entirely from society, had founded a non-sectarian free school in Passy, was interested in certain charities and refuges for young working-girls, when on a visit to England, she met Karl Marx, then a fugitive and under sentence of death. From that moment social questions occupied her, and her doings interested the police, especially when she returned to Paris and took her place once more in Royalist circles, where every baby was bred from the cradle to renounce the Tuileries, the Emperor, and all his works. Serious, tender-hearted, charitable, and intensely interested in all social reforms, she shocked the conservative society of the noble faubourg, aroused the distrust of the government, offended the Tuileries, and finally committed the mistake of receiving at her own house that notorious group of malcontents headed by Henri Rochefort, whose revolutionary newspaper, _La Marseillaise_, doubtless needed pecuniary support. Her dossier--for, alas! the young girl already had a dossier--was interesting, particularly in its summing-up of her personal character: "To the naive ignorance of a convent pensionnaire, she adds an innocence of mind, a purity of conduct, and a credulity which render her an easy prey to the adroit, who play upon her sympathies. She is dangerous only as a source of revenue for dangerous men." It was from her salon that young Victor Noir went to his death at Auteuil on the 10th of January; and possibly the shock of the murder and the almost universal conviction that justice under the Empire was hopeless drove the young Countess to seek a refuge in the country where, at her house of La Trappe, she could quietly devote her life to helping the desperately wretched, and where she could, in security, hold council with those who also had chosen to give their lives to the noblest of all works--charity and the propaganda of universal brotherhood. And here, at La Trappe, the young aristocrat first donned the robe of democracy, dedicated her life and fortune to the cause, and worked with her own delicate hands for every morsel of bread that passed her lips. Now this was all very well while it lasted, for her father, the choleric old Comte de Trécourt, had died rich, and the young girl's charities were doubled, and there was nobody to stay her hand or draw the generous purse-strings; nobody to advise her or to stop her. On the contrary, there were plenty of people standing around with outstretched, itching, and sometimes dirty hands, ready to snatch at the last centime. Who was there to administer her affairs, who among the generous, impetuous, ill-balanced friends that surrounded her? Not the noble-minded geographer, Elisée Réclus; not the fiery citizen-count, Rochefort; not the handsome, cultivated Gustave Flourens, already "fey" with the doom to which he had been born; not that kindly visionary, the Vicomte de Coursay-Delmont, now discarding his ancient title to be known only among his grateful, penniless patients as Doctor Delmont; and surely not Professor Tavernier, nor yet that militant hermit, the young Chevalier de Gray, calling himself plain Monsieur Bazard, who chose democracy instead of the brilliant career to which Grammont had destined him, and whose sensitive and perhaps diseased mind had never recovered from the shock of the murder of his comrade, Victor Noir. But the simple life at La Trappe, the negative protest against the Empire and all existing social conditions, the purity of motive, the serene and inspired self-abnegation, could not save the colony at La Trappe nor the young châtelaine from the claws of those who prey upon the innocence of the generous. And so came to this ideal community one John Buckhurst, a stranger, quiet, suave, deadly pale, a finely moulded man, with delicately fashioned hands and feet, and two eyes so colorless that in some lights they appeared to be almost sightless. In a month from that time he was the power that moved that community even in its most insignificant machinery. With marvellous skill he constructed out of that simple republic of protestants an absolute despotism. And he was the despot. The avowed object of the society was the advancement of universal brotherhood, of liberty and equality, the annihilation of those arbitrary barriers called national frontiers--in short, a society for the encouragement of the millennium, which, however, appeared to be coy. And before the eyes of his brother dreamers John Buckhurst quietly cancelled the entire programme at one stroke, and nobody understood that it was cancelled when, in a community founded upon equality and fraternity, he raised another edifice to crown it, a sort of working model as an example to the world, but _limited_. And down went democracy without a sound. This working model was a superior community which was established at the Breton home of the Countess de Vassart, a large stone house in the hamlet of Paradise, in Morbihan. An intimation from the Tuileries interrupted a meeting of the council at the house in Paradise; an arrest was threatened--that of Professor Réclus--and the indignant young Countess was requested to retire to her château of La Trappe. She obeyed, but invited her guests to accompany her. Among those who accepted was Buckhurst. About this time the government began to take a serious interest in John Buckhurst. On the secret staff of the Imperial Military Police were always certain foreigners--among others, myself and a young man named James Speed; and Colonel Jarras had already decided to employ us in watching Buckhurst, when war came on France like a bolt from the blue, giving the men of the Secret Service all they could attend to. In the shameful indecision and confusion attending the first few days after the declaration of war against Prussia, Buckhurst slipped through our fingers, and I, for one, did not expect to hear of him again. But I did not begin to know John Buckhurst, for, within three days after he had avoided an encounter with us, Buckhurst was believed to have committed one of the most celebrated crimes of the century. The secret history of that unhappy war will never be fully written. Prince Bismarck has let the only remaining cat out of the bag; the other cats are dead. Nor will all the strange secrets of the Tuileries ever be brought to light, fortunately. Still, at this time, there is no reason why it should not be generally known that the crown jewels of France were menaced from the very first by a conspiracy so alarming and apparently so irresistible that the Emperor himself believed, even in the beginning of the fatal campaign, that it might be necessary to send the crown jewels of France to the Bank of England for safety. On the 19th of July, the day that war was declared, certain of the crown jewels, kept temporarily at the palace of the Tuileries, were sent under heavy guards to the Bank of France. Every precaution was taken; yet the great diamond crucifix of Louis XI. was missing when the guard under Captain Siebert turned over the treasures to the governor of the Bank of France. Instantly absolute secrecy was ordered, which I, for one, believed to be a great mistake. Yet the Emperor desired it, doubtless for the same reasons which always led him to suppress any affair which might give the public an idea that the opposition to the government was worthy of the government's attention. So the news of the robbery never became public property, but from one end of France to the other the gendarmerie, the police, local, municipal, and secret, were stirred up to activity. Within forty-eight hours, an individual answering Buckhurst's description had sold a single enormous diamond for two hundred and fifty thousand francs to a dealer in Strasbourg, a Jew named Fishel Cohen, who, counting on the excitement produced by the war and the topsy-turvy condition of the city, supposed that such a transaction would create no interest. Mr. Cohen was wrong; an hour after he had recorded the transaction at the Strasbourg Diamond Exchange he and the diamond were on their way to Paris, in charge of a detective. A few hours later the stone was identified at the Tuileries as having been taken from the famous crucifix of Louis XI. From Fishel Cohen's agonized description of the man who had sold him the diamond, Colonel Jarras believed he recognized John Buckhurst. But how on earth Buckhurst had obtained access to the jewels, or how he had managed to spirit away the cross from the very centre of the Tuileries, could only be explained through the theory of accomplices among the trusted intimates of the imperial entourage. And if there existed such a conspiracy, who was involved? It is violating no secret now to admit that every soul in the Tuileries, from highest to lowest, was watched. Even the governor of the Bank of France did not escape the attentions of the secret police. For it was certain that somebody in the imperial confidence had betrayed that confidence in a shocking manner, and nobody could know how far the conspiracy had spread, or who was involved in the most daring and shameless robbery that had been perpetrated in France since Cardinal de Rohan and his gang stole the celebrated necklace of Marie Antoinette. Nor was it at all certain that the remaining jewels of the French crown were safe in Paris. The precautions taken to insure their safety, and the result of those precautions, are matters of history, but nobody outside of a small, strangely assorted company of people could know what actually happened to the crown jewels of France in 1870, or what pieces, if any, are still missing. My chase after Buckhurst began as soon as Colonel Jarras could summon me; and as Buckhurst had last been heard of in Strasbourg, I went after him on a train loaded with red-legged, uproarious soldiers, who sang all day: "Have you seen Bismarck Drinking in the gay café, With that other brother spark-- Monsieur Badinguet?" and had drunk themselves into a shameful frenzy long before the train thundered into Avricourt. I tracked Buckhurst to Morsbronn, where I lost all traces of him; and now here I was with my orders concerning the unfortunate people at La Trappe, staring out at the dismal weather and wondering where my wild-goose chase would end. I went to the door and called for the military telegraph operator, whose instrument I had been permitted to monopolize. He came, a pleasant, jaunty young fellow, munching a crust of dry bread and brushing the crumbs from his scarlet trousers. "In case I want to communicate with you I'll signal the tower on the Col du Pigeonnier," I said. "Come up to the loft overhead." The loft in the house which had now been turned into a cavalry barracks was just above my room, a large attic under the dripping gables, black with the stains of centuries, littered with broken furniture, discarded clothing, and the odds and ends cherished by the thrifty Alsatian peasant, who never throws away anything from the day of his birth to the day of his death. And, given a long line of forefathers equally thrifty, and an ancient high-gabled house where his ancestors first began collecting discarded refuse, the attic of necessity was a marvel of litter and decay, among which generations of pigeons had built nests and raised countless broods of squealing squabs. Into this attic we climbed, edged our way toward a high window out of which the leaded panes had long since tumbled earthward, and finally stood together, looking out over the mountains of the Alsatian frontier. The rain had ceased; behind the Col du Pigeonnier sunshine fell through a rift in the watery clouds. It touched the rushing river, shining on foaming fords where our cavalry pickets were riding in the valley mist. Somewhere up in the vineyards behind us an infantry band was playing; away among the wet hills to the left the strumming vibrations of wet drums marked the arrival of a regiment from goodness knows where; and presently we saw them, their gray overcoats and red trousers soaked almost black with rain, rifles en bandoulière, trudging patiently up the muddy slope above the town. Something in the plodding steps of those wet little soldiers touched me. Bravely their soaked drums battered away, bravely they dragged their clumsy feet after them, brightly and gayly the breaking sun touched their crimson forage-caps and bayonets and the swords of mounted officers; but to me they were only a pathetic troop of perplexed peasants, dragged out of the bosom of France to be huddled and herded in a strange pasture, where death watched them from the forest yonder, marking them for slaughter with near-sighted Teutonic eyes. A column of white cloud suddenly capped the rocks on the vineyard above. Bang! and something came whistling with a curious, bird-like cry over the village of Morsbronn, flying far out across the valley: and among the pines of the Prussian forest a point of flame flashed, a distant explosion echoed. Down in the street below us an old man came tottering from his little shop, peering sideways up into the sky. "Il pleut, berger," called out the operator beside me, in a bantering voice. "It will rain--bullets," said the old man, simply, and returned to his shop to drag out a chair on the doorsill and sit and listen to the shots which our cavalry outposts were exchanging with the Prussian scouts. "Poor old chap," said the operator; "it will be hard for him. He was with the Grand Emperor at Jena." "You speak as though our army was already on the run," I said. "Yes," he replied, indifferently, "we'll soon be on the run." After a moment I said: "I'm going to ride to La Trappe. I wish you would send those messages to Paris." "All right," he said. Half an hour later I rode out of Morsbronn, clad in the uniform of the Third Hussars, a disguise supposed to convey the idea to those at La Trappe that the army and not the police were responsible for their expulsion. The warm August sunshine slanted in my face as I galloped away up the vineyard road and out on to the long plateau where, on every hillock, a hussar picket sat his wiry horse, carbine poised, gazing steadily toward the east. Over the sombre Prussian forests mist hung; away to the north the sun glittered on the steel helmets and armor of the heavy cavalry, just arriving. And on the Col du Pigeonnier I saw tiny specks move, flags signalling the arrival of the Vicomte de Bonnemain with the "grosse cavalerie," the splendid cuirassier regiments destined in a few hours to join the cuirassiers of Waterloo, riding into that bright Valhalla where all good soldiers shall hear the last trumpet call, "Dismount!" With a lingering glance at the rivers which separated us from German soil, I turned my horse and galloped away into the hills. A moist, fern-bordered wood road attracted me; I reasoned that it must lead, by a short cut, across the hills to the military highway which passed between Trois-Feuilles and La Trappe. So I took it, and presently came into four cross-roads unknown to me. This grassy carrefour was occupied by a flock of turkeys, busily engaged in catching grasshoppers; their keeper, a prettily shaped peasant girl, looked up at me as I drew bridle, then quietly resumed the book she had been reading. "My child," said I, "if you are as intelligent as you are beautiful, you will not be tending other people's turkeys this time next year." "Merci, beau sabreur!" said the turkey-girl, raising her blue eyes. Then the lashes veiled them; she bent her head a little, turning it so that the curve of her cheeks gave to her profile that delicate contour which is so suggestive of innocence when the ears are small and the neck white. "My child," said I, "will you kindly direct me, with appropriate gestures, to the military highway which passes the Château de la Trappe?" II THE GOVERNMENT INTERFERES "There is a short cut across that meadow," said the young girl, raising a rounded, sun-tinted arm, bare to the shoulder. "You are very kind," said I, looking at her steadily. "And, after that, you will come to a thicket of white birches." "Thank you, mademoiselle." "And after that," she said, idly following with her blue eyes the contour of her own lovely arm, "you must turn to the left, and there you will cross a hill. You can see it from where we stand--" She glanced at me over her outstretched arm. "You are not listening," she said. I shifted a troubled gaze to the meadow which stretched out all glittering with moist grasses and tufts of rain-drenched wild flowers. The girl's arm slowly fell to her side, she looked up at me again, I felt her eyes on me for a moment, then she turned her head toward the meadow. A deadened report shook the summer air--the sound of a cannon fired very far away, perhaps on the citadel of Strasbourg. It was so distant, so indistinct, that here in this peaceful country it lingered only as a vibration; the humming of the clover bees was louder. Without turning my head I said: "It is difficult to believe that there is war anywhere in the world--is it not, mademoiselle?" "Not if one knows the world," she said, indifferently. "Do you know it, my child?" "Sufficiently," she said. She had opened again the book which she had been reading when I first noticed her. From my saddle I saw that it was Molière. I examined her, in detail, from the tips of her small wooden shoes to the scarlet velvet-banded skirt, then slowly upward, noting the laced bodice of velvet, the bright hair under the butterfly coiffe of Alsace, the delicate outline of nose and brow and throat. The ensemble was theatrical. "Why do you tend turkeys?" I asked. "Because it pleases me," she replied, raising her eyebrows in faint displeasure. "For that same reason you read Monsieur Molière?" I suggested. "Doubtless, monsieur." "Who are you?" "Is a passport required in France?" she replied, languidly. "Are you what you pretend to be, an Alsatian turkey tender?" "Parbleu! There are my turkeys, monsieur." "Of course, and there is your peasant dress and there are your wooden shoes, and there also, mademoiselle, are your soft hands and your accented speech and your plays of Molière." "You are very wise for a hussar," she said. "Perhaps," said I, "but I have asked you a question which remains parried." She balanced the hazel rod across her shoulders with a faintly malicious smile. "One might almost believe that you are not a hussar, but an officer of the Imperial Police," she said. [Illustration: "'ACROSS THAT MEADOW,' SAID THE YOUNG GIRL"] "If you think that," said I, "you should answer my question the sooner--unless you come from La Trappe. Do you?" "Sometimes." "Oh! And what do you do at the Château de la Trappe?" "I tend poultry--sometimes," she replied. "And at other times?" "I do other things, monsieur." "What things?" "What things? Mon Dieu, I read a little, as you perceive, monsieur." "Who are you?" I demanded. "Oh, a mere nobody in such learned company," she said, shaking her head with a mock humility that annoyed me intensely. "Very well," said I, conscious every moment of her pleasure in my discomfiture; "under the circumstances I am going to ask you to accept my escort to La Trappe; for I think you are Mademoiselle Elven, recently of the Odéon theatre." At this her eyes widened and the smile on her face became less genuine. "Indeed, I shall not go with you," she said. "I'm afraid I'll have to insist," said I. She still balanced her hazel rod across her shoulders, a smile curving her mouth. "Monsieur," she said, "do you ride through the world pressing every peasant girl you meet with such ardent entreaties? Truly, your fashion of wooing is not slow, but everybody knows that hussars are headlong gentlemen--'Nothing is sacred from a hussar,'" she hummed, deliberately, in a parody which made me writhe in my saddle. "Mademoiselle," said I, taking off my forage-cap, "your ridicule is not the most disagreeable incident that I expect to meet with to-day. I am attempting to do my duty, and I must ask you to do yours." "By taking a walk with you, beau monsieur?" "I'm afraid so." "And if I refuse?" "Then," said I, amiably, "I shall be obliged to set you on my horse." And I dismounted and went toward her. "Set me on--on that horse?" she repeated, with a disturbed smile. "Will you come on foot, then?" "No, I will not!" she said, with a click of her teeth. I looked at my watch--it lacked five minutes to one. "In five minutes we are going to start," said I, cheerfully, and stood waiting, twisting the gilt hilt-tassels of my sabre with nervous fingers. After a silence she said, very seriously, "Monsieur, would you dare use violence toward me?" "Oh, I shall not be very violent," I replied, laughing. I held the opened watch in my hand so that she could see the dial if she chose. "It is one o'clock," I said, closing the hunting-case with a snap. She looked me steadily in the eyes. "Will you come with me to La Trappe?" She did not stir. I stepped toward her; she gave me a breathless, defiant stare; then in an instant I caught her up and swung her high into my saddle, before either she or I knew exactly what had happened. Fury flashed up in her eyes and was gone, leaving them almost blank blue. As for me, amazed at what I had done, I stood at her stirrup, breathing very fast, with jaws set and chin squared. She was clever enough not to try to dismount, woman enough not to make an awkward struggle or do anything ungraceful. In her face I read an immense astonishment; fascination seemed to rivet her eyes on me, following my every movement as I shortened one stirrup for her, tightened the girths, and laid the bridle in her half-opened hand. Then, in silence, I led the horse forward through the open gate out into the wet meadow. Wading knee-deep through soaking foliage, I piloted my horse with its mute burden across the fields; and, after a few minutes a violent desire to laugh seized me and persisted, but I bit my lip and called up a few remaining sentiments of decency. As for my turkey-girl, she sat stiffly in the saddle, with a firmness and determination that proved her to be a stranger to horses. I scarcely dared look at her, so fearful was I of laughing. As we emerged from the meadow I heard the cannon sounding again at a great distance, and this perhaps sobered me, for presently all desire of laughter left me, and I turned into the road which led through the birch thicket, anxious to accomplish my mission and have done with it as soon as might be. "Are we near La Trappe?" I asked, respectfully. Had she pouted, or sulked, or burst into reproaches, I should have cared little--in fact, an outburst might have relieved me. But she answered me so sweetly, and, too, with such composure, that my heart smote me for what I had done to her and what I was still to do. "Would you rather walk?" I asked, looking up at her. "No, thank you," she said, serenely. So we went on. The spectacle of a cavalryman in full uniform leading a cavalry horse on which was seated an Alsatian girl in bright peasant costume appeared to astonish the few people we passed. One of these foot-farers, a priest who was travelling in our direction, raised his pallid visage to meet my eyes. Then he stole a glance at the girl in the saddle, and I saw a tint of faded color settle under his transparent skin. The turkey-girl saluted the priest with a bright smile. "Fortune of war, father," she said, gayly. "Behold! Alsace in chains." "Is she a prisoner?" said the priest, turning directly on me. Of all the masks called faces, never had I set eyes on such a deathly one, nor on such pale eyes, all silvery surface without depth enough for a spark of light to make them seem alive. "What do you mean by a prisoner, father?" I asked. "I mean a prisoner," he said, doggedly. "When the church cross-examines the government, the towers of Notre Dame shake," I said, pleasantly. "I mean no discourtesy, father; it is a proverb in Paris." "There is another proverb," observed the turkey-girl, placidly. "Once a little inhabitant of hell stole the key to paradise. His punishment was dreadful. They locked him in." I looked up at her, perplexed and irritated, conscious that she was ridiculing me, but unable to comprehend just how. And my irritation increased when the priest said, calmly, "Can I aid you, my child?" She shook her head with a cool smile. "I am quite safe under the escort of an officer of the Imperial--" "Wait!" I said, hastily, but she continued, "of the Imperial Military Police." Above all things I had not wanted it known that the Imperial Police were moving in this affair at La Trappe, and now this little fool had babbled to a strange priest--of all people in the world! "What have the police to do with this harmless child?" demanded the priest, turning on me so suddenly that I involuntarily took a step backward. "Is this the confessional, father?" I replied, sharply. "Go your way in peace, and leave to the police what alone concerns the police." "Render unto Cæsar," said the girl, quietly. "Good-bye, father." Turning to look again at the priest, I was amazed to find him close to me, too close for a man with such eyes in his head, for a man who moved so swiftly and softly, and, in spite of me, a nervous movement of my hand left me with my fingers on the butt of my pistol. "What the devil is all this?" I blurted out. "Stand aside, father. Do you think the Holy Inquisition is back in France? Stand aside then! I salute your cloth!" And I passed on ahead, one hand on the horse's neck, the other touching the visor of my scarlet forage-cap. Once I looked back. The priest was standing where I had passed him. We met a dozen people in all, I think, some of them peasants, one or two of the better class--a country doctor and a notary among them. None appeared to know my turkey-girl, nor did she even glance at them; moreover, all answered my inquiries civilly enough, directing me to La Trappe, and professing ignorance as to its inhabitants. "Why do all the people I meet carry bundles?" I demanded of the notary. "Mon Dieu, monsieur, they are too near the frontier to take risks," he replied, blinking through his silver-rimmed spectacles at my turkey-girl. "You mean to say they are running away from their village of Trois-Feuilles?" I asked. "Exactly," he said. "War is a rude guest for poor folk." Disgusted with the cowardice of the hamlet of Trois-Feuilles, I passed on without noticing the man's sneer. In a moment, however, he repassed me swiftly, going in the same direction as were we, toward La Trappe. "Wait a bit!" I called out. "What is your business in that direction, monsieur the notary?" He looked around, muttered indistinctly about having forgotten something, and started on ahead of us, but at a sharp "Stop!" from me he halted quickly enough. "Your road lies the other way," I observed, and, as he began to protest, I cut him short. "You change your direction too quickly to suit me," I said. "Come, my friend the weather-cock, turn your nose east and follow it or I may ask you some questions that might frighten you." And so I left him also staring after us, and I had half a mind to go back and examine his portfolio to see what a snipe-faced notary might be carrying about with him. When I looked up at my turkey-girl, she was sitting more easily in the saddle, head bent thoughtfully. "You see, mademoiselle, I take no chances of not finding my friends at home," I said. "What friends, monsieur?" "My friends at La Trappe." "Oh! And ... you think that the notary we passed might have desired to prepare them for your visit, monsieur?" "Possibly. The notary of Trois-Feuilles and the Château de la Trappe may not be unknown to each other. Perhaps even mademoiselle the turkey-girl may number the learned Trappists among her friends." "Perhaps," she said. Walking on along the muddy road beside her, arm resting on my horse's neck, I thought over again of the chances of catching Buckhurst, and they seemed slim, especially as after my visit the house at La Trappe would be vacant and the colony scattered, or at least out of French jurisdiction, and probably settled across the Belgian frontier. Of course, if the government ordered the expulsion of these people, the people must go; but I for one found the order a foolish one, because it removed a bait that might attract Buckhurst back where we stood a chance of trapping him. But in a foreign country he could visit his friends freely, and whatever movement he might ultimately contemplate against the French government could easily be directed from that paradise of anarchists, Belgium, without the necessity of his exposing himself to any considerable danger. I was sorry that affairs had taken this turn. A little breeze began blowing; the scarlet skirt of my turkey-girl fluttered above her wooden shoes, and on her head the silk bow quivered like a butterfly on a golden blossom. "They say when the Lord fashioned the first maid of Alsace half the angels cried themselves ill with jealousy," said I, looking up at her. "And the other half, monsieur?" "The sterner half started for Alsace in a body. They were controlled with difficulty, mademoiselle. That is why St. Peter was given a key to lock them in, not to lock us poor devils out." After a silence she said, musing: "It is a curious thing, but you speak as though you had seen better days." "No," I said, "I have never seen better days. I am slowly rising in the world. Last year I was a lieutenant; I am now inspector." "I meant," she said, scornfully, "that you had been well-born--a gentleman." "Are gentlemen scarce in the Imperial Military Police?" "It is not a profession that honors a man." "Of all people in the world," said I, "the police would be the most gratified to believe that this violent world needs no police." "Monsieur, there is another remedy for violence." "And what may that remedy be, mademoiselle?" "Non-resistance--absolute non-resistance," said the girl, earnestly, bending her pretty head toward me. "That is not human nature," I said, laughing. "Is the justification of human nature our aim in this world?" "Nor is it possible for mankind to submit to violence," I added. "I believe otherwise," she said, gravely. As we mounted the hill along a sandy road, bordered with pines and with cool, green thickets of broom and gorse, I looked up at her and said: "In spite of your theories, mademoiselle, you yourself refused to accompany me." "But I did not resist your violence," she replied, smiling. After a moment's silence I said: "For a disciple of a stern and colorless creed, you are very human. I am sorry that you believe it necessary to reform the world." She said, thoughtfully: "There is nothing joyless in my creed--above all, nothing stern. If it be fanaticism to desire for all the world that liberty of thought and speech and deed which I, for one, have assumed, then I am, perhaps, a fanatic. If it be fanaticism to detest violence and to deplore all resistance to violence, I am a very guilty woman, monsieur, and deserve ill of the Emperor's Military Police." This she said with that faintly ironical smile hovering sometimes in her eyes, sometimes on her lips, so that it was hard to face her and feel quite comfortable. I began, finally, an elaborate and logical argument, forgetting that women reason only with their hearts, and she listened courteously. To meet her eyes when I was speaking interrupted my train of thought, and often I was constrained to look out across the hills at the heavy, solid flanks of the mountains, which seemed to steady my logic and bring rebellious thought and wandering wisdom to obedience. I explained my theory of the acceptance of three things--human nature, the past, and the present. Given these, the solution of future problems must be a different solution from that which she proposed. At moments the solemn absurdity of it all came over me--the turkey-girl, with her golden head bent, her butterfly coiffe a-flutter, discussing ethics with an irresponsible fly-by-night, who happened at that period of his career to carry a commission in the Imperial Police. The lazy roadside butterflies flew up in clouds before the slow-stepping horse; the hill rabbits, rising to their hindquarters, wrinkled their whiskered noses at us; from every thicket speckled hedge-birds peered at us as we went our way solemnly deciding those eternal questions already ancient when the Talmud branded woman with the name of Lilith. At length, as we reached the summit of the sandy hill, "There is La Trappe, monsieur," said my turkey-girl, and once more stretched out her lovely arm. There appeared to be nothing mysterious about the house or its surroundings; indeed, a sunnier and more peaceful spot would be hard to find in that land of hills, ravines, and rocky woodlands, outposts of those cloudy summits soaring skyward in the south. The house itself was visible through gates of wrought iron, swinging wide between pillars of stone, where an avenue stretched away under trees to a granite terrace, glittering in the sun. And under the terrace a quiet pool lay reflecting tier on tier of stone steps which mounted to the bright esplanade above. There was no porter at the gate to welcome me or to warn me back; the wet road lay straight in front, barred only by sunbeams. "May we enter?" I asked, politely. She did not answer, and I led the horse down that silent avenue of trees towards the terrace and the glassy pool which mirrored the steps of stone. Masses of scarlet geraniums, beds of living coals, glowed above the terrace. As we drew nearer, the water caught the blaze of color, reflecting the splendor in subdued tints of smothered flame. And always, in the pool, I saw the terrace steps, reversed, leading down into depths of sombre fire. "And here we dismount," said I, and offered my aid. She laid her hands on my shoulders; I swung her to the ground, where her sabots clicked and her silver neck-chains jingled in the silence. I looked around. How intensely still was everything--the leaves, the water! The silent blue peaks on the horizon seemed to be watching me; the trees around me were so motionless that they also appeared to be listening with every leaf. This quarter of the world was too noiseless for me; there might have been a bird-note, a breeze to whisper, a minute stirring of unseen life--but there was not. "Is that house empty?" I asked, turning brusquely on my companion. "The Countess de Vassart will give you your answer," she replied. "Kindly announce me, then," I said, grimly, and together we mounted the broad flight of steps to the esplanade, above which rose the gray mansion of La Trappe. III LA TRAPPE There was a small company of people gathered at a table which stood in the cool shadows of the château's eastern wing. Towards these people my companion directed her steps; I saw her bend close to the ear of a young girl who had already turned to look at me. At the same instant a heavily built, handsome man pushed back his chair and stood up, regarding me steadily through his spectacles, one hand grasping the back of the seat from which he had risen. Presently the young girl to whom my companion of the morning had whispered rose gracefully and came toward me. Slender, yet with that charming outline of body which youth wears as a promise, she moved across the terrace in her flowing robe of crape, and welcomed me with a gesture and a pleasant word, which I scarcely heard, so stupidly I stood, silenced by the absolute loveliness of the girl. Did I say loveliness? No, not that, but something newer, something far more fresh, far sweeter, that made mere physical beauty a thing less vital than the colorless shadow of a crystal. She was not only beautiful, she was Beauty itself, incarnate, alive, soul and body. Later I noticed that she was badly sun-burned under the eyes, that her delicate nose was adorned by an adorable freckle, and that she had red hair.... Could this be the Countess de Vassart? What a change! I stepped forward to meet her, and took off my forage-cap. "Is it true, monsieur, that you have come to arrest us?" she asked, in a low voice. "Yes, madame," I replied, already knowing that she was the Countess. She hesitated; then: "Will you tell me your name? I am Madame de Vassart." Cap in hand I followed her to the table, where the company had already risen. The young Countess presented me with undisturbed simplicity; I bowed to my turkey-girl, who proved, after all, to be the actress from the Odéon, Sylvia Elven; then I solemnly shook hands with Dr. Leo Delmont, Professor Claude Tavernier, and Monsieur Bazard, ex-instructor at the Fontainebleau Artillery School, whom I immediately recognized as the snipe-faced notary I had met on the road. "Well, sir," exclaimed Dr. Delmont, in his deep, hearty voice, "if this peaceful little community is come under your government's suspicion, I can only say, Heaven help France!" "Is not that what we all say in these times, doctor?" I asked. "When I say 'Heaven help France!' I do not mean Vive l'Empereur!'" retorted the big doctor, dryly. Professor Tavernier, a little, gray-headed savant with used-up eyes, asked me mildly if he might know why they all were to be expelled from France. I did not reply. "Is thought no longer free in France?" asked Dr. Delmont, in his heavy voice. "Thought is free in France," I replied, "but its expression is sometimes inadvisable, doctor." "And the Emperor is to be the judge of when it is advisable to express one's thoughts?" inquired Professor Tavernier. "The Emperor," I said, "is generous, broad-minded, and wonderfully tolerant. Only those whose attitude incites to disorder are held in check." "According to the holy Code Napoléon," observed Professor Tavernier, with a shrug. "The code kills the body, Napoleon the soul," said Dr. Delmont, gravely. "It was otherwise with Victor Noir," suggested Mademoiselle Elven. "Yes," added Delmont, "he asked for justice and they gave him ... Pierre!" "I think we are becoming discourteous to our guest, gentlemen," said the young Countess, gently. I bowed to her. After a moment I said: "Doctor, if you do truly believe in that universal brotherhood which apparently even tolerates within its boundaries a poor devil of the Imperial Police, if your creed really means peace and not violence, suffering and patience, not provocation and revolt, demonstrate to the government by the example of your submission to its decrees that the theories you entertain are not the chimeras of generous but unbalanced minds." "We never had the faintest idea of resisting," said Monsieur Bazard, the notary, otherwise the Chevalier de Grey, a lank, hollow-eyed young fellow, already marked heavily with the ravages of pulmonary disease. But the fierce glitter in his eyes gave the lie to his words. "Yesterday, Madame la Comtesse," I said, turning to the Countess de Vassart, "the Emperor could easily afford to regard with equanimity the movement in which you are associated. To-day that is no longer possible." The young Countess gave me a bewildered look. "Is it true," she asked, "that the Emperor does not know we have severed all connection with the Internationale?" "If that is so," said I, "why does Monsieur Bazard return across the fields to warn you of my coming? And why do you harbor John Buckhurst at La Trappe? Do you not know he is wanted by the police?" "But we do not know why," said Dr. Delmont, bending forward and pouring himself a glass of red wine. This he drank slowly, eating a bit of black bread with it. "Monsieur Scarlett," said Mademoiselle Elven, suddenly, "why does the government want John Buckhurst?" "That, mademoiselle, is the affair of the government and of John Buckhurst," I said. "Pardon," interrupted Delmont, heavily, "it is the affair of every honest man and woman--where a Bonaparte is concerned." "I do not understand you, doctor," I said. "Then I will put it brutally," he replied. "We free people fear a family a prince of which is a common murderer." I did not answer; the world has long since judged the slayer of Victor Noir. After a troubled silence the Countess asked me if I would not share their repast, and I thanked her and took some bread and grapes and a glass of red wine. The sun had stolen into the corner where we had been sitting, and the Countess suggested that we move down to the lawn under the trees; so Dr. Delmont and Professor Tavernier lifted the table and bore it down the terrace steps, while I carried the chairs to the lawn. It made me uncomfortable to play the rôle I was playing among these misguided but harmless people; that I showed it in my face is certain, for the Countess looked up at me and said, smilingly: "You must not look at us so sorrowfully, Monsieur Scarlett. It is we who pity you." And I replied, "Madame, you are generous," and took my place among them and ate and drank with them in silence, listening to the breeze in the elms. Mademoiselle Elven, in her peasant's dress, rested her pretty arm across her chair and sighed. "It is all very well not to resist violence," she said, "but it seems to me that the world is going to run over us some day. Is there any harm in stepping out of the way, Dr. Delmont?" The Countess laughed outright. "Not at all," she said. "But we must not attempt to box the world's ears as we run. Must we, doctor?" Turning her lovely, sun-burned face to me, she continued: "Is it not charming here? The quiet is absolute. It is always still. We are absurdly contented here; we have no servants, you see, and we all plough and harrow and sow and reap--not many acres, because we need little. It is one kind of life, quite harmless and passionless, monsieur. I have been raking hay this morning. It is so strange that the Emperor should be troubled by the silence of these quiet fields--" The distress in her eyes lasted only a moment; she turned and looked out across the green meadows, smiling to herself. "At first when I came here from Paris," she said, "I was at a loss to know what to do with all this land. I owe much happiness to Dr. Delmont, who suggested that the estate, except what we needed, might be loaned free to the people around us. It was an admirable thought; we have no longer any poor among us--" She stopped short and gave me a quick glance. "Please understand me, Monsieur Scarlett. I make no merit of giving what I cannot use. That would be absurd." "The world knows, madame, that you have given all you have," I said. "Then why is your miserable government sending her into exile?" broke in Monsieur Bazard, harshly. "I will tell you," I said, surprised at his tone and manner. "The colony at La Trappe is the head and centre of a party which abhors war, which refuses resistance, which aims, peacefully perhaps, at political and social annihilation. In time of peace this colony is not a menace; in time of war it is worse than a menace, monsieur." I turned to Dr. Delmont. "With the German armies massing behind the forest borders yonder, it is unsafe for the government to leave you here at La Trappe, doctor. You are _too neutral_." "You mean that the government fears treason?" demanded the doctor, growing red. "Yes," I said, "if you insist." The Countess had turned to me in amazement. "Treason!" she repeated, in an unsteady voice. "Is it treason for a small community to live quietly here in the Alsatian hills, harming nobody, asking nothing save freedom of thought? Is it treason for a woman of the world to renounce the world? Is it treason for her to live an unostentatious life and use her fortune to aid others to live? Treason! Monsieur, the word has an ugly ring to me. I am a soldier's daughter!" There was something touchingly illogical in the last words--this young apostle of peace naïvely displaying her credentials as though the mere word "soldier" covered everything. "Your government insults us all," said Bazard, between his teeth. Mademoiselle Elven leaned forward, her blue eyes shining angrily. "Because I have learned that the boundaries of nations are not the frontiers of human hearts, am I a traitor? Because I know no country but the world, no speech but the universal speech that one reads in a brother's eyes, because I know no barriers, no boundaries, no limits to human brotherhood, am I a traitor?" She made an exquisite gesture with half-open arms; all the poetry of the Théâtre Français was in it. "Look at me! I had all that life could give, save freedom, and that I have now--freedom in thought, in speech, in action, freedom to love as friends love, freedom to love as lovers love. Ah, more! freedom from caste, from hate and envy and all suspicion, freedom to give, freedom to receive, freedom in life and in death! Am I a traitor? What do I betray? Shame on your Emperor!" The young Countess, too, had risen in her earnestness and had laid one slender, sun-tanned hand upon the table. "War?" she said. "What is this war to us? The Emperor? What is he to us? We who have set a watch on the world's outer ramparts, guarding the white banner of universal brotherhood! What is this war to us!" "Are you not a native of France?" I asked, bluntly. "I am a native of the world, monsieur." "Do you mean to say that you care nothing for your own birthland?" I demanded, sharply. "I love the world--all of it--every inch--and if France is part of the world, so is this Prussia that we are teaching our poor peasants to hate." "Madame," said I, "the women of France to-day think differently. Our Creator did not make love of country a trite virtue, but a passion, and set it in our bodies along with our other passions. If in you it is absent, that concerns pathology, not the police!" I did not mean to wound her--I was intensely in earnest; I wanted her to show just a single glimmer of sympathy for her own country. It seemed as though I could not endure to look at such a woman and know that the primal passion, born with those who had at least wept for their natal Eden, was meaningless to her. She had turned a trifle pale; now she sank back into her chair, looking at me with those troubled gray eyes in which Heaven itself had set truth and loyalty. I said: "I do not believe that you care nothing for France. Train and curb and crush your own heart as you will, you cannot drive out that splendid earth-born humanity which is part of us--else we had all been born in heaven!" "Come," said Bazard, in a rage-choked voice, "let it end here, Monsieur Scarlett. If the government sends you here as a spy and an official, pray remember that you are not also sent as a missionary." My ears began to burn. "That is true," I said, looking at the Countess, whose face had become expressionless. "I ask your pardon for what I have said and ... for what I am about to do." There was a silence. Then, in a low voice, I placed them under formal arrest, one by one, touching each lightly on the shoulder as prescribed by the code. And when I came to the Countess, she rose, without embarrassment. I moved my lips and stretched out my arm, barely touching her. I heard Bazard draw a deep breath. She was my prisoner. "I must ask you to prepare for a journey," I said. "You have your own horses, of course?" Without answering, Dr. Delmont walked away towards the stables; Professor Tavernier followed him, head bent. "We shall want very little," said the Countess, calmly, to Mademoiselle Elven. "Will you pack up what we need? And you, Monsieur Bazard, will you be good enough to go to Trois-Feuilles and hire old Brauer's carriage?" Turning to me she said: "I must ask for a little delay; I have no longer a carriage of my own. We keep two horses to plough and draw grain; they can be harnessed to the farm-wagon for our effects." Monsieur Bazard's hectic visage flushed, he gave me a crazy stare, and, for a moment, I fancied there was murder in his bright eyes. Doubtless, however, devotion to his creed of non-resistance conquered the impulse, and he walked quickly away across the meadows, his skeleton hands clinched under his loose sleeves. Mademoiselle Elven also departed tip-tap! up the terrace in her coquettish wooden shoes, leaving me alone with the Countess under the trees. "Madame," said I, "before I affix the government seals to the doors of your house I must ask you to conduct me to the roof of the east wing." She bent her head in acquiescence; I followed her up the terrace into a stone hall where the dark Flemish pictures stared back at me and my spurred heels jingled in the silence. Up, up, and still up, winding around a Gothic spiral, then through a passage under the battlements and out across the slates, with wind and setting sun in my face and the sighing tree-tops far below. Without glancing at me the Countess walked to the edge of the leads and looked down along the sheer declivity of the stone facade. Slender, exquisite, she stood there, a lonely shape against the sky, and I saw the sun glowing on her burnished red-gold hair, and her sun-burned hands, half unclosed, hanging at her side. South, north, and west the mountains towered, purple as the bloom on October grapes; the white arm of the semaphore on the Pigeonnier was tinted with rose color; green velvet clothed the world, under a silver veil. In the north a spark of white fire began to flicker on the crest of Mount Tonnerre. It was the mirror of a heliograph flashing out across leagues of gray-green hills to the rocky pulpit of the Pigeonnier. I unslung my glasses and levelled them. The shining arm of the semaphore fell to a horizontal position and remained rigid; down came the signal flags, up went a red globe and two cones. Another string of flags blossomed along the bellying halliards; the white star flashed twice on Mount Tonnerre and went out. Instantly I drew a flag from my pouch, tied it to the point of my sabre, and stepped out along the projecting snout of a gargoyle. Below, under my feet, the tree-tops rustled in the wind. I had been flagging the Pigeonnier vigorously for ten minutes without result, when suddenly a dark dot appeared on the tower beneath the semaphore, then another. My glasses brought out two officers, one with a flag; and, still watching them through the binoculars, I signalled slowly, using my free hand: "This is La Trappe. Telegraph to Morsbronn that the inspector of Imperial Police requires a peloton of mounted gendarmes at once." Then I sat down on the sun-warmed slates and waited, amusing myself by watching the ever-changing display of signal flags on the distant observatory. It may have been half a minute before I saw two officers advance to the railing of the tower and signal: "Attention, La Trappe!" Pencil and pad on my knee, I managed to use my field-glasses and jot down the message: "Peloton of mounted gendarmes goes to you as soon as possible. Repeat." I repeated, then raised my glasses. Another message came by flag: "Attention, La Trappe. Uhlans reported near the village of Trois-Feuilles; have you seen them?" Prussian Uhlans! Here in the rear of our entire army! Nonsense! And I signalled a vigorous: "No. Have you?" To which came the disturbing reply: "Be on your guard. We are ordered to display the semaphore at danger. Report is credited at headquarters. Repeat." I repeated. Raising my glasses again, I could plainly see a young officer, an unlighted cigar between his teeth, jotting down our correspondence, while the other officer who had flagged me furled up his flags and laid them aside, yawning and stretching himself to his full height. So distinctly did my powerful binoculars bring the station into range that I could even see the younger officer light a match, which the wind extinguished, light another, and presently blow a tiny cloud of smoke from his cigar. The Countess de Vassart had come up to where I was standing on the gargoyle, balanced over the gulf below. Very cautiously I began to step backward, for there was not room to turn around. "Would you care to look at the Pigeonnier, madame?" I asked, glancing at her over my shoulder. "I beg you will be careful," she said. "It is a useless risk to stand out there." I had never known the dread of great heights which many people feel, and I laughed and stepped backward, expecting to land on the parapet behind me. But the point of my scabbard struck against the battlements, forcing me outward; I stumbled, staggered, and swayed a moment, striving desperately to recover my balance; I felt my gloved fingers slipping along the smooth face of the parapet, my knees gave way with horror; then my fingers clutched something--an arm--and I swung back, slap against the parapet, hanging to that arm with all my weight. A terrible effort and I planted my boots on the leads and looked up with sick eyes into the eyes of the Countess. "Can you stand it?" I groaned, clutching her arm with my other hand. "Yes--don't be afraid," she said, calmly. "Draw me toward you; I cannot draw you over." "Press your knees against the battlements," I gasped. She bent one knee and wedged it into a niche. "Don't be afraid; you are not hurting me," she said, with a ghastly smile. I raised one hand and caught her shoulder, then, drawn forward, I seized the parapet in both arms, and vaulted to the slate roof. A fog seemed to blot my eyes; I shook from hair to heel and laid my head against the solid stone, while the blank, throbbing seconds past. The Countess stood there, shocked and breathless. I saw her sleeve in rags, and the snowy skin all bruised beneath. I tried to thank her; we both were badly shaken, and I do not know that she even heard me. Her burnished hair had sagged to her white neck; she twisted it up with unsteady fingers and turned away. I followed slowly, back through the dim galleries, and presently she seemed to remember my presence and waited for me as I felt my way along the passage. "Every little shadow is a yawning gulf," I said. "My nerve is gone, madame. The banging of my own sabre scares me." I strove to speak lightly, but my voice trembled, and so did hers when she said: "High places always terrify me; something below seems to draw me. Did you ever have that dreadful impulse to sway forward into a precipice?" There was a subtle change in her voice and manner, something almost friendly in her gray eyes as she looked curiously at me when we came into the half-light of an inner gallery. What irony lurks in blind chance that I should owe this woman my life--this woman whose home I had come to confiscate, whose friends I had arrested, who herself was now my prisoner, destined to the shame of exile! Perhaps she divined my thoughts--I do not know--but she turned her troubled eyes to the arched window, where a painted saint imbedded in golden glass knelt and beat his breast with two heavy stones. "Madame," I said, slowly, "your courage and your goodness to me have made my task a heavy one. Can I lighten it for you in any manner?" She turned towards me, almost timidly. "Could I go to Morsbronn before--before I cross the frontier? I have a house there; there are a few things I would like to take--" She stopped short, seeing, doubtless, the pain of refusal in my face. "But, after all, it does not matter. I suppose your orders are formal?" "Yes, madame." "Then it is a matter of honor?" "A soldier is always on his honor; a soldier's daughter will understand that." "I understand," she said. After a moment she smiled and moved forward, saying: "How the world tosses us--flinging strangers into each other's arms, parting brothers, leading enemies across each other's paths! One has a glimpse of kindly eyes--and never meets them again. Often and often I have seen a good face in the lamp-lit street that I could call out to, 'Be friends with me!' Then it is gone--and I am gone--Oh, it is curiously sad, Monsieur Scarlett!" "Does your creed teach you to care for everybody, madame?" "Yes--I try to. Some attract me so strongly--some I pity so. I think that if people only knew that there was no such thing as a stranger in the world, the world might be a paradise in time." "It might be, some day, if all the world were as good as you, madame." "Oh, I am only a perplexed woman," she said, laughing. "I do so long for the freedom of all the world, absolute individual liberty and no law but that best of all laws--the law of the unselfish." We had stopped, by a mutual impulse, at the head of the stone stairway. "Why do you shelter such a man as John Buckhurst?" I asked, abruptly. She raised her eyes to me with perfect composure. "Why do you ask?" "Because I have come here from Paris to arrest him." She bent her head thoughtfully and laid the tips of her fingers on the sculptured balustrade. "To me," she said, "there's no such thing as a political crime." "It is not for a political crime that we want John Buckhurst," I said, watching her. "It is for a civil outrage." Her face was like marble; her hands tightened on the fretted carving. "What crime is he charged with?" she asked, without moving. "He is charged with being a common thief," I said. Now there was color enough in her face, and to spare, for the blood-stained neck and cheek, and even the bare shoulder under the torn crape burned pink. "It is brutal to make such a charge!" she said. "It is shameful!--" her voice quivered. "It is not true! Monsieur, give me your word of honor that the government means what it says and nothing more!" "Madame," I said, "I give my word of honor that no political crime is charged against that man." "Will you pledge me your honor that if he answers satisfactorily to that false charge of theft, the government will let him go free?" "I will take it upon myself to do so," said I. "But what in Heaven's name is this man to you, madame? He is a militant anarchist, whose creed is not yours, whose propaganda teaches merciless violence, whose programme is terror. He is well known in the faubourgs; Belleville is his, and in the Château Rouge he has pointed across the river to the rich quarters, calling it the promised land! Yet here, at La Trappe, where your creed is peace and non-resistance, he is welcomed and harbored, he is deferred to, he is made executive head of a free commune which he has turned into a despotism ... for his own ends!" She was gazing at me with dilated eyes, hands holding tight to the balustrade. "Did you not know that?" I asked, astonished. "No," she said. "You are not aware that John Buckhurst is the soul and centre of the Belleville Reds?" "It is--it is false!" she stammered. "No, madame, it is true. He wears a smug mask here; he has deceived you all." She stood there, breathing rapidly, her head high. "John Buckhurst will answer for himself," she said, steadily. "When, madame?" For answer she stepped across the hall and laid one hand against the blank stone wall. Then, reaching upward, she drew from between the ponderous blocks little strips of steel, colored like mortar, dropping them to the stone floor, where they rang out. When she had flung away the last one, she stepped back and set her frail shoulder to the wall; instantly a mass of stone swung silently on an unseen pivot, a yellow light streamed out, and there was a tiny chamber, illuminated by a lamp, and a man just rising from his chair. IV PRISONERS Instantly I recognized in him the insolent priest who had confronted me on my way to La Trappe that morning. I knew him, although now he was wearing neither robe nor shovel-hat, nor those square shoes too large to buckle closely over his flat insteps. And he knew me. He appeared admirably cool and composed, glancing at the Countess for an instant with an interrogative expression; then he acknowledged my presence by bowing almost humorously. "This is Monsieur Scarlett, of the Imperial Military Police," said the Countess, in a clear voice, ending with that slightly rising inflection which demands an answer. "Mr. Buckhurst," I said, "I am an Inspector of Military Police, and I cannot begin to tell you what a pleasure this meeting is to me." "I have no doubt of that, monsieur," said Buckhurst, in his smooth, almost caressing tones. "It, however, inconveniences me a great deal to cross the frontier to-day, even in your company, otherwise I should have surrendered with my confrères." "But there is no question of _your_ crossing the frontier, Mr. Buckhurst," I said. His colorless eyes sought mine, then dropped. They were almost stone white in the lamp-light--white as his delicately chiselled face and hands. "Are we not to be exiled?" he asked. "_You_ are not," I said. "Am I not under arrest?" I stepped forward and placed him formally under arrest, touching him slightly on the shoulder. He did not move a muscle, yet, beneath the thin cloth of his coat I could divine a frame of iron. "Your creed is one of non-resistance to violence," I said--"is it not?" "Yes," he replied. I saw that gray ring around the pale pupil of his eyes contracting, little by little. "You have not asked me why I arrest you," I suggested, "and, monsieur, I must ask you to step back from that table--quick!--don't move!--not one finger!" For a second he looked into the barrel of my pistol with concentrated composure, then glanced at the table-drawer which he had jerked open. A revolver lay shining among the litter of glass tubes and papers in the drawer. The Countess, too, saw the revolver and turned an astonished face to my prisoner. "Who brought you here?" asked Buckhurst, quietly of me. "I did," said the Countess, her voice almost breaking. "Tell this man and his government that you are ready to face every charge against your honor! There is a dreadful mistake; they--they think you are--" "A thief," I interposed, with a smile. "The government only asks you to prove that you are not." Slowly Buckhurst turned his eyes on the Countess; the faintest glimmer of white teeth showed for an instant between the gray lines that were his lips. "So _you_ brought this man here?" he said. "Oh, I am glad to know it." "Then you cannot be that same John Buckhurst who stands in the tribune of the Château Rouge and promises all Paris to his chosen people," I remarked, smiling. "No," he said, slowly, "I cannot be that man, nor can I--" "Stop! Stand back from that table!" I cried. "I beg your pardon," he said, coolly. "Madame," said I, without taking my eyes from him, "in a community dedicated to peace, a revolver is an anachronism. So I think--if you move I will shoot you, Mr. Buckhurst!--so I think I had better take it, table-drawer and all--" "Stop!" said Buckhurst. "Oh no, I can't stop now," said I, cheerfully, "and if you attempt to upset that lamp you will make a sad mistake. Now walk to the door! Turn your back! Go slowly!--halt!" With the table-drawer under one arm and my pistol-hand swinging, I followed Buckhurst out into the hall. Daylight dazzled me; it must have affected Buckhurst, too, for he reached out to the stone balustrade and guided himself down the steps, five paces in front of me. Under the trees on the lawn, beside the driveway, I saw Dr. Delmont standing, big, bushy head bent thoughtfully, hands clasped behind his back. Near him, Tavernier and Bazard were lifting a few boxes into a farm-wagon. The carriage from Trois-Feuilles was also there, a stumpy Alsatian peasant on the box. But there were yet no signs of the escort of gendarmes which had been promised me. As Buckhurst appeared, walking all alone ahead of me, Dr. Delmont looked up with a bitter laugh. "So they found you, too? Well, Buckhurst, this is too bad. They might have given you one more day on your experiments." "What experiments?" I asked, glancing at the bottles and retorts in the table-drawer. "Nitrogen for exhausted soil," said the Countess, quietly. I set the table-drawer on the grass, rested my pistol on my hip, and looked around at my prisoners, who now were looking intently at me. "Gentlemen," said I, "let me warn you not to claim comradeship with Mr. Buckhurst. And I will show you one reason why." I picked up from the table-drawer a little stick about five inches long and held it up. "What is that, doctor? You don't know? Oh, you think it might be some sample of fertilizer containing concentrated nitrogen? You are mistaken, it is not nitrogen, but nitro-glycerine." Buckhurst's face changed slightly. "Is it not, Mr. Buckhurst?" I asked. He was silent. "Would you permit me to throw this bit of stuff at your feet?" And I made a gesture. The superb nerve of the man was something to remember. He did not move, but over his face there crept a dreadful pallor, which even the others noticed, and they shrank away from him, shocked and amazed. "Here, gentlemen," I continued, "is a box with a German label--'Oberlohe, Hanover.' The silicious earth with which nitro-glycerine is mixed to make dynamite comes from Oberlohe, in Hanover." I laid my pistol on the table, struck a match, and deliberately lighted my stick of dynamite. It burned quietly with a brilliant flame, and I laid it on the grass and let it burn out like a lump of Greek fire. "Messieurs," I said, cocking and uncocking my pistol, "it is not because this man is a dangerous, political criminal and a maker of explosives that the government has sent me here to arrest him ... or kill him. It is because he is a common thief,... a thief who steals crucifixes,... like this one--" I brushed aside a pile of papers in the drawer and drew out a big gold crucifix, marvellously chiselled from a lump of the solid metal.... "A thief," I continued, "who strips the diamonds from crucifixes,... as this has been stripped,... and who sells a single stone to a Jew in Strasbourg, named Fishel Cohen,... now in prison to confront our friend Buckhurst." In the dead silence I heard Dr. Delmont's heavy breathing. Tavernier gave a dry sob and covered his face with his thin hands. The young Countess stood motionless, frightfully white, staring at Buckhurst, who had folded his arms. Sylvia Elven touched her, but the Countess shook her off and walked straight to Buckhurst. "Look at me," she said. "I have promised you my friendship, my faith and trust and support. And now I say to you, I believe in you. Tell them where that crucifix came from." Buckhurst looked at me, long enough to see that the end of his rope had come. Then he slowly turned his deadly eyes on the girl before him. Scarlet to the roots of her hair, she stood there, utterly stunned. The white edges of Buckhurst's teeth began to show again; for an instant I thought he meant to strike her. Then the sudden double beat of horses' hoofs broke out along the avenue below, and, through the red sunset I saw a dozen horsemen come scampering up the drive toward us. "They've sent me lancers instead of gendarmes for your escort," I remarked to Dr. Delmont; at the same moment I stepped out into the driveway to signal the riders, raising my hand. Instantly a pistol flashed--then another and another, and a dozen harsh voices shouted: "Hourra! Hourra! Preussen!" "Mille tonnerre!" roared Delmont; "the Prussians are here!" "Look out! Stand back there! Get the women back!" I cried, as an Uhlan wheeled his horse straight through a bed of geraniums and fired his horse-pistol at me. Delmont dragged the young Countess to the shelter of an elm; Sylvia Elven and Tavernier followed; Buckhurst ran to the carriage and leaped in. "No resistance!" bellowed Delmont, as Bazard snatched up the pistol I had taken from Buckhurst. But the invalid had already fired at a horseman, and had gone down under the merciless hoofs with a lance through his face. My first impulse was to shoot Buckhurst, and I started for him. Then, in front of me, a horse galloped into the table and fell with a crash, hurling his rider at my feet. I can see him yet sprawling there on the lawn, a lank, red-faced fellow, his helmet smashed in, and his spurred boots sticking fast in the sod. Helter-skelter through the trees came the rest of the Uhlans, shouting their hoarse "Hourra! Hourra! Preussen!"--white-and-black pennons streaming from their lance-heads, pistols flashing in the early dusk. I ran past Bazard's trampled body and fired at an Uhlan who had seized the horses which were attached to the carriage where Buckhurst sat. The Uhlan's horse reared and plunged, carrying him away at a frightful pace, and I do not know whether I hit him or not, but he dropped his pistol, and I picked it up and fired at another cavalryman who shouted and put his horse straight at me. Again I ran around the wagon, through a clump of syringa bushes, and up the stone steps to the terrace, and after me galloped one of those incomparable cossack riders--an Uhlan, lance in rest, setting his wiry little horse to the stone steps with a loud "Hourra!" It was too steep a grade for the gallant horse. I flung my pistol in the animal's face and the poor brute reared straight up and fell backward, rolling over and over with his unfortunate rider, and falling with a tremendous splash into the pool below. "In God's name stop that!" roared Delmont, from below. "Give up, Scarlett! They mean us no harm!" I could see the good doctor on the lawn, waving his handkerchief frantically at me; in a group behind stood the Countess and Sylvia; Tavernier was kneeling beside Bazard's body; two Uhlans were raising their stunned comrade from the wreck of the table; other Uhlans cantered toward the foot of the terrace above which I stood. "Come down, hussar!" called an officer. "We respect your uniform." "Will you parley?" I asked, listening intently for the gallop of my promised gendarmes. If I could only gain time and save Buckhurst. He was there in the carriage; I had seen him spring into it when the Germans burst in among the trees. "Foulez-fous fous rendre? Oui ou non?" shouted the officer, in his terrible French. "Eh bien,... non!" I cried, and ran for the château. I heard the Uhlans dismount and run clattering and jingling up the stone steps. As I gained the doorway they shot at me, but I only fled the faster, springing up the stairway. Here I stood, sabre in hand, ready to stop the first man. Up the stairs rushed three Uhlans, sabres shining in the dim light from the window behind me; I laid my forefinger flat on the blade of my sabre and shortened my arm for a thrust--then there came a blinding flash, a roar, and I was down, trying to rise, until a clinched fist struck me in the face and I fell flat on my back. Without any emotion whatever I saw an Uhlan raise his sabre to finish me; also I saw a yellow-and-black sleeve interposed between death and myself. "No butchery!" growled the big officer who had summoned me from the lawn. "Cursed pig, you'd sabre your own grandmother! Lift him, Sepp! You, there, Loisel!--lift him up. Is he gone?" "He is alive, Herr Rittmeister," said a soldier, "but his back is broken." "It isn't," I said. "Herr Je!" muttered the Rittmeister; "an eel, and a Frenchman, and nine long lives! Here, you hussar, what's the matter with you?" "One of them shot me; I thought it was to be sabres," said I, weakly. "And why the devil wasn't it sabres!" roared the officer, turning on his men. "One to three--and six more below! Sepp, you disgust me. Carry him out!" I groaned as they lifted me. "Easy there!" growled the officer, "don't pull him that way. Now, young hell-cat, set your teeth; you have eight more lives yet." They got me out to the terrace, and carried me to the lawn. One of the men brought a cup of water from the pool. "Herr Rittmeister," I said, faintly, "I had a prisoner here; he should be in the carriage. Is he?" The officer walked briskly over to the carriage. "Nobody here but two women and a scared peasant!" he called out. As I lay still staring up into the sky, I heard the Rittmeister addressing Dr. Delmont in angry tones. "By every law of civilized war I ought to hang you and your friend there! Civilians who fire on troops are treated that way. But I won't. Your foolish companion lies yonder with a lance through his mouth. He's dead; I say nothing. For you, I have no respect. But I have for that hell-cat who did his duty. You civilians--you go to the devil!" "Are not your prisoners sacred from insult?" asked the doctor, angrily. "Prisoners! _My_ prisoners! You compliment yourself! Loisel! Send those impudent civilians into the house! I won't look at them! They make me sick!" The astonished doctor attempted to take his stand by me, offering his services, but the troopers hustled him and poor Tavernier off up the terrace steps. "The two ladies in the carriage, Herr Rittmeister?" said a cavalryman, coming up at salute. "What? Ladies? Oh yes." Then he muttered in his mustache: "Always around--always everywhere. They can't stay there. I want that carriage. Sepp!" "At orders, Herr Rittmeister!" "Carry that gentleman to the carriage. Place Schwartz and Ruppert in the wagon yonder. Get straw--you, Brauer, bring straw--and toss in those boxes, if there is room. Where's Hofman?" "In the pool, Herr Rittmeister." "Take him out," said the officer, soberly. "Uhlans don't abandon their dead." Two soldiers lifted me again and bore me away in the darkness. I was perfectly conscious. And all the while I was listening for the gallop of my gendarmes, not that I cared very much, now that Buckhurst was gone. "Herr Rittmeister," I said, as they laid me in the carriage, "ask the Countess de Vassart if she will let me say good-bye to her." "With pleasure," said the officer, promptly. "Madame, here is a polite young gentleman who desires to make his adieux. Permit me, madame--he is here in the dark. Sepp! fall back! Loisel, advance ten paces! Halt!" "Is it you, Monsieur Scarlett?" came an unsteady voice, from the darkness. "Yes, madame. Can you forgive me?" "Forgive you? My poor friend, I have nothing to forgive. Are you badly hurt, Monsieur Scarlett?" "I don't know," I muttered. Suddenly the chapel bell of La Trappe rang out a startling peal; the Prussian captain shouted: "Stop that bell! Shoot every civilian in the house!" But the Uhlans, who rushed up the terrace, found the great doors bolted and the lower windows screened with steel shutters. On the battlements of the south wing a red radiance grew brighter; somebody had thrown wood into the iron basket of the ancient beacon, and set fire to it. "That teaches me a lesson!" bawled the enraged Rittmeister, shaking his fist up at the brightening alarm signal. He vaulted into his saddle, wheeled his horse and rode up to the peasant, Brauer, who, frightened to the verge of stupidity, sat on the carriage-box. "Do you know the wood-road that leads to Gunstett through the foot-hills?" he demanded, controlling his fury with a strong effort. The blank face of the peasant was answer enough; the Rittmeister glared around; his eyes fell on the Countess. "You know this country, madame?" "Yes, monsieur." "Will you set us on our way through the Gunstett hill-road?" "No." The chapel bell was clanging wildly; the beacon shot up in a whirling column of sparks and red smoke. "Put that woman into the carriage!" bellowed the officer. "I'm cursed if I leave her to set the whole country yapping at our heels! Loisel, put her in beside the prisoner! Madame, it is useless to resist. Hark! What's that sound of galloping?" I listened. I heard nothing save the clamor of the chapel bell. An Uhlan laid a heavy hand on the shoulder of the listening Countess; she tried to draw back, but he pushed her brutally into the carriage, and she stumbled and fell into the cushions beside me. "Uhlans, into your saddles!" cried the Rittmeister, sharply. "Two men to the wagon!--a man on the box there! Here you, Jacques Bonhomme, drive carefully or I'll hang you higher than the Strasbourg clock. Are the wounded in the straw? Sepp, take the riderless horses. Peloton, attention! Draw sabres! March! Trot!" Fever had already begun to turn my head; the jolting of the carriage brought me to my senses at times; at times, too, I could hear the two wounded Uhlans groaning in the wagon behind me, the tramping of the cavalry ahead, the dull rattle of lance butts in the leather stirrup-boots. If I could only have fainted, but I could not, and the agony grew so intense that I bit my lip through to choke the scream that strained my throat. Once the carriage stopped; in the darkness I heard somebody whisper: "There go the French riders!" And I fancied I heard a far echo of hoof-strokes along the road to La Trappe. It might have been the fancy of an intermittent delirium; it may have been my delayed gendarmes--I never knew. And the carriage presently moved on more smoothly, as though we were now on one of those even military high-roads which traverse France from Luxembourg to the sea. Which way we were going I did not know, I did not care. Absurdly mingled with sick fancies came flashes of reason, when I could see the sky frosted with silver, and little, bluish stars peeping down. At times I recognized the mounted men around me as Prussian Uhlans, and weakly wondered by what deviltry they had got into France, and what malignant spell they cast over the land that the very stones did not rise up and smite them from their yellow-and-black saddles. Once--it was, I think, very near daybreak--I came out of a dream in which I was swimming through oceans of water, drinking as I swam. The carriage had stopped; I could not see the lancers, but presently I heard them all talking in loud, angry voices. There appeared to be some houses near by; I heard a dog barking, a great outcry of pigs and feathered fowls, the noise of a scuffle, a trampling of heavy boots, a shot! Then the terrible voice of the Rittmeister: "Hang that man to his barn gate! Pig of an assassin, I'll teach you to murder German soldiers!" A woman began to scream without ceasing. "Burn that house!" bellowed the Rittmeister. Through the prolonged screaming I heard the crash of window-glass; presently a dull red light grew out of the gloom, brighter and brighter. The screaming never ceased. "Uhlans! Mount!" came the steady voice of the Rittmeister; the carriage started. Almost at the word the darkness turned to flame; against the raging furnace of a house on fire I saw the figure of a man, inky black, hanging from the high cross-bar of the cow-yard gate, and past him filed the shadowy horsemen, lances slanting backward from their stirrups. The last I remember was seeing the dead man's naked feet--for they hanged him in his night-shirt--and the last I heard was that awful screaming from the red shadows that flickered across the fields of uncut wheat. For presently my madness began again, and again I was bathed to the mouth in cold, sweet waters, and I drank as I swam lazily in the sunshine. My next lucid interval came from pain almost unendurable. We were fording a river in bright starlight; the carriage bumped across the stones, water washed and slopped over the carriage floor. To right and left, Prussian lancers were riding, and I saw the water boiling under their horses and their long lances aslant the stars. But there were more horsemen now, scores and scores of them, trampling through the shallow river. And beyond I could see a line of cannon, wallowing through the water, shadowy artillerymen clinging to forge and caisson, mounted men astride straining teams, tall officers on either flank, sitting their horses motionless in mid-stream. The carriage stopped. "Are you suffering?" came a low voice, close to my ear. "Madame, could I have a little of that water?" I muttered. Very gently she laid me back. I was entirely without power to move below my waist, or to support my body. She filled my cap with river water and held it while I drank. After I had my fill she bathed my face, passing her wet hands through my hair and over my eyes. The carriage moved on. [Illustration: "TO RIGHT AND LEFT, PRUSSIAN LANCERS WERE RIDING"] After a while she whispered. "Are you awake?" "Yes, madame." "See the dawn--how red it is on the hills! There are vineyards there on the heights,... and a castle,... and soldiers moving out across the river meadows." The rising sun was shining in my eyes as we came to a halt before a small stone bridge over which a column of cavalry was passing--Prussian hussars, by their crimson dolmans and little, flat busbies. Our Uhlan escort grouped themselves about us to watch the hussars defile at a trot, and I saw the Rittmeister rigidly saluting their standards as they bobbed past above a thicket of sabres. "What are these Uhlans doing?" broke in a nasal voice behind us; an officer, followed by two orderlies and a trumpeter, came galloping up through the mud. "Who's that--a dead Frenchman?" demanded the officer, leaning over the edge of the carriage to give me a near-sighted stare. Then he saw the Countess, stared at her, and touched the golden peak of his helmet. "At your service, madame," he said. "Is this officer dead?" "Dying, general," said the Rittmeister, at salute. "Then he will not require these men. Herr Rittmeister, I take your Uhlans for my escort. Madame, you have my sympathy; can I be of service?" He spoke perfect French. The Countess looked up at him in a bewildered way. "You cannot mean to abandon this dying man here?" she asked. There was a silence, broken brusquely by the Rittmeister. "That Frenchman did his duty!" "Did he?" said the general, staring at the Countess. "Very well; I want that carriage, but I won't take it. Give the driver a white flag, and have him drive into the French lines. Herr Rittmeister, give your orders! Madame, your most devoted!" And he wheeled his beautiful horse and trotted off down the road, while the Rittmeister hastily tied a handkerchief to a stick and tossed it up to the speechless peasant on the box. "Morsbronn is the nearest French post!" he said, in French. Then he bent from his horse and looked down at me. "You did your duty!" he snapped, and, barely saluting the Countess, touched spurs to his mount and disappeared, followed at a gallop by his mud-splashed Uhlans. V THE IMMORTALS When I became conscious again I was lying on a table. Two men were leaning over me; a third came up, holding a basin. There was an odor of carbolic in the air. The man with the basin made a horrid grimace when he caught my eye; his face was a curious golden yellow, his eyes jet black, and at first I took him for a fever phantom. Then my bewildered eyes fastened on his scarlet fez, pulled down over his left ear, the sky-blue Zouave jacket, with its bright-yellow arabesques, the canvas breeches, leggings laced close over the thin shins and ankles of an Arab. And I knew him for a soldier of African riflemen, one of those brave children of the desert whom we called "Turcos," and whose faith in the greatness of France has never faltered since the first blue battalion of Africa was formed under the eagles of the First Empire. "Hallo, Mustapha!" I said, faintly; "what are they doing to me now?" The Turco's golden-bronze visage relaxed; he saluted me. "Macache sabir," he said; "they picked a bullet from your spine, my inspector." An officer in the uniform of a staff-surgeon came around the table where I was lying. "Bon!" he exclaimed, eying me sharply through his gold-rimmed glasses. "Can you feel your hind-legs now, young man?" I could feel them all too intensely, and I said so. The surgeon began to turn down his shirt-sleeves and button his cuffs, saying, "You're lucky to have a pain in your legs." Turning to the Turco, he added, "Lift him!" And the giant rifleman picked me up and laid me in a long chair by the window. "Your case is one of those amusing cases," continued the surgeon, buckling on his sword and revolver; "very amusing, I assure you. As for the bullet, I could have turned it out with a straw, only it rested there _exactly_ where it stopped the use of those long legs of yours!--a fine example of temporary reflex paralysis, and no hemorrhage to speak of--nothing to swear about, young man. By-the-way, you ought to go to bed for a few days." He clasped his short baldric over his smartly buttoned tunic. The room was shaking with the discharges of cannon. "A millimetre farther and that bullet would have cracked your spine. Remember that and keep off your feet. Ouf! The cannon are tuning up!" as a terrible discharge shattered the glass in the window-panes beside me. "Where am I, doctor?" I asked. "Parbleu, in Morsbronn! Can't you hear the orchestra, zim-bam-zim! The Prussians are playing their Wagner music for us. Here, swallow this. How do you feel now?" "Sleepy. Did you say a day or two, doctor?" "I said a week or two--perhaps longer. I'll look in this evening if I'm not up to my chin in amputations. Take these every hour if in pain. Go to sleep, my son." With a paternal tap on my head, he drew on his scarlet, gold-banded cap, tightened the check strap, and walked out of the room. Down-stairs I heard him cursing because his horse had been shot. I never saw him again. Dozing feverishly, hearing the cannon through troubled slumber, I awoke toward noon quite free from any considerable pain, but thirsty and restless, and numbed to the hips. Alarmed, I strove to move my feet, and succeeded. Then, freed from the haunting terror of paralysis, I fell to pinching my legs with satisfaction, my eyes roving about in search of water. The room where I lay was in disorder; it appeared to be completely furnished with well-made old pieces, long out of date, but not old enough to be desirable. Chairs, sofas, tables were all fashioned in that poor design which marked the early period of the Consulate; the mirror was a fine sheet of glass imbedded in Pompeian and Egyptian designs; the clock, which had stopped, was a meaningless lump of gilt and marble, supported on gilt sphinxes. Over the bed hung a tarnished canopy broidered with a coronet, which, from the strawberry leaves and the pearls raised above them, I took to be the coronet of a count of English origin. The room appeared to be very old, and I knew the house must have stood for centuries somewhere along the single street of Morsbronn, though I could not remember seeing any building in the village which, judging from the exterior, seemed likely to contain such a room as this. The nearer and heavier cannon-shots had ceased, but the window-sashes hummed with the steady thunder of a battle going on somewhere among the mountains. Knowing the Alsatian frontier fairly well, I understood that a battle among the mountains must mean that our First Corps had been attacked, and that we were on the defensive on French soil. The booming of the guns was unbroken, as steady and sustained as the eternal roar of a cataract. At moments I believed that I could distinguish the staccato crashes of platoon firing, but could not be certain in the swelling din. As I lay there on my long, cushioned chair, burning with that insatiable thirst which, to thoroughly appreciate, one must be wounded, the door opened and a Turco soldier came into the room and advanced toward me on tip-toe. He wore full uniform, was fully equipped, crimson chechia, snowy gaiters, and terrible sabre-bayonet. I beckoned him, and the tall, bronzed fellow came up, smiling, showing his snowy, pointed teeth under a crisp beard. "Water, Mustapha," I motioned with stiffened lips, and the good fellow unslung his blue water-bottle and set it to my burning mouth. "Merci, mon brave!" I said. "May you dwell in Paradise with Ali, the fourth Caliph, the Lion of God!" The Turco stared, muttered the Tekbir in a low voice, bent and kissed my hands. "Were you once an officer of our African battalions?" he asked, in the Arab tongue. "Sous-officier of spahi cavalry," I said, smiling. "And you are a Kabyle mountaineer from Constantine, I see." "It is true as I recite the fatha," cried the great fellow, beaming on me. "We Kabyles love our officers and bear witness to the unity of God, too. I am a marabout, my inspector, Third Turcos, and I am anxious to have a Prussian ask me who were my seven ancestors." The music of his long-forgotten tongue refreshed me; old scenes and memories of the camp at Oran, the never-to-be-forgotten cavalry with the scarlet cloaks, rushed on me thick and fast; incidents, trivial matters of the bazaars, faces of comrades dead, came to me in flashes. My eyes grew moist, my throat swelled, I whimpered: "It is all very well, mon enfant, but I'm here with a hole in me stuffed full of lint, and you have your two good arms and as many legs with which to explain to the Prussians who your seven ancestors may be. Give me a drink, in God's name!" Again he held up the blue water-bottle, saying, gravely: "We both worship the same God, my inspector, call Him what we will." After a moment I said: "Is it a battle or a bousculade? But I need not ask; the cannon tell me enough. Are they storming the heights, Mustapha?" "Macache comprendir," said the soldier, dropping into patois. "There is much noise, but we Turcos are here in Morsbronn, and we have seen nothing but sparrows." I listened for a moment; the sound of the cannonade appeared to be steadily receding westward. "It seems to me like retreat!" I said, sharply. "Ritrite? Quis qui ci, ritrite?" I looked at the simple fellow with tears in my eyes. "You would not understand if I told you," said I. "Are you detailed to look after me?" He said he was, and I informed him that I needed nobody; that it was much more important for everybody that he should rejoin his battalion in the street below, where even now I could hear the Algerian bugles blowing a silvery sonnerie--"Garde à vous!" "I am Salah Ben-Ahmed, a marabout of the Third Turcos," he said, proudly, "and I have yet to explain to these Prussians who my seven ancestors were. Have I my inspector's permission to go?" He was fairly trembling as the imperative clangor of the bugles rang through the street; his fine nostrils quivered, his eyes glittered like a cobra's. "Go, Salah Ben-Ahmed, the marabout," said I, laughing. The soldier stiffened to attention; his bronzed hand flew to his scarlet fez, and, "Salute! O my inspector!" he cried, sonorously, and was gone at a bound. That breathless unrest which always seizes me when men are at one another's throats set me wriggling and twitching, and peering from the window, through which I could not see because of the blinds. Command after command was ringing out in the street below. "Forward!" shouted a resonant voice, and "Forward! forward! forward!" echoed the voices of the captains, distant and more distant, then drowned in the rolling of kettle-drums and the silvery clang of Moorish cymbals. The band music of the Algerian infantry died away in the distant tumult of the guns; faintly, at moments, I could still hear the shrill whistle of their flutes, the tinkle of the silver chimes on their _toug_; then a blank, filled with the hollow roar of battle, then a clear note from their reeds, a tinkle, an echoing chime--and nothing, save the immense monotone of the cannonade. I had been lying there motionless for an hour, my head on my hand, snivelling, when there came a knock at the door, and I hastily buttoned my blood-stained shirt to the throat, threw a tunic over my shoulders, and cried, "Come in!" A trick of memory and perhaps of physical weakness had driven from my mind all recollection of the Countess de Vassart since I had come to my senses under the surgeon's probe. But at the touch of her fingers on the door outside, I knew her--I was certain that it could be nobody but my Countess, who had turned aside in her gentle pilgrimage to lift this Lazarus from the waysides of a hostile world. She entered noiselessly, bearing a bowl of broth and some bread; but when she saw me sitting there with eyes and nose all red and swollen from snivelling she set the bowl on a table and hurried to my side. "What is it? Is the pain so dreadful?" she whispered. "No--oh no. I'm only a fool, and quite hungry, madame." She brought the broth and bread and a glass of the most exquisite wine I ever tasted--a wine that seemed to brighten the whole room with its liquid sunshine. "Do you know where you are?" she asked, gravely. "Oh yes--in Morsbronn." "And in whose house, monsieur?" "I don't know--" I glanced instinctively at the tarnished coronet on the canopy above the bed. "Do you know, Madame la Comtesse?" "I ought to," she said, faintly amused. "I was born in this room. It was to this house that I desired to come before--my exile." Her eyes softened as they rested first on one familiar object, then on another. "The house has always been in our family," she said. "It was once one of those fortified farms in the times when every hamlet was a petty kingdom--like the King of Yvetôt's domain. Doubtless the ancient Trécourts also wore cotton night-caps for their coronets." "I remember now," said I, "a stone turret wedged in between two houses. Is this it?" "Yes, it is all that is left of the farm. My ancestors built this crazy old row of houses for their tenants." After a silence I said, "I wish I could look out of the window." She hesitated. "I don't suppose it could harm you?" "It will harm me if I don't," said I. She went to the window and folded up the varnished blinds. "How dreadful the cannonade is growing," she said. "Wait! don't think of moving! I will push you close to the window, where you can see." The tower in which my room was built projected from the rambling row of houses, so that my narrow window commanded a view of almost the entire length of the street. This street comprised all there was of Morsbronn; it lay between a double rank of houses constructed of plaster and beams, and surmounted by high-pointed gables and slated or tiled roofs, so fantastic that they resembled steeples. Down the street I could see the house that I had left twenty-four hours before, never dreaming what my journey to La Trappe held in store for me. One or two dismounted soldiers of the Third Hussars sat in the doorway, listening to the cannon; but, except for these listless troopers, a few nervous sparrows, and here and there a skulking peasant, slinking off with a load of household furniture on his back, the street was deserted. Everywhere shutters had been put up, blinds closed, curtains drawn. Not a shred of smoke curled from the chimneys of these deserted houses; the heavy gables cast sinister shadows over closed doors and gates barred and locked, and it made me think of an unseaworthy ship, prepared for a storm, so bare and battened down was this long, dreary commune, lying there in the August sun. Beside the window, close to my face, was a small, square loop-hole, doubtless once used for arquebus fire. It tired me to lean on the window, so I contented myself with lying back and turning my head, and I could see quite as well through the loop-hole as from the window. Lying there, watching the slow shadows crawling out over the sidewalk, I had been for some minutes thinking of my friend Mr. Buckhurst, when I heard the young Countess stirring in the room behind me. "You are not going to be a cripple?" she said, as I turned my head. "Oh no, indeed!" said I. "Nor die?" she added, seriously. "How could a man die with an angel straight from heaven to guard him! Pardon, I am only grateful, not impertinent." I looked at her humbly, and she looked at me without the slightest expression. Oh, it was all very well for the Countess de Vassart to tuck up her skirts and rake hay, and live with a lot of half-crazy apostles, and throw her fortune to the proletariat and her reputation to the dogs. She could do it; she was Éline Cyprienne de Trécourt, Countess de Vassart; and if her relatives didn't like her views, that was their affair; and if the Faubourg Saint-Germain emitted moans, that concerned the noble faubourg and not James Scarlett, a policeman attached to a division of paid mercenaries. Oh yes, it was all very well for the Countess de Vassart to play at democracy with her unbalanced friends, but it was also well for Americans to remember that she was French, and that this was France, and that in France a countess was a countess until she was buried in the family vault, whether she had chosen to live as a countess or as Doll Dairymaid. The young girl looked at me curiously, studying me with those exquisite gray eyes of hers. Pensive, distraite, she sat there, the delicate contour of her head outlined against the sunny window, which quivered with the slow boom! boom! of the cannonade. "Are you English, Monsieur Scarlett?" she asked, quietly. "American, madame." "And yet you take service under an emperor." "I have taken harder service than that." "Of necessity?" "Yes, madame." She was silent. "Would it amuse you to hear what I have been?" I said, smiling. "That is not the word," she said, quietly. "To hear of hardship helps one to understand the world." The cannonade had been growing so loud again that it was with difficulty that we could make ourselves audible to each other. The jar of the discharges began to dislodge bits of glass and little triangular pieces of plaster, and the solid walls of the tower shook till even the mirror began to sway and the tarnished gilt sconces to quiver in their sockets. "I wish you were not in Morsbronn," I said. "I feel safer here in my own house than I should at La Trappe," she replied. She was probably thinking of the dead Uhlan and of poor Bazard; perhaps of the wretched exposure of Buckhurst--the man she had trusted and who had proved to be a swindler, and a murderous one at that. Suddenly a shell fell into the court-yard opposite, bursting immediately in a cloud of gravel which rained against our turret like hail. Stunned for an instant, the Countess stood there motionless, her face turned towards the window. I struggled to sit upright. She looked calmly at me; the color came back into her face, and in spite of my remonstrance she walked to the window, closed the heavy outside shutters and the blinds. As she was fastening them I heard the whizzing quaver of another shell, the racket of its explosion, the crash of plaster. [Illustration: "A COMPANY OF TURCOS CAME UP"] "Where is the safest place for us to stay?" she asked. Her voice was perfectly steady. "In the cellar. I beg you to go at once." Bang! a shell blew up in a shower of slates and knocked a chimney into a heap of bricks. "Do you insist on staying by that loop-hole?" she asked, without a quiver in her voice. "Yes, I do," said I. "Will you go to the cellar?" "No," she said, shortly. I saw her walk toward the rear of the room, hesitate, sink down by the edge of the bed and lay her face in the pillow. Two shells burst with deafening reports in the street; the young Countess covered her face with both hands. Shell after shell came howling, whistling, whizzing into the village; the two hussars had disappeared, but a company of Turcos came up on a run and began to dig a trench across the street a hundred yards west of our turret. How they made the picks and shovels fly! Shells tore through the air over them, bursting on impact with roof and chimney; the Turcos tucked up their blue sleeves, spat on their hands, and dug away like terriers, while their officers, smoking the eternal cigarette, coolly examined the distant landscape through their field-glasses. Shells rained fast on Morsbronn; nearer and nearer bellowed the guns; the plaster ceiling above my head cracked and fell in thin flakes, filling the room with an acrid, smarting dust. Again and again metal fragments from shells rang out on the heavy walls of our turret; a roof opposite sank in; flames flickered up through clouds of dust; a heavy yellow smoke, swarming with sparks, rolled past my window. Down the street a dull sound grew into a steady roar; the Turcos dropped pick and shovel and seized their rifles. "Garde! Garde à vous!" rang their startled bugles; the tumult increased to a swelling uproar, shouting, cheering, the crash of shutters and of glass, and-- "The Prussians!" bellowed the captain. "Turcos--charge!" His voice was lost; a yelling mass of soldiery burst into view; spiked helmets and bayonets glittering through the smoke, the Turcos were whirled about like brilliant butterflies in a tornado; the fusillade swelled to a stupefying din, exploding in one terrible crash; and, wrapped in lightning, the Prussian onset passed. From the stairs below came the sound of a voiceless struggle, the trample and panting and clicking of steel, till of a sudden a voice burst out into a dreadful screaming. A shot followed--silence--another shot--then the stairs outside shook under the rush of mounting men. As the door burst open I felt a touch on my arm; the Countess de Vassart stood erect and pale, one slender, protecting hand resting lightly on my shoulder; a lieutenant of Prussian infantry confronted us; straight, heavy sword drawn, rigid, uncompromising, in his faultless gray-and-black uniform, with its tight, silver waist-sash. "I do not have you thrown into the street," he said to me, in excellent French, "because there has been no firing from the windows in this village. Otherwise--other measures. Be at ease, madame, I shall not harm your invalid." He glanced at me out of his near-sighted eyes, dropped the point of his sword to the stone floor, and slowly caressed his small, blond mustache. "How many troops passed through here yesterday morning?" he asked. I was silent. "There was artillery, was there not?" I only looked at him. "Do you hear?" he repeated, sharply. "You are a prisoner, and I am questioning you." "You have that useless privilege," I observed. "If you are insolent I will have you shot!" he retorted, staring haughtily at me. I glanced out of the window. There was a pause; the hand of the Countess de Vassart trembled on my shoulder. Under the window strident Prussian bugles were blowing a harsh summons; the young officer stepped to the loop-hole and looked out, then hastily removed his helmet and thrust his blond head through the smoky aperture. "March those prisoners in below!" he shouted down. Then he withdrew his head, put on his polished helmet of black leather, faced with the glittering Prussian eagle, and tightened the gold-scaled cheek-guard. A moment later came a trample of feet on the landing outside, the door was flung open, and three prisoners were brutally pushed into the room. I tried to turn and look at them; they stood in the dusk near the bed, but I could only make out that one was a Turco, his jacket in rags, his canvas breeches covered with mud. Again the lieutenant came to the loop-hole and glanced out, then shook his head, motioning the soldiers back. "It is too high and the arc of fire too limited," he said, shortly. "Detail four men to hold the stairs, ten men and a sergeant in the room below, and you'd better take your prisoners down there. Bayonet that Turco tiger if he shows his teeth again. March!" As the prisoners filed out I turned once more and thought I recognized Salah Ben-Ahmed in the dishevelled Turco, but could not be certain, so disfigured and tattered the soldier appeared. "Here, you hussar prisoner!" cried the lieutenant, pointing at me with his white-gloved finger, "turn your head and busy yourself with what concerns you. And you, madame," he added, pompously, "see that you give us no trouble and stay in this room until you have permission to leave." "Are--are you speaking to me, monsieur?" asked the Countess, amazed. Then she rose, exasperated. "Your insolence disgraces your uniform," she said. "Go to your French prisoners and learn the rudiments of courtesy!" The officer reddened to his colorless eyebrows; his little, near-sighted eyes became stupid and fixed; he smoothed the blond down on his upper lip with hesitating fingers. Suddenly he turned and marched out, slamming the door violently behind him. At this impudence the eyes of the Countess began to sparkle, and an angry flush mounted to her cheeks. "Madame," said I, "he is only a German boy, unbalanced by his own importance and his first battle. But he will never forget this lesson; let him digest it in his own manner." And he did, for presently there came a polite knock at the door, and the lieutenant reappeared, bowing rigidly, one hand on his sword-hilt, the other holding his helmet by the gilt spike. "Lieutenant von Eberbach present to apologize," he said, jerkily, red as a beet. "Begs permission to take a half-dozen of wine; men very thirsty." "Lieutenant von Eberbach may take the wine," said the Countess, calmly. "Rudeness without excuse!" muttered the boy; "beg the graciously well-born lady not to judge my regiment or my country by it. Can Lieutenant von Eberbach make amends?" "The Lieutenant has made them," said the Countess. "The merciful treatment of French prisoners will prove his sincerity." The lad made another rigid bow and got himself out of the door with more or less dignity, and the Countess drew a chair beside my sofa-chair and sat down, eyes still bright with the cinders of a wrath I had never suspected in her. Together we looked down into the street. Under the window the flat, high-pitched drums began to rattle; deep voices shouted; the whole street undulated with masses of gray-and-black uniforms, moving forward through the smoke. A superb regimental band began to play; the troops broke out into heavy cheering. "Vorwärts! Vorwärts!" came the steady commands. The band passed with a dull flash of instruments; a thousand brass helmet-spikes pricked the smoke; the tread of the Prussian infantry shook the earth. "The invasion has begun," I said. Her face was expressionless, save for the brightness of her eyes. And now another band sounded, playing "I Had a Comrade!" and the whole street began to ring with the noble marching-song of the coming regiment. "Bavarian infantry," I whispered, as the light-blue columns wheeled around the curve and came swinging up the street; for I could see the yellow crown on the collars of their tunics, and the heavy leather helmets, surmounted by chenille rolls. Behind them trotted a squadron of Uhlans on their dainty horses, under a canopy of little black-and-white flags fluttering from the points of their lances. "Uhlans," I murmured. I heard the faint click of her teeth closing tightly. Hussars in crimson tunics, armed with curious weapons, half carbine, half pistol, followed the Uhlans, filling the smoky street with a flood of gorgeous color. Suddenly a company of Saxon pioneers arrived on the double-quick, halted, fell out, and began to break down the locked doors of the houses on either side of the street. At the same time Prussian infantry came hurrying past, dragging behind them dozens of vehicles, long hay-wagons, gardeners' carts, heavy wheelbarrows, even a dingy private carriage, with tarnished lamps, rocking crazily on rusty springs. The soldiers wheeled these wagons into a double line, forming a complete chain across the street, where the Turcos had commenced to dig their ditch and breastworks--a barricade high enough to check a charge, and cunningly arranged, too, for the wooden abatis could not be seen from the eastern end of the street, where a charge of French infantry or cavalry must enter Morsbronn if it entered at all. We watched the building of the barricade, fascinated. Soldiers entered the houses on either side of the street, only to reappear at the windows and thrust out helmeted heads. More soldiers came, running heavily--the road swarmed with them; some threw themselves flat under the wagons, some knelt, thrusting their needle-guns through the wheel-spokes; others remained standing, rifles resting over the rails of the long, skeleton hay-wagons. "Something is going to happen," I said, as a group of smartly uniformed officers appeared on the roof of the opposite house and hastily scrambled to the ridge-pole. Something was surely going to happen; the officers were using their field-glasses and pointing excitedly across the roof-tops; the windows of every house as far as I could see were black with helmets; a regiment in column came up on the double, halted, disintegrated, melting away behind walls, into yards, doorways, gardens. A colonel of infantry, splendidly mounted, drew bridle under our loop-hole and looked up at the officers on the roof across the way. "Attention, you up there!" he shouted. "Is it infantry?" "No!" bawled an officer, hollowed hand to his cheek. "It's their brigade of heavy cavalry coming like an earthquake!" "The cuirassiers!" I cried, electrified. "It's Michel's cuirassiers, madame! And--oh, the barricade!" I groaned, twisting my fingers in helpless rage. "They'll be caught in a trap; they'll die like flies in that street." "This is horrible!" muttered the girl. "Don't they know the street is blocked? Can't they find out before they ride into this ravine below us? Will they all be killed here under our windows?" She sprang to her feet, stood a moment, then stepped swiftly forward into the angle of the tower. "Look there!" she cried, in terror. "Push my chair--quick!" I said. She dragged it forward. An old house across the street, which had been on fire, had collapsed into a mere mound of slate, charred beams, and plaster. Through the brown heat which quivered above the ruins I could see out into the country. And what I saw was a line of hills, crowned with smoke, a rolling stretch of meadow below, set here and there with shot-torn trees and hop-poles; and over this uneven ground two regiments of French cuirassiers and two squadrons of lancers moving slowly forward as though on parade. Above them, around them, clouds of smoke puffed up suddenly and floated away--the shells from Prussian batteries on the heights. Long, rippling crashes broke out, belting the fields with smoky breastworks, where a Prussian infantry regiment, knee-deep in smoke, was firing on the advancing cavalry. The cuirassiers moved on slowly, the sun a blinding sheet of fire on their armor; now and then a horse tossed his beautiful head, now and then a steel helmet turned, flashing. Grief-stricken, I groaned aloud: "Madame, there rides the finest cavalry in the world!--to annihilation." How could I know that they were coming deliberately to sacrifice themselves?--that they rode with death heavy on their souls, knowing well there was no hope, understanding that they were to die to save the fragments of a beaten army? Yet something of this I suspected, for already I saw the long, dark Prussian lines overlapping the French flank; I heard the French mitrailleuses rattling through the cannon's thunder, and I saw an entire French division, which I did not then know to be Lartigue's, falling back across the hills. And straight into the entire Prussian army rode the "grosse cavallerie" and the lancers. "They are doomed, like their fathers," I muttered--"sons of the cuirassiers of Waterloo. See what men can do for France!" The young Countess started and stood up very straight. "Look, madame!" I said, harshly--"look on the men of France! You say you do not understand the narrow love of country! Look!" "It is too pitiful, too horrible," she said, hoarsely. "How the horses fall in that meadow!" "They will fall thicker than that in this street!" "See!" she cried; "they have begun to gallop! They are coming! Oh, I cannot look!--I--I cannot!" Far away, a thin cry sounded above the cannon din; the doomed cuirassiers were cheering. It was the first charge they had ever made; nobody had ever seen cavalry of their arm on any battle-field of Europe since Waterloo. Suddenly their long, straight blades shot into the air, the cuirassiers broke into a furious gallop, and that mass of steel-clad men burst straight down the first slope of the plateau, through the Prussian infantry, then wheeled and descended like a torrent on Morsbronn. In the first ranks galloped the giants of the Eighth Cuirassiers, Colonel Guiot de la Rochere at their head; the Ninth Cuirassiers thundered behind them; then came the lancers under a torrent of red-and-white pennons. Nothing stopped them, neither hedges nor ditches nor fallen trees. Their huge horses bounded forward, manes in the wind, tails streaming, iron hoofs battering the shaking earth; the steel-clad riders, sabres pointed to the front, leaned forward in their saddles. Now among the thicket of hop-vines long lines of black arose; there was a flash, a belt of smoke, another flash--then the metallic rattle of bullets on steel breastplates. Entire ranks of cuirassiers went down in the smoke of the Prussian rifles, the sinister clash and crash of falling armor filled the air. Sheets of lead poured into them; the rattle of empty scabbards on stirrups, the metallic ringing of bullets on helmet and cuirass, the rifle-shots, the roar of the shells exploding swelled into a very hell of sound. And, above the infernal fracas rose the heavy cheering of the doomed riders. Into the deep, narrow street wheeled the horsemen, choking road and sidewalk with their galloping squadrons, a solid cataract of impetuous horses, a flashing torrent of armored men--and then! Crash! the first squadron dashed headlong against the barricade of wagons and went down. Into them tore the squadron behind, unable to stop their maddened horses, and into these thundered squadron after squadron, unconscious of the dead wall ahead. In the terrible tumult and confusion, screaming horses and shrieking men were piled in heaps, a human whirlpool formed at the barricade, hurling bodily from its centre horses and riders. Men galloped headlong into each other, riders struggled knee to knee, pushing, shouting, colliding. Posted behind the upper and lower windows of the houses, the Prussians shot into them, so close that the flames from the rifles set the jackets of the cuirassiers on fire: a German captain opened the shutters of a window and fired his pistol at a cuirassier, who replied with a sabre thrust through the window, transfixing the German's throat. Then a horrible butchery of men and horses began; the fusillade became so violent and the scene so sickening that a Prussian lieutenant went crazy in the house opposite, and flung himself from the window into the mass of writhing horsemen. Tall cuirassiers, in impotent fury, began slashing at the walls of the houses, breaking their heavy sabres to splinters against the stones; their powerful horses, white with foam, reared, fell back, crushing their riders beneath them. In front of the barricade a huge fellow reined in his horse and turned, white-gloved hand raised, red epaulets tossing. [Illustration: "'HALT! HALT!' HE SHOUTED"] "Halt! Halt!" he shouted. "Stop the lancers!" And a trumpeter, disengaging himself from the frantic chaos, set his long, silver trumpet to his lips and blew the "Halt!" A bullet rolled the trumpeter under his horse's feet; a volley riddled the other's horse, and the agonized animal reared and cleared the bristling abatis with a single bound, his rider dropping dead among the hay-wagons. Then into this awful struggle galloped the two squadrons of the lancers. For a moment the street swam under their fluttering red-and-white lance-pennons, then a volley swept them--another--another--and down they went. Herds of riderless horses tore through the street; the road undulated with crushed, quivering creatures crawling about. Against the doorway of a house opposite a noble horse in agony leaned with shaking knees, head raised, lips shrinking back over his teeth. Bewildered, stupefied, exhausted, the cuirassiers sat in their saddles, staring up at the windows where the Prussians stood and fired. Now and then one would start as from a nightmare, turn his jaded horse, and go limping away down the street. The road was filled with horsemen, wandering helplessly about under the rain of bullets. One, a mere boy, rode up to a door, leaned from his horse and began to knock for admittance; another dismounted and sat down on a doorstep, head buried in his hands, regardless of the bullets which tore the woodwork around him. The street was still crowded with entrapped cuirassiers, huddled in groups or riding up and down the walls mechanically seeking shelter. A few of these, dismounted, were wearily attempting to drag a heavy cart away from the barricade; the Prussians shot them, one at a time, but others came to help, and a few lancers aided them, and at length they managed to drag a hay-wagon aside, giving a narrow passage to the open country beyond. Instantly the Prussian infantry swarmed out of the houses and into the street, shouting, "Prisoners!" pushing, striking, and dragging the exhausted cuirassiers from their saddles. But contact with the enemy, hand to hand, seemed to revive the fury of the armored riders. The débris of the regiments closed up, long, straight sabres glittered, trembling horses plunged forward, broke into a stiff gallop, and passed through the infantry, through the rent in the barricade, and staggered away across the fields, buried in the smoke of a thousand rifles. So rode the "Cuirassiers of Morsbronn," the flower of an empire's chivalry, the elect of France. So rode the gentlemen of the Sixth Lancers to shiver their slender spears against stone walls--for the honor of France. Death led them. Death rode with them knee to knee. Death alone halted them. But their shining souls galloped on into that vast Valhalla where their ancestors of Waterloo stood waiting, and the celestial trumpets pealed a last "Dismount!" VI THE GAME BEGINS The room in the turret was now swimming in smoke and lime dust; I could scarcely see the gray figure of the Countess through the powder-mist which drifted in through shutters and loop-hole, dimming the fading daylight. In the street a dense pall of pungent vapor hung over roof and pavement, motionless in the calm August air; two houses were burning slowly, smothered in smoke; through a ruddy fog I saw the dead lying in mounds, the wounded moving feebly, the Prussian soldiery tossing straw into the hay-carts that had served their deadly purpose. But oh, the dreadful murmur that filled the heavy air, the tremulous, ceaseless plaint which comes from strong, muscular creatures, tenacious of life, who are dying and who die hard. Helmeted figures swarmed through the smoke; wagon after wagon, loaded deep with dead cavalrymen, was drawn away by heavy teams of horses now arriving from the regimental transport train, which had come up and halted just at the entrance to the village. And now wagon-loads of French wounded began to pass, jolting over crushed helmets, rifles, cuirasses, and the carcasses of dead horses. A covey of Uhlans entered the shambles, picking their way across the wreckage of the battle, a slim, wiry, fastidious company, dainty as spurred gamecocks, with their helmet-cords swinging like wattles and their schapskas tilted rakishly. Then the sad cortège of prisoners formed in the smoke, the wounded leaning on their silent comrades, bandaged heads hanging, the others erect, defiant, supporting the crippled or standing with arms folded and helmeted heads held high. And at last they started, between two files of mounted Uhlans--Turcos, line infantrymen, gendarmes, lancers, and, towering head and shoulders above the others, the superb cuirassiers. A German general and his smartly uniformed staff came clattering up the slippery street and halted to watch the prisoners defile. And, as the first of the captive cuirassiers came abreast of the staff, the general stiffened in his saddle and raised his hand to his helmet, saying to his officers, loud enough for me to hear: "Salute the brave, gentlemen!" And the silent, calm-eyed cuirassiers passed on, heads erect, uniforms in shreds, their battered armor foul with smoke and mud, spurs broken, scabbards empty. Troops of captured horses, conducted by Uhlans, followed the prisoners, then wagons piled high with rifles, sabres, and saddles, then a company of Uhlans cantering away with the shot-torn guidons of the cuirassiers. Last of all came the wounded in their straw-wadded wagons, escorted by infantry; I heard them coming before I saw them, and, sickened, I closed my ears with my hands; yet even then the deep, monotonous groaning seemed to fill the room and vibrate through the falling shadows long after the last cart had creaked out of sight and hearing into the gathering haze of evening. The deadened booming of cannon still came steadily from the west, and it needed no messenger to tell me that the First Corps had been hurled back into Alsace, and that MacMahon's army was in full retreat; that now the Rhine was open and the passage of the Vosges was clear, and Strasbourg must stand siege and Belfort and Toul must man their battlements for a struggle that meant victory, or an Alsace doomed and a Lorraine lost to France forever. The room had grown very dark, the loop-hole admitting but little of the smoky evening sunset. Some soldiers in the hallway outside finally lighted torches; red reflections danced over the torn ceiling and plaster-covered floor, illuminating a corner where the Countess was sitting by the bedside, her head lying on the covers. How long she had been there I did not know, but when I spoke she raised her head and answered quietly. In the torch-light her face was ghastly, her eyes red and dim as she came over to me and looked out into the darkness. The woman was shaken terribly, shaken to the very soul. She had not seen all that I had seen; she had flinched before the spectacle of a butchery too awful to look upon, but she had seen enough, and she had heard enough to support or to confound theories formed through a young girl's brief, passionless, eventless life. Under the window soldiers began shooting the crippled horses; the heavy flash and bang of rifles set her trembling again. Until the firing ceased she stood as though stupefied, scarcely breathing, her splendid hair glistening like molten copper in the red torches' glare. A soldier came into the room and dragged the bedclothes from the bed, trailing them across the floor behind him as he departed. An officer holding a lantern peered through the door, his eye-glasses shining, his boots in his hand. He evidently had intended to get into the bed, but when his gaze fell upon us he withdrew in his stockinged feet. On the stairs soldiers were eating hunches of stale bread and knocking the necks from wine bottles with their bayonets. One lumpish fellow came to the door and offered me part of a sausage which he was devouring, a kindly act that touched me, and I wondered whether the other prisoners might find among their Uhlan guards the same humanity that moved this half-famished yokel to offer me the food he was gnawing. Soldiers began to come and go in the room; some carried off chairs for officers below some took the pillows from the bed, one bore away a desk on his broad shoulders. The Countess never moved or spoke. The evening had grown chilly; I was cold to my knees. A soldier offered to build me a fire in the great stone fireplace behind me, and when I assented he calmly smashed a chair to kindling-wood, wrenched off the heavy posts of the bed, and started a fire which lit up the wrecked room with its crimson glare. The Countess rose and looked around. The soldier pushed my long chair to the blaze, tore down the canopy over the bed and flung it over me, stolidly ignoring my protests. Then he clumped out with his muddy boots and shut the door behind him. For a long while I lay there, full in the heat of the fire, half dozing, then sleeping, then suddenly alert, only to look about me to see the Countess with eyes closed, motionless in her arm-chair, only to hear the muffled thunder of the guns in the dark. Once again, having slept, I roused, listening. The crackle of the flames was all I heard; the cannon were silent. A few moments later a clock in the hallway struck nine times. At the same instant a deadened cannon-shot echoed the clamor of the clock. It was the last shot of the battle. And when the dull reverberations had died away Alsace was a lost province, MacMahon's army was in full retreat, leaving on the three battle-fields of Wörth, Reichshoffen, and Fröschweiler sixteen thousand dead, wounded, and missing soldiers of France. All night long I heard cavalry traversing Morsbronn in an unbroken column, the steady trample of their horses never ceasing for an instant. At moments, from the outskirts of the village, the sinister sound of cheering came from the vanguard of the German Sixth Corps, just arriving to learn of the awful disaster to France. Too late to take any part in the battle, these tired soldiers stood cheering by regiments as the cavalry rode past in pursuit of the shattered army, and their cheering swelled to a terrific roar toward morning, when the Prince Royal of Prussia appeared with his staff, and the soldiers in Morsbronn rushed out into the street bellowing, "Hoch soll er leben! Er soll leben--Hoch!" About seven o'clock that morning a gaunt, leather-faced Prussian officer, immaculate in his sombre uniform, entered the room without knocking. The young Countess turned in the depths of her chair; he bowed to her slightly, unfolded a printed sheet of paper which bore the arms of Prussia, hesitated, then said, looking directly at me: "Morsbronn is now German territory and will continue to be governed by military law, proclaimed under the state of siege, until the country is properly pacified. "Honest inhabitants will not be disturbed. Citizens are invited to return to their homes and peacefully continue their legitimate avocations, subject to and under the guarantee of the Prussian military government. "Monsieur, I have the honor to hand you a copy of regulations. I am the provost marshal; all complaints should be brought to me." I took the printed sheet and looked at the Prussian coat of arms. "A list of the inhabitants of Morsbronn will be made to-day. You will have the goodness to declare yourself--and you also, madame. There being other buildings better fitted, no soldiers will be quartered in this house." The officer evidently mistook me for the owner of the house and not a prisoner. A blanket hid my hussar trousers and boots; he could only see my ragged shirt. "And now, madame," he continued, "as monsieur appears to need the services of a physician, I shall send him a French doctor, brought in this morning from the Château de la Trappe. I wish him to get well; I wish the inhabitants of my district to return to their homes and resume the interrupted régimes which have made this province of Alsace so valuable to France. I wish Morsbronn to prosper; I wish it well. This is the German policy. "But, monsieur, let me speak plainly. I tolerate no treachery. The law is iron and will be applied with rigor. An inhabitant of my district who deceives me, or who commits an offence against the troops under my command, or who in any manner holds, or attempts to hold, communication with the enemy, will be shot without court-martial." He turned his grim, inflexible face to the Countess and bowed, then he bowed to me, swung squarely on his heel, and walked to the door. "Admit the French doctor," he said to the soldier on guard, and marched out, his curved sabre banging behind his spurred heels. "It must be Dr. Delmont!" I said, looking at the Countess as there came a low knock at the door. "I am very thankful!" she said, her voice almost breaking. She rose unsteadily from her chair; somebody entered the room behind me and I turned, calling out, "Welcome, doctor!" "Thank you," replied the calm voice of John Buckhurst at my elbow. The Countess shrank aside as Buckhurst coolly passed before her, turned his slim back to the embers of the fire, and fixed his eyes on me--those pale, slow eyes, passionless as death. Here was a type of criminal I had never until recently known. Small of hand and foot--too small even for such a slender man--clean shaven, colorless in hair, skin, lips, he challenged instant attention by the very monotony of his bloodless symmetry. There was nothing of positive evil in his face, nothing of impulse, good or bad, nothing even superficially human. His spotless linen, his neat sack-coat and trousers of gray seemed part of him--like a loose outer skin. There was in his ensemble nothing to disturb the negative harmony, save perhaps an abnormal flatness of the instep and hands. "My friend," he observed, in English, "do you think you will know me again when you have finished your scrutiny?" The Countess, face averted, passed behind my chair. "Wait," said Buckhurst; and turning directly to me, he added: "You were mistaken for a hussar at La Trappe; you were mistaken here for a hussar as long as the squad holding this house remained in Morsbronn. A few moments ago the provost mistook you for a civilian." He looked across at the Countess, who already stood with her hand on the door-knob. "If you disturb me," he said, "I have only to tell the provost the truth. Members of the Imperial Police caught without proper uniform inside German lines are shot, séance tenante." The Countess stood perfectly still a moment, then came straight to me. "Is that true?" she asked. "Yes," I said. She still leaned forward, looking down into my face. Then she turned to Buckhurst. "Do you want money?" she asked. "I want a chair--and your attention for the present," he replied, and seated himself. The printed copy of the rules handed me by the provost marshal lay on the floor. Buckhurst picked up the sheet, glanced at the Prussian eagle, and thoughtfully began rolling the paper into a grotesque shape. "Sit down, madame," he said, without raising his eyes from the bit of paper which he had now fashioned into a cocked hat. After a moment's silent hesitation the Countess drew a small gilt chair beside my sofa-chair and sat down, and again that brave, unconscious gesture of protection left her steady hand lying lightly on my arm. Buckhurst noted the gesture. And all at once I divined that whatever plan he had come to execute had been suddenly changed. He looked down at the paper in his hands, gave it a thoughtful twist, and, drawing the ends out, produced a miniature paper boat. "We are all in one like that," he observed, holding it up without apparent interest. He glanced at the young Countess; her face was expressionless. "Madame," said Buckhurst, in his peculiarly soft and persuasive voice, "I am not here to betray this gentleman; I am not here even to justify myself. I came here to make reparation, to ask your forgiveness, madame, for the wrong I have done you, and to deliver myself, if necessary, into the hands of the proper French authorities in expiation of my misguided zeal." The Countess was looking at him now; he fumbled with the paper boat, gave it an unconscious twist, and produced a tiny paper box. "The cause," he said, gently, "to which I have devoted my life must not suffer through the mistake of a fanatic; for in the cause of universal brotherhood I am, perhaps, a fanatic, and to aid that cause I have gravely compromised myself. I came here to expiate that folly and to throw myself upon your mercy, madame." "I do not exactly understand," said I, "how you can expiate a crime here." "I can at least make restitution," he said, turning the paper box over and over between his flat fingers. "Have you brought me the diamonds which belong to the state?" I inquired, amused. "Yes," he said, and to my astonishment he drew a small leather pouch from his pocket and laid it on my blanket-covered knees. "How many diamonds were there?" he asked. "One hundred and three," I replied, incredulously, and opened the leather pouch. Inside was a bag of chamois-skin. This I stretched wide and emptied. Scores of little balls of tissue-paper rolled out on the blanket over my knees; I opened one; it contained a diamond; I opened another, another, and another; diamonds lay blazing on my blanket, a whole handful, glittering in undimmed splendor. "Count them," murmured Buckhurst, fashioning the paper box into a fly-trap with a lid. With a quick movement I swept them into my hands, then one by one dropped the stones while I counted aloud one hundred and two diamonds. The one hundred and third jewel was, of course, safely in Paris. When I had a second time finished the enumeration I leaned back in my chair, utterly at a loss to account for this man or for what he had done. As far as I could see there was no logic in it, nothing demonstrated, nothing proven. To me--and I am not either suspicious or obstinate by nature--Buckhurst was still an unrepentant thief and a dangerous one. I could see in him absolutely nothing of the fanatic, of the generous, feather-headed devotee, nothing of the hasty disciple or the impulsive martyr. In my eyes he continued to be the passionless master-criminal, the cold, slow-eyed source of hidden evil, the designer of an intricate and viewless intrigue against the state. His head remained bent over the paper toy in his hands. Was his hair gray with age or excesses, or was it only colorless like the rest of his exterior? "Restitution is not expiation," he said, sadly, without looking up. "I loved the cause; I love it still; I practised deception, and I am here to ask this gentle lady to forgive me for an unworthy yet unselfish use of her money and her hospitality. If she can pardon me I welcome whatever punishment may be meted out." The Countess dropped her elbow on the arm of my chair and rested her face in her hand. "Swept away by my passion for the cause of universal brotherhood," said Buckhurst, in his low, caressing voice, "I ventured to spend this generous lady's money to carry the propaganda into the more violent centres of socialism--into the clubs in Montmartre and Belleville. There I urged non-resistance; I pleaded moderation and patience. What I said helped a little, I think--" He hesitated, twisting his fly-box into a paper creature with four legs. "I was eager; people listened. I thought that if I had a little more money I might carry on this work.... I could not come to you, madame--" "Why not?" said the Countess, looking at him quickly. "I have never refused you money!" "No," he said, "you never refused me. But I knew that La Trappe was mortgaged, that even this house in Morsbronn was loaded with debt. I knew, madame, that in all the world you had left but one small roof to cover you--the house in Morbihan, on Point Paradise. I knew that if I asked for money you would sell Paradise,... and I could not ask so much,... I could not bring myself to ask that sacrifice." "And so you stole the crucifix of Louis XI.," I suggested, pleasantly. He did not look at me, but the Countess did. "Bon," I thought, watching Buckhurst's deft fingers; "he means to be taken back into grace. I wonder exactly why? And ... is it worth this fortune in diamonds to him to be pardoned by a penniless girl whom he and his gang have already stripped?" "Could you forgive me, madame?" murmured Buckhurst. "Would you explain that stick of dynamite first?" I interposed. The Countess turned and looked directly at Buckhurst. He sat with humble head bowed, nimbly constructing a paper bird. "That was not dynamite; it was concentrated phosphorus," he said, without resentment. "Naturally it burned when you lighted it, but if you had not burned it I could easily have shown Madame la Comtesse what it really was." "I also," said I, "if I had thrown it at your feet, Mr. Buckhurst." "Do you not believe me?" he asked, meekly, looking up at the Countess. "Mr. Buckhurst," said the young Countess, turning to me, "has aided me for a long time in experiments. We hoped to find some cheap method of restoring nitrogen and phosphorus to the worn-out soil which our poor peasants till. Why should you doubt that he speaks the truth? At least he is guiltless of any connection with the party which advocated violence." I looked at Buckhurst. He was engaged in constructing a multi-pointed paper star. What else was he busy with? Perhaps I might learn if I ceased to manifest distrust. "Does concentrated phosphorus burn like dynamite?" I asked, as if with newly aroused interest. "Did you not know it?" he said, warily. But was he deceived by my manner? Was that the way for me to learn anything? There was perhaps another way. Clearly this extraordinary man depended upon his persuasive eloquence for his living, for the very shoes on his little, flat feet, as do all such chevaliers of industry. If he would only begin to argue, if I could only induce him to try his eloquence on me, and if I could convince him that I myself was but an ignorant, self-centred, bullet-headed gendarme, doing my duty only because of perspective advancement, ready perhaps to take bribes--perhaps even weakly, covetously, credulous--well, perhaps I might possibly learn why he desired to cling to this poor young lady, whose life had evidently gone dreadfully to smash, to land her among such a coterie of thieves and lunatics. "Mr. Buckhurst," I said, pompously, "in bringing these diamonds to me you have certainly done all in your power to repair an injury which concerned all France. "As I am situated, of course I cannot now ask you to accompany me to Paris, where doubtless the proper authorities would gladly admit extenuating circumstances, and credit you with a sincere repentance. But I put you on your honor to surrender at the first opportunity." It was as stupidly trite a speech as I could think of. Buckhurst glanced up at me. Was he taking my measure anew, judging me from my bray? "I could easily aid you to leave Morsbronn," he said, stealthily. "O-ho," thought I, "so you're a German agent, too, as I suspected." But I said, aloud, simulating astonishment: "Do you mean to say, Mr. Buckhurst, that you would deliberately risk death to aid a police officer to bring you before a military tribunal in Paris?" "I do not desire to pose as a hero or a martyr," he said, quietly, "but I regret what I have done, and I will do what an honest man can do to make the fullest reparation--even if it means my death." I gazed at him in admiration--real admiration--because the gross bathos he had just uttered betrayed a weakness--vanity. Now I began to understand him; vanity must also lead him to undervalue men. True, with the faintest approach to eloquence he could no doubt hold the "Clubs" of Belleville spellbound; with self-effacing adroitness to cover stealthy persuasion, he had probably found little difficulty in dominating this inexperienced girl, who, touched to the soul with pity for human woe, had flung herself and her fortune to the howling proletariat. But that he should so serenely undervalue me at my first bray was more than I hoped for. So I brayed again, the good, old, sentimental bray, for which all Gallic lungs are so marvellously fashioned: "Monsieur, such sentiments honor you. I am only a rough soldier of the Imperial Police, but I am profoundly moved to find among the leaders of the proletariat such delicate and chivalrous emotions--" I hesitated. Was I buttering the sop too thickly? Buckhurst, eyes bent on the floor, began picking to pieces his paper toy. Presently he looked up, not at me, but at the Countess, who sat with hands clasped earnestly watching him. "If--if the state pardons me, can ... you?" he murmured. She looked at him with intense earnestness. I saw he was sailing on the wrong tack. "I have nothing to pardon," she said, gravely. "But I must tell you the truth, Mr. Buckhurst, I cannot forget what you have done. It was something--the one thing that I cannot understand--that I can never understand--something so absolutely alien to me that it--somehow--leaves me stunned. Don't ask me to forget it.... I cannot. I do not mean to be harsh and cruel, or to condemn you. Even if you had taken the jewels from me, and had asked my forgiveness, I would have given it freely. But I could not be as I was, a comrade to you." There was a silence. The Countess, looking perfectly miserable, still gazed at Buckhurst. He dropped his gray, symmetrical head, yet I felt that he was listening to every minute sound in the room. "You must not care what I say," she said. "I am only an unhappy woman, unused to the liberty I have given myself, not yet habituated to the charity of those blameless hearts which forgive everything! I am a novice, groping my way into a new and vast world, a limitless, generous, forgiving commune, where love alone dominates.... And if I had lived among my brothers long enough to be purged of those traditions which I have drawn from generations, I might now be noble enough and wise enough to say I do forgive and forget that you--" "That you were once a thief," I ended, with the genial officiousness of the hopelessly fat-minded. In the stillness I heard Buckhurst draw in his breath--once. Some day he would try to kill me for that; in the mean time my crass stupidity was no longer a question in his mind. I had hurt the Countess, too, with what she must have believed a fool's needless brutality. But it had to be so if I played at Jaques Bonhomme. So I put the finishing whine to it--"Our Lord died between two thieves"--and relapsed into virtuous contemplation of my finger-tips. "Madame," said Buckhurst, in a low voice, "your contempt of me is part of my penalty. I must endure it. I shall not complain. But I shall try to live a life that will at least show you my deep sincerity." "I do not doubt it," said the Countess, earnestly. "Don't think that I mean to turn away from you or to push you away. There is nothing of the Pharisee in me. I would gladly trust you with what I have. I will consult you and advise with you, Mr. Buckhurst--" "And ... despise me." The unhappy Countess looked at me. It goes hard with a woman when her guide and mentor falls. "If you return to Paradise, in Morbihan,... as we had planned, may I go," he asked, humbly, "only as an obscure worker in the cause? I beg, madame, that you will not cast me off." So he wanted to go to Morbihan--to the village of Paradise? Why? The Countess said: "I welcome all who care for the cause. You will never hear an unkind word from me if you desire to resume the work in Paradise. Dr. Delmont will be there; Monsieur Tavernier also, I hope; and they are older and wiser than I, and they have reached that lofty serenity which is far above my troubled mind. Ask them what you have asked of me; they are equipped to answer you." It was time for another discord from me, so I said: "Madame, you have seen a thousand men lay down their lives for France. Has it not shaken your allegiance to that ghost of patriotism which you call the 'Internationale'?" Here was food for thought, or rather fodder for asses--the Police Oracle turned missionary under the nose of the most cunning criminal in France and the vainest. Of course Buckhurst's contempt for me at once passed all bounds, and, secure in that contempt, he felt it scarcely worth while to use his favorite weapon--persuasion. Still, if the occasion should require it, he was quite ready, I knew, to loose his eloquence on the Countess, and on me too. The Countess turned her troubled eyes to me. "What I have seen, what I have thought since yesterday has distressed me dreadfully," she said. "I have tried to include all the world in a broader pity, a broader, higher, and less selfish love than the jealous, single-minded love for one country--" "The mother-land," I said, and Buckhurst looked up, adding, "The world is the true mother-land." Whereupon I appeared profoundly impressed at such a novel and epigrammatic view. "There is much to be argued on both sides," said the young Countess, "but I am utterly unfitted to struggle with this new code of ethics. If it had been different--if I had been born among the poor, in misery!--But you see I come a pilgrim among the proletariat, clothed in conservatism, cloaked with tradition, and if at heart I burn with sorrow for the miserable, and if I gladly give what I have to help, I cannot with a single gesture throw off those inherited garments, though they tortured my body like the garment of Nessus." I did not smile or respect her less for the stilted phrases, the pathetic poverty of metaphor. Profoundly troubled, struggling with a reserve the borders of which she strove so bravely to cross, her distress touched me the more because I knew it aroused the uneasy contempt of Buckhurst. Yet I could not spare her. "You saw the cuirassiers die in the street below," I repeated, with the obstinacy of a limited intellect. "Yes--and my heart went out to them," she replied, with an emphasis that pleased me and startled Buckhurst. Buckhurst began to speak, but I cut him short. "Then, madame, if your heart went out to the soldiers of France, it went out to France, too!" "Yes--to France," she repeated, and I saw her lip begin to quiver. "Wherein does love for France conflict with our creed, madame?" asked Buckhurst, gently. "It is only hate that we abjure." She turned her gray eyes on him. "I will tell you: in that dreadful moment when the cavalry of France cheered Death in his own awful presence, I loved them and their country--_my_ country!--as I had never loved in all my life.... And I hated, too! I hated the men who butchered them--more!--I hated the country where the men came from; I hated race and country and the blows they dealt, and the evil they wrought on France--_my France_! That is the truth; and I realize it!" There was a silence; Buckhurst slowly unrolled the wrinkled paper he had been fingering. "And now?" he asked, simply. "Now?" she repeated. "I don't know--truly, I do not know." She turned to me sorrowfully. "I had long since thought that my heart was clean of hate, and now I don't know." And, to Buckhurst, again: "Our creed teaches us that war is vile--a savage betrayal of humanity by a few dominant minds; a dishonorable ingratitude to God and country. But from that window I saw men die for honor of France with God's name on their lips. I saw one superb cuirassier, trapped down there in the street, sit still on his horse, while they shot at him from every window, and I heard him call up to a Prussian officer who had just fired at him: 'My friend, you waste powder; the heart of France is cuirassed by a million more like me!'" A rich flush touched her face; her gray eyes grew brighter. "Is there a Frenchwoman alive whose blood would not stir at such a scene?" she said. "They shot him through his armor, his breastplate was riddled, he clung to his horse, always looking up at the riflemen, and I heard the bullets drumming on his helmet and his cuirass like hailstones on a tin roof, and I could not look away. And all the while he was saying, quietly: 'It is quite useless, friends; France lives! You waste your powder!' and I could not look away or close my eyes--" She bent her head, shivering, and her interlocked fingers whitened. "I only know this," she said: "I will give all I have--I will give my poor self to help the advent of that world-wide brotherhood which must efface national frontiers and end all war in this sad world. But if you ask me, in the presence of war, to look on with impartiality, to watch my own country battling for breath, to stop my ears when a wounded mother-land is calling, to answer the supreme cry of France with a passionless cry, 'Repent!' I cannot do it--I will not! I was not born to!" Deeply moved, she had risen, confronting Buckhurst, whose stone-cold eyes were fixed on her. "You say I hold you unworthy," she said. "Others may hold me, too, unworthy because I have not reached that impartial equipoise whence, impassive, I can balance my native land against its sins and watch blind justice deal with it all unconcerned. "In theory I have done it--oh, it is simple to teach one's soul in theory! But when my eyes saw my own land blacken and shrivel like a green leaf in the fire, and when with my own eyes I saw the best, the noblest, the crown of my country's chivalry fall rolling in the mud of Morsbronn under the feet of Prussia, every drop of blood in my body was French--hot and red and French! And it is now; and it will always be--as it has always been, though I did not understand." After a silence Buckhurst said: "All that may be, madame, yet not impair your creed." "What!" she said, "does not hatred of the stranger impair my creed?" "It will die out and give place to reason." "When? When I attain the lofty, dispassionate level I have never attained? That will not be while this war endures." "Who knows?" said Buckhurst, gently. "I know!" replied the Countess, the pale flames in her cheeks deepening again. "And yet," observed Buckhurst, patiently, "you are going to Paradise to work for the Internationale." "I shall try to do my work and love France," she said, steadily. "I cannot believe that one renders the other impossible." "Yet," said I, "if you teach the nation non-resistance, what would become of the armies of France?" "I shall not teach non-resistance until we are at peace," she said--"until there is not a German soldier left in France. After that I shall teach acquiescence and personal liberty." I looked at her very seriously; logic had no dwelling-place within her tender and unhappy heart. And what a hunting-ground was that heart for men like Buckhurst! I could begin to read that mouse-colored gentleman now, to follow, after a fashion, the intricate policy which his insolent mind was shaping--shaping in stealthy contempt for me and for this young girl. Thus far I could divine the thoughts of Mr. Buckhurst, but there were other matters to account for. Why did he choose to spare my life when a word would have sent me before the peloton of execution? Why had he brought to me the fortune in diamonds which he had stolen? Why did he eat humble-pie before a young girl from whom he and his companions had wrung the last penny? Why did he desire to go to Morbihan and be received among the elect in the Breton village of Paradise? I said, abruptly: "So you are not going to denounce me to the Prussian provost?" He lifted his well-shaped head and gazed at the Countess with an admirable pathos which seemed a mute appeal for protection from brutality. "That question is a needless one," said the Countess, quietly. "It was a cruel one, also, Monsieur Scarlett." "I did not mean it as an offensive question," said I. "I was merely reciting a fact, most creditable to Mr. Buckhurst. Mon Dieu, madame, I am an officer of Imperial Police, and I have lived to hear blunt questions and blunter answers. And if it be true that Monsieur Buckhurst desires to atone for--for what has happened, then it is perfectly proper for me, even as a prisoner myself, to speak plainly." I meant this time to thoroughly convince Buckhurst of my ability to gabble platitude. My desire that he should view me as a typical gendarme was intense. So I coughed solemnly behind my hand, knit my eyebrows, and laid one finger alongside of my nose. "Is it not my duty, as a guardian of national interests, to point out to Mr. Buckhurst his honest errors? Certainly it is, madame, and this is the proper time." Turning pompously to Buckhurst, I fancied I could almost detect a sneer on that inexpressive mask he wore--at least I hoped I could, and I said, heavily: "Monsieur, for a number of years there has passed under our eyes here in France certain strange phenomena. Thousands of Frenchmen have, so to speak, separated themselves from the rest of the nation. "All the sentiments that the nation honors itself by professing these other Frenchmen rebuke--the love of country, public spirit, accord between citizens, social repose, and respect for communal law and order--these other Frenchmen regard as the hallucinations of a nation of dupes. "Separated by such unfortunate ideas from the nation within whose boundaries they live, they continue to abuse, even to threaten, the society and the country which gives them shelter. "France is only a name to them; they were born there, they live there, they derive their nourishment from her without gratitude. But France is nothing to them; _their mother-land is the Internationale_!" I was certain now that the shadow of a sneer had settled in the corners of Buckhurst's thin lips. "I do not speak of anarchists or of terrorists," I continued, nodding as though profoundly impressed by my own sagacity. "I speak of socialists--that dangerous society to which the cry of Karl Marx was addressed with the warning, 'Socialists! Unite!' "The government has reason to fear socialism, not anarchy, for it will never happen in France, where the passion for individual property is so general, that a doctrine of brutal destruction could have the slightest chance of success. "But wait, here is the point, Monsieur Buckhurst. Formerly the name of 'terrorist' was a shock to the entire civilized world; it evoked the spectres of a year that the world can never forget. And so our modern reformers, modestly desiring to evade the inconveniences of such memories among the people, call themselves the 'Internationale.' Listen to them; they are adroit, they blame and rebuke violence, they condemn anarchy, they would not lay their hands on public or individual property--no, indeed! "Ah, madame, but you should hear them in their own clubs, where the ladies and gentlemen of the gutters, the barriers, and the abattoirs discuss 'individual property,' 'the tyranny of capital,' and similar subjects which no doubt they are peculiarly fitted to discuss. "Believe me, madame, the little coterie which you represent is already the dupe and victim of this terrible Internationale. Their leaders work their will through you; a vast conspiracy against all social peace is spread through your honest works of mercy. The time is coming when the whole world will rise to combat this Internationale; and when the mask is dragged from its benignant visage, there, grinning behind, will appear the same old 'Spectre Rouge,' torch in one hand, gun in the other, squatting behind a barricade of paving-blocks." I wagged my head dolefully. "I could not have rested had I not warned Mr. Buckhurst of this," I said, sentimentally. Which was fairly well done, considering that I was figuratively lamenting over the innocence of the most accomplished scoundrel that ever sat in the supreme council of the Internationale. Buckhurst looked thoughtfully at the floor. "If I thought," he murmured--"if I believed for one instant--" "Believe me, my dear sir," I said, "that you are playing into the hands of the wickedest villains on earth!" "Your earnestness almost converts me," he said, lifting his stealthy eyes. The Countess appeared weary and perplexed. "At all events," she said, "we must do nothing to embarrass France now; we must do nothing until this frightful war is ended." After a silence Buckhurst said, "But you will go to Paradise, madame?" "Yes," replied the Countess, listlessly. Now, what in Heaven's name attracted that rogue to Paradise? VII A STRUGGLE FORESHADOWED I took my breakfast by the window, watching the German soldiery cleaning up Morsbronn. For that wonderful Teutonic administrative mania was already manifesting itself while ruined houses still smoked; method replaced chaos, order marched on the heels of the Prussian rear-guard, which enveloped Morsbronn in a whirlwind of Uhlans, and left it a silent, blackened landmark in the August sunshine. Soldiers in canvas fatigue-dress, wearing soft, round, visorless caps, were removing the débris of the fatal barricade; soldiers with shovel and hoe filled in the trenches and raked the long, winding street clean of all litter; soldiers with trowel and mortar were perched on shot-torn houses, mending chimneys and slated roofs so that their officers might enjoy immunity from rain and wind and defective flues. In the court-yards and stables I could see cavalrymen in stable-jackets, whitewashing walls and out-buildings and ill-smelling stalls, while others dug shovelfuls of slaked lime from wheelbarrows and spread it through stable-yards and dirty alleys. Everywhere quiet, method, order, prompt precision reigned; I even noticed a big, red-fisted artilleryman tying up tall, blue larkspurs, dahlias, and phlox in a trampled garden, and he touched the ragged masses of bloom with a tenderness peculiar to a flower-loving and sentimental people, whose ultimate ambition is a quart of beer, a radish, and a green leaf overhead. At the corners of the walls and blind alleys, placards in French and German were posted, embodying regulations governing the village under Prussian military rule. The few inhabitants of Morsbronn who had remained in cellars during the bombardment shuffled up to read these notices, or to loiter stupidly, gaping at the Prussian eagles surmounting the posters. A soldier came in and started the fire in my fireplace. When he went out I drew my code-book from my breeches-pocket and tossed it into the fire. After it followed my commission, my memoranda, and every scrap of writing. The diamonds I placed in the bosom of my flannel shirt. Toward one o'clock I heard the shrill piping of a goat-herd, and I saw him, a pallid boy, clumping along in his wooden shoes behind his two nanny-goats, while the German soldiers, peasants themselves, looked after him with curious sympathy. A little later a small herd of cattle passed, driven to pasture by a stolid Alsatian, who replied to the soldiers' questions in German patois and shrugged his heavy shoulders like a Frenchman. A cock crowed occasionally from some near dunghill; once I saw a cat serenely following the course of a stucco wall, calm, perfectly self-composed, ignoring the blandishments of the German soldiers, who called, "Komm mitz! mitz!" and held out bits of sausage and black bread. A German ambulance surgeon arrived to see me in the afternoon. The Countess was busy somewhere with Buckhurst, who had come with news for her, and the German surgeon's sharp double rap at the door did not bring her, so I called out, "Entrez donc!" and he stalked in, removing his fatigue-cap, which action distinguished him from his brother officers. He was a tall, well-built man, perfectly uniformed in his double-breasted frocked tunic, blue-eyed, blond-bearded, and immaculate of hand and face, a fine type of man and a credit to any army. After a brief examination he sat down and resumed a very bad cigar, which had been smouldering between his carefully kept fingers. "Do you know," he said, admiringly, "that I have never before seen just such a wound. The spinal column is not even grazed, and if, as I understand from you, you suffered temporarily from complete paralysis of the body below your waist, the case is not only interesting but even remarkable." "Is the superficial lesion at all serious?" I asked. "Not at all. As far as I can see the blow from the bullet temporarily paralyzed the spinal cord. There is no fracture, no depression. I do not see why you should not walk if you desire to." "When? Now?" "Try it," he said, briefly. I tried. Apart from a certain muscular weakness and a great fatigue, I found it quite possible to stand, even to move a few steps. Then I sat down again, and was glad to do so. The doctor was looking at my legs rather grimly, and it suddenly flashed on me that I had dropped my blanket and he had noticed my hussar's trousers. "So," he said, "you are a military prisoner? I understood from the provost marshal that you were a civilian." As he spoke Buckhurst appeared at the door, and then sauntered in, quietly greeting the surgeon, who looked around at the sound of his footsteps on the stone floor. There was no longer a vestige of doubt in my mind that Buckhurst was a German agent, or at least that the Germans _believed_ him to be in their pay. And doubtless he was in their pay, but to whom he was faithful nobody could know with any certainty. "How is our patient, doctor?" he asked. "Convalescent," replied the doctor, shortly, as though not exactly relishing the easy familiarity of this pale-eyed gentleman in gray. "Can he travel to-day?" inquired Buckhurst, without apparent interest. "Before he travels," said the officer, "it might be well to find out why he wears part of a hussar uniform." "I've explained that to the provost," observed Buckhurst, examining his well-kept finger-nails. "And I have a pass for him also--if he is in a fit condition to travel." The officer gave him a glance full of frank dislike, adjusted his sabre, pulled on his white gloves, and, bowing very slightly to me, marched straight out of the room and down the stairs without taking any notice of Buckhurst. The latter looked after the officer, then his indifferent eyes returned to me. Presently he sat down and produced a small slip of paper, which he very carefully twisted into a cocked hat. "I suppose you doubt my loyalty to France," he said, intent on his bit of paper. Then, logically continuing my rôle of the morning, I began to upbraid him for a traitor and swear that I would not owe my salvation to him, and all the while he was calmly transforming his paper from one toy into another between deft, flat fingers. "You are unjust and a trifle stupid," he said. "I am paid by Prussia for information which I never give. But I have the entre of their lines. I do it for the sake of the Internationale. The Internationale has a few people in its service ... _And it pays them well_." He looked squarely at me as he said this. I almost trembled with delight: the man undervalued me, he had taken me at my own figure, and now, holding me in absolute contempt, he was going to begin on me. "Scarlett," he said, "what does the government pay you?" I began to protest in a torrent of patriotism and sentimentality. He watched me impassively while I called Heaven to witness and proclaimed my loyalty to France, ending through sheer breathlessness in a maundering, tearful apotheosis where mixed metaphors jostled each other--the government, the Emperor, and the French flag, consecrated in blood--and finally, calling his attention to the fact that twenty centuries had once looked down on this same banner, I collapsed in my chair and gave him his chance. He took it. With subtle flattery he recognized in me a powerful arm of a corrupt Empire, which Empire he likened to the old man who rode Sindbad the Sailor. He admitted my noble loyalty to France, pointing out, however, that devotion to the Empire was not devotion to France, but the contrary. Skilfully he pictured the unprepared armies of the Empire, huddled along the frontier, seized and rent to fragments, one by one; adroitly he painted the inevitable ending, the armies that remained cut off and beaten in detail. And as I listened I freely admitted to myself that I had undervalued him; that he was no crude Belleville orator, no sentimental bathos-peddling reformer, no sansculotte with brains ablaze, squalling for indiscriminate slaughter and pillage; he was a cool student in crime, taking no chances that he was not forced to take, a calm, adroit, methodical observer, who had established a theory and was carefully engaged in proving it. "Scarlett," he said, in English, "let us come to the point. I am a mercenary American; you are an American mercenary, paid by the French government. You care nothing for that government or for the country; you would drop both to-day if your pay ceased. You and I are outsiders; we are in the world to watch our chances. And our chance is here." He unfolded the creased bit of paper and spread it out on his knees, smoothing it thoughtfully. "What do I care for the Internationale?" he asked, blandly. "I am high in its councils; Karl Marx knows less about the Internationale than do I. As for Prussia and France--bah!--it's a dog-fight to me, and I lack even the interest to bet on the German bull-dog. "You will know me better some day, and when you do you will know that I am a man who has determined to get rich if I have to set half of France against the other half and sack every bank in the Empire. "And now the time is coming when the richest city in Europe will be put to the sack. You don't believe it? Yet you shall live to see Paris besieged, and you shall live to see Paris surrender, and you shall live to see the Internationale rise up from nowhere, seize the government by the throat, and choke it to death under the red flag of universal--ahem!... license"--the faintest sneer came into his pallid face--"and every city of France shall be a commune, and we shall pass from city to city, leisurely, under the law--_our_ laws, which we will make--and I pity the man among us who cannot place his millions in the banks of England and America!" He began to worry the creased bit of paper again, stealthy eyes on the floor. "The revolt is as certain as death itself," he said. "The Society of the Internationale honeycombs Europe--your police archives show you that--and I tell you that, of the two hundred thousand soldiers of the national guard in Paris to-day, ninety per cent. are ours--_ours_, soul and body. You don't believe it? Wait! "Yet, for a moment, suppose I am right? Where are the government forces? Who can stop us from working our will? Not the fragments of beaten and exhausted armies! Not the thousands of prisoners which you will see sent into captivity across the Rhine! What has the government to lean on--a government discredited, impotent, beaten! What in the world can prevent a change, an uprising, a revolution? Why, even if there were no such thing as the Internationale and its secret Central Committee--to which I have the honor to belong"--and here his sneer was frightful--"I tell you that before a conquering German army had recrossed the Rhine this land of chattering apes would be tearing one another for very want of a universal scape-goat. "But that is exactly where we come into the affair. We find the popular scape-goat and point him out--the government, my friend. And all we have to do is to let the mob loose, stand back, and count profits." He leaned forward in his chair, idly twisting his crumpled bit of paper in one hand. "I am not fool enough to believe that our reign will last," he said. "It may last a month, two months, perhaps three. Then we leaders will be at one another's throats--and the game is up! It's always so--mob rule can't last--it never has lasted and never will. But the prudent man will make hay before the brief sunshine is ended; I expect to economize a little, and set aside enough--well, enough to make it pay, you see." He looked up at me quietly. "I am perfectly willing to tell you this, even if you used your approaching liberty to alarm the entire country, from the Emperor to the most obscure scullion in the Tuileries. Nothing can stop us now, nothing in the world can prevent our brief reign. Because these things are certain, the armies of France will be beaten--they are already beaten. Paris will hold out; Paris will fall; and with Paris down goes France! And as sure as the sun shall rise on a conquered people, so sure shall rise that red spectre we call the Internationale." The man astonished me. He put into words a prophecy which had haunted me from the day that war was declared--a prophetic fear which had haunted men higher up in the service of the Empire--thinking men who knew what war meant to a country whose government was as rotten as its army was unprepared, whose political chiefs were as vain, incompetent, ignorant, and weak as were the chiefs of its brave army--an army riddled with politics, weakened by intrigue and neglect--an army used ignobly, perverted, cheated, lied to, betrayed, abandoned. That, for once, Buckhurst spoke the truth as he foresaw it, I did not question. That he was right in his infernal calculations, I was fearsomely persuaded. And now the game had advanced, and I must display what cards I had, or pretended to have. "Are you trying to bribe me?" I blurted out, weakly. "Bribe you," he repeated, in contempt. "No. If the prospect does not please you, I have only to say a word to the provost marshal." "Wouldn't that injure your prospects with the Countess?" I said, with fat-brained cunning. "You cannot betray me and hope for her friendship." He glanced up at me, measured my mental capacity, then nodded. "I can't force you that way," he admitted. "He's bound to get to Paradise. Why?" I wondered, and said, aloud: "What do you want of me?" "I want immunity from the secret police, Mr. Scarlett." "Where?" "Wherever I may be." "In Morbihan?" "Yes." "In Paradise?" "Yes." I was silent for a moment, then, looking him in the eye, "What do I gain?" Ah, the cat was out now. Buckhurst did not move, but I saw the muscles of his face relax, and he drew a deep, noiseless breath. "Well," he said, coolly, "you may keep those diamonds, for one thing." Presently I said, "And for the next thing?" "You are high-priced, Mr. Scarlett," he observed. "Oh, very," I said, with that offensive, swaggering menace in my voice which is peculiar to the weak criminal the world over. So I asserted myself and scowled at him and told him I was no fool and taunted him with my importance to his schemes and said I was not born yesterday, and that if Paris was to be divided I knew what part I wanted and meant to stand no nonsense from him or anybody. All of which justified the opinion he had already formed of me, and justified something else, too--his faith in his own eloquence, logic, and powers of persuasion. Not that I meant to make his mistake and undervalue him; he was an intelligent, capable, remarkable criminal--with the one failing--an overconfident contempt of _all_ men. "There is one thing I want to ask you," said I. "Why do you desire to go to Paradise?" He did not answer me at once, and I studied his passionless profile as he gazed out of the window. "Well," he said, slowly, "I shall not tell you." "Why not?" I demanded. "--But I'll say this," he continued. "I want you to come to Paradise with me and that fool of a woman. I want you to report to your government that you are watching the house in Paradise, and that you are hoping to catch me there." "How can I do that?" I asked. "As soon as the government catches the Countess de Vassart she will be sent across the frontier." "Not if you inform your government that you desire to use her and the others as a bait to draw me to Paradise." "Oh, that's it, is it?" I asked, thoughtfully. "Yes," said Buckhurst, "that's it." "And you do not desire to inform me why you are going to stay in Paradise?" "Don't you think you'll be clever enough to find out?" he asked, with a sneer. I did think so; more than that, I let him see that I thought so, and he was contented with my conceit. "One thing more," I said, blustering a little, "I want to know whether you mean any harm to that innocent girl?" "Who? The Countess? What do you mean? Harm her? Do you think I waste my thoughts on that little fool? She is not a factor in anything--except that just now I'm using her and mean to use her house in Paradise." "Haven't you stripped her of every cent she has?" I asked. "What do you want of her now?" And I added something about respect due to women. "Oh yes, of course," he said, with a vague glance at the street below. "You need not worry; nobody's going to hurt her--" He suddenly shifted his eyes to me. "You haven't taken a fancy to her, have you?" he asked, in faint disgust. I saw that he thought me weak enough for any sentiment, even a noble one. "If you think it pays," he muttered, "marry her and beat her, for all I care; but don't play loose with me, my friend; as a plain matter of business it won't pay you." "Is that a threat?" I asked, in the bullying tone of a born coward. "No, not a threat, a plain matter of profit and loss, a simple business proposition. For, suppose you betray me--and, by a miracle, live to boast of it? What is your reward? A colonelcy in the Military Police with a few thousand francs salary, and, in your old age, a pension which might permit you to eat meat twice a week. Against that, balance what I offer--free play in a helpless city, and no one to hinder you from salting away as many millions as you can carry off!" Presently I said, weakly, "And what, once more, is the service you ask of me?" "I ask you to notify the government that you are watching Paradise, that you do not arrest the Countess and Dr. Delmont because you desire to use them as a bait to catch me." "Is that all?" "That is all. We will start for Paris together; I shall leave you before we get there. But I'll see you later in Paradise." "You refuse to tell me why you wish to stay at the house in Paradise?" "Yes,... I refuse. And, by-the-way, the Countess is to think that I have presented myself in Paris and that the government has pardoned me." "You are willing to believe that I will not have you arrested?" "I don't ask you to promise. If you are fool enough to try it--try it! But I'm not going to give you the chance in Paris--only in Paradise." "You don't require my word of honor?" "Word of--what? Well--no;... it's a form I can dispense with." "But how can you protect yourself?" "If all the protection I had was a 'word of honor,' I'd be in a different business, my friend." "And you are willing to risk me, and you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself?" "I think so," he said, quietly. "Trusting to my common-sense as a business man not to be fool enough to cut my own throat by cutting yours?" I persisted. "Exactly, and trusting to a few other circumstances, the details of which I beg permission to keep to myself," he said, with a faint sneer. He rose and walked to the window; at the same moment I heard the sound of wheels below. "I believe that is our carriage," he said. "Are you ready to start, Mr. Scarlett?" "Now?" I exclaimed. "Why not? I'm not in the habit of dawdling over anything. Come, sir, there is nothing very serious the matter with you, is there?" I said nothing; he knew, of course, the exact state of the wound I had received, that the superficial injury was of no account, that the shock had left me sound as a silver franc though a trifle weak in the hips and knees. "Is the Countess de Vassart to go with us?" I asked, trying to find a reason for these events which were succeeding one another too quickly to suit me. He gave me an absent-minded nod; a moment later the Countess entered. She had mended her black crêpe gown where I tore it when I hung in the shadow of death under the battlements of La Trappe. She wore black gloves, a trifle shabby, and carried a worn satchel in her hands. Buckhurst aided me to rise, the Countess threw my hussar jacket over my shoulders and buttoned it; I felt the touch of her cool, little fingers on my hot, unshaved throat. "I congratulate you on your convalescence," she said, in a low voice. "Lean on me, monsieur." My head swam; hips and knees were without strength; she aided me down the stairway and out into the pale sunshine, where stood the same mud-splashed, rusty vehicle which had brought us hither from La Trappe. The Countess had only a satchel and a valise; Buckhurst's luggage comprised a long, flat, steel-bound box, a satchel, and a parcel. I had nothing. My baggage, which I had left in Morsbronn, had without doubt been confiscated long since; my field-glasses, sabre, and revolver were gone; I had only what clothes I was wearing--a dirty, ragged, gray-blue flannel shirt, my muddy jacket, scarlet riding-breeches, and officer's boots. But in one of the hip-pockets of my breeches I carried a fortune in diamonds. As I stood beside the carriage, wondering how I was going to get in, I felt an arm slip under my neck and another slide gently under my knees, and Buckhurst lifted me. Beneath the loose, gray coat-sleeves his bent arms were rigid as steel; his supple frame straightened; he moved a step forward and laid me on the shabby cushions. The Countess looked at me, turned and glanced up at her smoke-blackened house, where a dozen Prussian soldiers leaned from the lower windows smoking their long porcelain pipes and the provost marshal stood in the doorway, helmeted, spurred, immaculate from golden cheek-guard to the glittering tip of his silver scabbard. An Uhlan, dismounted, stood on guard below the steps, his lance at a "present," the black-and-white swallow-tailed pennon drooping from the steel point. The Countess bent her pretty head under its small black hat; the provost's white-gloved hand flew to his helmet peak. "Fear nothing, madame," he said, pompously. "Your house and its contents are safe until you return. This village is now German soil." The Countess looked at him steadily, gravely. "I thank you, monsieur, but frontiers are not changed in a day." But she was mistaken. Alsace henceforth must be written Elsass, and the devastated province called Lothringen was never again to be written Lorraine. The Countess stepped into the carriage and took her place beside me; Buckhurst followed, seating himself opposite us, and the Alsatian driver mounted to the box. "Your safe-conduct carries you to the French outposts at Saverne," said the provost, dryly. "If there are no longer French outposts at Saverne, you may demand a visé for your pass and continue south to Strasbourg." Buckhurst half turned towards the driver. "Allez," he said, quietly, and the two gaunt horses moved on. There was a chill in the white sunshine--the first touch of autumn. Not a trace of the summer's balm remained in the air; every tree on the mountain outlines stood out sharp-cut in the crystalline light; the swift little streams that followed the road ran clear above autumn-brown pebbles and golden sands. Distant beachwoods were turning yellow; yellow gorse lay like patches of sunshine on the foot-hills; oceans of yellow grain belted the terraced vineyards. Here and there long, velvety, black strips cut the green and gold, the trail of fire which had scarred the grain belts; here and there pillars of smoke floated, dominating blue woodlands, where the flames of exploding shells had set the forest afire. Already from the plateau I could see a streak of silver reflecting the intense blue sky--the Rhine, upon whose westward cliffs France had mounted guard but yesterday. And now the Rhine was lost, and the vast granite bastions of the Vosges looked out upon a sea of German forests. Above the Col du Pigeonnier the semaphore still glistened, but its signals now travelled eastward, and strange flags fluttered on its invisible halliards. And every bridge was guarded by helmeted men who halted us, and every tunnel was barred by mounted Uhlans who crossed their lances to the ominous shout: "Wer da? On ne basse bas!" The Vosges were literally crawling with armed men! Driving slowly along the base of the hills, I had glimpses of rocky defiles which pierced the mountain wall; and through every defile poured infantry and artillery in unbroken columns, and over every mountain pass streamed endless files of horsemen. Railroad tunnels were choked with slowly moving trains piled high with artillery; viaducts glistened with helmets all moving westward; every hillock, every crag, every height had its group of tiny dark dots or its solitary Uhlan. Very far away I heard cannon--so far away that the hum of the cannonade was no louder than the panting of our horses on the white hill-road, and I could hear it only when the carriage stopped at intervals. "Do we take the railroad at Saverne?" I asked at last. "Is there a railroad there?" [Illustration: "EVERY BRIDGE WAS GUARDED"] Buckhurst looked up at me. "It is rather strange that a French officer should not know the railroads in his own country," he said. I was silent. I was not the only officer whose shame was his ignorance of the country he had sworn to defend. Long before the war broke out, every German regimental officer, commissioned and non-commissioned, carried a better map of France than could be found in France itself. And the French government had issued to us a few wretched charts of Germany, badly printed, full of gross errors, one or two maps to a regiment, and a few scattered about among the corps headquarters--among officers who did not even know the general topography of their own side of the Rhine. "Is there a railroad at Saverne?" I repeated, sullenly. "You will take a train at Strasbourg," replied Buckhurst. "And then?" "And then you go to Avricourt," he said. "I suppose at least you know where that is?" "It is on the route to Paris," said I, keeping my temper. "Are we going direct to Paris?" "Madame de Vassart desires to go there," he said, glancing at her with a sort of sneaking deference which he now assumed in her presence. "It is true," said the Countess, turning to me. "I wish to rest for a little while before I go to Point Paradise. I am curiously tired of poverty, Monsieur Scarlett," she added, and held out her shabby gloves with a gesture of despair; "I am reduced to very little--I have scarcely anything left,... and I am weak enough to long for the scent of the winter violets on the boulevards." With a faint smile she touched the bright hair above her brow, where the wind had flung a gleaming tendril over her black veil. As I looked at her, I marvelled that she had found it possible to forsake all that was fair and lovely in life, to dare ignore caste, to deliberately face ridicule and insult and the scornful anger of her own kind, for the sake of the filthy scum festering in the sinkholes of the world. There are brave priests who go among lepers, there are brave missionaries who dispute with the devil over the souls of half-apes in the Dark Continent. Under the Cross they do the duty they were bred to. But she was bred to other things. Her lungs were never made to breathe the polluted atmosphere of the proletariat, yelping and slavering in their kennels; her strait young soul was never born for communion with the crooked souls of social pariahs, with the stunted and warped intelligence of fanatics, with the crippled but fierce minds which dominated the Internationale. Not that such contact could ever taint her; but it might break her heart one day. "You will think me very weak and cowardly to seek shelter and comfort at such a time," she said, raising her gray eyes to me. "But I feel as though all my strength had slipped away from me. I mean to go back to my work; I only need a few days of quiet among familiar scenes--pleasant scenes that I knew when I was young. I think that if I could only see a single care-free face--only one among all those who--who once seemed to love me--" She turned her head quickly and stared out at the tall pines which fringed the dusty road. Buckhurst blinked at her. * * * * * It was late in the afternoon when the last Prussian outpost hailed us. I had been asleep for hours, but was awakened by the clatter of horses, and I opened my eyes to see a dozen Uhlans come cantering up and surround our carriage. After a long discussion with Buckhurst and a rigid scrutiny of our permit to pass the lines, the slim officer in command viséd the order. One of the troopers tied a white handkerchief to his lance-tip, wheeled his wiry horse, and, followed by a trumpeter, trotted off ahead of us. Our carriage creaked after them, slowly moving to the summit of a hill over which the road rose. Presently, very far away on the gray-green hill-side, I saw a bit of white move. The Uhlan flourished his lance from which the handkerchief fluttered; the trumpeter set his trumpet to his lips and blew the parley. One minute, two, three, ten passed. Then, distant galloping sounded along the road, nearer, nearer; three horsemen suddenly wheeled into view ahead--French dragoons, advancing at a solid gallop. The Uhlan with the flag spurred forward to meet them, saluted, wheeled his horse, and came back. Paid mercenary that I was, my heart began to beat very fast at sight of those French troopers with their steel helmets bound with leopard-hide and their horsehair plumes whipping the breeze, and their sun-bronzed, alert faces and pleasant eyes. I had had enough of the supercilious, near-sighted eyes of the Teuton. As for the young Countess, she sat there smiling, while the clumsy dragoons came rattling up, beaming at my red riding-breeches, and all saluting the Countess with a cheerful yet respectful swagger that touched me deeply as I noted the lines of hunger in their lean jaws. And now the brief ceremony was over and our rusty vehicle moved off down the hill, while the Uhlans turned bridle and clattered off, scattering showers of muddy gravel in the rising wind. The remains of our luncheon lay in a basket under our seat--plenty of bread and beef, and nearly a quart of red wine. "Call the escort--they are starving," I said to Buckhurst. "I think not," he said, coolly. "I may eat again." "Call the escort!" I repeated, sharply. Buckhurst looked up at me in silence, then glanced warily at the Countess. A few moments later the gaunt dragoons were munching dry bread as they rode, passing the bottle from saddle to saddle. We were ascending another hill; the Countess, anxious to stretch her limbs, had descended to the road, and now walked ahead, one hand holding her hat, which the ever-freshening wind threatened. Buckhurst bent towards me and said: "My friend, your suggestion that we deprive ourselves to feed those cavalrymen was a trifle peremptory in tone. I am wondering how much your tone will change when we reach Paris." "You will see," said I. "Oh, of course I'll see," he said,... "and so will you." "I thought you had means to protect yourself," I observed. "I have. Besides, I think you would rather keep those diamonds than give them up for the pleasure of playing me false." I laughed in a mean manner, which reassured him. "Look here," said I, "if I were to make trouble for you in Paris I'd be the most besotted fool in France, and you know it." He nodded. And so I should have been. For there was something vastly more important to do than to arrest John Buckhurst for theft; and before I suffered a hair of his sleek, gray head to come to harm I'd have hung myself for a hopeless idiot. Oh no; my friend John Buckhurst had such colossal irons in the fire that I knew it would take many more men as strong as he to lift them out again. And I meant to know what those irons were for, and who were the gentlemen to aid him lift them. So not only must Buckhurst remain free as a lively black cricket in a bog, but he must not be frightened if I could help it. And to that end I leered at him knowingly, and presently bestowed a fatuous wink upon him. It was unpleasant for me to do this, for it implied that I was his creature; and, in spite of the remorseless requirements of my profession, I have an inborn hatred of falsehood in any shape. To lie in the line of duty is one of the disagreeable necessities of certain professions; and mine is not the only one nor the least respectable. The art of war is to deceive; strategy is the art of demonstrating falsehood plausibly; there is nothing respectable in the military profession except the manual--which is now losing importance in the eyes of advanced theorists. All men are liars--a few are unselfish ones. "You have given me your word of honor," said Buckhurst. "Have I?" I had not, and he knew it. I hoped I might not be forced to. "Haven't you?" asked Buckhurst. "You sneered at my word of honor," I said, with all the spite of a coward; "now you don't get it." He no longer wanted it, but all he said was: "Don't take unnecessary offence; you're smart enough to know when you're well off." * * * * * I dozed towards sunset, waking when the Countess stepped back into the carriage and seated herself by my side. Then, after a little, I slept again. And it was nearly dark when I was awakened by the startling whistle of a locomotive. The carriage appeared to be moving slowly between tall rows of poplars and telegraph-poles; a battery of artillery was clanking along just ahead. In the dark southern sky a luminous haze hung. "The lights of Strasbourg," whispered the Countess, as I sat up, rubbing my hot eyes. I looked for Buckhurst; his place was empty. "Mr. Buckhurst left us at the railroad crossing," she said. "Left us!" "Yes! He boarded a train loaded with wounded.... He had business to transact in Colmar before he presented himself to the authorities in Paris.... And we are to go by way of Avricourt." So Buckhurst had already begun to execute his programme. But the abrupt, infernal precision of the man jarred me unpleasantly. In the dark I felt cautiously for my diamonds; they were safe in my left hip-pocket. * * * * * The wind had died out, and a fine rain began to filter down through a mist which lay over the flat plain as we entered the suburbs of Strasbourg. Again and again we were halted by sentinels, then permitted to proceed in the darkness, along deserted avenues lighted by gas-jets burning in tall bronze lamp-posts through a halo of iridescent fog. We passed deserted suburban villas, blank stretches of stucco walls enclosing gardens, patches of cabbages, thickets of hop-poles to which the drenched vines clung fantastically, and scores of abandoned houses, shutters locked, blinds drawn. High to the east the ramparts of the city loomed, set at regular distances with electric lights; from the invisible citadel rockets were rising, spraying the fog with jewelled flakes, crumbling to golden powder in the starless void above. Presently our carriage stopped before a tremendous mass of masonry pierced by an iron, arched gate, through which double files of farm-wagons were rolling, escorted by customs guards and marines. "No room! no room!" shouted the soldiers. "This is the Porte de Pierre. Go to the Porte de Saverne!" So we passed on beneath the bastions, skirting the ramparts to the Porte de Saverne, where, after a harangue, the gate guards admitted us, and we entered Strasbourg in the midst of a crush of vehicles. At the railroad station hundreds of cars choked the tracks; loaded freight trains stalled in the confusion, trains piled with ammunition and provisions, trains crowded with horses and cattle and sheep, filling the air with melancholy plaints; locomotives backing and whistling, locomotives blowing off deafening blasts of steam; gongs sounding, bells ringing, station-masters' trumpets blowing; and, above all, the immense clamor of human voices. The Countess and our Alsatian driver helped me to the platform, I looked around with dread at the throng, being too weak to battle for a foothold; but the brave Alsatian elbowed a path for me, and the Countess warded off the plunging human cattle, and at length I found myself beside the cars where line-soldiers stood guard at every ten paces and gendarmes stalked about, shoving the frantic people into double files. "Last train for Paris!" bawled an official in gilt and blue; and to the anxious question of the Countess he shook his head, saying, "There is no room, madame; it is utterly impossible--pardon, I cannot discuss anything now; the Prussians are signalled at Ostwald, and their shells may fall here at any moment." "If that is so," I said, "this lady cannot stay here!" "I can't help that!" he shouted, starting off down the platform. I caught the sleeve of a captain of gendarmerie who was running to enter a first-class compartment. "Eh--what do you want, monsieur?" he snapped, in surprise. Then, as I made him a sign, he regarded me with amazement. I had given the distress signal of the secret police. "Try to make room for this lady in your compartment," I said. "Willingly, monsieur. Hasten, madame; the train is already moving!" and he tore open the compartment door and swung the Countess to the car platform. I suppose she thought I was to follow, for when the officer slammed the compartment door she stepped to the window and tried to open it. "Quick!" she cried to the guard, who had just locked the door; "help that officer in! He is wounded--can't you see he is wounded?" The train was gliding along the asphalt platform; I hobbled beside the locked compartment, where she stood at the window. "Will you unlock that door?" said the Countess to the guard. "I wish to leave the train!" The cars were rolling a little faster than I could move along. The Countess leaned from the open window; through the driving rain her face in the lamp-light was pitifully white. I made a last effort and caught up with her car. "A safe journey, madame," I stammered, catching at the hand she held out and brushing the shabby-gloved fingers with my lips. [Illustration: "SISTERS OF CHARITY WERE GIVING FIRST AID"] "I shall never forgive this wanton self-sacrifice," she said, unsteadily. Then the car rolled silently past me, swifter, swifter, and her white face faded from my sight. Yet still I stood there, bareheaded, in the rain, while the twin red lamps on the rear car grew smaller and smaller, until they, too, were shut out in the closing curtains of the fog. As I turned away into the lighted station a hospital train from the north glided into the yard and stopped. Soldiers immediately started carrying out the wounded and placing them in rows on mattresses ranged along the walls of the passenger depot; sisters of charity, hovering over the mutilated creatures, were already giving first aid to the injured; policemen kept the crowd from trampling the dead and dying; gendarmes began to clear the platforms, calling out sharply, "No more trains to-night! Move on! This platform is for government officials only!" Through the scrambling mob a file of wounded tottered, escorted by police; women were forced back and pushed out into the street, only to be again menaced by galloping military ambulances arriving, accompanied by hussars. The confusion grew into a tumult; men struggled and elbowed for a passage to the platforms, women sobbed and cried; through the uproar the treble wail of terrified children broke out. Jostled, shoved, pulled this way and that, I felt that I was destined to go down under the people's feet, and I don't know what would have become of me had not a violent push sent me against the door of the telegraph office. The door gave way, and I fell on my knees, staggered to my feet, and crept out once more to the platform. The station-master passed, a haggard gentleman in rumpled uniform and gilt cap; and as he left the office by the outer door the heavy explosion of a rampart cannon shook the station. "Can you get me to Paris?" I asked. "Quick, then," he muttered; "this way--lean on me, monsieur! I am trying to send another train out--but Heaven alone knows! Quick, this way!" The glare of a locomotive's headlight dazzled me; I made towards it, clinging to the arm of the station-master; the ground under my feet rocked with the shock of the siege-guns. Suddenly a shell fell and burst in the yard outside; there was a cry, a rush of trainmen, a gendarme shouting; then the piercing alarm notes of locomotives, squealing like terrified leviathans. The train drawn up along the platform gave a jerk and immediately moved out towards the open country, compartment doors swinging wide, trainmen and guards running alongside, followed by a mob of frenzied passengers, who leaped into empty compartments, flinging satchels and rugs to the four winds. Crash! A shell fell through the sloping roof of the platform and blew up. Through the white cloud and brilliant glare I saw a porter, wheeling boxes and trunks, fall, buried under an avalanche of baggage, and a sister of charity throw up her arms as though to shield her face from the fragments. A car, doors swinging wide, glided past me; I caught the rail and fell forward into a compartment. The cushions of the seats were afire, and a policeman was hammering out the sparks with naked fists. I was too weak to aid him. Presently he hurled the last burning cushion from the open door and leaped out into the train-yard, where red and green lamps glowed and the brilliant flare of bursting shells lighted the fog. By this time the train was moving swiftly; the car windows shook with the thunder from the ramparts under which we were passing; then came inky darkness--a tunnel--then a rush of mist and wind from the open door as we swept out into the country. Passengers clinging to the platforms now made their way into the compartment where I lay almost senseless, and soon the little place was crowded, and somebody slammed the door. Then the flying locomotive, far ahead, shrieked, and the train leaped, rushing forward into the unknown. Blackness, stupefying blackness, outside; inside, unseen, the huddled passengers, breathing heavily with sudden stifled sobs, or the choked, indrawn breath of terror; but not a word, not a quaver of human voices; peril strangled speech as our black train flew onward through the night. VIII A MAN TO LET The train which bore me out of the arc of the Prussian fire at Strasbourg passed in between the fortifications of Paris the next morning about eleven o'clock. Ten minutes later I was in a closed cab on my way to the headquarters of the Imperial Military Police, temporarily housed in the Luxembourg Palace. The day was magnificent; sunshine flooded the boulevards, and a few chestnut-trees in the squares had already begun to blossom for the second time in the season; there seemed to be no prophecy of autumn in sky or sunlight. The city, as I saw it from the open window of my cab, appeared to be in a perfectly normal condition. There were, perhaps, a few more national-guard soldiers on the streets, a few more brightly colored posters, notices, and placards on the dead walls, but the life of the city itself had not changed at all; the usual crowds filled the boulevards, the usual street cries sounded, the same middle-aged gentlemen sat in front of the cafés reading the same daily papers, the same waiters served them the same drinks; rows of cabs were drawn up where cabs are always to be found, and the same policemen dawdled in gossip with the same flower-girls. I caught the scent of early winter violets in the fresh Parisian breeze. Was this the city that Buckhurst looked upon as already doomed? On the marble bridge gardeners were closing up the morning flower-market; blue-bloused men with jointed hose sprinkled the asphalt in front of the Palais de Justice; students strolled under the trees from the School of Medicine to the Sorbonne; the Luxembourg fountain tossed its sparkling sheets of spray among the lotus. All this I saw, yet a sinister foreboding oppressed me, and I could not shake it off even in this bright city where September was promising only a new lease of summer and the white spikes of chestnut blossoms hummed with eager bees. Physically I felt well enough; the cramped sleep in the dark compartment, far from exhausting me, had not only rested me, but had also brought me an appetite which I meant to satisfy as soon as might be. As for my back, it was simply uncomfortable, but all effects of the shock had disappeared--unless this heavy mental depression was due to it. My cab was now entering the Palace of the Luxembourg by the great arch facing the Rue de Tournon; the line sentinels halted us; I left the cab, crossed the parade in front of the guard-house, turned to the right, and climbed the stairs straight to my own quarters, which were in the west wing of the palace, and consisted of a bedroom, a working cabinet, and a dressing-room. But I did not enter my door or even glance at it; I continued straight on, down the corridor to a door, on the ground-glass panes of which was printed in red lettering: HEADQUARTERS IMPERIAL MILITARY POLICE SAFE DEPOSIT The sentinel interrogated me for form's sake, although he knew me; I entered, passed rapidly along the face of the steel cage behind which some officers sat on high stools, writing, and presented myself at the guichet marked, "Foreign Division." There was no military clerk in attendance there, and, to my surprise, the guichet was closed. However, a very elegant officer strolled up to the guichet as I laid my bag of diamonds on the glass shelf, languidly unlocked the steel window-gate, and picked up the bag of jewels. The officer was Mornac, the Emperor's alter ego, or âme damnée, who had taken over the entire department the very day I left Paris for the frontier. Officially, I could not recognize him until I presented myself to Colonel Jarras with my report; so I saluted his uniform, standing at attention in my filthy clothes, awaiting the usual question and receipt. "Name and number?" inquired Mornac, indolently. I gave both. "You desire to declare?" I enumerated the diamonds, and designated them as those lately stolen from the crucifix of Louis XI. Mornac handed me a printed certificate of deposit, opened a compartment in the safe, and tossed in the bag without sealing it. And, as I stood waiting, he lighted a scented cigarette, glanced over at me, puffed once or twice, and finally dismissed me with a discourteous nod. I went, because he was Mornac; I thought that I was entitled to a bureau receipt, but could scarcely demand one from the chief of the entire department who had taken over the bureau solely in order to reform it, root and branch. Doubtless his curt dismissal of me without the customary receipt and his failure to seal the bag were two of his reforms. I limped off past the glittering steel cage, thankful that the jewels were safe, turned into the corridor, and hastened back to my own rooms. To tear off my rags, bathe, shave, and dress in a light suit of civilian clothes took me longer than usual, for I was a trifle lame. Bath and clean clothes ought to have cheered me; but the contrary was the case, and I sat down to a breakfast brought by a palace servant, and ate it gloomily, thinking of Buckhurst, and the Countess, and of Morsbronn, and of the muddy dead lying under the rifle smoke below my turret window. I thought, too, of that astonishing conspiracy which had formed under the very shadow of the imperial throne, and through which already the crucifix and diamonds of Louis XI. had been so nearly lost to France. Who besides Buckhurst was involved? How far had Colonel Jarras gone in the investigation during my absence? How close to the imperial throne had the conspiracy burrowed? Pondering, I slowly retraced my steps through the bedroom and dressing-room, and out into the tiled hallway, where, at the end of the dim corridor, the door of Colonel Jarras's bureau stood partly open. Jarras was sitting at his desk as I entered, and he gave me a leaden-eyed stare as I closed the door behind me and stood at attention. For a moment he said nothing, but presently he partly turned his ponderous body towards me and motioned me to a chair. As I sat down I glanced around and saw my old comrade, Speed, sitting in a dark corner, chewing a cigarette and watching me in alert silence. "You are present to report?" suggested Colonel Jarras, heavily. I bowed, glancing across at Speed, who shrugged his shoulders and looked at the floor with an ominous smile. Mystified, I began my report, but was immediately stopped by Jarras with a peevish gesture: "All right, all right; keep all that for the Chief of Department. Your report doesn't concern me." "Doesn't concern you!" I repeated; "are you not chief of this bureau, Colonel Jarras?" "No," snapped Jarras; "and there's no bureau now--at least no bureau for the Foreign Division." Speed leaned forward and said: "Scarlett, my friend, the Foreign Division of the Imperial Military Police is not in favor just now. It appears the Foreign Division is suspected." "Suspected? Of what?" "Treason, I suppose," said Speed, serenely. I felt my face begin to burn, but the astonishing news left me speechless. "I said," observed Speed, "that the Foreign Division is suspected; that is not exactly the case; it is not suspected, simply because it has been abolished." "Who the devil did that?" I asked, savagely. "Mornac." Mornac! The Emperor's shadow! Then truly enough it was all up with the Foreign Division. But the shame of it!--the disgrace of as faithful a body of police, mercenaries though they were, as ever worked for any cause, good or bad. "So it's the old whine of treason again, is it?" I said, while the blood beat in my temples. "Oh, very well, doubtless Monsieur Mornac knows his business. Are we transferred, Speed, or just kicked out into the street?" "Kicked out," replied Speed, rubbing his slim, bony hands together. "And you, sir?" I asked, turning to Jarras, who sat with his fat, round head buried in his shoulders, staring at the discolored blotter on his desk. The old Corsican straightened as though stung: "Since when, monsieur, have subordinates assumed the right to question their superiors?" I asked his pardon in a low voice, although I was no longer his subordinate. He had been a good and loyal chief to us all; the least I could do now was to show him respect in his bitter humiliation. I think he felt our attitude and that it comforted him, but all he said was: "It is a heavy blow. The Emperor knows best." As we sat there in silence, a soldier came to summon Colonel Jarras, and he went away, leaning on his ivory-headed cane, head bowed over the string of medals on his breast. When he had gone, Speed came over and shut the door, then shook hands with me. "He's gone to see Mornac; it will be our turn next. Look out for Mornac, or he'll catch you tripping in your report. Did you find Buckhurst?" "Look here," I said, angrily, "how can Mornac catch me tripping? I'm not under his orders." "You are until you're discharged. You see, they've taken it into their heads, since the crucifix robbery, to suspect everybody and anybody short of the Emperor. Mornac came smelling around here the day you left. He's at the bottom of all this--a nice business to cast suspicion on our division because we're foreigners. Gad, he looks like a pickpocket himself--he's got the oblique trick of the eyes and the restless finger movement." "Perhaps he is," I said. Speed looked at me sharply. "If I were in the service now I'd arrest Mornac--if I dared." "You might as well arrest the Emperor," I said, wearily. "That's it," observed Speed, throwing away his chewed cigarette. "Nobody dare touch Mornac; nobody dare even watch him. But if there's a leak somewhere, it's far more probable that Mornac did the dirty work than that there's a traitor in our division." Presently he added: "Did you catch Buckhurst?" "I don't want to talk about it," I said, disgusted. "--Because," continued Speed, "if you've got him, it may save us. Have you?" How I wished that I had Buckhurst safely handcuffed beside me! "If you've got him," persisted Speed, "we'll shake him like a rat until he squeals. And if he names Mornac--" "Do you think that Mornac would give him or us the chance?" I said. "Rubbish! He'd do the shaking _in camera_; and it would only be a hand-shaking if Buckhurst is really his creature. And he's rid himself of our division, anyhow. Wait!" I added, sharply; "perhaps that is the excuse! Perhaps that is the very reason that he's abolished the foreign division! We may have been getting too close to the root of this matter; I had already caught Buckhurst--" "You had?" cried Speed, eagerly. "But I'm not going to talk about it now," I added, sullenly. "My troubles are coming; I've a story to tell that won't please Mornac, and I have an idea that he means mischief to me." Speed looked curiously at me, and I went on: "I used my own judgment--supposing that Jarras was my chief. I knew he'd let me take my own way--but I don't know what Mornac will say." However, I was soon to know what Mornac had to say, for a soldier appeared to summon us both, and we followed to the temporary bureau which looked out to the east over the lovely Luxembourg gardens. Jarras passed us as we entered; his heavy head was bent, and I do not suppose that he saw either us or our salutes, for he shuffled off down the dark passage, tapping his slow way like a blind man; and Speed and I entered, saluting Mornac. The personage whom we saluted was a symmetrical, highly colored gentleman, with black mustache and Oriental eyes. His skin was too smooth--there was not a line or a wrinkle visible on hand or face, nothing but plump flesh pressing the golden collar of his light-blue tunic and the half-dozen gold rings on his carefully kept, restless fingers. His light, curved sabre hung by its silver chain from a nail on a wall behind him; beside it, suspended by the neck cord, was his astrakhan-trimmed dolman of palest turquoise-blue, and over that hung his scarlet cap. As he raised his heavy-lidded, insolent eyes to me, I thought I had never before appreciated the utter falseness of his visage as I did at that moment. Instantly I decided that he meant evil to me; and I instinctively glanced at Speed, standing beside me at attention, his clear blue eyes alert, his lank limbs and lean head fairly tremulous with comprehension. At a careless nod from Mornac I muttered the formal "I have to report, sir--" and began mumbling a perfunctory account of my movements since leaving Paris. He listened, idly contemplating a silver penknife which he alternately snapped open and closed, the click of the spring punctuating my remarks. I told the truth as far as I went, which brought me to my capture by Uhlans and the natural escape of my prisoner, Buckhurst. I merely added that I had secured the diamonds and had managed to reach Paris via Strasbourg. "Is that all?" inquired Mornac, listlessly. "All I have to report, sir." "Permit me to be the judge of how much you have to report," said Mornac. "Continue." I was silent. "Do you prefer that I draw out information by questions?" asked Mornac, looking up at me. I was already in his net; I ought not to have placed myself in the position of concealing anything, yet I distrusted him and wished to avoid giving him a chance to misunderstand me. But now it was too late; if the error could be wiped out at all, the only way to erase it was by telling him everything and giving him his chance to misinterpret me if he desired it. He listened very quietly while I told of my encounter with Buckhurst in Morsbronn, of our journey to Saverne, to Strasbourg, and finally my own arrival in Paris. "Where is Buckhurst?" he asked. "I do not know," I replied, doggedly. "That is to say that you had him in your power within the French lines yet did not secure him?" "Yes." "Your orders were to arrest him?" "Yes." "And shoot him if he resisted?" "Yes." "But you let him go?" "There was something more important to do than to arrest Buckhurst. I meant to find out what he had on hand in Paradise." "So you disobeyed orders?" "If you care to so interpret my action." "Why did you not arrest the Countess de Vassart?" "I did; the Uhlans made me prisoner as I reported to you." "I mean, why did you not arrest her after you left Morsbronn?" "That would have prevented Buckhurst from going to Paradise." "Your orders were to arrest the Countess?" "Yes." "Did you obey those orders?" "No," I said, between my teeth. "Why?" "I had every reason to believe that an important conspiracy was being ripened somewhere near Paradise. I had every reason to believe that the robbery of the crown jewels might furnish funds for the plotters. "The arrest of one man could not break up the conspiracy; I desired to trap the leaders; and to that end I deliberately liberated this man Buckhurst as a stool-pigeon. If my judgment has been at fault, I accept the blame." Mornac's silver penknife closed. Presently he opened the blade again and tested the edge on his plump forefinger. "I beg to call your attention to the fact," I continued, "that a word from Buckhurst to the provost at Morsbronn would have sent me before the squad of execution. In a way, I bought my freedom. But," I added, slowly, "I should never have bought it if the bargain by which I saved my own skin had been a betrayal of France. Nobody wants to die; but in my profession we discount that. No man in my division is a physical coward. I purchased my freedom not only without detriment to France, but, on the contrary, to the advantage of France." "At the expense of your honor," observed Mornac. My ears were burning; I advanced a pace and looked Mornac straight between the eyes; but his eyes did not meet mine--they were fixed on his silver penknife. "I did the best I could do in the line of duty," I said. "You ask me why I did not break my word and arrest Buckhurst after we left the German lines. And I answer you that I had given my word not to arrest him, in pursuance of my plan to use him further." Mornac examined his carefully kept finger-tips in detail. "You say he bribed you?" "I said that he attempted to do so," I replied, sharply. "With the diamonds?" "Yes." "You have them?" "I deposited them as usual." "Bring them." Angry as I was, I saluted, wheeled, and hastened off to the safe deposit. The jewel-bag was delivered when I presented my printed slip; I picked it up and marched back, savagely biting my mustache and striving to control my increasing exasperation. Never before had I endured insolence from a superior officer. Mornac was questioning Speed as I entered, and that young man, who has much self-control to learn, was already beginning to answer with disrespectful impatience, but my advent suspended matters, and Mornac took the bag of jewels from my hands and examined it. He seemed to be in no hurry to empty it; he lolled in his chair with an absent-minded expression like the expression of a cat who pretends to forget the mouse between her paws. Danger was written all over him; I squared my shoulders and studied him, braced for a shock. The shock came almost immediately, for, without a word, he suddenly emptied the jewel-bag on the desk before him. The bag contained little pebbles wrapped in tissue-paper. I heard Speed catch his breath sharply; I stared stupidly at the pebbles. Mornac made a careless, sweeping gesture, spreading the pebbles out before us with his restless, ringed fingers. "Suppose you explain this farce?" he suggested, unmoved. "Suppose _you_ explain it!" I stammered. He raised his delicately arched eyebrows. "What do you mean?" "I mean that an hour ago that bag contained the diamonds from the crucifix of Louis XI! I mean that I handed them over to you on my arrival at this bureau!" "Doubtless you can prove what you say," he observed, and his silver penknife snapped shut like the click of a trap, and he lay back in his padded chair and slipped the knife into his pocket. I looked at Speed; his sandy hair fairly bristled, but his face was drawn and tense. I looked at Mornac; his heavy, black eyes met mine steadily. "It seems to me," he said, "that it was high time we abolished the Foreign Division, Imperial Military Police." "I refuse to be discharged!" I said, hoarsely. "It is your word against mine; I demand an investigation!" "Certainly," he replied, almost wearily, and touched a bell. "Bring that witness," he added to the soldier who appeared in answer to the silvery summons. "I mean an official inquiry," I said--"a court-martial. It is my right where my honor is questioned." "It is my right, when you question my honor, to throw you into Mont Valérien, neck and heels," he said, showing his teeth under his silky, black mustache. Almost stunned by his change of tone, I stood like a stone. Somebody entered the room behind me, passed me; there was an odor of violets in the air, a faint rustle of silk, and I saw Mornac rise and bow to his guest and conduct her to a chair. His guest was the young Countess de Vassart. She looked up at me brightly, gave me a pretty nod of recognition, then turned expectantly to Mornac, who was still standing at her elbow, saying, "Then it is no longer a question of my exile, monsieur?" "No, madame; there has been a mistake. The government has no reason to suspect your loyalty." He turned directly on me. "Madame, do you know this officer?" "Yes," said the Countess, smiling. "Did you see him receive a small sack of diamonds in Morsbronn?" The Countess gave me a quick glance of surprise. "Yes," she said, wonderingly. "Thank you, madame; that is sufficient," he replied; and before I could understand what he was about he had conducted the Countess to the next room and had closed the door behind him. "Quick!" muttered Speed at my elbow; "let's back out of this trap. There's no use; he's one of them, and he means to ruin you." "I won't go!" I said, in a cold fury; "I'll choke the truth out of him, I tell you." "Man! Man! He's the Emperor's shadow! You're done for; come on while there's time. I tell you there's no hope for you here." "Hope! What do I care?" I said, harshly. "Why, Speed, that man is a common thief." "What of it?" whispered Speed. "Doesn't everybody know that the conspiracy runs close to the throne? What do you care? Come on, I tell you; I've had enough of this rotten government. So have you. And we've both seen enough to ruin us. Come on!" "But he's got those diamonds! Do you think I can stand that?" "I think you've got to," muttered Speed, savagely. "Do you want to rot in Cayenne? If you do, stay here and bawl for a court-martial!" "But the government--" "Let the government go to the devil! It's going fast enough, anyhow. Come, don't let Mornac find us here when he returns. He may be coming now--quick, Scarlett! We've got to cut for it!" "Speed," I said, unsteadily, "it's enough to make an honest man strike hands with Buckhurst in earnest." Speed took my arm with a cautious glance at the door of the next room, and urged me toward the corridor. "The government has kicked us out into the street," he muttered; "be satisfied that the government didn't kick us into Biribi. And it will yet if you don't come." "Come? Where? I haven't any money, and now they've got my honor--" "Rubbish!" he whispered, fairly dragging me into the hallway. "Here! No--don't go to your rooms. Leave everything--get clear of this rat-pit, I tell you." He half pushed, half dragged me to the parade; then, dropping my arm, he struck a jaunty pace through the archway, not even glancing at the sentinels. I kept pace with him, scarcely knowing what I did. In the Rue de Seine I halted suddenly, crying out that I must go back, but he seized me with a growl of "Idiot! come on!" and fairly shoved me through the colonnades of the Institute, along the quay, down the river-wall, to a dock where presently a swift river-boat swung in for passengers. And when the bateau mouche shot out again into mid-stream, Speed and I stood silently on deck, watching the silver-gray façades of Paris fly past above us under the blue sky. We sat far forward, quite alone, and separated from the few passengers by the pilot-house and jointed funnel. And there, carelessly lounging, with one of his lank legs crossed over the other and a cigar between his teeth, my comrade coolly recounted to me the infamous history of the past week: "Jarras put his honest, old, square-toed foot in it by accident; I don't know how he managed to do it, but this is certain: he suddenly found himself on a perfectly plain trail which could only end at Mornac's threshold. "Then he did a stupid thing--he called Mornac in and asked him, in perfect faith, to clear up the affair, never for a moment suspecting that Mornac was the man. "That occurred the day you started to catch Buckhurst. And on that day, too, I had found out something; and like a fool I told Jarras." Speed chewed his cigar and laughed. "In twenty-four hours Jarras was relieved of his command; I was requested not to leave the Luxembourg--in other words, I was under arrest, and Mornac took over the entire department and abolished the Foreign Division 'for the good of the service,' as the _Official_ had it next day. "Then somebody--Mornac probably--let loose a swarm of those shadowy lies called rumors--you know how that is done!--and people began to mutter, and the cafés began to talk of treason among the foreign police. Of course Rochefort took it up; of course the _Official_ printed a half-hearted denial which was far worse than an avowal. Then the division was abolished, and the illustrated papers made filthy caricatures of us, and drew pictures of Mornac, sabre in hand, decapitating a nest full of American rattlesnakes and British cobras, and Rochefort printed a terrible elaboration of the fable of the farmer and the frozen serpent." "Oh, that's enough," I said, sick with rage and disgust. "Let them look out for their own country now. I pity the Empress; I pity the Emperor. I don't know what Mornac means to do, but I know that the Internationale boa-constrictor is big enough to swallow government, dynasty, and Empire, and it is going to try." "I am certain of one thing," said Speed, staring out over the sun-lit water with narrowing eyes. "I know that Mornac is using Buckhurst." "Perhaps it is Buckhurst who is using Mornac," I suggested. "I think both those gentlemen have the same view in end--to feather their respective nests under cover of a general smash," said Speed. "It would not do for Mornac to desert the Empire under any circumstances. But he can employ Buckhurst to squeeze it dry and then strike an attitude as its faithful defender in adversity." "But why does Buckhurst desire to go to Paradise?" I asked. The boat swung into a dock near the Point du Jour; a few passengers left, a few came aboard; the boat darted on again under the high viaduct of masonry, past bastions on which long siege cannon glistened in the sunshine, past lines of fresh earthworks, past grassy embankments on which soldiers moved to the rumble of drums. "I know something about Paradise," said Speed, in a low voice. I waited; Speed chewed his cigar grimly. "Look here, Scarlett," he said. "Do you know what has become of the crown jewels of France?" "No," I said. "Well, I'll tell you. You know, of course, that the government is anxious; you know that Paris is preparing to stand siege if the Prussians double up Bazaine and the army of Châlons in the north. But you don't know what a pitiable fright the authorities are in. Why, Scarlett, they are scared almost to the verge of idiocy." "They've passed that verge," I observed. "Yes, they have. They have had a terrible panic over the safety of the crown jewels--they were nervous enough before the robbery. And this is what they've done in secret: "The crown jewels, the bars of gold of the reserve, the great pictures from the Louvre, the antiques of value, including the Venus of Milo, have been packed in cases and loaded on trains under heavy guard. "Twelve of these trains have already left Paris for the war-port of Lorient. The others are to follow, one every twenty-four hours at midnight. "Whether these treasures are to be locked up in Lorient, or whether they are to be buried in the sand-dunes along the coast, I don't know. But I know this: a swift cruiser--the _Fer-de-Lance_--is lying off Paradise, between the light-house and the Ile de Groix, with steam up night and day, ready to receive the treasures of the government at the first alarm and run for the French possessions in Cochin-China. "And now, perhaps, you may guess why Buckhurst is so anxious to hang around Paradise." Of course I was startled. Speed's muttered information gave me the keys to many doors. And behind each door were millions and millions and millions of francs' worth of plunder. Our eyes met in mute interrogation; Speed smiled. "Of course," said I, with dry lips, "Buckhurst is devil enough to attempt anything." "Especially if backed by Mornac," said Speed. Suddenly the professional aspect of the case burst on me like a shower of glorious sunshine. "Oh, for the chance!" I said, brokenly. "Speed! Think of it! Think how completely we have the thing in hand!" "Yes," he said, with a shrug, "only we have just been kicked out of the service in disgrace, and we are now going to be fully occupied in running away from the police." That was true enough; I had scarcely had time to realize our position as escaped suspects of the department. And with the recognition of my plight came a rush of hopeless rage, of bitter regret, and soul-sickening disappointment. So this was the end of my career--a fugitive, disgraced, probably already hunted. This was my reward for faithful service--penniless, almost friendless, liable to arrest and imprisonment with no hope of justice from Emperor or court-martial--a banned, ruined, proscribed outcast, in blind flight. "I've thought of the possibility of this," observed Speed, quietly. "We've got to make a living somehow. In fact, I'm to let--and so are you." I looked at him, too miserable to speak. "I had an inkling of it," he said. A shrewd twinkle came into his clear, Yankee eyes; he chewed his wrecked cigar and folded his lank arms. "So," he continued, tranquilly, blinking at the sparkling river, "I drew out all my money--and yours, too." "Mine!" I stammered. "How could you?" "Forged an order," he admitted. "Can you forgive me, Scarlett?" "Forgive you! Bless your generous heart!" I muttered, as he handed me a sealed packet. "Not at all," he said, laughing; "a crime in time saves nine--eh, Scarlett? Pocket it; it's all there. Now listen. I have made arrangements of another kind. Do you remember an application for license from the manager of a travelling American show--a Yankee circus?" "Byram's Imperial American Circus?" I said. "That's it. They went through Normandy last summer. Well, Byram's agent is going to meet us at Saint-Cloud. We're engaged; I'm to do ballooning--you know I worked one of the military balloons before Petersburg. You are to do sensational riding. You were riding-master in the Spahis--were you not?" I looked at him, almost laughing. Suddenly the instinct of my vagabond days returned like a sweet wind from the wilds, smiting me full in the face. "I tamed three lions for my regiment at Constantine," I said. "Good lad! Then you can play with Byram's lions, too. Oh, what the devil!" he cried, recklessly; "it's all in a lifetime. Quand même, and who cares? We've life before us and an honest living in view, and Byram has packed two of his men back to England and I've tinkered up their passports to suit us. So we're reasonably secure." "Will you tell me, Speed, why you were wise enough to do all this while I was gone?" I asked, in astonishment. "Because," said Speed, deliberately, "I distrusted Mornac from the hour he entered the department." A splendid officer of police was spoiled when Mornac entered the department. Presently the deck guard began to shout: "Saint-Cloud! Saint-Cloud!" and the little boat glided up alongside the floating pier. Speed rose; I followed him across the gang-plank; and, side by side, we climbed the embankment. "Do you mean to say that Byram is going travelling about with his circus in spite of the war?" I whispered. "Yes, indeed. We start south from Chartres to-morrow." Presently I said: "Do you suppose we will go to Lorient or--Paradise?" "We will if I have anything to say about it," replied Speed, throwing away his ragged cigar. And I walked silently beside him, thinking of the young Countess and of Buckhurst. PART SECOND IX THE ROAD TO PARADISE On the 3d of November Byram's American Circus, travelling slowly overland toward the Spanish frontier, drew up for an hour's rest at Quimperlé. I, however, as usual, prepared to ride forward to select a proper place for our night encampment, and to procure the necessary license. The dusty procession halted in the town square, which was crowded, and as I turned in my saddle I saw Byram stand up on the red-and-gold band-wagon and toss an armful of circulars and bills into the throng. The white bits of paper fluttered wide and disappeared in the sea of white Breton head-dresses; there was a rhythmic clatter of wooden shoes, an undulation of snowy coiffes, then a low murmur as the people slowly read the circulars aloud, their musical monotone accompanying the strident nasal voice of Byram, who stood on the tarnished band-wagon shouting his crowd around him. "Mossoors et madams! Ecooty see voo play! J'ai l'honnoor de vous presenter le ploo magnifique cirque--" And the invariable réclame continued to the stereotyped finis; the clown bobbed up behind Byram and made his usual grimaces, and the band played "The Cork Leg." The Bretons looked on in solemn astonishment: my comrade, Speed, languidly stood up on the elephant and informed the people that our circus was travelling to Lorient to fill a pressing engagement, and if we disappointed the good people of Lorient a riot would doubtless result, therefore it was not possible to give any performance before we reached Lorient--and the admission was only ten sous. Our clown then picked up the tatters of his threadbare comic speech. Speed, munching a stale sandwich, came strolling over to where I stood sponging out my horse's mouth with cool water. "We'll ride into Paradise in full regalia, I suppose," he observed, munching away reflectively; "it's the cheapest réclame." I dashed a bucket of water over my horse's legs. "You'd better look out for your elephant; those drunken Bretons are irritating him," I said. "Mahouts are born, not made." Speed turned; the elephant was squealing and thrusting out a prehensile trunk among the people. There would be trouble if any fool gave him tobacco. "Hi!" cried Speed, "tobah! Let the mem-log alone! Ai! he's snatched a coiffe! Drop it, Djebe! C'hast buhan! Don't be afraid, mesdames; the elephant is not ugly! Chomit oll en ho trankilite!" The elephant appeared to understand the mixture of Hindu, French, and Breton--or perhaps it was the sight of the steel ankus that Speed flourished in his quality of mahout. The crowd pressed forward again, reassured by the "Chomit oll en ho trankilite!" Speed swallowed the last crumb of his sandwich, wiped his hands on his handkerchief, and shoved them into his shabby pockets; the ankus dangled from his wrist. We were in seedy circumstances; an endless chain of bad luck had followed us from Chartres--bad weather, torrents of rain, flooded roads, damaging delays on railways already overcrowded with troops and war material, and, above all, we encountered everywhere that ominous apathy which burdened the whole land, even those provinces most remote from the seat of war. The blockade of Paris had paralyzed France. The fortune that Byram had made in the previous year was already gone; we no longer travelled by rail; we no longer slept at inns; we could barely pay for the food for our animals. As for the employés, the list had been cut down below the margin of safety, yet for a month no salaries had been paid. As I stood there in the public square of Quimperlé, passing the cooling sponge over my horse's nose, old Byram came out of the hotel on the corner, edged his way through the stolid crowd that surrounded us gaunt mountebanks, and shuffled up to me. "I guess we ain't goin' to push through to-night, Scarlett," he observed, wiping his sweating forehead on the sleeve of his linen duster. "No, governor, it's too far," I said. "We'll be all right, anyway," added Speed; "there's a change in the moon and this warm weather ought to hold, governor." "I dunno," said Byram, with an abstracted glance at the crowd around the elephant. "Cheer up, governor," I said, "we ought at least to pay expenses to the Spanish frontier. Once out of France we'll find your luck again for you." "Mebbe," he said, almost wearily. I glanced at Speed. This was the closest approach to a whine that we had heard from Byram. But the man had changed within a few days; his thin hair, brushed across his large, alert ears, was dusty and unkempt; hollows had formed under his shrewd eyes; his black broadcloth suit was as soiled as his linen, his boots shabby, his silk hat suitable only for the stage property of our clown. "Don't ride too far," said Byram, as I set foot to stirrup, "them band-wagon teams is most done up, an' that there camuel gits meaner every minute." I wheeled my horse out into the road to Paradise, cursing the "camuel," the bane of our wearied caravan. "Got enough cash for the license?" asked Byram, uneasily. "Plenty, governor; don't worry. Speed, don't let him mope. We'll be in Lorient this time to-morrow," I called back, with a swagger of assumed cheerfulness. Speed stepped swiftly across the square and laid his hand on my stirrup. "What are you going to do if you see Buckhurst?" "Nothing." "Or the Countess?" "I don't know." "I suppose you will go out of your way to find her if she's in Paradise?" "Yes." "And tell her the truth about Buckhurst?" "I expect to." After a moment's silence he said: "Don't do anything until I see you to-night, will you?" "All right," I replied, and set my horse at a gallop over the old stone bridge. The highway to the sea which winds down through acres of yellow gorse and waving broom to the cliffs of Paradise is a breezy road, swept by the sweet winds that blow across Brittany from the Côte d'Or to the Pyrenees. It is a land of sea-winds; and when in the still noontide of midsummer the winds are at play far out at sea, their traces remain in the furrowed wheat, in the incline of solitary trees, in the breezy trend of the cliff-clover and the blackthorn and the league-wide sweep of the moorlands. And through this land whose inland perfume always savored the unseen sea I rode down to Paradise. It was not until I had galloped through the golden forest of Kerselec that I came in sight of the ocean, although among the sunbeams and the dropping showers of yellow beech-leaves I fancied I could hear the sound of the surf. And now I rode slowly, in full sight of the sea where it lay, an immense gray band across the world, touching a looming horizon, and in throat and nostril the salt stung sweetly, and the whole world seemed younger for the breath of the sea. From the purple mystery of the horizon to the landward cliffs the ocean appeared motionless; it was only when I had advanced almost to the cliffs that I saw the movement of waves--that I perceived the contrast between inland inertia and the restless repose of the sea, stirring ceaselessly since creation. The same little sparkling river I had crossed in Quimperlé I now saw again, spreading out a wide, flat current which broke into waves where it tumbled seaward across the bar; I heard the white-winged gulls mewing, the thunderous monotone of the surf, and a bell in some unseen chapel ringing sweetly. I passed a stone house, another; then the white road curved under the trees and I rode straight into the heart of Paradise, my horse's hoofs awaking echoes in the silent, stone-paved square. Never had I so suddenly entered a place so peaceful, so quiet in the afternoon sun--yet the silence was not absolute, it was thrilling with exquisite sound, lost echoes of the river running along its quay of stone, half-heard harmonies of the ocean where white surf seethed over the sands beyond the headland. There was a fountain, too, dripping melodiously under the trees; I heard the breathless humming of a spinning-wheel from one of the low houses of gray stone which enclosed the square, and a young girl singing, and the drone of bees in a bed of resida. So this was Paradise! Truly the name did not seem amiss here, under the still vault of blue above; Paradise means peace to so many of us--surcease of care and sound and the brazen trample of nations--not the quiet of palace corridors or the tremendous silence of a cathedral, but the noiselessness of pleasant sounds, moving shadows of trees, wordless quietude, simplicity. A young girl with a face like the Madonna stole across the square in her felt shoes. "Can you tell me where the mayor lives?" I asked, looking down at her from my horse. She raised her white-coiffed head with an innocent smile: "Eman' barz ar sal o leina." "Don't you speak French?" I asked, appalled. "Ho! ia; oui, monsieur, s'il faut bien. The mayor is at breakfast in his kitchen yonder." "Thank you, my child." I turned my horse across the shady square to a stone house banked up with bed on bed of scarlet geraniums. The windows were open; a fat man with very small eyes sat inside eating an omelet. He watched me dismount without apparent curiosity, and when I had tied my horse and walked in at the open door he looked at me over the rim of a glass of cider, and slowly finished his draught without blinking. Then he said, "Bonjour." I told him that I wanted a license for the circus to camp for one night; that I also desired permission to pitch camp somewhere in the vicinity. He made out the license, stamped it, handed it to me, and I paid him the usual fee. "I've heard of circuses," he said; "they're like those shows at country fairs, I suppose." "Yes--in a way. We have animals." "What kind?" "Lions, tigers--" "I've seen them." "--a camel, an elephant--" "Alive?" "Certainly." "Ma doué!" he said, with slow emotion, "have you a live elephant?" I admitted that fact. Presently I said, "I hope the people of Paradise will come to the circus when we get to Lorient." "Eh? Not they," said the mayor, wagging his head. "Do you think we have any money here in Paradise? And then," he added, cunningly, "we can all see your elephant when your company arrives. Why should we pay to see him again? War does not make millionaires out of the poor." I looked miserably around. It was quite true that people like these had no money to spend on strolling players. But we had to live somehow, and our animals could not exist on air, even well-salted air. "How much will it cost to have your town-crier announce the coming of the circus?" I inquired. "That will cost ten sous if he drums and reads the announcement from here to the château." I gave the mayor ten copper pennies. "What château?" I asked. "Dame, the château, monsieur." "Oh," said I, "where the Countess lives?" "The Countess? Yes, of course. Who else?" "Is the Countess there?" "Oui, dame, and others not to my taste." I asked no more questions, but the mayor did, and when he found it might take some time to pump me, he invited me to share his omelet and cider and afterwards to sit in the sun among his geraniums and satisfy his curiosity concerning the life of a strolling player. I was glad of something to eat. After I had unsaddled my horse and led him to the mayor's stable and had paid for hay and grain, I returned to sit in the mayor's garden and sniff longingly at his tobacco smoke and answer his impertinent questions as good-naturedly as they were intended. But even the mayor of Paradise grew tired of asking questions in time; the bees droned among the flowers, the low murmur of the sea stole in on our ears, the river softly lapped the quay. The mayor slept. He was fat, very fat; his short, velvet jacket hung heavy with six rows of enormous silver buttons, his little, round hat was tilted over his nose. A silver buckle decorated it in front; behind, two little velvet ribbons fluttered in futile conflict with the rising sea-breeze. Men in embroidered knee-breeches, with bare feet thrust into straw-filled sabots, sat sunning on the quay under the purple fig-trees; one ragged fellow in soiled velvet bolero and embossed leggings lay in the sun, chin on fists, wooden shoes crossed behind him, watching the water with the eyes of a poacher. This mild, balmy November weather, this afterglow of summer which in my own country we call Indian summer, had started new blossoms among the climbing tea-roses, lovely orange-tinted blossoms, and some of a clear lemon color, and their fragrance filled the air. Nowhere do roses blow as they blow near the sea, nowhere have I breathed such perfume as I breathed that drowsy afternoon in Paradise, where in every door-yard thickets of clove-scented pinks carpeted the ground and tall spikes of snowy phlox glimmered silver-white in the demi-light. Where on earth could a more peaceful scene be found than in this sea-lulled land, here in the subdued light under aged, spreading oaks, where moss crept over the pavements and covered the little fountain as though it had been the stony brink of a limpid forest spring? The mayor woke up toward five o'clock and stared at me with owlish gravity as though daring me to say that he had been asleep. "Um--ah--ma fois oui!" he muttered, blowing his nose loudly in a purple silk bandanna. Then he shrugged his shoulders and added: "C'est la vie, monsieur. Que voulez-vous?" And it was one kind of life after all--a blessed release from the fever of that fierce farandole which we of the outer world call "life." The mayor scratched his ear, yawned, stretched one leg, then the other, and glanced at me. "Paris still holds out?" he asked, with another yawn. "Oh yes," I replied. "And the war--is it still going badly for us?" "There is always hope," I answered. "Hope," he grumbled; "oh yes, we know what hope is--we of the coast live on it when there's no bread; but hope never yet filled my belly for me." "Has the war touched you here in Paradise?" I asked. "Touched us? Ho! Say it has crushed us and I'll strike palms with you. Why, not a keel has passed out of the port since August. Where is the fishing-fleet? Where are the sardine sloops that ought to have sailed from Algiers? Where are the Icelanders?" "Well, where are they?" I suggested. "Where? Ask the semaphore yonder. Where are our salt schooners for the Welsh coast? I don't know. They have not sailed, that's all I know. You do well to come with your circus and your elephant! You can peddle diamonds in the poor-house, too, if it suits your taste." "Have the German cruisers frightened all your craft from the sea?" I asked, astonished. "Yes, partly. Then there's an ugly French cruiser lying off Groix, yonder, and her black stacks are dribbling smoke all day and all night. We have orders to keep off and use Lorient when we want a port." "Do you know why the cruiser warns your fishing-boats from this coast?" I inquired. "No," he said, shortly. "Do you know the name of the cruiser?" "She's a new one, the _Fer-de-Lance_. And if I were not a patriot and a Breton I'd say: 'May Sainte-Anne rot her where she lies; she's brought a curse on the coast from Lorient to the Saint-Julien Light!--and the ghosts of the Icelanders will work her evil yet.'" The mayor's round, hairless face was red; he thumped the arm of his chair with pudgy fists and wagged his head. "We have not seen the end of this," he said--"oh no! There's a curse coming on Paradise--the cruiser brought it, and it's coming. Hé! did a Bannalec man not hear the were-wolf in Kerselec forest a week since? Pst! Not a word, monsieur. But old Kloark, of Roscoff, heard it too--oui dame!--and he knows the howl of the Loup-Garou! Besides, did I not with my own eyes see a black cormorant fly inland from the sea? And, by Sainte-Éline of Paradise! the gulls squeal when there's no storm brewing and the lançons prick the dark with flames along the coast till you'd swear the witches of Ker-Is were lighting death-candles from Paradise to Pont-Aven." "Do you believe in witches, monsieur the mayor?" I asked, gravely. He gave me a shrewd glance. "Not at all--not even in bed and the light out," he said, with a fat swagger. "_I_ believe in magic? Ho! foi non! But many do. Oui dame! Many do." "Here in Paradise?" "Parbleu! Men of parts, too, monsieur. Now there's Terrec, who has the evil eye--not that I believe it, but, damn him, he'd better not try any tricks on me! "Others stick twigs of aubépine in their pastures; the apothecary is a man of science, yet every year he makes a bonfire of dried gorse and drives his cattle through the smoke. It may keep off witches and lightning--or it may not. I myself do not do such things." "Still you believe the cruiser out at sea yonder is going to bring you evil?" "She has brought it. But it's all the same to me. I am mayor, and exempt, and I have cider and tobacco and boudin for a few months yet." He caressed his little, selfish chin, which hung between his mottled jowls, peered cunningly at me, and opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment we both caught sight of a peasant running and waving a packet of blue papers in the air. "Monsieur the mayor! Monsieur the mayor!" he called, while still far away. "Cré cochon de malheur!" muttered the mayor, turning pale. "He's got a telegram!" The man came clattering across the square in his wooden shoes. "A telegram," repeated the mayor, wiping the sudden sweat from his forehead. "I never get telegrams. I don't want telegrams!" He turned to me, almost bursting with suppressed prophecy. "It has come--the evil that the black cruiser brings us! You laughed! Tenez, monsieur; there's your bad luck in these blue morsels of paper!" And he snatched the telegram from the breathless messenger, reading it with dilating eyes. For a long while he sat there studying the telegram, his fat forefinger following the scrawl, a crease deepening above his eyebrows, and all the while his lips moved in noiseless repetition of the words he spelled with difficulty and his labored breathing grew louder. When at length the magistrate had mastered the contents of his telegram, he looked up with a stupid stare. "I want my drummer. Where's the town-crier?" he demanded, as though dazed. "He has gone to Lorient, m'sieu the mayor," ventured the messenger. "To get drunk. I remember. Imbecile! Why did he go to-day? Are there not six other days in this cursed week? Who is there to drum? Nobody. Nobody knows how in Paradise. Seigneur, Dieu! the ignorance of this town!" "M'sieu the mayor," ventured the messenger, "there's Jacqueline." "Ho! Vrai. The Lizard's young one! She can drum, they say. She stole my drum once. Why did she steal it but to drum upon it?" "The little witch can drum them awake in Ker-Is," muttered the messenger. The mayor rose, looked around the square, frowned. Then he raised his voice in a bellow: "Jacqueline! Jacqueline! _Thou_ Jacqueline!" A far voice answered, faintly breaking across the square from the bridge: "She is on the rocks with her sea-rake!" The mayor thrust the blue telegram into his pocket and waddled out of his garden, across the square, and up the path to the cliffs. Uninvited, I went with him. X THE TOWN-CRIER The bell in the unseen chapel ceased ringing as we came out on the cliffs of Paradise, where, on the horizon, the sun hung low, belted with a single ribbon of violet cloud. Over acres of foaming shoals the crimson light flickered and spread, painting the eastern cliffs with sombre fire. The ebb-tide, red as blood, tumbled seaward across the bar, leaving every ledge a glowing cinder under the widening conflagration in the west. The mayor carried his silver-buttoned jacket over his arm; the air had grown sultry. As we walked our gigantic shadows strode away before us across the kindling stubble, seeming to lengthen at every stride. Below the cliffs, on a crescent of flat sand, from which sluggish, rosy rivulets crawled seaward, a man stood looking out across the water. And the mayor stopped and called down to him: "Ohé, the Lizard! What do you see on the ocean--you below?" "I see six war-ships speeding fast in column," replied the man, without looking up. The mayor hastily shaded his eyes with one fat hand, muttering: "All poachers have eyes like sea-hawks. There is a smudge of smoke to the north. Holy Virgin, what eyes the rascal has!" As for me, strain my eyes as I would, I saw nothing save the faintest stain of smoke on the horizon. "Hé, Lizard! Are they German, your six war-ships?" bawled the mayor. His voice had suddenly become tremulous. "They are French," replied the poacher, tranquilly. "Then Sainte-Éline keep them from the rocks!" sang out the mayor. "Ohé, Lizard, I want somebody to drum and read a proclamation. Where's Jacqueline?" At that instant a young girl, a mere child, appeared on the beach, dragging a sea-rake over the ground behind her. She was a lithe creature, bare-limbed and ragged, with the sea-tan on throat and knee. The blue tatters of her skirt hung heavy with brine; the creamy skin on her arms glittered with wet spray, and her hair was wet, too, clustering across her cheeks in damp elf-locks. The mayor glanced at her with that stolid contempt which Finistère Bretons cherish toward those women who show their hair--an immodesty unpardonable in the eyes of most Bretons. The girl caught sight of the mayor and gave him a laughing greeting which he returned with a shrug. "If you want a town-crier," she called up, in a deliciously fresh voice, scarcely tinged with the accent, "I'll cry your edicts and I'll drum for you, too!" "Can your daughter beat the drum?" asked the mayor of the poacher, ignoring the girl's eager face upturned. "Yes," said the poacher, indifferently, "and she can also beat the devil with two sticks." The girl threw her rake into a boat and leaped upon the rocks at the base of the cliff. "Jacqueline! Don't come up that way!" bawled the mayor, horrified. "Hey! Robert! Ohé! Lizard! Stop her or she'll break her neck!" The poacher looked up at his daughter then shrugged his shoulders and squatted down on his ragged haunches, restless eyes searching the level ocean, as sea-birds search. Breathless, hot, and laughing, the girl pulled herself up over the edge of the cliff. I held out my hand to aid her, but she pushed it away, crying, "Thank you all the same, but here I am!" "Spawn of the Lizard," I heard the mayor mutter to himself, "like a snake you wriggle where honest folk fall to destruction!" But he spoke condescendingly to the bright-eyed, breathless child. "I'll pay six sous if you'll drum for me." "I'll do it for love," she said, saucily--"for the love of drumming, not for your beaux yeux, m'sieu le maire." The mayor looked at her angrily, but, probably remembering he was at her mercy, suppressed his wrath and held out the telegram. "Can you read that, my child?" The girl, still breathing rapidly from her scramble, rested her hands on her hips and, head on one side, studied the blue sheets of the telegram over the mayor's outstretched arm. "Yes, I can read it. Why not? Can't you?" "Read? I the mayor of Paradise!" repeated the outraged magistrate. "What do you mean, lizard of lizards! gorse cat!" "Now if you are going to say such things I won't drum for you," said the child, glancing at me out of her sea-blue eyes and giving a shake to her elf-locks. "Yes, you will!" bawled the angry mayor. "Shame on your manners, Jacqueline Garenne! Shame on your hair hanging where all the world can see it! Shame on your bare legs--" "Not at all," said the child, unabashed. "God made my legs, m'sieu the mayor, and my hair, too. If my coiffe does not cover my hair, neither does the small Paris hat of the Countess de Vassart cover her hair. Complain of the Countess to m'sieu the curé, then I will listen to you." The mayor glared at her, but she tossed her head and laughed. "Ho fois! Everybody knows what you are," sniffed the mayor--"and nobody cares, either," he muttered, waddling past me, telegram in hand. The child, quite unconcerned, fell into step beside me, saying, confidentially: "When I was little I used to cry when they talked to me like that. But I don't now; I've made up my mind that they are no better than I." "I don't know why anybody should abuse you," I said, loudly enough for the mayor to hear. But that functionary waddled on, puffing, muttering, stopping every now and then in the narrow cliff-path to strike flint to tinder or to refill the tiny bowl of his pipe, which a dozen puffs always exhausted. "Oh, they all abuse us," said the child, serenely. "You see, you are a stranger and don't understand; but you will if you live here." "Why is everybody unkind to you?" I asked, after a moment. "Why? Oh, because I am what I am and my father is the Lizard." "A poacher?" "Ah," she said, looking up at me with delicious malice, "what is a poacher, monsieur?" "Sometimes he's a fine fellow gone wrong," I said, laughing. "So I don't believe any ill of your father, or of you, either. Will you drum for me, Jacqueline?" "For you, monsieur? Why, yes. What am I to read for you?" I gave her a hand-bill; at the first glance her eyes sparkled, the color deepened under her coat of amber tan; she caught her breath and read rapidly to the end. "Oh, how beautiful," she said, softly. "Am I to read this in the square?" "I will give you a franc to read it, Jacqueline." "No, no--only--oh, do let me come in and see the heavenly wonders! Would you, monsieur? I--I cannot pay--but would--_could_ you let me come in? I will read your notice, anyway," she added, with a quaver in her voice. The flushed face, the eager, upturned eyes, deep blue as the sea, the little hands clutching the show-bill, which fairly quivered between the tanned fingers--all these touched and amused me. The child was mad with excitement. What she anticipated, Heaven only knows. Shabby and tarnished as we were, the language of our hand-bills made up in gaudiness for the dingy reality. "Come whenever you like, Jacqueline," I said. "Ask for me at the gate." "And who are you, monsieur?" "My name is Scarlett." "Scarlett," she whispered, as though naming a sacred thing. The mayor, who had toddled some distance ahead of us, now halted in the square, looking back at us through the red evening light. "Jacqueline, the drum is in my house. I'll lend you a pair of sabots, too. Come, hasten little idler!" We entered the mayor's garden, where the flowers were glowing in the lustre of the setting sun. I sat down in a chair; Jacqueline waited, hands resting on her hips, small, shapely toes restlessly brushing the grass. "Truly this coming wonder-show will be a peep into paradise," she murmured. "Can all be true--really true as it is printed here in this bill--I wonder--" Before she had time to speculate further, the mayor reappeared with drum and drum-sticks in one hand and a pair of sabots in the other. He flung the sabots on the grass, and Jacqueline, quite docile now, slipped both bare feet into them. "You may keep them," said the mayor, puffing out his mottled cheeks benevolently; "decency must be maintained in Paradise, even if it beggars me." "Thank you," said Jacqueline, sweetly, slinging the drum across her hip and tightening the cords. She clicked the ebony sticks, touched the tightly drawn parchment, sounding it with delicate fingers, then looked up at the mayor for further orders. "Go, my child," said the mayor, amiably, and Jacqueline marched through the garden out into the square by the fountain, drum-sticks clutched in one tanned fist, the scrolls of paper in the other. In the centre of the square she stood a moment, looking around, then raised the drum-sticks; there came a click, a flash of metal, and the quiet square echoed with the startling outcrash. Back from roof and wall bounded the echoes; the stony pavement rang with the racket. Already a knot of people had gathered around her; others came swiftly to windows and doorsteps; the loungers left their stone benches by the river, the maids of Paradise flocked from the bridge. Even Robert the Lizard drew in his dripping line to listen. The drum-roll ceased. "_Attention! Men of Finistère!_ By order of the governor of Lorient, all men between the ages of twenty and forty, otherwise not exempt, are ordered to report at the navy-yard barracks, war-port of Lorient, on the 5th of November of the present year, to join the army of the Loire. "Whosoever is absent at roll-call will be liable to the punishment provided for such delinquents under the laws governing the state of siege now declared in Morbihan and Finistère. _Citizens, to arms!_ "The enemy is on the march! Though Metz has fallen through treachery, Paris holds firm! Let the provinces rise and hurl the invader from the soil of the mother-land! "_Bretons!_ France calls! Answer with your ancient battle-cry, 'Sainte-Anne! Sainte-Anne!' The eyes of the world are on Armorica! _To arms!_" The girl's voice ceased; a dead silence reigned in the square. The men looked at one another stupidly; a woman began to whimper. "The curse is on Paradise!" cried a hoarse voice. The drummer was already drawing another paper from her ragged pocket, and again in the same clear, emotionless voice, but slightly drawling her words, she read: "To the good people of Paradise! The manager of the famous American travelling circus, lately returned from a tour of the northern provinces, with camels, elephants, lions, and a magnificent company of artists, announces a stupendous exhibition to be held in Lorient at greatly reduced prices, thus enabling the intelligent and appreciative people of Paradise to honor the Republican Circus, recently known as the Imperial Circus, with their benevolent and discerning patronage! Long live France! Long live the Republic! Long live the Circus!" A resounding roll of the drum ended the announcements; the girl slung the drum over her shoulder, turned to the right, and passed over the stone bridge, sabots clicking. Presently from the hamlet of Alincourt over the stream came the dull roll of the drum again and the faint, clear voice: "Attention! Men of Finistère! By order of the governor of Lorient, all men--" The wind changed and her voice died away among the trees. The maids of Paradise were weeping now by the fountain; the men gathered near, and their slow, hushed voices scarcely rose above the ripple of the stream where Robert the Lizard fished in silence. It was after sunset before Jacqueline finished her rounds. She had read her proclamation in Alincourt hamlet, she had read it in Sainte-Ysole, her drum had aroused the inert loungers on the breakwater at Trinité-on-Sea. Now, with her drum on her shoulder and her sabots swinging in her left hand, she came down the cliffs beside the Chapel of Our Lady of Paradise, excited and expectant. Of the first proclamation which she had read she apparently understood little. When she announced the great disaster at Metz in the north, and when her passionless young voice proclaimed the levée en masse--the call to arms for the men of the coast from Sainte-Ysole to Trinité Beacon--she scarcely seemed to realize what it meant, although all around her women turned away sobbing, or clung, deathly white, to sons and husbands. But there was certainly something in the other proclamation which thrilled her and set her heart galloping as she loitered on the cliff. I walked across to the Quimperlé road and met her, dancing along with her drum; and she promptly confided her longings and desires to me as we stood together for an instant on the high-road. The circus! Once, it appeared, she had seen--very far off--a glittering creature turning on a trapeze. It was at the fair near Bannalec, and it was so long ago that she scarcely remembered anything except that somebody had pulled her away while she stood enchanted, and the flashing light of fairyland had been forever shut from her eyes. At times, when the maids of Paradise were sociable at the well in the square, she had listened to stories of the splendid circus which came once to Lorient. And now it was coming again! We stood in the middle of the high-road looking through the dust haze, she doubtless dreaming of the splendors to come, I very, very tired. The curtain of golden dust reddened in the west; the afterglow lit up the sky once more with brilliant little clouds suspended from mid-zenith. The moorland wind rose and tossed her elf-locks in her eyes and whipped her skirt till the rags fluttered above her smooth, bare knees. Suddenly, straight out of the flaming gates of the sunset, the miracle was wrought. Celestial shapes in gold and purple rose up in the gilded dust, chariots of silver, milk-white horses plumed with fire. Breathless, she shrank back among the weeds, one hand pressed to her throbbing throat. But the vision grew as she stared; there was heavenly music, too, and the clank of metal chains, and the smothered pounding of hoofs. Then she caught sight of something through the dust that filled her with a delicious terror, and she cried out. For there, uptowering in the haze, came trudging a great, gray creature, a fearsome, swaying thing in crimson trappings, flapping huge ears. It shuffled past, swinging a dusty trunk; the sparkling horsemen cantered by, tin armor blazing in the fading glory; the chariots dragged after, and the closed dens of beasts rolled behind in single file, followed by the band-wagon, where Heaven-inspired musicians played frantically and a white-faced clown balanced his hat on a stick and shrieked. So the circus passed into Paradise; and I turned and followed in the wake of dust, stale odors, and clamorous discord, sick at heart of wandering over a world I had not found too kind. And at my heels stole Jacqueline. XI IN CAMP We went into camp under the landward glacis of the cliffs, in a field of clover which was to be ploughed under in a few days. We all were there except Kelly Eyre, who had gone to telegraph the governor of Lorient for permission to enter the port with the circus. Another messenger also left camp on private business for me. It was part of my duty to ration the hay for the elephant and the thrice-accursed camel. The latter had just bitten Mr. Grigg, our clown--not severely--and Speed and Horan the "Strong Man" were hobbling the brute as I finished feeding my lions and came up to assist the others. "Watch that darn elephant, too, Mr. Grigg," said Byram, looking up from a plate of fried ham that Miss Crystal, our "Trapeze Lady," had just cooked for him over our gypsy fires of driftwood. "Look at that elephant! Look at him!" continued Byram, with a trace of animation lighting up his careworn face--"look at him now chuckin' hay over his back. Scrape it up, Mr. Scarlett; hay's thirty a ton in this war-starved country." As I started to clean up the precious hay, the elephant gave a curious grunt and swung his trunk toward me. "There's somethin' paltry about that elephant," said Byram, in a complaining voice, rising, with plate of ham in one hand, fork in the other. "He's gittin' as mean as that crafty camuel. Make him move, Mr. Speed, or he'll put his foot on the trombone." "Hô Djebe! Mâil!" said Speed, sharply. The elephant obediently shuffled forward; Byram sat down again, and wearily cut himself a bit of fried ham; and presently we were all sitting around the long camp-table in the glare of two smoky petroleum torches, eating our bread and ham and potatoes and drinking Breton cider, a jug of which Mr. Horan had purchased for a few coppers. Some among us were too tired to eat, many too tired for conversation, yet, from habit we fell into small talk concerning the circus, the animals, the prospects of better days. The ladies of the company, whatever quarrels they indulged in among themselves, stood loyally by Byram in his anxiety and need. Miss Crystal and Miss Delany displayed edifying optimism; Mrs. Horan refrained from nagging; Mrs. Grigg, a pretty little creature, who was one of the best equestriennes I ever saw, declared that we were living too well and that a little dieting wouldn't hurt anybody. McCadger, our band-master, came over from the other fire to say that the men had finished grooming the horses, and would I inspect the picket-line, as Kelly Eyre was still absent. When I returned, the ladies had retired to their blankets under their shelter-tent; poor little Grigg lay asleep at the table, his tired, ugly head resting among the unwashed tin plates; Speed sprawled in his chair, smoking a short pipe; Byram sat all hunched up, his head sunk, eyes vacantly following the movements of two men who were washing dishes in the flickering torch-light. He looked up at me, saying: "I guess Mr. Speed is right. Them lions o' yourn is fed too much horse-meat. Overeatin' is overheatin'; we've got to give 'em beef or they'll be clawin' you. Yes, sir, they're all het up. Hear 'em growl!" "That's a fable, governor," I said, smiling and dropping into a chair. "I've heard that theory before, but it isn't true." "The trouble with your lions is that you play with them too much and they're losing respect for you," said Speed, drowsily. "The trouble with my lions," said I, "is that they were born in captivity. Give me a wild lion, caught on his native heath, and I'll know what to expect from him when I tame him. But no man on earth can tell what a lion born in captivity will do." The hard cider had cheered Byram a little; he drew a cherished cigar from his vest-pocket, offered it to me, and when I considerately refused, he carefully set it alight with a splinter from the fire. Its odor was indescribable. "Luck's a curious phenomena, ain't it, Mr. Scarlett?" he said. I agreed with him. "Luck," continued Byram, waving his cigar toward the four quarters of the globe, "is the rich man's slave an' the poor man's tyrant. It's also a see-saw. When the devil plays in luck the cherubim git spanked--or words to that effec'--not meanin' no profanity." "It's about like that, governor," admitted Speed, lazily. Byram leaned back and sucked meditatively at his cigar. The new moon was just rising over the elephant's hindquarters, and the poetry of the incident appeared to move the manager profoundly. He turned and surveyed the dim bivouac, the two silent tents, the monstrous, shadowy bulk of the elephant, rocking monotonously against the sky. "Kind of Silurian an' solemn, ain't it," he murmured, "the moon shinin' onto the rump of that primeval pachyderm. It's like the dark ages of the behemoth an' the cony. I tell you, gentlemen, when them fearsome an' gigantic mamuels was aboundin' in the dawn of creation, the public missed the greatest show on earth--by a few million years!" We nodded sleepily but gravely. Byram appeared to have recovered something of his buoyancy and native optimism. "Gentlemen," he said, "let's kinder saunter over to the inn and have a night-cap with Kelly Eyre." This unusual and expensive suggestion startled us wide awake, but we were only too glad to acquiesce in anything which tended to raise his spirits or ours. Dog tired but smiling we rose; Byram, in his shirt-sleeves and suspenders, wearing his silk hat on the back of his head, led the way, fanning his perspiring face with a red-and-yellow bandanna. "Luck," said Byram, waving his cigar toward the new moon, "is bound to turn one way or t'other--like my camuel. Sometimes, resemblin' the camuel, luck will turn on you. Look out it don't bite you. I once made up a piece about luck: "'Don't buck Bad luck Or you'll get stuck--' I disremember the rest, but it went on to say a few other words to that effec'." The lighted door of the inn hung ajar as we crossed the star-lit square; Byram entered and stood a moment in the doorway, stroking his chin. "Bong joor the company!" he said, lifting his battered hat. The few Bretons in the wine-room returned his civility; he glanced about and his eye fell on Kelly Eyre, Speed's assistant balloonist, seated by the window with Horan. "Well, gents," said Byram, hopefully, "an' what aire the prospects of smilin' fortune when rosy-fingered dawn has came again to kiss us back to life?" "Rotten," said Eyre, pushing a telegram across the oak table. Byram's face fell; he picked up the telegram and fumbled in his coat for his spectacles with unsteady hand. "Let me read it, governor," said Speed, and took the blue paper from Byram's unresisting, stubby fingers. "O-ho!" he muttered, scanning the message; "well--well, it's not so bad as all that--" He turned abruptly on Kelly Eyre--"What the devil are you scaring the governor for?" "Well, he's got to be told--I didn't mean to worry him," said Eyre, stammering, ashamed of his thoughtlessness. "Now see here, governor," said Speed, "let's all have a drink first. Hé ma belle!"--to the big Breton girl knitting in the corner--"four little swallows of eau-de-vie, if you please! Ah, thank you, I knew you were from Bannalec, where all the girls are as clever as they are pretty! Come, governor, touch glasses! There is no circus but the circus, and Byram is it's prophet! Drink, gentlemen!" But his forced gayety was ominous; we scarcely tasted the liqueur. Byram wiped his brow and squared his bent shoulders. Speed, elbows on the table, sat musing and twirling his half-empty glass. "Well, sir?" said Byram, in a low voice. "Well, governor? Oh--er--the telegram?" asked Speed, like a man fighting for time. "Yes, the telegram," said Byram, patiently. "Well, you see they have just heard of the terrible smash-up in the north, governor. Metz has surrendered with Bazaine's entire army. And they're naturally frightened at Lorient.... And I rather fear that the Germans are on their way toward the coast.... And ... well ... they won't let us pass the Lorient fortifications." "Won't let us in?" cried Byram, hoarsely. "I'm afraid not, governor." Byram stared at us. We had counted on Lorient to pull us through as far as the frontier. "Now don't take it so hard, governor," said Kelly Eyre; "I was frightened myself, at first, but I'm ashamed of it now. We'll pull through, anyhow." "Certainly," said Speed, cheerily, "we'll just lay up here for a few days and economize. Why can't we try one performance here, Scarlett?" "We can," said I. "We'll drum up the whole district from Pontivy to Auray and from Penmarch Point to Plouharnel! Why should the Breton peasantry not come? Don't they walk miles to the Pardons?" A gray pallor settled on Byram's sunken face; with it came a certain dignity which sorrow sometimes brings even to men like him. "Young gentlemen," he said, "I'm obliged to you. These here reverses come to everybody, I guess. The Lord knows best; but if He'll just lemme run my show a leetle longer, I'll pay my debts an' say, 'Thy will be done, amen!'" "We all must learn to say that, anyway," said Speed. "Mebbe," muttered Byram, "but I must pay my debts." After a painful silence he rose, steadying himself with his hand on Eyre's broad shoulder, and shambled out across the square, muttering something about his elephant and his camuel. Speed paid the insignificant bill, emptied his glass, and nodded at me. "It's all up," he said, soberly. "Let's come back to camp and talk it over," I said. Together we traversed the square under the stars, and entered the field of clover. In the dim, smoky camp all lights were out except one oil-drenched torch stuck in the ground between the two tents. Byram had gone to rest, so had Kelly Eyre. But my lions were awake, moving noiselessly to and fro, eyes shining in the dusk; and the elephant, a shapeless pile of shadow against the sky, stood watching us with little, evil eyes. Speed had some cigarettes, and he laid the pink package on the table. I lighted one when he did. "Do you really think there's a chance?" he asked, presently. "I don't know," I said. "Well, we can try." "Oh yes." Speed dropped his elbows on the table. "Poor old governor," he said. Then he began to talk of our own prospects, which were certainly obscure if not alarming; but he soon gave up speculation as futile, and grew reminiscent, recalling our first acquaintance as discharged soldiers from the African battalions, our hand-to-mouth existence as gentlemen farmers in Algiers, our bankruptcy and desperate struggle in Marseilles, first as dock-workmen, then as government horse-buyers for the cavalry, then as employés of the Hippodrome in Paris, where I finally settled down as bareback rider, lion-tamer, and instructor in the haute-école; and he accepted a salary as aid to Monsieur Gaston Tissandier, the scientist, who was experimenting with balloons at Saint-Cloud. He spoke, too, of our enlistment in the Imperial Police, and the hopes we had of advancement, which not only brought no response from me, but left us both brooding sullenly on our wrongs, crouched there over the rough camp-table under the stars. "Oh, hell!" muttered Speed, "I'm going to bed." But he did not move. Presently he said, "How did you ever come to handle wild animals?" "I've always been fond of animals; I broke colts at home; I had bear cubs and other things. Then, in Algiers, the regiment caught a couple of lions and kept them in a cage, and--well, I found I could do what I liked with them." "They're afraid of your eyes, aren't they?" "I don't know--perhaps it's that; I can't explain it--or, rather, I could partly explain it by saying that I am not afraid of them. But I never trust them." "You drag them all around the cage! You shove them about like sacks of meal!" "Yes,... but I don't trust them." "It seems to me," said Speed, "that your lions are getting rather impudent these days. They're not very much afraid of you now." "Nor I of them," I said, wearily; "I'm much more anxious about you when you go sailing about in that patched balloon of yours. Are you never nervous?" "Nervous? When?" "When you're up there?" "Rubbish." "Suppose the patches give way?" "I never think of that," he said, leaning on the table with a yawn. "Oh, Lord, how tired I am!... but I shall not be able to sleep. I'm actually too tired to sleep. Have you got a pack of cards, Scarlett? or a decent cigar, or a glass of anything, or anything to show me more amusing than that nightmare of an elephant? Oh, I'm sick of the whole business--sick! sick! The stench of the tan-bark never leaves my nostrils except when the odor of fried ham or of that devilish camel replaces it. "I'm too old to enjoy a gypsy drama when it's acted by myself; I'm tired of trudging through the world with my entire estate in my pocket. I want a home, Scarlett. Lord, how I envy people with homes!" He had been indulging in this outburst with his back partly turned toward me. I did not say anything, and, after a moment, he looked at me over his shoulder to see how I took it. "I'd like to have a home, too," I said. "I suppose homes are not meant for men like you and me," he said. "Lord, how I would appreciate one, though--anything with a bit of grass in the yard and a shovelful of dirt--enough to grow some damn flower, you know.... Did you smell the posies in the square to-night?... Something of that kind,... anything, Scarlett--anything that can be called a home!... But you can't understand." "Oh yes, I can," I said. He went on muttering, half to himself: "We're of the same breed--pariahs; fortunately, pariahs don't last long,... like the wild creatures who never die natural deaths,... old age is one of the curses they can safely discount,... and so can we, Scarlett, so can we.... For you'll be mauled by a lion or kicked into glory by a horse or an ox or an ass,... and I'll fall off a balloon,... or the camel will give me tetanus, or the elephant will get me in one way or another,... or something...." Again he twisted around to look at me. "Funny, isn't it?" "Rather funny," I said, listlessly. He leaned over, pulled another cigarette from the pink packet, broke a match from the card, and lighted it. "I feel better," he observed. I expressed sleepy gratification. "Oh yes, I'm much better. This isn't a bad life, is it?" "Oh no!" I said, sarcastically. "No, it's all right, and we've got to pull the poor old governor through and give a jolly good show here and start the whole country toward the tent door! Eh?" "Certainly. Don't let me detain you." "I'll tell you what," he said, "if we only had that poor little girl, Miss Claridge, we'd catch these Bretons. That's what took the coast-folk all over Europe, so Grigg says." Miss Claridge had performed in a large glass tank as the "Leaping Mermaid." It took like wildfire according to our fellow-performers. We had never seen her; she was killed by diving into her tank when the circus was at Antwerp in April. "Can't we get up something like that?" I suggested, hopelessly. "Who would do it? Miss Claridge's fish-tights are in the prop-box; who's to wear them?" He began to say something else, but stopped suddenly, eyes fixed. We were seated nearly opposite each other, and I turned around, following the direction of his eyes. Jacqueline stood behind me in the smoky light of the torch--Jacqueline, bare of arm and knee, with her sea-blue eyes very wide and the witch-locks clustering around the dim oval of her face. After a moment's absolute silence she said: "I came from Paradise. Don't you remember?" "From Paradise?" said Speed, smiling; "I thought it might be from elf-land." And I said: "Of course I remember you, Jacqueline. And I have an idea you ought to be in bed." There was another silence. "Won't you sit down?" asked Speed. "Thank you," said Jacqueline, gravely. She seated herself on a sack of sawdust, clasping her slender hands between her knees, and looked earnestly at the elephant. "He won't harm you," I assured her. "If you think I am afraid of _that_," she said, "you are mistaken, Monsieur Scarlett." "I don't think you are afraid of anything," observed Speed, smiling; "but I know you are capable of astonishment." "How do you know that?" demanded the girl. "Because I saw you with your drum on the high-road when we came past Paradise. Your eyes were similar to saucers, and your mouth was not closed, Mademoiselle Jacqueline." "Oh--pour ça--yes, I was astonished," she said. Then, with a quick, upward glance: "Were you riding, in armor, on a horse?" "No," said Speed; "I was on that elephant's head." This appeared to make a certain impression on Jacqueline. She became shyer of speech for a while, until he asked her, jestingly, why she did not join the circus. "It is what I wish," she said, under her breath. "And ride white horses?" "Will you take me?" she cried, passionately, springing to her feet. Amazed at her earnestness, I tried to explain that such an idea was out of the question. She listened anxiously at first, then her eyes fell and she stood there in the torch-light, head hanging. "Don't you know," said Speed, kindly, "that it takes years of practice to do what circus people do? And the life is not gay, Jacqueline; it is hard for all of us. We know what hunger means; we know sickness and want and cold. Believe me, you are happier in Paradise than we are in the circus." "It may be," she said, quietly. "Of course it is," he insisted. "But," she flashed out, "I would rather be unhappy in the circus than happy in Paradise!" He protested, smiling, but she would have her way. "I once saw a man, in spangles, turning, turning, and ever turning upon a rod. He was very far away, and that was very long ago--at the fair in Bannalec. But I have not forgotten! No, monsieur! In our net-shed I also have fixed a bar of wood, and on it I turn, turn continually. I am not ignorant of twisting. I can place my legs over my neck and cross my feet under my chin. Also I can stand on both hands, and I can throw scores of handsprings--which I do every morning upon the beach--I, Jacqueline!" She was excited; she stretched out both bare arms as though preparing to demonstrate her ability then and there. "I should like to see a circus," she said. "Then I should know what to do. That I can swing higher than any girl in Paradise has been demonstrated often," she went on, earnestly. "I can swim farther, I can dive deeper, I can run faster, with bare feet or with sabots, than anybody, man or woman, from the Beacon to Our Lady's Chapel! At bowls the men will not allow me because I have beaten them all, monsieur, even the mayor, which he never forgave. As for the farandole, I tire last of all--and it is the biniou who cries out for mercy!" She laughed and pushed back her hair, standing straight up in the yellow radiance like a moor-sprite. There was something almost unearthly in her lithe young body and fearless sea-blue eyes, sparkling from the shock of curls. "So you can dive and swim?" asked Speed, with a glance at me. "Like the salmon in the Läita, monsieur." "Under water?" "Parbleu!" After a pause I asked her age. "Fifteen, M'sieu Scarlett." "You don't look thirteen, Jacqueline." "I think I should grow faster if we were not so poor," she said, innocently. "You mean that you don't get enough to eat?" "Not always, m'sieu. But that is so with everybody except the wealthy." "Suppose we try her," said Speed, after a silence. "You and I can scrape up a little money for her if worst comes to worst." "How about her father?" "You can see him. What is he?" "A poacher, I understand." "Oh, then it's easy enough. Give him a few francs. He'll take the child's salary, anyway, if this thing turns out well." "Jacqueline," I said, "we can't afford to pay you much money, you know." "Money?" repeated the child, vacantly. "_Money!_ If I had my arms full--so!--I would throw it into the world--so!"--she glanced at Speed--"reserving enough for a new skirt, monsieur, of which I stand in some necessity." The quaint seriousness, the resolute fearlessness of this little maid of Paradise touched us both, I think, as she stood there restlessly, balancing on her slim bare feet, finger-tips poised on her hips. "Won't you take me?" she asked, sweetly. "I'll tell you what I'll do, Jacqueline," said I. "Very early in the morning I'll go down to your house and see your father. Then, if he makes no objection, I'll get you to put on a pretty swimming-suit, all made out of silver scales, and you can show me, there in the sea, how you can dive and swim and play at mermaid. Does that please you?" She looked earnestly at me, then at Speed. "Is it a promise?" she asked, in a quivering voice. "Yes, Jacqueline." "Then I thank you, M'sieu Scarlett,... and you, m'sieur, who ride the elephant so splendidly.... And I will be waiting for you when you come.... We live in the house below the Saint-Julien Light.... My father is pilot of the port.... Anybody will tell you." ... "I will not forget," said I. She bade us good-night very prettily, stepped back out of the circle of torch-light, and vanished--there is no other word for it. "Gracious," said Speed, "wasn't that rather sudden? Or is that the child yonder? No, it's a bush. Well, Scarlett, there's an uncanny young one for you--no, not uncanny, but a spirit in its most delicate sense. I've an idea she's going to find poor Byram's lost luck for him." "Or break her neck," I observed. Speed was quiet for a long while. "By-the-way," he said, at last, "are you going to tell the Countess about that fellow Buckhurst?" "I sent a note to her before I fed my lions," I replied. "Are you going to see her?" "If she desires it." "Who took the note, Scarlett?" "Jacqueline's father,... that Lizard fellow." "Well, don't let's stir up Buckhurst now," said Speed. "Let's do what we can for the governor first." "Of course," said I. "And I'm going to bed. Good-night." "Good-night," said Speed, thoughtfully. "I'll join you in a moment." When I was ready for bed and stood at the tent door, peering out into the darkness, I saw Speed curled up on a blanket between the elephant's forefeet, sound asleep. XII JACQUELINE The stars were still shining when I awoke in my blanket, lighted a candle, and stepped into the wooden tub of salt-water outside the tent. I shaved by candle-light, dressed in my worn riding-breeches and jacket, then, candle in hand, began groping about among the faded bits of finery and tarnished properties until I found the silver-scaled swimming-tights once worn by the girl of whom we had heard so much. She was very young when she leaped to her death in Antwerp--a slim slip of a creature, they said--so I thought it likely that her suit might fit Jacqueline. The stars had begun to fade when I stepped out through the dew-soaked clover, carrying in one hand a satchel containing the swimming-suit, in the other a gun-case, in which, carefully oiled and doubly cased in flannel, reposed my only luxury--my breech-loading shot-gun. The silence, intensified by the double thunder of the breakers on the sands, was suddenly pierced by a far cock-crow; vague gray figures passed across the square as I traversed it; a cow-bell tinkled near by, and I smelt the fresh-blown wind from the downs. Presently, as I turned into the cliff-path, I saw a sober little Breton cow plodding patiently along ahead; beside her moved a fresh-faced maid of Paradise in snowy collarette and white-winged head-dress, knitting as she walked, fair head bent. As I passed her she glanced up with tear-dimmed eyes, murmuring the customary salutation: "Bonjour d'ac'h, m'sieu!" And I replied in the best patois I could command: "Bonjour d'ec'h a laran, na oeled Ket! Why do you cry, mademoiselle?" "Cry, m'sieu? They are taking the men of Paradise to the war. France must know how cruel she is to take our men from us." We had reached the green crest of the plateau; the girl tethered her diminutive cow, sat down on a half-imbedded stone, and continued her knitting, crying softly all the while. I asked her to direct me to the house where Robert, the Lizard, lived; she pointed with her needles to a large stone house looming up in the gray light, built on the rocks just under the beacon. It was white with sea-slime and crusted salt, yet heavily and solidly built as a fort, and doubtless very old, judging from the traces of sculptured work over portal and windows. I had scarcely expected to find the ragged Lizard and more ragged Jacqueline housed in such an anciently respectable structure, and I said so to the girl beside me. "The house is bare as the bones of Sainte-Anne," she said. "There is nothing within--not even crumbs enough for the cliff-rats, they say." So I went away across the foggy, soaking moorland, carrying my gun and satchel in their cases, descended the grassy cleft, entered a cattle-path, and picked my way across the wet, black rocks toward the abode of the poacher. The Lizard was standing on his doorsill when I came up; he returned my greeting sullenly, his keen eyes of a sea-bird roving over me from head to foot. A rumpled and sulky yellow cat, evidently just awake, sat on the doorstep beside him and yawned at intervals. The pair looked as though they had made a night of it. "You took my letter last night?" I asked. "Yes." "Was there an answer for me?" "Yes." "Couldn't you have come to the camp and told me?" "I could, but I had other matters to concern me," he replied. "Here's your letter," and he fished it out of his tattered pocket. I was angry enough, but I did not wish to anger him at that moment. So I took the letter and read it--a formal line saying the Countess de Vassart would expect me at five that afternoon. "You are not noted for your courtesy, are you?" I inquired, smiling. Something resembling a grin touched his sea-scarred visage. "Oh, I knew you'd come for your answer," he said, coolly. "Look here, Lizard," I said, "I intend to be friends with you, and I mean to make you look on me as a friend. It's to my advantage and to yours." "To mine?" he inquired, sneeringly, amused. "And this is the first thing I want," I continued; and without further preface I unfolded our plans concerning Jacqueline. "Entendu," he said, drawling the word, "is that all?" "Do you consent?" "Is that all?" he repeated, with Breton obstinacy. "No, not all. I want you to be my messenger in time of need. I want you to be absolutely faithful to me." "Is that all?" he drawled again. "Yes, that is all." "And what is there in this, to my advantage, m'sieu?" "This, for one thing," I said, carelessly, picking up my gun-case. I slowly drew out the barrels of Damascus, then the rose-wood stock and fore-end, assembling them lovingly; for it was the finest weapon I had ever seen, and it was breaking my heart to give it away. The poacher's eyes began to glitter as I fitted the double bolts and locked breech and barrel with the extension rib. Then I snapped on the fore-end; and there lay the gun in my hands, a fowling-piece fit for an emperor. "Give it?" muttered the poacher, huskily. "Take it, my friend the Lizard," I replied, smiling down the wrench in my heart. There was a silence; then the poacher stepped forward, and, looking me square in the eye, flung out his hand. I struck my open palm smartly against his, in the Breton fashion; then we clasped hands. "You mean honestly by the little one?" "Yes," I said; "strike palms by Sainte Thekla of Ycône!" We struck palms heavily. "She is a child," he said; "there is no vice in her; yet I've seen them nearly finished at her age in Paris." And he swore terribly as he said it. We dropped hands in silence; then, "Is this gun mine?" he demanded, hoarsely. "Yes." "Strike!" he cried; "take my friendship if you want it, on this condition--what I am is my own concern, not yours. Don't interfere, m'sieu; it would be useless. I should never betray you, but I might kill you. Don't interfere. But if you care for the good-will of a man like me, take it; and when you desire a service from me, tell me, and I'll not fail you, by Sainte-Éline of Paradise!" "Strike palms," said I, gravely; and we struck palms thrice. He turned on his heel, kicking off his sabots on the doorsill. "Break bread with me; I ask it," he said, gruffly, and stalked before me into the house. The room was massive and of noble proportion, but there was scarcely anything in it--a stained table, a settle, a little pile of rags on the stone floor--no, not rags, but Jacqueline's clothes!--and there at the end of the great chamber, built into the wall, was the ancient Breton bed with its Gothic carving and sliding panels of black oak, carved like the lattice-work in a chapel screen. Outside dawn was breaking through a silver shoal of clouds; already its slender tentacles of light were probing the shadows behind the lattice where Jacqueline lay sleeping. From the ashes on the hearth a spiral of smoke curled. The yellow cat walked in and sat down, contemplating the ashes. Slowly a saffron light filled the room; Jacqueline awoke in the dim bed. She pushed the panels aside and peered out, her sea-blue eyes heavy with slumber. "Ma doué!" she murmured; "it is M'sieu Scarlett! Aie! Aie! Am I a countess to sleep so late? Bonjour, m'sieu! Bonjour, pa-pa!" She caught sight of the yellow cat, "Et bien le bonjour, Ange Pitou!" She swathed herself in a blanket and sat up, looking at me sleepily. "You came to see me swim," she said. "And I've brought you a fish's silver skin to swim in," I replied, pointing at the satchel. She cast a swift glance at her father, who, with the gun on his knees, sat as though hypnotized by the beauty of its workmanship. Her bright eyes fell on the gun; she understood in a flash. "Then you'll take me?" "If you swim as well as I hope you can." "Turn your back!" she cried. I wheeled about and sat down on the settle beside the poacher. There came a light thud of small, bare feet on the stone floor, then silence. The poacher looked up. "She's gone to the ocean," he said; "she has the mania for baths--like you English." And he fell to rubbing the gunstock with dirty thumb. The saffron light in the room was turning pink when Jacqueline reappeared on the threshold in her ragged skirt and stained velvet bodice half laced, with the broken points hanging, carrying an armful of driftwood. Without a word she went to work; the driftwood caught fire from the ashes, flaming up in exquisite colors, now rosy, now delicate green, now violet; the copper pot, swinging from the crane, began to steam, then to simmer. "Papa!" "De quoi!" growled the poacher. "Were you out last night?" "Dame, I've just come in." "Is there anything?" The poacher gave me an oblique and evil glance, then coolly answered: "Three pheasant, two partridges, and a sea-trout in the net-shed. All are drawn." So swiftly she worked that the pink light had scarcely deepened to crimson when the poacher, laying the gun tenderly in the blankets of Jacqueline's tumbled bed, came striding back to the table where a sea-trout smoked on a cracked platter, and a bowl of bread and milk stood before each place. We ate silently. Ange Pitou, the yellow cat, came around with tail inflated. There were fishbones enough to gratify any cat, and Ange Pitou made short work of them. The poacher bolted his food, sombre eyes brooding or stealing across the room to the bed where his gun lay. Jacqueline, to my amazement, ate as daintily as a linnet, yet with a fresh, hearty unconsciousness that left nothing in her bowl or wooden spoon. "Schist?" inquired the poacher, lifting his tired eyes to me. I nodded. So he brought a jug of cold, sweet cider, and we all drank long and deeply, each in turn slinging the jug over the crooked elbow. The poacher rose, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and made straight for his new gun. "You two," he said, with a wave of his arm, "you settle it among yourselves. Jacqueline, is it true that Le Bihan saw woodcock dropping into the fen last night?" "He says so." "He is not a liar--usually," observed the poacher. He touched his beret to me, flung the fowling-piece over his shoulder, picked up a canvas bag in which I heard cartridges rattling, stepped into his sabots, and walked away. In a few moments the hysterical yelps of a dog, pleased at the prospect of a hunt, broke out from the net-shed. Jacqueline placed the few dishes in a pan of hot water, wiped her fingers, daintily, and picked up Ange Pitou, who promptly acknowledged the courtesy by bursting into a crackling purring. "Show me the swimming-suit," she said, shyly. I drew it out of the satchel and laid it across my knees. "Oh, it has a little tail behind--like a fish!" she cried, enchanted. "I shall look like the silver grilse of Quimperlé!" "Do you think you can swim in those scales?" I asked. "Swim? I--Jacqueline? Attendez un peu--you shall see!" She laughed an excited, confident little laugh and hugged Ange Pitou, who closed his eyes in ecstasy sheathing and unsheathing his sharp claws. "It is almost sunrise," I said. "It lacks many minutes to sunrise," she replied. "Ask Ange Pitou. At sunrise he leaves me; nothing can hold him; he does not bite or scratch, he just pushes and pulls until my arms are tired. Then he goes. It is always so." "Why does he do that?" "Ask him. I have often asked, but he never tells me--do you, my friend? I think he's a moor-sprite--perhaps a devil. Do devils hate all kinds of water?" "No, only holy water," I replied. "Well, then, he's something else. Look! Look! He is beginning! See him push to get free, see him drive his furry head into my hands. The sun is coming up out of the sea! It will soon be here." She opened her arms; the cat sprang to the doorstep and vanished. Jacqueline looked at the swimming-suit, then at me. "Will you go down to the beach, M'sieu Scarlett?" But I had not traversed half the strip of rock and hard sand before something flew past--a slim, glittering shape which suddenly doubled up, straightened again, and fell headlong into the thundering surf. The waves hurled her from crest to crest, clothing her limbs in froth; the singing foam rolled her over and over, stranding her on bubbling sands, until the swell found her again, lifted her, and tossed her seaward into the wide, white arms of the breakers. Back to land she drifted and scrambled up on the beach, a slender, drenched figure, glistening and flashing with every movement. Dainty of limb as a cat in wet grass, she shook the spray from her fingers and scrubbed each palm with sand, then sprang again headlong into the surf; there was a flash, a spatter, and she vanished. After a long, long while, far out on the water she rose, floating. Now the red sun, pushing above the ocean's leaden rim, flung its crimson net across the water. String after string of white-breasted sea-ducks beat to windward from the cove, whirling out to sea; the gray gulls flapped low above the shoal and settled in rows along the outer bar, tossing their sun-tipped wings; the black cormorant on the cliff craned its hideous neck, scanning the ocean with restless, brilliant eyes. Tossed back once more upon the beach like an opalescent shell, Jacqueline, ankle-deep in foam, looked out across the flaming waters, her drenched hair dripping. From the gorse on cliff and headland, one by one the larks shot skyward like amber rockets, trailing a shower of melody till the whole sky rained song. The crested vanneaux, passing out to sea, responded plaintively, flapping their bronze-green wings. The girl twisted her hair and wrung it till the last salt drop had fallen. Sitting there in the sands, idle fingers cracking the pods of gilded sea-weed, she glanced up at me and laughed contentedly. Presently she rose and walked out to a high ledge, motioning me to follow. Far below, the sun-lit water shimmered in a shallow basin of silver sand. "Look!" she cried, flinging her arms above her head, and dropped into space, falling like a star, down, down into the shallow sea. Far below I saw a streak of living light shoot through the water--on, on, closer to the surface now, and at last she fairly sprang into the air, quivering like a gaffed salmon, then fell back to float and clear her blue eyes from her tangled hair. She gave me a glance full of malice as she landed, knowing quite well that she had not only won, but had given me a shock with her long dive into scarce three feet of water. Presently she climbed to the sun-warmed hillock of sand and sat down beside me to dry her hair. A langouste, in his flaming scarlet coat of mail, passed through a glassy pool among the rocks, treading sedately on pointed claws; the lançons tunnelled the oozing beach under her pink feet, like streams of living quicksilver; the big, blue sea-crabs sidled off the reef, sheering down sideways into limpid depths. Landward the curlew walked in twos and threes, swinging their long sickle bills; the sea-swallows drove by like gray snow-squalls, melting away against the sky; a vitreous living creature, blazing with purest sapphire light, floated past under water. Ange Pitou, coveting a warm sun-bath in the sand, came wandering along pretending not to see us; but Jacqueline dragged him into her arms for a hug, which lasted until Ange Pitou broke loose, tail hoisted but ears deaf to further flattery. So Jacqueline chased Ange Pitou back across the sand and up the rocky path, pursuing her pet from pillar to post with flying feet that fell as noiselessly as the velvet pads of Ange Pitou. "Come to the net-shed, if you please!" she called back to me, pointing to a crazy wooden structure built above the house. As I entered the net-shed the child was dragging a pile of sea-nets to the middle of the floor. "In case I fall," she said, coolly. "Better let me arrange them, then," I said, glancing up at the improvised trapeze which dangled under the roof-beams. She thanked me, seized a long rope, and went up, hand over hand. I piled the soft nets into a mattress, but decided to stand near, not liking the arrangements. Meanwhile Jacqueline was swinging, head downward, from her trapeze. Her cheeks flamed as she twisted and wriggled through a complicated manoeuvre, which ended by landing her seated on the bar of the trapeze a trifle out of breath. With both hands resting on the ropes, she started herself swinging, faster, faster, then pretended to drop off backward, only to catch herself with her heels, substitute heels for hands, and hang. Doubling back on her own body, she glided to her perch beneath the roof, shook her damp hair back, set the trapeze flying, and curled up on the bar, resting as fearlessly and securely as a bullfinch in a tree-top. Above her the red-and-black wasps buzzed and crawled and explored the sun-scorched beams. Spiders watched her from their silken hammocks, and the tiny cliff-mice scuttled from beam to beam. Through the open door the sunshine poured a flood of gold over the floor where the bronzed nets were spread. Mending was necessary; she mentioned it, and set herself swinging again, crossing her feet. "You think you could drop from there into a tank of water?" I asked. "How deep?" "Say four feet." She nodded, swinging tranquilly. "Have you any fear at all, Jacqueline?" "No." "You would try whatever I asked you to try?" "If I thought I could," she replied, naïvely. "But that is not it. I am to be your master. You must have absolute confidence in me and obey orders instantly." "Like a soldier?" "Exactly." "Bien." "Then hang by your hands!" Quick as a flash she hung above me. "You trust me, Jacqueline?" "Yes." "Then drop!" Down she flashed like a falling meteor. I caught her with that quick trick known to all acrobats, which left her standing on my knee. "Jump!" She sprang lightly to the heap of nets, lost her balance, stumbled, and sat down very suddenly. Then she threw back her head and laughed; peal on peal of deliciously childish laughter rang through the ancient net-shed, until, overhead, the passing gulls echoed her mirth with querulous mewing, and the sea-hawk, towering to the zenith, wheeled and squealed. XIII FRIENDS At seven o'clock that morning the men in the circus camp awoke, worried, fatigued, vaguely resentful, unusually profane. Horan was openly mutinous, and announced his instant departure. By eight o'clock a miraculous change had taken place; the camp was alive with scurrying people, galvanized into hopeful activity by my possibly unwarranted optimism and a few judiciously veiled threats. Clothed with temporary authority by Byram, I took the bit between my teeth and ordered the instant erection of the main tents, the construction of the ring, barriers, and benches, and the immediate renovating of the portable tank in which poor little Miss Claridge had met her doom. I detailed Kelly Eyre to Quimperlé with orders for ten thousand crimson hand-bills; I sent McCadger, with Dawley, the bass-drummer, and Irwin, the cornettist, to plaster our posters from Pont Aven to Belle Isle, and I gave them three days to get back, and promised them a hundred dollars apiece if they succeeded in sticking our bills on the fortifications of Lorient and Quimper, with or without permission. I sent Grigg and three exempt Bretons to beat up the country from Gestel and Rosporden to Pontivy, clear across to Quiberon, and as far east as St. Gildas Point. By the standing-stones of Carnac, I swore that I'd have all Finistère in that tent. "Governor," said I, "we are going to feature Jacqueline all over Brittany, and, if the ladies object, it can't be helped! By-the-way, _do_ they object?" The ladies did object, otherwise they would not have been human ladies; but the battle was sharp and decisive, for I was desperate. "It simply amounts to this," I said: "Jacqueline pulls us through or the governor and I land in jail. As for you, Heaven knows what will happen to you! Penal settlement, probably." And I called Speed and pointed at Jacqueline, sitting on her satchel, watching the proceedings with amiable curiosity. "Speed, take that child and rehearse her. Begin as soon as the tent is stretched and you can rig the flying trapeze. Use the net, of course. Horan rehearsed Miss Claridge; he'll stand by. Miss Crystal, your good-will and advice I depend upon. Will you help me?" "With all my heart," said Miss Crystal. That impulsive reply broke the sullen deadlock. Pretty little Mrs. Grigg went over and shook the child's hand very cordially and talked broken French to her; Miss Delany volunteered to give her some "Christian clothes"; Mrs. Horan burst into tears, complaining that everybody was conspiring to injure her and her husband, but a few moments later she brought Jacqueline some toast, tea, and fried eggs, an attention shyly appreciated by the puzzled child, who never before had made such a stir in the world. "Don't stuff her," said Speed, as Mrs. Horan enthusiastically trotted past bearing more toast. "Here, Scarlett, the ladies are spoiling her. Can I take her for the first lesson?" Byram, who had shambled up, nodded. I was glad to see him reassert his authority. Speed took the child by the hand, and together they entered the big white tent, which now loomed up like a mammoth mushroom against the blue sky. "Governor," I said, "we're all a bit demoralized; a few of us are mutinous. For Heaven's sake, let the men see you are game. This child has got to win out for us. Don't worry, don't object; back me up and let me put this thing through." The old man shoved his hands into his trousers-pockets and looked at me with heavy, hopeless eyes. "Now here's the sketch for the hand-bill," I said, cheerfully, taking a pencilled memorandum from my pocket. And I read: "THE PATRIOTIC ANTI-PRUSSIAN REPUBLICAN CIRCUS, MORE STUPENDOUS, MORE GIGANTIC, MORE OVERPOWERING THAN EVER! GLITTERING, MARVELLOUS, SOUL-COMPELLING!" "What's 'soul-compelling'?" asked Byram. "Anything you please, governor," I said, and read on rapidly until I came to the paragraph concerning Jacqueline: "THE WONDER OF EARTH AND HEAVEN! THE UNUTTERABLY BEAUTIFUL FLYING MERMAID! CAUGHT ON THE COAST OF BRITTANY! WHAT IS SHE? FISH? BIRD? HUMAN? DIVINE? WHO KNOWS? THE SCIENTISTS OF FRANCE DO NOT KNOW!! THE SCIENTISTS OF THE WORLD ARE CONFOUNDED! IS SHE A LOST SOUL FROM THE SUNKEN CITY OF KER-YS? 50,000 FRANCS REWARD FOR THE BRETON WHO CAN PROVE THAT SHE DID NOT COME STRAIGHT FROM PARADISE!!!" "That's a damn good bill," said Byram, suddenly. He was so seldom profane that I stared at him, worried lest his misfortunes had unbalanced him. But a faint, healthy color was already replacing the pallor in his loose cheeks, a glint of animation came into his sunken eyes. He lifted his battered silk hat, replaced it at an angle almost defiant, and scowled at Horan, who passed us sullenly, driving the camel tentwards with awful profanity. "Don't talk such langwidge in my presence, Mr. Horan," he said, sharply; "a camuel is a camuel, but remember: 'kind hearts is more than cornets,' an' it's easier for that there camuel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a cussin' cuss to cuss his way into Kingdom Come!" Horan, who had betrayed unmistakable symptoms of insubordination that morning, quailed under the flowing rebuke. He was a man of muscular strength and meagre intellect; words hit him like trip-hammers. "Certainly, governor," he stammered, and spoke to the camel politely, guiding that enraged and squealing quadruped to his manger with a forced smile. With mallet, hammer, saw, and screw-driver I worked until noon, maturing my plans all the while. These plans would take the last penny in the treasury and leave us in debt several thousand francs. But it was win or go to smash now, and personally I have always preferred a tremendous smash to a slow and oozy fizzle. A big pot of fragrant soup was served to the company at luncheon; and it amused me to see Jacqueline troop into the tent with the others and sit down with her bit of bread and her bowl of broth. She was flushed and excited, and she talked to her instructor, Speed, all the while, chattering like a linnet between mouthfuls of bread and broth. "How is she getting on?" I called across to Speed. "The child is simply startling," he said, in English. "She is not afraid of anything. She and Miss Crystal have been doing that hair-raising 'flying swing' _without rehearsal!_" Jacqueline, hearing us talking in English, turned and stared at me, then smiled and looked up sweetly at Speed. "You seem to be popular with your pupil," I said, laughing. "She's a fine girl--a fine, fearless, straight-up-and-down girl," he said, with enthusiasm. Everybody appeared to like her, though how much that liking might be modified if prosperity returned I was unable to judge. Now all our fortunes depended on her. She was not a ballon d'essai; she was literally the whole show; and if she duplicated the sensational success of poor little Miss Claridge, we had nothing to fear. But her troubles would then begin. At present, however, we were waiting for her to pull us out of the hole before we fell upon her and rent her professionally. And I use that "we" not only professionally, but with an attempt at chivalry. Byram's buoyancy had returned in a measure. He sat in his shirt-sleeves at the head of the table, vigorously sopping his tartine in his soup, and, mouth full, leaned forward, chewing and listening to the conversation around him. Everybody knew it was life or death now, that each one must drop petty jealousies and work for the common salvation. An artificial and almost feverish animation reigned, which I adroitly fed with alarming allusions to the rigor of the French law toward foreigners and other malefactors who ran into debt to French subjects on the sacred soil of France. And, having lived so long in France and in the French possessions, I was regarded as an oracle of authority by these ambulant professional people who were already deadly homesick, and who, in eighteen months of Europe, had amassed scarcely a dozen French phrases among them all. "I'll say one thing," observed Byram, with dignity; "if ever I git out of this darn continong with my circus, I'll recooperate in the undulatin' medders an' j'yful vales of the United States. Hereafter that country will continue to remain good enough for me." All applauded--all except Jacqueline, who looked around in astonishment at the proceedings, and only smiled when Speed explained in French. "Ask maddermoselle if she'll go home with us?" prompted Byram. "Tell her there's millions in it." Speed put the question; Jacqueline listened gravely, hesitated, then whispered to Speed, who reddened a trifle and laughed. Everybody waited for a moment. "What does she say?" inquired Byram. "Oh, nothing; she talked nonsense." But Jacqueline's dignity and serene face certainly contradicted Speed's words. Presently Byram arose, flourishing his napkin. "Time's up!" he said, with decision, and we all trooped off to our appointed labors. Now that I had stirred up this beehive and set it swarming again, I had no inclination to turn drone. Yet I remembered my note to the Countess de Vassart and her reply. So about four o'clock I made the best toilet I could in my only other suit of clothes, and walked out of the bustling camp into the square, where the mossy fountain splashed under the oaks and the children of Paradise were playing. Hands joined, they danced in a ring, singing: "_Barzig ha barzig a Goneri Ari e mab roue gand daou pe dri_"-- "Little minstrel-bard of Conéri The son of the King has come with two or three-- Nay, with a whole bright flock of paroquets, Crimson, silver, and violet." And the children, in their white coiffes and tiny wooden shoes, moved round and round the circle, in the middle of which a little lad and a little lass of Paradise stood motionless, hand clasping hand. The couplet ended, the two children in the middle sprang forward and dragged a third child out of the circle. Then the song began again, the reduced circle dancing around the three children in the middle. "--The son of the King has come with two or three-- Nay, with a whole bright flock of paroquets, Crimson, silver, and violet." It was something like a game I had played long ago--in the age of fable--and I lingered, touched with homesickness. The three children in the middle took a fourth comrade from the circle, crying, "Will you go to the moon or will you go to the stars?" "The moon," lisped the little maid, and she was led over to the fountain. "The stars," said the first prisoner, and was conducted to the stone bridge. Soon a small company was clustered on the bridge, another band at the fountain. Then, as there were no more to dance in a circle, the lad and lassie who had stood in the middle to choose candidates for the moon and stars clasped hands and danced gayly across the square to the group of expectant children at the fountain, crying: "Baradoz! Baradoz!" (Paradise! Paradise!) and the whole band charged on the little group on the bridge, shouting and laughing, while the unfortunate tenants of the supposed infernal regions fled in every direction, screaming: "Pater noster Dibi doub! Dibi doub! Dibi doub!" Their shouts and laughter still came faintly from the tree-shaded square as I crossed the bridge and walked out into the moorland toward the sea, where I could see the sun gilding the headland and the spouting-rocks of Point Paradise. Over the turning tide cormorants were flying, now wheeling like hawks, now beating seaward in a duck-like flight. I passed little, lonely pools on the moor, from which snipe rose with a startling squak! squak! and darted away inland as though tempest blown. Presently a blue-gray mass in mid-ocean caught my eye. It was the island of Groix, and between it and Point Paradise lay an ugly, naked, black shape, motionless, oozing smoke from two stubby funnels--the cruiser _Fer-de-Lance_! So solidly inert lay the iron-clad that it did not seem as if she had ever moved or ever could move; she looked like an imbedded ledge cropping up out of the sea. Far across the hilly moorland the white semaphore glistened like a gull's wing--too far for me to see the balls and cones hoisted or the bright signals glimmering along the halyards as I followed a trodden path winding south through the gorse. Then a dip in the moorland hid the semaphore and at the same moment brought a house into full view--a large, solid structure of dark stone, heavily Romanesque, walled in by an ancient buttressed barrier, above which I could see the tree-tops of a fruit-garden. The Château de Trécourt was a fine example of the so called "fortified farm"; it had its moat, too, and crumbling wing-walls, pierced by loop-holes and over-hung with miniature battlements. A walled and loop-holed passageway connected the house with another stone enclosure in which stood stable, granary, cattle-house, and sheepfold, all of stone, though the roofs of these buildings were either turfed or thatched. And over them the weather-vane, a golden Dorado, swam in the sunshine. One thing I noticed as I crossed the unused moat on a permanent bridge: the youthful Countess no longer denied herself the services of servants, for I saw a cloaked shepherd and his two wolf-like and tailless sheep-dogs watching the flock scattered over the downs; and there were at least half a dozen farm servants pottering about from stable to granary, and a toothless porter to answer the gate-bell and pilot me past the tiny loop-holed lodge-turret to the house. There was also a man, lying belly down in the bracken, watching me; and as I walked into the court I tried to remember where I had seen his face before. The entire front of the house was covered with those splendid orange-tinted tea-roses that I had noticed in Paradise; thicket on thicket of clove-scented pinks choked the flower-beds; and a broad mat of deep-tinted pansies lay on the lawn, spread out for all the world like a glorious Eastern rug. There was a soft whirring in the air like the sound of a humming-bird close by; it came from a spinning-wheel, and grew louder as a servant admitted me into the house and guided me to a sunny room facing the fruit garden. The spinner at the wheel was singing in an undertone--singing a Breton "gwerz," centuries old, retained in memory from generation to generation: "Woe to the Maids of Paradise, Yvonne! Twice have the Saxons landed; twice! Yvonne! Yet must Paradise see them thrice! Yvonne! Yvonne! Marivonik." Old as were the words, the melody was older--so old and quaint and sweet that it seemed a berceuse fashioned to soothe the drowsing centuries, lest the memories of ancient wrongs awake and rouse the very dead from their Gothic tombs. All the sad history of the Breton race was written in every minor note; all the mystery, the gentleness, the faith of the lost people of Armorica. And now the singer was intoning the "Gwerz Ar Baradoz"--the "Complaint of Paradise"--a slow, thrilling miséréré, scarcely dominating the velvet whir of the spinning-wheel. Suddenly the melody ceased, and a young Bretonne girl appeared in the doorway, courtesying to me and saying in perfect English: "How do you do, Mr. Scarlett; and how do you like my spinning songs, if you please?" The girl was Mademoiselle Sylvia Elven, the marvellously clever actress from the Odéon, the same young woman who had played the Alsacienne at La Trappe, as perfectly in voice and costume as she now played the Bretonne. "You need not be astonished at all," she said, calmly, "if you will only reflect that my name is Elven, which is also the name of a Breton town. Naturally, I am a Bretonne from Elven, and my own name is Duhamel--Sylvenne Duhamel. I thought I ought to tell you, so that you would not think me too clever and try to carry me off on your horse again." I laughed uncertainly; clever women who talk cleverly always disturb me. Besides, somehow, I felt she was not speaking the truth, yet I could not imagine why she should lie to me. "You were more fluent to the helpless turkey-girl," she suggested, maliciously. I had absolutely nothing to say, which appeared to gratify her, for she dimpled and smiled under her snowy-winged coiffe, from which a thick gold strand of hair curled on her forehead--a sad bit of coquetry in a Bretonne from Elven, if she told the truth. "I only came to renew an old and deeply valued friendship," she said, with mock sentimentality; "I am going back to my flax now." However, she did not move. "And, by-the-way," she said, languidly, "is there in your intellectual circus company a young gentleman whose name is Eyre?" "Kelly Eyre? Yes," I said, sulkily. "Ah." She strolled out of the room, hesitated, then turned in the doorway with a charming smile. "The Countess will return from her gallop at five." She waited as though expecting an answer, but I only bowed. "Would you take a message to Mistaire Kelly Eyre for me?" she asked, sweetly. I said that I would. "Then please say that: '_On Sunday the book-stores are closed in Paris._'" "Is that what I am to say?" "Exactly that." "Very well, mademoiselle." "Of course, if he asks who told you--you may say that it was a Bretonne at Point Paradise." "Nothing else?" "Nothing, monsieur." She courtesied and vanished. "Little minx," I thought, "what mischief are you preparing now?" and I rested my elbow on the window-sill and gazed out into the garden, where apricot-trees and fig-trees lined the winding walks between beds of old-fashioned herbs, anise, basil, caraway, mint, sage, and saffron. Sunlight lay warm on wall and gravel-path; scarlet apples hung aloft on a few young trees; a pair of trim, wary magpies explored the fig-trees, sometimes quarrelling, sometimes making common cause against the shy wild-birds that twittered everywhere among the vines. I fancied, after a few moments, that I heard the distant thudding of a horse's hoofs; soon I was sure of it, and rose to my feet expectantly, just as a flushed young girl in a riding-habit entered the room and gave me her gloved hand. Her fresh, breezy beauty astonished me; could this laughing, gray-eyed girl with her silky, copper-tinted hair be the same slender, grave young Countess whom I had known in Alsace--this incarnation of all that is wholesome and sweet and winning in woman? What had become of her mission and the soiled brethren of the proletariat? What had happened? I looked at her earnestly, scarcely understanding that she was saying she was glad I had come, that she had waited for me, that she had wanted to see me, that she had wished to tell me how deeply our tragic experience at La Trappe and in Morsbronn had impressed her. She said she had sent a letter to me in Paris which was returned, _opened_, with a strange note from Monsieur Mornac. She had waited for some word from me, here in Paradise, since September; "waited impatiently," she added, and a slight frown bent her straight brows for a moment--a moment only. "But come out to my garden," she said, smiling, and stripping off her little buff gauntlets. "There we will have tea a l'Anglaise, and sunshine, and a long, long, satisfying talk; at least I will," she added, laughing and coloring up; "for truly, Monsieur Scarlett, I do not believe I have given you one second to open your lips." Heaven knows I was perfectly content to watch her lips and listen to the music of her happy, breathless voice without breaking the spell with my own. She led the way along a path under the apricots to a seat against a sunny wall, a wall built of massive granite, deeply thatched with fungus and lichens, where, palpitating in the hot sun, the tiny lizards lay glittering, and the scarlet-banded nettle-butterflies flitted and hovered and settled to sun themselves, wings a-droop. Here in the sunshine the tea-rose perfume, mingling with the incense of the sea, mounted to my head like the first flush of wine to a man long fasting; or was it the enchantment of her youth and loveliness--the subtle influence of physical vigor and spiritual innocence on a tired, unstrung man? "First of all," she said, impulsively, "I know your life--all of it in minute particular. Are you astonished?" "No, madame," I replied; "Mornac showed you my dossier." "That is true," she said, with a troubled look of surprise. I smiled. "As for Mornac," I began, but she interrupted me. "Ah, Mornac! Do you suppose I believed him? Had I not proof on proof of your loyalty, your honor, your courtesy, your chivalry--" "Madame, your generosity--and, I fear, your pity--overpraises." "No, it does not! I know what you are. Mornac cannot make white black! I know what you have been. Mornac could not read you into infamy, even with your dossier under my own eyes!" "In my dossier you read a sorry history, madame." "In your dossier I read the tragedy of a gentleman." "Do you know," said I, "that I am now a performer in a third-rate travelling circus?" "I think that is very sad," she said, sweetly. "Sad? Oh no. It is better than the disciplinary battalions of Africa." Which was simply acknowledging that I had served a term in prison. The color faded in her face. "I thought you were pardoned." "I was--from prison, not from the battalion of Biribi." "I only know," she said, "that they say you were not guilty; that they say you faced utter ruin, even the possibility of death, for the sake of another man whose name even the police--even Monsieur de Mornac--could never learn. Was there such a man?" I hesitated. "Madame, there is such a man; _I_ am the man who _was_." "With no hope?" "Hope? With every hope," I said, smiling. "My name is not my own, but it must serve me to my end, and I shall wear it threadbare and leave it to no one." "Is there no hope?" she asked, quietly. "None for the man who _was_. Much for James Scarlett, tamer of lions and general mountebank," I said, laughing down the rising tide of bitterness. Why had she stirred those dark waters? I had drowned myself in them long since. Under them lay the corpse of a man I had forgotten--my dead self. "No hope?" she repeated. Suddenly the ghost of all I had lost rose before me with her words--rose at last after all these years, towering, terrible, free once more to fill the days with loathing and my nights with hell eternal,... after all these years! Overwhelmed, I fought down the spectre in silence. Kith and kin were not all in the world; love of woman was not all; a chance for a home, a wife, children, were not all; a name was not all. Raising my head, a trifle faint with the struggle and the cost of the struggle, I saw the distress in her eyes and strove to smile. "There is every hope," I said, "save the hopes of youth--the hope of a woman's love, and of that happiness which comes through love. I am a man past thirty, madame--thirty-five, I believe my dossier makes it. It has taken me fifteen years to bury my youth. Let us talk of Mornac." "Yes, we will talk of Mornac," she said, gently. So with infinite pains I went back and traced for her the career of Buckhurst, sparing her nothing; I led up to my own appearance on the scene, reviewed briefly what we both knew, then disclosed to her in its most trivial detail the conference between Buckhurst and myself in which his cynical avowal was revealed in all its native hideousness. She sat motionless, her face like cold marble, as I carefully gathered the threads of the plot and gently twitched that one which galvanized the mask of Mornac. "Mornac!" she stammered, aghast. I showed her why Buckhurst desired to come to Paradise; I showed her why Mornac had initiated her into the mysteries of my dossier, taking that infernal precaution, although he had every reason to believe he had me practically in prison, with the keys in his own pocket. "Had it not been for my comrade, Speed," I said, "I should be in one of Mornac's fortress cells. He overshot the mark when he left us together and stepped into his cabinet to spread my dossier before you. He counted on an innocent man going through hell itself to prove his innocence; he counted on me, and left Speed out of his calculations. He had your testimony, he had my dossier, he had the order for my arrest in his pocket.... And then I stepped out of sight! I, the honest fool, with my knowledge of his infamy, of Buckhurst's complicity and purposes--I was gone. "And now mark the irony of the whole thing: he had, criminally, destroyed the only bureau that could ever have caught me. But he did his best during the few weeks that were left him before the battle of Sedan. After that it was too late; it was too late when the first Uhlan appeared before the gates of Paris. And now Mornac, shorn of authority, is shut up in a city surrounded by a wall of German steel, through which not one single living creature has penetrated for two months." I looked at her steadily. "Eliminate Mornac as a trapped rat; cancel him as a dead rat since the ship of Empire went down at Sedan. I do not know what has taken place in Paris--save what all now know that the Empire is ended, the Republic proclaimed, and the Imperial police a memory. Then let us strike out Mornac and turn to Buckhurst. Madame, I am here to serve you." The dazed horror in her face which had marked my revelations of Buckhurst's villanies gave place to a mantling flush of pure anger. Shame crimsoned her neck, too; shame for her credulous innocence, her belief in this rogue who had betrayed her, only to receive pardon for the purpose of baser and more murderous betrayal. I said nothing for a long time, content to leave her to her own thoughts. The bitter draught she was draining could not harm her, could not but act as the most wholesome of tonics. Hers was not a weak character to sink, embittered, under the weight of knowledge--knowledge of evil, that all must learn to carry lightly through life; I had once thought her weak, but I had revised that opinion and substituted the words "pure in thought, inherently loyal, essentially unsuspicious." "Tell me about Buckhurst," I said, quietly. "I can help you, I think." The quick tears of humiliation glimmered for a second in her angry eyes; then pride fell from her, like a stately mantle which a princess puts aside, tired and content to rest. This was a phase I had never before seen--a lovely, natural young girl, perplexed, troubled, deeply wounded, ready to be guided, ready for reproof, perhaps even for that sympathy without which reproof is almost valueless. She told me that Buckhurst came to her house here in Paradise early in September; that while in Paris, pondering on what I had said, she had determined to withdraw herself absolutely from all organized socialistic associations during the war; that she believed she could do the greatest good by living a natural and cheerful life, by maintaining the position that birth and fortune had given her, and by using that position and fortune for the benefit of those less fortunate. This she had told Buckhurst, and the rascal appeared to agree with her so thoroughly that, when Dr. Delmont and Professor Tavernier arrived, they also applauded the choice she made of Buckhurst as distributer of money, food, and clothing to the provincial hospitals, now crowded to suffocation with the wreck of battle. Then a strange thing occurred. Dr. Delmont and Professor Tavernier disappeared without any explanation. They had started for St. Nazaire with a sum of money--twenty thousand francs, locked in the private strong-box of the Countess--to be distributed among the soldiers of Chanzy; and they had never returned. In the light of what she had learned from me, she feared that Buckhurst had won them over; perhaps not--she could not bear to suspect evil of such men. But she now believed that Buckhurst had used every penny he had handled for his own purposes; that not one hospital had received what she had sent. "I am no longer wealthy," she said, anxiously, looking up at me. "I did find time in Paris to have matters straightened; I sold La Trappe and paid everything. It left me with this house in Paradise, and with means to maintain it and still have a few thousand francs to give every year. Now it is nearly gone--I don't know where. I am dreadfully unhappy; I have such a horror of treachery that I cannot even understand it, but this ignoble man, Buckhurst, is assuredly a heartless rascal." "But," I said, patiently, "you have not yet told me where he is." "I don't know," she said. "A week ago a dreadful creature came here to see Buckhurst; they went across the moor toward the semaphore and stood for a long while looking at the cruiser which is anchored off Groix. Then Buckhurst came back and prepared for a journey. He said he was going to Tours to confer with the Red Cross. I don't know where he went. He took all the money for the general Red Cross fund." "When did he say he would return?" "He said in two weeks. He has another week yet." "Is he usually prompt?" "Always so--to the minute." "That is good news," I said, gayly. "But tell me one thing: do you trust Mademoiselle Elven?" "Yes, indeed!--indeed!" she cried, horrified. "Very well," said I, smiling. "Only for the sake of caution--extra, and even perhaps useless caution--say nothing of this matter to her, nor to any living soul save me." "I promise," she said, faintly. "One thing more: this conspiracy against the state no longer concerns me--officially. Both Speed and I did all we could to warn the Emperor and the Empress; we sent letters through the police in London, we used the English secret-service to get our letters into the Emperor's hand, we tried every known method of denouncing Mornac. It was useless; every letter must have gone through Mornac's hands before it reached the throne. We did all we dared do; we were in disguise and in hiding under assumed names; we could not do more. "Now that Mornac is not even a pawn in the game--as, indeed, I begin to believe he never really was, but has been from the first a dupe of Buckhurst--it is the duty of every honest man to watch Buckhurst and warn the authorities that he possibly has designs on the crown jewels of France, which that cruiser yonder is all ready to bear away to Saïgon. "How he proposes to attempt such a robbery I can't imagine. I don't want to denounce him to General Chanzy or Aurelles de Palladine, because the conspiracy is too widely spread and too dangerous to be defeated by the capture of one man, even though he be the head of it. "What I want is to entrap the entire band; and that can only be done by watching Buckhurst, not arresting him. "Therefore, madame, I have written and despatched a telegram to General Aurelles de Palladine, offering my services and the services of Mr. Speed to the Republic without compensation. In the event of acceptance, I shall send to London for two men who will do what is to be done, leaving me free to amuse the public with my lions. Meanwhile, as long as we stay in Paradise we both are your devoted servants, and we beg the privilege of serving you." During all this time the young Countess had never moved her eyes from my face--perhaps I was flattered--perhaps for that reason I talked on and on, pouring out wisdom from a somewhat attenuated supply. And I now rose to take my leave, bowing my very best bow; but she sat still, looking up quietly at me. "You ask the privilege of serving me," she said. "You could serve me best by giving me your friendship." "You have my devotion, madame," I said. "I did not ask it. I asked your friendship--in all frankness and equality." "Do you desire the friendship of a circus performer?" I asked, smiling. "I desire it, not only for what you are, but for what you have been--have always been, let them say what they will!" I was silent. "Have you never given women your friendship?" she asked. "Not in fifteen years--nor asked theirs." "Will you not ask mine?" I tried to speak steadily, but my voice was uncertain; I sat down, crushed under a flood of memories, hopes accursed, ambitions damned and consigned to oblivion. "You are very kind," I said. "You are the Countess de Vassart. A man is what he makes himself. I have made myself--with both eyes open; and I am now an acrobat and a tamer of beasts. I understand your goodness, your impulse to help those less fortunate than yourself. I also understand that I have placed myself where I am, and that, having done so deliberately, I cannot meet as friends and equals those who might have been my equals if not friends. Besides that, I am a native of a paradox--a Republic which, though caste-bound, knows no caste abroad. I might, therefore, have been your friend if you had chosen to waive the traditions of your continent and accept the traditions of mine. But now, madame, I must beg permission to make my adieux." She sprang up and caught both my hands in her ungloved hands. "Won't you take my friendship--and give me yours--my friend?" "Yes," I said, slowly. The blood beat in my temples, almost blinding me; my heart hammered in my throat till I shivered. As in a dream I bent forward; she abandoned her hands to me; and I touched a woman's hands with my lips for the first time in fifteen years. "In all devotion and loyalty--and gratitude," I said. "And in friendship--say it!" "In friendship." "Now you may go--if you desire to. When will you come again?" "When may I?" "When you will." XIV THE PATH OF THE LIZARD About nine o'clock the next morning an incident occurred which might have terminated my career in one way, and did, ultimately, end it in another. I had been exercising my lions and putting them through their paces, and had noticed no unusual insubordination among them, when suddenly, Timour Melek, a big Algerian lion, flew at me without the slightest provocation or warning. Fortunately I had a training-chair in my hand, on which Timour had just been sitting, and I had time to thrust it into his face. Thrice with incredible swiftness he struck the iron-chair, right, left, and right, as a cat strikes, then seized it in his teeth. At the same moment I brought my loaded whip heavily across his nose. "Down, Timour Melek! Down! down! down!" I said, steadily, accompanying each word with a blow of the whip across the nose. The brute had only hurt himself when he struck the chair, and now, under the blows raining on his sensitive nose, he doubtless remembered similar episodes in his early training, and shrank back, nearly deafening me with his roars. I followed, punishing him, and he fled towards the low iron grating which separated the training-cage from the night-quarters. This I am now inclined to believe was a mistake of judgment on my part. I should have driven him into a corner and thoroughly cowed him, using the training-chair if necessary, and trusting to my two assistants with their irons, who had already closed up on either side of the cage. I was not in perfect trim that morning. Not that I felt nervous in the least, nor had I any lack of self-confidence, but I was not myself. I had never in my life entered a lion-cage feeling as I did that morning--an indifference which almost amounted to laziness, an apathy which came close to melancholy. The lions knew I was not myself--they had been aware of it as soon as I set foot in their cage; and I knew it. But my strange apathy only increased as I went about my business, perfectly aware all the time that, with lions born in captivity, the unexpected is always to be expected. Timour Melek was now close to the low iron door between the partitions; the other lions had become unusually excited, bounding at a heavy gallop around the cage, or clinging to the bars like enormous cats. Then, as I faced Timour, ready to force him backward through the door into the night-quarters, something in the blank glare of his eyes seemed to fascinate me. I had an absurd sensation that he was slipping away from me--escaping; that I no longer dominated him nor had authority. It was not panic, nor even fear; it was a faint paralysis--temporary, fortunately; for at that instant instinct saved me; I struck the lion a terrific blow across the nose and whirled around, chair uplifted, just in time to receive the charge of Empress Khatoun, consort of Timour. She struck the iron-bound chair, doubling it up like crumpled paper, hurling me headlong, not to the floor of the cage, but straight through the sliding-bars which Speed had just flung open with a shout. As for me, I landed violently on my back in the sawdust, the breath knocked clean out of me. When I could catch my breath again I realized that there was no time to waste. Speed looked at me angrily, but I jerked open the grating, flung another chair into the cage, leaped in, and, singling out Empress Khatoun, I sailed into her with passionless thoroughness, punishing her to a stand-still, while the other lions, Aicha, Marghouz, Timour, and Genghis Khan snarled and watched me steadily. As I emerged from the cage Speed asked me whether I was hurt, and I gasped out that I was not. "What went wrong?" he persisted. "Timour and that young lioness--no, _I_ went wrong; the lions knew it at once; something failed me, I don't know what; upon my soul, Speed, I don't know what happened." "You lost your nerve?" "No, not that. Timour began looking at me in a peculiar way--he certainly dominated me for an instant--for a tenth of a second; and then Khatoun flew at me before I could control Timour--" I hesitated. "Speed, it was one of those seconds that come to us, when the faintest shadow of indecision settles matters. Engineers are subject to it at the throttle, pilots at the helm, captains in battle--" "Men in love," added Speed. I looked at him, not comprehending. "By-the-way," said Speed, "Leo Grammont, the greatest lion-tamer who ever lived, once told me that a man in love with a woman could not control lions; that when a man falls in love he loses that intangible, mysterious quality--call it mesmerism or whatever you like--the occult force that dominates beasts. And he said that the lions knew it, that they perceived it sometimes even before the man himself was aware that he was in love." I looked him over in astonishment. "What's the matter with you?" he asked, amused. "What's the matter with _you_?" I demanded. "If you mean to intimate that I have fallen in love you are certainly an astonishing ass!" "Don't talk that way," he said, good-humoredly. "I didn't dream of such a thing, or of offending you, Scarlett." It struck me at the same moment that my irritable and unwarranted retort was utterly unlike me. "I beg your pardon," I said. "I don't know exactly what is the matter with me to-day. First I quarrel with poor old Timour Melek, then I insult you. I've discovered that I have nerves; I never before knew it." "Cold flap-jacks and cider would have destroyed Hercules himself in time," observed Speed, following with his eyes the movements of a lithe young girl, who was busy with the hoisting apparatus of the flying trapeze. The girl was Jacqueline, dressed in a mended gown of Miss Delany's. "At times," muttered Speed, partly to himself, "that little witch frightens me. There is no risk she dares not take; even Horan gets nervous; and when that bull-necked numbskull is scared there's reason for it." We walked out into the main tent, where simultaneous rehearsals were everywhere in progress; and I picked up the ring-master's whip and sent it curling after "Briza," a harmless, fat, white mare on which pretty Mrs. Grigg was sitting expectantly. Round and round the ring she cantered, now astride two horses, now guiding a "spike," practising assiduously her acrobatics. At intervals, far up in the rigging overhead, I caught glimpses of Miss Crystal swinging on her trapeze, watching the ring below. Byram came in to rehearse the opening processional and to rebuke his dearest foe, the unspeakable "camuel," bestridden by Mrs. Horan as Fatima, Queen of the Desert. Speed followed, squatted on the head of the elephant, ankus on thigh, shouting, "Hôut! Mäil! Djebé Noain! Mäil the hezar! Mäil!" he thundered, triumphantly, saluting Byram with lifted ankus as the elephant ambled past in a cloud of dust. "Clear the ring!" cried Byram. Miss Delany, who was outlining Jacqueline with juggler's knives, began to pull her stock of cutlery from the soft pine backing; elephant, camel, horses trampled out; Miss Crystal caught a dangling rope and slid earthward, and I turned and walked towards the outer door with Byram. As I looked back for an instant I saw Jacqueline, in her glittering diving-skin, calmly step out of her discarded skirt and walk towards the sunken tank in the middle of the ring, which three workmen were uncovering. She was to rehearse her perilous leap for the first time to-day, and I told Speed frankly that I was too nervous to be present, and so left him staring across the dusky tent at the slim child in spangles. I had an appointment to meet Robert the Lizard at noon, and I was rather curious to find out how much his promises were worth when the novelty of his new gun had grown stale. So I started towards the cliffs, nibbling a crust of bread for luncheon, though the incident of the morning had left me small appetite for food. The poacher was sunning himself on his doorsill when I came into view over the black basalt rocks. To my surprise, he touched his cap as I approached, and rose civilly, replying to my greeting with a brief, "Salute, m'sieu!" "You are prompt to the minute," I said, pleasantly. "You also," he observed. "We are quits, m'sieu--so far." I told him of the progress that Jacqueline was making; he listened in silence, and whether or not he was interested I could not determine. There was a pause; I looked out across the sun-lit ocean, taking time to arrange the order of the few questions which I had to ask. "Come to the point, m'sieu," he said, dryly. "We have struck palms." Spite of my training, spite of the caution which experience brings to the most unsuspicious of us, I had a curious confidence in this tattered rascal's loyalty to a promise. And apparently without reason, too, for there was something wrong with his eyes--or else with the way he used them. They were wonderful, vivid blue eyes, well set and well shaped, but he never looked at anybody directly except in moments of excitement or fury. At such moments his eyes appeared to be lighted up from behind. "Lizard," I said, "you are a poacher." His placid visage turned stormy. "None of that, m'sieu," he retorted; "remember the bargain! Concern yourself with your own affairs!" "Wait," I said. "I'm not trying to reform you. For my purposes it is a poacher I want--else I might have gone to another." "That sounds more reasonable," he admitted, guardedly. "I want to ask this," I continued: "are you a poacher from necessity, or from that pure love of the chase which is born in even worse men than you and I?" "I poach because I love it. There are no poachers from necessity; there is always the sea, which furnishes work for all who care to steer a sloop, or draw a seine, or wield a sea-rake. I am a pilot." "But the war?" "At least the war could not keep me from the sardine grounds." "So you poach from choice?" "Yes. It is in me. I am sorry, but what shall I do? _It's in me_." "And you can't resist?" He laughed grimly. "Go and call in the hounds from the stag's throat!" Presently I said: "You have been in jail?" "Yes," he replied, indifferently. "For poaching?" "Eur e'harvik rous," he said in Breton, and I could not make out whether he meant that he had been in jail for the sake of a woman or of a "little red doe." The Breton language bristles with double meanings, symbols, and allegories. The word for doe in Breton is _karvez_; or for a doe which never had a fawn, it is _heiez_; for a fawn the word is _karvik_. I mentioned these facts to him, but he only looked dangerous and remained silent. "Lizard," I said, "give me your confidence as I give you mine. I will tell you now that I was once in the police--" He started. "And that I expect to enter that corps again. And I want your aid." "My aid? For the police?" His laugh was simply horrible. "I? The Lizard? Continue, m'sieu." "I will tell you why. Yesterday, on a visit to Point Paradise, I saw a man lying belly down in the bracken; but I didn't let him know I saw him. I have served in the police; I think I recognize that man. He is known in Belleville as Tric-Trac. He came here, I believe, to see a man called Buckhurst. Can you find this Tric-Trac for me? Do you, perhaps, know him?" "Yes," said the Lizard, "I knew him in prison." "You have seen him here?" "Yes, but I will not betray him." "Why?" "Because he is a poor, hunted devil of a poacher like me!" cried the Lizard, angrily. "He must live; there's enough land in Finistère for us both." "How long has he been here in Paradise?" "For two months." "And he told you he lived by poaching?" "Yes." "He lies." The Lizard looked at me intently. "He has played you; he is a thief, and he has come here to rob. He is a filou--a town rat. Can he bend a hedge-snare? Can he line a string of dead-falls? Can he even snare enough game to keep himself from starving? He a woodsman? _He_ a poacher of the bracken? You are simple, my friend." The veins in the poacher's neck began to swell and a dull color flooded his face. "Prove that he has played me," he said. "Prove it yourself." "How?" "By watching him. He came here to meet a man named Buckhurst." "I have seen that man Buckhurst, too. What is he doing here?" asked the Lizard. "That is what I want you to find out and help me to find out!" I said. "Voilà! Now you know what I want of you." The sombre visage of the poacher twitched. "I take it," said I, "that you would not make a comrade of a petty pickpocket." The poacher uttered an oath and shook his fist at me. "Bon sang!" he snarled, "I am an honest man if I am a poacher!" "That's the reason I trusted you," said I, good-humoredly. "Take your fists down, my friend, and think out a plan which will permit me to observe this Monsieur Tric-Trac at my leisure, without I myself being observed." "That is easy," he said. "I take him food to-day." "Then I was right," said I, laughing. "He is a Belleville rat, who cannot feed himself where there are no pockets to pick. Does he know a languste from a linnet? Not he, my friend!" The Lizard sat still, head bent, knees drawn up, apparently buried in thought. There is no injury one can do a Breton of his class like the injury of deceiving and mocking. If Tric-Trac, a man of the city, had come here to profit by the ignorance of a Breton--and perhaps laugh at his stupidity! But I let the ferment work in the dark blood of the Lizard, leaving him to his own sombre logic, undisturbed. Presently the Lizard raised his head and fixed his bright, intelligent eyes on me. "M'sieu," he said, in a curiously gentle voice, "we men of Paradise are called out for the army. I must go, or go to jail. How can I remain here and help you trap these filous?" "I have telegraphed to General Chanzy," I said, frankly. "If he accepts--or if General Aurelles de Palladine is favorable--I shall make you exempt under authority from Tours. I mean to keep you in my service, anyway," I added. "You mean that--that I need not go to Lorient--to this war?" "I hope so, my friend." He looked at me, astonished. "If you can do that, m'sieu, you can do anything." "In the meanwhile," I said, dryly, "I want another look at Tric-Trac." "I could show you Tric-Trac in an hour--but to go to him direct would excite his suspicion. Besides, there are two gendarmes in Paradise to conduct the conscripts to Lorient; there are also several gardes-champêtre. But I can get you there, in the open moorland, too, under everybody's noses! Shall I?" he said, with an eager ferocity that startled me. "You are not to injure him, no matter what he does or says," I said, sharply. "I want to watch him, not to frighten him away. I want to see what he and Buckhurst are doing. Do you understand?" "Yes." "Then strike palms!" We struck vigorously. "Now I am ready to start," I said, pleasantly. "And now I am ready to tell you something," he said, with the fierce light burning behind his blue eyes. "If you were already in the police I would not help you--no, not even to trap this filou who has mocked me! If you again enter the police I will desert you!" He licked his dry lips. "Do you know what a blood-feud is?" "Yes," I said. "Then understand that a man in a high place has wronged me--and that he is of the police--the Imperial Military police!" "Who?" "You will know when I pass my fagot-knife into his throat," he snarled--"not before." The Lizard picked up his fishing-rod, slung a canvas bag over his stained velveteen jacket, gathered together a few coils of hair-wire, a pot of twig-lime, and other odds and ends, which he tucked into his broad-flapped coat-pocket. "Allons," he said, briefly, and we started. The canvas bag on his back bulged, perhaps with provisions, although the steel point of a murderous salmon-gaff protruded from the mouth of the sack and curved over his shoulder. The village square in Paradise was nearly deserted. The children had raced away to follow the newly arrived gendarmes as closely as they dared, and the women were in-doors hanging about their men, whom the government summoned to Lorient. There were, however, a few people in the square, and these the Lizard was very careful to greet. Thus we passed the mayor, waddling across the bridge, puffing with official importance over the arrival of the gendarmes. He bowed to me; the Lizard saluted him with, "Times are hard on the fat!" to which the mayor replied morosely, and bade him go to the devil. "Au revoir, donc," retorted the Lizard, unabashed. The mayor bawled after him a threat of arrest unless he reported next day in the square. At that the poacher halted. "Don't you wish you might get me!" he said, tauntingly, probably presuming on my conditional promise. "Do you refuse to report?" demanded the mayor, also halting. "Et ta soeur!" replied the poacher; "is she reporting at the caserne?" The mayor replied angrily, and a typical Breton quarrel began, which ended in the mayor biting his thumb-nail at the Lizard and wishing him "St. Hubert's luck"--an insult tantamount to a curse. Now St. Hubert was a mighty hunter, and his luck was proverbially marvellous. But as everything goes by contrary in Brittany, to wish a Breton hunter good luck was the very worst thing you could do him. Bad luck was certain to follow--if not that very day, certainly, inexorably, _some_ day. With wrath in his eyes the Lizard exhausted his profanity, stretching out his arm after the retreating mayor, who waddled away, gesticulating, without turning his head. "Come back! Toad! Sourd! V-Snake! Bat of the gorse!" shouted the Lizard. "Do you think I'm afraid of your spells, fat owl of Faöuet? Evil-eyed eel! The luck of Ker-Ys to you and yours! Ho fois! Do you think I am frightened--I, Robert the Lizard? Your wife is a camel and your daughter a cow!" The mayor was unmarried, but it didn't matter. And, moreover, as that official was now out of ear-shot, the Lizard turned anxiously to me. "Don't tell me you are superstitious enough to care what the mayor said," I laughed. "Dame, m'sieu, we shall have no luck to-day. To-morrow it doesn't matter--but if we go to-day, bad luck must come to us." "To-day? Nonsense!" "If not, then another day." "Rubbish! Come on." "Do you think we could take precautions?" he asked, furtively. "Take all you like," I said; "rack your brains for an antidote to neutralize the bad luck, only come on, you great gaby!" I knew many of the Finistère legends; out of the corner of my eye I watched this stalwart rascal, cowed by gross superstition, peeping about for some favorable sign to counteract the luck of St. Hubert. First he looked up at the crows, and counted them as they passed overhead cawing ominously--one--two--three--four--five! Five is danger! But wait, more were coming: one--two--three--four--five--six--seven--! A loss! Well, that was not as bad as some things. But hark! More crows coming: one--two--three! Death! "Jesû!" he faltered, ducking his head instinctively. "I'll look elsewhere for signs." The signs were all wrong that morning; first we met an ancient crone with a great pack of fagots on her bent back, and I was sure he could have strangled her cheerfully, because there are few worse omens for a hunter of game or of men. Then he examined the first mushroom he found, but under the pink-and-pearl cap we saw no insects crawling. The veil, too, was rent, showing the poisonous, fluted gills; and the toadstool blackened when he cut it with the blade of his fagot-knife. He tried once more, however, and searched through the gorse until he found a heavy lizard, green as an emerald. He teased it till it snapped at the silver franc in my hand; its teeth should have vanished, but when he held out his finger the creature bit into it till the blood spurted. Still I refused to turn back. What should he do? Then into his mind crept a Pouldu superstition. It was a charm against evil, including lightning, black-rot, rheumatism, and "douleurs" of other varieties. The charm was simple. We needed only to build a little fire of gorse, and walk through the smoke once or twice. So we built the fire and walked through the smoke, the Lizard coughing and cursing until I feared he might overdo it by smothering us both. Then stamping out the last spark--for he was a woodsman always--we tramped on in better humor with destiny. "You think that turned the curse backward, m'sieu?" he asked. "There is not the faintest doubt of that," I said. Far away towards Sainte-Ysole we saw the blue woods which were our goal. However, we had no intention of going there as the bee flies, partly because Tric-Trac might see us, partly because the Lizard wished any prowling passer-by to observe that he was occupied with his illegitimate profession. For my part, I very much preferred a brush with a garde-champêtre or a summons to explain why no shots were found in the Lizard's pheasants, rather than have anybody ask us why we were walking so fast towards Sainte-Ysole woods. Therefore we promptly selected a hedge for operations, choosing a high, thick one, which separated two fields of wheat stubble. Kneeling under the hedge, he broke a hole in it just large enough for a partridge to worry through. Then he bent his twig, fastened the hair-wire into a running noose, adjusted it, and stood up. This manoeuvre he repeated at various hedges or in thickets where he "lined" his trail with peeled twigs on every bush. Once he paused to reset a hare-trap with a turnip, picked up in a neighboring field; once he limed a young sapling and fixed a bit of a mirror in the branches, but not a bird alighted, although the blackthorns were full of fluttering wings. And all the while we had been twisting and doubling and edging nearer and nearer to the Sainte-Ysole woods, until we were already within their cool shadow, and I heard the tinkle of a stream among leafy depths. Now we had no fear; we were hidden from the eyes of the dry, staring plain, and the Lizard laughed to himself as he fastened a grasshopper to his hook and flung it into the broad, dark water of the pool at his feet. Slowly he fished up stream, but, although he seemed to be intent on his sport, there was something in the bend of his head that suggested he might be listening for other sounds than the complex melodies of mossy waterfalls. His poacher's eyes began to glisten and shimmer in the forest dusk like the eyes of wild things that hunt at night. As he noiselessly turned, his nostrils spread with a tremor, as a good dog's nose quivers at the point. Presently he beckoned me, stepped into the moss, and crawled without a sound straight through the holly thicket. "Watch here," he whispered. "Count a hundred when I disappear, then creep on your stomach to the edge of that bank. In the bed of the stream, close under you, you will see and hear your friend Tric-Trac." Before I had counted fifty I heard the Lizard cry out, "Bonjour, Tric-Trac!" but I counted on, obeying the Lizard's orders as I should wish mine to be obeyed. I heard a startled exclamation in reply to the Lizard's greeting, then a purely Parisian string of profanity, which terminated as I counted one hundred and crept forward to the mossy edge of the bank, under the yellow beech leaves. Below me stood the Lizard, intently watching a figure crouched on hands and knees before a small, iron-bound box. The person addressed as Tric-Trac promptly tried to hide the box by sitting down on it. He was a young man, with wide ears and unhealthy spots on his face. His hair, which was oily and thick, he wore neatly plastered into two pointed love-locks. This not only adorned and distinguished him, but it lent a casual and detached air to his ears, which stood at right angles to the plane of his face. I knew that engaging countenance. It was the same old Tric-Trac. "Zut, alors!" repeated Tric-Trac, venomously, as the poacher smiled again; "can't you give the company notice when you come in?" "Did you expect me to ring the tocsin?" asked the Lizard. "Flute!" snarled Tric-Trac. "Like a mud-rat, you creep with no sound--c'est pas polite, nom d'un nom!" He began nervously brushing the pine-needles from his skin-tight trousers, with dirty hands. "What's that box?" asked the Lizard, abruptly. "Box? Where?" A vacant expression came into Tric-Trac's face, and he looked all around him except at the box upon which he was sitting. "Box?" he repeated, with that hopeless effrontery which never deserts criminals of his class, even under the guillotine. "I don't see any box." "You're sitting on it," observed the Lizard. "_That_ box? Oh! You mean _that_ box? Oh!" He peeped at it between his meagre legs, then turned a nimble eye on the poacher. "What's in it?" demanded the poacher, sullenly. "Don't know," replied Tric-Trac, with brisk interest. "I found it." "_Found_ it!" repeated the Lizard, scornfully. "Certainly, my friend; how do you suppose I came by it?" "You stole it!" They faced each other for a moment. "Supposition that you are correct; what of it?" said the young ruffian, calmly. The Lizard was silent. "Did you bring me anything to chew on?" inquired Tric-Trac, sniffing at the poacher's sack. "Bread, cheese, three pheasants, cider--more than I eat in a week," said the Lizard, quietly. "It will cost forty sous." He opened his sack and slowly displayed the provisions. I looked hard at the iron-bound box. _On one end was painted the Geneva cross._ Dr. Delmont and Professor Tavernier had disappeared carrying red-cross funds. Was that their box? "I said it costs forty sous--two silver francs," repeated the Lizard, doggedly. "Forty sous? That's robbery!" sniffed the young ruffian, now using that half-whining, half-sneering form of discourse peculiar alike to the vicious chevalier of Paris and his confrère of the provincial centres. Accent and slang alone distinguish between them; the argot, however, is practically the same. Tric-Trac fished a few coins from his pocket, counted carefully, and handed them, one by one, to the poacher. The poacher coolly tossed the food on the ground, and, as Tric-Trac rose to pick it up, seized the box. "Drop that!" said Tric-Trac, quickly. "What's in it?" "Nothing! Drop it, I tell you." "Where's the key?" "There's no key--it's a machine." "What's in it?" "Now I've been trying to find out for two weeks," sneered Tric-Trac, "and I don't know yet. Drop it!" "I'm going to open it all the same," said the Lizard, coolly, lifting the lid. A sudden silence followed; then the Lizard swore vigorously. There was another box within the light, iron-edged casket, a keyless cube of shining steel, with a knob on the top, and a needle which revolved around a dial on which were engraved the hours and minutes. And emblazoned above the dial was the coat of arms of the Countess de Vassart. When Tric-Trac had satisfied himself concerning the situation, he returned to devour his food. "Flute! Zut! Mince!" he observed; "you and your bad manners, they sicken me--tiens!" The Lizard, flat on his stomach, lay with the massive steel box under his chin, patiently turning the needle from figure to figure. "Wonderful! wonderful!" sneered Tric-Trac. "Continue, my friend, to put out your eyes with your fingers!" The Lizard continued to turn the needle backward and forward around the face of the dial. Once, when he twirled it impatiently, a tiny chime rang out from within the box, but the steel lid did not open. "It's the Angelus," said Tric-Trac, with a grimace. "Let us pray, my friend, for a cold-chisel--when my friend Buckhurst returns." Still the Lizard lay, unmoved, turning the needle round and round. Tric-Trac having devoured the cheese, bread, and an entire pheasant, made a bundle of the remaining food, emptied the cider-jug, wiped his beardless face with his cap, and announced that he would be pleased to "broil" a cigarette. "Do you want the gendarmes to scent tobacco?" said the Lizard. "Are the 'Flics' out already?" asked Tric-Trac, astonished. "They're in Paradise, setting the whole Department by the ears. But they can't look sideways at me; I'm going to be exempt." "It strikes me," observed Tric-Trac, "that you take great precautions for your own skin." "I do," said the Lizard. "What about me?" The poacher looked around at the young ruffian. Those muscles in the human face which draw back the upper lip are not the muscles used for laughter. Animals employ them when they snarl. And now the Lizard laughed that way; his upper lip shrank from the edge of his yellow teeth, and he regarded Tric-Trac with oblique and burning eyes. "What about me?" repeated Tric-Trac, in an offended tone. "Am I to live in fear of the Flics?" The Lizard laughed again, and Tric-Trac, disgusted, stood up, settled his cap over his wide ears, humming a song as he loosened his trousers-belt: "Si vous t'nez à vot' squelette Ne fait' pas comme Bibi! Claquer plutôt dans vot' lit Que de claquer à la Roquette!"-- "Who are you gaping at?" he added, abruptly. "Bon; c'est ma geule. Et après? Drop that box!" "Come," replied the Lizard, coldly, placing the box on the moss, "you'd better not quarrel with me." "Oh, that's a threat, is it?" sneered Tric-Trac. He walked over to the steel box, lifted it, placed it in the iron-edged case, and sat down on the case. "I want you to comprehend," he added, "that you have pushed your nose into an affair that does not concern you. The next time you come here to sell your snared pheasants, come like a man, nom de Dieu! and not like a cat of the Glacière!--or I'll find a way to stop your curiosity." The dull-red color surged into the poacher's face and heavy neck; for a moment he stood as though stunned. Then he dragged out his knife. Tric-Trac sat looking at him insolently, one hand thrust into the bosom of his greasy coat. "I've got a toy under my cravate that says 'Papa!' six times--pop! pop! pop! pop! pop! pop! Papa!" he continued, calmly; "so there's no use in your turning red and swelling the veins in your neck. Go to the devil! Do you think I can't live without you? Go to the devil with your traps and partridges and fish-hooks--and that fagot-knife in your fist--and if you try to throw it at me you'll make a sad mistake!" The Lizard's half-raised hand dropped as Tric-Trac, with a movement like lightning, turned a revolver full on him, talking all the while in his drawling whine. "C'est çà! Now you are reasonable. Get out of this forest, my friend--or stay and join us. Eh! That astonishes you? Why? Idiot, we want men like you. We want men who have nothing to lose and--millions to gain! Ah, you are amazed! Yes, millions--I say it. I, Tric-Trac of the Glacière, who have done my time in Noumea, too! Yes, millions." The young ruffian laughed and slowly passed his tongue over his thin lips. The Lizard slowly returned his knife to its sheath, looked all around, then deliberately sat down on the moss cross-legged. I could have hugged him. "A million? Where?" he asked, vacantly. "Parbleu! Naturally you ask where," chuckled Tric-Trac. "Tiens! A supposition that it's in this box!" "The box is too small," said the Lizard, patiently. Tric-Trac roared. "Listen to him! Listen to the child!" he cried, delighted. "Too small to hold gold enough for you? Very well--but is _a ship big enough_?" "A big ship is." Tric-Trac wriggled in convulsions of laughter. "Oh, listen! He wants a big ship! Well--say a ship as big as that ugly, black iron-clad sticking up out of the sea yonder, like a Usine-de-gaz!" "I think that ship would be big enough," said the poacher, seriously. Tric-Trac did not laugh; his little eyes narrowed, and he looked steadily at the poacher. "Do you mean what I mean?" he asked, deliberately. "Well," said the Lizard, "what do you mean?" "I mean that France is busy stitching on a new flag." "Black?" "Red--_first_." "Oh-h!" mused the poacher. "When does France hoist that new red flag?" "When Paris falls." The poacher rested his chin on his doubled fist and leaned forward across his gathered knees. "I see," he drawled. "Under the commune there can be no more poverty," said Tric-Trac; "you comprehend that." "Exactly." "And no more aristocrats." "Exactly." "Well," said Tric-Trac, his head on one side, "how does that programme strike you?" "It is impossible, your programme," said the poacher, rising to his feet impatiently. "You think so? Wait a few days! Wait, my friend," cried Tric-Trac, eagerly; "and say!--come back here next Monday! There will be a few of us here--a few friends. And keep your mouth shut tight. Here! Wait. Look here, friend, don't let a little pleasantry stand between comrades. Your fagot-knife against my little flute that sings pa-pa!--that leaves matters balanced, eh?" The young ruffian had followed the Lizard and caught him by his stained velvet coat. "Voyons," he persisted, "do you think the commune is going to let a comrade starve for lack of Badinguet's lozenges? Here, take a few of these!" and the rascal thrust out a dirty palm full of twenty-franc gold pieces. "What are these for?" muttered the Lizard, sullenly. "For your beaux yeux, imbecile!" cried Tric-Trac, gayly. "Come back when you want more. My comrade, Citizen Buckhurst, will be glad to see you next Monday. Adieu, my friend. Don't chatter to the Flics!" He picked up his box and the packet of provisions, dropped his revolver into the side-pocket of his jacket, cocked his greasy cap, blew a kiss to the Lizard, and started off straight into the forest. After a dozen steps he hesitated, turned, and looked back at the poacher for a moment in silence. Then he made a friendly grimace. "You are not a fool," he said, "so you won't follow me. Come again Monday. It will really be worth while, dear friend." Then, as on an impulse, he came all the way back, caught the Lizard by the sleeve, raised his meagre body on tip-toe, and whispered. The Lizard turned perfectly white; Tric-Trac trotted away into the woods, hugging his box and smirking. The Lizard and I walked back together. By the time we reached Paradise bridge I understood him better, and he understood me. And when we arrived at the circus tent, and when Speed came up, handing me a telegram from Chanzy refusing my services, the Lizard turned to me like an obedient hound to take my orders--now that I was not to re-enter the Military Police. I ordered him to disobey the orders from Lorient and from the mayor of Paradise; to take to the woods as though to avoid the conscription; to join Buckhurst's franc-company of ruffians, and to keep me fully informed. "And, Lizard," I said, "you may be caught and hanged for it by the police, or stabbed by Tric-Trac." "Bien," he said, coolly. "But it is a brave thing you do; a soldierly thing!" He was silent. "It is for France," I said. He shrugged his shoulders. "And we'll catch this Tric-Trac red-handed," I suggested. "Ah--yes!" His eyes glowed as though lighted up from behind. "And another who is high in the police, and a friend of this Tric-Trac!" "Was it that man's name he whispered to you when you turned so white?" I said, suddenly. The Lizard turned his glowing eyes on me. "Was the man's name--Mornac?" I asked, at a hopeless venture. The Lizard shivered; I needed no reply, not even his hoarse, "Are you the devil, that you know all things?" I looked at him wonderingly. What wrong could Mornac have done a ragged outcast here on the Breton coast? And where was Mornac? Had he left Paris in time to avoid the Prussian trap? Was he here in this country, rubbing elbows with Buckhurst? "Did Tric-Trac tell you that Mornac was at the head of that band?" I demanded. "Why do you ask me?" stammered the Lizard; "you know everything--even when it is scarcely whispered!" The superstitious astonishment of the man, his utter collapse and his evident fear of me, did not suit me. Treachery comes through that kind of fear; I meant to rule him in another and safer manner. I meant to be absolutely honest with him. It was difficult to persuade him that I had only guessed the name whispered; that, naturally, I should think of Mornac as a high officer of police, and particularly so since I knew him to be a villain, and had also divined his relations with Buckhurst. I drew from the poacher that Tric-Trac had named Mornac as head of the communistic plot in Brittany; that Mornac was coming to Paradise very soon, and that then something gay might be looked for. And that night I took Speed into my confidence and finally Kelly Eyre, our balloonist. And we talked the matter over until long after midnight. XV FOREWARNED The lions had now begun to give me a great deal of trouble. Timour Melek, the old villain, sat on his chair, snarling and striking at me, but still going through his paces; Empress Khatoun was a perfect devil of viciousness, and refused to jump her hoops; even poor little Aïcha, my pet, fed by me soon after her foster-mother, a big Newfoundland, had weaned her, turned sullen in the pyramid scene. I roped her and trimmed her claws; it was high time. Oh, they knew, and I knew, that matters had gone wrong with me; that I had, for a time, at least, lost the intangible something which I once possessed--that occult right to dominate. It worried me; it angered me. Anger in authority, which is a weakness, is quickly discovered by beasts. Speed's absurd superstition continued to recur to me at inopportune moments; in my brain his voice was ceaselessly sounding--"A man in love, a man in love, a man in love"--until a flash of temper sent my lions scurrying and snarling into a pack, where they huddled and growled, staring at me with yellow, mutinous eyes. Yet, strangely, the greater the risk, and the plainer to me that my lions were slipping out of my control, the more my apathy increased, until even Byram began to warn me. Still I never felt the slightest physical fear; on the contrary, as my irritation increased my disdain grew. It seemed a monstrous bit of insolence on the part of these overgrown cats to meditate an attack on me. Even though I began to feel that it was only a question of time when the moment must arrive, even though I gradually became certain that the first false move on my part would precipitate an attack, the knowledge left me almost indifferent. That morning, as I left the training-cage--where, among others, Kelly Eyre stood looking on--I suddenly remembered Sylvia Elven and her message to Eyre, which I had never delivered. We strolled towards the stables together; he was a pleasant, clean-cut, fresh-faced young fellow, a man I had never known very well, but one whom I was inclined to respect and trust. "My son," said I, politely, "do you think you have arrived at an age sufficiently mature to warrant my delivering to you a message from a pretty girl?" "There's no harm in attempting it, my venerable friend," he replied, laughing. "This is the message," I said: "_On Sunday the book-stores are closed in Paris._" "Who gave you that message, Scarlett?" he stammered. I looked at him curiously, brutally; a red, hot blush had covered his face from neck to hair. "In case you asked, I was to inform you," said I, "that a Bretonne at Point Paradise sent the message." "A Bretonne!" he repeated, as though scared. "A Bretonne!" "But I don't know any!" I shrugged my shoulders discreetly. "Are you certain she was a Bretonne?" he asked. His nervousness surprised me. "Does she not say so?" I replied. "I know--I know--but that message--there is only one woman who could have sent it--" He hesitated, red as a pippin. He was so young, so manly, so unspoiled, and so red, that on an impulse I said: "Kelly, it was Mademoiselle Elven who sent you the message." His face expressed troubled astonishment. "Is that her name?" he asked. "Well--it's one of them, anyway," I replied, beginning to feel troubled in my turn. "See here, Kelly, it's not my business, but you won't mind if I speak plainly, will you? The times are queer--you understand. Everybody is suspicious; everybody is under suspicion in these days. And I want to say that the young lady who sent that curious message to you is as clever as twenty men like you and me." He was silent. "If it is a love affair, I'll stop now--not a question, you understand. If it is not--well, as an older and more battered and world-worn man, I'm going to make a suggestion to you--with your permission." "Make it," he said, quietly. "Then I will. Don't talk to Mademoiselle Elven. You, Speed, and I know something about a certain conspiracy; we are going to know more before we inform the captain of that cruiser out there beyond Point Paradise. I know Mademoiselle Elven--slightly. I am afraid of her--and I have not yet decided why. Don't talk to her." "But--I don't know her," he said; "or, at least I don't know her by that name." After a moment I said: "Is the person in question the companion of the Countess de Vassart?" "If she is I do not know it," he replied. "Was she once an actress?" "It would astonish me to believe it!" he said. "Then who do you believe sent you that message, Kelly?" His cheeks began to burn again, and he gave me an uncomfortable look. A silence, and he sat down in my dressing-room, his boyish head buried in his hands. After a glance at him I began changing my training-suit for riding-clothes, whistling the while softly to myself. As I buttoned a fresh collar he looked up. "Mr. Scarlett, you are well-born and--you are here in the circus with the rest of us. You know what we are--you know that two or three of us have seen better days,... that something has gone wrong with us to bring us here,... but we never speak of it,... and never ask questions.... But I should like to tell you about myself;... you are a gentleman, you know,... and I was not born to anything in particular.... I was a clerk in the consul's office in Paris when Monsieur Tissandier took a fancy to me, and I entered his balloon ateliers to learn to assist him." He hesitated. I tied my necktie very carefully before a bit of broken mirror. "Then the government began to make much of us,... you remember? We started experiments for the army.... I was intensely interested, and ... there was not much talk about secrecy then,... and my salary was large, and I was received at the Tuileries. My head was turned;... life was easy, brilliant. I made an invention--a little electric screw which steered a balloon ... sometimes..." He laughed, a mirthless laugh, and looked at me. All the color had gone from his face. "There was a woman--" I turned partly towards him. "We met first at the British Embassy,... then elsewhere,... everywhere.... We skated together at the club in the Bois at that celebrated fête,... you know?--the Emperor was there--" "I know," I said. He looked at me dreamily, passed his hand over his face, and went on: "Somehow we always talked about military balloons. And that evening ... she was so interested in my work ... I brought some little sketches I had made--" "I understand," I said. He looked at me miserably. "She was to return the sketches to me at Calman's--the fashionable book-store,... next day.... I never thought that the next day was to be Sunday.... The book-stores of Paris are not open on Sunday--_but the War Office is_." I began to put on my coat. "And the sketches were asked for?" I suggested--"and you naturally told what had become of them?" "I refused to name her." "Of course; men of our sort can't do that." "I am not of your sort--you know it." "Oh yes, you are, my friend--and the same kind of fool, too. There's only one kind of man in this world." He looked at me listlessly. "So they sent you to a fortress?" I asked. "To New Caledonia,... four years.... I was only twenty, Scarlett,... and ruined.... I joined Byram in Antwerp and risked the tour through France." After a moment's thought I said: "In your opinion, what nation profited by your sketches? Italy? Spain? Prussia? Bavaria? England?... Perhaps Russia?" "Do you mean that this woman was a foreign spy?" "Perhaps. Perhaps she was only careless, or capricious,... or inconstant.... You never saw her again?" "I was under arrest on Sunday. I do not know.... I like to believe that she went to the book-store on Monday,... that she made an innocent mistake,... but I never knew, Scarlett,... I never knew." "Suppose you ask her?" I said. He reddened furiously. "I cannot.... If she did me a wrong, I cannot reproach her; if she was innocent--look at me, Scarlett!--a ragged, ruined mountebank in a travelling circus,... and she is--" "An honest woman that a man might care for?" "That is ... my belief." "If she is," I said, "go and ask her about those drawings." "But if she is not,... I cannot tell _you_!" he flashed out. "Let us shake hands, Kelly," I said,... "and be very good friends. Will you?" He gave me his hand rather shyly. "We will never speak of her again," I said,... "unless you desire it. You have had a terrible lesson in caution; I need say no more. Only remember that I have trusted you with a secret concerning Buckhurst's conspiracy." His firm hand tightened on mine, then he walked away, steadily, head high. And I went out to saddle my horse for a canter across the moor to Point Paradise. It was a gray day, with a hint of winter in the air, and a wind that set the gorse rustling like tissue-paper. Up aloft the sun glimmered, a white spot in a silvery smother; pale lights lay on moorland and water; the sea tumbled over the bar, boiling like a flood of liquid lead from which the spindrift curled and blew into a haze that buried the island of Groix and turned the anchored iron-clad to a phantom. A day for a gallop, if ever there was such a day!--a day to wash out care from a troubled mind and cleanse it in the whipping, reeking, wet east wind--a day for a fox! And I rose in my saddle and shouted aloud as a red fox shot out of the gorse and galloped away across the endless moorland, with the feathers of a mallard still sticking to his whiskers. Oh, what a gallop, with risk enough, too; for I did not know the coast moors; and the deep clefts from the cliffs cut far inland, so that eye and ear and bridle-hand were tense and ready to catch danger ere it ingulfed us in some sea-churned crevice hidden by the bracken. And how the gray gulls squealed, high whirling over us, and the wild ducks in the sedge rose with clapping wings, craning their necks, only to swing overhead in circles, whimpering, and drop, with pendent legs and wings aslant, back into the bog from which we startled them. A ride into an endless gray land, sweet with sea-scents, rank with the perfume of salty green things; a ride into a land of gushing winds, wet as spray, strong and caressing, too, and full of mischief; winds that set miles of sedge rippling; sudden winds, that turned still pools to geysers and set the yellow gorse flowers flying; winds that rushed up with a sea-roar like the sound in shells, then, sudden, died away, to leave the furrowed clover motionless and the tall reeds still as death. So, by strange ways and eccentric circles, like the aërial paths of homing sea-birds, I came at last to the spot I had set out for, consciously; yet it surprised me to find I had come there. Before I crossed the little bridge I scented the big orange-tinted tea-roses and the pinks. Leaves on apricots were falling; the fig-tree was bare of verdure, and the wind chased the big, bronzed leaves across the beds of herbs, piling them into heaps at the base of the granite wall. A boy took my horse; a servant in full Breton costume admitted me; the velvet humming of Sylvia Elven's spinning-wheel filled the silence, like the whirring of a great, soft moth imprisoned in a room: "Woe to the Maids of Paradise, Yvonne! Twice have the Saxons landed--twice! Yvonne! Yet shall Paradise see them thrice! Yvonne! Yvonne! Marivonik! "Fair is their hair and blue their eyes, Yvonne! Body o' me! their words are lies, Yvonne! Maids of Paradise, oh, be wise! Yvonne! Yvonne! Marivonik!" The door swung open noiselessly; the whir of the wheel and the sound of the song filled the room for an instant, then was shut out as the Countess de Vassart closed the door and came forward to greet me. In her pretty, soft gown, with a tint of blue ribbon at the neck and shoulders, she seemed scarcely older than a school-girl, so radiant, so sweet and fresh she stood there, giving me her little hand to touch in friendship. "It was so good of you to come," she said; "I know you made it a duty and gave up a glorious gallop to be amiable to me. Did you?" I tried to say something, but her loveliness confused me. Somebody brought tea--I don't know who; all I could see clearly was her gray eyes meeting mine--the light from the leaded window touching her glorious, ruddy hair. As for the tea, I took whatever she offered; doubtless I drank it, but I don't remember. Nor do I remember what she said at first, for somehow I began thinking about my lions, and the thought obsessed me even while striving to listen to her, even in the tingling maze of other thoughts which kept me dumb under the exquisite spell of this intimacy with her. The delicate odor of ripened herbs stole into the room from the garden; far away, through the whispering whir of the spinning-wheel, I heard the sea. "Do you like Sylvia's song?" she asked, turning her head to listen. "It is a very old song--a very, very old one--centuries old. It's all about the English, how they came to harry our coasts in those days--and it has almost a hundred verses!" Something of the Bretonne came into her eyes for a moment, that shadow of sadness, that patient fatalism in which, too, there is something of distrust. The next instant her eyes cleared and she smiled. "The Trécourts suffered much from the English raiders. I am a Trécourt, you know. That song was made about us--about a young girl, Yvonne de Trécourt, who was carried away by the English. She was foolish; she had a lover among the Saxons,... and she set a signal for him, and they came and sacked the town, and carried her away, and that was what she got for her folly." She bent her head thoughtfully; the sound of the sea grew louder in the room; a yellow light stole out of the west and touched the window-panes, slowly deepening to orange; against it the fruit trees stood, a leafless tracery of fragile branches. "It is the winter awaking, very far away," she said, under her breath. Something in the hollow monotone of the sea made me think again of the low grumble of restless lions. The sound was hateful. Why should it steal in here--why haunt me even in this one spot in all the world where a world-tired man had found a moment's peace in a woman's eyes. "Are you troubled?" she asked, then colored at her own question, as though deeming the impulse to speak unwarranted. "No, not troubled. Happiness is often edged with a shadow. I am content to be here." She bent her head and looked at the heavy rose lying in solitary splendor on the table. The polished wood reflected it in subdued tints of saffron. "It is a strange friendship," I said. "Ours?... yes." I said, musing: "To me it is like magic. I scarce dare speak, scarce breathe, lest the spell break." She was silent. "--Lest the spell break--and this house, this room, fade away, leaving me alone, staring at the world once more." "If there is a spell, you have cast it," she said, laughing at my sober face. "A wizard ought to be able to make his spells endure." Then her face grew graver. "You must forget the past," she said; "you must forget all that was cruel and false and unhappy,... will you not?" "Yes, madame." "I, too," she said, "have much to forget and much to hope for; and you taught me how to forget and how to hope." "I, madame?" "Yes,... at La Trappe, at Morsbronn, and here. Look at me. Have I not changed?" "Yes," I said, fascinated. "I know I have," she said, as though speaking to herself. "Life means more now. Somehow my childhood seems to have returned, with all its hope of the world and all its confidence in the world, and its certainty that all will be right. Years have fallen from my shoulders like a released burden that was crushing me to my knees. I have awakened from a dream that was not life at all,... a dream in which I, alone, staggered through darkness, bearing the world on my shoulders--the world doubly weighted with the sorrows of mankind,... a dream that lasted years, but..._you_ awoke me." She leaned forward and lifted the rose, touching her face with it. "It was so simple, after all--this secret of the world's malady. You read it for me. I know now what is written on the eternal tablets--to live one's own life as it is given, in honor, charity, without malice; to seek happiness where it is offered; to share it when possible; to uplift. But, most of all, to be happy and accept happiness as a heavenly gift that is to be shared with as many as possible. And this I have learned since ... I knew you." The light in the room had grown dimmer; I leaned forward to see her face. "Am I not right?" she asked. "I think so.... I am learning from you." "But you taught this creed to me!" she cried. "No, you are teaching it to me. And the first lesson was a gift,... your friendship." "Freely given, gladly given," she said, quickly. "And yours I have in return,... and will keep always--always--" She crushed the rose against her mouth, looking at me with inscrutable gray eyes, as I had seen her look at me once at La Trappe, once in Morsbronn. I picked up my gloves and riding-crop; as I rose she stood up in the dusk, looking straight at me. I said something about Sylvia Elven and my compliments to her, something else about the happiness I felt at coming to the château again, something about her own goodness to me--Heaven knows what!--and she gave me her hand and I held it a moment. "Will you come again?" she asked. I stammered a promise and made my way blindly to the door which a servant threw open, flung myself astride my horse, and galloped out into the waste of moorland, seeing nothing, hearing nothing save the low roar of the sea, like the growl of restless lions. XVI A RESTLESS MAN When I came into camp, late that afternoon, I found Byram and Speed groping about among a mass of newspapers and letters, the first mail we circus people had received for nearly two months. There were letters for all who were accustomed to look for letters from families, relatives, or friends at home. I never received letters--I had received none of that kind in nearly a score of years, yet that curious habit of expectancy had not perished in me, and I found myself standing with the others while Byram distributed the letters, one by one, until the last home-stamped envelope had been given out, and all around me the happy circus-folk were reading in homesick contentment. I know of no lonelier man than he who lingers empty-handed among those who pore over the home mail. But there were newspapers enough and to spare--French, English, American; and I sat down by my lion's cage and attempted to form some opinion of the state of affairs in France. And, as far as I could read between the lines, this is what I gathered, partly from my own knowledge of past events, partly from the foreign papers, particularly the English: When, on the 3d of September, the humiliating news arrived that the Emperor was a prisoner and his army annihilated, the government, for the first time in its existence, acted with promptness and decision in a matter of importance. Secret orders were sent by couriers to the Bank of France, to the Louvre, and to the Invalides; and, that same night, train after train rushed out of Paris loaded with the battle-flags from the Invalides, the most important pictures and antique sculptures from the Louvre, the greater part of the gold and silver from the Bank of France, and, last but by no means least, the crown and jewels of France. This Speed and I already knew. These trains were despatched to Brest, and at the same time a telegram was directed to the admiral commanding the French iron-clad fleet in the Baltic to send an armored cruiser to Brest with all haste possible, there to await further orders, but to be fully prepared in any event to take on board certain goods designated in cipher. This we knew in a general way, though Speed understood that Lorient was to be the port of departure. The plan was a good one and apparently simple; and there seemed to be no doubt that jewels, battle-flags, pictures, and coin were already beyond danger from the German armies, now plodding cautiously southward toward the capital, which was slowly recovering from its revolutionary convulsions and preparing for a siege. The plan, then, was simple; but, for an equally simple reason, it miscarried in the following manner. Early in August, while the French armies from the Rhine to the Meuse were being punished with frightful regularity and precision, the French Mediterranean squadron had sailed up and down that interesting expanse of water, apparently in patriotic imitation of the historic "King of France and twenty thousand men." For, it now appeared, the French admiral was afraid that the Spanish navy might aid the German ships in harassing the French transports, which at that time were frantically engaged in ferrying a sea-sick Algerian army across the Mediterranean to the mother country. Of course there was no ground for the admiral's suspicions. The German war-ships stayed in their own harbors, the Spaniards made no offensive alliance with Prussia, and at length the French admiral sailed triumphantly away with his battleships and cruisers. On the 7th of August the squadron of four battleships, two armored corvettes, and a despatch-boat steamed out of Brest, picking up on its way northward three more iron-clad frigates, and several cruisers and despatch-boats; and on the 11th of August, 1870, the squadron anchored off Heligoland, from whence Admiral Fourichon proclaimed the blockade of the German coast. It must have been an imposing sight! There lay the great iron-clads, the _Magnanime_, the _Héroine_, the _Provence_, the _Valeureuse_, the _Revanche_, the _Invincible_, the _Couronne_! There lay the cruisers, the _Atalante_, the _Renaud_, the _Cosmao_, the _Decrès_! There, too, lay the single-screw despatch-boats _Reine-Hortense_, _Renard_, and _Dayot_. And upon their armored decks, three by three, stalked the French admirals. Yet, without cynicism, it may be said that the admirals of France fought better, in 1870, on dry land than they did on the ocean. However, the German ships stayed peacefully inside their fortified ports, and the three French admirals pranced peacefully up and down outside, until the God of battles intervened and trouble naturally ensued. On the 6th of September all the seas of Europe were set clashing under a cyclone that rose to a howling hurricane. The British iron-clad _Captain_ foundered off Finistère; the French fleet in the Baltic was scattered to the four winds. In the midst of the tempest a French despatch-boat, the _Hirondelle_, staggered into sight, signalling the flag-ship. Then the French admiral for the first time learned the heart-breaking news of Sedan, and as the tempest-tortured battle-ship drove seaward the signals went up: "Make for Brest!" The blockade of the German coast was at an end. On the 4th of September the treasure-laden trains had left Paris for Brest. On the 5th the _Hirondelle_ steamed out towards the fleet with the news from Sedan and the orders for the detachment of a cruiser to receive the crown jewels. On the 6th the news and the orders were signalled to the flag-ship; but the God of battles unchained a tempest which countermanded the order and hurled the iron-clads into outer darkness. Some of the ships crept into English ports, burning their last lumps of coal, some drifted into Dunkerque; but the flag-ship disappeared for nine long days, at last to reappear off Cherbourg, a stricken thing with a stricken crew and an admiral broken-hearted. So, for days and days, the treasure-laden trains must have stood helpless in the station at Brest, awaiting the cruiser that did not come. On the 17th of September the French Channel squadron, of seven heavy iron-clads, unexpectedly steamed into Lorient harbor and dropped anchor amid thundering salutes from the forts; and the next day one of the treasure-trains came flying into Lorient, to the unspeakable relief of the authorities in the beleaguered capital. Speed and I already knew the secret orders sent. The treasures, including the crown diamonds, were to be stored in the citadel, and an armored cruiser was to lie off the arsenal with banked fires, ready to receive the treasures at the first signal and steam to the French fortified port of Saïgon in Cochin China, by a course already determined. Why on earth those orders had been changed so that the cruiser was to lie off Groix I could not imagine, unless some plot had been discovered in Lorient which had made it advisable to shift the location of the treasures for the third time. Pondering there at the tent door, amid my heap of musty newspapers, I looked out into the late, gray afternoon and saw the maids of Paradise passing and repassing across the bridge with a clicking of wooden shoes and white head-dresses glimmering in the dusk of the trees. The town had filled within a day or two; the Paradise coiffe was not the only coiffe to be seen in the square; there was the delicate-winged head-dress of Faöuet, the beautiful coiffes of Rosporden, Sainte-Anne d'Auray, and Pont Aven; there, too, flashed the scarlet skirts of Bannalec and the gorgeous embroidered bodices of the interior; there were the men of Quimperlé in velvet, the men of Penmarch, the men of Faöuet with their dark, Spanish-like faces and their sombreros, and their short yellow jackets and leggings. All in holiday costume, too, for the maids were stiff in silver and lace, and the men wore carved sabots and embroidered gilets. "Governor," I called out to Byram, "the town is filling fast. It's like a Pardon in Morbihan; we'll pack the old tent to the nigger's-heaven!" "It's a fact," he said, pushing his glasses up over his forehead and fanning his face with his silk hat. "We're going to open to a lot of money, Mr. Scarlett, and ... I ain't goin' to forgit them that stood by me, neither." He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder, and, stooping, peered into my face. "Air you sick, m' friend?" he asked. "I, governor? Why, no." "Ain't been bit by that there paltry camuel nor nothin', hev ye?" "No; do I look ill?" "Peaked--kind o' peaked. White, with dark succles under your eyes. Air you nervous?" "About the lions? Oh no. Don't worry about me, governor." He sighed, adjusted his spectacles, and blew his nose. "Mr. Speed--he's worriting, too; he says that Empress Khatoun means to hev ye one o' these days." "You tell Mr. Speed to worry over his own affairs--that child, Jacqueline, for instance. I suppose she made her jump without trouble to-day? I was too nervous to stay and watch her." "M' friend," said Byram, in solemn ecstasy, "I take off my hat to that there kid!" And he did so with a flourish. "You orter seen her; she hung on that flying trap, jest as easy an' sassy! We was all half crazy. Speed he grew blue around the gills; Miss Crystal, a-swingin' there in the riggin' by her knees, kept a swallerin' an' lickin' her lips, she was that scared. "'Ready?' she calls out in a sort o' quaver. "'Ready!' sez little Jacqueline, cool as ice, swingin' by her knees. 'Go!' sez Miss Crystal, an' the kid let go, an' Miss Crystal grabbed her by the ankles. 'Ready?' calls up Speed, beside the tank. "'Ready!' sez the kid, smilin'. 'Drop!' cries Speed. An' Jacqueline shot down like a blazing star--whir! swish! splash! All over! An' that there nervy kid a floatin' an' a sportin' like a minnie-fish at t'other end o' the tank! Oh, gosh, but it was grand! It was jest--" Speech failed; he walked away, waving his arms, his rusty silk hat on the back of his head. A few moments later drums began to roll from the square. Speed, passing, called out to me that the conscripts were leaving for Lorient; so I walked down to the bridge, where the crowd had gathered and where a tall gendarme stood, his blue-and-white uniform distinct in the early evening light. The mayor was there, too, dressed in his best, waddling excitedly about, and buttonholing at intervals a young lieutenant of infantry, who appeared to be extremely bored. There were the conscripts of the Garde Mobile, an anxious peasant rabble, awkward, resigned, docile as cattle. Here stood a farmer, reeking of his barnyard; here two woodsmen from the forest, belted and lean; but the majority were men of the sea, heavy-limbed, sun-scorched fellows, with little, keen eyes always half closed, and big, helpless fists hanging. Some carried their packets slung from hip to shoulder, some tied their parcels to the muzzles of their obsolete muskets. A number wore the boatman's smock, others the farmer's blouse of linen, but the greater number were clad in the blue-wool jersey and cloth béret of the sailor. Husbands, sons, lovers, looked silently at the women. The men uttered no protest, no reproach; the women wept very quietly. In their hearts that strange mysticism of the race predominated--the hopeless acceptance of a destiny which has, for centuries, left its imprint in the sad eyes of the Breton. Generations of martyrdom leave a cowed and spiritually fatigued race which breeds stoics. Like great white blossoms, the spotless head-dresses of the maids of Paradise swayed and bowed above the crowd. A little old woman stood beside a sailor, saying to anybody who would listen to her: "My son--they are taking my son. Why should they take my son?" Another said: "They are taking mine, too, but he cannot fight on land. He knows the sea; he is not afraid at sea. Can nobody help us? He cannot fight on land; he does not know how!" A woman carrying a sleeping baby stood beside the drummers at the fountain. Five children dragged at her skirts and peered up at the mayor, who shrugged his shoulders and shook his fat head. "What can I do? He must march with the others, your man," said the mayor, again and again. But the woman with the baby never ceased her eternal question: "What can we live on if you take him? I do not mean to complain too much, but we have nothing. What can we live on, m'sieu the mayor?" But now the drummers had stepped out into the centre of the square and were drawing their drum-sticks from the brass sockets in their baldricks. "Good-bye! Good-bye!" sobbed the maids of Paradise, giving both hands to their lovers. "We will pray for you!" "Pray for us," said the men, holding their sweethearts' hands. "Attention!" cried the officer, a slim, hectic lieutenant from Lorient. The mayor handed him the rolls, and the lieutenant, facing the shuffling single rank, began to call off: "Roux of Bannalec?" "Here, monsieur--" "Don't say, 'Here, monsieur!' Say, 'Present!' Now, Roux?" "Present, monsieur--" "Idiot! Kedrec?" "Present!" "That's right! Penmarch?" "Present!" "Rhuis of Sainte-Yssel?" "Present!" "Hervé of Paradise Beacon?" "Present!" "Laenec?" "Present!" "Duhamel?" "Present!" The officer moistened his lips, turned the page, and continued: "Carnac of Alincourt?" There was a silence, then a voice cried, "Crippled!" "Mark him off, lieutenant," said the mayor, pompously; "he's our little hunchback." "Shall I mark you in his place?" asked the lieutenant, with a smile that turned the mayor's blood to water. "No? You would make a fine figure for a forlorn hope." A man burst out laughing, but he was half crazed with grief, and his acrid mirth found no response. Then the roll-call was resumed: "Gestel?" "Present!" "Garenne!" There was another silence. "Robert Garenne!" repeated the officer, sharply. "Monsieur the mayor has informed me that you are liable for military duty. If you are present, answer to your name or take the consequences!" The poacher, who had been lounging on the bridge, slouched slowly forward and touched his cap. "I am organizing a franc corps," he said, with a deadly sidelong glance at the mayor, who now stood beside the lieutenant. "You can explain that at Lorient," replied the lieutenant. "Fall in there!" "But I--" "Fall in!" repeated the lieutenant. The poacher's visage became inflamed. He hesitated, looking around for an avenue of escape. Then he caught my disgusted eye. "For the last time," said the lieutenant, coolly drawing his revolver, "I order you to fall in!" The poacher backed into the straggling rank, glaring. "Now," said the lieutenant, "you may go to your house and get your packet. If we have left when you return, follow and report at the arsenal in Lorient. Fall out! March!" The poacher backed out to the rear of the rank, turned on his heel, and strode away towards the coast, clinched fists swinging by his side. There were not many names on the roll, and the call was quickly finished. And now the infantry drummers raised their sticks high in the air, there was a sharp click, a crash, and the square echoed. "March!" cried the officer; and, drummers ahead, the long single rank shuffled into fours, and the column started, enveloped in a throng of women and children. "Good-bye!" sobbed the women. "We will pray!" "Good-bye! Pray!" The crowd pressed on into the dusk. Far up the darkening road the white coiffes of the women glimmered; the drum-roll softened to a distant humming. The children, who did not understand, had gathered around a hunchback, the exempt cripple of the roll-call. "Ho! Fois!" I heard him say to the crowd of wondering little ones, "if I were not exempt I'd teach these Prussians to dance the farandole to my biniou! Oui, dame! And perhaps I'll do it yet, spite of the crooked back I was not born with--as everybody knows! Oui, dame! Everybody knows I was born as straight as the next man!" The children gaped, listening to the distant drumming, now almost inaudible. The cripple rose, lighted a lantern, and walked slowly out toward the cliffs, carrying himself with that uncanny dignity peculiar to hunchbacks. And as he walked he sang, in his thin, sharp voice, the air of "The Three Captains": "J'ai eu dans son coeur la plac' la plus belle, La plac' la plus belle. J'ai passé trois ans, trois ans avec elle, Trois ans avec elle. J'ai eu trois enfants qui sont capitaines, Qui sont capitaines. L'un est à Bordeaux, l'autre à la Rochelle, L'autre à la Rochelle. Le troisième ici, caressent les belles, Caressent les belles." Far out across the shadowy cliffs I heard his lingering, strident chant, and caught the spark of his lantern; then silence and darkness fell over the deserted square; the awed children, fingers interlocked, crept homeward through the dusk; there was no sound save the rippling wash of the river along the quay of stone. Tired, a trifle sad, thinking perhaps of those home letters which had come to all save me, I leaned against the river wall, staring at the darkness; and over me came creeping that apathy which I had already learned to recognize and even welcome as a mental anæsthetic which set that dark sentinel, care, a-drowsing. What did I care, after all? Life had stopped for me years before; there was left only a shell in which that unseen little trickster, the heart, kept tap-tapping away against a tired body. Was that what we call life? The sorry parody! A shape slunk near me through the dusk, furtive, uncertain. "Lizard," I said, indifferently. He came up, my gun on his ragged shoulder. "You go with your class?" I asked. "No, I go to the forest," he said, hoarsely. "You shall hear from me." I nodded. "Are you content?" he demanded, lingering. The creature wanted sympathy, though he did not know it. I gave him my hand and told him he was a brave man; and he went away, noiselessly, leaving me musing by the river wall. After a long while--or it may only have been a few minutes--the square began to fill again with the first groups of women, children, and old men who had escorted the departing conscripts a little way on their march to Lorient. Back they came, the maids of Paradise silent, tearful, pitifully acquiescent; the women of Bannalec, Faöuet, Rosporden, Quimperlé chattering excitedly about the scene they had witnessed. The square began to fill; lanterns were lighted around the fountain; the two big lamps with their brass reflectors in front of the mayor's house illuminated the pavement and the thin tree-foliage with a yellow radiance. The chatter grew louder as new groups in all sorts of gay head-dresses arrived; laughter began to be heard; presently the squealing of the biniou pipes broke out from the bowling-green, where, high on a bench supported by a plank laid across two cider barrels, the hunchback sat, skirling the farandole. Ah, what a world entire was this lost little hamlet of Paradise, where merrymakers trod on the mourners' heels, where the scream of the biniou drowned the floating note of the passing bell, where Misery drew the curtains of her bed and lay sleepless, listening to Gayety dancing breathless to the patter of a coquette's wooden shoes! Long tables were improvised in the square, piled up with bread, sardines, puddings, hams, and cakes. Casks of cider, propped on skids, dotted the outskirts of the bowling-green, where the mayor, enthroned in his own arm-chair, majestically gave his orders in a voice thickened by pork, onions, and gravy. Truly enough, half of Finistère and Morbihan was gathering at Paradise for a fête. The slow Breton imagination had been fired by our circus bills and posters; ancient Armorica was stirring in her slumber, roused to consciousness by the Yankee bill-poster. At the inn all rooms were taken; every house had become an inn; barns, stables, granaries had their guests; fishermen's huts on coast and cliff were bright with coiffes and embroidered jerseys. In their misfortune, the lonely women of Paradise recognized in this influx a godsend--a few francs to gain with which to face those coming wintry months while their men were absent. And they opened their tiny houses to those who asked a lodging. The crowds which had earlier in the evening gathered to gape at our big tent were now noisiest in the square, where the endless drone of the pipes intoned the farandole. A few of our circus folk had come down to enjoy the picturesque spectacle. Speed, standing with Jacqueline beside me, began to laugh and beat time to the wild music. A pretty maid of Bannalec, white coiffe and scarlet skirts a-flutter, called out with the broad freedom of the chastest of nations: "There is the lover I could pray for--if he can dance the farandole!" "I'll show you whether I can dance the farandole, ma belle!" cried Speed, and caught her hand, but she snatched her brown fingers away and danced off, laughing: "He who loves must follow, follow, follow the farandole!" Speed started to follow, but Jacqueline laid a timid hand on his arm. "I dance, M'sieu Speed," she said, her face flushing under her elf-locks. "You blessed child," he cried, "you shall dance till you drop to your knees on the bowling-green!" And, hand clasping hand, they swung out into the farandole. For an instant only I caught a glimpse of Jacqueline's blissful face, and her eyes like blue stars burning; then they darkened into silhouettes against the yellow glare of the lanterns and vanished. Byram rambled up for a moment, to comment on the quaint scene from a showman's point of view. "It would fill the tent in old Noo York, but it's n. g. in this here country, where everybody's either a coryphee or a clown or a pantaloon! Camuels ain't no rara avises in the Sairy, an' no niggers go to burnt-cork shows. Phylosophy is the thing, Mr. Scarlett! Ruminate! Ruminate!" I promised to do so, and the old man rambled away, coat and vest on his arm, silk hat cocked over his left eye, the lamp-light shining on the buckles of his suspenders. Dear old governor!--dear, vulgar incarnation of those fast vanishing pioneers who invented civilization, finding none; who, self-taught, unashamed taught their children the only truths they knew, that the nation was worthy of all good, all devotion, and all knowledge that her sons could bring her to her glory that she might one day fulfil her destiny as greatest among the great on earth. The whining Breton bagpipe droned in my ears; the dancers flew past; laughter and cries arose from the tables in the square where the curate of St. Julien stood, forefinger wagging, soundly rating an intoxicated but apologetic Breton in the costume of Faöuet. I was tired--tired of it all; weary of costumes and strange customs, weary of strange tongues, of tinsel and mummers, and tarnished finery; sick of the sawdust and the rank stench of beasts--and the vagabond life--and the hopeless end of it all--the shabby end of a useless life--a death at last amid strangers! Soldiers in red breeches, peasants in embroidered jackets, strolling mountebanks all tinselled and rouged--they were all one to me.... I wanted my own land.... I wanted my own people.... I wanted to go home ... home!--and die, when my time came, under the skies I knew as a child,... under that familiar moon which once silvered my nursery windows.... I turned away across the bridge out into the dark road. Long before I came to the smoky, silent camp I heard the monotonous roaring of my lions, pacing their shadowy dens. XVII THE CIRCUS A little after sunrise on the day set for our first performance, Speed sauntered into my dressing-room in excellent humor, saying that not only had the village of Paradise already filled up with the peasantry of Finistère and Morbihan, but every outlying hamlet from St. Julien to Pont Aven was overflowing; that many had even camped last night along the roadside; in short, that the country was unmistakably aroused to the importance of the Anti-Prussian Republican circus and the Flying Mermaid of Ker-Ys. I listened to him almost indifferently, saying that I was very glad for the governor's sake, and continued to wash a deep scratch on my left arm, using salt water to allay the irritation left by Aïcha's closely pared claws--the vixen. But the scratch had not poisoned me; I was in fine physical condition; rehearsals had kept us all in trim; our animals, too, were in good shape; and the machinery started without a creak when, an hour later, Byram himself opened the box-office at the tent-door and began to sell tickets to an immense crowd for the first performance, which was set for two o'clock that afternoon. I had had an unpleasant hour's work with the lions, during which Marghouz, a beast hitherto lazy and docile, had attempted to creep behind me. Again I had betrayed irritation; again the lions saw it, understood it, and remembered. Aïcha tore my sleeve; when I dragged Timour Melek's huge jaws apart he endured the operation patiently, but as soon as I gave the signal to retire he sprang snarling to the floor, mane on end, and held his ground, just long enough to defy me. Poor devils! Who but I knew that they were right and I was wrong! Who but I understood what lack of freedom meant to the strong--meant to caged creatures, unrighteously deprived of liberty! Though born in captivity, wild things change nothing; they sleep by day, walk by night, follow as well as they can the instincts which a caged life cannot crush in them, nor a miserable, artificial existence obliterate. They are right to resist. I mentioned something of this to Speed as I was putting on my coat to go out, but he only scowled at me, saying: "Your usefulness as a lion-tamer is ended, my friend; you are a fool to enter that cage again, and I'm going to tell Byram." "Don't spoil the governor's pleasure now," I said, irritably; "the old man is out there selling tickets with both hands, while little Griggs counts receipts in a stage whisper. Let him alone, Speed; I'm going to give it up soon, anyway--not now--not while the governor has a chance to make a little money; but soon--very soon. You are right; I can't control anything now--not even myself. I must give up my lions, after all." "When?" said Speed. "Soon--I don't know. I'm tired--really tired. I want to go home." "Home! Have you one?" he asked, with a faint sneer of surprise. "Yes; a rather extensive lodging, bounded east and west by two oceans, north by the lakes, south by the gulf. Landlord's a relation--my Uncle Sam." "Are you really going home, Scarlett?" he asked, curiously. "I have nothing to keep me here, have I?" "Not unless you choose to settle down and ... marry." I looked at him; presently my face began to redden; and, "What do you mean?" I asked, angrily. He replied, in a very mild voice, that he did not mean anything that might irritate me. I said, "Speed, don't mind my temper; I can't seem to help it any more; something has changed me, something has gone wrong." "Perhaps something has gone right," he mused, looking up at the flying trapeze, where Jacqueline swung dangling above the tank, watching us with sea-blue eyes. After a moment's thought I said: "Speed, what the devil do you mean by that remark?" "Now you're angry again," he said, wearily. "No, I'm not. Tell me what you mean." "Oh, what do you imagine I mean?" he retorted. "Do you think I'm blind? Do you suppose I've watched you all these years and don't know you? Am I an ass, Scarlett? Be fair; am I?" "No; not an ass," I said. "Then let me alone--unless you want plain speaking instead of a bray." "I do want it." "Which?" "You know; go on." "Am I to tell you the truth?" "As you interpret it--yes." "Very well, my friend; then, at your respectful request, I beg to inform you that you are in love with Madame de Vassart--and have been for months." I did not pretend surprise; I knew he was going to say it. Yet it enraged me that he should think it and say it. "You are wrong," I said, steadily. "No, Scarlett; I am right." "You are wrong," I repeated. "Don't say that again," he retorted. "If you do not know it, you ought to. Don't be unfair; don't be cowardly. Face it, man! By Heaven, you've got to face it some time--here, yonder, abroad, on the ocean, at home--no matter where, you've got to face it some day and tell yourself the truth!" His words hurt me for a moment; then, as I listened, that strange apathy once more began to creep over me. Was it really the truth he had told me? Was it? Well--and then? What meaning had it to me?... Of what help was it?... of what portent?... of what use?... What door did it unlock? Surely not the door I had closed upon myself so many years ago! Something of my thoughts he may have divined as I stood brooding in the sunny tent, staring listlessly at my own shadow on the floor, for he laid his hand on my shoulder and said: "Surely, Scarlett, if happiness can be reborn in Paradise, it can be reborn here. I know you; I have known you for many years. And in all that time you have never fallen below my ideal!" "What are you saying, Speed?" I asked, rousing from my lethargy to shake his hand from my shoulder. "The truth. In all these years of intimacy, familiarity has never bred contempt in me; I am not your equal in anything; it does not hurt me to say so. I have watched you as a younger brother watches, lovingly, jealous yet proud of you, alert for a failing or a weakness which I never found--or, if I thought I found a flaw in you, knowing that it was but part of a character too strong, too generous for me to criticise." "Speed," I said, astonished, "are you talking about me--about _me_--a mountebank--and a failure at that? You know I'm a failure--a nobody--" I hesitated, touched by his kindness. "Your loyalty to me is all I have. I wish it were true that I am such a man as you believe me to be." "It is true," he said, almost sullenly. "If it were not, no man would say it of you--though a woman might. Listen to me, Scarlett. I tell you that a man shipwrecked on the world's outer rocks--if he does not perish--makes the better pilot afterwards." "But ... I perished, Speed." "It is not true," he said, violently; "but you will if you don't steer a truer course than you have. Scarlett, answer me!" "Answer you? What?" "Are you in love?" "Yes," I said. He waited, looked up at me, then dropped his hands in his pockets and turned away toward the interior of the tent where Jacqueline, having descended from the rigging, stood, drawing her slim fingers across the surface of the water in the tank. I walked out through the tent door, threading my way among the curious crowds gathered not only at the box-office, but even around the great tent as far as I could see. Byram hailed me with jovial abandon, perspiring in his shirt-sleeves, silk hat on the back of his head; little Grigg made one of his most admired grimaces and shook the heavy money-box at me; Horan waved his hat above his head and pointed at the throng with a huge thumb. I smiled at them all and walked on. Cloud and sunshine alternated on that capricious November morning; the sea-wind was warm; the tincture of winter had gone. On that day, however, I saw wavering strings of wild ducks flying south; and the little hedge-birds of different kinds were already flocking amiably together in twittering bands that filled the leafless blackthorns on the cliffs;--true prophets, all, of that distant cold, gathering somewhere in the violet north. I walked fast across the moors, as though I had a destination. And I had; yet when I understood it I sheered off, only to turn again and stare fascinated in the direction of the object that frightened me. There it rose against the seaward cliffs, the little tower of Trécourt farm, sea-smitten and crusted, wind-worn, stained, gray as the lichened rocks scattered across the moorland. Over it the white gulls pitched and tossed in a windy sky; beyond crawled the ancient and wrinkled sea. "It is a strange thing," I said aloud, "to find love at the world's edge." I looked blindly across the gray waste. "But I have found it too late." The wind blew furiously; I heard the gulls squealing in the sky, the far thunder of the surf. Then, looking seaward again, for the first time I noticed that the black cruiser was gone, that nothing now lay between the cliffs and the hazy headland of Groix save a sheet of lonely water spreading league on league to meet a flat, gray sky. Why had the cruiser sailed? As I stood there, brooding, to my numbed ears the moor-winds bore a sound coming from a great distance--the sound of cannon--little, soft reports, all but inaudible in the wind and the humming undertone of the breakers. Yet I knew the sound, and turned my unquiet eyes to the sea, where nothing moved save the far crests of waves. For a while I stood listening, searching the sea, until a voice hailed me, and I turned to find Kelly Eyre almost at my elbow. "There is a man in the village haranguing the people," he said, abruptly. "We thought you ought to know." "A man haranguing the people," I repeated. "What of it?" "Speed thinks the man is Buckhurst." "What!" I cried. "There's something else, too," he said, soberly, and drew a telegram from his pocket. I seized it, and studied the fluttering sheet: "The governor of Lorient, on complaint of the mayor of Paradise, forbids the American exhibition, and orders the individual Byram to travel immediately to Lorient with his so-called circus, where a British steamship will transport the personnel, baggage, and animals to British territory. The mayor of Paradise will see that this order of expulsion is promptly executed. "(Signed) Breteuil. "Chief of Police." "Where did you get that telegram?" I asked. "It's a copy; the mayor came with it. Byram does not know about it." "Don't let him know it!" I said, quickly; "this thing will kill him, I believe. Where is that fool of a mayor? Come on, Kelly! Stay close beside me." And I set off at a swinging pace, down the hollow, out across the left bank of the little river, straight to the bridge, which we reached almost on a run. "Look there!" cried my companion, as we came in sight of the square. The square was packed with Breton peasants; near the fountain two cider barrels had been placed, a plank thrown across them, and on this plank stood a man holding a red flag. The man was John Buckhurst. When I came nearer I could see that he wore a red scarf across his breast; a little nearer and I could hear his passionless voice sounding; nearer still, I could distinguish every clear-cut word: "Men of the sea, men of that ancient Armorica which, for a thousand years, has suffered serfdom, I come to you bearing no sword. You need none; you are free under this red flag I raise above you." He lifted the banner, shaking out the red folds. "Yet if I come to you bearing no sword, I come with something better, something more powerful, something so resistless that, using it as your battle-cry, the world is yours! "I come bearing the watchword of world-brotherhood--Peace, Love, Equality! I bear it from your battle-driven brothers, scourged to the battlements of Paris by the demons of a wicked government! I bear it from the devastated towns of the provinces, from your homeless brothers of Alsace and Lorraine. "Peace, Love, Equality! All this is yours for the asking. The commune will be proclaimed throughout France; Paris is aroused, Lyons is ready, Bordeaux watches, Marseilles waits! "You call your village Paradise--yet you starve here. Let this little Breton village be a paradise in truth--a shrine for future happy pilgrims who shall say: 'Here first were sewn the seeds of the world's liberty! Here first bloomed the perfect flower of universal brotherhood!" He bent his sleek, gray head meekly, pausing as though in profound meditation. Suddenly he raised his head; his tone changed; a faint ring of defiance sounded under the smooth flow of words. He began with a blasphemous comparison, alluding to the money-changers in the temple--a subtle appeal to righteous violence. "It rests with us to cleanse the broad temple of our country and drive from it the thieves and traitors who enslave us! How can we do it? They are strong; we are weak. Ah, but _are_ they truly strong? You say they have armies? Armies are composed of men. These men are your brothers, whipped forth to die--for what? For the pleasure of a few aristocrats. Who was it dragged your husbands and sons away from your arms, leaving you to starve? The governor of Lorient. Who is he? An aristocrat, paid to scourge your husbands and children to battle--paid, perhaps, by Prussia to betray them, too!" A low murmur rose from the people. Buckhurst swept the throng with colorless eyes. "Under the commune we will have peace. Why? Because there can be no hunger, no distress, no homeless ones where the wealth of all is distributed equally. We will have no wars, because there will be nothing to fight for. We will have no aristocrats where all must labor for the common good; where all land is equally divided; where love, equality, and brotherhood are the only laws--" "Where's the mayor?" I whispered to Eyre. "In his house; Speed is with him." "Come on, then," I said, pushing my way around the outskirts of the crowd to the mayor's house. The door was shut and the blinds drawn, but a knock brought Speed to the door, revolver in hand. "Oh," he said, grimly, "it's time you arrived. Come in." The mayor was lying in his arm-chair, frightened, sulky, obstinate, his fat form swathed in a red sash. "O-ho!" I said, sharply, "so you already wear the colors of the revolution, do you?" "Dame, they tied it over my waistcoat," he said, "and there are no gendarmes to help me arrest them--" "Never mind that just now," I interrupted; "what I want to know is why you wrote the governor of Lorient to expel our circus." "That's my own affair," he snapped; "besides, who said I wrote?" "Idiot," I said, "somebody paid you to do it. Who was it?" The mayor, hunched up in his chair, shut his mouth obstinately. "Somebody paid you," I repeated; "you would never have complained of us unless somebody paid you, because our circus is bringing money into your village. Come, my friend, that was easy to guess. Now let me guess again that Buckhurst paid you to complain of us." The mayor looked slyly at me out of the corner of his mottled eyes, but he remained mute. "Very well," said I; "when the troops from Lorient hear of this revolution in Paradise, they'll come and chase these communards into the sea. And after that they'll stand you up against a convenient wall and give you thirty seconds for absolution--" "Stop!" burst out the mayor, struggling to his feet. "What am I to do? This gentleman, Monsieur Buckhurst, will slay me if I disobey him! Besides," he added, with cowardly cunning, "they are going to do the same thing in Lorient, too--and everywhere--in Paris, in Bordeaux, in Marseilles--even in Quimperlé! And when all these cities are flying the red flag it won't be comfortable for cities that fly the tricolor." He began to bluster. "I'm mayor of Paradise, and I won't be bullied! You get out of here with your circus and your foolish elephants! I haven't any gendarmes just now to drive you out, but you had better start, all the same--before night." "Oh," I said, "before night? Why before night?" "Wait and see then," he muttered. "Anyway, get out of my house--d' ye hear?" "We are going to give that performance at two o'clock this afternoon," I said. "After that, another to-morrow at the same hour, and on every day at the same hour, as long as it pays. Do you understand?" "Perfectly," sneered the mayor. "And," I continued, "if the governor of Lorient sends gendarmes to conduct us to the steamship in Lorient harbor, they'll take with them somebody besides the circus folk." "You mean me?" he inquired. "I do." "What do I care?" he bawled in a fury. "You had better go to Lorient, I tell you. What do you know about the commune? What do you know about universal brotherhood? Everybody's everybody's brother, whether you like it or not! I'm your brother, and if it doesn't suit you you may go to the devil!" Watching the infuriated magistrate, I said in English to Speed: "This is interesting. Buckhurst has learned we are here, and has paid this fellow heavily to have us expelled. What sense do you make of all this?--for I can make none." "Nor can I," muttered Speed; "there's a link gone; we'll find it soon, I fancy. Without that link there's no logic in this matter." "Look here," I said, sharply, to the mayor, who had waddled toward the door, which was guarded by Kelly Eyre. "Well, I'm looking," he snarled. Then I patiently pointed out to him his folly, and he listened with ill-grace, obstinate, mute, dull cunning gleaming from his half-closed eyes. Then I asked him what he would do if the cruiser began dropping shells into Paradise; he deliberately winked at me and thrust his tongue into his cheek. "So you know that the cruiser has gone?" I asked. He grinned. "Do you suppose Buckhurst's men hold the semaphore? If they do, they sent that cruiser on a fool's errand," whispered Speed. Here was a nice plot! I stepped to the window. Outside in the square Buckhurst was still speaking to a spellbound, gaping throng. A few men cheered him. They were strangers in Paradise. "What's he doing it for?" I asked, utterly at a loss to account for proceedings which seemed to me the acme of folly. "He must know that the commune cannot be started here in Brittany! Speed, what is that man up to?" Behind us the mayor was angrily demanding that we leave his house; and after a while we did so, skirting the crowd once more to where, in a cleared space near the fountain, Buckhurst stood, red flag in hand, ranging a dozen peasants in line. The peasants were not Paradise men; they wore the costumes of the interior, and somebody had already armed them with scythes, rusty boarding-pikes, stable-forks, and one or two flintlock muskets. An evil-looking crew, if ever I saw one; wild-eyed, long-haired, bare of knee and ankle, loutish faces turned toward the slim, gray, pale-faced orator who confronted them, flag in hand. They were the scum of Morbihan. He told them that they were his guard of honor, the glory of their race--a sacred battalion whose names should shine high on the imperishable battlements of freedom. Around them the calm-eyed peasants stared at them stupidly; women gazed fascinated when Buckhurst, raising his flag, pointed in silence to the mayor's house, where that official stood in his doorway, observing the scene: "Forward!" said Buckhurst, and the grotesque escort started with a clatter of heavy sabots and a rattle of scythes. The crowd fell back to give them way, then closed in behind like a herd of sheep, following to the mayor's house, where Buckhurst set his sentinels and then entered, closing the door behind him. "Well!" muttered Speed, in amazement. After a long silence, Kelly Eyre looked at his watch. "It's time we were in the tent," he observed, dryly; and we turned away without a word. At the bridge we stopped and looked back. The red flag was flying from the mayor's house. "Speed," I said, "there's one thing certain: Byram can't stay if there's going to be fighting here. I heard guns at sea this morning; I don't know what that may indicate. And here's this idiotic revolution started in Paradise! That means the troops from Lorient, and a wretched lot of bushwhacking and guerrilla work. Those Faöuet Bretons that Buckhurst has recruited are a bad lot; there is going to be trouble, I tell you." Eyre suggested that we arm our circus people, and Speed promised to attend to it and to post them at the tent doors, ready to resist any interference with the performance on the part of Buckhurst's recruits. It was already nearly one o'clock as we threaded our way through the crowds at the entrance, where our band was playing gayly and thousands of white head-dresses fluttered in the sparkling sunshine that poured intermittently from a sky where great white clouds were sailing seaward. "Walk right up, messoors! Entry done, mesdames, see voo play!" shouted Byram, waving a handful of red and blue tickets. "Animals all on view before the performance begins! Walk right into the corridor of livin' marvels and defunct curiosities! Bring the little ones to see the elephant an' the camuel--the fleet ship of the Sairy! Don't miss nothing! Don't fail to contemplate le ploo magnifique spectacle in all Europe! Don't let nobody say you died an' never saw the only Flyin' Mermaid! An' don't forget the prize--ten thousand francs to the man, woman, or che-ild who can prove that this here Flyin' Mermaid ain't a fictious bein' straight from Paradise!" Speed and I made our way slowly through the crush to the stables, then around to the dressing-rooms, where little Grigg, in his spotted clown's costume, was putting the last touches of vermilion to his white cheeks, and Horan, draped in a mangy leopard-skin to imitate Hercules, sat on his two-thousand-pound dumbbell, curling his shiny black mustache with Mrs. Grigg's iron. "Jacqueline's dressed," cried Miss Crystal, parting the curtain of her dressing-room, just enough to show her pretty, excited eyes and nose. "All right; I won't be long," replied Speed, who was to act as ring-master. And he turned and looked at me as I raised the canvas flap which screened my dressing-room. "I think," I said, "that we had better ride over to Trécourt after the show--not that there's any immediate danger--" "There is no immediate danger," said Speed, "because she is here." My face began to burn; I looked at him miserably. "How do you know?" "She is there in the tent. I saw her." He came up and held his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry I told you," he said. "Why?" I asked. "She knows what I am. Is there any reason why she should not be amused? I promise you she shall be!" "Then why do you speak so bitterly? Don't misconstrue her presence. Don't be a contemptible fool. If I have read her face--and I have never spoken to her, as you know--I tell you, Scarlett, that young girl is going through an ordeal! Do women of that kind come to shows like this to be amused?" "What do you mean?" I said, angrily. "I mean that she _could_ not keep away! And I tell you to be careful with your lions, to spare her any recklessness on your part, to finish as soon as you can, and get out of that cursed cage. If you don't you're a coward, and a selfish one at that!" His words were like a blow in the face; I stared at him, too confused even for anger. "Oh, you fool, you fool!" he said, in a low voice. "She cares for you; can't you understand?" And he turned on his heel, leaving me speechless. I do not remember dressing. When I came out into the passageway Byram beckoned me, and pointed at a crack in the canvas through which one could see the interior of the amphitheatre. A mellow light flooded the great tent; spots of sunshine fell on the fresh tan-bark, where long, luminous, dusty beams slanted from the ridge-pole athwart the golden gloom. Tier on tier the wooden benches rose, packed with women in brilliant holiday dress, with men gorgeous in silver and velvet, with children decked in lace and gilt chains. The air was filled with the starched rustle of white coiffes and stiff collarettes; a low, incessant clatter of sabots sounded from gallery to arena; gusts of breathless whispering passed like capricious breezes blowing, then died out in the hush which fell as our band-master, McCadger, raised his wand and the band burst into "Dixie." At that the great canvas flaps over the stable entrance slowly parted and the scarlet-draped head of Djebe, the elephant, appeared. On he came, amid a rising roar of approval, Speed in gorgeous robes perched on high, ankus raised. After him came the camel, all over tassels and gold net, bestridden by Kelly Eyre, wearing a costume seldom seen anywhere, and never in the Sahara. White horses, piebald horses, and cream-colored horses pranced in the camel's wake, dragging assorted chariots tenanted by gentlemen in togas; pretty little Mrs. Grigg, in habit and scarlet jacket, followed on Briza, the white mare; Horan came next, driving more horses; the dens of ferocious beasts creaked after, guarded by a phalanx of stalwart stablemen in plumes and armor; then Miss Crystal, driving zebras to a gilt chariot; then more men in togas, leading monkeys mounted on ponies; and finally Mrs. Horan seated on a huge egg drawn by ostriches. Once only they circled the sawdust ring; then the band stopped, the last of the procession disappeared, the clown came shrieking and tumbling out into the arena with his "Here we are again!" And the show was on. I stood in the shadow of the stable-tent, dressed in my frock-coat, white stock, white cords, and hunting-boots, sullen, imbittered, red with a false shame that better men than I have weakened under, almost desperate in my humiliation, almost ready to end it all there among those tawny, restless brutes pacing behind the bars at my elbow, watching me stealthily with luminous eyes. She knew what I was--but that she could come to see with her own eyes I could not understand, I could not forgive. Speed's senseless words rang in my ears--"She cares for you!" But I knew they were meaningless, I knew she could not care for me. What fools' paradise would he have me enter? What did he know of this woman whom I knew and understood--whom I honored for her tenderness and pity to all who suffered--who I knew counted me as one among a multitude of unhappy failures whom her kindness and sympathy might aid. Because she had, in her gracious ignorance, given me a young girl's impulsive friendship, was I to mistake her? What could Speed know of her--of her creed, her ideals, her calm, passionless desire to help where help was needed--anywhere--in the palace, in the faubourgs, in the wretched chaumières, in the slums? It was all one to her--to this young girl whose tender heart, bruised by her own sad life, opened to all on whom the evil days had dawned. And yet she had come here--and that was cruel; and she was not cruel. Could she know that I had a shred of pride left--one little, ragged thread of pride left in me--that she should come to see me do my mountebank tricks to the applause of a greasy throng? No, she had not thought of that, else she would have stayed away; for she was kind, above all else--generous and kind. Speed passed me in ring-master's dress; there came the hollow thud of hoofs as Mrs. Grigg galloped into the ring on her white mare, gauze skirts fluttering, whip raised; and, "Hoop-la!" squealed the clown as his pretty little wife went careering around and around the tan-bark, leaping through paper-hoops, over hurdles, while the band played frantically and the Bretons shouted in an ecstasy of excitement. Then Grigg mounted his little trick donkey; roars of laughter greeted his discomfiture when Tim, the donkey, pitched him headlong and cantered off with a hee-haw of triumph. Miss Delany tripped past me in her sky-blue tights to hold the audience spellbound with her jugglery, and spin plates and throw glittering knives until the satiated people turned to welcome Horan and his "cogged" dumbbells and clubs. "Have you seen her?" whispered Speed, coming up to me, long whip trailing. I shook my head. He looked at me in disgust. "Here's something for you," he said, shortly, and thrust an envelope into my hand. In the envelope was a little card on which was written: "I ask you to be careful, for a friend's sake." On the other side of the card was engraved her name. I raised my head and looked at Speed, who began to laugh nervously. "That's better," he said; "you don't look like a surly brute any more." "Where is she?" I said, steadying my voice, which my leaping heart almost stifled. He drew me by the elbow and looked toward the right of the amphitheatre. Following the direction of his eyes, I saw her leaning forward, pale-faced, grave, small, gloved hands interlocked. Beside her sat Sylvia Elven, apparently amused at the antics of the clown. Shame filled me. Not the false shame I had felt--that vanished--but shame that I could have misunderstood the presence of this brave friend of mine, this brave, generous, tender-hearted girl, who had given me her friendship, who was true enough to care what might happen to me--and brave enough to say so. "I will be careful," I said to Speed, in a low voice. "If it were not for Byram I would not go on to-day--but that is a matter of honor. Oh, Speed," I broke out, "is she not worth dying for?" "Why not live for her?" he observed, dryly. "I will--don't misunderstand me--I know she could never even think of me--as I do--of her--yes, as I dare to, Speed. I dare to love her with all this wretched heart and soul of mine! It's all right--I think I am crazy to talk like this--but you are kind, Speed--you will forget what I said--you have forgotten it already--bless your heart--" "No, I haven't," he retorted, obstinately. "You must win her--you must! Shame on you for a coward if you do not speak that word which means life to you both!" "Speed!" I began, angrily. "Oh, go to the devil!" he snapped, and walked off to where Jacqueline stood glittering, her slim limbs striking fire from every silver scale. "All ready, little sweetheart!" he cried, reassuringly, as she raised her blue eyes to his and shook her elf-locks around her flushed face. "It's our turn now; they're uncovering the tank, and Miss Crystal is on her trapeze. Are you nervous?" "Not when you are by me," said Jacqueline. "I'll be there," he said, smiling. "You will see me when you are ready. Look! There's the governor! It's your call! Quick, my child!" "Good-bye," said Jacqueline, catching his hand in both of hers, and she was off and in the middle of the ring before I could get to a place of vantage to watch. Up into the rigging she swung, higher, higher, hanging like a brilliant fly in all that net-work of wire and rope, turning, twisting, climbing, dropping to her knees, until the people's cheers rose to a sustained shriek. "Ready!" quavered Miss Crystal, hanging from her own trapeze across the gulf. It was the first signal. Jacqueline set her trapeze swinging and hung by her knees, face downward. "Ready!" called Miss Crystal again, as Jacqueline's trapeze swung higher and higher. "Ready!" said Jacqueline, calmly. "Go!" [Illustration: "I WAS ON MY KNEES"] Like a meteor the child flashed across the space between the two trapezes; Miss Crystal caught her by her ankles. "Ready?" called Speed, from the ground below. He had turned quite pale. I saw Jacqueline, hanging head down, smile at him from her dizzy height. "Ready," she said, calmly. "Go!" Down, down, like a falling star, flashed Jacqueline into the shallow pool, then shot to the surface, shimmering like a leaping mullet, where she played and dived and darted, while the people screamed themselves hoarse, and Speed came out, ghastly and trembling, colliding with me like a blind man. "I wish I had never let her do it; I wish I had never brought her here--never seen her," he stammered. "She'll miss it some day--like Miss Claridge--and it will be murder--and I'll have done it! Anybody but that child, Scarlett, anybody else--but I can't bear to have her die that way--the pretty little thing!" He let go of my arm and stood back as my lion-cages came rolling out, drawn by four horses. "It's your turn," he said, in a dazed way. "Look out for that lioness." As I walked out into the arena I saw only one face. She tried to smile, and so did I; but a terrible, helpless sensation was already creeping over me--the knowledge that I was causing her distress--the knowledge that I was no longer sure of myself--that, with my love for her, my authority over these caged things had gone, never to return. I knew it, I recognized it, and admitted it now. Speed's words rang true--horribly true. I entered the cage, afraid. Almost instantly I was the centre of a snarling mass of lions; I saw nothing; my whip rose and fell mechanically. I stood like one stunned, while the tawny forms leaped right and left. Suddenly I heard a keeper say, "Look out for Empress Khatoun, sir!" And a moment later a cry, "Look out, sir!" Something went wrong with another lion, too, for the people were standing up and shouting, and the sleeve of my coat hung from the elbow, showing my bare shoulder. I staggered up against the bars of the sliding door as a lioness struck me heavily and I returned the blow. I remember saying, aloud: "I must keep my feet; I must not fall!" Then daylight grew red, and I was on my knees, with the foul breath of a lion in my face. A hot iron bar shot across the cage. The roaring of beasts and people died out in my ears; then, with a shock, my soul seemed to be dashed out of me into a terrific darkness. PART THIRD XVIII A GUEST-CHAMBER A light was shining in my eyes and I was talking excitedly; that and the odor of brandy I remember--and something else, a steady roaring in my ears; then darkness, out of which came a voice, empty, meaningless, finally soundless. After a while I realized that I was in pain; that, at intervals, somebody forced morsels of ice between my lips; that the darkness around me had turned grayer. Time played tricks on me; centuries passed steadily, year following year--long years they were, too, with endless spring-tides, summers, autumns, winters, each with full complement of months, and every month crowded with days. Space, illimitable space, surrounded me--skyless, starless space. And through its terrific silence I heard a clock ticking seconds of time. Years and years later a yellow star rose and stood still before my open eyes; and after a long while I saw it was the flame of a candle: and somebody spoke my name. "I know you, Speed," I said, drowsily. "You are all right, Scarlett?" "Yes,... all right." "Does the candle-light pain you?" "No;... do they contract?" "A little.... Yes, I am sure the pupils of your eyes are contracting. Don't talk." "No;... then it was concussion of the brain?" "Yes;... the shock is passing.... Don't talk." Time moved on again; space slowly contracted into a symmetrical shape, set with little points of light; sleep and fatigue alternated with glimmers of reason, which finally grew into a faint but steady intelligence. And, very delicately, memory stirred in a slumbering brain. Reason and memory were mine again, frail toys for a stricken man, so frail I dared not, for a time, use them for my amusement--and one of them was broken, too--memory!--broken short at the moment when full in my face I had felt the hot, fetid breath of a lion. "Speed!" "Yes; I am here." "What time is it?" I heard the click of his hunting-case. "Eleven o'clock." "What day?" "Saturday." "When--" I hesitated. I was afraid. "Well?" he asked, quietly. "When was I hurt? Many days ago--many weeks?" "You were hurt at half-past three this afternoon." I tried to comprehend; I could not, and after a while I gave up my feeble grasp on time. "What is that roaring sound?" I asked. "Not drums? Not my lions?" "It is the sea." "So near?" "Very near." I turned my head on the white pillow. "Where is this bed? Where is this room?" "Shall I tell you?" I was silent, struggling with memory. "Tell me," I said. "Whose bed is this?" "It is hers." The candle-flame glimmered before my wide-open eyes once more, and-- "Oh, you are all right," he muttered, then leaned heavily against the bedside, dropping his arms on the coverlet. "It was a close call--a close call!" he said, hoarsely. "We thought it was ended.... They were all over you--Empress dragged you; but they all crowded in too close--they blocked each other, you see;... and we used the irons.... Your left arm lay close to the cage door and ... we got you away from them, and ... it's all right now--it's all right--" He broke down, head buried in his arms. I moved my left hand across the sheets so that it rested on his elbow. He lay there, gulping for a while; I could not see him very clearly, for the muscles that controlled my eyes were still slightly paralyzed from the shock of the blow that Empress Khatoun had dealt me. "It's all very well," he stammered, with a trace of resentment in his quavering voice--"it's all very well for people who are used to the filthy beasts; but I tell you, Scarlett, it sickened me. I'm no coward, as men go, but I was afraid--I was terrified!" "Yet you dragged me out," I said. "Who told you that? How could you know--" "It was not necessary to tell me. You said, '_We_ got you away'; but I know it was you, Speed, because it was like you. Look at me! Am I well enough to dress?" He raised a haggard face to mine. "You know best," he said. "They tore your coat off, and one of them ripped your riding-boot from top to sole; but the blow Empress struck you is your only hurt, and she all but missed you at that. Had she hit you fairly--but, oh, hell! Do you want to get up?" I said I would in a moment,... and that is all I remember that night, all I remember clearly, though it seems to me that once I heard drums beating in the distance; and perhaps I did. Dawn was breaking when I awoke. Speed, partly dressed, lay beside me, sleeping heavily. I looked around at the pretty boudoir where I lay, at the silken curtains of the bed, at the clouds of cupids on the painted ceiling, flying through a haze of vermilion flecked with gold. Raising one hand, I touched with tentative fingers my tightly bandaged head, then turned over on my side. There were my torn clothes, filthy and smeared with sawdust, flung over a delicate, gilded chair; there sprawled my battered boots, soiling the polished, inlaid floor; a candle lay in a pool of hardened wax on a golden rococo table, and I saw where the smouldering wick had blistered the glazed top. And this was her room! Vandalism unspeakable! I turned on my snoring comrade. "Idiot, get up!" I cried, hitting him feebly. He was very angry when he found out why I had awakened him; perhaps the sight of my bandaged head restrained him from violence. "Look here," he said, "I've been up all night, and you might as well know it. If you hit me again--" He hesitated, stared around, yawned, and rubbed his eyes. "You're right," he said, "I must get up." He stumbled to the floor, bathed, grumbling all the while, and then, to my surprise, walked over to a flat trunk which stood under the window and which I recognized as mine. "I'll borrow some underwear," he remarked, viciously. "What's my trunk doing here?" I demanded. "Madame de Vassart had them bring it." "Had _who_ bring it?" "Horan and McCadger--before they left." "Before they left? Have they gone?" "I forgot," he said, soberly; "you don't know what's been going on." He began to dress, raising his head now and then to gaze out across the ocean towards Groix, where the cruiser once lay at anchor. "Of course you don't know that the circus has gone," he remarked. "Gone!" I echoed, astonished. "Gone to Lorient." He came and sat down on the edge of the gilded bedstead, buttoning his collar thoughtfully. "Buckhurst is in town again with a raft of picturesque ruffians," he said. "They marched in last night, drums beating, colors unfurled--the red rag, you know--and the first thing they did was to order Byram to decamp." He began to tie his cravat, with a meditative glance at the gilded mirror. "I was here with you. Kelly Eyre came for me--Madame de Vassart took my place to watch you--" A sudden heart-beat choked me. "--So I," he continued, "posted off to the tent, to find a rabble of communist soldiers stealing my balloon-car, ropes, bag, and all. I tell you I did what I could, but they said the balloon was contraband of war, and a military necessity; and they took it, the thieving whelps! Then I saw how matters were going to end, and I told the governor that he'd better go to Lorient as fast as he could travel before they stole the buttons off his shirt. "Scarlett, it was a weird sight. I never saw tents struck so quickly. Kelly Eyre, Horan, and I harnessed up; Grigg stood guard over the props with a horse-pistol. The ladies worked like Trojans, loading the wagons; Byram raged up and down under the bayonets of those bandits, cursing them as only a man who never swears can curse, invoking the Stars and Stripes, metaphorically placing himself, his company, his money-box, and his camuel under the shadow of the broad eagle of the United States. "Oh, those were gay times, Scarlett. And we frightened them, too, because nobody attempted to touch anything." Speed laughed grimly, and began to pace the floor, casting sharp glances at me. "Byram's people, elephant and all, struck the road a little after three o'clock this morning, in good order, not a tent-peg nor a frying-pan missing. They ought to be in Lorient by early afternoon." "Gone!" I repeated, blankly. "Gone. Curious how it hurt me to say good-bye. They're good people--good, kindly folk. I've grown to care for them in these few months ... I may go back to them ... some day ... if they want a balloonist ... or any kind of a thing." "You stayed to take care of me?" I said. "Partly.... You need care, especially when you don't need it." He began to laugh. "It's only when you're well that I worry." I lay looking at him, striving to realize the change that had occurred in so brief a time--trying to understand the abrupt severing of ties and conditions to which, already, I had become accustomed--perhaps attached. "They all sent their love to you," he said. "They knew you were out of danger--I told them there was no fracture, only a slight concussion. Byram came to look at you; he brought your back salary--all of it. I've got it." "Byram came here?" "Yes. He stood over there beside you, snivelling into his red bandanna. And Miss Crystal and Jacqueline stood here.... Jacqueline kissed you." After a moment I said: "Has Jacqueline gone with them?" "Yes." There was another pause, longer this time. "Of course," I said, "Byram knows that my usefulness as a lion-tamer is at an end." "Of course," said Speed, simply. I sighed. "He wants you for the horses," added Speed. "But you can do better than that." "I don't know,... perhaps." "Besides, they sail to-day from Lorient. The governor made money yesterday--enough to start again. Poor Byram! He's frantic to get back to America; and, oh, Scarlett, how that good old man can swear!" "Help me to sit up in bed," I said; "there--that's it! Just wedge those pillows behind my shoulders." "All right?" "Of course. I'm going to dress. Speed, did you say that little Jacqueline went with Byram?" He looked at me miserably. "Yes," he said. I was silent. "Yes," he repeated, "she went, lugging her pet cat in her arms. She would go; the life has fascinated her. I begged her not to--I felt I was disloyal to Byram, too, but what could I do? I tell you, Scarlett, I wish I had never seen her, never persuaded her to try that foolish dive. She'll miss some day--like the other one." "It's my fault more than yours," I said. "Couldn't you persuade her to give it up?" "I offered to educate her, to send her to school, to work for her," he said. "She only looked at me out of those sea-blue eyes--you know how the little witch can look you through and through--and then--and then she walked away into the torch-glare, clasping her cat to her breast, and I saw her strike a fool of a soldier who pretended to stop her! Scarlett, she was a strange child--proud and dainty, too, with all her rags--you remember--a strange, sweet child--almost a woman, at times, and--I thought her loyal--" He walked to the window and stared moodily at the sea. "Meanwhile," I said, quietly, "I am going to get up." He gave me a look which I interpreted as, "Get up and be damned!" I complied--in part. "Oh, help me into these things, will you?" I said, at length; and instantly he was at my side, gentle and patient, lacing my shoes, because it made my head ache to bend over, buttoning collar and cravat, and slipping my coat on while I leaned against the tumbled bed. "Well!" I said, with a grimace, and stood up, shakily. "Well," he echoed, "here we are again, as poor little Grigg says." "With our salaries in our pockets and our possessions on our backs." "And no prospects," he added, gayly. "Not a blessed one, unless we count a prospect of trouble with Buckhurst." "He won't trouble us unless we interfere with him," observed Speed, drumming nervously on the window. "But I'm going to," I said, surprised. "Going to interfere?" he asked, wheeling to scowl at me. "Certainly." "Why? We're not in government employ. What do we care about this row? If these Frenchmen are tired of battering the Germans they'll batter each other, and we can't help it, can we?" "We can help Buckhurst's annoying Madame de Vassart." "Only by getting her to leave the country," said Speed. "She will understand that, too." He paused, rubbing his nose reflectively. "Scarlett, what do you suppose Buckhurst is up to?" "I haven't an idea," I replied. "All I know is that, in all probability, he came here to attempt to rob the treasure-trains--and that was your theory, too, you remember?" And I continued, reminding Speed that Buckhurst had collected his ruffianly franc company in the forest; that the day the cruiser sailed he had appeared in Paradise to proclaim the commune; that doubtless he had signalled, from the semaphore, orders for the cruiser's departure; that a few hours later his red battalion had marched into Paradise. "Yes, that's all logical," said Speed, "but how could Buckhurst know the secret-code signals which the cruiser must have received before she sailed? To hoist them on the semaphore, he must have had a code-book." I thought a moment. "Suppose Mornac is with him?" Speed fairly jumped. "That's it! That's the link we were hunting for! It's Mornac--it must be Mornac! He is the only man; he had access to everything. And now that his Emperor is a prisoner and his Empress a fugitive, the miserable hound has nothing to lose by the anarchy he once hoped to profit by. Tell me, Scarlett, does the tail wag the dog, after all? And which is the dog, Buckhurst or Mornac?" "I once thought it was Buckhurst," I said. "So did I, but--I don't know now. I don't know what to do, either. I don't know anything!" I began to walk about the room, carefully, for my knees were weak, though I had no headache. "It's a shame for a pair of hulking brutes like you and me to desecrate this bedroom," I muttered. "Mud on the floor--look at it! Sawdust and candle-wax over everything! What's that--all that on the lounge? Has a dog or a cat been rolling over it? It's plastered with tan-colored hairs!" "Lion's hairs from your coat," he observed, grimly. I looked at them for a moment rather soberly. They glistened like gold in the early sunshine. Speed opened his mouth to say something, but closed it abruptly as a very faint tapping sounded on our door. I opened it; Sylvia Elven stood in the hallway. "Oh," she said, in ungracious astonishment, "then you are not on the grave's awful verge,... are you?" "I hope you didn't expect to discover me there?" I replied, laughing. "Expect it? Indeed I did, monsieur,... or I shouldn't be here at sunrise, scratching at your door for news of you. This," she said, petulantly, "is enough to vex any saint!" "Any other saint," I corrected, gravely. "I admit it, mademoiselle, I am a nuisance; so is my comrade. We have only to express our deep gratitude and go." "Go? Do you think we will let you go, with all those bandits roaming the moors outside our windows? And you call that gratitude?" "Does Madame de Vassart desire us to stay?" I asked, trying not to speak too eagerly. Sylvia Elven gave me a scornful glance. "Must we implore you, monsieur, to protect us? We will, if you wish it. I know I'm ill-humored, but it's scarcely daybreak, and we've sat up all night on your account--Madame de Vassart would not allow me to go to bed--and if I am brusque with you, remember I was obliged to sleep in a chair--and I hope you feel that you have put me to very great inconvenience." "I feel that way ... about Madame de Vassart," I said, laughing at the pretty, pouting mouth and sleepy eyes of this amusingly exasperated young girl, who resembled a rumpled Dresden shepherdess more than anything else. I added that we would be glad to stay until the communist free-rifles took themselves off. For which she thanked me with an exaggerated courtesy and retired, furiously conscious that she had not only slept in her clothes, but that she looked it. "That was Madame de Vassart's companion, wasn't it?" asked Speed. "Yes, Sylvia Elven ... I don't know what she is--I know what she was--no, I don't, either. I only know what Jarras says she was." Speed raised his eyebrows. "And what was that?" "Actress, at the Odéon." "Never heard of her being at the Odéon," he said. "You heard of her as one of that group at La Trappe?" "Yes." "Well, when I was looking for Buckhurst in Morsbronn, Jarras telegraphed me descriptions of the people I was to arrest at La Trappe, and he mentioned her as Mademoiselle Sylvia Elven, lately of the Odéon." "That was a mistake," said Speed. "What he meant to say was that she was lately a resident of the Odeonsplatz. He knew that. It must have been a telegraphic error." "How do you know?" I asked, surprised. "Because I furnished Jarras with the data. It's in her dossier." "Odeon--Odeonsplatz," I muttered, trying to understand. "What is the Odeonsplatz? A square in some German city, isn't it?" "It's a square in the capital of Bavaria--Munich." "But--but she isn't a German, is she? _Is she_?" I repeated, staring at Speed, who was looking keenly at me, with eyes partly closed. There was a long silence. "Well, upon my soul!" I said, slowly, emphasizing every word with a noiseless blow on the table. "Didn't you know it? Wait! Hold on," he said, "let's go slowly--let's go very slowly. She is partly German by birth. That proves nothing. Granted that Jarras suspected her, not as a social agitator, but as a German agent. Granted he did not tell you what he suspected, but merely ordered her arrest with the others--perhaps under cover of Buckhurst's arrest--you know what a secret man, the Emperor was--how, if he wanted a man, he'd never chase him, but run in the opposite direction and head him off half-way around the world. So, granted all this, I say, what's to prove Jarras was right?" "Does her dossier prove it? You have read it." "Well, her dossier was rather incomplete. We knew that she went about a good deal in Paris--went to the Tuileries, too. She was married once. Didn't you know even _that_?" "Married!" I exclaimed. "To a Russian brute--I've forgotten his name, but I've seen him--one of the kind with high cheek-bones and black eyes. She got her divorce in England; that's on record, and we have it in her dossier. Then, going back still further, we know that her father was a Bavarian, a petty noble of some sort--baron, I believe. Her mother's name was Elven, a Breton peasant; it was a mésalliance--trouble of all sorts--I forget, but I believe her uncle brought her up. Her uncle was military attaché of the German embassy to Paris.... You see how she slipped into society--and you know what society under the Empire was." "Speed," I said, "why on earth didn't you tell me all this before?" "My dear fellow, I supposed Jarras had told you; or that, if you didn't know it, it did not concern us at all." "But it does concern--a person I know," I said, quickly, thinking of poor Kelly Eyre. "And it explains a lot of things--or, rather, places them under a new light." "What light?" "Well, for one thing, she has consistently lied to me. For another, I believe her to be hand-in-glove with Karl Marx and the French leaders--not Buckhurst, but the real leaders of the social revolt; _not as a genuine disciple, but as a German agent_, with orders to foment disorder of any kind which might tend to embarrass and weaken the French government in this crisis." "You're inclined to believe that?" he asked, much interested. "Yes, I am. France is full of German agents; the Tuileries was not exempt--you know it as well as I. Paris swarmed with spies of every kind, high and low in the social scale. The embassies were nests of spies; every salon a breeding spot of intrigue; the foreign governments employed the grande dame as well as the grisette. Do you remember the military-balloon scandal?" "Indistinctly.... Some poor devil gave a woman government papers." "Technically they were government papers, but he considered them his own. Well, the woman who received those papers is down-stairs." He gave a short whistle of astonishment. "You are sure, Scarlett?" "Perfectly certain." "Then, if you are certain, that settles the question of Mademoiselle Elven's present occupation." I rose and began to move around the room restlessly. "But, after all," I said, "that concerns us no longer." "How can it concern two Americans out of a job?" he observed, with a shrug. "The whole fabric of French politics is rotten to the foundation. It's tottering; a shake will bring it down. Let it tumble. I tell you this nation needs the purification of fire. Our own country has just gone through it; France can do it, too. She's got to, or she's lost!" He looked at me earnestly. "I love the country," he said; "it's fed me and harbored me. But I wouldn't lift a finger to put a single patch on this makeshift of a government; I wouldn't stave off the crash if I could. And it's coming! You and I have seen something of the rottenness of the underpinning which props up empires. You and I, Scarlett, have learned a few of the shameful secrets which even an enemy to France would not drag out into the daylight." I had never seen him so deeply moved. "Is there hope--is there a glimmer of hope to incite anybody while these conditions endure?" he continued, bitterly. "No. France must suffer, France must stand alone in terrible humiliation, France must offer the self-sacrifice of fire and mount the altar herself! "Then, and only then, shall the nation, purified, reborn, rise and live, and build again, setting a beacon of civilized freedom high as the beacon we Americans are raising,... slowly yet surely raising, to the glory of God, Scarlett--to the glory of God. No other dedication can be justified in this world." XIX TRÉCOURT GARDEN About nine o'clock we were summoned by a Breton maid to the pretty breakfast-room below, and I was ashamed to go with my shabby clothes, bandaged head, and face the color of clay. The young countess was not present; Sylvia Elven offered us a supercilious welcome to a breakfast the counterpart of which I had not seen in years--one of those American breakfasts which even we, since the Paris Exposition, are beginning to discard for the simpler French breakfast of coffee and rolls. "This is all in your honor," observed Sylvia, turning up her nose at the array of poached eggs, fragrant sausages, crisp potatoes, piles of buttered toast, muffins, marmalade, and fruit. "It was very kind of you to think of it," said Speed. "It is Madame de Vassart's idea, not mine," she observed, looking across the table at me. "Will the gentleman with nine lives have coffee or chocolate?" The fruit consisted of grapes and those winy Breton cider-apples from Bannalec. We began with these in decorous silence. Speed ventured a few comments on the cultivation of fruit, of which he knew nothing; neither he nor his subject was encouraged. Presently, however, Sylvia glanced up at him with a malicious smile, saying: "I notice that you have been in the foreign division of the Imperial Military Police, monsieur." "Why do you think so?" asked Speed, calmly. "When you seated yourself in your chair," said Sylvia, "you made a gesture with your left hand as though to unhook the sabre--which was not there." Speed laughed. "But why the police? I might have been in the cavalry, mademoiselle; for that matter, I might have been an officer in any arm of the service. They all carry swords or sabres." "But only the military police and the gendarmerie wear aiguilettes," she replied. "When you bend over your plate your fingers are ever unconsciously searching for those swinging, gold-tipped cords--to keep them out of your coffee-cup, monsieur." The muscles in Speed's lean, bronzed cheeks tightened; he looked at her keenly. "Might I not have been in the gendarmerie?" he asked. "How do you know I was not?" "Does the gendarmerie wear the sabre-tache?" "No, mademoiselle, but--" "Do the military police?" "No--that is, the foreign division did, when it existed." "You are sitting, monsieur," she said, placidly, "with your left foot so far under the table that it quite inadvertently presses my shoe-tip." Speed withdrew his leg with a jerk, asking pardon. "It is a habit perfectly pardonable in a man who is careful that his spur shall not scratch or tear a patent-leather sabre-tache," she said. I had absolutely nothing to say; we both laughed feebly, I believe. I saw temptation struggling with Speed's caution; I, too, was almost willing to drop a hint that might change her amusement to speculation, if not to alarm. So this was the woman for whose caprice Kelly Eyre had wrecked his prospects! Clever--oh, certainly clever. But she had made the inevitable slip that such clever people always make sooner or later. And in a bantering message to her victim she had completed the chain against herself--a chain of which I might have been left in absolute ignorance. Impulse probably did it--reasonless and perhaps malicious caprice--the instinct of a pretty woman to stir up memory in a discarded and long-forgotten victim--just to note the effect--just to see if there still remains one nerve, one pulse-beat to respond. "Will the pensive gentleman with nine lives have a little more nourishment to sustain him?" she asked. Looking up from my empty plate, I declined politely; and we followed her signal to rise. "There is a Mr. Kelly Eyre," she said to Speed, "connected with your circus. Has he gone with the others?" "Yes, mademoiselle." "Really?" she mused, amiably. "I knew him as a student in Paris, when he was very young--and I was younger. I should have liked to have seen him--once more." "Did you not see him?" I asked, abruptly. Her back was toward me; very deliberately she turned her pretty head and looked at me over her shoulder, studying my face a moment. "Yes, I saw him. I should have liked to have seen him--once more," she said, as though she had first calculated the effect on me of a different reply. She led the way into that small room overlooking the garden where I had been twice received by Madame de Vassart. Here she took leave of us, abandoning us to our own designs. Mine was to find a large arm-chair and sit down in it, and give Speed a few instructions. Speed's was to prowl around Paradise for information, and, if possible, telegraph to Lorient for troops to catch Buckhurst red-handed. He left me turning over the leaves of the "Chanson de Roland," saying that he would return in a little while with any news he might pick up, and that he would do his best to catch Buckhurst in the foolish trap which that gentleman had set for others. Tiring of the poem, I turned my eyes toward the garden, where, in the sunshine, heaps of crisped leaves lay drifted along the base of the wall or scattered between the rows of herbs which were still ripely green. The apricots had lost their leaves, so had the grapevines and the fig-trees; but the peach-trees were in foliage; pansies and perpetual roses bloomed amid sere and seedy thickets of larkspurs, phlox, and dead delphinium. On the wall a cat sat, sunning her sleek flanks. Something about the animal seemed familiar to me, and after a while I made up my mind that this was Ange Pitou, Jacqueline's pet, abandoned by her mistress and now a feline derelict. Speed must have been mistaken when he told me that Jacqueline had taken her cat; or possibly the home-haunting instinct had brought the creature back, abandoning her mistress to her fortunes. If I had been in my own house I should have offered Ange Pitou hospitality; as it was, I walked out into the sunny garden and made courteous advances which were ignored. I watched the cat for a few moments, then sat down on the bench. The inertia which follows recovery from a shock, however light, left me with the lazy acquiescence of a convalescent, willing to let the world drift for an hour or two, contented to relax, apathetic, comfortable. Seaward the gulls sailed like white feathers floating; the rocky ramparts of Groix rose clear-cut against a horizon where no haze curtained the sea; the breakers had receded from the coast on a heavy ebb-tide, and I saw them in frothy outline, noiselessly churning the shallows beyond the outer bar. And then my reverie ended abruptly; a step on the gravel walk brought me to my feet.... There she stood, lovely in a fresh morning-gown deeply belted with turquoise-shells, her ruddy hair glistening, coiled low on a neck of snow. For the first time she showed embarrassment in her greeting, scarcely touching my hand, speaking with a new constraint in a voice which grew colder as she hesitated. "We were frightened; we are so glad that you were not badly hurt. I thought you might find it comfortable here--of course I could not know that you were not seriously injured." "That is fortunate for me," I said, pleasantly, "for I am afraid you would not have offered this shelter if you had known how little injured I really was." "Yes, I should have offered it--had I reason to believe you would have accepted. I have felt that perhaps you might think what I have done was unwarranted." "I think you did the most graciously unselfish thing a woman could do," I said, quickly. "You offered your best; and the man who took it cannot--dare not--express his gratitude." The emotion in my voice warned me to cease; the faintest color tinted her cheeks, and she looked at me with beautiful, grave eyes that slowly grew inscrutable, leaving me standing diffident and silent before her. The breeze shifted, bringing with it the hollow sea-thunder. She turned her head and glanced out across the ocean, hands behind her, fingers linked. "I have come here into your garden uninvited," I said. "Shall we sit here--a moment?" she suggested, without turning. Presently she seated herself in one corner of the bench; her gaze wandered over the partly blighted garden, then once more centred on the seaward skyline. The color of her hands, her neck, fascinated me. That flesh texture of snow and roses, firmly and delicately modelled, which sometimes is seen with red hair, I had seen once before in a picture by a Spanish master, but never, until now, in real life. And she was life incarnate in her wholesome beauty--a beauty of which I had perceived only the sad shadow at La Trappe--a sweet, healthy, exquisite woman, moulded, fashioned, colored by a greater Master than the Spanish painter dreaming of perfection centuries ago. In the sun a fragrance grew--the subtle incense from her gown--perhaps from her hair. "Autumn is already gone; we are close to winter," she said, under her breath. "See, there is nothing left--scarcely a blossom--a rose or two; but the first frost will scatter the petals. Look at the pinks; look at the dead leaves. Ah, tristesse, tristesse! The life of summer is too short; the life of flowers is too short; so are our lives, Monsieur Scarlett. Do you believe it?" "Yes--now." She was very still for a while, her head bent toward the sea. Then, without turning: "Have you not always believed it?" "No, madame." "Then ... why do you believe it ... now?" "Because, since we have become friends, life seems pitiably short for such a friendship." She smiled without moving. "That is a ... very beautiful ... compliment, monsieur." "It owes its beauty to its truth, madame." "And that reply is illogical," she said, turning to look at me with brilliant eyes and a gay smile which emphasized the sensitive mouth's faint droop. "Illogical, because truth is not always beautiful. As example: you were very near to death yesterday. That is the truth, but it is not beautiful at all." "Ah, madame, it is you who are illogical," I said, laughing. "I?" she cried. "Prove it!" But I would not, spite of her challenge and bright mockery. In that flash all of our comradeship returned, bringing with it something new, which I dared not think was intimacy. Yet constraint fell away like a curtain between us, and though she dominated, and I was afraid lest I overstep limits which I myself had set, the charm of her careless confidence, her pretty, undissembled caprices, her pleasure in a delicately intimate badinage, gave me something of a self-reliance, a freedom that I had not known in a woman's presence for many years. "We brought you here because we thought it was good for you," she said, reverting maliciously to the theme that had at first embarrassed her. "We were perfectly certain that you have always been unfit to take care of yourself. Now we have the proofs." "Mademoiselle Elven said that you harbored us only because you were afraid of those bandits who have arrived in Paradise," I observed. "Afraid!" she said, scornfully. "Oh, you are making fun of me now. Indeed, when Mr. Buckhurst came last night I had my men conduct him to the outer gate!" "Did he come last night?" I asked, troubled. "Yes." She shrugged her pretty shoulders. "Alone?" "That unspeakable creature, Mornac, was with him. I had no idea he was here; had you?" I was silent. Did Mornac mean trouble for me? Yet how could he, shorn now of all authority? The thought seemed to occur to her, too, and she looked up quickly, asking if I had anything to fear. "Only for you," I said. "For me? Why? I am not afraid of such men. I have servants on whom I can call to disembarrass me of such people." She hesitated; the memory of her deception, of what she had suffered at Buckhurst's hands, brought a glint of anger into her beautiful eyes. "My innocence shames me," she said. "I merited what I received in such company. It was you who saved me from myself." "A noble mind thinks nobly," I said. "Theirs is the shame, not yours, that you could not understand treachery--that you never can understand it. As for me, I was an accident, which warned you in time that all the world was not as good and true as you desired to believe it." She sat looking at me curiously. "I wonder," she said, "why it is that you do not know your own value?" "My value--to whom?" "To ... everybody--to the world--to people." "Am I of any value to you, madame?" The pulsing moments passed and she did not answer, and I bit my lip and waited. At last she said, coolly: "A man must appraise himself. If he chooses, he is valuable. But values are comparative, and depend on individual taste.... Yes, you are of some value to me,... or I should not be here with you,... or I should not find it my pleasure to be here--or I should not trust you, come to you with my petty troubles, ask your experience to help me, perhaps protect me." She bent her head with adorable diffidence. "Monsieur Scarlett, I have never before had a friend who thought first of me and last of himself." I leaned on the back of the bench, resting my bandaged forehead on my hand. She looked up after a moment, and her face grew serious. "Are you suffering?" she asked. "Your face is white as my sleeve." "I feel curiously tired," I said, smiling. "Then you must have some tea, and I will brew it myself. You shall not object! No--it is useless, because I am determined. And you shall lie down in the little tea-room, where I found you that day when you first came to Trécourt." "I shall be very happy to do anything--if you are there." "Even drink tea when you abhor it? Then I certainly ought to reward you with my presence at the rite.... Are you dizzy? You are terribly pale.... Would you lean on my arm?" I was not dizzy, but I did so; and if such deceit is not pardonable, there is no justice in this world or in the next. The tea was hot and harmless; I lay thinking while she sat in the sunny window-corner, nibbling biscuit and marmalade, and watching me gravely. "My appetite is dreadful in these days," she said; "age increases it; I have just had my chocolate, yet here am I, eating like a school-girl.... I have a strange idea that I am exceedingly young,... that I am just beginning to live. That tired, thin, shabby girl you saw at La Trappe was certainly not I.... And long before that, before I knew you, there was another impersonal, half--awakened creature, who watched the world surging and receding around her, who grew tired even of violets and bonbons, tired of the companionship of the indifferent, hurt by the intimacy of the unfriendly; and I cannot believe that she was I.... Can you?" "I can believe it; I once saw you then," I said. She looked up quickly. "Where?" "In Paris." "When?" "The day that they received the news from Mexico. You sat in your carriage before the gates of the war office." "I remember," she said, staring at me. Then a slight shudder passed over her. Presently she said: "Did you recognize me afterward at La Trappe?" "Yes,... you had grown more beautiful." She colored and bent her head. "You remembered me all that time?... But why didn't you--didn't you--" She laughed nervously. "Why didn't we know each other in those years? Truly, Monsieur Scarlett, I needed a friend then, if ever;... a friend who thought first of me and last of himself." I did not answer. "Fancy," she continued, "your passing me so long ago,... and I totally unconscious, sitting there in my carriage,... never dreaming of this friendship which I ... care for so much!... Do you remember at La Trappe what I told you, there on the staircase?--how sometimes the impulse used to come to me when I saw a kindly face in the street to cry out, 'Be friends with me!' Do you remember?... It is strange that I did not feel that impulse when you passed me that day in Paris--feel it even though I did not see you--for I sorely needed kindness then, kindness and wisdom; and both passed by, at my elbow,... and I did not know." She bent her head, smiling with an effort. "You should have thrown yourself astride the horse and galloped away with me.... They did those things once, Monsieur Scarlett--on this very spot, too, in the days of the Saxon pirates." The whirring monotone of the spinning-wheel suddenly filled the house; Sylvia was singing at her wheel: "Woe to the maids of Paradise! Yvonne! Twice have the Saxons landed; twice! Yvonne! Yet shall Paradise see them thrice, Yvonne! Yvonne! Marivonik!" "The prophecy of that Breton spinning song is being fulfilled," I said. "For the third time we Saxons have come to Paradise, you see." "But this time our Saxons are not very formidable," she said, raising her beautiful gray eyes; "and the gwerz says, 'Woe to the maids of Paradise!' Do you intend to bring woe upon us maids of Paradise--do you come to carry us off, monsieur?" "If you will go with--me," I said, smiling. "All of us?" "Only one, madame." She started to speak, then her eyes fell. She laughed uncertainly. "Which one among us, if you please--mizilour skler ha brillant deuz ar fidelite?" "Met na varwin Ket Kontant, ma na varwan fidel," I said, slowly, as the words of the song came back to me. "I shall choose only the fairest and loveliest, madame. You know it is always that way in the story." My voice was not perfectly steady, nor was hers when she smiled and wished me happiness and a long life with the maid of Paradise I had chosen, even though I took her by force. Then constraint crept in between us, and I was grimly weighing the friendship this woman had given me--weighing it in the balance against a single hope. Once she looked across at me with questioning eyes in which I thought I read dawning disappointment. It almost terrified me.... I could not lose her confidence,... I could not, and go through life without it.... But I could live a hopeless life to its end with that confidence.... And I must do so,... and be content. "I suppose," said I, thinking aloud, "that I had better go to England." "When?" she asked, without raising her head. "In a day or two. I can find employment there, I think." "Is it necessary that you find employment ... so soon?" "Yes," I said, with a meaningless laugh, "I fear it is." "What will you do?" "Oh, the army--horses--something of that kind. Riding-master, perhaps--perhaps Scotland Yard. I may not be able to pick and choose.... If I ever save enough money for the voyage, perhaps you would let me come, once in a long while, to pay my respects, madame?" "Yes,... come, if you wish." She said no more, nor did I. Presently Sylvia appeared with a peasant woman, and the young countess went away, followed by the housekeeper with her keys at her girdle. I rose and walked to the window; then, nerveless and depressed, I went out into the garden again to smoke a cigar. The cat had disappeared; I traversed the garden, passed through the side wicket, and found myself on the cliffs. Almost immediately I was aware of a young girl, a child, seated on the rocks, her chin propped on her hands, the sea-wind blowing her curly elf-locks across her cheeks and eyes. A bundle tied in a handkerchief lay beside her; a cat dozed in her lap, its sleek fur stirring in the wind. "Jacqueline!" I said, gently. She raised her head; the movement awakened the cat, who stood up in her lap, stretching and yawning vigorously. "I thought you were to sail from Lorient to-day?" The cat stopped purring from her knees; the child rose, pushing back her hair from her eyes with both hands. "Where is Speed?" she asked, drowsily. "Did you want to see him, Jacqueline?" "That is why I returned." "To see Speed?" "Parbleu." "And you are going to let the others sail without you?" "Yes." "And give up the circus forever, Jacqueline?" "Y-es." "Just because you want to see Speed?" "Only for that." She stood rubbing her eyes with her small fists, as though just awakened. "Oui," she said, without emotion, "c'est comme ça, m'sieu. Where the heart is, happiness lies. I left the others at the city gate; I said, 'Voyons, let us be reasonable, gentlemen. I am happy in your circus; I am happy with Speed; I can be contented without your circus, but I cannot be contented without Speed. Voilà!'... and then I went." "You walked back all the way from Lorient?" "Bien sûr! I have no carriage--I, Jacqueline." She stretched her slim figure, raised her arms slowly, and yawned. "Pardon," she murmured, "I have slept in the gorse--badly." "Come into the garden," I said; "we can talk while you rest." She thanked me tranquilly, picked up her bundle, and followed me with a slight limp. The cat, tail up, came behind. The young countess was standing at the window as we approached in solemn single file along the path, and when she caught sight of us she opened the door and stepped out on the tiny porch. "Why, this is our little Jacqueline," she said, quickly. "They have taken your father for the conscription, have they not, my child? And now you are homeless!" "I think so, madame." "Then you will stay with me until he returns, won't you, little one?" There was a moment's pause; Jacqueline made a grave gesture. "This is my cat, madame--Ange Pitou." The countess stared at the cat, then broke out into the prettiest peal of laughter. "Of course you must bring your cat! My invitation is also for Ange Pitou, you understand." "Then we thank you, and permit ourselves to accept, madame," said Jacqueline. "We are very glad because we are quite hungry, and we have thorns from the gorse in our feet--" She broke off with a joyous little cry: "There is Speed!" And Speed, entering the garden hurriedly, stopped short in his tracks. The child ran to him and threw both arms around his neck. "Oh, Speed! Speed!" she stammered, over and over again. "I was too lonely; I will do what you wish; I will be instructed in the graces of education--truly I will. I am glad to come back--and I am so tired, Speed. I will never go away from you again.... Oh, Speed, I am contented!... Do you love me?" "Dearly, little sweetheart," he said, huskily, trying to steady his voice. "There! Madame the countess is waiting. All will be well now." He turned, smiling, toward the young countess, and lifted his hat, then stepped back and fixed me with a blank look of dismay, which said perfectly plainly that he had unpleasant news to communicate. The countess, I think, saw that look, too, for she gave me an almost imperceptible nod and took Jacqueline's hand in hers. "If there are thorns in your feet we must find them," she said, sweetly. "Will you come, Jacqueline?" "Yes, madame," said the child, with an adoring smile at Speed, who bent and kissed her upturned face as she passed. They went into the house, the countess holding Jacqueline's thorn-scratched hand, the cat following, perfectly self-possessed, to the porch, where she halted and sat down, surveying the landscape with dignified indifference. "Well," said I, turning to Speed, "what new deviltry is going on in Paradise now?" "Preparations for train-wrecking, I should say," he replied, bluntly. "They are tinkering with the trestle. Buckhurst's ragamuffins have just seized the railroad station at Rose-Sainte-Anne, where the main line crosses, you know, near the ravine at Lammerin. I was sure there was something extraordinary going to happen, so I went down to the river, hailed Jeanne Rolland, the passeuse, and had her ferry me over to Bois-Gilbert. Then I made for the telegraph, gave the operator ten francs to let me work the keys, and called up the arsenal at Lorient. But it was no use, Scarlett, the governor of Lorient can't spare a soldier--not a single gendarme. It seems that Uhlans have been signalled north of Quimper, and Lorient is frantic, and the garrison is preparing to stand siege." "You mean," I said, indignantly, "that they're not going to try to catch Buckhurst and Mornac?" "That's what I mean; they're scared as rabbits over these rumors of Uhlans in the west and north." "Well," said I, disgusted, "it appears to me that Buckhurst is going to get off scot-free this time--and Mornac, too! Did you know that Mornac was here?" "Know it? I saw him an hour ago, marshalling a new company of malcontents in the square--a bad lot, Scarlett--deserters from Chanzy's army, from Bourbaki, from Garibaldi--a hundred or more line soldiers, dragoons without horses, francs-tireurs, Garibaldians, even a Turco, from Heaven knows where--bad soldiers who disgrace France--marauders, cowardly, skulking mobiles--a sweet lot, Scarlett, to be let loose in Madame de Vassart's vicinity." "I think so, too," I said, seriously. "And I earnestly agree with you," muttered Speed. "That's all _I_ have to report, except that your friend, Robert the Lizard, is out yonder flat on his belly under a gorse-bush, and he wants to see you." "The Lizard!" I exclaimed. "Come on, Speed. Where is he?" "Yonder, clothed in somebody's line uniform. He's one of them. Scarlett, do you trust him? He has a rifle." "Yes, yes," I said, impatiently. "Come on, man! It's all right; the fellow is watching Buckhurst for me." And I gave Speed a nervous push toward the moors. We started, Speed ostentatiously placing his revolver in his side-pocket so that he could shoot through his coat if necessary. I walked beside him, closely scanning the stretch of open moor for a sign of life, knowing all the while that it is easier to catch moon-beams in a net than to find a poacher in the bracken. But Speed had marked him down as he might mark a squatting quail, and suddenly we flushed him, rifle clapped to his shoulder. "None of that, my friend," growled Speed; but the poacher at sight of me had already lowered the weapon. I greeted him frankly, offering my hand; he took it, then his hard fist fell away and he touched his cap. "I have done what you wanted," he said, sullenly. "I have the company's rolls--here they are." He dragged from his baggy trousers pockets a mass of filthy papers, closely covered with smeared writing. "Here is the money, too," he said, fishing in the other pocket; and, to my astonishment, he produced a flattened, soiled mass of bank-notes. "Count it," he added, calmly. "What money is that?" I asked, taking it reluctantly. "Didn't you warn me to get that box--the steel box that Tric-Trac sat down on when he saw me?" "Is that money from the box?" I exclaimed. "Yes, m'sieu. I could not bring the box, and there had been enough blood shed over it already. Besides, when Buckhurst broke it open there was only a bit of iron for the scrap-heap left." I touched Speed's arm to call his attention; the poacher shrugged his shoulders and continued: "Tric-Trac made no ceremony with me; he told me that he and Buckhurst had settled this Dr. Delmont, and the other--the professor--Tavernier." "Murdered them?" muttered Speed. "Dame!--the coup du Père François is murder, I suppose." Speed turned to me. "That's the argot for strangling," he said, grimly. "Go on," I motioned to the poacher. "How did you get the money?" "Oh, pour ça--in my turn I turned sonneur," he replied, with a savage smile. A _sonneur_, in thieves' slang, is a creature of the footpad type who, tripping his victim flat, seizes him by the shoulders and beats his head against the pavement until he renders him unconscious--if he doesn't kill him. "It was pay-day," continued the Lizard. "Buckhurst opened the box and I heard him--he hammered it open with a cold chisel. I was standing guard on the forest's edge; I crept back, hearing the hammering and the little bell ringing the Angelus of Tric-Trac. It was close to dusk; by the time he got into the box it was dark in the woods, and it was easy to jump on his back and strike--not very hard, m'sieu--but, I tell you, Buckhurst lay for two days with eyes like a sick owl's! He knew one of his own men had done it. He never said a word, but I know he thinks it was Tric-Trac.... And when he is ready--bon soir, Tric-Trac!" He drew his right hand across his corded throat with a horridly suggestive motion. Speed watched him narrowly. I asked the poacher why Buckhurst had come to Paradise, and why his banditti had seized the railroad at Rose-Sainte-Anne. "Ah," cried the Lizard, with a ferocious leer, "that is the kernel under the limpet's tent! And I have uncovered it--I, Robert Garenne, bon sang de Jésu!" He stretched out his powerful arm toward the sea. "Where is that cruiser, m'sieu? Gone? Yes, but who sent her off? Buckhurst, with his new signal-book! Where? In chase of a sea-swallow, or a frigate (bird). Who knows? Listen, messieurs! We are to wreck the train for Brest to-night. Do you comprehend?" "Where?" I asked, quietly. "Just where the trestle at Lammerin crosses the ravine below the house of Josephine Tanguy." Speed looked around at me. "It's the treasure-train from Lorient. They're probably sending the crown diamonds back to Brest in view of the Uhlans being seen near Quimper." "On a false order?" "I believe so. I believe that Buckhurst sent the cruiser to Brest, and now he's started the treasure-trains back to Brest in a panic." "That is the truth," said the Lizard; "Tric-Trac told me. They have the code-book of Mornac." His eyes began to light up with that terrible anger as the name of his blood enemy fell from his lips; his nose twitched; his upper lip wrinkled into a snarl. I thought quietly for a moment, then asked the poacher whether there was a guard at the semaphore of Saint-Yssel. "Yes, the soldier Rolland, who says he understands the telegraph--a sot from Morlaix." He hesitated and looked across the open moor toward Paradise. "I must go," he muttered; "I am on guard yonder." I offered him my hand again; he took it, looking me sincerely in the eyes. "Let your private wrongs wait a little longer," I said. "I think we can catch Buckhurst and Mornac alive. Do you promise?" "Y-es," he replied. "Strike, then, like a Breton!" We struck palms heavily. Then he turned to Speed and motioned him to retire. Speed walked slowly toward a half-buried bowlder and sat down out of ear-shot. "For your sake," said the poacher, clutching my hand in a tightening grip--"for your sake I have let Mornac go--let him pass me at arm's-length, and did not strike. You have dealt openly by me--and justly. No man can say I betrayed friendship. But I swear to you that if you miss him this time, I shall not miss--I, Robert the Lizard!" "You mean to kill Mornac?" I asked. His eyes blazed. "Ami," he said, "I once spoke of '_a little red deer_,' and you half understood me, for you are wise in strange ways, as I am." "I remember," I said. His strong fingers closed tighter on my hand. "Woman--or doe--it's all one now; and I am out of prison--the prison _he_ sent me to! Do you understand that he wronged me--me, the soldier Garenne, in garrison at Vincennes; he, the officer, the aristocrat?" He choked, crushing my hand in a spasmodic grip. "Ami, the little red deer was beautiful--to me. He took her--the doe--a silly maid of Paradise--and I was in irons, m'sieu, for three years." He glared at vacancy, tears falling from his staring eyes. "Your wife?" I asked, quietly. "Yes, ami." He dropped my numbed fingers and rubbed his eyes with the back of his big hand. "Then Jacqueline is not your little daughter?" I asked, gravely. "Hers--not mine. That has been the most terrible of all for me--since she died--died so young, too, m'sieu--and all alone--in Paris. If he had not done that--if he had been kind to her. And she was only a child, ami, yet he left her." All the ferocity in his eyes was gone; he raised a vacant, grief-lined visage to meet mine, and stood stupidly, heavy hands hanging. Then, shoulders sloping, he shambled off into the thicket, trailing his battered rifle. When he was very far away I motioned to Speed. "I think," said I, "that we had better try to do something at the semaphore if we are going to stop that train in time." XX THE SEMAPHORE The telegraph station at the semaphore was a little, square, stone hut, roofed with slate, perched high on the cliffs. A sun-scorched, wooden signal-tower rose in front of it; behind it a line of telegraph poles stretched away into perspective across the moors. Beyond the horizon somewhere lay the war-port of Lorient, with its arsenal, armed redoubts, and heavy bastions; beyond that was war. While we plodded on, hip deep, through gorse and thorn and heath, we cautiously watched a spot of red moving to and fro in front of the station; and as we drew nearer we could see the sentry very distinctly, rifle slung muzzle down, slouching his beat in the sunshine. He was a slovenly specimen, doubtless a deserter from one of the three provincial armies now forming for the hopeless dash at Belfort and the German eastern communications. When Speed and I emerged from the golden gorse into plain view the sentinel stopped in his tracks, shoved his big, red hands into his trousers pockets, and regarded us sulkily. "What are you going to do with this gentleman?" whispered Speed. "Reason with him, first," I said; "a louis is worth a dozen kicks." The soldier left his post as we started toward him, and advanced, blinking in the strong sunshine, meeting us half-way. "Now, bourgeois," he said, shaking his unkempt head, "this won't do, you know. Orders are to keep off. And," he added, in a bantering tone, "I'm here to enforce them. Allons! En route, mes amis!" "Are you the soldier Rolland?" I asked. He admitted that he was with prompt profanity, adding that if we didn't like his name we had only to tell him so and he would arrange the matter. I told him that we approved not only his name but his personal appearance; indeed, so great was our admiration for him that we had come clear across the Saint-Yssel moor expressly to pay our compliments to him in the shape of a hundred-franc note. I drew it from the soiled roll the Lizard had intrusted to me, and displayed it for the sentinel's inspection. "Is that for me?" he demanded, unconvinced, plainly suspicious of being ridiculed. "Under certain conditions," I said, "these five louis are for you." The soldier winked. "I know what you want; you want to go in yonder and use the telegraph. What the devil," he burst out, "do all you bourgeois want with that telegraph in there?" "Has anybody else asked to use it?" I inquired, disturbed. "Anybody else?" he mimicked. "Well, I think so; there's somebody in there now--here, give your hundred francs or I tell you nothing, you understand!" I handed him the soiled note. He scanned it with the inborn distrust of the true malefactor, turned it over and over, and finally, pronouncing it "en règle," shoved it cheerfully into the lining of his red forage cap. "A hundred more if you answer my questions truthfully," I said, amiably. "'Cré cochon!" he blurted out; "fire at will, comrade! I'll sell you the whole cursed semaphore for a hundred more! What can I do for you, captain?" "Who is in that hut?" "A lady--she comes often--she gives ten francs each time. Zut!--what is ten francs when a gentleman gives a hundred! She pays me for my complaisance--bon! Place aux dames! You pay me better--bon! I'm yours, gentlemen. War is war, but money pulls the trigger!" The miserable creature cocked his forage-cap with a toothless smirk and twisted his scant mustache. "Who is this lady who pays you ten francs?" I asked. "I do not know her name--but," he added, with an offensive leer, "she's worth looking over by gentlemen like you. Do you want to see her? She's in there click-clicking away on the key with her pretty little fingers--bon sang! A morsel for a king, gentlemen." "Wait here," I said, disgusted, and walked toward the stone station. The treacherous cur came running after me. "There's a side door," he whispered; "step in there behind the partition and take a look at her. She'll be done directly: she never stays more than fifteen minutes. Then you can use the telegraph at your pleasure, captain." The side door was partly open; I stepped in noiselessly and found myself in a small, dusky closet, partitioned from the telegraph office. Immediately the rapid clicking of the Morse instrument came to my ears, and mechanically I read the message by the sound as it rattled on under the fingers of an expert: "--Must have already found out that the signals were not authorized by the government. Before the _Fer-de-Lance_ returns to her station the German cruiser ought to intercept her off Groix. Did you arrange for this?" There was a moment's silence, then back came rattling the reply in the Morse code, but in German: "Yes, all is arranged. The _Augusta_ took a French merchant vessel off Pont Aven yesterday. The _Augusta_ ought to pass Groix this evening. You are to burn three white lights from Point Paradise if a landing-party is needed. It rests with you entirely." Another silence, then the operator in the next room began: "You say that Lorient is alarmed by rumors of Uhlans, and therefore sends the treasure-train back to Brest. The train, you assure me, carries the diamonds of the crown, bar-silver, gold, the Venus of Milo, and ten battle-flags from the Invalides. Am I correct?" "Yes." "The insurgents here, under an individual in our pay, one John Buckhurst, are preparing to wreck the train at the Lammerin trestle. "If the _Augusta_ can reach Point Paradise to-night, a landing-party could easily scatter these insurgents, seize the treasures, and re-embark in safety. "There is, you declare, nothing to fear from Lorient; the only thing, then, to be dreaded is the appearance of the _Fer-de-Lance_ off Groix. She is not now in sight; I will notify you if she appears. If she does not come I will burn three white lights in triangle on Paradise headland." A short pause, then: "Are there any Prussian cavalry near enough to help us?" And the answer: "Prussian dragoons are scouting toward Bannalec. I will send a messenger to them if I can. This is all. Be careful. Good-bye." "Good-bye," clicked the instrument in the next room. There was a rustle of skirts, a tap of small shoes on the stone floor. I leaned forward and looked through the little partition window; Sylvia Elven stood by the table, quietly drawing on her gloves. Her face was flushed and thoughtful. Slowly she walked toward the door, hesitated, turned, hurried back to the instrument, and set the switch. Then, without seating herself, she leaned over and gave the station call, three _S's_. "I forgot to say that the two Yankee officers of military police, Scarlett and Speed, are a harmless pair. You have nothing to fear from them. Good-bye." And the reply: "Watch them all the same. Be careful, madame, they are Yankees. Good-bye." When she had gone, closing the outer door behind her, I sprang to the key, switched on, rattled out the three S's and got my man, probably before he had taken three steps from his table. "I forgot to say," I telegraphed, using a light, rapid touch to imitate Sylvia's--"I forgot to say that, in case the treasure-train is held back to-night, the Augusta must run for the English Channel." "What's that?" came back the jerky reply. I repeated. "Donnerwetter!" rattled the wires. "The entire French iron-clad fleet is looking for her." "And I hope they catch her," I telegraphed. "Are you crazy?" came the frantic reply. "Who are you?" "A Yankee, idiot!" I replied. "Run for your life, you hopeless ass!" There was, of course, no reply, though I sent a few jocular remarks flying after what must have been the most horrified German spy south of Metz. Then, at a venture, I set the switch on the arsenal line, got a quick reply, and succeeded in alarming them sufficiently, I think, for in a few moments I was telegraphing directly to the governor of Lorient, and the wires grew hot with an interchange of observations, which resulted in my running to the locker, tumbling out all the signal bunting, cones, and balls, sorting five flags, two red cones, and a ball, and hastening out to the semaphore. Speed and the soldier Rolland saw me set the cones, hoist away, break out the flags on the halyards, and finally drop the white arm of the semaphore. I had set the signal for the _Fer-de-Lance_ to land in force and wipe Buckhurst and his grotesque crew from the face of the earth. "Rolland," I said, "here is another hundred francs. Watch that halyard and guard it. To-night you will string seven of those little lamps on this other halyard, light them, hoist them, and then go up that tower and light the three red lamps on the left." "'Tendu," he said, promptly. "If you do it I will give you two hundred francs to-morrow. Is it a bargain?" The soldier broke out into a torrent of promises which I cut short. "That lady will never come here again, I think. If she does, she must not touch those halyards. Do you hear? If she offers you money, remember I will double it. But, Rolland, if you lie to _me_ I will have you killed as the Bretons kill pigs; you understand how that is done?" He said that he understood, and followed us, fawning and whining his cowardly promises of fidelity until we ordered the wretch back to the post which he had already twice betrayed, and would certainly betray again if the opportunity offered. Walking fast over the springy heath, I told Speed briefly what I had done--that the treasure-train would not now leave Lorient, that as soon as the _Fer-de-Lance_ came in sight of the semaphore Buckhurst's game must come to an end. Far ahead of us we saw the flutter of a light dress on the moor; Sylvia Elven, the spy, was going home; and from the distance, across the yellow-flowered gorse, her gay song floated back to us: "Those who die for a maid Are paid; Those who die for a creed God-speed; Those who die for their own dear land Shall stand forever on God's right hand!--" "A spy!" muttered Speed. "I think," said I, "that she had better leave Paradise at once. Oh, the little fool, to risk all for a caprice--for a word to the poor fellow she ruined! Vanity does it every time, Speed." "I don't understand what you mean," he said. "No, and I can't explain," I replied, thinking of Kelly Eyre. "But Sylvia Elven is running a fearful risk here. Mornac knows her record. Buckhurst would betray her in a moment if he thought it might save his own skin. She ought to leave before the _Fer-de-Lance_ sights the semaphore and reads the signal to land in force." "Then you'll have to tell her," he said, gloomily. "I suppose so," I replied, not at all pleased. For the prospect of humiliating her, of proving to this woman that I was not as stupid as she believed me, gave me no pleasure. Rather was I sorry for her, sorry for the truly pitiable condition in which she must now find herself. As we reached the gates of Trécourt, dusty and tired from our moorland tramp, I turned and looked back. My signal was still set; the white arm of the semaphore glistened like silver against a brilliant sky of sapphire. Seaward I could see no sign of the _Fer-de-Lance_. "The guns I heard at sea must have been fired from the German cruiser _Augusta_," I suggested to Speed. "She's been hovering off the coast, catching French merchant craft. I wish to goodness the _Fer-de-Lance_ would come in and give her a drubbing." "Oh, rubbish!" he said. "What the deuce do we care?" "It's human to take sides in this war, isn't it?" I insisted. "Considering the fashion in which France has treated us individually, it seems to me that we may as well take the German side," he said. "Are you going to?" I asked. He hesitated. "Oh, hang it all, no! There's something about France that holds us poor devils--I don't know what. Barring England, she's the only human nation in the whole snarling pack. Here's to her--damn her impudence! If she wants me she can have me--empire, kingdom, or republic. Vive anything--as long as it's French!" I was laughing when we entered the court; Jacqueline, her big, furry cat in her arms, came to the door and greeted Speed with: "You have been away a very long time, and the thorns are all out of my arms and my legs, and I have been desiring to see you. Come into the house and read--shall we?" Speed turned to me with an explanatory smile. "I've been reading the 'Idyls' aloud to her in English," he said, rather shyly. "She seems to like them; it's the noble music that attracts her; she can't understand ten words." "I can understand nearly twenty," she said, flushing painfully. Speed, who had no thought of hurting her, colored up, too. "You don't comprehend, little one," he said, quickly. "It was in praise, not in blame, that I spoke." "I knew it--I am silly," she said, with quick tears trembling in her eyes. "You know I adore you, Speed. Forgive me." She turned away into the house, saying that she would get the book. "Look here, Speed," I said, troubled, "Jacqueline is very much like the traditional maid of romance, which I never believed existed--all unspoiled, frankly human, innocently daring, utterly ignorant of convention. She's only a child now, but another year or two will bring something else to her." "Don't you suppose I've thought of that?" he said, frowning. "I hope you have." "Well, I have. When I find enough to do to keep soul and body friendly I'm going to send her to school, if that old ruffian, her father, allows it." "I think he will," I said, gravely; "but after that?" "After what?" "After she's educated and--unhappy?" "She isn't any too happy now," he retorted. "Granted. But after you have spent all your money on her, what then?" "What do you mean?" "I mean that you'll have no child to deal with, but a woman in full bloom, a woman fairly aquiver with life and intelligence, a high-strung, sensitive, fine-grained creature, whose educated ignorance will not be educated innocence, remember that! And I tell you, Speed, it's the heaviest responsibility a man can assume." "I know it," he replied. "Then it's all right, if you do know it," I said, cheerfully. "All I can say is, I am thankful she isn't to spend her life in the circus." "Or meet death there," he added. "It's not to our credit that she escapes it." Jacqueline came dancing back to the porch, cat under one arm, book under the other, so frankly happy, so charmingly grateful for Speed's society, that the tragedy of the lonely child touched me very deeply. I strove to discover any trace of the bar sinister in her, but could not, though now I understood, from her parentage, how it was possible for a poacher's child to have such finely sculptured hands and feet. Perhaps her dark, silky lashes and hair were Mornac's, but if this was so, I trusted that there the aristocratic blood had spent its force in the frail body of this child of chance. I went into the house, leaving them seated on the porch, heads together, while in a low monotone Speed read the deathless "Morte d'Arthur." Daylight was waning. Out of the west a clear, greenish sky, tinged with saffron tints, promised a sea-wind. But the mild land-breeze was still blowing and the ebb-tide flowing as I entered the corridor and glanced at the corner where the spinning-wheel stood. Sylvia sat beside it, reading in the Lutheran Bible by the failing light. She raised her dreamy eyes as I passed; I had never seen her piquantly expressive face so grave. "May I speak to you alone a moment, after dinner?" I asked. "If you wish," she replied. I bowed and started on, but she called me back. "Did you know that Monsieur Eyre is here?" "Kelly Eyre?" "Oui, monsieur. He returns with an order from the governor of Lorient for the balloon." I was astonished, and asked where Eyre had gone. "He is in your room," she said, "loading your revolver. I hope you will not permit him to go alone to Paradise." "I'll see about that," I muttered, and hurried up the stairs and down the hallway to my bedchamber. He sprang to the door as I entered, giving me both hands in boyish greeting, saying how delighted they all were to know that my injury had proved so slight. "That balloon robbery worried me," he continued. "I knew that Speed depended on his balloon for a living; so as soon as we entered Lorient I went to our consul, and he and I made such a row that the governor of Lorient gave me an order for the balloon. Here it is, Mr. Scarlett." His heightened color and excitement, his nervous impetuosity, were not characteristic of this quiet and rather indifferent young countryman of mine. I looked at him keenly but pleasantly. "You are going to load my revolver, and go over to Paradise and take that balloon from these bandits?" I asked, smiling. "An order is all right, but it is the more formal when backed by a bullet," he said. "Do you mean to tell me that you were preparing to go over into that hornet's nest alone?" He shrugged his shoulders with a reckless laugh. "Give me my revolver," I said, coldly. His face fell. "Let me take it, Mr. Scarlett," he pleaded; but I refused, and made him hand me the weapon. "Now," I said, sternly, "I want to know what the devil you mean by attempting suicide? Do you suppose that those ruffians care a straw for you and your order? Kelly, what's the matter with you? Is life as unattractive as all that?" His flushed and sullen face darkened. "If you want to risk your life," I said, "you have plenty of chances in your profession. Did you ever hear of an aged aëronaut? Kelly, go back to America and break your neck like a gentleman." He darted a menacing glance at me, but there was nothing of irony in my sober visage. "You appear here," I said, "after the others have sailed from Lorient. Why? To do Speed this generous favor? Yes--and to do yourself the pleasure of ending an embittered life under the eyes of the woman who ruined you." The boy flinched as though I had struck him in the face. For a moment I expected a blow; his hands clinched convulsively, and he focussed me with blazing eyes. "Don't," I said, quietly. "I am trying to be your friend; I am trying to save you from yourself, Kelly. Don't throw away your life--as I have done. Life is a good thing, Kelly, a good thing. Can we not be friends though I tell you the truth?" The color throbbed and throbbed in his face. There was a chair near him; he groped for it, and sat down heavily. "Life is a good thing," I said again, "but, Kelly, truth is better. And I must tell you the--well, something of the truth--as much as you need know ... now. My friend, _she is not worth it_." "Do you think that makes any difference?" he said, harshly. "Let me alone, Scarlett. I know!... _I know_, I tell you!" "Do you mean to tell me that you know she deliberately betrayed you?" I demanded. "Yes, I know it--I tell you I know it!" "And ... you love her?" "Yes." He dropped his haggard face on his arms a moment, then sat bolt upright. "Truth is better than life," he said, slowly. "I lied to you and to myself when I came back. I did come to get Speed's balloon, but I came ... for her sake,... to be near her,... to see her once more before I--" "Yes, I understand, Kelly." He winced and leaned wearily back. "You are right," he said; "I wanted to end it,... I am tired." I sat thinking for a moment; the light in the room faded to a glimmer on the panes. "Kelly," I said, "there remains another way to risk your neck, and, I think, a nobler way. There is in this house a woman who is running a terrible risk--a German spy whose operations have been discovered. This woman believes that she has in her pay the communist leader of the revolt, a man called Buckhurst. She is in error. And she must leave this house to-night." Eyre's face had paled. He bent forward, clasped hands between his knees, eyes fastened on me. "There will be trouble here to-night--or, in all probability, within the next twenty-four hours. I expect to see Buckhurst a prisoner. And when that happens it will go hard with Mademoiselle Elven, for he will turn on her to save himself.... And you know what that means;... a blank wall, Kelly, and a firing-squad. There is but one sex for spies." A deadly fear was stamped on his bloodless face. I saw it, tense and quivering, in the gray light of the window. "She must leave to-night, Kelly. She must try to cross into Spain. Will you help her?" He nodded, striving to say "yes." "You know your own risk?" "Yes." "Her company is death for you both if you are taken." He stood up very straight. In what strange forms comes happiness to man! XXI LIKE HER ANCESTORS A sense of insecurity, of impending trouble, seemed to weigh upon us all that evening--a physical depression, which the sea-wind brought with its flying scud, wetting the window-panes like fine rain. At intervals from across the moors came the deadened rolling of insurgent drums, and in the sky a ruddy reflection of a fire brightened and waned as the fog thickened or blew inland--an ominous sign of disorder, possibly even a reflection from that unseen war raging somewhere beyond the obscured horizon. It may have been this indefinable foreboding that drew our little company into a temporary intimacy; it may have been the immense loneliness of the sea, thundering in thickening darkness, that stilled our voices to whispers. Eyre, ill at ease, walked from window to window, looking at the luminous tints on the ragged edges of the clouds; Sylvia, over her heavy embroidery, lifted her head gravely at moments, to glance after him when he halted listless, preoccupied, staring at Speed and Jacqueline, who were drawing pictures of Arthur and his knights by the lamp-lit table. I leaned in the embrasure of the southern window, gazing at my lighted lanterns, which dangled from the halyards at Saint-Yssel. The soldier Rolland had so far kept his word--three red lamps glimmered through a driving mist; the white lanterns hung above, faintly shining. Full in the firelight of the room sat the young Countess, lost in reverie, hands clasping the gilt arms of her chair. At her feet dozed Ange Pitou. The dignity of a parvenu cat admitted for the first time to unknown luxury is a lesson. I said this to the young Countess, who smiled dreamily, watching the play of color over the drift-wood fire. A ship's plank was burning there, tufted with golden-green flames. Presently a blaze of purest carmine threw a deeper light into the room. "I wonder," she said, "what people sailed in that ship--and when? Did they perish on this coast when their ship perished? A drift-wood fire is beautiful, but a little sad, too." She looked up pensively over her shoulder. "Will you bring a chair to the fire?" she asked. "We are burning part of a great ship--for our pleasure, monsieur. Tell me what ship it was; tell me a story to amuse me--not a melancholy one, if you please." I drew a chair to the blaze; the drift-wood burned gold and violet, with scarcely a whisper of its velvet flames. "I am afraid my story is not going to be very cheerful," I said, "and I am also afraid that I must ask you to listen to it." She met my eyes with composure, leaned a little toward me, and waited. And so, sitting there in the tinted glare, I told her of the death of Delmont and of Tavernier, and of Buckhurst's share in the miserable work. I spoke in a whisper scarcely louder than the rustle of the flames, watching the horror growing in her face. I told her that the money she had intrusted to them for the Red Cross was in my possession, and would be forwarded at the first chance; that I hoped to bring Buckhurst to justice that very night. "Madame, I am paining you," I said; "but I am going to cause you even greater unhappiness." "Tell me what is necessary," she said, forming the words with tightened lips. "Then I must tell you that it is necessary for Mademoiselle Elven to leave Trécourt to-night." She looked at me as though she had not heard. "It is absolutely necessary," I repeated. "She must go secretly. She must leave her effects; she must go in peasant's dress, on foot." "Why?" "It is better that I do not tell you, madame." "Tell me. It is my right to know." "Not now; later, if you insist." The young Countess passed one hand over her eyes as though dazed. "Does Sylvia know this?" she asked, in a shocked voice. "Not yet." "And you are going to tell her?" "Yes, madame." "This is dreadful," she muttered.... "If I did not know you,... if I did not trust you so perfectly,... trust you with all my heart!... Oh, are you certain she must go? It frightens me; it is so strange! I have grown fond of her.... And now you say that she must go. I cannot understand--I cannot." "No, you cannot understand," I repeated, gently; "but she can. It is a serious matter for Mademoiselle Elven; it could not easily be more serious. It is even perhaps a question of life or death, madame." "In Heaven's name, help her, then!" she said, scarcely controlling the alarm that brought a pitiful break in her voice. "I am trying to," I said. "And now I must consult Mademoiselle Elven. Will you help me?" "What can I do?" she asked, piteously. "Stand by that window. Look, madame, can you see the lights on the semaphore?" "Yes." "Count them aloud." She counted the white lights for me, then the red ones. "Now," I said, "if those lights change in number or color or position, come instantly to me. I shall be with Mademoiselle Elven in the little tea-room. But," I added, "I do not expect any change in the lights; it is only a precaution." I left her in the shadow of the curtains, and passed through the room to Sylvia's side. She looked up quietly from her embroidery frame, then, dropping the tinted silks and needles on the cloth, rose and walked beside me past Eyre, who stood up as we came abreast of him. Sylvia paused. "Monsieur Eyre," she said, "I have a question to ask you ... some day," and passed on with a smile and a slight inclination of her head, leaving Eyre looking after her with heavy eyes. When we entered the little tea-room she passed on to the lounge and seated herself on the padded arm; I turned, closed the door, and walked straight toward her. She glanced up at me curiously; something in my face appeared to sober her, for the amused smile on her lips faded before I spoke. "What is it?" she asked. "I am sorry to tell you," I said--"sorry from my heart. You are not very friendly to me, and that makes it harder for me to say what I have to say." She was watching me intently out of her pretty, intelligent eyes. "What do you mean?" she asked, guardedly. "I mean that you cannot stay here," I said. "And you know why." The color flooded her face, and she stood up, confronting me, exasperated, defiant. "Will you explain this insult?" she asked, hotly. "Yes. You are a German spy," I said, under my breath. There was no color in her face now--nothing but a glitter in her blue eyes and a glint from the small, white teeth biting her lower lip. "French troops will land here to-night or to-morrow," I went on, calmly. "You will see how dangerous your situation is certain to become when Buckhurst is taken, and when it is understood _what use you have made of the semaphore_." She winced, then straightened and bent her steady gaze on me. Her courage was admirable. "I thank you for telling me," she said, simply. "Have I a chance to reach the Spanish frontier?" "I think you have," I replied. "Kelly Eyre is going with you when--" "He? No, no, he must not! Does he know what I am?" she broke in, impetuously. "Yes, mademoiselle; and he knows what happens to spies." "Did he offer to go?" she asked, incredulously. "Mademoiselle, he insists." Her lip began to tremble. She turned toward the window, where the sea-fog flew past in the rising wind, and stared out across the immeasurable blackness of the ocean. Without turning her head she said: "Does he know that it may mean his death?" "He has suffered worse for your sake!" I said, bitterly. "What?" she flashed out, confronting me in an instant. "You must know that," I said--"three years of hell--prison--utter ruin! Do you dare deny you have been ignorant of this?" For a space she stood there, struck speechless; then, "Call him!" she cried. "Call him, I tell you! Bring him here--I want him here--here before us both!" She sprang to the door, but I blocked her way. "I will not have Madame de Vassart know what you did to him!" I said. "If you want Kelly Eyre, I will call him." And I stepped into the hallway. Eyre, passing the long stone corridor, looked up as I beckoned; and when he entered the tea-room, Sylvia, white as a ghost, met him face to face. "Monsieur," she said, harshly, "why did you not come to that book-store?" He was silent. His face was answer enough--a terrible answer. "Monsieur Eyre, speak to me! Is it true? Did they--did you not know that I made an error--that I _did_ go on Monday at the same hour?" His haggard face lighted up; she saw it, and caught his hands in hers. "Did you think I knew?" she stammered. "Did you think I could do that? They told me at the _usine_ that you had gone away--I thought you had forgotten--that you did not care--" "Care!" he groaned, and bowed his head, crushing her hands over his face. Then she broke down, breathless with terror and grief. "I was not a spy then--truly I was not, Kelly. There was no harm in me--I only--only asked for the sketches because--because--I cared for you. I have them now; no soul save myself has ever seen them--even afterward, when I drifted into intrigue at the Embassy--when everybody knew that Bismarck meant to force war--everybody except the French people--I never showed those little sketches! They were--were mine! Kelly, they were all I had left when you went away--to a fortress!--and I did not know!--I did not know!" "Hush!" he groaned. "It is all right--it is all right now." "Do you believe me?" "Yes, yes. Don't cry--don't be unhappy--now." She raised her head and fumbled in her corsage with shaking fingers, and drew from her bosom a packet of papers. "Here are the sketches," she sobbed; "they have cost you dear! Now leave me--hate me! Let them come and take me--I do not want to live any more. Oh, what punishment on earth!" Her suffering was unendurable to the man who had suffered through her; he turned on me, quivering in every limb. "We must start," he said, hoarsely. "Give me your revolver." I drew it from my hip-pocket and passed it to him. "Scarlett," he began, "if we don't reach--" A quick rapping at the door silenced him; the young Countess stood in the hallway, bright-eyed, but composed, asking for me. "The red and the white lights are gone," she said. "There are four green lights on the tower and four blue lights on the halyards." I turned to Eyre. "This is interesting," I said, grimly. "I set signals for the _Fer-de-Lance_ to land in force. Somebody has changed them. You had better get ready to go." Sylvia had shrunk away from Eyre. The Countess looked at her blankly, then at me. "Madame," I said, "there is little enough of happiness in the world--so little that when it comes it should be welcomed, even by those who may not share in it." And I bent nearer and whispered the truth. Then I went to Sylvia, who stood there tremulous, pallid. "You serve your country at a greater risk than do the soldiers of your King," I said. "There is no courage like that which discounts a sordid, unhonored death. You have my respect, mademoiselle." "Sylvia!" murmured the young Countess, incredulously; "you a spy?--here--under my roof?" Sylvia unconsciously stretched out one hand toward her. Eyre stepped to her side, with an angry glance at Madame de Vassart. "I--I love you, madame," whispered Sylvia. "I only place my own country first. Can you forgive me?" The Countess stood as though stunned; Eyre passed her slowly, supporting Sylvia to the door. "Madame," I said, "will you speak to her? Your countries, not your hearts, are at war. She did her duty." "A spy!" repeated the Countess, in a dull voice. "A spy! And she brings this--this shame on me!" Sylvia turned, standing unsteadily. For a long time they looked at each other in silence, their eyes wet with tears. Then Eyre lifted Sylvia's hand and kissed it, and led her away, closing the door behind. The Countess still stood in the centre of the room, transfixed, rigid, staring through her tears at the closed door. With a deep-drawn breath she straightened her shoulders; her head drooped; she covered her face with clasped hands. Standing there, did she remember those who, one by one, had betrayed her? Those who first whispered to her that love of country was a narrow creed; those who taught her to abhor violence, and then failed at the test--Bazard, firing to kill, going down to death under the merciless lance of an Uhlan; Buckhurst, guilty of every crime that attracted him; and now Sylvia, her friend, false to the salt she had eaten, false to the roof above her, false, utterly false to all save the land of her nativity. And she, Éline de Trécourt, a soldier's daughter and a Frenchwoman, had been used as a shield by those who were striking her own mother-land--the country she once had denied; the country whose frontiers she knew not in her zeal for limitless brotherhood; the blackened, wasted country she had seen at Strasbourg; the land for which the cuirassiers of Morsbronn had died! "What have I done?" she cried, brokenly--"what have I done that this shame should come upon me?" "You have done nothing," I said, "neither for good nor evil in this crisis. But Sylvia has; Sylvia the spy. That a man should give up his life for a friend is good; that a woman offer hers for her country is better. What has it cost her? The friendship of the woman she worships--you, madame! It has cost her that already, and the price may include her life and the life of the man she loves. She has done her duty; the sacrifice is still burning; I pray it may spare her and spare him." I walked to the door and laid my hand on the brass knob. "The world is merciless to failures," I said. "Yet even a successful spy is scarcely tolerated among the Philistines; a captured spy is a horror for friends to forget and for enemies to destroy in righteous indignation. Madame, I know, for I have served your country in Algiers as a spy,... not from patriotism, for I am an alien, but because I was fitted for it in my line of duty. Had I been caught I should have looked for nothing but contempt from France; from the Kabyle, for neither admiration nor mercy. I tell you this that you may understand my respect for this woman, whose motives are worthy of it." The Countess looked at me scornfully. "It is well," she said, "for those who understand and tolerate treachery to condone it. It is well that the accused be judged by their peers. We of Trécourt know only one tongue. But that is the language of truth, monsieur. All else is foreign." "Where did the nobility learn this tongue--to our exclusion?" I asked, bluntly. "When our forefathers faced the tribunals!" she flashed out. "Did you ever hear of a spy among us? Did you ever hear of a lie among us?" "You have been taught history by your peers, madame," I said, with a bow; "I have been taught history by mine." "The sorry romance!" she said, bitterly. "It has brought me to this!" "It has brought others to their senses," I said, sharply. "To their knees, you mean!" "Yes--to their knees at last." "To the guillotine--yes!" "No, madame, to pray for their native land--too late!" "I think," she said, "that we are not fitted to understand each other." "It remains," I said, "for me to thank you for your kindness to us all, and for your generosity to me in my time of need.... It is quite useless for me to dream of repaying it.... I shall never forget it.... I ask leave to make my adieux, madame." She flushed to her temples, but did not answer. As I stood looking at her, a vivid flare of light flashed through the window behind me, crimsoning the walls, playing over the ceiling with an infernal radiance. At the same instant the gate outside crashed open, a hubbub of voices swelled into a roar; then the outer doors were flung back and a score of men sprang into the hallway, soldiers with the red torch-light dancing on rifle-barrels and bayonets. And before them, revolver swinging in his slender hand, strode Buckhurst, a red sash tied across his breast, his colorless eyes like diamonds. Speed and Jacqueline came hurrying through the hall to where I stood; Buckhurst's smile was awful as his eyes flashed from Speed to me. Behind him, close to his shoulder, the torch-light fell on Mornac's smooth, false face, stretched now into a ferocious grimace; behind him crowded the soldiers of the commune, rifles slung, craning their unshaven faces to catch a glimpse of us. "Demi-battalion, halt!" shouted an officer, and flung up his naked sabre. "Halt," repeated Buckhurst, quietly. Madame de Vassart's servants had come running from kitchen and stable at the first alarm, and now stood huddled in the court-yard, bewildered, cowed by the bayonets which had checked them. "Buckhurst," I said, "what the devil do you mean by this foolery?" and I started for him, shouldering my way among his grotesque escort. For an instant I looked into his deadly eyes; then he silently motioned me back; a dozen bayonets were levelled, forcing me to retire, inch by inch, until I felt Speed's grip on my arm. "That fellow means mischief," he whispered. "Have you a pistol?" "I gave mine to Eyre," I said, under my breath. "If he means us harm, don't resist or they may take revenge on the Countess. Speed, keep her in the room there! Don't let her come out." But the Countess de Vassart was already in the hall, facing Buckhurst with perfect composure. Twice she ordered him to leave; he looked up from his whispered consultation with Mornac and coolly motioned her to be silent. Once she spoke to Mornac, quietly demanding a reason for the outrage, and Mornac silenced her with a brutal gesture. "Madame," I said, "it is I they want. I beg you to retire." "You are my guest," she said. "My place is here." "Your place is where I please to put you!" broke in Mornac; and to Buckhurst: "I tell you she's as guilty as the others. Let me attend to this and make a clean sweep!" "Citizen Mornac will endeavor to restrain his zeal," observed Buckhurst, with a sneer. And then, as I looked at this slender, pallid man, I understood who was the dominant power behind the curtain; and so did Speed, for I felt him press my elbow significantly. He turned and addressed us, suavely, bowing with a horrid, mock deference to the Countess: "In the name of the commune! The ci-devant Countess de Vassart is accused of sheltering the individual Scarlett, late inspector of Imperial Police; the individual Speed, ex-inspector of Imperial Gendarmes; the individual Eyre, under general suspicion; the woman called Sylvia Elven, a German spy. As war-delegate of the commune, I am here to accuse!" There was a silence, then a low, angry murmur from the soldiers, which grew louder until Buckhurst turned on them. He did not utter a word, but the sullen roar died out, a bayonet rattled, then all was still in the dancing torch-light. "I accuse," continued Buckhurst, in a passionless voice, "the individual Scarlett of treachery to the commune; of using the telegraph for treacherous ends; of hoisting signals with the purpose of attracting government troops to destroy us. I accuse the individual Speed of aiding his companion in using the telegraph to stop the government train, thus depriving the commune of the funds which rightfully belong to it--the treasures wrung from wretched peasants by the aristocrats of an accursed monarchy and a thrice-accursed empire!" A roaring cheer burst from the excited soldiers, drowning the voice of Buckhurst. "Silence!" shouted Mornac, savagely. And as the angry voices were stilled, one by one, above the banging of rifle-stocks and the rattle of bayonets, Buckhurst's calm voice rose in a sinister monotone. "I accuse the woman Sylvia Elven of communication with Prussian agents; of attempted corruption of soldiers under my command. I accuse the citoyenne Éline Trécourt, lately known as the Countess de Vassart, of aiding, encouraging, and abetting these enemies of France!" He waited until the short, fierce yell of approval had died away. Then: "Call the soldier Rolland!" he said. My heart began to hammer in my throat. "I believe it's going hard with us," I muttered to Speed. "Listen," he motioned. I listened to the wretched creature Rolland while he told what had happened at the semaphore. In his eagerness he pushed close to where I stood, menacing me with every gesture, cursing and lashing himself into a rage, ignoring all pretence of respect and discipline for his own superiors. "What are you waiting for?" he shouted, insolently, turning on Buckhurst. "I tell the truth; and if this man can afford to pay hundreds of francs for a telegram, he must be rich enough to pluck, I tell you!" "You say he bribed you?" asked Buckhurst, gently. "Yes; I've said it twenty times, haven't I?" "And you took the bribes?" "Parbleu!" "And you thought if you admitted it and denounced the man who bribed you that you would help divide a few millions with us, you rogue?" suggested Buckhurst, admiringly. The wretch laughed outright. "And you believe that you deserve well of the commune?" smiled Buckhurst. The soldier grinned and opened his mouth to answer, and Buckhurst shot him through the face; and, as he fell, shot him again, standing wreathed in the smoke of his own weapon. The deafening racket of the revolver, the smoke, the spectacle of the dusty, inert thing on the floor over which Buckhurst stood and shot, seemed to stun us all. "I think," said Buckhurst, in a pleasantly persuasive voice, "that there will be no more bribery in this battalion." He deliberately opened the smoking weapon; the spent shells dropped one by one from the cylinder, clinking on the stone floor. "No--no more bribery," he mused, touching the dead man with the carefully polished toe of his shoe. "Because," he added, reloading his revolver, "I do not like it." He turned quietly to Mornac and ordered the corpse to be buried, and Mornac, plainly unnerved at the murderous act of his superior, repeated the order, cursing his men to cover the quaver in his voice. "As for you," observed Buckhurst, glancing up at us where we stood speechless together, "you will be judged and sentenced when this drum-head court decides. Go into that room!" The Countess did not move. Speed touched her arm; she looked up quietly, smiled, and stepped across the threshold. Speed followed; Jacqueline slipped in beside him, and then I turned on Buckhurst, who had just ordered his soldiers to surround the house outside. "As a matter of fact," I said, when the last armed ruffian had departed, "I am the only person in this house who has interfered with your affairs. The others have done nothing to harm you." "The court will decide that," he replied, balancing his revolver in his palm. I eyed him for an instant. "Do you mean harm to this unfortunate woman?" I asked. "My friend," he replied, in a low voice, "you have very stupidly upset plans that have cost me months to perfect. You have, by stopping that train, robbed me of something less than twenty millions of francs. I have my labor for my pains; I have this mob of fools on my hands; I may lose my life through this whim of yours; and if I don't, I have it all to begin again. And you ask me what I am going to do!" His eyes glittered. "If I strike her I strike you. Ask yourself whether or not I will strike." All the blood seemed to leave my heart; I straightened up with an effort. "There are some murders," I said, "that even you must recoil at." "I don't think you appreciate me," he replied, with a deathly smile. He motioned toward the door with levelled weapon. I turned and entered the tea-room, and he locked the door from the outside. The Countess, seated on the sofa, looked up as I appeared. She was terribly pale, but she smiled as my heavy eyes met hers. "Is it to be farce or tragedy, monsieur?" she asked, without a tremor in her clear voice. I could not have uttered a word to save my life. Speed, pacing the room, turned to read my face; and I think he read it, for he stopped short in his tracks. Jacqueline, watching him with blue, inscrutable eyes, turned sharply toward the window and peered out into the darkness. Beyond the wall of the garden the fog, made luminous by the torches of the insurgents, surrounded the house with a circle of bright, ruddy vapor. Speed came slowly across the room with me. "Do they mean to shoot us?" he asked, bluntly. "Messieurs," said the Countess, with a faint smile, "your whispers are no compliment to my race. Pray honor me by plain speaking. Are we to die?" We stood absolutely speechless before her. "Ah, Monsieur Scarlett," she said, gravely, "do you also fail me ... at the end?... You, too--even you?... Must I tell you that we of Trécourt fear nothing in this world?" She made a little gesture, exquisitely imperious. I stepped toward her; she waited for me to seat myself beside her. "Are we to die?" she asked. "Yes, madame." "Thank you," she said, softly. I looked up. My head was swimming so that I could scarcely see her, scarcely perceive the deep, steady tenderness in her clear eyes. "Do you not understand?" she asked. "You are my friend. I wished to know my fate from you." "Madame," I said, hoarsely, "how can you call me friend when you know to what I have brought you?" "You have brought me to know myself," she said, simply. "Why should I not be grateful? Why do you look at me so sadly, Monsieur Scarlett? Truly, you must know that my life has been long enough to prove its uselessness." "It is not true!" I cried, stung by remorse for all I had said. "Such women as you are the hope of France! Such women as you are the hope of the world! Ah, that you should consider the bitterness and folly of such a man as I am--that you should consider and listen to the sorry wisdom of a homeless mountebank--a wandering fool--a preacher of empty platitudes, who has brought you to this with his cursed meddling!" "You taught me truth," she said, calmly; "you make the last days of my life the only ones worth living. I said to you but an hour since--when I was angry--that we were unfitted to comprehend each other. It is not true. We are fitted for that. I had rather die with you than live without the friendship which I believe--which I know--is mine. Monsieur Scarlett, it is not love. If it were, I could not say this to you--even in death's presence. It is something better; something untroubled, confident, serene.... You see it is not love.... And perhaps it has no name.... For I have never before known such happiness, such peace, as I know now, here with you, talking of our death. If we could live,... you would go away.... I should be alone.... And I have been alone all my life,... and I am tired. You see I have nothing to regret in a death that brings me to you again.... Do you regret life?" "Not now," I said. "You are kind to say so. I do believe--yes, I know that you truly care for me.... Do you?" "Yes." "Then it will not be hard.... Perhaps not even very painful." The key turning in the door startled us. Buckhurst entered, and through the hallway I saw his dishevelled soldiers running, flinging open doors, tearing, trampling, pillaging, wrecking everything in their path. "Your business will be attended to in the garden at dawn," he observed, blinking about the room, for the bright lamp-light dazzled him. Speed, who had been standing by the window with Jacqueline, wheeled sharply, took a few steps into the room, then sank into a chair, clasping his lank hands between his knees. The Countess did not even glance up as the sentence was pronounced; she looked at me and laid her left hand on mine, smiling, as though waiting for the moment to resume an interrupted conversation. "Do you hear?" demanded Buckhurst, raising his voice. There was no answer for a moment; then Jacqueline stepped from the window and said: "Am I free to go?" "You!" said Buckhurst, contemptuously; "who in hell are you?" "I am Jacqueline." "Really," sneered Buckhurst. He went away, slamming and locking the door; and I heard Mornac complaining that the signals had gone out on the semaphore and that there was more treachery abroad. "Get me a horse!" said Buckhurst. "There are plenty of them in the stables. Mornac, you stay here; I'll ride over to the semaphore. Gut this house and fire it after you've finished that business in the garden to-morrow morning." "Where are you going?" demanded Mornac's angry voice. "Do you expect me to stay here while you start for Paris?" "You have your orders," said Buckhurst, menacingly. "Oh, have I? What are they? To stay here when the country is roused--stay here and perhaps be shelled by that damned cruiser out there--" His voice was stifled as though a hand had clutched his throat; there came the swift sound of a struggle, the banging of scabbards and spurs, the scuffle of heavy boots. "Are you mad?" burst out Mornac's strangled voice. "Are you?" breathed Buckhurst. "Silence, you fool. Do you obey orders or not?" Their voices receded. Speed sprang to the door to listen, then ran back to the window. "Scarlett," he whispered, "there are the lights of a vessel at anchor off Groix." I was beside him in an instant. "It's the cruiser," I said. "Oh, Speed, for a chance to signal!" We looked at each other desperately. "We could set the room afire," he said; "they might land to see what had happened." "And find us all shot." Jacqueline, standing beside Speed, said, quietly: "I could swim it. Wait. Raise the window a little." "You cannot dive from that cliff!" I said. She cautiously unlocked the window and peered out into the dark garden. "The cliff falls sheer from the wall yonder," she whispered. "I shall try to drop. I learned much in the circus. I am not afraid, Speed. I shall drop into the sea." "To your death," I said. "Possibly, m'sieu. It is a good death, however. I am not afraid." "Close the window," muttered Speed. "They'd shoot her from the wall, anyway." Again the child gravely asked permission to try. "No," said Speed, harshly, and turned away. But in that instant Jacqueline flung open the window and vaulted into the garden. Before I could realize what had happened she was only a glimmering spot in the darkness. Then Speed and I followed her, running swiftly toward the foot of the garden, but we were too late; a slim, white shape rose from the top of the wall and leaped blindly out through the ruddy torch glare into the blackness beyond. We heard a soldier's startled cry, a commotion, curses, and astonished exclamations from the other side of the wall. "It was something, I tell you!" roared a soldier. "Something that jumped over the cliff!" "It was an owl, idiot!" retorted his comrade. "I tell you I saw it!" protested the other, in a shaking voice. "Then you saw a witch of Ker-Ys," bawled another. "Look out for your skin in the first battle. It's death to see such things." I looked at Speed. He stood wide-eyed, staring at vacancy. "Could she do it?" I asked, horrified. "God knows," he whispered. Soldiers were beginning to clamber up the garden wall from the outside; torches were raised to investigate. As we shrank back into the shadow of the shrubbery I stumbled over something soft--Jacqueline's clothes, lying in a circle as she had stepped out of them. Speed took them. I followed him, creeping back to the window, where we entered in time to avoid discovery by a wretch who had succeeded in mounting the wall, torch in hand. One or two soldiers climbed over and dropped into the garden, prowling around, prodding the bushes with their bayonets, even coming to press their dirty faces and hands against our window. "They're all here!" sang out one. "It was an owl, I tell you!" And he menaced us with his rifle in pantomime and retired, calling his companions to follow. "Where is Jacqueline?" asked the Countess, looking anxiously at the little blue skirt on Speed's knees. "Have they harmed that child?" I told her. A beautiful light grew in her eyes as she listened. "Did I not warn you that we Bretons know how to die?" she said. I looked dully at Speed, who sat by the window, brooding over the little woollen skirt on his knees, stroking it, touching the torn hem, and at last folding it with unaccustomed and shaky hands. There were noises outside our door, loud voices, hammering, the sound of furniture being dragged over stone floors, and I scarcely noticed it when our door was opened again. Then somebody called out our names; a file of half-drunken soldiers grounded arms in the passageway with a bang that brought us to our feet, as Mornac, flushed with wine, entered unsteadily, drawn sword in hand. "I'm damned if I stay here any longer," he broke out, angrily. "I'll see whether my rascals can't shoot straight by torch-light. Here, you! Scarlett, I mean! And you, Speed; and you, too, madame; patter your prayers, for you'll get no priest. Lieutenant, withdraw the guard at the wall. Here, captain, march the battalion back to Paradise and take the servants!" A second later the drums began to beat, but Mornac, furious, silenced them. "They can hear you at sea!" he shouted. "Do you want a boat-load of marines at your heels? Strike out those torches! Four will do for the garden. March!" The shuffling tread of the insurgent infantry echoed across the gravel court-yard; torches behind the walls were extinguished; blackness enveloped the cliffs. "Well," broke out Speed, hoarsely, "good-bye, Scarlett." He held out his hand. "Good-bye," I said, stunned. I dropped my hand as two soldiers placed themselves on either side of him. "Well, good-bye," he repeated, aimlessly; and then, remembering, he went to the Countess and offered his hand. "I am so sorry for you," she said, with a pallid smile. "You have much to live for. But you must not feel lonely, monsieur; you will be with us--we shall be close to you." She turned to me, and her hands fell to her side. "Are you contented?" she asked. "Yes," I answered. "I, too," she said, sweetly, and offered her hands. I held them very tightly. "You say," I whispered, "that it is not--love. But you do not speak for me. I love you." A bright blush spread over brow and neck. "So--it was love--after all," she said, under her breath. "God be with us to-day--I love you." "March!" cried Mornac, as two soldiers took station beside me. "I beg you will be gentle with this lady," I said, angrily, as two more soldiers pushed up beside the young Countess and laid their hands on her shoulders. "Who the devil are you giving orders to?" shouted Mornac, savagely. "March!" Speed passed out first; I followed; the Countess came behind me. "Courage," I stammered, looking back at her as we stumbled out into the torch-lit garden. She smiled adorably. Her forefathers had mounted the guillotine smiling. Mornac pointed to the garden wall near the bench where we had sat together. A soldier dressed like a Turco lifted a torch and set it in the flower-bed under the wall, illuminating the spot where we were to stand. As this soldier turned to come back I saw his face. "Salah Ben-Ahmed!" I cried, hoarsely. "Do Marabouts do this butcher's work?" The Turco stared at me as though stunned. "Salah Ben-Ahmed is a disgraced soldier!" I said, in a ringing voice. "It's a lie!" he shouted, in Arabic--"it's a lie, O my inspector! Speak! Have these men tricked me? Are you not Prussians?" "Silence! Silence!" bawled Mornac. "Turco, fall in! Fall in, I say! What! You menace me?" he snarled, cocking his revolver. Then a man darted out of the red shadows of the torch-light and fell upon Mornac with a knife, and dragged him down and rolled on him, stabbing him through and through, while the mutilated wretch screamed and screamed until his soul struggled out through the flame-shot darkness and fled to its last dreadful abode. The Lizard rose, shaking his fagot knife; they fell upon him, clubbing and stabbing with stock and bayonet, but he swung his smeared and sticky blade, clearing a circle around him. And I think he could have cut his way free had not Tric-Trac shot him in the back of the head. Then a frightful tumult broke loose. Three of the torches were knocked to the ground and trampled out as the insurgents, doubly drunken with wine and the taste of blood, seized me and tried to force me against the wall; but the Turco, with his shrill, wolf-like battle yelp, attacked them, sabre-bayonet in hand. Speed, too, had wrested a rifle from a half-stupefied ruffian, and now stood at bay before the Countess; I saw him wielding his heavy weapon like a flail; then in the darkness Tric-Trac shot at me, so close that the powder-flame scorched my leg. He dropped his rifle to spring for my throat, knocking me flat, and, crouching on me, strove to strangle me; and I heard him whining with eagerness while I twisted and writhed to free my windpipe from his thin fingers. At last I tore him from my body and struggled to my feet. He, too, was on his legs with a bound, running, doubling, dodging; and at his heels I saw a dozen sailors, broadaxes glittering, chasing him from tree to shrub. "Speed!" I shouted--"the sailors from the _Fer-de-Lance_!" The curtains of the house were on fire; through the hallway poured the insurgent soldiery, stampeding in frantic flight across the court out into the moors; and the marines, swarming along the cliffs, shot at them as they ran, and laughed savagely when a man fell into the gorse, kicking like a wounded rabbit. Speed marked their flight, advancing coolly, pistol flashing; the Turco, Ben-Ahmed, dark arms naked to the shoulder, bounded behind the frightened wretches, cornering, hunting them through flower-beds and bushes, stealthily, keenly, now creeping among the shadows, now springing like a panther on his prey, until his blue jacket reeked and his elbows dripped. I had picked up a rifle with a broken bayonet; the Countess, clasping my left arm, stood swaying in the rifle-smoke, eyes closed; and, when a horrid screeching arose from the depths of the garden where they were destroying Tric-Trac, she fell to shuddering, hiding her face on my shoulder. Suddenly Speed appeared, carrying a drenched little figure, partly wrapped in a sailor's pea-jacket, slim limbs drooping, blue with cold. "Put out that fire in there," he said, hoarsely; "we must get her into bed. Hurry, for God's sake, Scarlett! There's nobody in the house!" "Jacqueline! Jacqueline! brave little Bretonne," murmured the Countess, bending forward and gathering the unconscious child into her strong, young arms. Through the dim dawn, through smoke and fading torch-light, we carried Jacqueline into the house, now lighted up with an infernal red from the burning dining-room. "The house is stone; we can keep the flames to one room if we work hard," I said. A sailor stood by the door wiping the stained blade of his broadaxe, and I called on him to aid us. A fresh company of sailors passed on the double, rifles trailing, their officer shouting encouragement, And as we came in view of the semaphore, I saw the signal tower on fire from base to top. The gray moorland was all flickering with flashes where the bulk of the insurgent infantry began firing in retreat; the marines' fusillade broke out from Paradise village; rifle after rifle cracked along the river-bank. Suddenly the deep report of a cannon came echoing landward from the sea; a shell, with lighted fuse trailing sparks, flew over us with a rushing whistle and exploded on the moors. All this I saw from the house where I stood with Speed and a sailor, buried in smoke, chopping out blazing woodwork, tearing the burning curtains from the windows. The marines fired steadily from the windows above us. "They want the Red Terror!" laughed the sailors. "They shall have it!" "Hunt them out! Hunt them out!" cried an officer, briskly. "Fire!" rang out a voice, and the volley broke crashing, followed by the clear, penetrating boatswain's whistle sounding the assault. Blackened, scorched, almost suffocated, I staggered back to the tea-room, where the Countess stood clasping Jacqueline, huddled in a blanket, and smoothing the child's wet curls away from a face as white as death. Together we carried her back through the smoking hallway, up the stairs to my bedroom, and laid her in the bed. The child opened her eyes as we drew the blankets. "Where is Speed?" she asked, dreamily. A moment later he came in, and she turned her head languidly and smiled. "Jacqueline! Jacqueline!" he whispered, bending close above her. "Do you love me, Speed?" "Ah, Jacqueline," he stammered, "more than you can understand." Suddenly a step sounded on the stairs, a rifle-stock grounded, clanging, and a sonorous voice rang out: "Salute, O my brother of the toug! The enemies of France are dead!" And in the silence around him Salah Ben-Ahmed the Marabout recited the fatha, bearing witness to the eternal unity of God. * * * * * Late that night the light cavalry from Lorient rode into Paradise. At dawn the colonel, established in the mayory, from whence its foolish occupant had fled, sent for Speed and me, and when we reported he drew from his heavy dolman our commissions, restoring us to rank and pay in the regiment _de marche_ which he commanded. At sunrise I had bade good-bye to the sweetest woman on earth; at noon we were miles to the westward, riding like demons on Buckhurst's heavy trail. I am not sure that we ever saw him again, though once, weeks later, Speed and I and a dozen hussars gave chase to a mounted man near St. Brieuc, and that man might have been Buckhurst. He led us a magnificent chase straight to the coast, where we rode plump into a covey of Prussian hussars, who were standing on their saddles, hacking away at the telegraph-wires with their heavy, curved sabres. That was our first and last sight of the enemy in either Prussian or communistic guise, though in the long, terrible days and nights of that winter of '71, when three French armies froze, and the white death, not the Prussians, ended all for France, rumors of insurrection came to us from the starving capital, and we heard of the red flag flying on the Hôtel-de-Ville, and the rising of the carbineers under Flourens; and some spoke of the leader of the insurrection and called him John Buckhurst. That Buckhurst could have penetrated Paris neither Speed nor I believed; but, as all now know, we were wrong, though the testimony concerning his death[A] at the hands of his terrible colleague, Mortier, was not in evidence until a young ruffian, known as "The Mouse," confessed before he expiated his crimes on Sartory Plain in 1872. Thus, for three blank, bitter months, freezing and starving, the 1st Regiment _de marche_ of Lorient Hussars stood guard at Brest over the diamonds of the crown of France. ----- [A] This affair is dealt with in _Ashes of Empire_. XXII THE SECRET The news of the collapse of the army of the East found our wretchedly clothed and half-starved hussars still patrolling the environs of Brest from Belair to the Pont Tournant, and from the banks of the Elorn clear around the ramparts to Lannion Bay, where the ice-sheathed iron-clads lay with banked fires off the Port Militaire, and the goulet guard-boats patrolled the Port de Commerce from the Passe de l'Ouest to the hook on the Digue and clear around to Cap Espagnol. All Brest, from the battlements of the Château of St. Martin, in Belair, was on watch, so wrought up was the governor over the attempt on the treasure-train. For three months our troopers scarcely left their saddles, except to be taken to the hospital in Recouvrance. The rigor of the constant alert wore us to shadows; rockets from the goulet, the tocsin, the warning boom of a gun from the castle, found us spurring our jaded horses through ice and snow to scour the landward banlieue and purge it of a dreaded revolt. The names of Marx, of Flourens, of Buckhurst, were constantly repeated; news of troubles at Bordeaux, rumors of the red flag at Marseilles, only served to increase the rigid system of patrol, which brought death to those in the trenches as well as to our sleet-soaked videttes. Suddenly the nightmare ended with a telegram. Paris had surrendered. Immediately the craze to go beset us all; our improvised squadrons became clamoring mobs of peasants, wild to go home. Deserters left us every night; they shot some in full flight; some were shot after drum-head séances in which Speed and I voted in vain for acquittal. But affairs grew worse; our men neglected their horses; bands of fugitives robbed the suburbs, roving about, pillaging, murdering, even burning the wretched hovels where nothing save the four walls remained even for the miserable inmates. Our hussars were sent on patrol again, but they deserted with horses and arms in scores, until, when we rode into the Rue du Bois d'Amour, scarce a squadron clattered into the smoky gateway, and the infantry of the line across the street jeered and cursed us from their barracks. On the last day of February our regiment was disbanded, and the officers ordered to hold themselves in readiness to recruit the débris of a dragoon regiment, one squadron of which at once took possession of our miserable barracks. On the first day of March, by papers from London, we learned that the war was at an end, and that the preliminary treaty of Sunday, the 26th, had been signed at Versailles. The same mail brought to me an astonishing offer from Cairo, to assist in the reorganization and accept a commission in the Egyptian military police. Speed and I, shivering in our ragged uniforms by the barrack stove, discussed the matter over a loaf of bread and a few sardines, until we fell asleep in our greasy chairs and dreamed of hot sunshine, and of palms, and of a crimson sunset against which a colossal basking monster, half woman, half lion, crouched, wallowing to her stone breasts in a hot sea of sand. When I awoke in the black morning hours I knew that I should go. All the roaming instinct in me was roused. I, a nomad, had stayed too long in one stale place; I must be moving on. A feverish longing seized me; inertia became unbearable; the restless sea called me louder and louder, thundering on the breakwater; the gulls, wheeling above the arsenal at dawn, screamed a challenge. Leave of absence, and permission to travel pending acceptance of my resignation, I asked for and obtained before the stable trumpets awoke my comrade from his heavy slumber by the barrack stove. I made my packet--not much--a few threadbare garments folded around her letters, one to mark each miserable day that had passed since I spurred my horse out of Trécourt on the track of the wickedest man I ever knew. Speed awoke with the trumpets, and stared at me where I knelt before the stove in my civilian clothes, strapping up my little packet. "Oh," he said, briefly, "I knew you were going." "So did I," I replied. "Will you ride to Trécourt with me? I have two weeks' permission for you." He had no clothing but the uniform he wore, and no baggage except a razor, a shirt, a tooth-brush, and a bundle of letters, all written on Madame de Vassart's crested paper, but not signed by her. We bolted our breakfast of soup and black bread, and bawled for our horses, almost crazed with impatience, now that the moment had come at last. "Good-bye!" shouted the shivering dragoon officers, wistfully, as we wheeled our horses and spurred, clattering, towards the black gates. "Good-bye and good luck! We drink to those you love, comrades!" "And they shall drink to you! Good-bye! Good-bye!" we cried, till the salt sea-wind tore the words from our teeth and bowed our heads as we galloped through the suburbs and out into the icy high-road, where, above us, the telegraph-wires sang their whirring dirge, and the wind in the gorse whistled, and the distant forest sounded and resounded with the gale's wailing. On, on, hammering the flinty road with steel-shod hoofs, racing with the racing clouds, thundering across the pontoon, where benumbed soldiers huddled to stare, then bounding forward through the narrow lanes of hamlets, where pinched faces peered out at us from hovels, and gaunt dogs fled from us into the frozen hedge. Far ahead we caught sight of the smoke of a locomotive. "Landerneau!" gasped Speed. "Ride hard, Scarlett!" The station-master saw us and halted the moving train at a frantic signal from Speed, whose uniform was to be reckoned with by all station-masters, and ten minutes later we stood swaying in a cattle-car, huddled close to our horses to keep warm, while the locomotive tore eastward, whistling frantically, and an ocean of black smoke poured past, swarming with sparks. Crossing the Aune trestle with a ripping roar, the train rushed through Châteaulin, south, then east, then south. Toward noon, Speed, clinging to the stall-bars, called out to me that he could see Quimper, and in a few moments we rolled into the station, dropped two cars, and steamed out again into the beautiful Breton country, where the winter wheat was green as new grass and the gorse glimmered, and the clear streams rushed seaward between their thickets of golden willows and green briers, already flushing with the promise of new buds. Rosporden we passed at full speed; scarcely a patch of melting snow remained at Bannalec; and when we steamed slowly into Quimperlé, the Laïta ran crystal-clear as a summer stream, and I saw the faint blue of violets on the southern slope of the beech-woods. Some gendarmes aided us to disembark our horses, and a sub-officer respectfully offered us hospitality at the barracks across the square; but we were in our saddles the moment our horses' hoofs struck the pavement, galloping for Paradise, with a sweet, keen wind blowing, hinting already of the sea. This was that same road which led me into Paradise on that autumn day which seemed years and years ago. The forests were leafless but beautiful; the blackthorns already promised their scented snow to follow the last melting drift which still glimmered among the trees in deep woodland gullies. A violet here and there looked up at us with blue eyes; in sheltered spots, fresh, reddish sprouts pricked the moist earth, here a whorl of delicate green, there a tender spike, guarding some imprisoned loveliness; buds on the beeches were brightening under a new varnish; naked thickets, no longer dead gray, softened into harmonies of pink and gold and palest purple. Once, halting at a bridge, above the quick music of the stream we heard an English robin singing all alone. "I never longed for spring as I do now," broke out Speed. "The horror of this black winter has scarred me forever--the deathly whiteness, month after month; the freezing filth of that ghastly city; the sea, all slime and ice!" "Gallop," I said, shuddering. "I can smell the moors of Paradise already. The winds will cleanse us." We spoke no more; and at last the road turned to the east, down among the trees, and we were traversing the square of Paradise village, where white-capped women turned to look after us, and children stared at us from their playground around the fountain, and the sleek magpies fluttered out of our path as we galloped over the bridge and breasted the sweet, strong moor wind, spicy with bay and gorse. Speed flung out his arm, pointing. "The circus camp was there," he said. "They have ploughed the clover under." A moment later I saw the tower of Trécourt, touched with a ray of sunshine, and the sea beyond, glittering under a clearing sky. As we dismounted in the court-yard the sun flashed out from the fringes of a huge, snowy cloud. "There is Jacqueline!" cried Speed, tossing his bridle to me in his excitement, and left me planted there until a servant came from the stable. Then I followed, every nerve quivering, almost dreading to set foot within, lest happiness awake me and I find myself in the freezing barracks once more, my brief dream ended. In the hallway a curious blindness came over me. I heard Jacqueline call my name, and I felt her hands in mine, but scarcely saw her; then she slipped away from me, and I found myself seated in the little tea-room, listening to the dull, double beat of my own heart, trembling at distant sounds in the house--waiting, endlessly waiting. After a while a glimmer of common-sense returned to me. I squared my shoulders and breathed deeply, then rose and walked to the window. The twigs on the peach-trees had turned wine-color; around the roots of the larkspurs delicate little palmated leaves clustered; crocus spikes pricked the grass everywhere, and the tall, polished shoots of the peonies glistened, glowing crimson in the sun. A heavy cat sunned its sleek flanks on the wall, brilliant eyes half closed, tail tucked under. Ange Pitou had grown very fat in three months. A step at the door, and I wheeled, trembling. But it was only a Breton maid, who bore some letters on a salver of silver. "For me?" I asked. "If you please," she said, demurely. Two letters, and I knew the writing on one. The first I read standing: "Buffalo, N. Y., Feb. 3, 1871. "Mr. Scarlett, Dear Sir and Friend,--Trusting you're well I am pleased to admit the same, the blind Goddess having smiled on me and the circus since we quit that damn terra firma for a more peeceful climb. "We are enjoying winter quarters near to the majestic phenomena of Niagara, fodder is cheap and vittles bountiful. "Would be pleased to have you entertain idees of joining us, and the same to Mr. Speed--you can take the horses. I have a lion man from Jersey City. We open in Charleston S. C. next week no more of La continong for me, _savvy voo_! home is good enough for me. That little Jacqueline left me I got a girl and am training her but she ain't Jacqueline. Annimals are well Mrs. Grigg sends her love and is joined by all especially the ladies and others too numerous to mention. Hoping to hear from you soon about the horses I remain yours truly and courteously, "H. Byram Esq." The second letter I opened carelessly, smiling a little: "New York, Feb. 1, 1871. "Dear Mr. Scarlett,--We were married yesterday. We have life before us, but are not afraid. I shall never forget you; my wife can never forget the woman you love. We have both passed through hell--but _we have passed through alive_. And we pray for the happiness of you and yours. "Kelly Eyre." Sobered, I laid this letter beside the first, turned thoughtfully away into the room, then stood stock-still. The Countess de Vassart stood in the doorway, a smile trembling on her lips. In her gray eyes I read hope; and I took her hands in mine. She stood silent with bent head, exquisite in her silent shyness; and I told her I loved her, and that I asked for her love; that I had found employment in Egypt, and that it was sufficient to justify my asking her to wed me. "As for my name," I said, "you know that is not the name I bear; yet, knowing that, you have given me your love. You read my dossier in Paris; you know _why_ I am alone, without kin, without a family, without a home. Yet you believe that I am not tainted with dishonor. And I am not. Listen, this is what happened; this is why I gave up all; and ... this is my name!" ... And I bent my head and whispered the truth for the first time in my life to any living creature. When I had ended I stood still, waiting, head still bowed beside hers. She laid her hand on my hot face and slowly drew it close beside hers. "What shall I promise you?" she whispered. "Yourself, Éline." "Take me.... Is that all?" "Your love." She turned in my arms and clasped her hands behind my head, pressing her mouth to mine. 
41689	----	Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). A carat character is used to denote superscription. A single character following the carat is superscripted (example: Sept^r). Multiple superscripted characters are enclosed by curly brackets (example: 1^{st}). [Illustration: James Robinson & Sons Dublin, Photo. Walker & Boutall Ph. Sc. Charles E Ryan] WITH AN AMBULANCE DURING THE FRANCO-GERMAN WAR Personal Experiences and Adventures with Both Armies 1870-1871 by CHARLES E. RYAN, F.R.C.S.I., M.R.C.P.I. Knight of the Order of Louis II, of Bavaria With Portrait and Maps New York Charles Scribner's Sons 153-157 Fifth Avenue 1896 Aberdeen University Press. TO JAMES TALBOT POWER, MY OLD FRIEND AND SCHOOLFELLOW, I DEDICATE THE FOLLOWING PAGES. PREFACE. Ere I attempt to set before the public this slight record of my experiences during the Franco-German War, I must first disclaim all pretence to literary merit. It was written in 1873, and is simply an embodiment of a series of notes or jottings, taken during the war in my spare moments, together with the contents of a number of descriptive letters to my friends. They were written solely for them, and nothing was farther from my mind at the time than the idea of publication. Thus, they remained in a recess of my study for nearly a quarter of a century, until a new generation had grown up around me; and doubtless, but for their friendly importunity, there they would have lain until the memory of their author, like the ink in which they were written, had faded to a blank. I would ask my readers to bear in their kindly recollection that the scope of such a work as the following must of necessity be limited. As a medical man, I had at all times and in all places my duties to perform; hence I have been unable to be as elaborate as other circumstances might warrant. I would also remind them (and every one who has been through a campaign will know) how vague and uncertain is the information which subordinates possess of the general movements of the army with which they are serving. It happens occasionally that they are wholly ignorant of events occurring around them, the news of which may have already reached the other side of the world. Again, I am greatly impressed with the difficulty of representing, in anything like adequate language, those scenes--some of which have already been delineated by the marvellous pen of M. Zola in _La Débâcle_--which the general public could never have fancied, still less have realised, except by the aid of a masterly exposition of facts such as that stirring chronicle of the war has given. In it the writer has dealt rather with history as it occurred, than invented an imaginary tale; and those who were eye-witnesses of Sedan can add little to his description. For many reasons, therefore, I am filled with the sense of my own incompetence to do justice to my subject. But I console myself with the reflection that my theme is full of interest to the present generation. Nor does it appear a vain undertaking if one who was permitted to see much of both sides should give his impressions as they occurred, and in the language he would have used at the time. My feeling throughout has been that of a witness under examination. I have endeavoured to narrate the incidents which I saw, certainly with as close an approach to the reality as I could command, and, if in a somewhat unvarnished tale, yet, as I trust, have set down nought in malice. I have added no colour which the original sketch did not contain; and have been careful not to darken the shading. CHARLES E. RYAN. GLENLARA, TIPPERARY, _January, 1896_. CHAPTER I. FROM DUBLIN TO PARIS VIA BRUSSELS.--THE WAR FEVER.--LEVIES TO THE FRONT. The first question friends will naturally ask is, how I came to think of going abroad to take part in the struggle between France and Germany, what prompted me to do so, and by what combination of circumstances my hastily arranged plans were realised. These points I will endeavour to explain. From the outset of the war I took a deep interest in the destinies of France, and warmly sympathised with her in her affliction. I longed earnestly to be of some service to her; indeed, my enthusiasm was so great at the time that I would even have fought for her could I have done so. I was then studying medicine in Dublin, and was in my twenty-first year. Just about the time of the battles of Weissenburg and Wörth nearly every one in Dublin was collecting old linen to make _charpie_ for the French wounded; and, as I could do nothing else, I exerted myself in getting together from my friends all the material I could procure for the purpose. Day by day news poured in of French defeats following one another in close succession, with long lists of killed and wounded; while among other details I learnt that the French were very short of medical men and skilled dressers, and that the sufferings of the wounded were, in consequence, beyond description. I thought to myself, "Now is my opportunity. If I could but get out to those poor fellows I might render them some substantial assistance; and what an amount of suffering might one not alleviate did one but give them a draught of cold water to appease their agonising thirst!" For a few days these thoughts occupied my mind almost to the exclusion of every other. It happened one evening, when I was returning by train from Kingstown, that I met Dr. Walshe, surgeon to Jervis Street Hospital. During the course of our conversation, which was upon the then universal topic of the Franco-German War, he remarked that if he were unmarried and as young and active as I was, he would at once go over to France, and seek a place either in a military field hospital or in an ambulance, or endeavour to get into the Foreign Legion, which was then being enrolled, adding, that he greatly wondered no one as yet had left Dublin with this object. I replied, "I shall be the first, then, to lead the way"; and there and then made up my mind to set out. It was the 12th of August, 1870. I endeavoured to discover some kindred spirit who would come out with me and share my adventures, but not one could I find. Those who had not very plausible reasons at hand, to disguise those which perhaps they had, laughed at my proposal, and appeared to look upon me as little better than a mad fellow. How could I dream of going out alone to a foreign country, where the fiercest war of the century was raging? Even some of my professors joined in the laugh, and good-humouredly wished me God-speed and a pleasant trip, adding that they were sure I should be back again in a few days. Two of them had, in fact, just returned from Paris, where they could find nothing to do; and they reported that it was dangerous to remain longer, as the populace were marching up and down the streets in the most disorderly fashion, and strangers ran no small risk of being treated as Prussian spies. All this was unpleasant to hear; but I was determined not to be thwarted; and so, portmanteau in hand, I stepped on board the Kingstown boat. It was the 15th August, a most glorious autumn evening, and the sea was beautifully calm. I now felt that my enterprise had begun, and as I stood on deck watching the beautiful scenery of Dublin Bay receding from my view, the natural reflection occurred that this might be the last time I should see my native land. I was leaving the cherished inmates of that bright little spot, which I now more than ever felt was my home. It would be my first real experience of the world, and I was about to enter upon the battle of life alone. Arriving in London on the morning of the 16th, and having spent the day with some of my school friends, in the evening I went on board the Ostend boat at St. Katharine's wharf. We were to start at four o'clock next morning. I slept until I was awakened by the rolling of the vessel out at sea. The boat was a villainous little tub, and appeared to me to go round like a teetotum. We had an unusually long and rough passage of sixteen hours, and I was fearfully ill the whole time. When we arrived at Ostend, so bad was I that I could not leave my cabin until long after everybody else. Hence a friend of mine, Monsieur le Chevalier de Sauvage Vercourt, who had come up from Liège to meet me, made certain when he failed to perceive me among the passengers that I had missed the boat. On inquiring, however, of the steward if any one had remained below he discovered me. My friend gave me two letters of introduction, one to M. le Vicomte de Melun, which subsequently got me admitted into "La Société Française pour le secours aux blessés de terre et de mer"; the other to the Mayor, M. Lévy, asking him whether he could find a way for me into the Army as an assistant. When I had pulled myself together a bit, Vercourt and I dined together in the open air, at a Café on the Grande Promenade. It was the fashionable hour, and every one seemed to be in gala dress. Half, at least, of those we saw were English, the remainder French and Belgians. It is a curious sensation, that of being for the first time in a foreign country, where one's whole surroundings differ from all one has been accustomed to see and hear in one's native land. My boyish experience made everything, however trivial, a subject of interest. As I walked through the town with Vercourt, I was greatly struck by the civility of the people, their cleanliness and the neatness of their persons and dress, and above all by the absence of any visible wretchedness even among the poor. These points occupied our attention and conversation until we found ourselves on our way to Brussels. The country through which we passed, though really most unattractive, had for me many points of interest, and gave me an agreeable picture of what was meant by "foreign climes". The bright clean cottages and farmsteads, with their gardens and flowers, contrasted lamentably to my mind with the tumble-down dilapidated hovels of mud, surrounded by slush and water, which I had been accustomed to see from my childhood. Everything bespoke the comfort, happiness, and prosperity of these people. The neatly trimmed hedges with which every field is fenced, the lines of poplars skirting the roadways and canals give a surprisingly smart and cultivated aspect to the whole face of the country. I was greatly struck by the blue smocks and wooden sabots of the men and women. Even the children in the rural parts of Belgium wear these wooden shoes. During our stoppages at the different stations the Flemish jargon, as in my untravelled ignorance I called it, of the rustics amused me. I noticed in one part of the country that all the pumps had their handles at the top, and that these moved up and down like the ramrod of a gun. It was novel to see the people on stools working them. At ten o'clock that night we arrived in Brussels, and put up at the Hôtel de Suède. My friend and I rose early next morning, and went sight-seeing. He was an _habitué_ of the place, so our time was spent to the best advantage. That Brussels is a most charming town was my first impression; and I think so still. My delight at seeing the Rue de la Reine and the Boulevards leading from it I shall not easily forget. A city beautifully timbered and abounding in fountains, grass, and flowers, was indeed a novelty to one whose experience of cities had been gained in smoky London and dear dirty Dublin. In the Rue de la Reine I remarked the two carriage-ways, divided by a grove of trees. This plantation consisted of full-grown limes, elms, sycamores, arbutus, and acacias. There was yet another row on the footpath, next the houses. The breadth of this long Boulevard may be about that of Sackville Street. It was a beautiful sunny day, and as I sauntered along beneath the trees something new met my eye at every turn. I was struck by such a simple matter as seeing the carriages dash into the courtyards through the open gates, instead of stopping in the street, whilst the occupants were making a morning call. Then the high-stepping horses and the gaudy equipages were enough, as I thought, to dazzle the youthful mind. One could live here a lifetime and never know that such a thing as dirt existed,--at all events, in the sense with which we were only too conversant in some parts of my native land twenty-five years ago. These simple observations of the boy at his first start in life make me smile as I read them over. Yet I do not think that I ought to suppress them; for who is there that has not felt the indescribable charm of those early days, when the commonest things in our journeying fill the mind as if they were a wonder in themselves? And what is there in the grown man's travels to equal that opening glimpse of a world we have so often heard talked about, yet never have seen with our eyes until now? But to return. It was in the Rue du Pont that I first saw the tramways. I went in one of the cars to the superb Park, which is as fine as any in Europe, and of which Brussels is so justly proud. It amused me beyond measure to see the butchers', bakers', and grocers' boys driving about their carts drawn by teams of huge dogs, varying in number from one to four. While the drivers were delivering their goods the poor animals would lie down in their harness with their tongues out, until a short chirp brought them on their feet again, ready to start. This seemed for them the most difficult part, since once set going, they went at a great rate, apparently without much trouble, and rather enjoying their task than otherwise. I have seen teams of dogs so fresh that they were all barking whilst they tore along the street at full speed. In the evening the cafés were beautifully illuminated; and seated beneath the trees hundreds of people enjoyed their cigarettes and _café noir_, while they discussed, with many and vigorous gesticulations, the affairs of Europe. In the afternoon of the 18th I bade good-bye to my kind friend Vercourt, who had been so admirable a cicerone to me, and took my seat in the train for Paris. During our journey I was rudely awakened from a sound sleep at one station by every one suddenly jumping on their legs and crying out, "_La douane!_" while they seized their luggage, and rushed out of the train as if it were on fire. If you did not do the same you were unceremoniously bundled out by the officials. To every inquiry I got the same answer, "_C'est la douane_". Now this word was not in my vocabulary. I may observe that at my school French was taught on the good old plan, out of Racine and "Télémaque," in which commercial terms are not abundant, and hence I did not know in the least the meaning of "_la douane_"; it might have signified fire, blood or murder; and I was for a long time sorely puzzled. I thought in my drowsy confusion that some part of the train had broken down, and that all the passengers and luggage had to be removed with as much haste as possible. But when I, a passenger to Paris, saw a fellow seize my portmanteau and disappear with it through one of the doors, it was too much for me; I went after my effects, collared him, and asked him, in the best French I could muster, where he was going with my property. A big gendarme explained the situation, and pointed to a large room, where the rattling of keys and opening of boxes soon made his interpretation unnecessary. On returning to my carriage I found myself next a middle-aged gentleman, who, though he spoke French fluently to his neighbours, was evidently an Englishman. We joined in conversation, and he seemed to know more about Ireland and Irish affairs than I did myself, which, in truth, might easily have been. He had such a frank, genial manner, and appeared to feel so genuine a sympathy, not only with my own countrymen, but with poor suffering France, that I confided to him my story and mission, which evidently pleased him; and he told me that he would get me a cheap billet from his landlady in the Hôtel de l'Opéra, a comfortable hotel centrally situated opposite the new Opera House. He had told me his name was Steel, but vouchsafed no further information about himself. When we arrived in Paris he was accosted by several of the officials as Monsieur le Général; and he bade me stay with him, and said that he would accompany me to my hotel. Having, after much tiresome waiting, got possession of our luggage, we passed out of the station between two lines of soldiers, and were carefully and closely inspected before being allowed to proceed. A whisper from my new friend the General appeared to be a magic pass, for every one seemed to know him. A stalwart gendarme demanded my passport, took down my name and address, where I last came from, and what was my business in Paris, and then let me go. When we arrived at the Hôtel de l'Opéra, again the concierge greeted my mysterious friend with the title of M. le Général, when he hurried upstairs, bidding me wait until he came down, and he would go out with me to dine at a restaurant. As I stepped outside the door and looked up and down the Boulevards, I knew at once that what I had heard and read of the beauties of Paris as seen by night was no fiction, but a bright reality. What added to the novelty of the scene was that the whole populace seemed to be in a fever of excitement. I asked my friend what was it all about. He told me that they were rejoicing because a proclamation had just been made from the Mairie of three glorious victories won by their arms. This accounted for the bands of civilians, thousands in each, composed of labourers and artisans, who were marching boisterously up and down the streets, cheering and singing the "Marseillaise," with flags and banners flying of every colour and description. The sight was at first appalling, as that momentary glance recalled to my mind so vividly what I had read about the scenes enacted in the streets of Paris during the first Revolution, by a similar communistic and ungovernable mob. Yet I thought the whole thing good fun; but my friend warned me not to speak, and told me to keep out of the streets at night. It was dangerous for a stranger to go out after dark, since the populace were apt to take him for a spy, or as being there in the interest of the enemy, and this might mean instantaneous death. Such things had occurred lately. We now turned into the Café Anglais, and dined very well, after which my mysterious friend took leave of me and disappeared. I only saw him again for five minutes a few days subsequently, and have never set eyes on him since, nor could I get any satisfactory information at the hotel, although they informed me that he was a resident in Paris, and was often at the Hôtel de l'Opéra. Perhaps some reader of these pages may know more concerning M. le Général Steel than I ever did. Who and what was he? But conjecture is idle work, and I must get on with my story. Having seen Brussels before Paris, the latter did not make that impression which it generally does on one who views it for the first time, before he has visited any other of the capital cities on the Continent,--for Brussels is a miniature Paris. I walked up and down the Boulevards, observing everything and everybody, until, feeling somewhat tired, I looked at my watch, and found to my astonishment that it was nearly one o'clock, so I returned to my hotel and went to bed, and dreamed of the glories of the city of pleasure. Next morning, the 19th, I sallied out in quest of the Mansion House to which I had been directed. For some time I walked up and down the Boulevards in order to make observations as to my whereabouts, and to note my surroundings. My first great landmark was the beautiful new Opera House, which is one of the sights of Paris. Its massive pillars and wonderful display of allegorical figures, all in white marble, delighted me--as also did the wooded Boulevards with their gorgeous shops and all the pleasing sights which met my gaze at every turn. Having been only a few days in the country, I naturally felt a little shy at venturing into anything like a long conversation with the natives. Soon, however, I mustered up sufficient courage (to be wanting in which was to fail in my errand) to ask my way of one of those gaily dressed officers of the peace, who, from their gorgeous uniform and the dignity of their manners, I had made up my mind could be nothing less than majors-general of the reserve out for a stroll. My bad French elicited from this worthy only the most courteous civility, and he took the greatest pains to explain to me my route. As I went on I felt elated at this first experience of the proverbial civility of Frenchmen, and was sure that I should find it easy to get on with them. After some two miles of pleasant rambling, I arrived at the Mairie in the Place du Prince Eugène; but found that M. le Maire was out, so returned and dined at the Café Royale, opposite the Madeleine and afterwards visited the church, and walked outside it several times. It was from all sides alike massive and beautiful, nor was I disappointed at its interior, though I confess it did not impress me so much as the façade. Having spent an hour inspecting its details I took a cabriolet to the Mansion House, where, having sent in Vercourt's letter, I was ushered into the presence of M. le Maire, after about ten minutes waiting. This polished gentleman received me with the greatest kindness and civility, but explained that he could not procure me a place in the Army Medical Department. He referred me to l'Intendance Militaire, Rue St. Dominique, which was the Foreign Legion Office. I at once started afresh, and, having found out the officials to whom I was directed, they informed me that they had not the power of giving appointments, but that M. Michel Lévy, Medicine Inspecteur, Val de Grace, was the person to whom I should apply, at the same time assuring me that there was not the least use in my doing so, as the Foreign Legion was fully equipped and all the vacancies filled up. Believing this information to be correct, I set this last proposition aside and kept it in my sleeve as a _dernier ressort_. Although defeated in my object I was not in the least discouraged, for I had determined to make every effort before confessing myself beaten. As I was much fatigued, and it was too late to prosecute my plans any further that day, I went out for a stroll on the Boulevards. Presently I heard the trampling of horses coming down the street, mingled with the loud cheering of the populace. It was a troop of Cuirassiers, and in another minute I was in the midst of a seething crowd, and could perceive nothing around me but a sea of hands, hats, and heads in commotion. The civilians, who were in a wild state of excitement, cheered the troops, "Vive les Cuirassiers!" while the dragoons in return shouted "A Berlin!" and "Vive la France!"--not "Vive l'Empereur!" When they had passed, the excitement continued in another form, for a desperate-looking mob marched up and down in detachments as they had done upon the previous night, with flags flying, and banners waving, singing all the while "La Marseillaise" and the "Champs de la Patrie," with intervening shouts of "A Berlin". All this was of great interest to me, especially the singing. When the crowd joined in the chorus of their National Anthem the effect was something never to be forgotten. I now went to bed, feeling sleepy and done up from sheer excitement. Next day, the 20th August, a lovely morning, I found my way to the Palais de l'Industrie, where, after waiting three hours in a crowded ante-room, I presented my letter to M. le Vicomte de Melun, who came out to see me. This kind old gentleman spoke graciously, and desired me to come next day, when he would give me a place in an Ambulance. Fully satisfied this time with the result of my efforts I returned with a light heart, and having dined in the Rue Royale went out sight-seeing. A few hundred paces brought me into the Place de la Concorde, and, oh, what an incredibly magnificent sight presented itself from the centre of that beautiful square! I passed the rest of the evening in the Bois de Boulogne, and rising early next morning, full of hope, hastened to the Palais de l'Industrie, where, without much delay, I saw M. de Melun. He informed me with regret that every place in the Ambulances about to start had been filled up previous to my application. However, if I left my letters and certificates and came again on Tuesday morning, he would let me know, should there be a vacancy for me in any of those which were starting at the end of the week. This second disappointment greatly annoyed me, but I did not give in. As it was Sunday I hastened back to High Mass at the Madeleine, a grand choral and musical display. The constant clink of the money and the click of the beadle's staff as he strode along bespangled with gold lace and gaudy trappings, made prayer and recollection well nigh an impossibility. Coming out of church, I met an old schoolfellow of mine, a Parisian, with whom I had a long chat and pleasant walk in the Tuileries. He pointed out to me the Empress leaving the Palace by a private way, accompanied by some of her ladies-in-waiting. I may remark that she wore a dress of grey silk, trimmed with black crape. During the whole of this day troops continued to march through the city, some mere regiments of beardless boys, awkward and unsoldierlike, but with a true martial spirit, if one might judge by the hearty way in which they sang as they went along, and joined in the choruses. These were the latest levies, and were going to the front. Next day, Monday the 22nd, after many circuitous wanderings, I made my way to the Irish College; and left my letter of introduction to Father M----, who was not at home, but was expected the following day. When I got back I found that the Boulevards and Champs Elysées were thronged with noisy workmen singing the "Marseillaise" on their way home from the fortifications, where they had been employed in great numbers on the extensive works which were being now pushed forward night and day. To avoid being jostled by the mob I took a place on the top of an omnibus. It was dusk, and as we came down the Champs Elysées, the beautifully illuminated gardens, with their cafés chantants, merry-go-rounds and bowers,--surrounded by the most fanciful and pretty devices imaginable, and lighted up with miniature lamps,--together with the lively din of music and singing followed by rounds of applause, made me feel transported for the moment to fairyland. But it was a short-lived delusion; and who would imagine, with all this folly, at once so frivolous and so French, that the great tragedy of war was being enacted around us? However, that such was the case even here was abundantly evident, for it was the sole topic of conversation. Soldiers were everywhere in the streets; the public vehicles and omnibuses were crammed with them; their officers seemed to monopolise half the private carriages; they crowded the public buildings, and soldiers' heads appeared out of half the street windows. I had always heard that Frenchmen were a highly excitable people, and the truth of that saying was never so clearly demonstrated. Here they were in their thousands, moving about in a state of restless, purposeless commotion, singing songs from noon to midnight, and, as it appeared to me, most of them quite out of their senses. Tuesday, the 23rd August, I went once more to try my luck at the Palais de l'Industrie; and M. le Vicomte de Melun again told me that there was no vacancy, but my name had been placed on the Society's books for an appointment, and when the vacancy occurred he would communicate with me at the Hôtel de l'Opéra. I felt disappointed that every effort up to this had been a failure, but consoled myself at having gained one point, _viz._, that of having been registered as a member of the Red Cross Society. I now determined to try some of the working staff, who, though perhaps less influential than the Vicomte, might be able to help me quite as well. Not to be daunted, I went to another part of the Palais, where I informed a gentleman, who, I perceived, was a superintendent and active manager, that my name had been placed on the Society's books by M. de Melun. This made him all attention. He spoke English well, and was very civil to me. His name was M. Labouchère, 77 Rue Malesherbes. In few words I told him the object of my mission, how I wanted to work, and was willing to accept a place in any capacity whatever, in the service of the wounded. He now informed me that there was one vacancy as aide in a Belgian Ambulance, and as I was most anxious to fill it he had my name put down. He gave me the casquet and badge of the Society, and told me to come to-morrow for my outfit and all necessaries. In the meantime I was sent out with eight or ten others of the Swiss Ambulance, to collect money in the streets through which we passed. We went in a body, and had each a little net bag at the end of a long pole, very like a landing net, but with a longer handle and a smaller net. As we passed along we cried out, "Pour les blessés," and as the omnibuses and carriages drew up while we were passing, we availed ourselves of this opportunity by putting our bags up to and sometimes through the windows, and landing them in the laps of those within. By this means we got heaps of silver pieces, and even gold from some of the best dressed personages. We also put our nets up to the windows, wherever we saw them occupied, and into the shops. Large crowds gathered along the route, and everybody gave something,--a great many two and five franc pieces. It was several hours before we reached the railway station, as we went very slowly. All knew by my accent that I was a foreigner, and perhaps British; and they seemed to like the idea, for they pressed forward to throw their coins to me, when there were other nets nearer them. When the time of reckoning came I found that I had collected more than my comrades. I saw ladies in the carriages that passed us crying bitterly, and the weeping and evident grief of the ambulance men on parting with their friends at the railway terminus were very touching. Having placed my money in the van I returned to the Palais de l'Industrie, where I was introduced to M. le Verdière, second in command in the Belgian Ambulance. He desired me to come at nine o'clock next day to get into my uniform and prepare for starting. Highly pleased at what I considered at last a success, I went, as I had previously arranged, to see Dr. M---- at the Irish College. He received me very warmly, and introduced me to a Chinese bishop with a pigtail, whom I found a most intelligent and agreeable man. That evening I saw troops going to the front in heavy marching order; and although they were four abreast, they reached from the Arc de Triomphe to within some little distance of the Place de la Concorde. On my way home I met a man who told me sorrowfully that before the war he had been a successful teacher with a large class, but that all his pupils were drawn in the conscription, and his occupation was gone. Next morning, the 24th, I was all excitement, as I fully expected that this day might see me on my way to the front. I hastened to the Palais de l'Industrie, where M. Labouchère informed me of the nature of my appointment in the Belgian Ambulance. What was my astonishment when I found that I should have ten _infirmiers_ under me, for whom I was to be responsible, and to whom I must issue orders! Much as I desired to accept this most tempting offer, common sense got the better of my ambition; and I declined, feeling conscious that my imperfect knowledge of French would prevent my being able to discharge my duties with efficiency. All this was a disappointment and a humiliation, but I had now become used to reverses. My friends, of whom I had already quite a number, comforted me by saying that I should be most likely sent to Metz, which was full of wounded with but few attendants, numbers of the latter having been carried off by typhus fever, which was making great havoc in the town. I stated that I had not the least objection to going if the Society wished me to do so; but I felt that I should prefer some other mission. Later on in the day, as I was searching for M. Labouchère in the Palais de l'Industrie, I was astonished to perceive that one of the large open spaces of the Palais, which was used but yesterday for drilling the recruits, now contained rows of mounted cannon placed close beside each other, while the unmounted guns were piled in lines one above another; great heaps of cannon balls were also stacked in the centre, like ricks of turf. This change, wrought since the evening before, will give an idea of the rapidity and energy with which the Government plans were being executed. Emerging by one of the upper doors of the building, I was startled at seeing the whole Champs Elysées occupied by masses of soldiers, flanked at each side by double rows of cavalry. They were being inspected before going to the front. It was a splendid sight. I went out afterwards to the Bois de Boulogne, where the timber next the ramparts was already being cut down. There were crowds of men at work on the fortifications as I passed through, making ready for the siege. As it was growing dusk I moved towards home, and met on my way a stream of soldiers dressed in a most elaborate uniform, differing in every way from that of the Line. From the enthusiastic reception they met with on all sides, and the familiar smiles and nods which they exchanged with the admiring citizens, I knew that they were the Garde Nationale, the pride of the Parisians. CHAPTER II. I JOIN THE ANGLO-AMERICAN AMBULANCE.--M. DE FLAVIGNY'S SPEECH.--TO MÉZIÈRES AND SEDAN. August 25th I went to my official quarters full of hope, but found that nothing further had been decided. M. Labouchère told me that I was certain of a place in a French Ambulance, and presented my testimonials and papers to the chief of the 8th Ambulance, who disappeared with them into the committee room, promising to send me an answer at once. This he never did, though I waited his reply for some hours, until hunger compelled me to go in search of dinner, which I found in the Boulevard St. Michel, No. 43, Café-Brasserie du Bas Rhin, where I had as much beef as I could wish for. (I was afterwards told that nothing but horse flesh was sold at this restaurant.) I then returned to the Palais de l'Industrie, where I was offered a post in the Medical Staff in charge of a train between Paris and Metz. I declined, upon the ground of my expecting to hear every minute of my having been appointed to an Ambulance. Hours passed without a syllable from the Chief of the 8th Ambulance; and now for the first time I felt discouraged, but pulled myself together, and again threw myself with energy into the struggle. I still had forces in reserve; for my friend, Madame A----, lady-in-waiting to the Empress, had promised me letters of introduction, which I daily expected, but which had not yet arrived. As I was whiling away the time conversing with one of the understrappers of the Palais, he told me that the siege of Paris by the Prussians was confidently expected by most Parisians; they talked of cutting down all the trees around Paris, and demolishing the farmsteads and farm produce in the vicinity, and my informant observed, "Déjà on cherche la démolition du Bois de Boulogne". I walked out to the fortifications and saw batches of men throwing up mounds, whilst others were making excavations beneath the mason-work of the permanent bridges, to facilitate their being blown up on the approach of the enemy. Upon my return the garçon at the Hotel showed me with much pride his uniform and accoutrements, with which he had been presented that day on being made a member of the National Guard. The loud beating of drums and the clatter and din of horses and men as they passed along the Boulevards before dawn, made it easy to be up at an early hour next morning, the 26th of August. I set out for the Palais de l'Industrie, where an order was handed me to hold myself in readiness to start that night for the front, so I returned quickly to my hotel, paid my bill and packed up my traps. I found two letters awaiting me: one from Madame A----, with an introduction to Professor Ricord, the Emperor's surgeon; and another from the Princess Poniatowsky, enclosing a note to the Count de Flavigny, President of the Society. They were now of no use, as I had been appointed to an Ambulance; but had I got them at first I should have been saved many days of anxious waiting. As it afterwards turned out, it was my good luck that they did not arrive sooner. An order was now issued that all strangers should quit Paris; and a heavy gloom seemed to be settling down rapidly over every one and everything. The conviction was daily growing that the Prussians were approaching Paris; but no one really knew, as every day's intelligence contradicted that of the day before. There seemed to be a great national competition in lying, in which every one manfully struggled for the prize. At this juncture I was introduced to Dr. Frank, second in command of an Ambulance which had lately been organised in Paris by a number of English and American surgeons, and which was known as the Anglo-American. Dr. Frank received me courteously, and appointed me one of his _sous-aides_ or dressers. Having given me directions as to my outfit, he sent me off with another young member of the Ambulance, John Scott of Belfast, to procure all necessary supplies. The pleasure I experienced at finding myself in harness at last was beyond expression; and it was not lessened by discovering in my new mate a bright, jovial, and witty companion and a fellow-countryman to boot. We hurried off to the Palais Royal, where we ordered our uniforms, knapsacks and kits, and then went out and had a chat and a stroll. Saturday morning, the 27th, Dr. Frank introduced me to Dr. Marion Sims, now chef or surgeon-in-chief, and also to his staff, which was composed of Drs. MacCormac, Webb, Blewitt, May, Tilghman, Nicholl, Hayden, and Hewitt, and Drs. Wyman and Pratt, as also to Mr. Fred Wallace and Harry Sims. Hewitt and I worked away for some hours getting the stores ready. Having finished this task we went to be photographed at Nader's, in full marching kit. I now packed up everything I did not want and sent them to M. de B----'s house (where they remained until after the war was over), and made my final preparations for starting. I received a month's pay in advance from Dr. Frank, so there was but little chance of my being hard up for money, as we were to be found in everything. Colonel Loyd Lindsay's English branch of the "Société pour le Secours aux Blessés" furnished the English contingent of the ambulance with the sinews of war; and of this Dr. Frank was the representative. On the 28th August I went in full uniform to the Madeleine, after which I took all my traps to the Palais de l'Industrie, where I met Marion Sims and had a chat with him. He addressed me kindly as "my dear boy"; and from the gentleness of his manner and his sympathetic nature, I felt that I should like him very much; and so it afterwards came to pass. We all now worked with a will, getting together our stores, provisions, horses and waggons, and making all ready for the procession, which, after a scene of confusion, noise, and excitement, left the Palais de l'Industrie about three o'clock, in the following order:--In front, carried by Dr. Sims' three charming daughters, the flags of England, France, and America; then the surgeons and the assistant surgeons; after these the dressers or _sous-aides_, of which I was one; then the _infirmiers_, all fully equipped, with the waggons for stores and wounded bringing up the rear. While we were standing in our places, in the Champs Elysées, waiting for the final start, a young girl, pretty, and elegantly dressed in deep mourning, stepped up and tried to address me, but she sobbed so much that I could with difficulty understand what she said. After a little time she made her wish intelligible. Should her husband ever come across my path in a wounded condition, she charged me to be kind to him, and to bestow upon him particular care for her sake. The earnestness with which she confided her sorrow to me, a stranger who had nothing to recommend him but his youth, well nigh overcame me, so that the poor thing very nearly had a companion in tears. She gave me her card, which I still possess. The girl could not have been more than twenty. I tried to say something to her that was kind; but so confused and upset was I that I could hardly utter a word. Presently the Count de Flavigny came forward and addressed us in a long and eloquent speech, flattering alike to our nationalities and to our cause. A death-like silence reigned throughout the crowd as he reminded us of the scenes upon which we were about to enter; the cause we were to vindicate; the hardships we were likely to undergo; the good that each of us was bound in duty to perform; the sacrifice of every personal consideration, and even of our lives if necessary, in the grand and holy cause of the service of the wounded. There were tears in many eyes, for not a few of the bystanders had at that moment friends near and dear, in dread suffering and perhaps in the agony of death. These few minutes made a deep impression upon me. I now realised that I was entering upon a hazardous campaign, and felt the weight of the task that I had undertaken; and as the word "_Marchez_" was given I stepped out strong in mind and body, proud of the privilege which it had pleased Providence to bestow upon me, and yearning to fulfil that mission of charity which we had that day inaugurated. As we passed through the streets in the order I have already given, the dense crowds cheered us along the way to the railway station (de l'Est), crying, "Vive les Americains!" "Vive l'Angleterre!" while the handkerchiefs of the ladies waved from all windows. Tears flowed abundantly on every side, as they readily do in France for less reason than the present one. All were delighted at the practical sympathy of the foreigners, on behalf of their wounded and suffering fellow-countrymen. The crowds were so great that we found it difficult to make anything like rapid progress, and were several hours reaching the station. Having arrived at our destination, we took our seats in the waiting-room, not knowing in the least where we were going, as no one did but the chief and Dr. Frank. After waiting a couple of hours we got into a train in which we started off into the darkness, for it was ten o'clock. We travelled all night, and as morning dawned arrived at Soissons. Here we learned that we were under orders to join MacMahon's army at once. As from information received, Dr. Sims supposed him to be somewhere in the vicinity of Sedan, it was his intention to make for Mézières, a small town in that neighbourhood, which we reached on Monday night, 29th August, arriving at Sedan the following morning, Tuesday, 30th, and remaining there to await further orders. As we entered the town I was astonished to perceive that not a single soldier was visible, and that the sentinels on duty at the gates were peasants dressed in blue blouses, bearing guns upon their shoulders, a military képi being the only attempt at uniform. All was still as we hastened through the streets to our quarters, at the Croix d'Or in the Rue Napoléon. CHAPTER III. AT SEDAN.--THE EMPEROR IN TRANSIT.--OUR FIRST RETREAT BEFORE THE PRUSSIANS.--THE CASERNE D'ARSFELD. On the 30th of August we got orders through the _Courrier des Ambulances_, the Vicomte de Chizelles, to proceed at once to Carignan, where hard fighting had been going on, and where, we were told, the field had been won by the French. Accordingly at noon the whole ambulance moved out of the town, by the Torcy gate to the railway station, a few hundred yards outside the ramparts, whence a special train was to have carried us on to the field of our labours. Through some mismanagement on the part of the French authorities, and through a combination of adverse circumstances, our transport was delayed so long that we were unable to leave that evening. The railway officials contended that the cause of the delay was neglect, on the part of our _comptable_, to specify the exact amount of accommodation required for the transport of our waggons, stores, and horses, without which we could not work efficiently on the field of battle; but the real cause of the delay, we subsequently discovered, was the capturing and blocking of the line by the Prussians, which fact was, in French fashion, studiously concealed from us. All this was very annoying to our chiefs, who were most anxious to get to the front. In order, therefore, that we might be able to start at daybreak next morning, we took up our quarters for that night in the station house. Being much fatigued after the excitement of the day we went to the bureau, where all our luggage was, and, after much ado, got hold of our wraps. There was one large waiting-room through which every one was obliged to pass in order to enter or leave the station, and here I and a number of my comrades stretched ourselves upon the bare boards, covered up in our rugs and overcoats. Shortly after eleven o'clock, the arrival of a train caused us to start to our feet. The Germans, we knew, were in the neighbourhood, and the thought of a surprise flashed simultaneously through the mind of each one, when, to our intense astonishment, the door opened, and Napoléon, with his entire état major, marshals, and generals, walked into the room. The Emperor wore a long dark blue cloak and a scarlet gold-braided képi. At first he seemed rather surprised at our presence, and for a moment or two delayed returning our salute, which he eventually acknowledged by a slight inclination of the head. He had a tired, scared, and haggard appearance, and, besides looking thoroughly ill, seemed anxious and impatient. After a few moments' delay he hurried off on foot, in the midst of his _entourage_, through the station house, and along the road leading to the town of Sedan. I and two of my comrades followed until we saw the Emperor and his attendants arrive at the gate, through which, after some parley with a blue-bloused sentry (for there was not a regular soldier in the town), they gained admittance. As we were about returning to our temporary quarters, speculating on the probable future as suggested by the scene I have described, we met a party of soldiers straggling along, composed of men of different regiments, both line and cavalry. We addressed one of them, who seemed more tired and worn out than the rest. He told us they belonged to the 5th and 12th Army Corps, and that they had escaped from the affair at Beaumont, where, having been several days short of provisions and exhausted with hunger and fatigue, the French were thoroughly routed. He said that they numbered about eighty, and were accompanied by an officer whom I afterwards heard give the name of De Failly, when challenged by the sentry. This was no other than the General de Failly who, on that very day at Beaumont, was deprived of his command for bad leadership, and superseded by De Wimpffen. In the rear of this party of fugitives was a cartload of women and children. One of the women told most pitifully how the Prussian shells had that morning devastated their homes in the vicinity of Beaumont and Raucourt, and how several parts of those villages were then in flames. These poor creatures, numbed with cold and fright, gladly partook of the contents of some of our flasks; and we were all pleased when, after half an hour's parley with the peasant sentry, the drawbridge was let down and they were admitted into the town. I now returned to my quarters in the station, where I slept soundly until I was awakened at break of day by Dr. Frank, who enjoined us to get ready at once, so as to push on to the front. This was the morning of the 31st August. At early dawn there was a thick fog, which, however, soon cleared away, revealing to us the fact that we were not far from the Prussian lines, and that they had actually during the night got full possession of the range of hills commanding the station and the whole town of Sedan. At times we could see distinctly numbers of Prussian Uhlans appearing now and then, from behind woods and plantations, on the heights of Marfée opposite us, and again disappearing, leaving us fully convinced that there were more where those came from. A little later, when the fog cleared off, we perceived in the opposite direction, at the north-east side of the town, numbers of troops moving about. These we found to be MacMahon's forces. Now we became conscious of how we really stood. Our chief called us together, and with the stern manner and firm voice of an old veteran said, "Gentlemen, by a combination of unforeseen circumstances over which I had no control, we are now in the awkward position of finding ourselves placed between the line of fire of two armies. If they commence hostilities we are lost. It is therefore my intention as promptly as possible to retreat behind the French lines." Having said so much, he gave the order to move on. This we did across some fields, which we traversed with ease; but presently we came upon some heavy potato and turnip plots. Here our progress was necessarily very slow, heavily-laden as we were, with our three waggons ploughing through the soft furrows; and as we were not quite sure of the country that lay between us and the army, our position was most unenviable. Two of our party, Drs. May and Tilghman, went ahead upon horseback, one of them carrying an ambulance flag. These two galloped along rather too impetuously as it appeared, for they came unexpectedly upon the French outposts, who, not knowing them to be friends, quickly fired a volley at them. Having discovered who they were they did not repeat this salute. It was just as our waggon horses had come to a standstill, being completely exhausted from pulling and floundering in the soft ground, that Drs. May and Tilghman returned at a gallop to inform us that the Meuse lay between us and the main body of the army, and that there was no bridge, or other means of crossing, without going round through the town. Just at this moment a courier came up in hot haste to say that, as the Prussians had just been seen in the immediate vicinity, the gate of the town would be immediately closed, and that the Military Commandant required us at once to make good our retreat, and get in the rear of the French army. We now saw that there was no alternative but to leave our baggage, stores, and waggons just where they were, and to fly into the town, which we did with all possible expedition, as from the position of the enemy we expected every minute that an engagement would take place. When we got inside the gates, two civilians volunteered, for a reward, to recover the baggage and waggons, with May and Tilghman as their leaders. These two gentlemen were veteran campaigners of the American Confederate Army, as were also all the other Americans of our ambulance, save Frank Hayden, who hailed from the North. These not only brought back all our effects, but also a quantity of potatoes which were found in the field where the waggons had been left, and upon which we largely subsisted during the week following. We now reported ourselves to the Intendant Militaire, who told us that he had the night before received an order to have in readiness 1800 beds for the use of the wounded. There was not a military surgeon in the town, nor any medical stores or appliances save our own; and of civilian doctors we never heard, nor were they _en évidence_. The Intendant Militaire put all the beds which he had provided at our disposal, and gave us full control over their disposition and management. Accordingly we took possession of the Caserne D'Asfeld, and made ready for receiving the wounded. We also had our stores arranged so that everything might be at hand when required. It was while thus busily engaged, transporting our stores, and putting things in their place ready for use, that I saw the Emperor Napoléon slowly pacing up and down in front of the Sous-Préfecture, cigar in mouth, with his hands behind his back and head bent, gazing vacantly at the ground. All that morning we had heard the distant booming of cannon, in the southward direction of Carignan and Mouzon. As the day advanced the cannonading came nearer, and grew more distinct, until it seemed to be in the immediate neighbourhood of the town. At nightfall the firing ceased, and we could perceive the glare of a distant village, in the direction of Douzy, lighting up the darkness. A brief sketch of the defences of Sedan, as well as an explanation of the position in which our hospital stood with regard to the fortifications, will not be out of place. The river Meuse, on the right bank of which Sedan is situated, communicates by sluice-gates with two deep trenches about thirty feet wide, separated from one another by a high embankment. On opening these gates, the trenches and a vast expanse of meadow land, extending nearly to Bazeilles and along the river beyond it, had been flooded, and the city was thus defended by a double wet ditch for about three-fourths of its circumference. All this lay external to the stone-faced ramparts, upon which stood heavy siege-guns, ostensibly to protect the town. They were, in fact, obsolete dummies. Outside these, again, were high earthworks, faced by strong palisades of spiked timber. At the summit of the north-east corner of the fortifications, towering above the plateau of Floing, rose the Citadel,--a huge, dark mass of mason-work and grassy slopes, which seemed to frown over a series of steep cliffs upon the town beneath. Above this stood our hospital of the Caserne D'Asfeld, called after a French Marshal of Louis XIV.'s time. The Prussians afterwards knew it as the "Kronwerk D'Asfeld". It was a fortress which had a drawbridge and defences of its own. From these details we may judge what a stronghold Sedan would prove, were it not for the range of hills opposite, called the Heights of Marfée. But these command the town; and the Prussians had been permitted to occupy them. Now, as to the Caserne itself. Standing on the highest point of the fortifications, about 100 feet above the Meuse, it might have seemed the very position for a hospital. It was a two-storied bomb-proof building, with a flat roof, 240 feet long, and contained nine large wards, fifty-three feet by seventeen, and ten feet high, as well as four small ones with twenty beds in each. There were two spacious windows in every ward. The floors were concrete. On the fortifications outside were rows of magnificent trees, which gave the grounds a picturesque appearance. But in front, facing the town, there were no trees; and from this point we had an unbroken view of Sedan and the valley of the Meuse, with the hills opposite. The villages of Donchery, Frénois, and Wadelincourt were all visible. Six cannon commanded the outer breastworks, behind the buildings, and two sallyports led out beneath the fortifications, on to the plains of Floing. We heard from the wounded, as well as from other sources, that the French were retreating on Sedan, and that the Prussians held the left bank of the Meuse, and the valley and hills about it. The French, on their side, occupied the Illy heights to the north of the town above the plateau of Floing, the Bois de Garenne, and the east and south-east plains, from Daigny and the valley of Givonne to Bazeilles. Hence, it was evident, even at so early a date, that the French army had only the strip of small country to the north and east of Sedan, between the right bank of the Meuse and the Ardennes, by which to make good their retreat on Mézières. And of this narrow space, the defile of St. Albert alone was available for the passage of large bodies of soldiers. The Prussian outposts were already in Vendresse and Donchery. Could they succeed in moving further north before the French started, they might cut off the retreat of the whole army. The movements of the French in these straits had been extremely perplexing to us. They must have known their situation, if not on the 29th, certainly on the 30th and 31st. Why, then, did they not keep to the left bank of the Meuse, and seize the only available strong position visible on that side--the Heights of Marfée, which they could have held, and the possession of which would have covered their retreat along the defile of St. Albert? Instead of doing so, they chose to fall back on Sedan; a trap out of which no sane man, military or civilian, could, under the circumstances, expect an army to free itself. These positions were occupied by the Prussians at the earliest possible moment. But even if the French could not have come up by the left bank of the Meuse, they might, as late as the night of the 31st, have retreated by Moncelle, the plain of Floing, and the right bank of the river. Thus, at all events, they would have got clear of the enemy's heavy guns, which assailed them from the hills in front; and would have had some chance of meeting their foes on more equal terms. But they went to their destruction like men in a dream. Late that evening, several large batches of wounded came into the Caserne. These kept us employed till after midnight, when we slipped out and ascended the fortifications, that we might look once more at the still blazing village, the name of which we had not then heard. Of course it was Douzy. And now we perceived, by the innumerable camp-fires gleaming around us on all sides, that we were close to the ill-fated army, of which Marshal MacMahon held the command. To-morrow it would cease to exist, and with it the Napoleonic Empire would come to an end. [Illustration: BATTLE OF SEDAN Positions at Daybreak Sept^r. 1^{st}. 1870. French | Germans A _12^{th} Corps (Lebrun_) | G _Prussian Guards_ B _1^{st} " (Ducrot)_ | S _Saxons_ C _5^{th} " (Wimpffen)_ | Bav. _Bavarians_ D _7^{th} " (Doucey)_ | W _Wurtembergers_ E _Cavalry_ | _London, John Murray, Albemarle Street._ E. Weller] CHAPTER IV. THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER, 1870.--EXPERIENCES AT THE CASERNE.--WOUNDED HORSES.--THE FRENCH RETREAT BECOMES A STAMPEDE.--SOLDIERS DESPAIR. Full of strange forebodings, I retired to the guard-room at the end of the building which overlooked the town, where Père Bayonne, our Dominican chaplain, Hewitt, and myself had our stretchers. Tired out, I slept as soundly as if nothing had happened, or was to happen. But about a quarter to five on the following morning,--that historic Thursday, the 1st of September,--Père Bayonne and I were aroused by the strange and terrible sound of roaring cannon. We heard the shells whizzing continually, and by-and-by the prolonged peals of the mitrailleuse. On looking out, we saw a thick mist lying along the valley, and clinging about the slopes of the hills in front of us. Presently it cleared away; the morning became beautifully fine, and the sun shone forth with genial warmth. Immediately beneath us lay the town, with its double fortifications, and its trenches filled by the Meuse, which seemed a silver thread winding through a charmingly wooded and delightful country. The whole range of hills which commanded the town was occupied by the Prussians; and we could see their artillery and battalions in dark blue, with their spiked helmets and their bayonets flashing in the sunlight. Neither had we long to wait before 150 guns were, each in its turn, belching out fire and smoke. For the first couple of hours the heaviest part of the fighting was kept up from the left and further extremity of this range of hills. But as the morning wore on, the guns immediately opposite us opened fire, although the main body of the Prussians had not yet come up the valley into view. The plains and hills to the north and north-east of the town and immediately behind us were covered with French troops, the nearest being a regiment of the Line, a Zouave regiment, and a force of cuirassiers. It was magnificent to see the bright helmets and breast-plates of the latter gleaming in the sun, as they swept along from time to time, and took up fresh positions. I watched them suddenly wheel and gallop at a headlong pace for some hundred yards, then stop as they were making a second wheel, and tear up to the edge of a wood on a piece of high ground, where they remained motionless. A regiment of the Line then advanced, and opened fire across them, down into the valley beneath the wood; while for twenty minutes a hot counter-fire was kept up by a force of advancing Prussians, the French still moving forward, and leaving plenty of work for us in their rear. As the firing ceased, the cuirassiers, who had been up till then motionless spectators of the scene, suddenly began to move, first at a walk, then breaking into a trot, and, finally, having cleared the corner of the wood, into full gallop. They dashed down the valley of Floing and were quickly lost to our view. This was the beginning, as I afterwards learned, of one of the most brilliant feats of the French arms during that day. It has been graphically described by Dr. Russell, the war correspondent of the _Times_. Beyond doubt, until noon, when all chance of success vanished, the French fought bravely. I shall here instance one out of many personal feats of valour, which came under our notice. While I was assisting in dressing a wounded soldier, he told me the following story, which was subsequently corroborated by one of his officers who came to see him. This soldier was St. Aubin, of the Third Chasseurs d'Afrique, concerning whom I shall have more to say by-and-by. He was only twenty-three, and a tall, fair, handsome fellow. He had been in action for seven hours, and had received a bayonet thrust through the cheek. His horse was shot under him during the flight of the French towards Sedan. Still undismayed, he provided himself with one of the chassepots lying about, and falling in with a body of Marines, the best men in the French army, he, in company with this gallant band, faced the enemy again. Numbers of his companions fell; he himself got a bullet through the right elbow. Promptly tearing his pocket handkerchief into strips with his teeth, he tied up his wounds, and securing his wrist to his belt, seized his sword, determined to fight on. Unfortunately, the fragment of a shell struck him again, shattering the right shoulder. In this plight he mounted a stray horse, and, as he told me, holding his sword in his teeth, put spurs to his steed, and joined his companions at Sedan, where he sank out of the saddle through sheer exhaustion and loss of blood. Early in the day vigorous fighting was going on outside the town, about Balan and Bazeilles, and between us and the Belgian frontier. As early as ten o'clock, it was evident that the Prussians were extending their line of fire on both sides, with the ultimate object of hemming in the French army, now being slowly forced back upon the town. By eleven o'clock, the plains to the north and east between us and the Belgian frontier were occupied by dense masses of the French; and at noon, the Prussian artillery on the hills in front turned their fire over our heads, on the French troops behind us. From this moment, we found ourselves in the thick of the fight. Around us on every side raged a fierce and bloody conflict. The Prussian guns in front, which had kept up an intermittent fire since early morning, now seemed to act in concert, and the roaring of cannon and whizzing of shells became continuous. It was an appalling medley of sounds; and we could scarcely hear one another speak. During this murderous fire, we received into our hospital twenty-eight officers of all grades (among them two colonels), and nearly 400 men of all arms. Occasionally, one of the shells which were passing over us in quick succession would fall short, striking, at one time, the roof of our Hospital or the stone battlements in front, at another the earthworks or a tree within the fort. One of these shells burst at the main entrance, close to where I was at work, killing two _infirmiers_ and wounding a third,--the first two were, indeed, reduced to a mass of charred flesh, a sight of unspeakable horror. A second shell burst close to the window of the ward, in which Drs. MacCormac, Nicholl, Tilghman, and May were operating, chipping off a fragment of the corner stone; a third struck the coping wall of the fortification overhanging the town, about twenty feet from our mess-room window; and a fragment entered, and made a hole in the ceiling. The bomb-proof over our heads came in for a shower of French mitrailleuse bullets, which so frightened our cook that he upset a can of savoury horseflesh soup, which he had prepared for us. But, to add to the danger, about half-past two a detachment of artillery, bringing with them three brass nine-pounders, came into our enclosure (for, as I have said, the guns supposed to be guarding our fort were absolute dummies), and opened a hot fire on the enemy, in the vain attempt to enable Ducrot's contingent to join De Wimpffen at Balan. It was a brave and determined effort, but as futile as it was rash, for it brought the Prussian fire down upon us; and in less than half an hour, the French had to abandon their guns, which were soon dismantled, while the trenches about them were filled with dead and wounded. At one time, Dr. May and I counted on the plain a rank of eighty-five dead horses, exclusive of the maimed. The sufferings of these poor brutes, which were as a rule frightfully mutilated, seemed to call for pity almost as much as those of the men themselves. For the men, if wounded very badly, lay still, and their wants were quickly attended to; but the horses, sometimes disembowelled, their limbs shattered, kept wildly struggling and snorting beneath dismounted gun-carriages and upturned ammunition waggons, until either a friendly revolver or death from exhaustion put an end to their torment. Everywhere on this plain, to the north of the town, there was now the most hopeless confusion. The soldiers, utterly demoralised--more than half of them without arms--were hugging the ramparts in dense masses, seeking thus to escape the deadly fire directed on them by the advancing Prussians. It was clear that the fortunes of the day were going against the French; and if we ask the reason, some reply may be found in the testimony of a Colonel, who told us, with sobs and tears, that for six hours he had been under fire, and had received no orders from his General. A little later on, about half-past three, an officer, carrying the colours of his regiment, rushed into our Hospital in a state of the wildest excitement, crying out that the French had lost, and entreating Dr. May to hide his flag in one of our beds,--a request with which the latter indignantly refused to comply. About a quarter to four, although the din of battle was still raging, we could see the white flag flying, and rumours of a truce were current. The space round the Caserne D'Asfeld was at this time crowded with troops; and a knot of them were wrangling for water about our well, which, being worked only by a windlass and bucket, gave but a scanty supply. The events that now followed have been described by the French as an attempt on the part of Ducrot to get his forces through the town, and out by the Balan gate, there to reinforce General Wimpffen, and sustain his final attempt to break through the German lines. But what really happened was this: The French, aware that the battle was lost, had become panic-stricken, and getting completely out of the control of their officers, their retreat on Sedan was, in plain truth, the stampede of a thoroughly disorganised and routed army. It was a strange sight, and by no means easy to picture. A huge and miscellaneous collection of men, horses, and materials were jammed into a comparatively small space, all in the utmost disorder and confusion. Soldiers of every branch--cavalry, infantry, artillery--flung away their arms, or left them at different places, in stacks four or five feet high. Heedless of command, they made for the town by every available entrance. And I saw French officers shedding tears at a spectacle, which no one who was not in arms against them could witness without grief and shame. A Colonel, who had carried his eagles with honour through the battles of Wörth and Weissenburg, related how he had buried the standard of his regiment, together with his own decorations, and burned his colours, to save them from falling into the hands of the enemy. All these officers had but one cry: "_Nous sommes trahis!_" openly declaring that the loss of their country, and the dishonour of its arms, were due to the perfidy and incompetence of their statesmen and generals. That some of these allegations of treason were well founded is beyond question: the universal incompetency we saw with our own eyes. I observed one remarkable incident during this state of general disorder. A regiment of Turcos came into our enclosure with their officers, in perfect order, fully armed and accoutred. These gaunt-looking fellows, fierce, bronzed, and of splendid physique, stood stolid and silent, with their cloaks, hoods, and gaiters still beautifully white. Watching for some minutes, I noticed a movement among them, and they commenced a passionate discussion in their own tongue, evidently on a subject of interest to them all. In another minute the conclusion was manifest. Approaching the parapet in small parties, and clubbing their rifles, they smashed off the stocks against the stonework, and flung the pieces into the ditch beneath. In like manner they disposed of their heavy pistols and side-arms. Then, having lighted their cigarettes, they relapsed into a state of silent and dreamy inactivity, in which not a word was spoken. Along the roads leading to the gates of the town, more particularly along the one beneath us, streamed a dense mass of soldiers belonging to various regiments, with numbers of horses ridden chiefly by officers, and some waggons, all bearing headlong down on the gates. As they passed over the narrow bridges, literally in tens of thousands, packed close together, some horses and a few men were pushed over the low parapet into the river, and many of the fugitives were trodden under foot. At length, between four and five P.M., the firing gradually slackened. For some time it was still kept up, but in a desultory manner, towards Balan. At half-past five it ceased altogether; and the sensation of relief was indescribable. The grounds about the Caserne D'Asfeld had, in the meanwhile, become packed with runaway soldiers, whose first exploit was forcibly to enter our kitchen and store-rooms, and plunder all they could lay hands on. Of course, they were driven to these acts by the exigencies of the situation. The blame for such excesses cannot but attach to that centre of all corruption, the French Commissariat, which broke down that day as it had done at every turn during the whole campaign. We had some wounded men in the theatre, Place de Turenne, down in Sedan; but the streets and squares were so densely crowded that it was with difficulty some of our staff could make their way to them. All were now burning with anxiety to know whether the French would surrender, or hostilities be resumed on the morrow. A continuance of the struggle, as we felt, would mean that some hundred and twenty thousand soldiers, and ourselves along with them, were to be buried in the ruins of Sedan. Our fears, however, were soon allayed. Before nightfall we heard that the Emperor had opened negotiations with the German King, and that the capitulation was certain. At last darkness set in. The stillness of the night was unbroken, save for a musical humming sound as if from a mighty hive of bees;--it was the murmur of voices resounding from the hundred thousand men caged within the beleaguered city. As we stood for a moment on the battlements, sniffing the cool air, with which was still intermingled the gruesome odour of the battlefield, how impressive a sight met our gaze! Bazeilles was burning; its flames lit up the sky brilliantly, and brought out into clear relief the hills and valleys for miles around; they even threw a red glare over Sedan itself; while above the site of the burning village there seemed to dance one great pillar of fire, from which tongues shot out quivering and rocketing into the atmosphere, as house after house burst into flames. The number of Frenchmen wounded during those few hours of which I write, is said to have been 12,500. Probably a third of that figure would represent the number of Prussian casualties. As for our own ambulance, during that day it afforded surgical aid to 100 officers and 524 men. The number of those killed will never be known; all I can state is, that in places the French were mown down before our eyes like grass. There is a thicket on a lonely hill side, skirting the Bois de Garenne, within rifleshot of the Caserne D'Asfeld, where six and thirty men fell close together. There they were buried in one common grave; and few besides myself remain to tell the tale. Such is the story of Sedan as I beheld it, and as faithful a record as I can give from my own experience, of that never-to-be-forgotten 1st of September, 1870. CHAPTER V. THE BURNING OF BAZEILLES.--WORTHLESS FRENCH OFFICERS.--A WALK ABOUT SEDAN.--IN THE VALLEY. To our labours in the Hospitals I shall presently return. On the 31st, Drs. Frank and Blewitt had established a branch hospital at Balan, and during that day and 1st September, had rendered assistance, both there and at Bazeilles, to those who were wounded in the street-fighting or injured by the flames. Dr. Blewitt informed me that at one time, the house in which they were treating a large number of wounded had its windows and doors so riddled with bullets, that, in order to escape with their lives, they had to lie down on the floor, and remain there until the leaden shower was over. The French inhabitants also, he said, had fired upon the Bavarians; they had set their bedding and furniture alight, and thrown them out on the heads of the Germans, who were packed close in the streets; and after the first repulse of the invaders, several wounded Prussians had been barbarously butchered, some even (horrible to relate) had had their throats cut with razors. This, it was reported, had been the work of French women. On the other hand, several of the native soldiers had been found propped up against the walls in a sitting posture, with pipes and flowers in their mouths. Upon retaking the village, when the Germans discovered what had been done, they retaliated by shooting down and bayoneting all before them, nor in some instances did the women and children escape this cruel fate. So exasperated, indeed, were the Germans by the events of those two dreadful hours on the 1st, that not a life did they spare, nor a house did they leave intact, in that miserable town. Such, in brief, was the history of Bazeilles. It is not a subject which one can dwell upon. When, within a day or two later, I had occasion to pass through it, and saw the still burning ruins which bore witness to the awful deeds done on both sides, my heart sank. All that fire and sword could wreak upon any town and its inhabitants was visible here; and it is not too much to affirm that, so long as the name of Bazeilles is remembered, a stain will rest on the memory of French and Germans, both of whom contributed to its ruin. On the 5th September Dr. Frank took possession of the Château Mouville, which belonged to the Count de Fienne. It is situated between Balan and Bazeilles, and was quickly filled with wounded from both places. But for some time our ambulance was unable to get its waggons through the streets, so impeded were they with the charred remains of the dead and dying. I have now described what I can vouch for, on the testimony of some of my companions, as having occurred at these two places; and I will leave my own account of what I saw myself in Bazeilles until a later occasion. To go back to Sedan. As night drew near, the refugees outside the Caserne lighted their fires, and put up their tents. Those who had no tents rolled themselves in their cloaks, and lay down just where they happened to be. All were overcome by fatigue, long marches, and want of food and sleep; they seemed only too glad to rest anywhere, and to enjoy a respite from the sufferings and hardships which during so many days had weighed upon them. The true story of these unhappy soldiers will never become known in detail; and if it did, the public would hardly believe it. Many of them started, as I heard from their own lips, with only two-thirds of the kit they were booked as having received. In some instances their second pair of boots were wanting; or, if not, the pair supplied had thick brown paper soles covered with leather, and were often a misfit. The men, as we read with perfect accuracy in _La Débâcle_, were marched and countermarched to no purpose; they received contradictory orders; and I learned from their statements, that neither general officers nor subalterns knew whither they were going; and that one corps was constantly getting foul of the other, simply from not being acquainted with the map of the district in which they found themselves. More than one declared to me that their officers were _officiers de salon;_ they were _canaille_, said the men, who when under fire were the first to seek shelter, and from their position of security to cry "_En avant, mes braves!_" In fact, the common soldiers felt and expressed the heartiest contempt for them. Of this I had abundant evidence. It was enough to see how the rank and file came into the cafés and sat down beside the officers of their own regiment, as I have seen them do, taking hardly any notice of them, or deigning them only the lamest of salutes. On the other hand, when officers came into a café (which they did upon every possible occasion), the men would pretend not to see them. I have observed, not once, but scores of times, captains of the Line, wearing decorations, seated in taverns drinking beer and absinthe with the common soldiers. They were as despicable in their familiarities as in their want of courage; and who can be surprised if their men did not respect them, or wonder that such leaders had no control over the privates when in action? As I mentioned before, we treated a number of officers of high grade who were wounded on the 1st. They, in their turn, did not hesitate to show how small was the confidence which they reposed in the grades above them, by insisting that they had been sold and betrayed. They had received no orders; and the generals of division had failed to make their different marches in the appointed time, and to bring up their commissariat, because their movements were hampered by the Emperor and his staff, with their infinite baggage and useless attendants. Statements such as these, together with what I witnessed myself, convinced me in a very short time that it was not the soldiers of France who were wanting in courage and endurance, but their officers who were thoroughly incompetent, and their commissariat and whole military organisation, which was rotten to the core. But to my Hospital. As I walked around the building the sight was picturesque and very human,--the camp fires showing all the ground strewn beneath the great trees with jaded sleepers. Entering by one of the doors, I stumbled against something, which turned out to be a slumbering Turco. The fellow yelled out words quite unintelligible to me, and rolled over, without giving himself any more trouble, out of my way. The medical staff now retired, and attacked what bread, meat, and soup had been saved from the depredators of our larder that morning; after which we resumed work once more. We were kept at it the whole of that night, the following day, and some hours of the night after that, without intermission. During the whole of the next day we were engaged in receiving and conveying wounded men from the cottages and farmsteads scattered over the plains at Illy and Floing, all of which were crammed with disabled combatants. My duty in the Caserne was to dress the lightly wounded, and assist at the operation table until the afternoon, when I was desired by our kind and considerate chief to take four hours off duty, and get some sleep. Instead, however, of taking this rest, which no doubt one required, I sallied forth with F. Hayden on an expedition into the town, to the Croix d'Or, where I had left something on the 31st, which I thought I might recover. We found it hard to get out of our own enclosure; and even on the steep path leading to the town, men were lying asleep, while others roamed about in search of food. But when we got into Sedan, the streets were thronged with soldiers. At several corners we stopped to see men who were hacking and hewing the carcases of horses, which they had just killed. Hungry crowds surrounded them, many of whom were munching the lumps of raw meat, which they had secured, without waiting to have it cooked; and in the Place de Turenne lay the bloody skeletons of two horses, from which every particle of flesh had been cut away. Here, as our cook, "nigger Charlie," assured me, was the source of my morning's meal, which I had washed down with brandy, and thoroughly relished. I may be pardoned for turning quickly from the revolting scene. Finding that it was impossible to proceed, we retraced our steps to the Caserne, and, making our exit this time through one of the sallyports, went over the scene, at least in part, of yesterday's battle. It was a beautiful autumn evening, and the sun shone bright. Butterflies flitted to and fro, and myriads of insects danced in the light as if for a wager. Just as we were walking along the entrenchments outside, we very nearly met with an inglorious end from a shower, not of bullets, but of _pistols_, which came over the battlements, and continued falling at intervals. On looking up, I perceived, standing on a projecting angle, a stalwart Turco, who made signs that I should keep in close to the parapet, which I did. This friendly fellow persuaded his comrades to desist for a little, and thus enabled us to retreat. On getting clear of the ramparts, we found ourselves north of the town, with the Bois de Garenne crowning the heights in front, and the valley of Floing sloping away to our left. But the plateau which yesterday swarmed with a surging mass of soldiers in conflict with the enemy, and upon which we had seen the Cuirassiers and Chasseurs d'Afrique, at the sound of the trumpet, tear headlong in their mad career to death,--was now hushed, and presented a field of such horrors as are not to be described. The burying parties had been hard at work for hours, but still the dead lay scattered about on every side:--here singly, there in twos and threes,--and again, in groups huddled together, which had been mown down where they stood, by the same missile. Their features in some instances were contorted and dreadful to behold,--some with portions of their skulls and faces blown away, whilst what was left of their features remained unchanged; others with their chests torn open and bowels protruding; others, again, mangled and dismembered. The larger number lay either on their backs or faces, without any apparent indication of the nature of their death-wound. And some there were who had received the first aid of surgical treatment, and died in the positions in which they had been placed. Lower down the valley the corpses in red and blue, and the ranks of dead horses, the broken spears and sabres, and the bent scabbards, spoke silently but forcibly of the fury of that historic encounter. When one looked along the plain for about half a mile on each side, one saw that now deserted battlefield strewn as far as the eye could reach with guns, and ammunition, and upturned waggons. There were carriages, and dead horses by the side of them; firearms of every kind, in places stacked several feet high, and knapsacks innumerable; caps, helmets, belts, plumes, shakos, spurs, and boots, and every description imaginable of military accoutrements. We remarked, besides, all manner of articles--sponges, brushes, letters, pocket-books, soldiers' regimental books, band-music, tin boxes various in size, and showing the most diverse contents, others empty and their former contents scattered about; as also nets for hay, saddles, saddle-trappings, whips, bridles, bits, drums, portions of band instruments, and, in fact, as many descriptions of objects great and small as would furnish an immense bazaar. In one place I found a chassepot inverted together with a bayonet, set at the head of a French soldier's grave, and a cavalry sword which lay unsheathed beside its owner, who, still unburied, gazed vacantly in front of him with a glassy stare, whilst the flies swarmed about his half-opened mouth. The only indication of how he met his death was a small patch of blood-stained earth beside him--not red, but tarry-black. Near at hand, also, lay, covered with blood, a bit and bridle, without anything to betoken how it came there. The dismal monotony of the scene was relieved only by those little mounds of fresh earth scattered here and there, which marked where the bodies of the slain, varying from one to ten in each place of sepulture, had been consigned. Burials were still going on before our eyes. Over many of the graves were set up rustic crosses, made with two pieces of wood tied together, or more frequently devices in arms. Silent as the prospect lay in front of us, its mournful stillness was occasionally broken by the neighing and scampering of bands of horses, still uncaptured, which were wandering in a fruitless search for food and water. As they looked wildly round with their nostrils distended,--some with just sufficient trappings left to indicate the military status of their former masters,--one could almost think that, still unconquered, they sought their comrades and the fray. In my ramble I passed through several gardens and orchards skirting the Bois de Garenne. It was pitiful to see their condition. The trees were utterly ruined, and their branches all broken; the flower beds were ploughed up by the bursting of shells, and the houses had become mere wrecks. Through some of them these missiles had made a clean breach. Further on to the right, there had been a pretty little cemetery, planted with yew trees, evergreens, and flowers, which had many small monuments in marble and cut stone; but these, for the most part, were broken or disfigured, and the iron railings and the shrubs around them had been torn down. As I walked through, I paused for a moment to look upon the two graveyards,--the one with a history of centuries, judging from its many ancient tombs,--the other of yesterday's making--its only monuments the little mounds of fresh earth, over which, a few months hence, the green corn of spring would be waving, to obliterate the record of to-day's ghastly scene. Hastening from this melancholy spot, I passed several burying parties. The ceremonies which they used were rude and scant enough; for all they did was to heave the body into the newly-made grave, and heap the earth over it in silence. Next we ascended the tree-crested height above the plateau of Floing, where we had seen the cavalry massed on the morning before. We first entered the wood. It was intersected by walks which led to an observatory and a Château in the centre. Here, as everywhere else, disorder reigned. One might easily have conceived that an army had been annihilated in the act of preparing their toilet: for all things belonging to a soldier, from his full-dress uniform to his linen and boots, were scattered about in all directions. Rifles and arms of all sorts were cast away in hundreds. The brushwood in many parts was very thick; but even in the midst of almost impenetrable scrub we found arms and accoutrements in abundance. More than once we came upon the corpses of French soldiers, who lay as if asleep. They had probably dragged themselves from the scene of carnage to this lonely spot, and there expired, unmolested. At one place in particular the underwood was so thick, that I had to crouch down in order to get through it. My attention was drawn thither by the signs of a path having been forced in that direction. A little further in, I found an open space of a few yards square, which was now occupied by a grave. It had no device upon it, except a cross scratched in the red clay. Lying beside it, I found a piece of shell, a religious picture, a prayer-book, and fragments of a uniform, which I still have by me. I fancy some kind comrade had paid his friend a last tribute, by giving him, as it were, a special burial in a place to himself. In order to reach the building in the centre of the wood, I had to pass through a little garden, whose only flowers seemed to be rows of dahlias, of every colour and description. Among these the shells had made havoc. In one bed, I remarked a deep hole where a shell had fallen, and some of the plants had been lifted several feet away. In other places, furrows of some yards in length were made by shot and shell, as if a plough had worked intermittently here and there. Some were deep, others just skimmed the surface and ran a zigzag course, as if a gigantic animal had been turning up the ground with his muzzle. The building, into which I made my way, seemed to be an observatory or pavilion, belonging to the Château, which stood some distance behind. Its doors and wood-work were riddled with bullets, and the roof was blown away. There, curiously enough, a large quantity of music was strewn about. Under cover of this wood, the Bois de Garenne, we had seen the French massing their troops; and they had evidently been lying here in ambush when the Prussians detected and shelled them, before the final rout, during which they abandoned their arms and ammunition. Down the slope of the hill, and in the bottom of the valley facing the Meuse, dead men and horses, with groups of hastily-dug graves,--many of them German,--and broken spears, and numbers of unsheathed cavalry swords, told the same tale of a death struggle in which hundreds must have perished. Further along the valley, beside a lonely thicket, was a large mound with a stake driven into it, and an inscription in German characters, made with some material which looked like blacking, "Here lie thirty-six men of the 5th corps". Who shall reckon the number of French dead in the many graves adjacent? As my time was up, I now hastened back to my post, feeling like one who had awakened from a terrible nightmare. Yet I was much invigorated by this expedition, so mournful in its circumstances, and went to work with renewed energy. On the evening of the 3rd, word was brought us that some of the wounded lay in a bad way in a cottage outside Balan. Dr. MacCormac, accompanied by Dr. Hewitt and myself, at once proceeded through the town and along the high road, which we followed only for a short distance. Then we struck out to the left until we arrived at a small wood, where certain of the French troops were still encamped, but as prisoners. The night was fine, and would have been pitch dark had not the camp fires shone around numerous and bright. When we came to the house in question, Dr. MacCormac performed several amputations, at which Hewitt and I assisted. In a couple of hours we started again for home, but being both hungry and thirsty, turned aside into a little cottage, where we told the poor woman in occupation that we had been attending the wounded, and had had nothing to eat all day. We were willing to pay for anything she could give us. At first she looked at us sternly; but when we told her on which side we had been engaged, she melted, and received us with a welcome, which, if not effusive, was, under the circumstances, cordial. Out of her larder she offered us bread, and a quantity of what she informed us was beef. We could not be particular; and it was not without enjoyment that we made our doubtful, but much needed supper on her viands. No further incident delayed our return to the Caserne D'Asfeld. CHAPTER VI. WORK IN THE HOSPITAL.--THE ISLE OF IGES.--MY ARAB HORSE.--PRISONERS SENT INTO GERMANY. I do not intend entering here into full details of our work during this eventful period. But, to give unprofessional readers some idea of its nature and extent, I may state, that after the battles of August 31st, and 1st September, we had 72 amputations of upper and lower extremities, the great majority of which operations were performed by Dr. MacCormac. Besides these, there were scores of equal magnitude--ligatures of arteries of the neck, arm, and thigh,--and a host of operations, which, in comparison, are usually termed minor, most of which, especially when very serious, were accomplished by the same skilful hand. After the hurry and rush of the first few days, we adopted a general routine of work, and divided the number of wounded equally among the staff of surgeons and assistants. We were eighteen, all told. Dr. Marion Sims was our head, Dr. MacCormac our chief operator, Dr. Webb our _comptable_, and Mr. Harry Sims our storekeeper. As I stated before, Drs. Frank and Blewitt managed a branch hospital in the Château Mouville, where they rendered to the victims of fire, sword, shot, and shell, of bullet and bayonet, the most signal assistance at the imminent peril of their lives. Thus for our three hundred and eighty wounded at the Caserne D'Asfeld we had but twelve men, six being surgeons, and six assistants and _sous-aides_; so that the number of wounded which fell to the share of each surgeon and his assistant was sixty-three. Almost every case occupying a bed in the hospital was of a serious nature, such as to require much time and care in dressing it daily. But, besides, we had to dress the lightly wounded who came to our hospital for inspection, and who were quartered in the town wherever they could find room. The work was simply enormous. We rose at six and breakfasted at half-past seven upon horseflesh soup, or coffee and condensed milk (Mallow brand) with musty bread, for our special supply of provisions was exhausted, and neither bread nor beef could be obtained at any price. The duties to which we then applied ourselves are easily imaginable; they included the setting of fractures, extracting of bullets, ligaturing arteries, resecting bones and joints, and assisting at the operation table. This last was frequently my province. I was under Dr. May, an experienced American surgeon, who, as I have mentioned earlier, had served in the Confederate Army. No one could be more considerate. We worked most agreeably together, and soon were the best of friends. During the press of the first few days, we juniors had lots of bullets to extract and plenty of minor surgery; for although we were not supposed to perform any operation, yet under the strain of necessity we could not but often neglect this otherwise wholesome arrangement. Every day numberless operations were gone through, at which we assisted in turn; and thus had what we sometimes thought more than enough of practical surgery. I spare the reader details; yet only perhaps by such ghastly touches as are here omitted, can the nature and ravages of war be truly described. At one o'clock the meal which we took resembled our breakfast, with the addition of a little brandy; then we fell to work again, sometimes not giving over until six, when we had supper, which was a repetition of our other meals,--coffee or horseflesh soup, and sometimes horseflesh with black bread and brandy. Then each took his turn of night duty. It was very important to keep strict watch on the infirmarians, all soldiers under the direction of a sergeant who remained in the guard-room when on duty. We still owed allegiance to the French, and were nominally under the Intendant Militaire, M. Bilotte. This gentleman paid us a daily visit, and laid under requisition all the provisions he could get in the neighbourhood, which was not much, considering that the presence of 200,000 men had involved the consumption of every particle of food in the town and the surrounding villages. Being junior member of the Ambulance Staff, I came first on night duty and took my position on a stretcher in the guard-room, where it was all I could do to keep myself awake. My eyes would close in spite of resolution, and I sometimes awoke just in time to escape a reprimand when Dr. Marion Sims came round at midnight to make his inspection. As a veteran in the American War he kept the strictest discipline, and occasionally made our blood run cold by a description of the penalties inflicted during that lively time for the smallest dereliction of duty. However, except that a dozen or so of poor sufferers required morphia to tranquillise them, nothing occurred until the small hours of the morning, when it struck me that some of the _infirmiers_ might be, like myself, inclined to doze. Accordingly, I went round and looked them up. All were stirring, except the infirmarians of wards 2 and 5, who were stretched out, one on a bench, another on the ground, fast asleep. I kicked them up to attention, and left them certainly more frightened than hurt. On my reporting the matter, as I was bound, next morning, the sleepy delinquents were put in the cells for twenty-four hours. Later on, one of them had twice as much punishment for the same offence. Poor fellows, I could not really blame them. A source of disturbance during the night was the droves of loose horses, principally Arabs, that kept neighing and pawing the pavement outside the building, in their endeavour to reach the water which was stored in buckets near the open windows. Every night, as their thirst increased, they became more frantic; and during the daytime they came in dozens, drawn by the scent of water, all the while kicking each other furiously. Some had bridles, some mere fragments of their trappings, and the rest had got quit of all their furniture. It was novel to see these chargers careering about in demi-toilette. In a few days, however, all the wounded animals, now become useless, were shot; the others were brought together--chiefly by the sound of the trumpet, to which they quickly answered--and were picketed in the valley beyond the Meuse and above Donchery. One morning Hayden and I made an expedition, and secured two of them. Mine was a fine chestnut Arab, which I kept tied to a tree in our enclosure, while one of my _infirmiers_ contrived to get fodder for him outside the ramparts, in addition to what I could procure myself from the ambulance stores. Mounted on our captures, Hayden and I used occasionally to explore the country during our hours off duty. Afterwards, when leaving Sedan, we turned them out again upon the plains, where, doubtless, they enjoyed a short-lived freedom. Some of the unsound horses, which the Prussians did not require, they sold for a trifle to the inhabitants. I saw a remarkably useful pair of horses, apparently sound and in good condition, which were sold by auction in the Place de Turenne for twelve francs, that is to say, ten shillings the pair. But we must bear in mind that, with a little vigilance, and by evading the Prussian pickets, horses might then be had on the plains for the trouble of catching them. What had become, meanwhile, of the defeated and entrapped army of prisoners? After much trouble, their officers had got together all that remained of the regiments, and had sent in a return of their strength to the Prussians. For three days our enclosure was not clear of them. One afternoon, when the prisoners had been shut up into their Island "Park," the Isle d'Iges, Hayden and I paid them a visit. It was a melancholy sight. That imposing army, which included the best soldiers of France, had been marched ignominiously, though 85,000 strong, out of Sedan, and penned like sheep in this island, formed by a bend in the Meuse. There they were kept in view by Prussian sentinels and mounted pickets. We passed the guard without difficulty, for there was no prohibition against Red Cross medical men entering the camp. In addition to the French rank and file, those officers who refused to take the parole were confined upon the island. We saw them to be in a miserable plight, the mud up to their ankles, and their clothing scanty and torn. Many had lost everything and were wholly without kits. The rain, which had succeeded to that brilliant sunshine of the 1st, had now been coming down in torrents for twelve hours, and was drenching them to the skin; for their tent-accommodation was altogether insufficient, and failed to shelter them. Men and officers alike looked miserable. This open-air prison, I have said, was formed partly by a bend of the Meuse, and partly by a broad, deep, and impassable canal. Within such narrow limits we observed the captives, who were walking up and down in batches, trying to get a little warmth. Some endeavoured to light a fire--no easy task with wet sticks--others were making coffee, or busied themselves in cutting timber to throw on their smoking branches. Their food was a scanty supply of bread and coffee, served out every two days; and for this there was quite a scramble, which ended in many failing to secure more than enough for a single meal. Thus they were condemned to starve until the next supply was served out. We may well ask how such a multitude could exist during those weary days, at the mercy of the weather, and in a sea of filth. But many died, and the sufferings of the rest were deplorable. These poor fellows told us that hundreds of them were victims of dysentery, and begged us to give them such opiates or astringents as we might have about us. Unfortunately, we could do but little under the circumstances. Whilst I was speaking with a knot of soldiers, my friend fell into conversation with a captain of the line, M. le Marquis de ----, of the 4th Chasseurs d'Afrique. He, too, was suffering from the effects of wet and exposure. Hayden, with that generosity for which he was remarkable, promised to come the next day, and to bring all the medicine required. In return, the captain pressed upon him a fine grey Arab, with bridle and saddle, which Hayden accepted, but could not take away then, for the guard would not have passed him out. However, when he came the day after, with a plentiful supply of medicaments and brandy, he rode an old grey _garron_ which he had picked up somewhere, and on his departure went off with the captain's beautiful mount;--a change of steeds that the Prussian did not trouble to remark. Every day we saw from our quarters regiment after regiment bundled off (there is no other word for it) into Germany. As we watched the whole French army slouching away to the sound of Prussian music, I confess that some of us had strong language on our lips and still stronger feelings in our hearts at the shameful sight. We anathematised the enemy, who now seemed to be pursuing their advantage so unrelentingly. Yet, candour compels me to add, that when I looked at the Prussian sentinels guarding our gates and pacing our ramparts, I could not help admiring their stern, yet frank and honest countenances, and their stalwart physique. A notable contrast, indeed, they presented to the stunted, nervous-looking, and worn-out French soldiers, who, however, it is only fair to add, were suffering from the effects of long exposure and privation, and whom we had seen at their worst. Still, there was a difference in the men themselves which no one with eyes in his head could fail to observe. What was the explanation of it? He that can reply to this question as the truth demands, and he alone, will explain why the French campaigns of 1870 and 1871 were such a dismal series of misfortunes. The break-down of the Commissariat, the peculation in high quarters, the confused plans, and the military disorder must be ascribed to causes which were long in action before the French entered on their struggle with the Fatherland. I am convinced that those causes were moral and intellectual; and that they still exist. The future of France will depend on how the nation deals with them. CHAPTER VII. MORE WOUNDED.--SIGHTS AFTER THE BATTLE.--A COUNTRY RAMBLE.--HEAVY HOSPITAL TASKS.--L'EAU DE ZOUAVE. Every day Sedan became more and more crowded with the soldiers who were hurt; and on the 12th we found ourselves so much pressed for room that we had to put up thirty-six auxiliary tents, which, for this humane purpose, we had stolen from the French. The first contingent arrived from the neighbourhood of Bazeilles. When they came in we saw that the poor fellows were in a bad way, many still groaning from the pain of their wounds, which had been much increased by their being jolted about in waggons, with only a scanty supply of straw beneath them. Some had fractured limbs; others had undergone severe surgical treatment, such as amputations; and these latter suffered inexpressible torture. All were craving for food and water, neither of which had been given to them during many hours. Some, altogether exhausted, died on the night of their arrival. One detachment of the sufferers had been allotted to Dr. May and myself; and I heard from a soldier that he, and a number of his companions, several of whom had lost their legs, were permitted to remain on their backs upon a little straw for whole days, in a deserted farmhouse outside Givonne. Their dressings had neither been removed nor changed; they had had only water to drink, and a small quantity of musty black bread to eat. Another suffered from a terrible bed-sore, which arose in the same way. But what was our surprise, when, on the following day, the Germans sent us up from the town 130 French wounded, to make room for their own in Sedan! They had them conveyed on stretchers; and, as it happened to be a pouring wet day, the unhappy men arrived in their new quarters drenched to the skin and shivering with cold, for many of them had nothing but a light shoddy American blanket to cover them or their tarpaulin. These new comers, the victims of neglect, exposure, and overcrowding, became soon the victims also of fever, secondary hemorrhage, dysentery, pyæmia, and hospital gangrene. It cannot be surprising that they died every day by the dozen. One morning, in particular, I call to mind that there had been fourteen deaths during the night. Whether it was that the Germans had more wounded of their own than they could conveniently attend to,--which I believe was the case,--and were therefore unable to look after the French wounded, or that they were unwilling to do so, I cannot tell, but I know, from personal observation, that large numbers of French soldiers died from the neglect which they had undergone previous to entering our hospitals. I am aware that the Germans have been blamed, on more than one occasion, for the fearfully neglected state of the French wounded in the districts occupied by them. But I think the true explanation may be found, first and foremost, in the great desire which the peasants had to convert their houses into ambulances, outside of which they could hang the Red Cross flag. Thereby, they exempted themselves from having the invaders billeted on them. But also, it was owing to the reluctance which these same peasants felt at parting with their wounded, which would have put an end to their own immunity. Furthermore, we must take into our account the undoubted fact that the Prussians were themselves anxious to leave them with the inhabitants, and so get quit of the trouble which it involved to transport and treat them surgically. Besides this, so great was the dread which the French wounded experienced of being handled by German doctors and taken to German hospitals, that, in many instances, they persuaded their own people to conceal their presence as long as possible. And, all through, we cannot but remember the appalling disorganisation and incompetence of the French voluntary ambulances, which were never to be found when wanted, and which when they did appear, brought with them little or nothing that was necessary to make a battlefield ambulance useful. They possessed no stores; they had few willing hands or cool heads, and discipline was unknown to them. I think it but right to add, that once the French were transmitted to a German hospital, they invariably (as I can testify from experience) met with the greatest kindness at the hands of the military surgeons, and had all that science and good order could do for them. During all this time we were virtually prisoners in the hands of the Prussians, and they kept a regular guard upon our quarters, while numerous sentries paced up and down the ramparts beside us, as we went to and fro. Nevertheless, far from interfering in any way they gave us help in every possible manner, and showed us the most marked deference. But the sentries who, after nightfall, were placed every fifty yards in the streets, were, at first, constantly challenging us, until they came to recognise our uniform, and knew who we were. An incident, which I ought not to pass over, occurred one evening as Hayden and I rode out for an airing. We were going along the road which led through the Prussian artillery camp outside Donchery, and we met a carriage or landau, accompanied by a strong guard of Uhlans, in which was a French officer, evidently wounded, for he lay on his back, propped up on pillows. Another officer of rank sat beside him. We were informed that the wounded prisoner was Marshal MacMahon, and that he was on his way to Germany through Belgium; but I have found since that this could not have been the case, for Marshal MacMahon was taken away early on the day of Sedan itself. Next we trotted on to the cottage at Frénois, where, a few days previously, the Emperor had met Count Bismarck. We then rode to the Château Bellevue in which Napoléon had had his interview with the King of Prussia and the capitulation was signed. Here I was shown, and sat upon, the chair in which the fallen Emperor had been seated. The pen and ink were shown us, also, with which, as it was alleged, the articles had been written. But I felt by no means sure of this and told my companion so. It was amusing to see his indignation, and the vehement way in which he put down my scepticism, as detracting from the interest of our pilgrimage. Our next move was to inspect some of the enemy's positions on the heights of Marfée. Here we could trace no débris of any kind,--a sufficiently striking contrast to what we had observed on the other side, where one might conceive that myriads of the French had come together for a death struggle. Over many of the Prussian graves were erected small improvised crosses, with the numbers of the dead marked in black paint. Of these graves not a few were afterwards opened, and the bodies buried deeper down; for they had been lying so close to the surface that the odour became most offensive. The Prussians wisely got their dead out of sight quickly, and buried them hastily, without caring how imperfectly the work was executed at the time. This they did lest the sight of the dead might have a demoralising effect upon the living. As we took a zigzag course towards home, we passed close by the railway station, and perceived that it was full of wounded men. The Salle d'Attente and all the offices and rolling-stock had been converted into ambulances. In many of the carriages the partitions had been removed, so that they now presented the appearance of a hospital upon wheels. The sight was interesting to me, for I had been one of the last who had travelled in those carriages and alighted on that platform. As we passed on we skirted the French camp, and scanned the remaining occupiers--now reduced to a handful--of this plague-spot. And before returning, we inspected the pontoon bridge which the Prussians had thrown across the Meuse upon the evening of the 31st. I had never seen a bridge of the kind, and was naturally struck with this wonderful result of an hour's labour. By-and-by, fortune gave me an opportunity of seeing a still more marvellous bridge of boats, constructed and destroyed on the Loire at Orleans. Next day, when I had finished my work, which consisted, as usual, of dressing wounds of every conceivable description, I was despatched by Dr. Sims to Dr. Frank at Bazeilles, in order to ascertain what additional surgical material was required to carry on his hospital at that place. Passing through the town, I noticed that the streets of Sedan were no longer overflowing with French soldiers. They were filled with Prussians, wearing that grave or stolid expression which marked them out so clearly from their adversaries. All the shutters were up, the doors closed, and not an inhabitant to be seen. One could imagine that the town had been completely deserted before the hostile troops had entered. Such, however, was by no means the case. The inhabitants had shut themselves up as a silent protest, and that their eyes might be relieved from the spectacle of the invader rejoicing over his victory. For, true it is that with a Frenchman, to be out of sight is to be out of mind. A few days later came a decree from the German Commandant, obliging the citizens to open their doors and shops, and to resume the ordinary traffic. I left the town by the Balan gate, stepped off the high road, which was blocked with transport and Commissariat waggons, and took my way through the fields. In this short journey of less than a mile, I unwittingly stepped over many a grave, and was sometimes made unpleasantly aware of the proximity of its occupant to the surface. Having arrived at my destination, which was easily found,--for the château was an ancient mansion, standing in the midst of fine woods and gardens, and had an avenue leading from the village through a handsome entrance.--I delivered my orders, and then looked round the hospital. It was airy, clean, and commodious, was evidently worked on system, and not overcrowded. In attention to this latter point, lies the secret of success in a field hospital. I was privately made aware of an interesting fact, that the pleasant old man who went about dressed in a rustic costume, blue blouse, loose trousers, and rough shoes, and made himself generally useful, was the owner of this pretty place. He had adopted the disguise as a safeguard against the Prussians, and in order to keep an eye on his property. From time to time, he produced out of his secret stores wine of an old vintage and corned meat,--both welcome delicacies during those days of horseflesh soup and black bread. Having done my errand, I walked through a plantation which communicated by a wicket with the road leading to the village. More than a week had elapsed since our attention was being drawn in the direction of Bazeilles by those continued volleys of musketry, and the fearful conflagration which had been so conspicuous in the darkness. Yet some of the houses were smouldering as I passed through. One of our Ambulance surgeons who had been present at the street-fighting, gave a vivid description of the scenes enacted there under his own observation; but to these I have already alluded, and I shall relate only what I saw. Here it was that the dead lay in such heaps that they had to be cleared away before the cavalry could pass. Now all were decently buried, except such as lay beneath the burning ruins, and of these, people said, there were numbers. As the weather was again very close, the odour was in some places most disagreeably perceptible. Strewn about was débris of every kind; arms, accoutrements, broken furniture and household effects, portions of bedding, and shreds of women's and children's clothing. I pulled at one piece of a garment which was visible through the débris of a ruined house, and fancied that its wearer was lying only a few inches beneath. It was a child, so far as I could judge from the dress. That thought made me hurry away from the spot with a feeling of sickness. Before its downfall, Bazeilles had been a pretty little town, each house having its own trees and garden; but now, with the exception of a few flowers and shrubs at the Mairie, all had been destroyed. There were statues and vases still standing in their place; but not a single thing which could lead one to suppose that, a few days previously, this heap of ruins had been a thriving village, its streets lined with comfortable houses, and its people flourishing. The village church, standing in the centre of the Square, was a total wreck. On entering, I perceived that here, too, the shells had done their work effectively; for the altar seemed as if it had been struck and shivered to pieces by a mighty hammer. The stone font set in the wall was broken to bits, the glass hung in cones from the windows. I have kept some of these as memorials to this day. Among the rubbish of the altar and tabernacle, I came upon a piece of shell,--the same, no doubt, that wrecked the sanctuary. This I have also preserved. For some time I wandered about the deserted streets, taking in the sad sight. So fierce had been the conflagration that the trees were burned down to the bare trunks. On turning a corner, I espied at the top of the street, facing me, a man with a portfolio and easel in front of him, hard at work sketching the ruins. As I approached he gave me a searching look, and resumed his work. Later on he came up to the Hospital, and I found he was an artist on the staff of the _Illustrated London News._ In that paper I saw afterwards the sketch he was taking; and a very excellent one I judge it to be. On the way back to my quarters I saw a crowd of children at a convent door, from the steps of which two nuns were distributing bread from a large basket. These children, I was informed, were some of the innocents who had fled with their mothers from the burning village. It made my heart ache to see the eagerness with which these half-famished little creatures snatched at and began to devour the bread. And now as I slowly trudged up the steep path which led to our Hospital, I could not but reflect how terrible a curse is war, and what a very faint idea he will have of it who has not seen the detestable thing face to face. Our Hospital work, hitherto very heavy indeed, was now increased by our thirty-six tents. All were filled with wounded; and we should soon have overtasked our strength, but for the timely assistance which the English Society lent us. About the 11th September, Drs. A. O. Mackellar, Sherwell, Beck and Warren, and two dressers, accompanied by two English nursing Sisters--Miss Pearson and Miss McLoughlin--arrived, the former from Metz, the latter from London. They brought a supply of Mallow condensed milk and potted beef--a welcome supplement to black coffee and horseflesh soup. Up to this we had quite forgotten the outer world; and we knew little of the great events which had passed, and were passing, outside our own limited experience. Some days previous to being thus reinforced, several of us were attacked by intestinal disorders, from which I, among the number, suffered severely. In a few days, the origin of this malady was accounted for. The body of a Zouave, in a state of semi-decomposition, was drawn out of the well which alone supplied the Hospital. His presence there was discovered by the bumping of the bucket against something soft, when a grappling iron was let down and brought up the dead body.... This poor fellow had, we supposed, been wounded slightly on the 1st; and, during that night, or the night after, had dragged himself to the edge of the well, and had fallen in, probably owing to his efforts to procure some relief from his thirst. There was no other way of accounting for his presence. Dr. MacCormac christened this well "L'Eau de Zouave". I resolved never again to complain of the coarse and scanty fare upon which we subsisted; but my blood curdled at the thought that this unsavoury and deadly beverage, in the shape of a cold infusion of Zouave and brandy, had for some days past been my chief drink. Such is war! The weather, which had been fine and warm since we left Paris, had now become wet and stormy. In spite of all we could do, the misery and wretchedness of the wounded under canvas was beyond description. For the rain came through the tents and soaked their scanty bedding. I occupied a small tent in the middle of the others; and to give some notion of the weather, I may mention that one night, when I had taken off nearly all my clothes (by no means a usual, or always possible, proceeding) and had got between the blankets, being stretched on a straw mattress, I awoke to find myself in the open air, with the rain and wind beating fiercely upon me. The tent had been swept away by a gust of wind. I started out of bed, and, standing in the dark, up to my ankles in mud, drenched, and not half-dressed, called to the Hospital guard. One of them brought a lantern, and guided me to the main building close by, where I found some dry clothes, and made up a bed with a few benches in the mess-room. With the help of a tumbler of brandy and hot water, and a dose of chlorodyne, I had an excellent night's rest in my new quarters. But this bad weather, exposure, and overcrowding--all things beyond our control--brought disaster into our camp. Pyæmia and secondary hemorrhage showed themselves everywhere. All our secondary operations died, and I regret to say that their places were immediately filled up by the Germans, who turned all the French wounded that they could out of the principal buildings of the town, and sent them up to us, in order to make room for their own. Though the position of the tents was changed, and disinfectants used as far as possible, numbers of these new invalids had been hardly with us a couple of days when they were seized by the same infection. The Hospital had become a centre of the plague, and threatened to be a death-trap to all who should be sent thither. CHAPTER VIII. TWO THOUSAND PATIENTS.--NIGGER CHARLIE.--LOUIS ST. AUBIN, CHASSEUR D'AFRIQUE.--THE BOY PEYEN.--GUNS CAPTURED IN THE TOWN. THE number of wounded in the care of our Ambulance was at this time, roughly speaking, about 500. There were 218 in the Caserne; each of the thirty-three tents held 4 patients, and Dr. Frank had in his Hospital 150 Bavarians. This will make the total given above a fairly accurate estimate. During and after the battles of the 31st August, and the 1st September, the number of men whose wounds we dressed and attended to, without receiving them into the Hospital, was calculated by us at about 2000. Nor can this be thought excessive, when, within rifle range around us, there were of French wounded alone, over 12,500. A further insight into the magnitude of our labours may be gained from the fact that in our Hospital at Sedan we had a total of 436 primary operations,--152 for injuries of the upper, and 284 for injuries of the lower extremities. Another interesting fact worth recording is, that during the battles about Sedan, not a single case of wound by a mitrailleuse bullet was met with by any member of our staff. Dr. Marion Sims assured us that the hardships we endured, and the amount of work we actually got through, went beyond the limits of his varied experience. To enter at length into details would, besides involving obscure technicalities, be tedious to the general reader. I will confine myself to a brief account of our Staff and General Management, and select from my observations a few interesting cases. I have named the original members of our Ambulance, and those who had recently joined us. Nor must I forget Père Bayonne, the Dominican Friar, who was a general favourite, and untiring in his efforts to deal with the religious wants of the dying soldiers--no easy task among Frenchmen. Neither ought I to omit M. Monod, our Protestant chaplain, a quiet, gentlemanly man, who moved noiselessly about, and slipped little pamphlets with stories of the usual type, and sheets of paper with Bible-texts printed on them, into the patients' beds as he went along. But I have yet to mention, at such length as he deserves, one of the most notable characters in our Ambulance, our _chef de cuisine_ and stud-groom, "Nigger Charlie". He was coal-black, and he and his forefathers had been Virginian slaves in Dr. Pratt's family. When the slaves were enfranchised, and slavery abolished, Charlie came to Paris with his master, whose family were ruined by the emancipation, for all their wealth had consisted in their slaves. At Paris, Charlie served Dr. Pratt faithfully for years; indeed, he often told me that he loved his master more dearly than his life. Dr. Pratt, on the other hand, knew and said that in spite of his undoubted devotion, Charlie would sometimes steal his money and pawn his plate, after which he would take to his heels, coming back only when all he had gained in this unrighteous fashion was spent. But, though chastised not too leniently with the whip, nothing would induce him to run away for good. It was, in fact, impossible to get rid of him. When, therefore, the negro heard that his master had joined the Ambulance, although he had a good salary as courier in an American Bank in Paris, he packed up his traps, and, without saying a word, landed himself into the train by which we arrived at Sedan. He was a wonderful cook, and knew how to serve up horseflesh soup and steaks so as to defy detection. He was also a wit of quite a brilliant type, a great rider and judge of horses, and as a liar beat all records. But his most decided characteristics were hatred of the Yankee, contempt for black men, and a chivalrous devotion to white women. I had many a pleasant chat with him. His descriptions of slave life in Virginia, as he said it went on in nine cases out of ten, and of the happiness of their domestic situation and surroundings, were extremely vivid and even touching. I presume he was, at any rate, a true witness in his own behalf. Now, as to the exact nature of our Hospital work and its results. It is to me a constant subject of regret that our knowledge of the antiseptic treatment and drainage of wounds was then only in its beginning. Although lint and _charpie_ dressings were used, saturated with carbolic solution, yet covered as they were with oiled silk and a bandage, their effect was spoiled. Neither was any serious attempt made to render the instruments, operating table, and surroundings of the patients, aseptic. Hence the high rate of mortality which ensued. Startling, in fact, as the statement may appear, I am convinced that if we had refrained from performing a single secondary operation at Sedan, our results would have turned out far better. There was associated with every individual in this great host of patients an interesting story,--how, when, and where did they receive their wounds? And among the number some cases could not fail to be exceptionally romantic or affecting. The sketch I have already given of Louis St. Aubin's adventures,--that brave Chasseur d'Afrique who was thrice wounded on the 1st,--may be taken as an instance; and I will now add what happened in the sequel. St. Aubin came into the Hospital under Dr. May's care and mine. Two days afterwards, Dr. MacCormac performed resection of both his joints. But so afraid was Louis that advantage might be taken of his induced sleep to amputate his arm (a mutilation to which the poor fellow would in no case submit) that he refused utterly to be put under chloroform. Throughout the operation, which was of necessity a protracted one, he bore up with amazing courage. When the bones had to be sawn through, he clenched his teeth on the fold of a sheet, and, except to give utterance to a few stifled groans, neither flinched nor moved a muscle. His powers of endurance were wonderful. Day after day I attended at this brave fellow's bedside, and he and I became much attached to one another. I took him little delicacies when I could procure them, and I was determined not to let him die if I could help it. Dr. MacCormac visited him very often; but he was quite jealous of allowing any one but Dr. May or myself to dress his wounds. For some time he went on favourably,--a progress which I observed with pleasure; but then fell back so much that we almost despaired. At this time his sufferings were intense; and I had much to do to keep him in bed. One day he implored of me to put him altogether out of his pain; I expostulated with him as firmly as I could, and pointed out how unmanly it was to use such language, whatever he might be enduring; when he said, with an agonising earnestness, "Tell me, doctor, is it possible that Christ suffered as much as I am suffering now?" I answered, "Your pain is as nothing to His," and he calmed down and went through his agony in silence. Happily, it was not long until he became better; and when in course of time, I was obliged to leave with the Ambulance and go to the front, he was rapidly recovering. Our parting was sorrowful, for I honoured and loved the noble spirit of that dauntless soldier. He begged for my address in Ireland, that he might write to me; and he has done so several times. I subjoin the translation of one of his letters sent to me while he was in Hospital after I had left Sedan. "SEDAN, Oct. 10th, 1870. "Monsieur le Docteur, "I do not wish to delay any longer before giving you an account of myself, and once more expressing my gratitude for the interest you have taken and the care you have lavished on me. What am I to tell you about my wound? It is slow in healing, and since your departure, I have had to undergo treatment very different from yours; but I have not given up the hope of a complete recovery, although I suffer a good deal, and am obliged to stay in bed. "I should be very happy if I could see you at my bedside, M. le Docteur. In spite of the pains taken with me, I feel your going away; you were so kind and patient. Shall I ever see you again, and thank you with my own lips? I hope so with all my heart. I will never forget you. "Please accept, with the expression of my deepest gratitude, my entire devotion. "LOUIS ST. AUBIN. "I take the liberty of sending you my address, and I hope you will do me the honour of letting me hear from you. Thanks to the kindness of M. de Montagnac, I shall receive your letter direct." The address given was that gentleman's, at Bouillon. I insert this touching note, less on account of the generous acknowledgment which Louis St. Aubin makes to his doctor, than to show what fine qualities were in him, and how gracefully his French courtesy enabled him to express himself. Indeed, when his Colonel came to see the lad, he declared that Louis was the best and bravest soldier in his troop, and that he did not know what fear was. Another young fellow, quite a boy, Peyen of the 50th Regiment of the Line, had been shot through the wrist, and Dr. May considered that amputation was necessary. He was a bright young fellow, with a beaming countenance and a twinkle in his eye; and when I came to let him know our determination, and take him to the operation ward, I found him smoking a cigar. Not a bit dismayed, he got out of bed, slipped on his trousers, and tripped briskly up the cloister, smoking his cigar all the while, until he mounted the operation table. His arm was amputated; but when he recovered from the chloroform state, he declined to go back to bed until he saw his comrade's leg cut off. "I want," said Peyen, "to tell him how it was done." This might be an incident in _Le Conscrit_ of MM. Erckmann-Chatrian. He quietly smoked another cigar which I procured for him, and attentively watched every step of the operation; after which, he and his companion returned to their ward together. Peyen wrote me a letter, which I still possess, and will here append, to show me how well he could write with his left hand. Nothing but a facsimile could do justice to the quaint and brave caligraphy of this letter, which I am sorry not to reproduce in the original. It read pretty much as follows:-- "AT SEDAN, September 18th, 1870. "On the 4th of August, took place the Battle of Bixembourg (_sic_) from 9 in the morning till 9 at night. The _division Douai_, composed of about 8000 men, too weak to resist an enemy six times their number, was forced to beat a retreat to Hagenau. In this sad engagement General Douai was killed at the head of his Division. The battle was won by the Prussians,--that is true, but the honour remains with France, the Division having stood against 60,000 men all that day, and having even prevented them for five hours from ascending the slope of Bixembourg. (Signed) "PEYEN, LOUIS, "Ever your devoted servant. "To M. le Docteur of Ward No. 5." This plucky young fellow recovered without a single bad symptom. But, alas! it was not so with a vast number of our other patients; for, about the 14th, many of them were in a bad way, and nearly all our staff complained of not feeling well. Dr. Sims noticed one day that the work was telling on me, and ordered me off duty, sending me out for a walk. Accordingly, I went into the town, and saw the French guns which had now been stored in the Park, or exercise ground for the troops during times of peace. I never shall forget that sight. There were 400 pieces of artillery of all sizes, including 70 mitrailleuses packed close together. The question suggested itself, Would an army of 100,000 Englishmen, with this amount of guns and ammunition, submit to lay down their arms and skulk into Germany? Could any combination of circumstances make such a thing possible? I do not believe it. An officer on duty about the place kindly took me through the Park, and showed me the working of the mitrailleuse, as well as a number of heavy cannon. He warned me against picking up unburst shells, for they had been known to explode as long as seventeen days after being fired--a statement which I thought unlikely. Standing beside this plateau was a large building which belonged to the Nuns of the Assumption, and in which a sister of mine, who is in that Order, had until recently been living. I paid them a visit and the Mother Superior received me cordially, telling me of their labours on behalf of the wounded, and pointing out where a shell had struck one of the doors leading into the garden. There was also a round hole in another door, as clean cut by a bullet as if it had been done with a punch. The refectory of these good Sisters was now made the operation room; and many of the lightly wounded were limping on crutches up and down the cloisters, their faces beaming with contentment, as well they might, for the Nuns were indefatigable in attending to their wants. Having bidden adieu to the amiable Superior, I directed my steps to the Place de Turenne. Here the church, theatre, public schools, and extensive buildings of the cloth and silk factories in the Rue Marqua, were crowded with invalids, as was every second house in the town. All these showed the Red Cross flag--under Prussian management, and I looked into some of them, thinking that the Church especially, was an uncanny sight when turned into a hospital and full of the wounded. I now passed on through the town, and out by the Torcy Gate, and so home again. It was four days before I was allowed another ramble, as Dr. May had a slight attack of blood poisoning, and his work was given to me. Most of our _infirmiers_ had been drawn by the Prussians. Those that remained were French ambulance men; and, if we except three, were altogether ignorant, lazy, and good-for-nothing fellows. They had received no technical training; and the task, therefore, which devolved upon me taxed the energies of mind and body. Some of our patients were wounded in three, four, five, and, in one instance, in six places, which made the dressing of their wounds a tedious affair. I had also to dress ten or a dozen amputated limbs. At one time I had in my charge eighteen of these, a couple of resections, no end of flesh wounds from bullet and shell, numerous fractures--most of them compound ones--and all varieties of lacerations and contusions. About this time there were some forty secondary operations, in all of which conservative surgery had been tried; but owing to the overcrowded state and vitiated atmosphere of the Hospital, these patients nearly all succumbed. From the commencement our lightly wounded men were removed as soon as possible, and sent to some French or Belgian Military Hospital. The result was that, after a few days, we had none in our care but the severely wounded. I cannot conclude without mentioning the kind way in which Dr. Marion Sims dealt with me. Nor shall I ever cease to recall with gratitude, his invariable consideration for one so much younger than himself and wholly without experience. CHAPTER IX. SUSPICIOUS PRUSSIANS.--THE ILLUSTRIOUS STROMEYER.--OPEN-AIR TREATMENT.--NEUTRALITY BECOMES DIFFICULT.--DR. SIMS LEAVES US.--UNDER ARREST.--FAREWELL TO SEDAN. I forgot to mention a curious story told me by a French soldier, who had a bullet wound through his arm. To account for it, he said that it had been received from the pistol of a Prussian horseman, to whom he was in the act of handing a piece of bread, which the fellow had asked of him. Could this be true? It seems to me incredible, and, for the honour of our common humanity, I hope was false. A strange encounter which one of our new arrivals, Dr. Warren, had with two Prussian sentinels caused some excitement, and not a little amusement, among the rest of us. Dr. Warren was returning after dark, with some arms that he had secured as trophies, and secreted a few days previously. When he was passing beneath the ramparts a sentinel from above halted him, and challenged him to give the word. Dr. Warren, who could then neither speak nor understand French or German, shouted and made such explanations as he could in English, which it is needless to observe the sentinel did not comprehend. How unsatisfactory they were to him our friend was quickly convinced, by the sentry raising his rifle and firing at his head. He heard the bullet hit the bank close beside him, and, as it was dusk, the flash revealed two other sentries on their beat near by, one of whom followed suit; but luckily with no better success. A yet more extraordinary method of assault was now resorted to by a third, who, being conscious, no doubt, of his incompetence as a marksman, began to hurl large stones over the ramparts at our stranger. Thus far, Dr. Warren had been standing petrified with astonishment, but now realising his position he made up his mind to run, which he did at the utmost speed, for he expected every second to feel a bullet through him, the only doubt being where he would get hit. He escaped, and the whole affair was reported to the Prussian commandant. This officer had two of the sentinels mildly reproved for their excess of zeal, and the hurler punished in that he had adopted an unsoldierly method of attack. Dr. Scott suggested to me that this last man must have been by descent from Tipperary. Misadventures were in the air just then; for, a morning or two afterwards, Drs. Parker and Marcus Beck happened to ignite some cartridges which were lying on the ground near the Hospital, and thereby caused an explosion. The guard turned out, arrested our two heroes, and took them before the commandant, who, upon receiving their explanation, set them at liberty. As time wore on, our relations with the Teutons became more and more friendly. At first they had looked upon us with distrust; but, when they found that our organisation was thoroughly international, that we were independent of the French, and our staff and management as complete and efficient as they proved, the invaders seemed to take unusual interest in us. Their surgeons came in numbers to the Hospital, where, of course, they met with all civility; and we, on our side, had nothing of which to complain. Not only so. Their surgeon-general, the great Stromeyer, condescended to inspect our hospital, and complimenting the Chief on its details and management, invited him to visit his own Ambulance at Floing. Dr. MacCormac did so, and was highly pleased with all he saw. The success of the Prussian surgical operations was very striking. It contrasted most favourably with our results; but this depended, in great measure, on the Floing Hospital having been a temporary structure, consisting of improvised shanties, boarded all round in such a way that the sides could be opened at will in louvre fashion, so that, weather permitting, the patients were treated practically in the open air, yet without subjecting them to chill or exposure. I conceive that this was the explanation of their low death-rate, for the surgical methods of procedure were identical with our own. And I may anticipate here a remark which my experience at Orleans afterwards confirmed, _viz._, that such open-air treatment is the only effective protection against blood-poisoning. This was the first introductory step to our transition from the French to the German side, but the change was slow and gradual. Hints, indeed, were constantly thrown out that our services would be well received, if we followed on in the track of their army. At first we firmly asserted our neutrality. But we were made to understand that the attitude we had assumed was impracticable; we must make up our minds to be on one side or the other. These warnings did much to determine the line of action upon which we finally resolved. Our movements were also influenced by the fact that while, as regarded the majority of our staff, our sympathies were undoubtedly French, yet later on, when we came in contact with the Prussians, and got to know them thoroughly, the admiration with which we started for the other side was very much cooled down. We looked on the belligerents with less prejudiced eyes, and, in the long run, had no decided leaning one way or another. In a few days from the time of which I have spoken above, Dr. May was sufficiently well to resume duty. There was a fresh addition to our staff in the person of Dr. Sherwell, and our duties becoming less laborious, suffered us at length to breathe. We could now go down frequently in the evening, for an hour, either to the Hôtel de la Croix d'Or, or to a first-rate café in the Rue Napoléon, where it was possible to enjoy a smoke or a drink, and a game of billiards upon a table without pockets. This was a great recreation, and I found it did one good after the labours of the day. There we met the French officers who were on parole, and not a little surprise did we feel to see them smoke, drink, and crack jokes as if the capitulation of Sedan were ancient history. There also we came across the surgeons and assistants of the Prussian Military Hospitals, many of whom knew French fairly well, and not a few spoke English. We, however, had to be back again by nine o'clock, before our drawbridge was taken up; for the standing order had been issued that any one found in the streets after that hour was liable to be shot. On one occasion I happened to be returning with a fellow "Chip," who, after the labours of the day, had partaken rather too freely of "bock" and "cognac de café". With no small difficulty I had induced him to start, and we found the streets dotted with sentries on night-duty. Hence, every few minutes we were halted, and made to advance until their bayonets almost touched our shirt-fronts. This would not have made me nervous, had not my friend, who was a good deal more noisy since he tasted the open air, objected to being stopped by the sentries in so rude a fashion. He declined, in short, to account for himself. Fearing unpleasant consequences, I came forward on the approach of every sentry and gave the name of our corps, specifying our quarters, and adding gently, "Mein Freund hat zu viel bock getrunken". They invariably met the palaver with a laugh, and let us pass on, for some of them knew who we were. One fellow, either a little more inquisitive than the rest, or else not recognising our uniforms, put us through a regular examination, upon which my companion began to speak roughly, and even made a clutch at his rifle. Fortunately, the sentinel perceived what was the matter, and was willing to let him pass; but my man wouldn't stir an inch. Here was a predicament! As he could speak a little German, he used his knowledge to abuse the good-natured sentry, and when he had come to the end of his vocabulary, began again in French (of which language he was perfect master), winding up at last in English. The soldier presented his rifle, I daresay with the intention of frightening my comrade; and I thought it time to seize him by the collar and get him along by main force. Thus we arrived within regulation distance of the gates of the Citadel. The bridges were up, and the sentry on duty refused to let us advance any further. By this time my friend had quieted down, and was beginning to realise his position; for here we had to wait fully half an hour while the sentry was hailing the others, who in their turn hailed some more, and so on, until the officer of the watch came on the scene. His business was to call out the guard, when, after much shouting, shuffling, and shouldering of arms, the drawbridge was let down and we were admitted. I was glad enough to get my obstreperous friend safely landed within. It was a parlous incident, though my friend's drollery and witty _sotto voce_ remarks--for he was not really overcome by the "bock" to the extent of intoxication--have often made me laugh heartily since. I have thus brought my readers to the middle of our third week at Sedan; and it was with feelings of sincere regret that we now bade adieu to Dr. Marion Sims, who, in so short a space of time, had won the regard of every member of our staff. He appointed in his place Drs. Frank and MacCormac as co-surgeons in chief--Dr. Frank for the Balan and Bazeilles division of our Ambulance, Dr. MacCormac for Sedan. As our work was growing gradually less, we now had time for a ride nearly every afternoon. There was one in particular which I enjoyed much, and often took in company with my friend Hayden. It was from Sedan to Bouillon, conveying or bringing back the post. This was the only channel through which we could receive letters from home. Bouillon, as is well known, is a very picturesque town, about six miles from the frontier, and twelve from Sedan. The road thither goes through Balan, Givet, and Givonne, over hills and dales, and through a finely wooded country, partly lying in the Forest of Ardennes, from which there stretches a vast succession of woods for twenty or thirty miles. As we near our destination the road winds circuitously, and turns at last into the Valley of Bouillon. When I saw it, the autumn colours were all abroad, and no prospect could be more enchanting. There, beneath us, nestling amid the foliage, now rich and golden, which clothed its hills, lay in the noonday sun, the ancient town of Bouillon, through which a rapid and boiling river, the Somme, flowed over a rocky bed, and was leaping and dancing round one huge boulder, above which rose the ivy-mantled turrets of Godfrey's once mighty fortress. The steep and grassy slopes seemed to come down sheer to the water's edge. It was a place of sunshine, quiet and secure; and, at first sight, one would have thought it inaccessible. I may mention that it was in this little expedition, when passing by Givonne, that I espied, lying on his side and basking at full length in the sun, a beautiful black and tan hound, identical in appearance with the old breed of Kerry beagles. My companion was amused that I could feel excited about Kerry beagles. But I had my reasons, and I asked the owner of the house to whom the dog might belong. He replied that it was the property of a Marquis in the Ardennes, who kept a pack for hunting deer and wild boars, and he added that probably such a dog would not be sold under 500 francs. The "Black and Tans" are an old-established pack in my neighbourhood, with which I have long had very close associations; and it made my blood run faster to be reminded of them in the neighbourhood of the Forest of Ardennes, which for the world at large has other memories, less personal, if more poetic. Having arrived at our destination, and delivered and received our letters, we had a good dinner and a smoke. None of my readers can know the pleasure of a good dinner if they have not lived in a situation like that which was then allotted to us. We went to see the old castle, with its corridors hewn out of the solid rock, and its manhole in the parapet leaning over the river, from which highwaymen and robbers--if not others less guilty--were hurled into the waters beneath. Lingering about the place for hours after we ought to have started, the evening came on so quickly that we shirked the long journey in the dark. We thought it better to stay the night at Bouillon, and take our chance of getting off a reprimand by means of this explanation. At first light next morning we started, but on arriving at the Hospital, Dr. May, without asking why we had come after time, informed us from the chief that we must consider ourselves as under arrest until further notice. This was not exactly pleasant. But we had our work to do, and there can be no doubt that the strict discipline kept in our Ambulance was what made it so successful. Many members of the French Hospital staff, whom I met here and elsewhere, assured me that jealousy and want of discipline among them were potent causes of their failure; their supply of material--which was generally very short--in some cases outlasting the final disruption. I had one other most interesting expedition, to the Château Bellevue and along by the hills where the Prussians established their heavy guns on the First. It commanded the whole valley, and as we looked down upon the Plateau of Floing, the Bois de Garenne, the slopes of Givonne, and our hospital standing on its huge embankment above the ramparts of Sedan between them and us, the only wonder was that a single man of us remained alive. It was now time to think of a fresh field for our labours. Dr. Parker and I were deputed to visit Arlon, a town in Belgium about thirty-five miles distant, to consult with Capt. H. Brackenbury, who was secretary to the English Aid Society on the Continent. We made the journey in a two-horse open carriage by way of Bouillon in about ten hours; and with such charming scenery, and in agreeable companionship, the journey could not fail to prove delightful. On the next day, Sunday, we had an interview with Brackenbury's secretary, for he was not at home himself; and we then started off again for Sedan before there was a soul in the streets, so that my recollections of Arlon do not amount to a great deal. On our return the staff held a meeting, at which Dr. MacCormac gave in his resignation as chief in favour of Dr. Pratt (son-in-law to Marion Sims), who succeeded him. Dr. MacCormac was engaged, as we knew, to deliver an inaugural address at the Queen's College, Belfast, about the middle of October; and his pupil, Scott, accompanied him on his departure. As Dr. Nicholl also wished to return to America, it was arranged that Wyman and Hewitt should continue with Dr. Frank for some time before we disbanded, for the Hospital at Bazeilles had to be wound up with our own. The following members were then selected to proceed to the front,--our new chief, Dr. Pratt, and Drs. May, Tilghman, Mackellar, Parker, Warren, Hayden, Sherwell, Wallace, Wombwell, Adams, and myself. These formed the staff. With us went, of course, Nigger Charlie, and a Turco named Jean. This Turco had received a bullet in the back at Metz, during an effort (which proved successful) to get water from a well which was guarded by a Prussian picket, who had already bowled over four or five others intent on the same enterprise. The 4th of October, which was the day appointed for starting, arrived. We said good-bye to the few patients now remaining, who were to be taken over by Dr. Frank. Among them was my friend Louis St. Aubin. The poor fellow on taking leave of me, in his weak state, sobbed like a child, and I felt equally grieved at having to part from him. We bade farewell to Dr. MacCormac with much regret; and then the drawbridge was let down, Dr. Pratt gave the word to start, and the Anglo-American Ambulance made its exit from the Caserne, slowly wending its way down the rugged path, _en route_ for Paris. The first chapter in my experience of a military Hospital, and of the battlefield, was closed. CHAPTER X. RISKY TRAVELLING.--AT BRUSSELS.--FRENCH AMBULANCE BREAKS DOWN COMPLETELY.--WE START AGAIN FOR PARIS. Dr. Pratt was of opinion that, if the Germans did not require our services, they might perhaps allow us to get into Paris, where, as it was rumoured, medical men were scarce. With this object in view, we had determined to go round by Belgium, and now made for Bouillon, the nearest frontier town. It was a lovely evening when we arrived. As we came near the custom-house--"_la Douane_," the meaning of which I now understood--we were in a state of trepidation lest, on the waggons being overhauled, our trophies of Sedan should be discovered and taken from us. For my part, I had hidden my chassepot, pistol, sword, and lance-top from the Plain of Floing, securely beneath some sacks of corn. But the officers allowed us to pass with only a formal scrutiny. As it was late, we stayed that night in Bouillon at the hotel. All our baggage, waggons, horses, and infirmarians were quartered in the old Castle yard; and, having given my horse to the groom to be picketed (for I had turned my grey Arab loose again on the plains of Sedan), I joined Hayden, and went down into the town to look for quarters. When we had secured them, we dined very comfortably at our hotel with the rest of the staff. This was the first meal we had enjoyed for many weeks in a neighbourhood free from war's alarms, and we found it pleasant. After a sound night's rest we arose at three, and had our horses and men together at the appointed time, which was an hour later. But more time elapsed before all was ready, and it was quite five when marching orders were given. We reached Libramont after a pleasant five hours' journey through a pretty and very interesting country. Here all our staff, with the exception of Hayden and myself, took the fast train to Brussels. We two had been told off to stay in charge of the _infirmiers_, waggons, horses, and stores, which we were to take on to Brussels in the evening, by luggage-train. This was a heavy task, and occupied nearly all the afternoon. Moreover, we had to get our ten horses fed, watered, cleaned, and boxed, which was far from easy, considering that few of the _infirmiers_ knew anything about the management of horses, while their boxing and conveyance by train were quite beyond them. Here my experience of boxing horses for the world-renowned Fair of Cahirmee, near Buttevant, stood me in very good stead. Three of our waggons were heavily laden with stores and corn, and required a truck each for themselves. The fourth was a light covered fourgon which contained our personal luggage, and in this we resolved to travel up to Brussels. Having dined on mutton and fruit in a clean little inn near the station, at 7·30 P.M. we started, comfortably stretched out at the bottom of our fourgon, and covered up in rugs and coats. The night wore on, and we were suddenly aroused from our slumbers by feeling the movement of our waggon upon the truck, which latter was only a sand train. As we went along, the line became more and more uneven; our van rolled several times backwards and forwards, and was kind enough also to sway from side to side in a most uncomfortable manner. I crept out and found its moorings loose. The night was dark and misty, and we had no light, nor the means of getting one; and, as the wheels of the fourgon were high, and the edges of the truck low, while the motion of the train was very rough, we thought it would be dangerous to try our hand at putting the concern straight. We discussed our chances of being pitched overboard; but concluded that the risk was small, although the jolting and swaying from time to time vexed us not a little. However, at one in the morning, we found ourselves at Namur, and were told we should have to stay there four hours. Accordingly, leaving men, horses, and waggons at the station, my friend and I strolled into the town. It was a beautiful moonlight night. After some wandering we saw a gleam in one of the restaurants, and roused up the landlady, who kindly gave us some hot coffee and braised mutton. Thus fortified we settled down in a couple of arm-chairs, and slept for some hours. At half-past four we took our places again in the waggon; but not until we had seen it firmly secured. We arrived in Brussels at 10 A.M., having been _en route_ more than fourteen hours. When we alighted we were in a sad plight,--sleepy, hungry, and disreputable-looking, bearing upon us all the marks of the hardships which we had gone through since entering on the campaign. Not many minutes after our arrival, Dr. Pratt came up, and expressed his satisfaction that orders had been carried out punctually. There was a conveyance waiting, he said, to take us to the Hôtel de France; and there we should find breakfast and comfortable quarters ready. After the wear and tear of the last couple of months, one may fancy our joy at this sudden return to the comforts, and even the luxuries, of civilised life. No longer the din of armed men on the march, or going to their exercises; no longer sentries at every step; no longer the streets thronged with military! Yet, the sight of an occasional French officer limping about on crutches, or with his arm in a sling, reminded us that the seat of war was not far distant. When breakfast was over, we turned in and slept until evening. Then, with some others of the staff, and certain friends of Dr. May's who had fled from Paris, we took a box at the Circus, and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. Next day it was our business to report to Captain Brackenbury. After filling up forms, answering questions, and submitting to a deal of red tape, we were handed our pay up to date and a month in advance. Here we learned that the French Society, under whose patronage we had started from Paris, was now disorganised, and had stopped supplies. Not only were its funds exhausted, but its Ambulances had failed to render efficient service on the field of battle. Although we had now joined the English Society, and, in consequence, were associated also with the Prussians, it was a graceful act on the part of the Vice-President of the French Association to make his acknowledgments, as he did, for the assistance which we had given to his countrymen in our Hospitals around Sedan. At noon on the 8th of October, we received orders to hold ourselves in readiness; and great excitement arose when it was noised abroad that the Prussians had cut the line between Lille and Brussels. Thus, we might have to go round by London, in order to reach Paris. We ascertained, however, that the line had not yet been injured, although the enemy had come into its immediate neighbourhood near the town of Lille. In the evening, therefore, we quitted Brussels by train, taking with us stores, waggons, and horses. The journey to Lille was a short one, and from thence we travelled by Douai and Arras to Amiens, where we halted for a few hours to eat and sleep until the next train set out for Rouen. At daybreak we resumed our expedition, and as we entered Normandy the whole aspect of the country, which had been hitherto flat and monotonous, changed for the better. The red-brick houses, some tiled, some thatched, reminded me a little of villages I had remarked in my journey from London to Holyhead; but here most of the houses had timber built into them, which made them more quaint and picturesque. CHAPTER XI. AT ROUEN.--ON THE ROAD TO PARIS.--IN THE WOODS AMONG THE FRANCS-TIREURS.--TAKEN FOR SPIES.--A REFUGEE FENIAN.--TO MANTES. We arrived in Rouen at four o'clock in the afternoon of the 9th, and found the town full of Gardes Mobiles, who were marching about in civilian dress, but armed to the teeth. Our few hours of sight-seeing next day were not long in coming to an end; but on going to the Railway Terminus, we heard that a telegram had just been received, saying that the Prussians had torn up the line to Paris, and we could travel no further. However, in a couple of hours, we succeeded in chartering an engine,--four waggons and a carriage--in which we determined to proceed as far as we could. Our advance, when we had started, was so slow and deliberate that we felt sure our conductors were only waiting to pull up at the first opportunity, and jump off the train as soon as they saw danger ahead. After going no faster than a horse could have trotted for two hours or so, we came to a dead stop at a little country village called St. Pierre. Beyond this point our guard and driver stoutly refused to carry us; and, as it was now late, we thought well to stay there for the night. We occupied the village inn and a private house close by. As we had orders to start at daybreak, we were up betimes next morning. I went out as soon as it was light, and took a stroll through the village, in which many of the houses seemed to have been deserted. On inquiry, I found that, since the first intelligence, a few days back, that the Prussians were coming, the owners of these houses had packed up their moveables and gone north, leaving their dwellings to take care of themselves. The situation of St. Pierre, overlooking the Seine, was pretty enough. On the heights above stood its quaint little church, built of flint-stone, and as black as coal in appearance. I went inside, and saw that it was unadorned, but scrupulously clean. In another hour we were on our journey again, this time by road. We took the _route Impériale_ through the valley beside the river, and it would be difficult to do justice in description to the varied and picturesque scenes that came repeatedly into view, along the many miles which we pursued of its winding course. About midday we gained Gaillon, where we halted to refresh our horses and ourselves. Gaillon is a large village, with a refreshing air of comfort and cleanliness about it, and has a broad central street, lined on each side with handsome trees. Having rested a couple of hours we pushed on for Vernon, which was, perhaps, some ten miles distant,--a long journey, during which we had to accommodate our pace to the jaded horses with their heavy-laden waggons. Our way took us through vast orchards, and, from an elevation at one part of the road, we could see nothing for miles round us but fruit trees. But as we were now in constant expectation of meeting the Prussian outposts, our Chief picked out Hayden and myself, being the lightest and keenest horsemen in the party, and sent us ahead, my friend to reconnoitre on one side of the road, and I upon the other. For a long while not a soul did we meet, and Dr. Pratt came to the conclusion that Vernon was unoccupied, whether by the French or the Prussians, as had been the case at St. Pierre. Believing that it was so, Hayden and myself received orders to push on thither, and report our approach at the Mairie, where we must secure the necessary accommodation during the night for all our party. With these commands we started, I on a mare of Dr. Pratt's, which we had got from the Prussians at Sedan, and Hayden upon a black belonging to Dr. May. As evening came on, it grew so dark that we could hardly see a few yards in front of us. On we went gaily for some miles, chatting unconcernedly on various topics, until our road entered a thick and gloomy wood, with high forest trees towering up on each side. The darkness was now such that we could not see one another. It was necessary to slacken rein, and let our horses go at a slow walk, lest they might leave the road and get us into unexpected trouble. My friend here remarked to me cheerfully what a helpless condition we were in, should any accident happen to us, or supposing we fell in with the French outposts. The words, which echoed through the woods (for he was speaking at the top of his voice, and it was a still night), had hardly passed his lips, when suddenly we heard, first a rustling, and then the sound of voices; shouts were raised on every side of us; and through the brushwood in all directions we could hear men crashing headlong towards the place where we stood entrapped. We held our ground, for to attempt escape was certain death. We should have received a volley before we had gone many yards. The challenge now came to us on all sides in French, "_Qui vive?_" We replied, "_Deux officiers de l'Ambulance Anglo-Américaine_". They seemed not to be satisfied, and challenged us twice, finally shouting, as if we were half a mile away, though but a few short paces from them, "Advance, two officers of the Anglo-American ambulance, twenty paces, and halt!" We had no time to obey, for, in a moment, we were surrounded by armed men. One seized my wrists and another my horse's rein. In a moment a lantern was produced, wherewith having examined us and found that we were unarmed, they let go their hold, but roughly hustled us out of our saddles. We watched these men, whom we knew by their uniforms to be Francs-Tireurs, as they carefully examined our horses by the light of their lanterns. All this time Hayden and I were kept apart, and, on my attempting to speak to him, I was told that if I did so, I should be shot straightway. By a dim light, which some one held behind me, I discovered that I was standing in a circle of these irregulars with bayonets set. This was the less assuring that we had heard much of their lawlessness, and in what fashion they dealt with those who fell into their hands. I now made a motion towards the breast pocket of my tunic, to get my official papers, when a musket was pointed at me and I was told not to move. Having held a council of war over the horses, some of the men now came up and informed their comrades that they had at last caught two Prussian spies. For they had discovered, on my mare's flank, the Prussian brand, and, moreover, we spoke French with a German accent; while our uniforms also were not French but Prussian. When they had come to this conclusion, I need hardly say that the treatment we received was not the most courteous. They cursed and swore at us, and flourished their bayonets about as if they had been walking-sticks. They marched us along separately, often threatening that if we stirred or spoke, except by their direction, they would shoot us. Two of these brigands (for they were nothing else) marched behind me, two in front, and as many on each side with fixed bayonets, as if I were likely to overpower them unless guarded by the whole eight. Even when I put my hands into my trousers pockets, the flourish of a bayonet near my stomach (from a fellow whom I discovered to be more than half drunk) compelled me to take them out again. What distance we marched before arriving at Vernon we could not even guess, so much upset and, I must acknowledge, so daunted were we at the possible fate in store for us. We knew too well that these ruffians were capable at any moment of hanging us from the nearest tree. Indeed, before we entered the town, I came to the conclusion that several of the band were under the influence of drink. I believe there was quite as much risk of our being shot accidentally as on purpose. They appeared to have no officer among them; nor could any of them, I suspect, so much as read or write. They would be admirable judges, therefore, all considered, of the difference in speaking French between the Prussian and any other foreign accent! We must have tramped some three or four miles, when we got into the town; and there it was an advantage to have even these drunken bullies as our escort, for crowds gathered in the streets as we passed along, and taking us to be Prussian spies, stared and scowled fiercely--some even menacing us with clenched fists. Had not our captors guarded their prey jealously, I am confident that we should have had a rough handling from the populace. When we were taken into the principal barrack, I supposed that we should be allowed to see the officer of the guard, to whom we could show our papers, and then pass out. But nothing of the kind; the officer of the guard was not to be found. He had gone into town to dine with the Commandant of the place. We were put in the lock-up at the rear of the guard room, with two sentries over us. Our courage now returned, and we opened fire at the fellows on guard. Hayden, who spoke French fluently, gave them his mind concerning the Francs-Tireurs individually, and the whole French Army collectively, in such scathing language that they must have thought we were most certainly Prussians. I, not being of so excitable a temper as my friend, gave them to understand that such an exhibition of military ignorance and _gaucherie_ as we had witnessed that night would have been impossible anywhere but in France; and I think with good reason. We had been in the lock-up for about an hour, when the officer of the guard appeared and examined our papers. These he forwarded to the Commandant Militaire, who inspected them once more, and immediately ordered our release. The Commandant came down himself to apologise for the manner in which we had been treated, and added the information that the Francs-Tireurs were _canaille_, who had neither military status nor any organisation. But he assured us, as we did not need telling, that it was a mercy we had not been shot by them. We were never in a thorough passion until now. My companion repeated his strong language, and shook his fist at this gentleman; but he, measuring the situation like a true Frenchman, became very civil and declined the contest. After that, I begged him to overlook anything discourteous that had been said in the heat of provocation; and our interview ended by his ordering two gendarmes to escort us to the Mairie. We had just time to secure the requisite quarters when our corps arrived. I need hardly say how concerned our friends were about this ugly incident, or how great was their satisfaction at our having escaped a fate which had befallen others at the hands of this undisciplined but armed rabble. It is a matter of history that the Francs-Tireurs showed no respect even for the property of their own countrymen; and we must not be surprised if they were relentless towards any of the invaders whose ill luck it was to fall in with their companies. They reminded me a good deal of what I had read about Italian brigands, whom it is certain they resembled. And their very existence, in such a province as Normandy, was a striking proof that France had sunk into the utmost disorder. The Empire had perished; the Republic, established on the 4th September, was struggling feebly for its life. Another incident of a different nature, but of considerable interest to me, occurred next morning, just as we were on the point of continuing our journey. I was standing outside my quarters ready to march, when I noticed a smart-looking, well-dressed young man, more like an American than a Frenchman, eyeing me at a little distance off. There was something about him that excited my curiosity. As he approached rather timidly, I smiled, and said, to relieve his embarrassment, "You are not a Frenchman, I presume?" upon which his hesitation disappeared, and, in unmistakable Tipperary accent, he exclaimed, "No, indeed, Mr. Ryan. I'd make the queer Frenchman, born and reared as I was in the parish of Cullen, and educated near your father's place in the Street of Kilteely, by Mr. William Lundon." As the speaker had uttered all this in one breath, my amazement was considerable. Suddenly, and under such circumstances, to meet a man at Vernon who came from the village of Kilteely, and was acquainted with me, gave me, so to call it, a shock; and I stared at him for some seconds without speaking. The new-comer went on to inform me that his name was Timothy Nihil; that he was an enforced exile from his native land; and that, at the time of the Fenian rising in 1867, he had been the leader of that party which attacked and fired on the Glenbane Police Barracks, near Cullen. He was, in consequence, obliged to flee the country. He had come over to this place, and, being a man of some education and intelligence, had found a situation as Professor of English in the Pension of Vernon; which appointment, he told me, was worth nearly £100 a year to him. Timothy Nihil had been brought up in the National school; and, indeed, went through his classics, as he had said, under Mr. William Lundon, a teacher of great ability in his own line. To him, perhaps, it was owing that my Fenian had a very polished address. Poor fellow! his face lighted up with pleasure when he spoke of "the Old Country"; and when, in answer to his inquiries about different friends, I told him all I knew, he beamed with delight. Rebel though he had been, he was yet a fellow-countryman; and as such I gave him the hand of friendship, and could not but sympathise with him in his exile. With tears in his eyes, he repeated that he could never go back to Ireland again. He was particular in asking about my brother John, for whom he had from his earliest youth a warm affection; neither did he forget the Black and Tan hounds at home, in which I have already expressed my own interest. When he had walked out of the town with me a couple of miles we parted, after an earnest request that I would give his people news about him on my return, which I did very gladly. During our conversation not a little amusement was caused among the party by an English officer, Captain F----, of the Carbineers, who, when he heard that my new acquaintance had been a Fenian, became much excited, and was with difficulty kept from laying hands on Nihil. I explained, however, under what circumstances he had spoken to me, and the Captain cooled down. His strong feeling against these men was in itself not unreasonable, as he had been on active service in Ireland during the winter months of 1867, and had commanded a flying squadron there. During these four days of our journey to Paris, the weather continued very fine, and our walking tour through so pleasant a country was most enjoyable. Sometimes we chatted with the peasant folk who crossed our footsteps; and I am bound to say that, in these districts, numbers of those with whom we talked were loud in praise both of the Emperor and the Empire. "Look," they often said, "at our beautiful roads,--the _route Impériale_, for instance, between Rouen and Paris--look at our towns and villages, with their magnificently wooded streets, and their public buildings and monuments; look at the fine bridges and aqueducts which you see all round! Whom have we to thank for these things but the Emperor? Who has given work to the millions of the labouring class throughout France? Who has made Paris one of the most beautiful cities of the world, and the Capital of Europe? Who ruled France when she was the most rich and prosperous of nations, with a trade and commerce more extensive than ever before?" Such were the facts on which these humble people became eloquent. Were they altogether in the wrong? Let others decide. The country between Vernon and Mantes is very hilly, and some parts of the road were rendered almost impassable by the deep trenches which the French had cut across them to hinder the German progress. Strangely enough, although they went to such great trouble to destroy the road, they yet left a narrow causeway, over which a waggon might pass, with a few inches to spare. Afterwards, round about Orleans, I saw this business of making the roads difficult for the enemy, much more cunningly contrived, as I shall relate in its place. CHAPTER XII. A TOWN CAPTURED BY FIVE UHLANS.--MANTES TO VERSAILLES.--WE ARE ANNEXED BY THE GERMANS.--GENERAL SHERIDAN AND NIGGER CHARLIE.--SOUTHERN EXILES. Our horses being fatigued from the long journeys and heavy roads, we made but slow progress. On coming to Mantes we put up for the night at the Hôtel de France. This famous town is a wonder of cleanliness, with streets as tidy as they are kept in Holland, and not a disagreeable nook anywhere. Much consternation had been caused the day before, by five Uhlans coming into the market-place with a train of waggons, and carrying off all the corn and fodder they wanted for the troops about Versailles. After they had satisfied these demands, the Uhlans proceeded to set the station house on fire, as also to saw down the telegraph posts and cut the wires. "What pluck these five must have had!" will be the reader's exclamation. "Imagine such a force riding through a populous town and carrying away with them half the produce of the market, while the people looked on and never dreamt of molesting them!" But the feat was not so daring, after all. Every one knew that, if the inhabitants had interfered with these Uhlans, the place would have been visited the day after, and reduced to ashes. Such was the punishment inflicted upon whole villages of innocent and peaceable inhabitants, sometimes in revenge of what had been done by a few individuals. I shall give, by-and-by, a proclamation which was posted up on the walls of Orleans, describing such an execution, and threatening to repeat the like under similar circumstances. Here it was that Pratt, who was anxious to get a vehicle in which most of the medical staff could travel, produced an order which he had got from the Prussian authorities at Sedan, requiring the Mairie of any French town through which he passed, to provide him with whatever horses and vehicles he might need for the use of his corps. Hayden and I were sent to carry out this unpleasant task. Armed with our peremptory document, we made a tour of discovery through Mantes, and, by throwing a couple of francs to a lad, were informed of a large, private, four-wheeled omnibus,--the very thing we wanted,--and a dashing, stoutly-built pair of greys that might draw it. The yard gate stood open, so in we walked, with the boldness of highwaymen, and asked to see the owner. I knew by the servant's face that he suspected what was in the wind. He retreated without uttering a syllable; but soon came back, followed by his master--a middle-aged man of gentlemanly appearance. He seemed very uneasy; but, when we showed him our requisition, and told him that we had come to relieve him for a time of his carriage and pair of horses, his face wore an aspect of the blankest dismay. We, however, gave a sign to our own ostlers outside the gate, and directed them to harness the horses and put to, which they did with as great alacrity as if they had been Prussians, the owner looking on in sullen silence. But what were his feelings, when, twenty minutes after, he saw us driving his team through the gate and out of the town, I dare not guess. This carriage and pair, I may here subjoin, we used until the end of the war, when they were returned to the Mayor of Versailles, with a request that they might be given back to the original owner at Mantes, minus, however, one of the horses, which died from overwork and hardship. Thus it is, that, during times of war, the sacred rights of property are violated, and systematic robbery is held to be justifiable by those who can successfully practise it. In this instance the property was ultimately restored to its rightful owner; but, in how many cases is that never done? To be sure, the Government is supposed to indemnify any individual who can produce the counterfoil of the requisition: yet it would be interesting to hear from such injured persons, the story of how much they asked and how little they got. We pushed on rapidly towards St. Germain, for Dr. Pratt was in haste to get there as soon as possible. Curious to relate, we had not thus far fallen in with a single German outpost; neither did we, until our entrance into the Forest of St. Germain, when we were challenged, and had to give up our papers for inspection. A few miles outside that town we passed through the village of Mézières, which had been burned to the ground a few days previously, and was now a smouldering heap of ruins. One burned village is like another, and I might have fancied myself in Bazeilles. Whole streets in the suburbs of St. Germain, through which we passed, had been plundered, and, in some cases, the soldiers had gone from house to house by means of holes, which they had picked through the partition walls. I rambled over a pile of such buildings, and certainly the wanton destruction within them was astounding. The Germans, I must say, when not watched, are rare good hands at pillage; but they were kept down by such rigid discipline, and so severely punished for every offence, how trivial soever, that they were, and are, I suppose (although not with their goodwill), the best conducted soldiers on active service in Europe. In the matter of discipline, nothing appears to have been changed, at least in the way of relaxation, among the Prussian rank and file, since the good old days of Frederick the Great and his eccentric and brutal father. Soon after leaving St. Germain we came upon the heights of Marly, just below the aqueduct. From this position we commanded that historic view which is too well known for me to think of describing it, even if I could. Beneath us we observed the Palace of St. Cloud, destined in a few short hours to be a ruin; and beyond, towering gloomily above it, the fort of Mont Valérien. Nor was the garrison of the latter idle, for it kept up a brisk cannonade in our direction, even as we were looking towards it. Presently we noticed a number of men descending beneath its guns. Evidently, something unusual was about to take place. Of this fact we were soon made certain by the shells dropping much nearer to us, some bursting at the other side of the road beneath;--which, for a moment, led us to imagine that the fort had mistaken us for an ammunition train. The shells came very close; and the ladies who were with us felt, as was not unreasonable, a good deal of alarm. Just then two bodies of Bavarian cavalry and a regiment of infantry passed us in hot haste, doubling down the hill, along a by-road, to join other troops of the Line which were concealed in the woods beneath us, and under cover of them were advancing. Directly to our left and below us, the Prussian batteries opened fire from their positions, which covered their cavalry and infantry on the right and left flank. For some time the booming and rattling were kept up vigorously, reminding us of the 31st August and 1st September on a small scale. But in about an hour all was quiet again, and the French had retreated within their big fort. This was only one of numberless little skirmishes, which were constantly taking place between the besiegers and besieged, according as either made excursions in the country around them in quest of provisions, fodder, or fuel. Early in the afternoon we entered Versailles, and reported ourselves immediately to the Prussian General Commandant of the place. We established our headquarters at the Hôtel des Réservoirs, in the street of the same name. There Dr. Pratt and one or two others secured apartments, which was a troublesome business, for every room in the hotel seemed to be occupied by a Baron, a Prince, a Duke, or some high officer of King William's household. I have heard that in the Hôtel des Réservoirs alone there were four or five such magnates, among them Prince Pless, and that Prince of Hohenzollern whose candidature for the Crown of Spain was the pretext on which Louis Napoléon had declared war. This latter I used to see constantly about the Conciergerie of the hotel,--a gentlemanly, gay, and handsome youth, wearing the uniform of the White Hussars, and certainly the last man in the world one would picture to oneself as having originated this tremendous conflict. Staying at the same hotel were two American Generals of great, but unlike celebrity,--Sheridan, the famous cavalry hero, and Burnside, who lost the battle of Fredericksburg. They made most friendly advances towards the Americans of our Staff; but their attentions were received by the latter with the utmost indifference, as they might have anticipated; for our men, with the exception of Hayden, were Southerners, and hated the ground these Yankees trod upon. Nigger Charlie, whom their efforts had made a freeman, gnashed his teeth at Sheridan when that General condescended to notice him. It was an honour of which the darkie felt by no means proud. I may here state that no one who has not lived for some time among a number of Southerners can realise how bitter was their hatred in those years towards the North. So great was it, indeed, that, when they could avoid it, they would not even eat at the same table, or have any social intercourse with them. I must add my suspicion that this was strictly true only in the case of men like my _confrères_, who had been large slave-owners and landed proprietors; and who, having been completely ruined by the war, had gone into voluntary exile. On such as these the indulgent policy of the United States Government, after the ruin of the Southern cause, had no power to efface the memory of what they had lost. Wherever one travelled in Europe twenty years ago, one still found Southern exiles, as deeply imbued with hatred of the Yankee as if their subjugation had taken place only the day before. But that feeling was not likely to outlive them. And I am told that the gentlemen of Virginia and South Carolina have acquiesced now in the abolition of slavery, against which they fought so fiercely and to such little purpose, although we have just been witnessing the renewal of their efforts to disfranchise the coloured voters, and restore the local and State government to their own class. But I am wandering from my subject. As I have already said, our chief's private wish was, if possible, to get into Paris; and, with this object in view, Dr. Pratt held a long consultation with Colonel Lloyd Lindsay, R.A., president of the English Society, from whom we now awaited our orders. He declared the project impossible, and placed our contingent at the service of Prince Pless, Inspector-General of the German Ambulance Corps, who told us that we were wanted very badly indeed at Orleans, where there had been some days' severe fighting, with great loss on both sides. The town was full of wounded, and the medical staff quite insufficient to take charge of them. Ostensibly, therefore, under the direction of Colonel Lloyd Lindsay and the English Society, but, as a matter of fact, under German orders, we had henceforth to carry on our mission. This change of control was disagreeable to us; but there was no help for it. We had been at first exclusively in the service of the French, but were always international; and we could not, in honour or conscience, refuse to enlist in the service of the Germans. As it had been rumoured about Versailles that we wanted to get into Paris, there was felt a certain amount of suspicion regarding our neutrality; and to have hesitated at this moment would have been fatal to our usefulness in the forthcoming campaigns. We made preparations to start as soon as might be. Colonel Lloyd Lindsay objected to our present Ambulance uniforms, and thought them too French. The Francs-Tireurs who had captured us, it will not be forgotten, had taken them to be Prussian. At his suggestion, we were to wear the undress uniform of the Royal Artillery while attached to the German Field Hospital Service; and a supply was ordered immediately from London. We received them, and wore them until we left Orleans. Such were the circumstances under which our transfer from the French to the Germans was effected. CHAPTER XIII. THE PRUSSIAN HEADQUARTERS IN VERSAILLES.--A POLISH LADY.--THE BURNING OF ST. CLOUD.--GERMAN PRINCES.--BY ÉTAMPES AND THE BATTLEFIELD OF CHEVILLY TO ORLEANS. As Dr. Pratt had arrangements to make for our transit, and stores to lay in, and as our horses sorely required rest, our departure was delayed for two days, during which I had ample opportunity of seeing everything that was worth while at Versailles. My quarters were comfortable; and I ought not to pass over the circumstances which enabled me to come by them. A Polish lady of great wealth, Madame Urbonouski, who lived in the Rue des Réservoirs, hearing that our Ambulance corps had entered Versailles, came out in person and accosted Dr. Mackellar; telling him that it would give her much pleasure if he and two others of his companions would accept the use of her house and the hospitality of her table, whilst they were staying in the city. So generous an offer could not be refused. Mackellar, Hayden, and myself were only too well pleased to accept such agreeable lodgings. Our apartments were exquisitely furnished, and provided with all manner of luxuries, to which the sorry plight wherein we had come from Rouen hardly allowed us to do justice. Nothing could exceed Madame Urbonouski's kind attention during the couple of days that we lodged under her roof. Provisions were scarce and costly; but that did not prevent her from giving us the best of everything to eat, and the choicest of wines at dinner. Before I left, my hostess, understanding that I was an Irishman, and being well aware of the sympathies which have existed between her own nation and Ireland (countries alike in their religious history and their long disasters), insisted that, if ever I returned to Versailles, I should pay a fresh visit to the Rue des Réservoirs. I promised, and should have been glad to have kept my word. But I did not see Madame Urbonouski a second time, nor do I know if she is still living. On the day after our arrival every one was talking of the burning of St. Cloud, which occurred the previous evening. It was the unhappy result of that fighting which we had witnessed, and, thanks to the shells from Mont Valérien, had as good as shared in, on the 13th. Next morning we visited the Château of Versailles, and saw the picture galleries and the Chapel Royal. Here, too, the tokens of war made themselves conspicuous elsewhere than in the smoky battle pieces which stared at us from the walls. All the galleries on the ground floor had been turned into a Hospital, and were filled with wounded Germans. And a first-class Hospital they made,--commodious and airy, the arrangement and general organisation as nearly perfect as possible. But on the well-tended grass plots in front of the Palace, I saw numbers of the King's horses exercised, where, but a short time previously, it had been almost a crime to set foot. I must not speak of the Grand and Little Trianon, the trim walks, or the fountain which I beheld playing into the basin of Neptune. It was all new and delightful to a raw youth, whose reading of French history had been neither extensive nor profound. Mackellar and I took a drive through the Park, out of Versailles, and enjoyed a distant view of Paris from certain heights whence now and then we could hear the booming of cannon as the forts discharged their thunder. On our homeward journey we met the old King driving in an open landau. He was accompanied by the German Chancellor. When I saw him another time, General von Moltke was in the carriage. Thus I had now set eyes on the man at Sedan who had lost one Empire, and on those who were destined, in the halls of Louis XIV., to set up another ere six months should have passed. But, indeed, it would seem that half the inhabitants of Versailles consisted of Princes, Dukes, Barons, and commanding officers. I counted nine of these notables at the Hôtel des Réservoirs; yet some were such shabby-looking specimens of their class, that for the time they extinguished in me the respect which I had supposed myself to entertain for Royalty and its surroundings. A Prince, a Duke, or a General who walked about the streets munching alternately a piece of raw ham or sausage from one hand, and a junk of bread from the other, was not exactly one's idea of feudal, or even German dignity, and modern civilisation. Yet such were the manners of not a few whose high-sounding names read well in the "Gazette". I have been offered a share of these rude repasts, and, famished as I might be at the time, my self-respect, nay, my very appetite, revolted; and it was not without an effort that I was able politely to decline. The proverb runs, "A la guerre comme à la guerre". I do not mean to imply that in a campaign the decencies of life can be always observed; but there is such a thing as a gentlemanly bearing, and, out of that great assembly which boasted of the oldest German blood in its members, I saw few that came up to the standard which English officers are expected to fulfil, as they do with the rarest exception. I must confess that, when I looked at several of our _attachés_ in the German Court, and contrasted them with their perhaps more intellectual, and certainly more uncouth and burly, cousins from across the Rhine, and from the Mark of Brandenburg, I could not help feeling proud of that sister country which gave them birth. But, alas! when we compare, not the officers and men individually, but the English army with the German, we can no longer boast: our methods of training, until lately, have been old-fashioned; our military science lags behind; and our neglect of the training, to which all young men in town and village might, with the greatest advantage, be submitted, is, I venture to think, no less shortsighted than imbecile. On the evening of the 15th, I saw 12,000 men marched through Versailles. These were new levies from Germany, coming to reinforce the army of investment around Paris; and a splendid body of men they looked. The general topic of conversation now was the fighting about Orleans, the taking of that town, and the defeat of the Army of the Loire, news of which had just reached us. Fresh combats in the neighbourhood were expected, and Dr. Pratt made all ready to start on the morrow. At Versailles it seemed to be the general opinion that Paris could not long hold out; and, with its capitulation, the war must end. On the same night, we had orders to report ourselves next morning at headquarters, and to be ready to start at a moment's notice. October 16th was Sunday. I was up at cockcrow, heard Mass at the Grande Église, and bade good-bye to my amiable hostess. Our staff was assembled at headquarters, in the midst of the Princes, Barons, Dukes, and the rest whom I have already mentioned. When everything was ready, and the waggons and stores had got into line, those who had horses rode forward, while we others drove in the comfortable private omnibus we had--borrowed, I suppose, is the word,--at Mantes. Our departure created a little stir in the town. As for Prince Pless, he made himself agreeable to all of us, and was even so thoughtful as to give us a supply of cigars. Moving along in procession we made somewhat of a display. From the foremost of our Ambulance waggons floated the flags of England and America on the breeze. Just as we arrived at the broad avenue in front of the Mairie, which is the way out of the town, a Prussian regiment passed us in full marching order. As they approached, we heard orders passed along among officers and under officers, in loud harsh tones, with the result that, as each Company went by, it presented arms, our chief and those who rode with him returning the salute. We were soon clear of Versailles and on the way to Longumeau, at which place, after a pleasant journey, we arrived towards evening, and secured quarters for the night. Before we were in the town very long, it appeared that our arrival had created a commotion among the Prussian authorities, who had no knowledge as to what we were, and whither we were going. On these points several of us were questioned repeatedly by the German officers. This was the case. Our chief, finding Longumeau such a trifling village, did not think it necessary to report himself to the Commandant. That such was not this dignitary's opinion we soon discovered by his coming down to the hotel where we had put up, and storming in most vociferous and unparliamentary language at all and sundry, but especially at Dr. Pratt, for not reporting to him as soon as we were in his jurisdiction. However, the matter was made straight by the production of the Doctor's credentials, signed by the authorities at Versailles, upon which our boisterous little friend, who wore a uniform of rusty gold lace, fell into a surly silence. Before it became dusk, I went out with Dr. May to buy such odds and ends of eatables as might eke out what was provided for dinner. We went into a store, which was crowded with German soldiers. While I was waiting to be served, I watched the different purchases that were being made. One of our Teutons was buying butter, old and rank, another lard, another candles, another fat pork or bacon. All were investing their groschen and small change in something or other greasy. One of these fellows took a piece of butter in his fingers, weighing about half a pound, and then asked the price of it; but while the poor French shopkeeper was looking in another direction, the hero slipped out and decamped to his quarters. I felt inclined to follow him up, but judged it wiser to control my indignation, as I had to do many a time before and afterwards. Within an hour from our arrival, the townspeople learned on what errand we were going, and became, in consequence, most polite and communicative. One of the most respectable among the bourgeois went so far as to ask us into his house to tea and supper. Some four of us accepted the invitation. We slipped across the street, after dark, to our good friend's abode, and spent a pleasant evening over an excellent cup of coffee, with fair bread and butter. No one, who has not served during a campaign, can conceive how impossible it is to get anything like a comfortable meal, or to procure good and eatable bread, not to mention good butter, which was a rarity indeed. And I am afraid the same must be said of beef and mutton,--in fact, of all the ordinary articles of consumption. Next morning we made an early start. Our road still lay through a finely wooded country, each side lined with cherry, apple, and pear trees, to the fruit of which we helped ourselves abundantly. The weather continued open. And, as before, we had to keep a sharp look-out for the Francs-Tireurs, rumours of whose wanton doings were rife amongst the peasants, who bore them a cordial hatred. About midday, we arrived at the little town of Arpajon, where we made our luncheon. What struck us, in passing through the hamlets and villages on our route, was the utterly deserted and forlorn aspect of their houses, streets, and public places. The country seemed to have become a wilderness, so far as inhabitants were concerned. Early in the afternoon we reached Étampes, a clean little town, with wide boulevards, and a prettily planted square. Curious to tell, we did not find a single German in occupation, and had no difficulty in getting quarters. I took a stroll through the town with Mackellar and Warren. The first building which drew our attention was the parish church, standing in the principal street, and not inelegant. We entered, expecting to see everything in that state of gaudy neatness which is characteristic of French country churches; but what was our horror to find the air laden with a foul odour, and the floors of the aisle and transept littered with straw! It was evident that a troop of cavalry horses had been quartered here, some having been tied to the benches, which supplied the place of mangers, and others secured to the railings of the side-chapel. It was also plain that the stalls in the Sanctuary had been used in like manner, judging from the amount of stable débris that lay about on all sides; many of the benches, too, had been broken up, and fires lighted with them in different parts of the church. The steps and the altar showed signs of having been used for the purposes of eating and sleeping upon them. At the foot of the altar, which was flashy and splendid, lay upon straw a ham bone picked clean. All this was very revolting. Hitherto, we had indeed seen the churches in and around Sedan and Versailles turned into hospitals; but no one will describe that as an improper use of them. It was quite another thing to make of the Sanctuary a noisome den. On quitting the desecrated church, we crossed the railway to the old Château, which stands on the hill above Étampes. It is a place of historic associations, but the Prussians had ransacked it, and all was confusion within. When we came back it was reported to our chief that the mayor had made some objection about giving fodder to our horses; so that my friend Hayden was forthwith deputed to call on him and put the matter straight. To him the mayor abruptly reiterated his objection, little knowing the character of the man whom he had to deal with. Hayden resorted to his store of strong terms, and warned him, with the audacity of a Yankee, that if the provender was not forthcoming and sent in before night, he would have his worship publicly hanged next morning from one of the trees in his own garden. Panic-stricken at the energy with which Hayden announced his doom upon the morrow, the poor man, without more ado, gave orders to have the fodder and corn delivered at once, which was accordingly done. There was something not a little daring in this procedure of Hayden's, though nothing, perhaps, really courageous; for M. le Maire had no soldiers, and not so much as a gendarme in the town at his command. Hence his instantaneous surrender. We had a great laugh over the whole affair. Next morning we resumed our march, and pushed on briskly, for we now heard, from two Ambulance couriers who came against us, that fighting was going on about Orleans, and that our services were much needed in that town. As the day advanced, we could distinctly hear the ceaseless booming of cannon many miles ahead. Towards evening, when we had passed by Artenay, we found the road and the plain on both sides covered with the débris of a battle. Numbers of torn uniforms, knapsacks, arms, accoutrements, dead horses, and newly-made graves,--all were tokens that the neighbourhood had lately seen severe fighting. An unexploded shell lay beside the road, but we avoided touching it. Many of the trees were severed midway up their trunks, and nearly all had small branches broken here and there, showing that the fighting was not confined to artillery. Some of the tree trunks were grooved in a most curious manner, evidently by shell or shot. During the whole of this day, 18th October, we pushed on as fast as we could, arriving late at the village of Chevilly. We heard from the Mayor, who kindly gave us quarters for the night, that a fierce and bloody battle had been fought both in and around the village during the previous week. His little flower-garden had been the scene of an infantry charge; and I marked by the trampled and uprooted plants, and the scattered earth, the very spot where several deadly struggles had taken place. The ground was furrowed, and the branches of the trees broken by bombshells. Our hostess, who had retreated with her husband into a cellar during the fighting, gave me a vivid description of the affair. The whole village was a heap of ruins. But I shall remember the poor lady and her kind husband, who gave us so hospitable a welcome, despite the agitation which their late experience and the spoiling of their dwelling place had caused them. It was a problem what would become of the inhabitants in these country districts, where the Prussians (as my host and hostess informed me) had eaten up their meat, bread, and vegetables, had carried off their cattle, their hay, straw and corn, and in many instances had finished up, when they thought the people had balked them of supplies, by burning the houses over the heads of the Frenchmen. Such things, we were assured, had come to pass round Orleans. On several occasions since leaving Longumeau, we had encountered waggon-loads of women and children, who told us piteous tales how their houses had been destroyed, and themselves obliged to fly; and, perhaps, the saddest part of their story was, that when we asked whither they were going, they seemed, in some instances, not to have the faintest idea. They were wanderers on the face of the earth, and dazed by the calamities which had fallen on them so unexpectedly. We left Chevilly for Orleans on the morning of the 19th. Our road still lay through the heart of the battlefield; and innumerable horses, knapsacks, broken muskets, and military trappings of all sorts, were lying about on every side. The frequent graves told their own monotonous tale. It had become a strange and painful journey; but our adventures were not yet over. CHAPTER XIV. ENTERING TO THE SOUND OF CANNON.--66 QUAI DU CHÂTELET ASSIGNED TO US, ALSO THE RAILWAY TERMINUS.--DESCRIPTION OF OUR NEW QUARTERS. About midday we entered Orleans by the Faubourg Bannier. All this time the cannon had been actively engaged at the other side of the town in the direction of Châteaudun, and, as we passed in, we met several companies of German regiments marching along some by-roads towards the quarter whence the sound of firing came, doubtless with the intention of joining in the fray. Orleans had fallen into the hands of the Bavarians; but at present the garrison was small, for all the available troops had been sent to the front, where they were now pursuing the Army of the Loire in its retreat upon Tours. In passing through the Faubourg Bannier, we saw convincing proofs of a severe and very recent conflict. Whole lines of houses were burned to the ground, while others had been partially demolished by shell, or had their doors and windows riddled. Many of the doors bore marks of having been broken through by the crowbar, or the hatchet of the sapper. In the streets the litter of the bloody battle which had been fought in the previous week, lay scattered about; and, judging from appearances, the street fighting must have been a very hot affair indeed. [Illustration: F.S. Weller.] [Illustration: REFERENCE. 1. _S^t. Paterne._ C.2. 2. _Cathedral._ F.4. 3. _Hôtel de Ville._ E.4. 4. _Museum._ E.5. 5. _Hôtel Cabul & Hist^l. Mus^m._ D.5. 6. _Notre Dame de Recouvrance._ C.5. 7. _S^t. Aignan._ H.6. 8. _S^t. Euverte._ H.4. 9. _S^t. Pierre._ E.4. 10. _House of Agnès Sorel._ D.5. 11. _House of François I._ C.5. 12. _S^t. Paul._ C.5. Hôtels. a. _d'Orléans._ D.2. b. _d'Aignan._ C.1. c. _du Loiret._ D.3. ORLÉANS. _London; John Murray, Albemarle Street._ _F. S. Weller._] We reported ourselves at once to the Commandant; for I need hardly say, that during the time of war, this is the first thing to be done by every sort of men entering a town, be they Regiment, Ambulance Corps, Couriers, or any persons whatsoever. Even a stranger whose business is not well known is at once taken by the Military Police before the General Commandant, and required to give a full account of himself; which if he cannot do to that officer's satisfaction, he is placed under police supervision, and compelled to report himself every morning at headquarters. This regulation I mention, because a certain auxiliary member of our staff was compelled to do the like, on account of his speaking unguardedly of the position of the forces to some of the townsfolk. Our Ambulance train came to a standstill in the Place Bannier, while Dr. Pratt was making his report, and getting our quarters assigned to us. In the centre of the Place stood a large drinking fountain, around which were congregated a troop of horses, jostling each other in their anxiety to get at the water. They appeared so fatigued, that I judged they must have returned quite lately from the field. While our Ambulance was awaiting the return of Dr. Pratt, Mackellar and I strolled round leisurely. The excitement of the people was at this period remarkable; for they imagined that, in spite of all their recent reverses, the Army of the Loire, which was still fighting at a short distance outside the city, would beat the Germans back, and again occupy the place. Hundreds of men, women, and children flocked about the bridge of the Loire, and kept a steady look-out down the river, in the direction of the fighting. But their expression was that of scared sheep; and when we ventured to ask one intelligent-looking young fellow why he was not fighting, and driving the invader from his country, he answered, "Sir, we have no arms, and no leaders". It was manifest that they did not think, as others in the like circumstances have done, of improvising either. The beautiful statue of Jeanne d'Arc, which seemed to be gazing on the battle from afar, had been entwined with wreaths and garlands, placed there by townsfolk who desired thus to win her prayers for the success of their army. Soon after, we were informed that Nos. 66 and 68 Quai du Châtelet, on the bank of the Loire, had been allotted to us as our quarters. On arriving there we found two very spacious and elegant houses, commanding a beautiful view of the city opposite, as well as of the river, and the two famous bridges, which are among the finest monuments of the Imperial rule. Up to this date, the larger of the two houses, No. 66, had been unoccupied; and the owner, probably not knowing that we had a billet from the Commandant, was at first unwilling to let us take up the whole house. He showed a sullen countenance, and was proceeding to lock up his best suite of apartments, when our chief informed him quietly that if he gave any further trouble, and did not at once surrender the keys of every door in the house, he, Dr. Pratt, would convert the whole of his charming mansion into a hospital, and make an operation theatre of his drawing-room. This was a stern, but necessary, warning, which cleared up the situation. Monsieur yielded to _force majeure_ thus vigorously threatened, and ever after behaved towards us with the civility which in the French nature is inherent, and which our mission at Orleans might fairly be said to demand. Our chief had many interviews with the authorities on the two days succeeding our arrival. The question was, whether we should take on ourselves only the duties of a stationary Hospital, or follow in the track of the army. A middle course was fixed upon. We were to have a Hospital in town, and, when required, were to take the field with the German Ambulance Corps. Our services were gladly accepted by the Surgeon-General, and two large Hospitals were at once handed over to us; the first--a sick and fever Hospital--containing 150 men; the second, consisting of the railway terminus, with its waiting and refreshment rooms, stores and offices, in which lay 65 wounded; and there were beds to accommodate 150 more. We received, therewith, Hospital plant, and a staff of trained military infirmarians. We were also given a liberal supply of provisions, which were dealt out to us and our wounded by requisition. On the morning of the 21st, Surgeon-General Dr. Von Nussbaum was present at the chemin de fer d'Orléans to make us acquainted with the former staff, who were now handing over their charge to us. Our installation was a very formal proceeding. The German Guard turned out, and saluted as we passed in. This was the beginning of our labours at Orleans. As I have stated, it was at the railway terminus, which had been converted into a Hospital by the Prussians the day after they took possession of the town. Entering from the Place in front of the station into the principal waiting-room, we passed through two lines of soldiers, drawn up at attention, and out on the platform. There were no carriages within the precincts of the terminus, but some dreary-looking trucks might be seen scattered about on the sidings, and, except a few men on guard at the coal depôt, there was not a human being within sight. The terminus was covered, and of great extent. All the buildings connected with it were spacious, and fitted up in the ordinary way. We made ourselves at home immediately in the first-class waiting-room. Its sofas were placed back to back in the centre; and there were lines of beds at each side, every bed occupied by a wounded man. The second- and third-class _salles d'attente_ were arranged in like manner, and as full as they could hold. The next room was the Bureau des Inspecteurs, or the office of the railway directors. Here also there was a single row of wounded. In the buffet there were double rows, and, as it was very spacious, the numbers it accommodated were proportionately great. In the ticket office were kept all the medical and surgical stores and requisites. In the telegraph office was the operation theatre, and in the station-master's private bureau the instruments to serve it were kept; there the surgeon on night duty remained during the period of his watch. In this room there was always a good fire, and outside the door paced up and down a German sentinel on guard. At the other side of the platform, approached by the level crossing, we found the goods department, and the carriage, waggon, and engine depôt, which latter, in its general appearance, was nothing more or less than an immense shed, with open archways at both ends. In this most airy apartment lay, also, numbers of wounded. When we pointed to several large holes in the roof (which had been made by falling shells a few days previously), and then to the open archways, suggesting to our friends that they were, perhaps, a degree too airy to be beneficial, Prof. Nussbaum informed us that the wounded in this place got better more rapidly than those in the Salles, who were kept warm, and completely protected from the weather. We remained there nearly two hours, seeing the more interesting cases dressed, and then looked on at an operation by Nussbaum. As several of the parcel and lamp offices were also occupied by wounded, it may be conceived that the whole mass of buildings around the platforms made a very extensive hospital. It was a curious and novel sight, and for a long time afterwards I never entered a large terminus of the kind without speculating on the numbers of wounded that it would accommodate. We were received very kindly by our German friends; and before evening were in charge of the whole place, having an efficient staff of nurses to assist us, and to look after the wants of our invalids. As we had now enjoyed a considerable experience in the working of a military field-hospital, it took us but a few hours to get into the routine; and the Germans were evidently pleased at seeing how briskly we fell into line, and took up from them the whole management. With regard to the Barrack across the river, which was full of sick and fever patients, it had been, I say, assigned to us; but we never actually took it over. The German surgeons who were in charge had to join their field-hospital, which was about to move in the track of the army. Nor did the Bavarians possess any medical reserve in Orleans at this time, so that we came to their assistance at a juncture when we were much needed; and they showed themselves extremely grateful. When, however, they were on the point of delivering up the second hospital to us, their orders to move were rescinded; and we were saved, thereby, an amount of labour and responsibility, to which our limited staff would have been altogether unequal. CHAPTER XV. ASSISTANT SURGEON.--IMPRESSIONS OF THE GERMAN CHARACTER.--THE ARMY AND ITS DISCIPLINE.--STATE OF SIEGE.--VON DER TANN'S PROCLAMATION.--LEOPOLD SCHRENK. I was now promoted to be Assistant Surgeon by our chief, and was given charge of seventeen patients, under Dr. Mackellar. As much of the doctor's time was employed in registering and taking notes of the cases in Hospital, except when he performed operations, I was virtually in sole charge of my section, though under his supervision. We breakfasted at 7·30, dined at 12·30, and supped at 6·30; all our meals were abundantly furnished at our quarters in the Quai du Châtelet. With such hard work in hand, there was certainly need of substantial food, or we could never have got through it. Every day brought us fresh batches of wounded, and with them news of fresh encounters, and skirmishes in the field. On 23rd October, I had to perform my first amputation. It was the removal of a portion of a foot, which had been crushed by a waggon wheel. The patient, I should explain, lay in a private house, at the rear of the Quai du Châtelet. Dr. Mackellar, who had kindly given me the operation, and Jean the Turco, assisted me. But when I had made the first incision, Jean bolted out of the room, and then tumbled downstairs in a faint. I went on with my task; but no sooner was it completed, than we were both taken aback on finding that my subject had been given an overdose of chloroform: his face was livid; and it seemed that he had already ceased to breathe. In a moment, we flung the windows and door open, and were slapping him with cold wet towels, and using artificial respiration. To my great relief, in a few seconds the poor man breathed freely again, and before long came back to himself. He made a very prompt recovery; was convalescent, and able to hobble about on crutches in a fortnight, and had still a useful limb. My patients increased daily, until from seventeen they became double that number. And at this time it was my duty to stay up every fifth night. Three or four days now passed away in constant hard work, part of which consisted in rearranging and cleaning up the whole Hospital, which our predecessors had left in anything but an orderly state. Later on, when I had time to go out, I saw numbers of the Bavarian troops returning from the recent fighting,--dirty, foot-sore, and jaded; they reminded me, in fact, more of French than of German soldiers. The campaign seemed to be taking an unfavourable turn for them. Occasionally, in the evening, the bands played in the Place Martroi, where the German officers and men were wont to assemble to smoke and chat. This was one of their customs at home which they had imported into France; and by no means a disagreeable one. I heartily enjoyed the musical treat which they gave; but I liked still better to listen while whole companies were singing glees in perfect harmony, during their bivouac under the trees on the Boulevards. There we saw them awaiting the assignment of their quarters with stolid patience, and cooking their food in cauldrons over wood fires, all to this delightful accompaniment, which showed them at their best. All the German soldiers had a knowledge of music, and more than half were fairly well trained to sing. Nearly all the Infantry regiments in Orleans at this time were Bavarians; but several detachments of the Prussian Cavalry regiments were likewise quartered in the town. I could never have imagined such a variety of uniforms and colours as I have seen among the hosts of the Emperor William. Let me recall a few of them. There were Bismarck's Cuirassiers, in scarlet and gold; a gorgeous uniform, the undress of which (pure white) is, I think, no less becoming. Then there were the Black Brunswickers, whose uniform is like that worn by the Royal Irish Constabulary, but who wear on their shakos an emblem representing a death's head and cross bones. Again, besides the dark blue with red facings of the Prussian Infantry, and the Bavarian light blue with green facings, I could count up Hussars of all colours, red, black, and white, light blue, dark blue and gold, and the Würtemburg green. The German soldiers are certainly a magnificent body of men; and, although at the bottom of my heart my sympathies and affections are altogether with the French, despite their shortcomings, I am bound to declare the superiority of their adversaries, as men of fine physique and manly bearing, and of cool undaunted courage; and I need not repeat how admirable is the discipline under which they have been brought to such perfection. In 1870, the French did not realise that they had to deal with an army the rank and file of which not only was composed of the muscle and sinew of the German people, but included their best brains also. Perhaps the more observant of the French writers, such as the late M. Renan, or George Sand, might have summed up the war as a contest of science against civilisation. Certain it is, that the highly wrought intelligence of the invaders was a force against which the Republic and the Empire alike contended in vain. The general run of soldiers from beyond the Rhine were well educated, and few, indeed, were unable to read and write. Those few might be found among the Bavarians--in my judgment, a slow, dull race, yet accustomed to fight in a dogged fashion, who neither went into action with the dash and ardour, nor ran away with the alacrity, of Frenchmen. Their movements were on system, and according to rule: they fought because they were bidden to fight, and mowed down the enemy, not from hatred of them, but because such were their orders; and, if they did not take to flight, it was in the same spirit of passive obedience. I should give the result of my impressions, therefore, somewhat as follows: Take no notice of a German soldier, and do not molest or interfere with him, especially when he is carrying out the orders of his superiors, and he will be as harmless as a child, and as easily pleased. But if, on the other hand, you do meddle with him, and stir up his rage on any pretext, his revenge will be no less prompt than terrible. In the battlefield, when once he is excited, he will use his bayonet and musket as a Zulu his assegai, or an Indian his tomahawk. As for his manners, they are, at the best of times, uncouth, not to say detestable, and when at meals, disgusting. He is an enormous eater, caring not so much about the quality of what he devours, so long as quantity is provided; and though he drinks an amount of beer that would make any other European helplessly intoxicated, he is seldom drunk. Nothing irritates him like hunger and thirst; in which circumstance he furnishes the most unpleasing contrast to a French soldier,--always patient, and commonly cheerful under such privations. When suffering in this way, physically (which seldom occurred under the admirable organisation of the German commissariat), he would pillage and plunder all before him to get food or beer. For such depredations, when caught, he was mercilessly punished. And the German soldier submits impassively to this treatment at the hands of his officer, as if he were a dog, without seeming to resent it. I have seen officers and their subalterns on the quays of Orleans strike their men repeatedly, and on parade drill make their recruits dress in line, with the flat of their broad-swords,--a disgraceful procedure, to which neither an English nor a French lad would submit. All these features of the German system, as brutal as it has proved effective, I observed, long after I had seen them at Orleans, in the vivacious and sparkling pages of _Barry Lyndon_. So little does the world change in a hundred and thirty years! For some days no one but the military had appeared in the streets. All the shop windows in the town were closed, all business suspended; and the place, in these circumstances, had anything but a lively aspect. The Commandant, however, issued an order to all shopkeepers, obliging them, under pain of severe punishment, to take down their shutters, and open their establishments. In accordance with this regulation, on a certain day, before the appointed hour, down came all the shutters; but the display of goods in the windows amused me very much. In one, exhibiting a frontage of perhaps twenty feet or more, where silks, satins, and the most costly stuffs were usually spread out, now appeared in a tasteful arrangement several pieces of glazed calico, which were, it seemed, the only goods one could purchase in that establishment. Another equally large shop in the Rue Royale, a hardware house, exhibited as its stock in trade some dozen or so of rusty kettles, saucepans, and gridirons. In like manner did nearly all the other shopkeepers. The pastrycooks, however, drove a roaring trade; their counters were crowded at all hours of the day with the conquering heroes, for Germans eat sweetmeats and confectionery as a cow munches young clover in the month of May. But the owners of these establishments were not at all particular as to the quality of the articles they provided. I once walked into such a place, and was about to eat of some tempting-looking things in the way of tarts, when the man behind the counter recognised me, for we were acquaintances, and whispered that he would give me in a moment something more agreeable, instead of those greasy things, pointing to what was before him, which were made only for Prussians. I ought to remark on the characteristic way in which Frenchmen, who are the most ignorant people in the world with regard to foreigners and their languages, called every stranger a Prussian, no matter of what nation he might be. Meanwhile Orleans continued in a state of siege, and strict watch was kept on every one who moved about during the daytime. After dark no one could walk abroad without being liable to be shot down by the sentries, who were placed at every hundred yards along the streets, unless he carried a lighted lantern. I took great pleasure in listening to the bugles sounding the order for citizens to retire indoors at nine o'clock. Standing four abreast at the top of each street, the musicians sounded their call, which was a most plaintive and melodious strain. Before going on with my narrative, I ought not to omit the curious proclamation, still on the walls of Orleans, which the Bavarian General, Von der Tann, had put forth after his capture of the city, October 13. It ran as follows:-- "FRENCH CITIZENS! "As I desire, so much as in me lies, to alleviate the burden of the population now suffering from the evils of war, I appeal to your good sense, and trust that the sincerity with which I address you will open your eyes to the real state of affairs; and will persuade you to take your stand with the party of reason and peace. "Your late Government declared war against Germany. Never was there a declaration more frivolous. Nor could the German armies do otherwise than reply by passing the frontier. "They won victory after victory; and your own army, deluded upon system, and demoralised, was all but annihilated. "Another Government has arisen. We hoped that it would make peace. It has done no such thing. And why? Because it feared for its own existence; and, pretending that the German conditions were impossible, it has chosen to continue a war, the outcome of which cannot fail to be the ruin of France. "Now, what are the conditions which they call impossible? "They are the restoration of those provinces that belonged to Germany, and in which the German language still prevails in town and country; in other words, of Alsace and the German Lorraine. "Is this proposal too much? "What conditions would a victorious France have exacted? "You have been told that the purpose of the German armies is to degrade France. That is simply a falsehood, invented to stir up and excite the masses. "On the contrary, it is your Government which, by its conduct, is forcibly drawing on the German battalions into the heart of the country, and is leading up to the ruin which it will accomplish if it persists in itself degrading that fair France, which might have proved to be the warmest friend of the nation it has driven into hostilities. "Orleans, 13th Oct., 1870. "BARON DE TANN, "General of Infantry." The olive-branch of this good General of Infantry, held out at the point of the sword to a people than whom a more touchy or sensitive does not exist, was hardly intended to produce an effect. Orleans was eagerly waiting all through that month and down to the 10th November, in the feverish expectation of succour from without, which would rid them of M. de Tann and his proclamations. But day passed after day, until the monotony of our routine was broken by the astounding news, long foreseen, yet, when it came, overpowering, of the capitulation of Metz, with Bazaine, 3 Marshals, 66 Generals, 3000 cannon, and 173,000 men. It was the greatest surrender in history,--perhaps, the most flagrant act of treason. Accounts given by the wounded stragglers, whom we daily received into our Hospital, told us that a desultory warfare, but no regular fighting, was going on between the opposing armies in our front. On one day, about November 3, two Bavarians were admitted, rather severely wounded. They related that in the direction of Blois, a party of skirmishers, with which they were serving, came upon, and surprised, a body of French, of whom, after a desperate fight, they captured two only, but left forty dead on the field. This, they stated, had taken place eight hours' distance (_i.e._, 24 miles) from Orleans. A few days later, I received three others, who had been engaged in a similar small skirmish with the rear guard of the enemy. All three, by an odd coincidence, were wounded in the upper extremity. One Hussar had received a bayonet-thrust through the upper and fleshy part of his arm; but, with a beaming smile, he related how he had cleft the Frenchman's head in two, while his opponent was in the act of making his thrust. The other two had bullet wounds in their arms, evidently received at close quarters. On another day, two men were brought in, who had been shot by a couple of Francs-Tireurs. These latter wore no uniform, and had coolly potted them from behind a hedge. Yet, as the following notice from General Wittich announced,--and it was a sample of others posted up throughout the country,--all such civilian aggressors were liable to the extreme penalty. "I declare to the inhabitants," so ran this document, "that all persons, not being soldiers, who shall be taken bearing arms against the German troops, or committing other acts of hostility or treason, will be irrevocably put to death. Only those will be considered as military who wear uniforms, or who are recognisable at rifle distance by distinctions not separable from the clothes which they have on." In the general arrangement of our Hospital, and particularly in the nursing department, we were greatly assisted by a most generous and kind-hearted little Bavarian, named Leopold Schrenk, Captain in a Regiment of the Line. He used to come every day when off duty, and work in our Hospital, ready to help all round, but was of especial service in looking after the patients' rations. I have seen him making the beds of my wounded men, and washing their faces. This devotion to his suffering and wounded fellow-countrymen was admirable; but he displayed a hatred for all Frenchmen and Roman Catholics, and he detested priests, in a way which I could never account for, as it was very unusual among South Germans. However, he behaved like a staunch patriot, and was a favourite with us all. When I parted from him he gave me his address and his photograph. Some ladies who belonged to Orleans also came and distributed soup to the wounded; among them one who was by birth from Ireland, Madame O'Hanlon. Actuated solely by motives of charity, they ministered alike to Prussians and French, with equal kindness and attention. CHAPTER XVI. CASES AND PATIENTS.--MARTIN DILGER.--HEAVY LOSSES.--FRENCH IRRELIGION CONTRASTED WITH GERMAN PIETY. As it is my object to exclude as much as possible professional details of my labours at the bedside, description of wounds, and the like, I shall again merely mention particulars of a few cases, in order to give my reader a general idea of the nature of the wounds received by soldiers in battle. Take No. 6, for instance, as I find it in my notes. It was a very bad case. A German soldier of the Line had received a bullet wound behind and below the calf of his leg, which passed up, without touching the bone, behind his knee joint, beneath the muscles of the thigh to the joint of the hip. Having pursued this most extraordinary course, it lodged so deep beneath the muscles that neither the German doctors nor ourselves, to whom the case was handed over, could find the exact position of the bullet; yet I laid open its track in four or five places. Despite all treatment, he died eventually of blood-poisoning. On making a post-mortem examination, I traced the bullet actually into the abdomen, and still was unable to find it, although certain of its general position. These particulars I mention to show the unaccountable course a bullet may take after entering an extremity. There were dozens of similar curious cases, for which this may suffice as an example. In another instance the bullet, having entered the right thigh and fractured the bone, carried along with it, impacted in its centre, a splinter of this bone, and pieces of the tunic and lining, as well as of trousers and shirt. It then entered the left thigh, lodging close to the skin on the outer side, from which I extracted the different fragments in the order just described. By this time we had evacuated the large shed, which was now only occupied by those who suffered from pyæmia, or blood-poisoning. All the rest had comfortable quarters in different portions of the building; but these unfortunates were doomed to remain in the shed, though exposed to the biting frost and bleak winds of November. The simple reason was that their presence under the same roof with their comrades would mean certain death to all. When they had contracted this dread disease, which they chiefly did by infection, their only chance,--and a poor one it proved,--was to be placed in a current of fresh air. Hence their removal to this shed was commonly but their first step to the deadhouse. This plague of the Field Hospital made great havoc amongst our men during the month of November in Orleans, as it had done at Sedan in September. The only instance of recovery after it, which came under my notice during the whole campaign, was that of the Bavarian named Martin Dilger; and his was of a very bad type. His thigh had been amputated; and, when the symptoms set in, I sent him out to the shed, where he quickly became as bad as his comrades. I attended him several times every day; but he speedily grew worse, until at last, his case seemed more desperate than all the others. The soft parts sloughed, leaving the thigh-bone protruding; while the patient was almost comatose, and had that violent hiccough which is generally, in such cases, the forerunner of death. Several of my fellow-surgeons, moved by feelings of humanity, advised me not to put him to the useless pain and annoyance of dressing his stump, since he was _in articulo mortis_, and his recovery beyond the range of possibility. However, I resolved that while he lived, I would do as much for him as possible; and I continued to dress his wounds. Dilger had prolonged and repeated rigors, followed by profuse perspiration, and was generally of a bluish livid colour,--all symptoms of most deadly omen. I gave him as much brandy as he could take, and chloral every two hours, for the hiccough, which was so violent that it shook not only his whole frame, but the bed on which he lay. Yet, in a few days these rigors subsided; he opened his eyes, and became conscious. In the face of such a decided improvement, I ventured the opinion that he would recover. He was now taking immense quantities of brandy, which was supplied from the stores, and broth which I had made for him in the town. Under this treatment his wounds took on a healthy action, his pulse and temperature came down, and rational speech returned, instead of his low muttering delirium; my colleagues now admitted that his recovery was possible. I suffered him to remain in the shed, as I felt that his safety depended upon having him there. Some suggested his removal into a warm comfortable room in the town. Indeed, it was with difficulty that I turned a deaf ear to these suggestions, and overcame my own inclinations, when, on going to visit him on a cold November night, I heard the wind whistling through that goods store in the most melancholy manner, and the rain coming pitter-patter through the holes in the roof. Nevertheless, in this cave of Æolus he outlived all the others, and found himself at last its sole occupant. This was my first case of pyæmia at Orleans, but it was to be quickly followed by many more. A Black Hussar, in the first-class waiting-room, developed it in a most virulent form, and died in twenty-four hours. That frightened me very much, and I trembled for the safety of the rest. So I had my wards washed out with a strong solution of carbolic acid immediately. What made me still more apprehensive was the awful fact that, out of seventeen patients in a neighbouring ward, all hitherto going on favourably, fourteen died in a very short time of this dreadful scourge. In spite of my precautions, I found a few days subsequently that one of my patients had severe rigors, followed by perspiration; and bitter was my disappointment to see a case which had been going on splendidly, almost even to complete success, suddenly turn to the bad in a few hours. I had my man at once removed to the shed, and, as I well remember, on a biting November night; but I had no choice. I would have put him out on the road-side, rather than have allowed him to sow the seeds of inevitable death amongst the rest of my patients. The poor fellow had now plenty of company in his dismal quarters, for my colleagues had sent just as many out there as I had. Not three days afterwards, a bright, handsome, fair-haired lad of about twenty, with a quick, piercing eye, and manly countenance, showed also the dreaded premonitory symptoms. I said nothing to him, but asked the Hospital sergeant to get two of his men and have him removed on a stretcher to the deadhouse. Such I can only call the place from which none that entered it came out alive, except in the single instance I have quoted. Shall I ever forget the moment when the _infirmiers_ came, and that poor young lad, looking me wistfully in the face, read his doom in my silence? He knew what it meant. He had seen his comrades go, and had learned their fate, which was so soon to be his own. A few days later, I lost a fourth,--a good, pious fellow, who was continually telling his beads. His name was Johann Krum, particulars of whose case have been already given. He was a man that never smiled; and when I discovered that he had left a wife and three children at home, I pitied him greatly. I am thankful to say that this was the last of my patients who succumbed to pyæmia. Any others whom I lost died from shock, hemorrhage, or the severity of their wounds. The days went on, until we had reached the second week of November. Skirmishes with the enemy,--that is to say, with the French, who were advancing upon Orleans,--now became an everyday occurrence; and the number of wounded that came straggling in meant a very considerable loss to the Bavarians. About this time, Dr. Pratt made a journey to Versailles, in quest of stores and money, leaving Dr. Tilghman in command. Inspector-General Nussbaum made several visits to our Hospital, and expressed himself greatly pleased with the way in which it was conducted. The truth was that nobody could teach our veteran Americans anything new in the management of a Field Hospital. They had all served their time during the four years of the American War, and under a system of military medical organisation which, as all authorities acknowledge, they had brought to perfection. This was the secret of the undoubtedly successful career of our Ambulance. And I must not omit to observe that it was they who introduced the anterior suspension splint for fractures and wounds of the joints, which we were the means of having adopted in many of the German Hospitals. To turn for a moment, before the Germans evacuate Orleans, to a subject on which their presence and behaviour often set me thinking. It was a fine sight when the Bavarians heard Mass in the great Cathedral, to mark them fully equipped in heavy marching order, as they stood in close military array in every available portion of the church, with sabres drawn, glittering helmets, and waving plumes. The officers, too, stood with drawn swords during Mass; and at the Elevation they gave, in their deep sonorous tones, the word to present arms. Altogether the spectacle, though not calculated to inspire devotion, was most impressive. The Bavarians are, as a rule, good Catholics, and large numbers of them were to be seen at daily Mass, reading their prayers attentively, and going up to receive Communion. In the Hospitals also, they showed the same devout temper. Their Chaplains were zealous men, always at work among them, sharing their fatigues, and seeing that they attended to their religious duties. One of the infirmarians in the ward next to me, a common soldier, was in Holy Orders, though not yet a priest; and a more saintly young fellow I never met. He was light-hearted and merry, had a pleasant word for every one, and fulfilled punctiliously the duties devolving upon him as a soldier, and as a minister of religion. In this matter, as in other things of less importance, the Bavarians struck me as very unlike the French. When you saw a French soldier in church (which was but seldom), he never seemed to utter a prayer. And I feel bound to set down my experience, that so long as I was among them, I never noticed a French soldier with a prayer-book; nor did I ever hear one pray when dying. Others may have been more fortunate; but such was the fact in my case, and I think it deplorable. But the average French citizen appears to think nothing at all of religion. Far otherwise was it with the Bavarians. And I have seen large numbers, also, of the Prussians and North Germans, who belonged to the Evangelical or other Churches, reading their prayer-books and their Bibles in the Hospitals, and praying earnestly as a matter of course. These manifestly had religious convictions; they served God with zeal and courage according to their lights. But in France the decadence of religion had been complete. No wonder, therefore, if she has fallen. Such, indeed, was the judgment of Europe a few months later, when the Commune, breaking out like a volcano, startled men from the Voltairean lightness which, during too many years of frivolity and thoughtlessness, had been the fashion. For a moment all were agreed in proclaiming the necessity of a return to the beliefs and practices of their Christian forefathers,--was it, perchance, too late? CHAPTER XVII. FALL OF METZ ANNOUNCED.--THE BAVARIANS EVACUATE ORLEANS.--OUR DIFFICULT POSITION.--WE ARE TOLD OFF TO THE BATTLEFIELD.--THE ENGAGEMENT AND VICTORY OF THE FRENCH. On 28th Oct. the inhabitants of Orleans had read with dismay and amazement the official report, printed and posted up as a placard on their walls, of the surrender of Bazaine with his army, and the capitulation of Metz. The majority were of opinion that the Marshal was nothing but a traitor. Many, nevertheless, whom I met, scorned to entertain such an opinion; whilst others went so far as to declare that the whole thing was a German lie. But to return to the subject of our Hospital. The wounded, as I have already stated, came straggling in by twos and threes, bringing with them reports of numerous skirmishes, which, according to their accounts, invariably terminated in victory for the Germans. On the 6th and 7th November, large caravans of wounded came into Orleans; and we now became aware, through information gained from them, that the great Army of the Loire, so much vaunted by the French, and which up to this moment we thought had existed only in the imagination of the townsfolk, was no myth, but a reality; while these convoys of wounded were the result of something far more serious than skirmishes between the outposts. With all this there was very little excitement in the town; and the evening of the 8th arrived without anything happening to disturb the ordinary routine of our Hospital work. About eight o'clock our Chief was summoned to the headquarters of the Bavarian Commandant. Here he was privately informed that the troops were going to evacuate Orleans that very night; that there would most likely be a general engagement on the morrow outside the town; and that, as they would be obliged to withdraw their Field Hospital corps and their surgeons, they laid upon our Ambulance the task of looking after all the wounded in their absence, and thus formally delivered them over to our charge. When we heard of this most unexpected move, we were, as may be supposed, not a little excited. We could hardly believe that such a thing had happened to the ever-victorious armies of the Fatherland as a set-back, compelling them to give up this important position; and to describe our state of mind during that night would be difficult. I had gone to the Hospital about seven o'clock to see some patients, and all seemed quiet and peaceable. Now, I could not help thinking that it would be a sterling proof of the admirable organisation and discipline of an army amounting to 15,000 men, if, at a couple of hours' notice, it could evacuate, during the dead of the night, a large town like Orleans, carrying away arms, ammunition, and a heavy train of guns, without the knowledge of any but a few among the citizens. Some must have had their suspicions aroused by the preparations which were already being made in the Parks. But, until the appointed moment, when the bugle sounded, and the whole garrison turned out to join their regiments, by far the greater proportion of the inhabitants suspected nothing. Eleven o'clock P.M. was the hour appointed to commence the evacuation. At half-past ten I took my stand at the door of 64 Quai du Châtelet; and as the clock tolled eleven, I saw the sentries on the bridges leaving their posts and filing off in the direction of the Place Martroi. Presently, battalion after battalion marched past, on their way from the quarters in the side streets which adjoined the Quai. To our great grief we found that our infirmarians were also ordered out, leaving not a soul in charge of the Hospital, except the two surgeons on duty and their assistants. These had to minister, as best they could, to the wants of the poor deserted patients. The truth was that the Germans could not spare a single man, and were compelled to take them along with the Army. Some days before this, the bridge next us had been mined, and the powder laid; we expected that it would be blown up during the night. As this bridge was no more than a hundred yards from my bedroom window, I retired to rest with such pleasant anticipations as may be supposed. But, in spite of the excitement, I was quite overcome by fatigue, having been at work all that day, and on duty the previous night; so that, in my drowsy mood, I seemed to care little whether the bridge or myself took an aerial flight. Next morning I repaired to the Hospital at six to look after my wounded. On my way through the town I was astonished to meet several pickets marching along the streets; but not another soldier, save a few sentries, was now in the place; the latter being left, as I afterwards heard, merely to keep up appearances. Everything that they did not want to carry away with them the Germans put into a luggage train, which started from the platform of our Hospital during the night. Great excitement now prevailed among the townspeople, and they moved about the streets in crowds. All this time a heavy cannonade was going on at the North-West side, in the direction of Orme; and the din and roll of battle apprised us of the fact that a hot engagement was being carried on not far off. Multitudes surged up on the bridge, and kept their gaze fixed in the direction of the fighting, which was indicated, not only by the booming of cannon, but by the wreaths of smoke which we could see many miles away, ascending in the still air. All these spectators chattered and gesticulated vehemently; nor could anything exceed their emotion. They ran about shaking each other by the hands in a fever of excitement, as the hour of their deliverance drew on apace. Once again I saw wreaths of _immortelles_ placed upon the statue of the Heroic Maid, which stands with drawn sword by the river. When we had got through our Hospital work, we received orders to prepare for an expedition to the field of battle. It had been determined, however, that, in any circumstances, we should return to the Hospital that night, and take up our medical duties again. It was only now that we realised the awkwardness of our situation. Bound to stand our ground, no matter who might be victorious (though none of us anticipated the defeat of the Germans), the possibility of a French victory and a fresh occupation of Orleans by the latter, filled us with disquietude. We were under the direction of the foreigners, identified with their cause, receiving our orders from them. Our sympathies were supposed to be Prussian, while our Hospital and ourselves had been maintained by requisitions on the town. Hence the question arose, what kind of treatment should we receive at the hands of our new masters, when the last of the Germans had quitted Orleans? Would they, in the flush and the tumult of victory, overlook the fact that we were neutrals, engaged simply in alleviating the horrors of war? It seemed not to be impossible, so far as the population was concerned. But again, would the French military admit of our claims to be an International Ambulance? or take us prisoners and send us beyond the frontier? for they could not detain us under the Convention of Geneva. Such were our speculations when we left the town about 9 A.M. in our Ambulance waggons, and with our flags flying. Drs. Parker and Warren were left behind in charge of the Hospital. We took the road to Coulmiers, where the firing was heaviest, and from which place it appeared to be rapidly extending northwards. As we passed along, the crowd on the bridge gave us a friendly cheer, and I cannot recall a salutation that caused us more pleasure. The town was still in the possession of the Germans, although their only representatives were an under officer and a handful of men on sentry duty, who could at any moment have been easily overpowered by the mob. As our conveyances rolled through the gate of the Faubourg St. Jean, leading out into the open country, we were surprised to find a solitary German on guard, who saluted us as we passed. Probably he was even then convinced of his approaching fate; but he knew his duty too well to abandon his post. There, as Dr. Warren afterwards told us, he remained until the French came and relieved him of his guard for ever. In half an hour from our exit, we came up with a Bavarian battalion, consisting of a regiment of 2000 men, about 300 cavalry, and a battery of guns. Many of the officers were old friends of ours, and received us very kindly. They were short of surgeons, and prevailed on us to stay with them; saying that every minute they expected to be called into action, and to receive their orders to advance. Our position, at this time, was close in the rear of the fighting Bavarian army, and within sight of the field of battle. Thus it was that we were placed on the high road, upon a little rising ground which commanded a view of the country between Baccon and Coulmiers. Thence we saw that a fierce battle was raging, a host of above 60,000 Frenchmen giving fight to perhaps some 15,000 Bavarians. The result of so uneven a match became evident very early in the day. A short time after noon, the South Germans had retreated from their position in the woods and village in front of us, and the French were appearing in force on the ground that their opponents had occupied an hour previously. The firing was now vigorous and incessant: the din and roar of battle were something tremendous; and the French bombshells fell short of us only by a few hundred yards. Our party, which was halting in ambush, and as yet unperceived by the enemy, every moment expected the order to advance. For ourselves the suspense was most painful, and yet we had to remain there stationary for as much as an hour. During all this time the men were in their ranks, ready for action. In that vast concourse not a word was spoken: all appeared sullen and out of spirits; but that sullenness was usual with them. Some, overcome by fatigue and hunger--for they had not tasted anything but the bread which they carried since the previous night--slept soundly just as they were, leaning back on their knapsacks. While these slept, the others watched their comrades being picked off on the plain below, apparently without the smallest concern or excitement. Thus did they placidly view the course of the battle, awaiting their turn to join in the fray, and add to the number of the dead or dying. About three o'clock the artillery fire slackened, and we joined in the general backward movement which took place along the whole line. The rattle of musketry resounded on every side of us, and was kept up without intermission. The Bavarians, though fighting hard, were now rapidly losing ground; and the French were not only advancing as fast as they gave way, but threatening to close in upon them all round. They were likewise striving to outflank them on the right; so that, by half-past three, the German soldiers found themselves compelled to retreat, though fighting still, lest the enemy should effect this object. Thus, with the Loire at our back, we had only a narrow strip of country between us and Orleans, by which to make good our escape. The French, who swarmed along in every direction, fought desperately; and, in particular, one regiment of Chasseurs à Pieds and Gardes Mobiles made a most brilliant charge against the trained Bavarian veterans, who were occupying in force the heights of Renardier. From this place they dislodged the Teutons, who had then to join our force in the general retreat. By four o'clock on this autumnal day it was quite dark. The firing gradually ceased, and the French remained in possession of all they had captured. Now on the Bavarian side there was a general order given to retreat; it was obeyed with alacrity. We followed the defeated army for some distance; but when we learned that Étampes was their destination, and that the German troops were utterly to abandon Orleans, we parted company with them; for under any circumstances, and at all risks, we were bound to return to our Hospital. From the first sound of the retreat, which was carried out in quite an orderly but still in a precipitate manner, we expected every moment to hear the French Cavalry coming down upon us. It had been rumoured that they were present in great force. This pleasant expectation compelled us to hasten our steps, but neither we nor (as it turned out afterwards) any of the German troops experienced the least molestation in our rapid retreat. What was the explanation of so remarkable a pause in pursuit, considering that General d'Aureilles de Paladine had a host of mounted men at his command? We were told by the French that it was the result of interference on the part of M. Léon Gambetta, who forbade Paladine to follow up his victory. M. Gambetta suspected that the flight of the Bavarians was a ruse to entice the French into a trap. He dreamed that they had an auxiliary force somewhere in the neighbourhood, which might surround the Army of the Loire, and bring about its irreparable ruin. Whatever may have been the reason, certain it is that the Bavarians were saved from annihilation. They retreated that night in perfect safety, and were joined next day by the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg. They had allowed the French to gain a victory, which proved to be their first and last in this sanguinary contest. CHAPTER XVIII. AFTER THE BATTLE.--ORLEANS FROM WITHOUT AND WITHIN.--THE MOB AND THE AMBULANCE.--THE BAVARIAN GIANT. Our duty was now to return to the battlefield, and render all the assistance we could to the wounded, so forthwith we retraced our steps; and, though our day's experience, owing to circumstances over which we had no control, had not been very fruitful of work, it was fraught with much strain and anxiety. The night was dark, but we had no difficulty in making out our way, the numerous camp fires in front serving us as beacons. We pushed on to the scene of the day's conflict, Tilghman and Sherwell riding ahead, to see that the route was clear. One part of the road had a shrubbery at the left hand side; and, just as we came to the corner of it, we perceived a figure standing amongst the bushes. As we approached, the man stepped forward, and the light of our waggon lamps revealed the uniform of a French soldier. He challenged, and brought us to a halt. The difficulty of our situation was now apparent. We were about to enter the French lines, having served the Germans all day in a medico-military capacity, and having come from their headquarters at Orleans. A patrol on outpost duty quickly appeared on the scene, and we were detained some time until an officer was brought up. Having questioned us about all these particulars, and heard our replies, he informed us that it would be necessary to conduct us to headquarters, and take us into the presence of the General, before he could permit us to go on our way. At the same time he showed us the utmost courtesy. We were now surrounded by a strong escort, and had no choice but to follow. We soon came in sight of the French camp, and as we passed by the rows of cheerful blazing fires, around which were clustered, in merry groups, the victors of the day, the ring of their mirth and revelry contrasted with the deep gloom which had hung both upon ourselves and our German colleagues since morning. This great army was reckoned at 100,000 men, who now lay in the open plain under canvas. We passed along through several regiments of the Line, of Turcos, Zouaves, and Gardes Mobiles, all in excellent trim, and as jolly and pleasant as possible. They did not at all appear to be the undisciplined rabble which the Germans had represented to us. A rare opportunity was now given of contrasting the relative strength of these opposing armies; but on this subject no inquiries were made. On the contrary, we received orders not to exchange a word on the matter. Singing, eating, and drinking, appeared to be everywhere the business of the night. Presently we came to a halt before M. de Paladine's tent; and our chief, Dr. Tilghman, was conducted alone into his presence. The doctor told him exactly what our position was; and how we had left our quarters at Orleans to come and assist the wounded on the battlefield. Our duty had been to pick up any that had escaped the notice of the military surgeons, and to get them into the neighbouring houses. But, said Dr. Tilghman, we were bound to return to Orleans next day, and resume charge of our wounded. This was a difficult matter to settle; for, as the French had not followed up their victory, they were still under the impression that Orleans was in German hands, nor could we undeceive them. The question was, would it be safe to let us go back when we had been through the camp of the French, and had made observations on their position? Upon this head Dr. Tilghman speedily received a satisfactory answer. General de Paladine observed courteously that, in dealing with us, he had to deal with English and American gentlemen, who had already given abundant proof of their honour and the integrity of their word. In short, when Dr. Tilghman had shown all his papers, and the testimonials of past services rendered to the French, the old General was profuse in his acknowledgments, being evidently in high good humour over his day's success. When the interview came to an end, the members of the 5th Ambulance received us most cordially, and invited us to mess with them. But, after some deliberation, Dr. Tilghman, thanking them for their kindness, and deeming our position an awkward one, determined immediately to retrace his steps to Orleans, from whence he could, on the following day, send waggons to take as many of the wounded as possible into the town. He had good reasons for thus acting, and without waiting for a morsel of bread or a glass of wine, we moved out of the camp on our way homewards. In a large space, near the General's quarters, lay the bodies of several Bavarians--perhaps a dozen, some of whom had their faces turned up as they were lying, and looked very ghastly. Outside the camp, the ground was strewn, in some places quite thickly, with the Bavarian soldiers who had fallen on that day, which had proved so disastrous to their arms. The sight, though no longer strange, was all the same a sad one to us, for we had begun to look upon the wearers of the light blue uniform with friendly fellow-feeling, and we seemed (so fast does the time run in a campaign) to have been long associated with them. I shall not here describe the battlefield, since my view of it, by the light of our lamps and of the moon (for a beautiful moon arose just in time to show us the way home), was, of necessity, rather limited. But, in any case, I doubt the possibility of depicting, as they really present themselves, the details of a battlefield. Who can do justice to the heartrending scenes of warfare as carried on with modern weapons, the chief excellence of which seems to consist in the degree of mutilation which they can inflict on the bodies of those against whom they are directed? Before relating our entrance into Orleans, I will give Warren and Parker's account of what had happened in the town after our departure. As the day advanced, and rumours were spread of a French victory, the excitement of the townsfolk knew no bounds. They rushed frantically about in all directions, but did not dare to interfere with the few soldiers on guard at the gates of the Mairie and at the Hospital. In the afternoon, however, when it became generally known that the Germans were retreating, not towards the town but in the direction of Étampes, the populace became most riotous, and from the manner in which they menaced the unfortunate guards, it was plain that their lives were in great danger. At our Hospital, indeed, where there were ten men on guard over some Ambulance waggons at the door, the mob met with a stern opposition. The German soldiers stood together, with their swords drawn, and, bidding defiance to the crowd, were determined not to budge an inch, but rather to die than relinquish the charge assigned to them. These brave fellows, who stood so resolutely by their post, would most assuredly have met with a violent death at the hands of the Orleaners, had not the Mayor sent out a _Parlementaire_, accompanied by a body of the Gendarmerie of the town, and requested them, in the name of the Government of National Defence, to lay down their arms. This they did willingly, as they saw the danger of their position, and so they were taken off as prisoners to the Mairie. A great crowd followed, howling and yelling in the most disgraceful manner during the whole journey. Just about the time when the sentries were removed, the blue blouses rushed into our Hospital and seized all the rifles which they could lay hands on. The wards and other offices of the railway terminus now presented a scene of unutterable confusion. Drs. Warren and Parker, like true Britons, in spite of all this, remained at their posts; they refused to allow any of the mob to enter our store-rooms, or private Bureaux, and, although repeatedly threatened, would not submit to the intrusion. But their demeanour was so calm and steady that they experienced no rough usage. Their situation during that tumultuous day was certainly far from enviable. In the forenoon, several officers who had been wounded, and were in consequence left behind, came to our men entreating them to keep their swords for them, or else to let them hide them in our store-rooms. This request we were bound to refuse; but they succeeded in putting their weapons away among some bedding, which was lying in the waggon sheds at the terminus. A very amusing incident occurred at this time. There was a young Bavarian officer, the tallest man I have ever seen except one (who was, of course, an Irishman), who had been slightly wounded in the hand. For this reason he had been left on duty in the town, and not seeing any way of escape, slipped into our Hospital in the afternoon; but, finding that the mob was becoming riotous and might at any moment discover him, he divested himself of his helmet, cuirass, and uniform--he belonged to the household cavalry--which Drs. Warren and Parker consented to stow away in a corner. But in vain did they search for a bed long enough to cover the prostrate form of their giant; and it was only by stratagem that they succeeded at last in concealing him. The young man spoke English well, and was evidently by birth a gentleman. I cannot recall his name. Hardly was he settled in his hiding-place when, as Dr. Warren told us, some of the mob rushed wildly through the Hospital; whereupon the doctor sat down leisurely on the bed beneath which our hero lay half smothered. When the tumult had somewhat subsided, and darkness set in, our brave cuirassier, bruised and sore from the hard boards, at length was allowed to creep out. He now donned a suit of peasant's clothes, or rather two suits, for it took all that to cover him, and even then, as the Irish proverb has it, he looked "like a crane in a crate". All this notwithstanding, he appeared in his disguise every inch a soldier, and a German to boot. For a heavy bribe he procured a donkey cart, in which he seated himself, with legs crossed on some bundles of fuel, and a carter's bullock whip in his hand, and thus set out on his perilous journey. Having arrived safely outside the town, he took to his heels, and by-and-by chartering an old worthless animal from a peasant, reached the German headquarters in Étampes. It will be of interest to state that, subsequently, at the retaking of Orleans, this officer was one of the first to greet us on entering the town; and his satisfaction at recovering his helmet, cuirass, and accoutrements was unbounded. CHAPTER XIX. OUR AMBULANCE RETURNS.--ENTRY OF THE FRENCH.--THEIR DISHEVELLED APPEARANCE AND DISARRAY.--WE ARE SENT OUT OF THE RAILWAY STATION. Now that I have given a rough sketch of some of the experiences of Drs. Parker and Warren, to whom I am indebted for the foregoing particulars, I must return to our Ambulance cortège, which I left in the moonlight making its way back to Orleans at the dead of the night. About an hour after our interview with the General we found ourselves in the open country, whence we could see the glare in the sky thrown up by the numerous fires in the French camp which we had just quitted. The early part of the night had been bright and fine, but ere long we had to encounter a storm of wind, hail, and rain. For some time we had much difficulty in picking our way, as the roads were narrow and winding, as well as rugged. Calling at the few peasants' houses which we passed, in order to get directions, we found the inhabitants in a frenzy of fear, and either unwilling or incapable of assisting us. We learned, subsequently, from the owner of Château Renardier, that they took us for Prussians, and our French _infirmiers_ for spies. When we had gone past these scattered dwellings, we came at length on the broad _route Impériale_, which we needed only to pursue in order to arrive at our journey's end. Frequent were our surmises as to whether the French or the Germans, or either, were in occupation of Orleans. After what had happened that day, and especially as the Army of the Loire seemed to be making no effort to advance, we could none of us tell what the case within the city might be. We drew near anxiously, but observed that no pickets had been set, nor were we challenged by outposts or sentries. This led us to imagine that the place was no longer in the occupation of the Germans; for otherwise we never should have come thus far without being halted by their numerous sentinels. Outposts, we knew, would have been planted along the roads for miles outside the town by them; whereas experience told us that the present state of things was not in the least incompatible with a French occupation, and with French military tactics. We passed on unmolested until we got to the same gates by which we had come out that morning. Then, at last, as we entered, the challenge came, and we were brought to a standstill. We all now tried to catch a glimpse of the sentry in the darkness; we advanced slowly, and our lamps revealed a slight, well-built man, in a grey tweed uniform and tan leather leggings, with a Tyrolese, or kind of wide-awake hat, surmounted by a feather, set on the side of his head. Clearly this was no German. With his rifle slung across his shoulder in the most nonchalant manner, he put his questions to us. Who were we, whence had we come, and whither were we going? Having satisfied himself upon these points, he leisurely blew his whistle, and quickly brought to his side about half a dozen men similarly clad, accoutred and armed. One of these turned out to be an Englishman, who conversed freely with us, and was most polite, giving our chief the password. He informed us that they were a body of Francs-Tireurs, who had come from the country across the Loire, and had occupied the town a few hours before nightfall. They numbered only a hundred, and with the exception of a company of Gardes Mobiles, there were no regulars in the town. On the way to our quarters we were several times challenged by pickets patrolling the streets, but giving the password we were allowed to go forward, and so reached our quarters, thoroughly worn out, at three in the morning. Dr. Sherwell and Mr. Adams were immediately sent to the Hospital to relieve Parker and Warren, who came back to the Quai du Châtelet and reported the thrilling incidents which had happened while we were away, some of which I have endeavoured to set down above. We were given only a brief interval for sleep. At an early hour we had to be up and about the Hospital, dressing and attending to the wounded, who had suffered considerably in our absence, not so much from lack of surgical aid, as from want of food and drink. For all the military nurses had been drawn away; and the onerous task of giving them food and looking after them had devolved on Parker and Warren, a duty which, in spite of all difficulties, they did their utmost to fulfil. Much credit is due to these gentlemen for their brave and noble conduct upon that memorable day. By their coolness and determination they made all safe for their helpless patients, and protected them from the violence, which might easily have gone to great excess, of the rabble of Orleans. About ten o'clock on the morning of the 10th, Mackellar, Wallace, and our acting chief, Dr. Tilghman, went out with their waggons to the battlefield about Coulmiers and Baccon, and picking up some thirty-three badly-wounded men brought them into the city. We were much distressed to hear from them, how, on going over the battlefield, one of the first bodies which met their gaze was that of a young Bavarian surgeon, who used to work with us at the railway terminus when we first came. The poor fellow lay on his back, his face turned up, stripped of his boots and trousers, which no doubt had been appropriated by some plundering Frenchman, who was in need of both. It is incidents like this which bring home to one the horror and the waste of war. That same morning, when business required me to go through the town, I was astonished to see the motley collection of French soldiery which had flocked in from all quarters. It was not their numbers which surprised me,--I had set eyes on the Grande Armée of Sedan,--but the variety of uniforms, and the quaint unmilitary get-up of the individuals who composed this array of M. Gambetta's. Many in the first regiment that passed along seemed to be half in German and half in French costume. One fellow had put on a pair of Bavarian trousers and boots, another had a complete French costume all but his helmet, another German sidearms and belt, or a French uniform and a Bavarian plume. The trousers and boots of the enemy appeared, however, to be in greatest demand. Fully one third of the new-comers were raw recruits, and little more than boys. To complete the incongruity of the scene a large _American_ flag was borne upon a staff as the standard of this regiment, having the words "Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité" stamped on pennants which hung from each corner. One could not help smiling as one watched this miscellaneous rag-tag collection marching past. We asked one fellow where they were going; he answered gravely, "To Paris, in order to crush (_écraser_) the Germans". After these came a regiment of poorly clad boys, looking cold and weary, as well as homesick. Some of the latter had wooden shoes, in which they clogged lamely along the pavements, in a slouching style that was by no means soldierlike. Then followed, by way of a redeeming feature, one of the regiments of the Line, in which every man bore himself splendidly. After these, we remarked companies of Francs-Tireurs, and detachments of the Garde Mobile, who marched along in the haphazard manner of civilians during a public procession. One youth, possibly a half-witted fellow, or a volunteer who had joined _en route_, made me laugh heartily. He was dressed in full Bavarian costume, plume and all, and marched along bearing a most impassive countenance, quite unaware of the ridiculous figure he was cutting, in a uniform that was much too big for him, and in a helmet and plume which no doubt became their original broad-faced owner, but certainly never were meant to adorn the head of a thin and sharp-featured Frenchman. How it came about that these fellows were permitted by their officers, for very shame, to make such a spectacle of themselves, I did not understand, until an intelligent townsman let me into the secret of the soldiers' wardrobe, by assuring me that the men's boots and clothes were made for sale rather than use, and were all thoroughly rotten. The excitement and enthusiasm of the townspeople were, as I need hardly say, beyond description. They rushed about shaking each other by the hands, and swearing to do terrible things on the Prussians, when their troops had once got into Germany. Early in the afternoon, during the entry of the French divisions, no less amusement than bustle was created at our quarters on the Quai du Châtelet, by our Turco Jean rushing wildly up the town, in his white apron and cap, with a rifle in his hand, to meet the regiment of his fellow-Turcos, which, as some one had told him, was among the arrivals. He went as on wings to the Place Martroi, and finding that such was indeed the case, threw himself into the embraces of his companions. These were also in a fever of excitement. They crowded round the statue of Joan of Arc, and waving turbans on the points of their bayonets, yelled as loudly as their throats would suffer them: "Vive l'Empereur! A bas la République!" Had they been natives they might have been shot for sedition. In this little episode Jean cut the most ludicrous figure, entering into the demonstration heart and soul; for like every Turco, he dearly loved his Imperial master. Even now, when all was over, the Turco was still his devotedly attached friend, and scorned to conceal his loyalty towards the man for whom he had fought with such valour and desperation. It may perhaps be asked whether to introduce these Algerian barbarians into civilised warfare was not as great a crime as the employment, during the last century, of Red Indians by the English and French in North America. Their appearance at the statue of the Maid was certainly in a high degree picturesque. I am, of course, incapable of describing the varied scenes of excitement which greeted the soldiers on every side. How long would such an army keep its hold on Orleans, I asked myself as I moved about, bewildered by the seething crowds. Not long, it seemed to me. When later in the day, every café was crowded with soldiers, they appeared to be feasting freely in order to make up for past short commons. All seemed thoughtless, gay, and oblivious of danger. Nor did they care one jot, apparently, what had become of the Germans. Truly, these French are an astonishing people! In my short walk from the Quai du Châtelet I could not have seen less than ten thousand men, and again I was struck by the contrast between the soldiers of the two nations. In the stunted and undeveloped make of these youthful French levies, any observant spectator, though not a physician, might have beheld the offspring of parents who had overtaxed their vital energies by dissipation and luxury. Physical degeneration had set in among the inhabitants, not of the large towns only,--such as Marseilles, Lyons, and Paris, or Roubaix and St. Étienne,--but in the rural parts of the country likewise, ever since the days of the Revolution. Napoléon's wars had consumed the men of France during his twenty campaigns. But that was not all. I have spoken of the decay of religion; it was a patent fact; and, with religion, morality had seen its own influence decline. Legal restrictions on the disposal of property had given strength to the system, whereby married persons limited their families according to their means and social position. That is the undoubted cause of the estrangement between the average layman and the Catholic clergy that has so long prevailed; for against this system the clergy have set their faces, as they were bound to do. With such parents, and especially when their fathers set them the example, it was not to be wondered at if the growing lads had put away religion at an early age, and so lost the moral restraint which would have enabled them to turn out valiant men, sound in mind as in body, and a match for any Germans. Their sunken eyes and pinched faces, their whole bearing, indeed, told a very different tale. We were looking on, in those unhappy days, at the wreck of a population which, in shame and defeat, was paying the penalty of laws not to be broken with impunity. So much for the rank and file. As regards the singular want of courage no less than competency among their officers, it may with truth be affirmed that one of the main factors, in addition to those already mentioned, was the total neglect of early training, and the absence of that physical education which tends to a manly development. This system, which characterises public school life in England and Germany, and which results for the most part in a straightforward character, and an undaunted temper, had not then been introduced into France. It is now not unknown there, and will perhaps change the disposition of the coming generations. Many tokens there are to prove that such a change is greatly needed. Towards evening equal confusion and consternation was caused by our receiving an order from the French Commandant to evacuate the railway station in two days. We were told that we must by that time have all our wounded taken away. Dr. Tilghman protested that we could not complete the evacuation of the buildings in less than four days, and we were allowed the time required, but informed that as traffic would recommence immediately, our business was at once to clear out of the stationmaster's and superintendent's offices, which we did forthwith. On the next morning, the 11th, a long train full of people arrived on the platform. They were the first passengers we had seen since our coming to the place. The change now suddenly wrought was wonderful. Where up to this we had been masters, and where the profound silence had for a long time been broken only by the chat of the medical staff, or by the groans and cries of the wounded, we were now jostled about on a densely crowded platform, and could hardly hear our own voices, so great were the din and clamour of passengers endeavouring to secure seats in an outgoing train, or to get their luggage from the one which had just arrived. I enjoyed the novelty of the thing much, although the shrieking of railway whistles, and the hissing of the steam-engines were no pleasant sounds to have continuously in one's ears. While we remained, I saw numbers of French soldiers going round to the beds of our wounded Germans and shaking hands with them. These friendly enemies tried to convey their meaning by signs and gesticulations; they gave away their tobacco; arranged the beds; and did many other little acts of kindness, which were received with no less good will by the Germans. It was a pretty sight. On one matter French and Bavarians seemed of one opinion, which the latter expressed in their quaint phrase of "Bismarck Caput". "Caput," that strong man armed undoubtedly had proved himself to be. It was whilst standing on the platform awaiting the arrival of a train when I had finished my Hospital work, that I saw the new Dictator, M. Léon Gambetta. I knew him at once from the description that had been given me. He was speaking in low, earnest tones to an elderly gentleman, a member of the Provisional Government, and when I had surveyed his by no means elegant form, and caught from beneath a pair of prominent and bushy eyebrows several glances of his dark piercing eyes, I came to the conclusion that his appearance was not at all prepossessing. His military discernment on the day of Coulmiers, which had saved the Bavarian army from total ruin, I have mentioned in its place. I never saw him again. Our chief was now busily engaged looking out for a building, public or private, in which we could establish our Hospital. After much difficulty, a large and spacious mansion, belonging to a gentleman named D'Allaine, was placed by him at our disposal, and thither we determined to transport our wounded as soon as practicable. The house was situated off the Place du Grand Marché, behind the Quai du Châtelet;--that being the old market-place, and one of the most ancient parts of the town. It had one great advantage; it was only a few minutes' walk from our quarters. The authorities also put at our disposal the Caserne St. Charles, a large building across the river. We despatched the greater part of our invalids into that caserne at once. The first man to be sent out of the railway station in order to make room for the traffic was Martin Dilger, the surviving tenant of the goods-shed, to whose successful battle for life I have already alluded. His almost miraculous recovery made him better known to my colleagues than all the rest; and though I had upwards of twenty at that time under my charge, he commonly went by the name of "Ryan's man". I had taken particular care of his food, getting him meat, wine, and fruit as I could, and even that great rarity, a chicken, which latter was not easy to come at, especially if there happened to be Turcos about, for at stealing poultry these Africans are worse than foxes. Dilger was quite strong and merry when I removed him to D'Allaine's house. He showed his delight and gratitude in every possible way, often alluding to his condition when in the shed at the railway station; and he had a somewhat German habit of making me laugh by hiccoughing in order to recall to me that painful symptom from which he had suffered. He has since written to me several times, and I will give a specimen of his letters in due course. The poor fellow had left at home a wife and children, which was no slight addition to his other troubles. As great numbers of wounded were being brought into the town, and it was difficult to find accommodation for them, we hastened to get the Caserne St. Charles ready, and received into it a large batch of them. These were principally Germans, sent to us by reason of our previous association with their armies. When we had got everything here into working order, conceive our amazement and wrath on hearing that Dr. Tilghman had been told immediately to evacuate the Barracks! Room was to be made for the Foreign Legion. There was no alternative; remonstrance would have been waste of time; and we put our hand to this fresh and most provoking move. While it was being carried out, as the wounded must be taken to our Hospital at D'Allaine's, Dr. Parker and I were busily employed in transporting them across the town, using for this purpose every available conveyance. Thus we were compelled by the French authorities to take out of their beds, as best we could, men in dire agony, some even at the door of death, and all severely wounded. I could not recall without pain the details of the scenes which accompanied their transportation. As I have said, their wounds were all of the gravest character; some were mortal, the majority were amputations, and the remainder compound fractures, or severe lacerated shell wounds. To shake the bed of many of these patients, or even to move them gently, was to cause them acute suffering. One may imagine the agony of these brave fellows when they were hauled out on their mattresses and put, two or three together, into a cart or waggon, which, no matter how carefully driven, had to jostle them along the weary streets to their place of destination. I went successively into several of the waggons where some of the worst cases were, and did all in my power to mitigate their dreadful pains; but, in spite of everything I could do, they moaned most piteously as the wheels bumped over any roughness in the pavement. I thought a bullet through the heart was preferable to such agony as they endured. Even to look on at it was too much. About 18th November, we had completely evacuated the Station. The last batch consisted of those who had been lying in the refreshment rooms, and, as these apartments were not required by the railway officials, they did not oblige us to remove our wounded in such precipitous haste. Every day fresh supplies of wounded were being brought in; and not only every available nook and corner in our Hospital was occupied, but also many of the neighbouring houses. It was, however, expressly forbidden by the public authorities that any house should harbour the military, whether wounded or not, unless a declaration of their presence had been made, and leave obtained. Our work was now very heavy and our energies tasked to the utmost. Besides the evil of overcrowding, we had to contend against the innumerable difficulties consequent on our having been ordered about from one place to another without notice, or sufficient time to make preparations for departure. Then upon getting into our new quarters we had to re-establish our culinary and commissariat departments, on which everything depended, as well as to re-organise the system of Hospital management, and put the whole into working order. Until this was effected (which would take about a week) our whole day's work was nothing but a scramble from morning till night. Our chief was completely distracted from constantly receiving orders to have certain things done, and then (as in the case of the Caserne St. Charles) just when he had accomplished them, and was settled down, getting fresh orders countermanding the first. All this was thoroughly French,--at least, it was quite in accordance with our experience of their system. For the first few days after the return of the French, the revelry and rejoicings of the townspeople were excessive. From the appearance of the streets, the bustle, and the dense crowds, one would have thought that some great festival was being celebrated. It was astonishing to hear these people talk and boast of their glorious victory of Coulmiers--the first they had gained, and, as it was to prove, also the last. But it would sadden the heart of any lover of France to witness these frivolities, these humiliating follies of her vain-glorious and light-hearted citizens, who never seemed to think seriously of anything, no matter how grave the issue. Soon, however, the bustle in the streets subsided, and the military became comparatively few in number; many had gone to the front. But there was an evident intention of making a stand at Orleans, should the main body of the army be compelled to fall back again. I saw hundreds of men hard at work erecting barricades and earthworks across the faubourgs; while trenches and rifle pits were cut in all directions through the vineyards which lay about the suburbs of the town. An order was issued by the Commandant to leave the tall vine stakes standing, so that they might hinder the progress of the enemy, should they re-invest the place. If I may be allowed to anticipate, these very stakes were a most serious impediment to their own retreat before the Germans during the following month. Wherever they are abundant in vine-growing districts they make the country impervious both to cavalry and artillery, and form a splendid ambuscade for infantry troops in action. But the disadvantages of them from another point of view seem to have been overlooked. It was a source of deep regret to me, during this campaign, that I was not better posted on military matters; for, had I been acquainted even with the rudiments of war tactics, the numerous and important military operations which were carried on immediately under my observation would have been intelligible to me without the aid of an expert, and that blank which now must be left in this slight record might have been filled up with many most interesting details. The few convalescents who had acted as our _infirmiers_ and attendants, and with whom we had been working the Hospital since the evening of the 8th,--at which time, as the reader will not have forgotten, all our regular nurses and _infirmiers_ were drawn away for active service--were now sent off to Pau as prisoners of war. This we thought unwise and intolerable; but it was done in spite of remonstrances on our part that such dealing was nothing less than a violation of the Geneva Convention. What did we get in their place? Simply a scratch company of French _infirmiers_, whom we had much difficulty in knocking into shape, and whom we found by no means so ready to submit to discipline as had been their German predecessors. One of the new arrivals was a little fellow named Jack, by birth a native of Flanders, but who had been all his life on board a ship in the British Merchant Service, and who had had the top of a finger shot off. He had joined the Foreign Legion, not, as he told us, from any liking for war or for France, but in order to be with an old companion who had joined that corps. He was quite a little dwarf, and unsuited to hospital work; but his superiors, deeming him, I daresay, no great ornament to his regiment, had handed him over to us as an _infirmier_. Besides his native language, he spoke English, French, and German fluently, and professed to be able to converse in Spanish and Italian. This might have been of service to us in an emergency; but the following anecdote will show what a treasure we had got in our Fleming. One night Dr. Mackellar and I were on duty with Jack when a case of extensive contusion (with compound fracture of the leg) began to bleed; and Mackellar came to the conclusion that immediate amputation was the only course possible. We therefore set about removing the limb. Dr. Mackellar operated, and I assisted and gave chloroform, while Jack was to hand the sponges, carbolised water and other requisites. In the middle of the operation, our good dwarf, getting nervous at a sight to which he was so little accustomed, lost his self-control and while endeavouring to effect a retreat, fell on his head to the ground in a swoon. I am afraid we both laughed at the prostrate brave, who was a regular lion in his own opinion. Left to ourselves to do the work, we had some difficulty in finishing the operation satisfactorily. But that was the last occasion on which Jack figured as an assistant in the operation room. CHAPTER XX. AMERICAN FRANCS-TIREURS.--PONTOON BRIDGE OVER THE LOIRE.--FRENCH CARELESSNESS.--SOLITARY DEATHS OF THE WOUNDED. About this time a small regiment of American volunteers, in Franc-Tireur uniform, passed through Orleans on their way to the front. Their Colonel called on us, and offered a place as assistant surgeon to any who might be willing to join. Had I been at liberty, the spirit of adventure would assuredly have prompted me to accept his offer, and he pressed me hard to do so; but the required permission was wanting. These men, I afterwards heard, joined General Bourbaki, and having been driven over the Swiss frontier, were detained as prisoners of war. About the 20th November Dr. Pratt returned, bringing with him two gentlemen, Mr. Olive and Mr. Wombwell, who were to take charge of the commissariat and store department. They had been in London, and brought a large supply of stores. They, like Hayden and myself, had been taken by Francs-Tireurs, not once, however, but twice, and only the French passport which Dr. Pratt held ever since his departure from Paris, prevented them from being shot out of hand as Prussian spies. A work of great interest was being carried on by the garrison within sight of our windows on the Quai. It was the construction of a pontoon bridge across the Loire, for the more speedy passage of troops. The Germans, some weeks previously, at the time we arrived in Orleans, had attempted a similar bridge; but before they had half finished it, a flood came one night and swept the whole thing away, to the intense amusement and delight of the Orleaners. The pontoon bridge which the French now constructed, showed not only the perfection to which military engineering had been brought, but also the acquaintance which the natives possessed with the sudden and violent floods which were wont unexpectedly to swell the current of that great river, causing its waters to rise in a few hours so as to overflow its banks and flood the adjoining country. The bridge was composed, not of pontoon boats, but of large barges, which had been used on the river for the freight of merchandise. These were connected with one another by pine trees, which themselves had been lashed together by spars. A rough idea of the size of the bridge will be given if I state that it took thirty-three such barges to make its length, and that they were about ten feet apart. Active preparations were now being made on all sides for a determined stand. Every one said that ere many days were over, the enemy would be once more upon them, but they reckoned that an engagement, though sure to be bloody and desperate, would end in a decisive victory for the French army. Such was the gossip of the town, and of officers in the cafés whom I fell in with. Another event, of even greater interest than the construction of the bridge, was the entrance, one frosty morning, of a body of marine infantry, bearing with them four gunboats placed on long timber waggons, each drawn by eight horses. It is not easy to describe how very novel and curious an appearance this flotilla on dry land presented as it passed slowly down the Rue Royale, each gunboat fully rigged, and carrying on board its bright brass cannons which glistened in the sun. As I happened to have half an hour to spare, I followed the marines, curious to see what would become of this extraordinary naval procession. The limber waggons with their cross beams, on which the keels of the boats rested, took up nearly the entire breadth of the street. When they arrived on the Quai du Châtelet, I found myself one of a large crowd that had been drawn there by the same motive, and we wondered much how these unwieldy things could be launched. It was surprising with what facility this was done by comparatively few hands; but, presently, when our interest in the performance had yielded to admiration, we saw the last of the gunboats turn upside down as soon as it was in the water, flinging cannon, men, and everything on board into the Loire. The danger seemed not so great as it might have been, and we were much amused. There followed universal scramble of excited Frenchmen to haul their comrades out of the stream; but their whole idea of assisting the struggling men was to gesticulate frantically at them, and at their neighbours on shore, and to maul one another in a fashion as ludicrous as it was unseasonable. Some of the marines, however, let down a boat and brought their comrades on shore. But it was not until next day that they were able to right the gunboat, and they never fished up the cannon and other materials which had sunk with it. I often watched these diminutive men-of-war as they cruised about at a great speed, for they were driven by steam, with their guns as bright as gold, and the tricolour flying from their sterns. On the banks of the river opposite our quarters, there were several cannon placed on the footpath with a sentry on each. And speaking of sentries, I am reminded how great was the difference between the French and the German method of occupying a town in time of war. When the Germans were at Orleans, they set a sentry at every street corner, several at either end of the bridges, one in every public square, and one at the door of every person at all distinguished. A stranger would be challenged at every couple of hundred yards, nor could he pass along anywhere unobserved. Not so was it with the French. During their stay we seldom came across a sentry, and, when we did, he took no more notice of those who passed by, or of what went on in his neighbourhood, than if he had been at a review. Again, during the French occupation, we missed the noise and rattle of the many hours of morning drill in which our Germans troops were daily practised, no matter how long had been their previous marches, or how severe the hardships they had undergone. During the weeks which the French spent in Orleans I never once saw their soldiers at drill. When they came into the town they simply threw their arms into a corner in their quarters, and left them there until they were again on the move. That such was the case I have personal reason to know; for in a house where I was attending a wounded man, I saw such a collection of arms, and they remained untouched till the regiment to which their owners belonged took its departure. But this was only in keeping with all that I had seen of the discipline and internal _régime_ of their armies. A significant token of their ignorance with regard to the country in which they were fighting was that, immediately on entering Orleans, they requisitioned, by public placards, all maps of the surrounding districts which might be in the hands of the inhabitants, ordering them to be delivered up forthwith to the military commandant. Thus did their organisation prove itself in every detail either deficient or slovenly. And on all sides there was accumulating evidence of something radically unsound in the army as in the people. About November 22, the Inspector-General of French Ambulances called to see us formally at the railway station with Messieurs Crémieux and Bezoin, two active members of the Provisional Government. With all three we shook hands solemnly, and received their thanks for the assistance we had rendered to the French wounded. They signified to our chief that France would be in a position, by-and-by, to make some public recognition of our services; and after the exchange of other compliments bade us a cordial farewell. In the midst of the excitement and bustle, consequent on the fact that Orleans was now the headquarters of the Army of the Loire, we continued our daily labour at the bedsides of the wounded, caring little about what was happening outside our own sphere of work. Many of our wounded were scattered through the town; and these, comfortably established in private houses, we visited every day. As already stated, after leaving the terminus we took up our quarters at M. d'Allaine's in the old market-place. Here we set up our Hospital exclusively for German wounded, as, in the circumstances under which we found ourselves in the town during the French occupation, and taking into consideration the nature of our mission there, we considered the care of the wounded whom the Germans had left to us as our primary duty. For this reason we kept them together as much as possible, that they might not fall into other and less attentive hands; and when we had done our duty by them, we bestowed such time as we could spare upon any French wounded that came under our charge. At this time our position in Orleans was extremely critical. All knew that we had been in the service of the Germans, and that they had looked upon us as part and parcel of their medical army corps; and we could hear many a subdued expletive when we passed along the streets. It was, however, most likely for this reason that no one dared to molest us. They had learned by a bitter experience how inevitable was the Prussians' day of retribution, and they knew with what severity the invaders punished any outrage on their friends. Now it was that Colonel Reilly, Captain Frazer and Colonel Hozier arrived in Orleans with the headquarters of General d'Aureilles de Paladine, as _attachés_ to the Foreign Embassy. They came several times to mess, and spent their evenings with us,--pleasant jovial men, and as brave as they were agreeable. Nothing could be more welcome, when one was fagged and worn out after a long day's work among the wounded, than to turn in to a comfortable dinner with nearly a score of good-natured fellows, who vied with one another in making the evening pass pleasantly for all. Never a wrangle, never a hasty or bickering word was exchanged; never did an unkind remark or an ungenerous act mar that friendly harmony which existed among the Ambulance corps then working unitedly under the banners of England and America. I often look back with feelings of satisfaction to the cheery circle we used to form when mess was over, seated round a large wood fire; and I can still see the grinning face of "Nigger Charlie" as he entered the room, bearing in his hand a large wash-hand basin of steaming punch with a dash of brandy and port in it, flavoured with spices and lemon, which we could pronounce with a good conscience to be all it seemed. Our work was taxing and incessant, but nothing is too hard if one goes at it with a will. Yet my advice to anybody who has a soft drop in him, and who contemplates entering upon a campaign, would be that he had better stay at home. One of our party was a good musician, and every evening entertained us by playing on a piano which we borrowed from a merchant, as the Scotch would call him, in the town. This was a grand resource after supper when we all came together. And so much for our leisure hours. In the daily routine of professional work at this time I have nothing out of the way to chronicle. There was one case, however, the particulars of which might be interesting. The patient's name was Karl Melchers, a young artilleryman, who had been shot in the leg at the end of October, and whose thigh was subsequently amputated at the railway station. He had been transferred then to M. d'Allaine's, where, to my grief, he showed symptoms of approaching pyæmia. Reluctantly, but forthwith, I determined that he must be put out of the Hospital; and I took peremptory orders from my chief to that effect. Now the difficulty was to find a place where I could lodge poor Melchers. I tried at the neighbouring houses, but all that were not occupied by invalids were full of the rank and file of the army now billeted through the town. Not a nook could I discover anywhere. In the yard, however, there was an empty stable, and into this I had no choice but to have Melchers conveyed. In order to give the place a less dreary appearance--it was dismal enough--I procured some straw, and had it laid on the pavement. He was then brought down on his mattress, and I never shall forget the poor fellow's face when he caught the first glimpse of those new quarters which he felt that he should not long occupy. When he found himself laid on the straw, alone, and separated from his companions perhaps for ever, the utter desolation of his fate dawned upon him, and he sobbed audibly. Yet he was a fine brave young fellow, with piercing black eyes, dark hair and whiskers, and a very high forehead. We were the best of friends; and I did all in my power, little enough as it was, to comfort him. I persuaded one of our nursing sisters, a native of Luxemburg, who belonged to the convent of Notre Dame de Recouvrance, to sit beside him on the straw, and talk to him for a while. However, both Soeur Berthe and I had soon to go about our own business, and leave him to himself. Day after day he complained bitterly of being where he was, in the damp and cold, but there was no help for it; his presence in the neighbourhood of any other wounded must have meant the death of many, if not of all. Once he called the sister and me to his bedside, and said: "My end is now not far off; I should die happy had I but one half-hour with my comrades, behind my gun, with a thousand Frenchmen in front of me". Another day and this poor fellow, after having bidden us a touching farewell,--for he knew that we could not help his unhappy position,--died in a manner and in a place that I should not have liked his poor old mother away across the Rhine to have seen. Yet melancholy as were the circumstances attending the death of this dauntless soldier, still more pitiable was the fate of many others as brave as he, who were condemned to drag out the last few hours of their existence on some bleak and lonely hillside, or in the thick brushwood skirting some silent forest, or in the swampy sedge beside some rivulet. Such tragedies were not uncommon during that stern winter which was now setting in, as I can but too surely bear witness. Always we were expecting to hear of an engagement taking place in our neighbourhood; but none happened until Thursday, the 24th November, when we learned from the military in command that hostilities had begun in the direction of Neuville. During the evening of this day, some of us were told off for field service, and made preparations to depart. I was among the number. It gave me, I must confess, no small pleasure to be chosen to go to the front. There is a fascination in the excitement of the battlefield; and, even in its horrors and imminent deadly perils, a seduction, which one cannot easily resist. A life of campaigning seems to bring out what moralists would perhaps term a diseased hankering after its uncertainties and adventures. But in the case of the Ambulance officer this not altogether human quality is liable to be merged in one more useful. He is in the field not to give wounds, but to heal them, and to assuage the suffering that makes war so detestable in one aspect, so heroic in another. CHAPTER XXI. TO THE FRONT.--TURCO AND ZOUAVE ENCAMPMENTS.--SKIRMISHING.--FALSE NEWS.--THE SHAM FIGHT AT NEUVILLE.--RETURN TO THE CITY. On the evening of the 24th, our chief reported himself to the General Commandant, and asked for a "_Feuille de route_," and "_Laissez passer_," which were freely granted, together with instructions to push on as far as Neuville at once; for no doubt our services would be required there before many hours. Already we could hear the cannon booming in the distance, which satisfied us that this speculation was correct. Early next morning we started with our omnibus and train of waggons, leaving the town by the Faubourg Bannier. Every man carried with him all the portable necessaries, consisting of bandages, chloroform, morphia, lint, tourniquets, and instruments. When we were clear of the town, a good insight into the doings of the French during the past few weeks was permitted us. We saw how they had executed their plan for the fortification of Orleans, and had made an entrenched camp round about it, with ninety-five naval guns manned by the seamen from Cherbourg. At regular intervals the road was intersected by trenches of great depth and width, running parallel to each other, and extending for miles round the town. They had been driven alike through the woods, the open country, and the vineyards. The cuttings which were thus made in the road had been filled with bundles of twigs and birch tops, packed together and covered with sods, so as to admit of one waggon crossing them. It surprised me that our horses' feet did not go through; but I remarked that the bundles on the top were made of fine slender maple tops. The sensation experienced when crossing these elastic surfaces was very peculiar. The omnibuses and waggons sprang up and down, and rocked from side to side, as if they had been on india-rubber, until I thought we should be upset; but we were perfectly safe, and the materials proved admirably suited for their purpose. They had, of course, the advantage of being easily removed on the shortest notice. The covering of sods was nothing to speak of, and had by this time resolved itself into a mere crust. The trenches, however, were not by any means so numerous as the shallow rifle pits and earthworks, which, taking a zigzag course, intersected one another, and seemed to form a network in every direction. It was clear to us that the deep trenches were intended to arrest the progress of artillery and cavalry, while the pits and mounds were for sheltering advancing infantry. All this pointed to the determination of the French to make a resolute stand at Orleans; but we all agreed that we should yet see the Germans making use of those very trenches to defeat the army which had constructed them. And so it turned out. On our journey we passed through the forest near Orleans, where one portion of the French army had recently encamped. They had cut avenues through the trees, and crossed them again at right angles by others. At each side of these were erected little huts, made of branches set upright in the ground, and interwoven with smaller branches and twigs, while a rough thatch of broom and birch tops covered them. This gave the whole the appearance of an Indian village. Some of the huts were large and commodious, and if not perfectly strong, made a comfortable shelter against the blast. When inhabited, one could well imagine what a picturesque appearance they must have presented, as seen at night by the blaze of the camp fires. We were told that here had been the quarters of some of the troops from Algiers. The French always kept these wild fellows as much as possible by themselves, and away from the towns, where they are apt to become unmanageable. Some miles further on, in the middle of an open country, we met an encampment of Zouaves. The ground was all converted into a heavy slush, for it had been raining; and these unlucky men, stationed here during the past four days, were under orders to move on to the front in the morning. As a group of them stood beside a fire near the road, I was struck with their jaded and draggled appearance. Half famished, and up to their ankles in mud, they gave little earnest of the spirit with which they would go into action on the morrow. Numbers of them were moving about, carrying wood and water, while others were cooking their victuals. I felt much amused at the manner in which some of them performed their morning ablutions. Two fellows whom I noticed were kneeling on a board, washing their faces in some dirty water that had lodged in a waggon track. There were Turcos among them;--one a dark, fierce-looking brigand, who stalked up with an old barn-door cock in his hand and a turkey under his arm, jabbering to each of his victims a jargon, which they probably did not understand, though they fluttered and screamed in answer to him. These feathered captives were, no doubt, the result of a visit to some old dame's farmyard; for Turcos never pass through a country without stealing all the poultry and eggs they can lay hands on. Such is the "loot" on which they set value. Further on, we marched through several hamlets which were almost entirely deserted, as were, indeed, most of the farmhouses. Presently, one of the sentinels at an outpost challenged us, and in half an hour we found ourselves at our destination. Neuville is a tidy village situated on the north-east of Orleans, which can boast its little square and town hall, or Mairie, and presented the clean and neat appearance of which I have so often spoken when describing the hamlets I came upon in my French travels. It lies on the outskirts of the forest of Orleans, and has a small but decent church at one end, and a fine corn market at the other. Its central square now afforded a most lively scene, being covered with tents from which the French soldiery were swarming out; and by their excited manner and,--even for them,--unusual volubility, it was not difficult to guess that some event of the gravest importance was threatening. We reported ourselves to the Commandant, who looked at our papers, was made aware of our business and destination, and assigned us quarters. This gentleman, who was most courteous and communicative, informed us that there had been a battle on the day previously, in which the Prussians were repulsed, and that, although the engagement had been long and hotly contested, the losses on the French side were trivial; while those of the Germans, if not heavy, were yet not inconsiderable. We also learned that a few small skirmishes had taken place during the early part of the day, and that the cannon which we heard were further up the French lines to our right. The Commandant said that for the wounded at Neuville he had ample provision in his military surgeons; but added that he expected an engagement on the morrow, when our services would probably be useful. Such appear to have been the facts. Yet, a few days afterwards, the French journals gave a glowing account of an engagement which had taken place on that very day, and in which a large number of Prussians were killed, with the loss of only one Garde Mobile and half a dozen wounded on the French side. Well and good, if the papers had confined themselves to the doings of the 24th, when there was really some brisk fighting, and some cannonading too, as I can testify; for I saw where a bombshell had entered the mayor's house, and, having passed through the roof, had burst inside, knocking in the ceiling of the sitting-room, and riddling the partition walls so that one could see into the adjoining chamber. But all beyond this was exaggeration or fable. I remarked that many of the houses in Neuville had received the like treatment, and that, here and there, doors, windows, and sashes had been smashed by fragments of shells. Presently, while wending our way through the camp to our quarters, we fell in with a young corporal, who was of English descent on the mother's side. He had known Dr. May in Paris, spoke English fluently, and showed much refinement and intelligence. He told us that, on the day before, some thousand and odd Frenchmen had defeated in a pitched battle four thousand Prussians; but as the French had had fresh reinforcements that morning, they were now on a more equal footing with the enemy, and could muster, at least, three thousand men. About the movements or position of the other side no one seemed to have precise information, which rather astonished us, since they talked so confidently. When we had put up in a little tavern, situated in a by-lane, and as clean and comfortable as we could expect in time of war, we went out again to see what was going forward. On one side to the north of the village, our friends had constructed rifle pits, mounds, and trenches just as at Orleans, but on a smaller scale. We directed our steps to the church, and found there several score or so of wounded, the greater number of whom were German. These latter were in charge of a very uncommunicative young surgeon of their own, who, although I have no desire to misjudge him, did not seem to be very deeply concerned about his patients. They were all gravely wounded, and lay on the flags, with but a scanty supply of straw beneath them, having neither blankets nor anything else to cover them, except their overcoats. Many were in a dying condition, their limbs mangled by fragments of shells, or traversed by bullets in some vital part. Two of them assured me that their wounds had not been dressed since they were brought in from the battlefield, and that the bullets were still unextracted; but this may have happened from want of Hospital plant and material. We had, however, the gratification of seeing the few out of that dying multitude who could bear removal, transported to our depôt at Orleans; while the rest were left under the charge of their German doctor, let us hope to die in peace. Some lay in the sanctuary of the church beside the altar; others made use of the steps to support their aching heads; and we noticed others again who were writhing on the ground in the agony of death. But war had imposed its burden on us, and we took an early rest in order to be fresh for our work next morning. Dr. May was told off to rise at three, and ascertain when we might be expected to be up and moving. The morning came; but no firing had as yet begun, and Dr. May let us lie until seven. When we came down, the village presented a very different aspect from that of yesterday. Not a civilian was to be seen in the streets. A regiment silently drawn up was in the centre of the square. Every man stood in his place, with his hand on his rifle, and ready to begin at a moment's notice. Our forces at this point consisted of a regiment of marine infantry, a couple of regiments of the Line, a few hundred cavalry, and three batteries. We took our position on the _route Impériale_, immediately outside the town, from which place one could observe how the forces were disposed, and the relation which we bore to the enemy. There was a forest in front of Neuville, some few thousand yards away from the earthworks, and in and beside this wood the Prussians held their ground. The French infantry were drawn up within and in front, as well as on the left of the town; while the artillery had taken up their position on a small hill to the right, from which they could rake the plain before them, should the Prussians give them battle. In the rear of the artillery, and away from the town, were placed the cavalry. Now, when I talk of the infantry being drawn up, be it understood that they were not ranged in lines on the open plain, as the uninitiated might suppose,--far from it,--for, positively, on looking over the country, it was hard to make out their presence. The French forces were scattered about in farmyards; behind woods, orchards, and hedges; and close to the houses themselves. The early part of the morning had been wet, but it was now quite fine; and my reader can imagine with what burning anxiety we kept our eyes on the plain before us, and with a fixed gaze waited for the moment when the familiar rattle at the outposts should declare that hostilities had begun. Time passed, and no wounded were coming in. Some of us walked about unheeded, observing all we thought of interest. The Prussians were not visible, and we were moving along the road, when we saw the outposts engaged at two different points, as we judged by the smoke and the sounds of musketry. We now retreated to our lines, feeling sure that this was the commencement of a hot day's work. However, it turned out otherwise; for after a considerable amount of shifting their position on the part of the infantry, and the advancing of a few companies, there was very little firing on either side save that which was kept up between the outposts; and they, in the end, got tired of firing in the air in the direction of one another. I should say, from the distance they were apart, that they might have gone on firing till the day of judgment, and done no execution on their respective enemies. In a little time two companies went forward and exchanged a few volleys with the Prussians, whereupon the latter retired altogether from the scene. Thus ended the battle of the 25th, without a drop of blood being shed or a single man being wounded. Now, it may appear strange that I should have travelled into the details of so bloodless an engagement; but my reason for doing so is simply this, that a few days later, when perusing one of the French journals, I lighted on a glowing report of three brilliant victories which had been gained at Neuville by the French, on the 24th, 25th, and 26th of November, with all particulars at length. The comments on the battle of the 24th, as I have said, were exaggerated; but in describing the two days subsequent, my newspaper stated that, after a determined resistance of many hours, the Prussians were completely routed, and had left eighty prisoners in the hands of the French, with a quantity of baggage and waggons. I have given the circumstances of this notable victory of the 25th, and the reader may draw his own conclusion. So much for French journalism, which, to my thinking, was not wholly guiltless of many of the disasters that befell the French arms. The facts I have related speak for themselves; they furnish, however, an example of the mania, which, at this period, seized the French press, and led them persistently to falsify the news from the seat of war. Not only did they strain every effort to blindfold their own people, and screen the truth from them,--which was that they were being hopelessly beaten,--but they did their best to persuade the world that they were winning, and that their ultimate success was certain. These bare-faced falsehoods, which delayed negotiations, and put off the treaty of peace until the country was exhausted, could be matched only by a story which I heard long afterwards. An acquaintance of ours, who was staying at Tours in 1880, used to relate how his French host was in the habit of saying, when they fell to talking about old times, _"Franchement, nous avons vaincu dans cette guerre, mais les gens ne veulent pas le reconnaître"_. No, I say, they hardly could! We returned to Orleans on the night of Saturday, the 26th, and next day, during a leisure half-hour, I wrote home rather a tame account of these glorious French victories. Wonderful (I used to think), how easy it is to revive by abundant palaver the drooping spirits of the French! Not two months ago they had looked upon their prospects, if not with despair, yet with the most gloomy forebodings; but to-day, elated by a few slight successes, they were swaggering about the streets, boasting of what France had done in generations past, and of what she would do in the future. It was no uncommon thing to hear them in the cafés talking of the requisitions they would make when they had raised the siege of Paris, and were marching through Germany, about which they knew little more than they did of the interior of China. Nor would it have been safe to hint, at this period, that any Germans would still remain on French territory by that day six weeks. It was amusing, if also, perhaps, exasperating, to hear them run on in this fashion; for we non-combatants all expected that ere many days we should see the German sentinels again at our Hospital gates. For ourselves, we were still branded by public opinion as Germans, and had nothing to protect us save our calling, and the flag which hung out all through, over our door on the Quai du Châtelet. Hence we were careful how we moved about after nightfall, lest we might come into collision with the soldiery, or such of the townsfolk as might have been disposed to interfere with us. CHAPTER XXII. BATTLE OF PATAY.--THE FRENCH RETREAT.--KNIGHTS TEMPLARS.--THE BATTLE CONTINUED.--ATTACK ON ORLEANS BY THE GERMANS.--BURNING OF THE PONTOON BRIDGE. Time went by in the ordinary routine of Hospital work, until the 1st December, when the news of a successful sortie from Paris, made by Trochu and Ducrot, put the whole town into a fever of excitement. Report said that the Army of Paris was already approaching Étampes. Next day, 2nd December, we heard heavy firing going on all along the lines, so far as we could judge, from Neuville and Chevilly on the right, to Patay on the left. A severe frost had set in during the past fortnight, and there had been a heavy fall of snow during the last few days. The ground was hard, and the air clear, so that the roar of the guns thundered in our ears as if they had been only a few furlongs instead of eight miles away. Of course, it was devoutly held by the Orleaners that Trochu was fighting his way through the Prussian lines, and would be in Orleans to-morrow. We, however, guessed what the real state of things was. During the last week we had obtained permission from the French authorities to have the old Church of St. Euverte, in the Rue St. Aignan, fitted up as a Hospital, and the Mayor had provided about 300 beds with their bedding. We had been actively employed the past three days in transferring our wounded from D'Allaine's to our new abode; and by the evening of the 3rd all our arrangements were made to receive the wounded. The cooking department was seen to by an energetic Frenchman, M. Bonjour, whose services throughout our stay at Orleans can never be forgotten by us. Towards the evening of that same day, the firing became fierce and continual; it appeared to come nearer than it had been in the morning. Both sides had heavy guns, eighteen and twenty-four pounders, hard at work. Nor were the mitrailleuses inactive. It was not until long after dark that the cannonading ceased. As may be supposed, no one knew, though every one pretended to know, the result of this long engagement. Some I heard saying that Prince Frederick Charles had been taken prisoner with 20,000 men; while others ventilated equally foolish reports. But ere long convoys of wounded arrived, and we soon had no doubt as to what had happened. The French were evidently getting the worst of it. Next day, the 4th December, a furious cannonade raged outside the town, making a most terrific din, though still several miles away. It told us that the French were making a determined stand. Early in the morning our Ambulance, minus Tilghman, Mackellar, Hayden and myself, quitted Orleans, and went on to the battlefield. We four were left behind to receive the wounded, as well as to look after those who were already on our hands. I had been under orders to go; but Dr. Warren, who was burning to be in the thick of it, asked me to effect an exchange with him; and I consented to the arrangement, subject to the necessary permission of our chief. My friend had never been among the bullets; and great was his anxiety to receive what Louis Napoléon called in a famous despatch, the "baptism of fire". As I had a great deal of useful work to do, I was quite willing to stay. After my late experience, curiosity alone, without the call of duty, never would prompt me to go again into a battlefield; but I had had my baptism. As regards the success of this expedition, I may add that, when they arrived on the scene of action, they found the French were fighting in retreat, and there was no possibility of establishing a temporary field Hospital. They had, therefore, to content themselves with bringing home as many of the wounded as they could accommodate in their waggons. The description which they gave of the slaughter was fearful. The Prussian artillery had raked the French lines through and through before their eyes; and Dr. Warren confessed to me that, short as was the time they had been on the battlefield, he had seen sights so horrible that the recollection of them would haunt him till his dying day. Long before the return of our comrades, we became aware that the French must be fighting in retreat, by the extended convoys of provision and baggage waggons, that streamed down the Rue Royale and across the Loire. For upwards of ten hours the baggage, provision, and ammunition train of the French army continued to pour across that bridge in unbroken succession. It was a sight to fill one with amazement; one could hardly believe that it was not all a dream. In the middle of the day, while going to see some of my wounded who were quartered in a neighbouring street, I met a convoy of Prussian prisoners being hurried along by a detachment of marines. They must have been some time in the hands of the French, for they looked thin and worn; and it made my blood boil to see the malignant delight which beamed in the faces of the townsfolk as they scanned these famished and half-frozen wretches passing along. But an hour later, I witnessed in the Rue Jeanne d'Arc a scene, the novelty of which, to my mind, was without a parallel. Moving down the street towards me at a slow hand-gallop,--almost at a walking pace,--came a troop of African cavalry, from the borders of the Sahara. I don't know that anything had ever excited in me so much curiosity as did the sight of these Spahis; and a more strange and wild-looking collection of men and beasts it would be impossible to conceive. They halted opposite the Cathedral, so that I had ample time to take stock of them. The townspeople displayed as much astonishment as I did, and flocked after them in crowds, just as if they had been the outriders of some great circus. They were tall, fine-looking men, with bronzed faces, but of various tints, some light, some almost black, some handsome, others square-faced, and, one had almost said, ugly. There were those among them who had well-chiselled features, with dark eyes, and so piercing a look as to give one the idea that they could see right through one. Their outer dress consisted of long-flowing mantles in white flannel, which trailed along the ground when they dismounted, and were fastened over one shoulder, somewhat after the fashion of the Roman toga. This garment, however, had attached to it a hood and a short cape. On their heads I saw what appeared to be a high coil of whitewashed rope, entangled in the hair, which, so far as I could judge, they wore long. This coil was looped up about their head-dress like the ordinary turban. The hood, of which I have spoken, was partly drawn up over the turban or coil, just far enough to catch the apex, and the whole appeared as if each man carried on his head a small turret. Add to these details, a lean, ugly, big-boned, square-hipped, straight-shouldered Arab horse, with a wooden frame set on a large pad for a saddle, and having a high piece going up behind, so as to reach half-way up the rider's back. The whole thing looked more like a diminutive chair than a saddle. The girths by which it was secured passed round saddle, horse and all. Wooden shoes came out at each side, with strips of hide for stirrups; there was a strong crupper behind, and blinkers were set on the bridles of untanned leather. It was, I think, the oddest specimen of an equestrian turn-out that ever showed on a European battlefield. These men are supposed to be about the best riders in the world. As they moved on, I remarked that they all rocked in their saddles in the most curious fashion, and thrust out their toes in tailorlike style. They each carried a musket about the length of one's arm, a brace of pistols, and a sword, which did not look like a sword, it was so much bent. Yet this is their favourite weapon. I could well imagine an enemy being taken aback when he approached these mysterious foes, and beheld their grim dark faces peering through a small loophole at the top of a tower of white flannel. They certainly had more the resemblance of cowled monks than of a troop of cavalry, and might have been introduced by Sir Walter Scott in _Ivanhoe_, as Moslem Knights Templars. When I had seen this curious sight, I went on my way to look after a captain of the Garde Mobile, who was shot through the foot, and a young corporal of the Line, shot through the left lung. The latter was a very bad case, not likely to recover; the ball had descended in the cavity of the chest, and the air which the poor lad was breathing entered and escaped through the perforation. Presently, a boy of about sixteen came in, the friend and companion of the dying corporal. He had but a few minutes to remain, and in this short time he learned from me that his friend's wound was mortal, and that he must now bid him a hasty farewell. The parting scene between them was most touching, for they were attached comrades. Among the number brought in to-day by our ambulance was one who came under my charge, and whose case was of interest by reason of his tender years. He was a fine lad, only seventeen, and had served in the Garde Mobile. He had been shot through the leg; but the principal cause of his lamentation was not his wound; it was that he had not fired a shot the whole day, nor even so much as got a chance of bowling over a German, though all the while shells and bullets were falling about him like rain, and dealt wholesale destruction on his company. The account which he gave of the fighting outside was terrible; it seemed to have made a deep impression on his imagination, yet did not in the least take from his courage. He told me he had not eaten for twenty-four hours. How, I often said to myself, could soldiers fight, who were habitually suffering from hunger, cold, and fatigue, like these poor fellows? All this time the ground literally shook from the conflict which was going on outside the town. I think that, as an artillery fight, it was second only to Sedan. It had been freezing very hard every night, and snow was lying deep on the ground. If people at home (and there are some who talk much around their comfortable fires about going to war on every paltry provocation) could have seen the waggon-loads of half-frozen wounded which were brought in to us on the night of the 4th, and those again who lay outside the town without assistance, their wounds uncared for, and exposed to the bitterly cold night air, how soon they would change their idle tone! how they would loathe and abominate the very name of war! I can understand that men find a pleasure in studying the art of fighting, as they do in playing a game of chess; and I have allowed in my own case the fascination which even its horrid reality is capable of exercising over one. But for the man who deems it a pleasure and a glory to use the science of war as a weapon wherewith to annihilate thousands of human beings, for the delusion called "prestige," or in the game of politics, I would have him to know that it is a foul and monstrous thing, full of hideous suffering, cruelty, and injustice, with nothing to redeem it, save the courage whereby such miseries are endured. However, let me go on with my proper theme. Immediately the darkness set in on the 3rd, the cannonading ceased. This night we snatched but a few hours' sleep; for, at the first dawn of daylight, a repetition of yesterday's performance began with redoubled vigour. From the belfry tower of our church, during the past two days, we had been able to get a fair idea how the battle was going. It commanded a fine view of the country around. But now that the Germans had driven the French back on the outskirts of the town we could see much more of the contest. Early on the 4th we beheld the whole cavalry, numbering about 3000 men, come down the Rue Royale and pass over the bridge on the Quai du Châtelet,--some at a swinging trot, others at a gallop. It was a rare sight, for here were represented men of every regiment in France--Cuirassiers, Lancers, Chasseurs d'Afrique and the rest. This host of armed men and horses, extending as far as the eye could reach (which was certainly half a mile), formed a _coup d'oeil_ not easily forgotten; and the clatter they made on the pavement, during their stampede, was loud enough to have been heard far outside the town. Towards evening I availed myself of a few minutes' leisure to ascend the church tower and watch the battle, which still continued. The roar of the fighting, which was now going on in the vineyards and entrenchments at the end of the Faubourg Bannier, baffles description. The heavy French marine guns were all going simultaneously, while on each side of the town the infantry also were in close conflict. Quite near us, at the end of our own Faubourg St. Vincent, just where the convent stood in which Miss Pearson and Miss McLoughlin were at work, the fighting seemed heaviest. On some portion of the ground that was not so thickly covered with vineyards, the dead were strewn in heaps, many being the victims of their own mitrailleuses which the Germans had captured, and were now using with more precision and deadly effect than their original possessors. But all this time, the French, though retreating, kept up a continuous and well-directed fire upon the advancing Prussians, whose losses, as we afterwards discovered, were quite as great as those of the vanquished. This they attributed themselves to the great tact and ability which the French marines displayed in the management of their heavy guns. But for these, indeed, as I have heard the French say, it would have been difficult, if not impossible, for them to have covered the retreat of their army. The sun shone brilliantly that afternoon of the 4th, and the arms and accoutrements of the contending forces were flashing brightly, as they moved about among the vineyards. In the distance we could see in several places the field-artillery galloping along in different directions, wheeling round suddenly, and stopping, when the little puffs of smoke told us their reason for doing so. But these reports were lost in the general tumult of the battle. One or two more repetitions of these little puffs, then a limber-up, and a dash ahead as before in their onward course, only to repeat the same manoeuvres further on; such were the tactics which, as from a box at the theatre, we repeatedly noticed, standing in the belfry of Ste. Euverte. And here I may mention an incident witnessed by Drs. May and Tilghman. There was a hot contest being waged close to the Hospital, among the double rows of trees on the Boulevard St. Vincent, when, in the midst of the confusion, a young lieutenant of the Line was seen stepping out from a house just beside the church. He had gone but a few paces, when a young girl rushed out after him and took a last embrace, after which he moved quickly out of her sight. But evidently he was not yet out of the mind of the young girl; for she stood as if rooted to the spot, gazing after her lover, heedless of the bullets which were whistling past, and of the storm of the battle raging round her. In another moment, May and Tilghman realised her frightful situation. May sprang over the paling which was between them, but arrived only in time to receive her bleeding and senseless into his arms. A spent bullet had struck her between the angle of the eye and the cheek bone, and had stripped back the soft parts of the side of the face as far as the ear, with a portion of the scalp. The wound, though not so very dangerous,--for the bone of the head was only grazed and not broken,--was, nevertheless, an ugly one. The girl was at once taken into her own house, where May and Tilghman skilfully adjusted the torn portions of the scalp by a neat operation, bestowing on the case every attention in their power. It will doubtless be gratifying to my reader when I tell him that this girl made a splendid recovery. I had the privilege of watching her convalescence in the absence of Dr. May. Nor was she much disfigured; for, in consequence of the prompt treatment, the parts united admirably, leaving an almost imperceptible scar, which was, however, sufficiently well marked to remind her of that romantic, but perilous, moment at Orleans. Love is proverbially blind. In this case, love was blind and deaf too. I was kept hard at work in the Hospital, and could steal only a moment to observe the stirring scenes which were going on around. Each new-comer brought with him, in addition to his own sad story, a list of harrowing details from the day's battlefield. But things were all going one way. Early in the afternoon, the main body of the French army had fallen back upon the town. The Germans had gained possession of the two principal approaches of the Faubourgs Bannier and St. Vincent, and had already demolished numerous buildings on the outskirts. They did not, however, shell the town itself, as we feared they were on the point of doing; and when night set in, there was a temporary armistice. Both sides, by mutual consent, desisted, on the understanding that the bridges were not to be blown up. Now it was that the whole French army commenced their hurried march across the Loire, by the pontoon bridge, and the two permanent ones. It was a bright, still, moonlight night, and nothing was to be heard but the trampling of feet, as that mighty host hurried along. I stood at the corner of the Quai du Châtelet and watched them. Some of the regiments, which had happened to lag behind, doubled down the Rue Royale, but they marched over the pontoons at the regulation pace. Not a word was spoken,--an unusual state of things among Frenchmen,--and all, as they well might, seemed dispirited. Some of the men had no arms; many had lost their képis; and all showed visible signs of having lately seen hard times. Tired, at length, of watching them pass in that unbroken stream, I went to my quarters at No. 64 on the Quai hard by. I had hardly entered, when my attention was called by the tramp of feet on the pavement outside the open window. On looking out, I beheld what appeared to be the remains of several regiments. Most of them were without arms, and all went limping along, evidently quite foot-sore, while numbers were slightly wounded, to judge from various bandages, which they displayed round their heads, legs, and arms. They looked more like a procession of invalids out for a walk, than soldiers still capable of fighting. The poor fellows were dead beat, and did not so much march as shuffle along, some in a tottering condition, and lagging behind the rest, having evidently done as much as was in their power. But what was my rage and indignation, when a captain, in the rear, who carried in his hand not a sword, but a thick cane, belaboured with it, again and again, any unfortunate who did not keep up with the rest! One of these poor fellows made a sign to me for something to drink. Swiftly as possible, I seized a large can of water which stood beside the window, and poured it slowly on the footway. Several that were near put their mouths under the little jet, and then began a sort of scramble for what one of them told me he had not tasted during fourteen hours. But their gallant leader, having dealt half a dozen blows at random with his stick among this thirsty crowd, dispersed them, indulging the while in strong language, and gesticulated at me in the most excited manner. However, the frame of mind I was in--to say nothing of my safe position--made me equal to the occasion. I complimented him on the able style in which _Monsieur le Maréchal_ used his _bâton_; and he slunk away, muttering curses, as he did so, at me and his men. This piece of excitement over, I went to the pontoon bridge, where the stream of soldiers continued to pour across. Although I had been on duty the previous night and all that day, I could not but stay up to watch this historic and interesting spectacle,--the retreat of 200,000 men, composing the whole Army of the Loire, across that river. It was now nearly eleven o'clock, and they had been passing for hours. But the living current flowed on unceasingly during the night, until the last of the troops were over. When this had been accomplished, then the silence of the frosty scene was broken by the sound of hammers, hatchets, and saws; and the air resounded with the hacking and the chopping of the sappers, who were busily engaged cutting the moorings and the cross planks, while others set fire to the bridge in about a dozen places. Just at the same hour, there was a great tramp and rattle of horses and waggons over the permanent bridge to our right, caused by a number of batteries of artillery, which galloped furiously onwards in headlong career. They were the last of the fugitive army. The battle of Patay had been lost and won. Now the Loire was much flooded, and the blocks of ice borne down in the current were very large, so that when the different sections of the bridge were cut loose,--and, later on, when they became again subdivided, as well as during the process of freeing themselves,--the grating, groaning, creaking, and crashing of one against the other, and also against the great blocks of ice, was unlike any other sound I ever heard. Moreover, every raft of boats and planks formed the base of a pillar of fire, which brilliantly illuminated the snow-covered slopes, the trees, and the ice-bound banks of the river,--reflecting in the water above and below us, as if in a looking-glass, the arches and the battlements of two of the finest bridges in France, which now stood out, in all their architectural beauty, relieved against the pitchy darkness of the night. As each of these burning sections of the pontoon became disconnected from its fellow, it turned round on its own axis, and staggered about in the river for a short time, until finally, having arrived in mid stream, it swept down with the current,--making a loud grating noise as it struck the ice blocks,--and at last with a tremendous crash was hurled against the mighty granite bulwarks of the bridge. There it either became a total wreck, or, being broken up into fragments, swirled hither and thither till it passed out of view. It was a strange and magnificent spectacle, unequalled by anything I have seen before or since, in the combination of light and dark, the enormous power displayed, and the gigantic ruin upon the waters. When I was taking a last look at all this before retiring to rest, a number of soldiers came up, intending to cross over; but they found the bridge demolished, and themselves cut off from retreat. These, I heard afterwards, were some few hundred men, inclusive of the Foreign Legion, who formed the rear guard of the army, and had got lost in the darkness. They neglected to avail themselves of the railway bridge nearest them, which, like that in our neighbourhood, was also, during this night, taken and guarded by the Prussians. CHAPTER XXIII. FIGHTING IN THE STREETS.--THE TOWN CARRIED BY ASSAULT.--NARROW ESCAPES.--THE RED PRINCE ENTERS WITH HIS WHOLE ARMY. Overcome by fatigue and excitement, I had thrown myself on my bed just as I was, and never stirred until daylight, when Warren awoke me with the news that fighting was going on in the streets. I rubbed my eyes and went to the window, when, to my utter astonishment, I beheld six Prussians confronting about fifteen Frenchmen. They had come upon the latter by surprise round a corner, and the French looked at first as if they were going to fire; but, on seeing a large body of Prussians advancing under cover of the trees, they lowered their rifles, and coolly stacked their arms not twenty paces from my window. The six Germans, meanwhile, quietly stood round them with fixed bayonets. In another minute they were walking off up a by-street as prisoners. All this came upon a man who had been just awakened rather by surprise; but, when I heard some desultory firing in different parts of the town, I made up my mind that we were to have hot work in the streets. Having performed a hasty toilette, I sallied forth, eager not to lose the sight of what was going on. I had not proceeded many yards up the Quai, when I perceived a body of Prussians stationed near the bridge at the end of the Rue Royale. Seeing these drawn up in battle array, and finding myself the only person on the Quai du Châtelet, I paused for a moment or two, and looked down in the other direction towards the railway bridge. There I beheld a goodly number of Frenchmen, ranged over against the church of St. Aignan at the other extremity of the Quai. Thinking that this looked like business I remarked to Dr. Warren that we were in an awkward position, and had better retire. The words were no sooner out of my mouth, and we had only just stepped back into the hall, when a volley of bullets whizzed along by us in the direction of a French officer, who was galloping across the bridge at that moment. Some of the balls must have gone very close to him, for he ducked his head repeatedly behind his horse's neck and redoubled his speed. Shot after shot went after him until he lay quite flat on his saddle. How he rushed the guard on the bridge was a mystery I could never solve; but that he did escape I can certify. This was the signal for a general fusilade. The Germans at the end of the Rue Royale, advancing on the bridge, knelt down behind the parapets, so that we could see nothing but the spikes of their helmets and the muzzles of their rifles which glittered in the morning sun. The French answered from behind the trees on the Quai, and from the corners of the by-streets. We now perceived that a company of Prussians were advancing in single file down the Quai towards us, and were entering the houses. This was more than we could stand. So slipping out of No. 64 up the nearest lane, we ran out by the rear into our headquarters at No. 66. Here we found Dr. Parker, who had just been out in another part of the town, but was very nearly seeing and experiencing more than he had bargained for. In going up a side street off the Rue Bourgogne, he found a sharp cross-fire opened from each end of the street, and as the bullets struck the wall beside him, he had to take refuge in the doorways, in order to escape them. The company of Prussians, to whom I have already referred, were still advancing slowly in our direction; and a brisk return fire was kept up by a small knot of French at the other end. The manner of the Prussian advance was peculiar. First went four sappers, who in one second broke through each of the doors which did not happen to be open. These carried hatchets, handsaws, jemmies, and crowbars; and it was marvellous how short a time they took to enter, and how they made the timber fly like match-wood. Our gate was thrown open, and in due course a number of men filed in one by one from the next house. Three of them went through the form of searching the place, while the remainder, about a dozen in number, were ordered out, two by two, to kneel on the footway and fire at the enemy. When they had done so, they withdrew until their turn came round again. The house was speedily filled with smoke, for the soldiers crouched close into the wall, and remained almost inside the porch. The necessity of this proceeding was soon apparent. For in another minute bullets came hitting the wall beside the door, and sent the plaster flying into my eyes, while I was craning my neck round the jamb of the open door to see what was going on. Luckily, they glanced off the flags a couple of feet away from where I stood. The leaden pipe, which ran down beside the entrance, was now riddled in various places; our old English flag, which hung down over the door from a long pole above the window, was likewise torn; but I have it in my possession yet. We were at the highest pitch of excitement while all this was going on. Prompted by curiosity, I went upstairs, and looking out from one of the windows, saw standing in the middle of the street, exposed to all the fire, a German Captain of the Line, coolly giving, or rather shouting, his orders to the various non-commissioned officers and soldiers, who lined the walls or manned the doorways above and below us. I expected every moment to see him fall. Amongst the French, who were replying persistently from their position at the end of the Quai, I espied one Zouave in particular, who fired five or six shots at this officer. I felt satisfied that it was at him he aimed, for he singled himself out from his comrades, and crept on his hands and knees to the middle of the roadway, taking a deliberate shot, and we could not perceive that there was any one else in the direct line of his fire. When the Zouave had discharged about the sixth shot, a ball from the Prussians tumbled him over on his back with his legs in the air; but for all that, he was not killed, as he scrambled away with the aid of a companion. A thud and a splutter of the plaster on the wall just beside me, suggested the advisability of curtailing my observations; so I shifted my quarters to the hall below, where I found Dr. Parker giving some of the Prussians a nip of brandy,--in order, as he jocosely remarked, to put a twist in their powder. I knelt down behind one of the men at the doorway, as he was taking aim at the Frenchmen, and looked over the sight to see where his game lay. He fired, and, as he did so, a ball struck the pavement above five yards from where he and I were kneeling. It was a regular business of sharp-shooting; for a head, or a head and a pair of shoulders, were all we could see of the enemy. In the midst of the practice great commotion was caused by an old woman appearing on the Quai. For a few seconds firing was suspended; an officer came out into the middle of the street and made signs to her to retire, which the ancient dame speedily did. What she meant by coming out thus, it would be vain to conjecture, unless she was stone deaf. She was clearly no Jeanne d'Arc. In a short time the French, seeing that they had no hope of making good their retreat across the bridge, ceased firing. A flag of truce went to them from the Mairie, stating that the town had been in possession of the Germans since midnight; and they had better yield. They laid down their arms; and the town of Orleans, as we had all along anticipated, was once more in the hands of the Prussians. It was eight o'clock in the morning of 5th December. An hour passed, and the Prussians came marching in, the bands playing their most lively strains; and we found ourselves among our old acquaintance. The first step which the invaders took was to get together all their prisoners, numbering 10,000, and shut them up in the Cathedral. Of course, the minute we were free to do so, we all got off to our work at Ste. Euverte, where we already found many of our old friends awaiting us. The little Captain Schrenk was there; also the young ecclesiastic of whom I have spoken; and, later on in the day, the giant cuirassier stalked in, gorgeously arrayed in scarlet and gold, and seeking for his hidden cuirass. They shook hands with us over and over again, exhibiting unmistakable satisfaction and pleasure at finding we were still at our posts, and safe and sound. Surgeon-General Von Nussbaum paid us a visit, and complimented us on the manner in which we had stood by their wounded during the French occupation. In fact, congratulations rained down on all sides; and from this time forward the Germans looked upon us as their staunch and trusty friends, giving us notice that in due time our services would be officially remembered. The wounded now began to pour into the town, and our Hospital church was quickly crowded, together with every house in the vicinity. At eleven a.m. we went to our quarters for breakfast; but hearing that the entry of Prince Frederick Charles's troops had commenced, I snatched a few mouthfuls, and hurried off to witness the scene from a window in M. Proust's house, No. 12 Rue Royale, with which I was to be more intimately acquainted ere I left Orleans. The troops entered with bayonets set, flags flying, bands playing, and all the pomp and circumstance which are usual on such occasions, and the air resounded with a storm of military music. It was noteworthy, indeed, to see that host pass by, consisting of 130,000 as fine-looking men as any country in the world could produce; and what was most astonishing about them was the neatness and cleanliness of their dress, the brightness of their arms and accoutrements, and their general well-dressed appearance, reminding me more of our handful of soldiers at home, as they marched past the Lord Lieutenant in the Phoenix Park on a field day, than of an army that had been fighting all the past week, and had endured the privations and hardships of a six months' campaign. The sun shone through the frosty air, and, as the mist had now cleared off, the helmets and bayonets of that mighty array flashed and glistened everywhere. While these sturdy, well-built and well-fed fellows passed on, I compared them mentally with the regiments I had seen straggling onward to the bridge. The difference spoke eloquently in favour of that elaborate and admirable scheme of military organisation which had brought them to such a degree of perfection. It also elicited from a British officer who was with me at the time, a remark that, unless we ourselves take up some more comprehensive system of organising our forces, we shall be thrashed by this ambitious race of soldiers the first time we come into conflict with them. Nay, more, it is possible that they might invade and overrun England in a short campaign, should they ever become as great adepts in the art of war on the high seas as they are on land. Many of the German officers whom I have met were of opinion that such an enterprise was not beyond the scope of German ambition and German energy. More than once I heard them anticipating that the result of their victorious career would be to bring all the nations of Europe under the wing of their Imperial eagle. And though willing to allow that England would be the last to come in, since without a mighty fleet they could not get at her, yet she too must share the fate of her neighbours. It amused,--perhaps it angered us,--to find these highly intellectual men of the world holding such views, gravely arguing among themselves and with us, that such would be the inevitable result of a united Germany, and that all she wanted to annex Europe, and carry out the ideas of Alexander the First of Russia, was a little time, and a favourable opportunity. The army of Prince Frederick Charles, now marching through Orleans, was on its road to Blois, and in pursuit of General Chanzy. Turning from this splendid sight, I went back to St. Euverte; and there spent the remainder of that day--and a long day it was--in assisting at the operation-table, and dressing and attending to the wounded who were brought to us in crowds. As we had only accommodation for 250, we were obliged to send out into the houses of the Rue de St. Aignan all who were not seriously wounded; after which we still found it necessary to lay a number of those who were gravely wounded on the floor, with straw under them. These latter were not at all so badly off, when we consider that some half score waggon-loads of men had to remain out in the frost and snow for a whole night and part of the next day, so greatly did the demand exceed the supply of accommodation in Orleans just then. To add to their misfortune--and I am speaking literally of hundreds,--there followed a great scarcity of bread, which was felt chiefly by the civil population, and by those quartered on them. It did not affect the garrison in the least; for their commissariat never failed. An army entering thus, devours, like a swarm of locusts, in a few hours everything that is eatable in a town, and leaves the inhabitants nothing but what they can supply from their secret stores--which, however, they always manage to reserve. The condition of chronic hunger, from which the inhabitants of Orleans suffered for several weeks at this period, was truly distressing to witness. By noon on the 6th of December, all was quiet again, the garrison had been billeted in their quarters, the sentries were at their accustomed posts, and everything in Orleans betokened the return of the old orderly _régime_, to which we had been so long accustomed. There was an entire absence of that wild disorder, and noisy confusion, which had lasted, not for hours but for days, after the French took possession of the town, and which I have endeavoured to describe, but have not adequately depicted in the words at my command. And thus began the second German occupation of Orleans. Chapter XXIV. DESECRATION OF THE CATHEDRAL.--MY FIRST CAPITAL OPERATION.--MORE FIGHTING.--WOUNDED BAVARIANS. Soon after the mayor had issued his parlementaire, all the French prisoners, to the number, as I have said, of 10,000, were marched into the Cathedral, where they were confined until such time as preparations could be made for their transport into Germany. As the weather was bitterly cold, the prisoners--it will be remembered that they were French and Catholic--began at once to break up the chairs and benches with which to make fires. These they kindled at the base of the great stone pillars for which the Cathedral is celebrated. Towards evening, as I happened to pass that way, I saw the men and lads warming themselves at these great blazing fires, that lighted up the whole edifice, the roof of which, however, could scarcely be seen through the wreaths of thick smoke that formed a dense cloud overhead. It was an ungodly spectacle, the more so that many of the men sang and joked, while one amused himself at the organ. I confess the scene was very disagreeable to me. Every now and then one of these fellows would lay hold of a chair, and with one blow shatter it in pieces against the tiles or the nearest pillar, and then cast the fragments into the blaze. There they sat, smoking, eating, and drinking,--what little they could get to eat and drink,--cursing Bismarck and the Emperor, and rehearsing that oft-told preposterous lie, how universal treachery was the cause of their presence there that night. I stood for some time looking on at a display which, if curious, was still more revolting. The stalls of the Sanctuary, which I had seen a few days previously graced by the canons and other dignitaries who surrounded Monseigneur Dupanloup, during the pomp and splendour of the Episcopal ceremonies, and at High Mass, were now filled with the vilest of the French soldiery, some of whom lolled about at their leisure and conversed together, while others, overcome by hunger and fatigue, were lying fast asleep all over the church. On the steps of the High Altar fellows were stretched out in deep slumber, and not one appeared to regard the nature of the place in which they were quartered. The lines of fires down each side of the building, the din and the confusion to which this herd of men gave rise, and the manner in which they seemed to be swarming about all parts of the Cathedral, as the light of the fires glanced on them, made an extraordinary combination, and one might have fancied that the age of Gil Blas had returned in the nineteenth century. For two days the Cathedral was possessed by this motley congregation; then the prisoners were sent off in batches by train from Orleans, and we were glad to get rid of them. Their destination, as usual, was over the Rhine. I met one of these convoys on their way to the station. They were marched, or rather driven along, before half a dozen mounted troopers; and when any straggled or fell behind, these put spurs to their chargers and rode in amongst their captives, in some instances trampling them under the horses' feet, and lashing them with their riding whips in the most wanton manner. The sight was enough to make one's blood boil. Had any one told me of such a thing, I should have received his statement with caution, if not with distrust; but I relate that of which I was myself an eye-witness. When I had cooled down a little, I consoled myself with the idea that such was the treatment which these very Germans received at the hands of their own officers and under-officers, while going through their training and their drill, as I have already testified from personal observation. They gave the French, therefore, only what they had been treated to themselves. During the whole of the 6th and 7th, and the intervening night, we were hard at work in the Hospital, the greater part of our time being taken up at the operation table. I may here mention a fact, which is highly interesting to me, _viz._, that now, by permission of our chief, I performed my first capital operation, in a case of compound comminuted fracture of the bone of the arm, which I had to amputate below the shoulder. Nor were the circumstances of the place in which I went through my task, of a common sort. It was Sunday morning; and the operation table stood in a side chapel, at the foot of the Lady Altar, not many yards from the Shrine of Ste. Euverte. But although one's first impressions might be that such work, on such a spot, was a profanation, yet on second thoughts it will not appear so. The deed, though sanguinary, was not cruel; and where should the wounded find refuge if not under the sacred roof? On the evening of the 7th, we received intelligence that the Germans had come up with the French army; that fighting had begun; and that a general engagement was expected. Accordingly, Dr. Tilghman, with May and Mackellar, started with a supply of surgical appliances and waggons for bringing the wounded off the field. I was set down for work at the Hospital, and did not go with them. But Dr. Tilghman subsequently gave me a full account of the whole affair, and described the carnage as very great. The town of Beaugency and the neighbouring villages were literally crammed with wounded; and they had hardly any one to look after them, and but very little to eat. In fact, so scarce were provisions that many sank from privation alone, aggravated, indeed, by the bitter cold, which just at this time was intense. He mentioned, among other ghastly details, that owing to the hard frost, the bodies of the slain were glued to the ground, while their clothes were so hard and stiff that it was impossible to move the dead from where they lay. Dr. Tilghman returned on the 10th with his _confrères_, bringing some waggon-loads of wounded. That the fighting about Beaugency had been severe I could discern from the appearance of all that was left of the Bavarian army, which returned to Orleans about the 14th. Jaded and fatigued, spattered with mud, with their uniforms in some instances torn, and their plumes lost, they trudged sulkily and silently into the town. About 8000 of all ranks had survived of the 30,000 men that left Germany. They, too, like the French, were a contrast to their North German brethren in arms. But, as usual, they had been set in the forefront of the hottest battle; they had everywhere borne the brunt against vastly superior forces; and had in the end conquered, though at the expense of half their numbers. From the beginning of the war this had been the inevitable fate of the Bavarians; they were butchered to make the new German Empire. In return for these heroic services, the Prussians affected to look down on them; they snubbed them openly; and took pains to hinder rather than to cultivate a friendly feeling between themselves and their Southern allies. I have seen quarrels take place in private houses where Prussians and Bavarians were billeted together, simply because my lords of Brandenburg disdained to share their quarters with King Ludwig's men. Such bickerings went from words to blows, in which the hearty ill-will of both branches of the great Teutonic race to one another became only too visible. In the week which followed the battle of Beaugency, nothing happened worthy of special record; we were always at work from daylight to dark, and fresh convoys of wounded were brought in daily from that neighbourhood. When one has such an absorbing subject of interest as the routine of an Ambulance, from its very nature, and especially after a severe engagement, the days pass like hours. So it was with us; for, except an occasional few minutes which we spent in listening to the splendid military bands that performed every day in the Place Jeanne d'Arc, we had little to divert our minds from our business. There is, however, a matter of interest connected with the battle of Beaugency that I will ask leave to set down here. The 11th Prussian infantry regiment, serving under the Red Prince, had suffered severely, and were nearly decimated on the 8th December. Six of these men came under my care. One of them gave me the following history of a most dangerous bullet wound, which he had received through the upper arm. His name was Henry Schroeder, under-officer (_Unter-officier_) in that regiment, and he spoke French fluently and English intelligibly. He was advancing with his company along the skirts of a wood, in the face of a most murderous fire from the French, and his men were falling on all sides, when he perceived two of these, whom he knew to be rascals, edging away from the rest into the wood, with the clear intent of shirking their duty, and endeavouring to screen themselves from the fire. He sent a soldier to them with this message, that he would have them shot forthwith, unless they returned to their places. Not many minutes had elapsed, when, in the confusion and heat of a charge, as they were bursting along in the open, he received a bullet from behind which felled him to the earth. A single glance made him aware that these two miscreants were at his back, but were now hard at work against the enemy. This poor fellow, of whom we shall hear more later on, eventually succumbed, at home in Hamburg, to his wounds. He died with the firm conviction that it was one of these two villains who had shot him, though, of course, no one could prove it against the man. Just about this time it happened that I got permission from Dr. May to amputate a thigh midway between the hip and the knee. As I was on the point of making the first incision, who should walk up to the operation table but Professor Langenbeck, of Berlin? This great person had come into the Hospital to glance at our surgical work, and to observe the manner in which we treated his Imperial master's subjects. For a moment, the presence of perhaps the greatest military surgeon living, and the father of German field surgery, made me very uncomfortable. However, I regained my self-possession pretty quickly, and was fortunate enough to get through the operation without a hitch or misadventure, receiving at the end a gracious bow, and a "_Sehr schön, mein Herr_," from the old veteran, who diligently smoked a cigar all the while. I need hardly add that my _confrères_ had a great laugh over the incident, and at my sudden exhibition of panic, which they assured me was quite evident. In our Hospital we made, as far as possible, an equal division of labour, by allowing to each man so many beds. Though I was only an assistant surgeon by promotion, I had practically the position of surgeon and not assistant, having the sole charge of my division, which consisted of all the beds between the pillars and the wall down the middle aisle of the Church, and numbered about thirty-three. It must be remembered that these beds were occupied by none but the gravely wounded, and that we had under our charge numbers of others, placed out in private houses through the town, along with those who were billeted in the houses just outside the Church. These last were under the same management as those in Ste. Euverte itself. About the 18th December an incident occurred which caused some stir among our circle. Mr. Frederick Wombwell, who had started the previous day for Versailles to bring back medical stores, arrived with the intelligence that Dr. Pratt and Captain Hozier had been arrested in Étampes. It seems that they had met Captain Keith Fraser and the correspondent of the _Illustrated London News_, as also the correspondent of the _Pall Mall Gazette_, on their way to Versailles, and that whole party fraternised and dined together at the hotel. The Prussian Commandant's suspicions were aroused by this convivial meeting of foreigners, and he promptly placed them under arrest. Captain Hozier and Dr. Pratt, after a day's detention, were allowed to return to Orleans; but Captain Fraser and his two companions were sent on to Versailles under a heavy escort of dragoons, at which place they were liberated without delay. Just about this time, also, there was much excitement caused by the arrival from Kiel of two hundred sailors to man the gunboats on the Loire, which had been captured from the French. These bearded tars were fine, burly fellows, and to judge by their rollicking spirits seemed to enjoy the prospect of the job before them. Another week elapsed in the old routine, without any stirring events having come to pass, and we found ourselves on the eve of Christmas, but with nothing to remind us of its approach, save the snow, which lay more than a foot deep on the ground, and the intense cold of the weather. It was freezing so hard, both in and out of doors, that the water in the jug and basin of my bedroom became almost a solid mass. The manner in which we spent Christmas Day may be described in five words,--it was all hard work. Nevertheless, we contrived in the afternoon to have a good dinner, and a little jollification over a blazing fire in our quarters on the Quai. The custom of Midnight Mass, so impressive in Catholic countries, had been this year abrogated by the Bishop's order. And there was no religious service for our wounded, though all had been arranged with a view to it. I ought not to omit the reason, which was hardly, in my judgment, a sound one. The hour fixed for Mass was 7 A.M. It came to pass, however, that when in the morning the old Curé learned that the Protestant Chaplain had been before him, and had preached a sermon to his Protestant brethren from the pulpit, he straightway refused to begin his own service. I confess I was much scandalised at this unreasonable exhibition of bigotry. Under the circumstances, I hold, the Protestant Chaplain only did what it was perfectly right and proper that he should do. And I expressed that opinion pretty strongly to the Sisters of Charity, and the Curé himself, who was referred to me as the only Roman Catholic on the staff. However, we dressed the Church with holly and ivy, and had a Christmas tree in the middle decorated with ribbons. We likewise gave each man a flannel shirt and a pair of drawers, which were looked upon by them as most appropriate and acceptable Christmas boxes. Friends have asked me since how much I saw of that famous Bishop Dupanloup, and what was his line of conduct during the German occupation. I can but reply, that I never saw him in the city. All the while he remained shut up in his palace, the greater part of which had been converted into ambulance wards, despite a vehement protest from the cathedral chapter. But their protest did not avail; and when the very churches had to serve as hospitals for the wounded, and accommodation was everywhere less than sufficient, I do not know that even a Bishop's palace could have been exempted from so plain a duty of love and compassion towards the suffering, whether friends or foes. CHAPTER XXV. CHRISTMAS DAY AT STE. EUVERTE.--GOING THE ROUNDS.--YOUNG HEROES.--ARRIVALS DURING THE NIGHT.--A GLIMPSE OF THE DEAD-HOUSE. I have not, so far, given a description of our new Hospital, nor any particulars in connection with individual cases; and I cannot do better than submit to my reader a revised copy of some notes I made while on duty that Christmas night. These may furnish a tolerable idea of the nature of our work, and of such reflections as the time and place suggested to me. The Church of Ste. Euverte at Orleans is a fine old Gothic building, in the style of the twelfth century. Its exterior would present few interesting details, except for the crumbling granite walls, and the ancient carved portals, on which the hand of time may be plainly traced. The interior also is devoid of ornament; but the rich stained glass in the windows is not likely to be equalled by any attempt of our modern artists in the same line. The nave is about 300 feet long, and broad in proportion, while the plain vaulted roof springs lightly from the massive pillars which support it. The High Altar is of granite, as well as those in the chapels, and they in nowise relieve the cold stern appearance of the building. It had now become the third Hospital which we of the Anglo-American Ambulance had set up in this hotly-contested city. It was late on Christmas Eve that I repaired to the Church, and took my turn of night duty. The night was bitterly cold. It had been freezing for weeks, and the snow lay deep and crisp underfoot. Let me describe what followed in the present tense. As I approach the long narrow street, at the end of which the gloomy mass of buildings can be seen through the darkness, I hear the steady pace of the Prussian sentinel who keeps guard before the gate. The dim light of a lantern hanging above the door shows my uniform as I pass, and the soldier, checking his half-uttered "Halt!" salutes. The door is opened by a Zouave, who also salutes; but this time in French fashion. He is an old Mexican campaigner, and wears, among other decorations, the war-medal given by his now deposed Sovereign, who is spending Christmas at Wilhelmshöhe, a broken exile. He swings open the heavy, studded oak door, and I enter. I pause for a moment to contemplate a scene, the misery and pain of which none could realise who have not beheld it. Along the central aisle, to the right and left, are double rows of beds, each with its suffering occupant. On every pillar hangs a lamp, one to every four beds. Precisely the same arrangement has been made along the side aisles. Between every fourth and fifth pillar a stove is burning, with the bright and cheery blaze of a wood fire. Thus a dim light is cast over the beds of the patients, but not sufficient to penetrate the gloom of the lofty roof. Impressive as the sight is taken as a whole, the deep interest which it excites is heightened by the thought that every one of those 300 beds bears its wounded sufferer, and that each sufferer could tell his own long history of privation and pain. Assuredly the saddest congregation that this old Church has ever held! Around the stoves are huddled knots of soldiers, French and German, whose common affliction has changed bitter foes into sympathising friends. These are men whose wounds are comparatively light; and who, poor fellows, for five or six days have not enjoyed the privilege of a bed. They lie in all postures around the fires, trying to sleep,--a difficult task with a broken arm, wrist, or rib, or with severe flesh wounds; and they have no covering of any kind, and only a little straw and the hard flags to rest upon. Passing along the lines of beds are Sisters of Charity, who administer every comfort they can, arrange the patients' beds, smoothe their pillows, and whisper words of solace and consolation. In the stillness of the Christmas night the tones of agony and suffering echo through the Church, which for centuries has resounded at that hour with the grand and solemn music of the Midnight Mass. What a comment on the words of the "_Gloria in Excelsis_," in which these Christians say they believe! "_Et in terra pax hominibus bonæ voluntatis._" Man, I cannot but observe to myself, thou art as much a scandal as a mystery to the reflecting mind! I begin my rounds, visiting first the more urgent cases. To some of the greatest sufferers I give morphia in pills, or else introduce it in solution under the skin, by means of a syringe with a sharp perforated needle affixed. The effect is wonderful. In a few minutes they are out of pain, and fall asleep quietly. In this manner I am compelled to silence those whose groans would disturb the other patients. I now go on in succession, stopping at every bed to satisfy myself as to the condition of its occupant, giving medicines when required, arranging bandages here and there, and soothing with hypnotics those whose wounds prevent their sleeping. This done, I repair to the sacristy, which serves the purpose of a surgery and a waiting-room, and read before the fire for an hour, when I return to the Church to see that all is right, and that the infirmarians are awake and at their posts. As I stand in the Sanctuary and listen, I can hear the heavy tread of the watchers pacing to and fro: nothing else, save the heavy breathing of the sleepers. What a change in less than two hours! The cries of pain are silenced, and the restless day of suffering is succeeded by a night of calm repose;--a pleasant sight for the surgeon, and one which is entirely due to that friend of humanity, so long as rightly administered,--the drug opium. To be prepared, however, for emergencies, I return to my room, and lay out my instruments so as to be ready for an operation if necessary; secondary hemorrhage, and such-like mishaps, being of frequent occurrence. Were such an accident to take place, I have but to send for my "sleeping partner," Dr. May, whose quarters are next door; and who is only bound to be present when sent for by the responsible officer on duty for the night. Thus as the hours advance, and my previous hard day's work begins to tell upon me, I grow sleepier every moment, and am soon nodding in my chair before the fire. But I have scarcely become unconscious when I am roused by an _infirmier_, who tells me that two men are awake and in their intense agony are creating a disturbance. I rub my eyes, shake myself together, and proceed to see them. The first I come to is a young Prussian artillery volunteer. He is only sixteen, a mere boy, with large blue eyes, fair soft complexion, and fair hair, and, though stoutly built, has very white and delicate hands. His graceful and engaging manner, and his developed mind, show that he is of a good German family. Yet he is but a private soldier. What has induced him to leave his home and country at such an age? Two reasons alone,--hatred of the French, and a thirst for glory. Poor boy! his leg has been shattered by the fragment of a shell. His large tearful eyes turn to me as I approach his bed, and a kind smile comes over his face, so pale and worn with suffering. He takes my hand, and begins his sad story,--of a kind familiar enough by this time. He tells me that the pain from his wounds has become insupportable; that he can neither eat nor sleep; that every day makes him thinner and weaker; and that he thinks he shall not last long. With as favourable a forecast as I can muster up, I try to cheer him, and give the poor fellow hopes which I fear can never be realised. I bid him go to sleep. I give him some morphia to help that consummation, wish him good-night, and leave him. My next patient is a subject of special interest to me. I received him some weeks ago into my ward, suffering from a comminuted fracture of the leg; in other words, the limb was very badly crushed. He gave me to understand that he came of a respectable and wealthy family in Wiesbaden. He was the only son of his mother, and the last of his name; and in saving his life, I should save his mother's too, for he believed that she would not survive him. Never did I see a man cling more passionately to life, and never had one stronger motives for so doing; but never again did I see a man so ill and yet so incredulous of his danger. Now in the stillness of this Christmas night I come to his bedside to see him die. For days and nights I have helped him all in my power; I have denied him nothing that I could give him; and he has always been so gentle and affectionate that every trouble I took for him was truly a pleasure. He speaks French and English fluently, is a graduate of the University of Bonn, and is young and good-looking. All through his illness he has had one thought in his mind, and that was his mother. He now complains of excessive weariness and pains in every part of his body. He is an Evangelical, and at my request the clergyman had visited him late that evening. I speak to him in a low voice, and tell him that I fear he is not better. It appears that his last efforts at speaking have been too much for him; he is now too weak and prostrate to do more than gasp out something about his mother, home, and Fatherland. Now his lips quiver, now they cease to move, and a cold sweat stands out in large beads over his face. I smoothe his pillow and wipe his forehead, as I had often done before. This makes him alive to the fact that I am in my old place at his bedside. He takes my hand, presses it feebly in his, looks earnestly into my face, and becomes again unconscious. By this time several of the Sisters and one or two of the infirmarians have assembled around the bed of the dying man. For some minutes the brave fellow remains motionless; his breathing becomes shorter and shorter; when suddenly he starts convulsively forward, and makes an effort as it were to rise; his eyes, which are now fixed and glassy, stare out with a vacant expression, and he falls back heavily a corpse. As we gaze for a second, the old tower clock strikes the hour, the sentinel on watch cries out in reply to the challenge of his superior officer who is on his rounds, "One o'clock and all's well". Yes--all is well,--only a poor soldier has given up his life into the hands of his Maker, for his country's cause. One more German mother has lost her son,--one more German heart is desolate. Not many minutes elapse before the fair youth of yesterday is lifted on a _brancard_, or stretcher, and conveyed to the dead-house. Here the bearers tumble the body on the cold shiny floor and leave it until morning, when the mayor's cart will convey it and the other lifeless remains in that ghastly chamber, to the brink of a deep pit at the back of the church, and into that they will be roughly heaved. A little quicklime will be thrown in, then a little earth; and the burial ceremony is over. Thus the scene closes for this brave lad, who was my friend as well as my patient. "_Dulce et decorum est_," wrote Horace. Here is the reality of that boast. Having seen that all is quiet again, I return to my fireside in the sacristy. When I am once more in my cosy chair, the details of what I have witnessed,--to such scenes,--alas, I am now accustomed,--pass from my thoughts, and are replaced by others of a different and more agreeable nature. The little bunch of holly which is set above the Tabernacle on the High Altar reminds me that it is Christmas morning; the glow of the burning wood brings before me the recollection of that bright fireside at home across the water; and as my eyelids gradually close, many a well-known and much loved face appears before me as if to cheer me in this solitude. I have slept thus for nearly two hours, when my pleasant dreams are put to flight for the second time by the infirmarian of the watch, who tells me in an excited manner that a young Bavarian soldier is bleeding profusely from the mouth, and cannot live if I delay many minutes. I despatch a messenger in haste to call Dr. May; and another second takes me to the bedside of the dying man. This patient, a young Bavarian, has been shot through the open mouth. Curiously enough, the ball had traversed the substance of the tongue from apex to base, and had buried itself in the back of the throat, from which position it has hitherto been impossible to get it removed. At once I compress the common artery of the neck with my thumbs, and while thus supporting him, kneeling up behind him in bed, I am able for the time being almost to stop the blood completely. But when I look into the basin that is placed beside me on a stool, I perceive to my horror that it is half full of what appears to be pure blood. I now ask the infirmarian why he had not made me aware of the fact, and called me sooner. He answers that some five minutes previously the sick man had sat up in bed, and had been, as he thought, very sick in his stomach. By the extremely faint light he had not perceived that what the sick man was ejecting was blood. Immediately upon discovering the true state of things, he had come for me. In a few minutes Dr. May arrives; but he and I are both too late. The man becomes ghastly pale, and writhes as if in a fit, then he is still for an instant, and sinks heavily and without life into my arms. A momentary feeling of sadness comes upon me, while I gaze on the remains of that unhappy young man, the victim of such an awful, such an unnatural death! But I must quickly repress my feelings; I have to see that these sleepy fellows remove the body, change the bedding, and clean the blood from the floor, so as to make way for another, who will at once occupy the place that has been thus left empty. This done, I pass round to the bedside of the young soldier whom it will be remembered that I visited first. His dreams of glory are now at an end; for he sleeps the sleep that knows no waking. Doubtless his spirit is at peace. What would his mother feel did she know that her son had died this lonely death in a dreary place, with no hand save mine, that of a stranger, to wipe his brow! When he, too, has been consigned to the dead-house, I return as before to the sacristy, where I take another interval of rest. Between four and five o'clock the infirmarian awakes me for the third time, to say that there is a waggon at the gate with three wounded who are begging earnestly to be admitted. I have only two vacant beds; the third was occupied already by a bad case which had been lifted from the floor. I order two of the arrivals to be brought in. Upon examination I find that both have been badly frost-bitten in the feet. One, indeed, showed me half his foot almost black and simply rotting off. Their tale was a fearful one. They had been wounded,--one in the hip, and the other in the fleshy part of the thigh--in a skirmish about a fortnight before, near Beaugency. Overcome by loss of blood, each had dragged himself into a thicket--for the spot was a lonely one in the open country; and there they had remained in terrible frost and snow, during the whole night and part of the next morning. Some peasants discovered them, and they were removed to a cottage several miles distant. Here they had remained until now without surgical treatment; and hence their miserable condition. Their sufferings are not to be described; and I administer at once a hypodermic injection of morphia, which gives them speedy relief. Then I go to see the remaining occupant of the cart. By a gleam of the lantern I perceive that his leg is badly fractured; and the blood which oozes through the bandages, and trickles down the mutilated remains of his trousers, indicates that matters have not been improved by an eighteen miles' journey over rugged country roads. The sight of this famished and half-frozen unfortunate, whose agony is increased by the bitter cold of the winter night, and his pitiful supplication to be let in, determine me at once to make out a place for him. This is the work of a minute; for I know of a comparatively light-wounded fellow whom I can dislodge from his bed, although he is sound asleep and does not want to be stirred. The garments of the new-comer are, some stripped, some cut off him; and he is put into the bed which is still warm from its late occupant. A hot bowl of bouillon is swallowed down with avidity; to the fracture I adjust a temporary splint, for he is much too weak to undergo an operation. A sleeping draught is given, and I leave him to enjoy some hours' repose. Once more I satisfy myself that all is right, the fires burning up, and the men on duty at their posts; and as I yawn, and stretch my weary limbs in the arm-chair again, I find it difficult to imagine that it is Christmas Day. Another walk round the Hospital, and dawn is here at last. Soon after I repair to a neighbouring house, where I address myself to a large bowl of café-au-lait, and a loaf of bread, with some Liebig's extract of meat. This accomplished, I return and find our staff assembled, making ready for the day's work. I give in my report to the chief, and immediately set about attending to my own wounded. I never felt the long watch in the least irksome, nor did the others. At ten I assist my seniors during two amputations and a resection. One of the amputations is our arrival of the night, who last occupied the waggon: a consultation has just decided the fate of his limb. The operations being over, I return to my men, and work away, with the assistance of two male nurses and Soeur Berthe. The Sister is a native of Luxemburg, as bright and active as possible, and my great mainstay. At three my work is finished, and in our house on the Quai I get a good substantial dinner. But I must still go back to Ste. Euverte, and wait the expiration of my term of duty. On looking into the dead-house to make sure that my poor friends of the night, with their companions, had been committed to the grave by the Mayor's officials, I perceive that one is still unburied, probably because the dead-cart was full. It is the young soldier, on whose sad end I have dwelt, I hope not too insistently. I felt very sorry for him. Our affection in that short space had grown to be that of brothers; for we were, after all, only boys together. I shall miss him even in the stir and excitement of these unruly times. But I can do no more. Dr. Mackellar comes to take my place, and my watch is at an end. CHAPTER XXVI. VISITORS.--NEW YEAR IN HOSPITAL.--THE CHURCH EVACUATED.--I GET FURLOUGH,--AND CATCH A NIGHT-GLIMPSE OF PARIS. Christmas week passed away, and we had anything but a pleasant time of it. The frost and cold were so intense that it was with much difficulty we could keep ourselves sufficiently warm to enable us to do our work. About this time we had several visitors at our quarters. They were Captain Brackenbury, of the Royal Artillery, Prussian Military Attaché; Captain Frazer, also of the Artillery; and Colonel Reilly, French Military Attaché,--the last of whom had been captured in Orleans on the morning of 7th December, by the Prussians, and kept there ever since. He was now ordered with an escort of Uhlans to the frontier. We had a great laugh when he walked into our place on that unlucky 7th; and related how, on awaking, he found to his surprise that the town was in the possession of the Germans. It was certainly not pleasant for him. We had also with us Major de Haveland, a knight of Malta, and, as I was informed, the only English member of that order. It is well known, however, that the knights of St. John are divided in their obedience; and I do not believe that the Grand-Master, who lives in Rome, would recognise many who in England are spoken of as Maltese Knights. The major, I presume, was of the Roman Obedience. Two members of the press were our guests, Mr. Mejonelle of the _Daily Telegraph_ and Mr. Holt White of the _Pall Mall Gazette._ The former, who was an artist, made sketches also for the _Graphic._ He has given a representation of Ste. Euverte, in which several of us figure. The day I was showing him round, there was a dead soldier laid out on the High Altar, wrapped up in his sheet, with nothing but his head and toes to be seen. He had been taken out of one of the beds beside the Altar immediately after his death, so as to make room for a fresh occupant, and merely laid there while the infirmarians were arranging the bed. The sight struck our guest forcibly, as it could not fail to do; it was most uncanny. These gentlemen expressed their satisfaction at the way in which everything was carried out at Ste. Euverte, and the clean and decent condition in which we kept the Hospital, despite the presence of almost every circumstance which could militate against cleanliness and order. Another couple of days, and we found ourselves celebrating the obsequies of the old year, and welcoming, after the fashion of heathens, the advent of the new, by partaking of the unlimited supply of rum punch, which nigger Charlie served up. I have already praised it. On the evening of New Year we dined together, and toasted not only our noble selves, but our respective countries, homes and friends; endeavouring to feel as happy as possible in the midst of occupations which demanded good spirits as the best way of keeping up our health and courage. It would be unfair to nigger Charlie if I forgot his most eloquent and humorous oration, delivered in choice Virginian or negro dialect, in reply to the toast of his health which Colonel Hozier proposed. The most remarkable portion of it was, perhaps, that in which Charlie exulted over the former wealth and greatness of Dr. Pratt's family, as large slave-owners! What could a Declaration of Independence do for such feudal enthusiasm as this? The weather continued bitterly cold; and Henry Schroeder, the sub-lieutenant whom I mentioned as having been shot at Beaugency by one of his own men, asked me as a favour to find quarters for him in some private house in the town. After much trouble I heard, by accident, that at the convent of Notre Dame des Récouvrances, the superior, Mère Pauline, desired much that the cloisters, dormitories and schoolrooms which the convent possessed, should be occupied by our Ambulance. The Sisters were afraid lest the Germans should establish in their house an Ambulance of their own, to which the nuns highly objected. But the fact that Mère Pauline was an Englishwoman, in great measure accounted for her anxiety to have us. I need hardly say that I did not want much pressing; at once I had Schroeder, Rüdiger, and four or five others, removed into their new quarters, and took formal possession in the name of the Ambulance. Here, in good beds and warm rooms, with every care and attention paid to them, and good food to eat, they were very snug and comfortable--a pleasing contrast to the cold, dreary church which they had just left. I appointed one nurse, Soeur Léopoldine, to look after these men, whose number, in a few days, I increased to ten, so that I had quite a hospital there, though on a small scale. The patient named Rüdiger, a young fellow of seventeen, and a volunteer, whose leg was fractured, became a particular favourite with his nurse and with Mère Pauline. He had not a hair on his face, which was of a ruddy hue, and wore a perpetual smile. He spent his time mostly in learning the French Grammar, a task in which he was helped by Soeur Léopoldine during her spare moments. Most of the others were Bavarians, and, I must say, a sleepy uninteresting lot. Schroeder was the son of a wealthy tobacco and wine merchant in Hamburg. He had one brother, who was captain in an infantry regiment. Their mother was still living. He told me with pride that he had supplied Bismarck with many a cigar; and promised me a case of them and a barrel of oysters, when he returned. Poor fellow, he little knew what was coming; for at this time he was comparatively strong, and, in the opinion of many, out of danger. But, from my conversations with him, I learned that his family history was very bad; and from the first had grave misgivings about his case, which, however, it was my duty to disguise from him. When, occasionally, without being able to help it, I looked serious, he used only to laugh, and chaff me, singing, in the most comical way possible, the well-known English ditty, "Champagne Charley is my name". I liked Schroeder. I now put two of my men from Ste. Euverte into No. 44 Rue de Bourdon Blanc. They were Martin Dilger, my old patient--the survivor of the railway-shed--and Jacob Venheiser. There they received the kindest care and attention from their good host and hostess, M. and Madame B----. By 4th January I had removed all my worst cases into private quarters in the town; leaving only about a dozen in the church, all of which were now on the high road to convalescence, and fit to be removed to Germany by the next ambulance train. On this happy disposal of my patients I had greatly to congratulate myself; for just now pyæmia and hospital gangrene of the worst type, showed themselves in the church; and we knew from our experiences at Sedan and the railway station how sure they were to be attended by terrible results, where such a number of wounded were kept together. And so it proved now. In a few days, blood-poisoning made great havoc among the men, and its victims lay piled one above another in the dead-house,--truly a sorry sight for those who had spent so much care on them! We determined at once to evacuate the church; for even the convalescent were not safe from this dread malady, which some of the savants in our profession tell us is preventable; such, however, is not my experience. Disinfectants and carbolic-acid dressings were used unsparingly. Fresh air, as I have said, is of paramount importance in the management of this disease; and it must come to the patient in a continuous current,--moreover, to be effective, it must be dry air, while about the patient it requires to be warm, or at least the patient himself must be warm, and at no time suffer a chill. Every day the members of our staff eagerly sought new quarters for their wounded in the private houses of the town, which was now not a difficult task, the garrison not being very large, for Orleans had ceased to be that theatre of war which heretofore it had been. As time rolled on, and fresh arrivals did not come in, we had more leisure. And well for me that it happened so! I had begun to find the work tell upon my health, and now a little relaxation was as necessary as it was agreeable. During all this time no startling event happened, save an attempt that was made by some demented person at Orleans to assassinate a Prussian soldier. For this offence a fine of 600,000 francs was levied on the town; and to show the amount of trade which was carried on by the French with the invaders, out of this sum imposed, 400,000 francs were paid down in Prussian money. The fine was demanded on the 16th, and paid up fully on the 23rd of December. Now, as I was daily beginning to feel more and more exhausted, and feared my health was becoming undermined, I determined to seek leave of absence for a few weeks. Dr. Tilghman, who was again _locum tenens_ during Dr. Pratt's absence on business for ten days, knew how much I wanted a change, and did not hesitate to give me leave, under condition that I would report myself again before that day month. A matter of urgent private business obliged Dr. Sherwell to start for Hamburg on the next day, and I resolved to get ready that evening, 7th Jan., 1871. I went with Dr. Fritz to the Commandant of the place and the Head Military Surgeon, from whom I obtained sick passes all through France and Germany, and Railway and Hotel billets free. The Northern parts were still in the hands of the French, so that I had no chance of getting home in that direction. I handed over my cases to the care of Dr. Parker, who, with his usual good nature, promised to give them his best attention in my absence. I made as little as possible of my departure to them, merely saying that I should be back at the end of some days. At six o'clock next morning Dr. Sherwell and I were at the Railway Station, where we found that a train full of wounded was to be put under our charge as far as Corbeil. Our way of getting on was a novel one, for we were to be drawn by horses the whole distance. After much confusion and waiting we started. The entire train was composed of goods trucks, in which the wounded were laid on straw, using their rugs to cover them. There were many officers among them who took pot luck with the men, for there was no special accommodation. Every three trucks were drawn by four horses, and thus it was that we took the train to Corbeil,--a distance of some fifty miles. The morning was bitterly cold, and a dense fog hung about, which made it hard for us to keep ourselves warm; but matters mended when we came to Artenay, where hot soup and bread were awaiting us. In one of the trucks sat Martin Dilger and one or two other of my patients, all in high spirits at the thought of getting back to the Fatherland, though minus a limb each. In another carriage we had a company of soldiers as an escort to the cavalcade, and these made themselves useful when required. Thus we went along at a snail's pace; but Sherwell and I got out now and then, and ran ahead of the train to warm ourselves, for the weather did not mend, and many of our charges suffered severely from it. During the journey I fell into conversation with the sergeant of our guard, a mere lad, like so many others, and a volunteer. He spoke English well, with hardly any accent, and had lived and studied in London during the past two years, hence his knowledge of the language. He had been at Gravelotte, of which tremendous affair he gave me a most interesting account. He was a gentle youth, with a soft musical voice, and plainly of position, as well as education. He said that he had been recommended for the Iron Cross. Here was the third volunteer I had met under the age of twenty, and all three were of good social standing. There was one old wounded colonel who had a large flask bottle of chartreuse, with which he repeatedly plied Sherwell and me during the journey. I think we neither of us disliked it just then. The next stop we made was at Étampes, where we remained half an hour to have some hot coffee served out. At dusk we had got as far as Juviose, where we changed lines, and in due time arrived at Corbeil about 8 P.M. Our convoy excited notice and wonder among the country people in the districts which we passed, and in many places they came out in crowds to see us go along. When we arrived at Corbeil, we called on the Etappen-commandant, got our passes checked, and went to the major for our billet and rations,--in other words, our requisition for board and lodging, which he gave us on a very snug well-furnished little house in a central part of the town. Having dined off a piece of coarse beef and some bread and beer, we strolled out for a short time. Next morning we were up betimes, and went out to see the town, which is a quaint old place. We stood on the ruins of the bridge, which we had crossed over on piles and planks, in the parts where it had been damaged by the French explosion. It formed a pretty sight when seen at a little distance. What struck me most about the place was that all the trade of the town seemed to be in the hands of German sutlers, principally Jews, who had followed in the footsteps of the army. Few of the inhabitants kept establishments open for the sale of merchandise. In one of these shops where we turned in to buy some trifles, we met a friendly German civilian, who told us that our best route eastwards was by Lagny, beyond Paris,--a station some forty miles from Corbeil--which was in direct railway communication with the Rhine. He added that a convoy of provision was to leave at noon for that place, and advised us to secure a seat in one of the waggons. Accordingly, we found out the conductor, promised him a couple of thalers for the lift, and secured places in one of the least uncomfortable of these vans. It was, by the way, of very simple construction. The body, made of osier-work and tapering to a point, rested on a heavy beam which ran lengthwise, and which rested, in turn, on the pair of axles, the upper part being supported by stays which went from the main ribs of the boxes of the wheels; in short, the whole resembled a boat resting on a piece of timber, which again found support on the axles. Then there were twists of osiers overhead, covered with canvas which made the thing like a gipsy's tent. In this queer turn-out we started from Corbeil, drawn by two Dutch ponies; but, though our horses were fresh and spirited, our progress was very slow, the ground being as slippery as ice. Just before nightfall it began to snow hard, and when we came to the hamlet of Brie, our conductor would go no further. The roughing on his horses' shoes was worn, and it would be too dangerous for us to travel at night on such unendurable roads. We got down, therefore, rather unwillingly, with our traps in our hands; and going about in quest of lodgings for the night, as fortune would have it, we espied at the further end of the village a line of waggons similar to that which we had just left. Upon hailing the conductor, we found that they also were for Lagny, and starting at once; so that again we took our seats, this time in a waggon load of hay, which helped to keep us warm, or, at all events, prevented us from being thoroughly frozen. It was snowing fast, and by now was quite dark. We thought the cold fearful. As we went along the horses seemed to take it in turns to fall; but sometimes our ponies would be down together; happily, they were not encumbered with harness, and soon righted themselves. Yet, once or twice it took the united ingenuity of us all to extricate them from the rope-traces, in which their legs had become entangled. We had a lantern hung out over the front of our waggon, by the dim light of which we were barely able to see the road before us. In time, to our great relief, the snow-storm, which had lasted for hours, cleared up. We had been afraid that our steeds would either miss the road, or tumble us into a ditch. At one place I got out, and trudged through the snow for a couple of miles. There was a part of this road turning round the crest of a hill, from which we could see the flashes from the forts round Paris, and hear the booming of the cannon distinctly. Several times I saw the little thin streak of sparks rising into the sky, which the fuse of the bombshells threw out on their journey, while sudden flashes in the air, followed by a loud report, signified that a shell had prematurely burst. It was a splendid sight, and resolving to get the best view possible, I climbed into an apple tree by the way side, where, kneeling on a huge bunch of mistletoe, I could see every few minutes a shot directed from the forts and one in reply, each leaving its comet-like train of fire behind it. Though the besiegers and the besieged were many miles distant, I could hardly realise that they were not close at hand. So little, at the time, did I comprehend the magnitude of the siege guns, and the remoteness at which they could be heard. Much as I should have liked to linger on the scene, I could not tarry; I had to come down from my apple tree, and trot along until I had rejoined my waggon. Such was my second glimpse, and that at night, of the siege of Paris. My first, if the reader has not forgotten it, showed me the assault which ended in the burning of St. Cloud. CHAPTER XXVII. TRAVELLING IN FROST.--AMMUNITION TRAIN IN DIFFICULTIES.--FERRIÈRES.--THE CAMP OF CHÂLONS.--HOW GERMAN OFFICERS TREAT JEWS. The snow-storm had given over, but it was freezing hard, and the road was now almost impassable. Our horses were constantly falling, and we were getting on very slowly indeed. At last we came to the hamlet of Chivry,--it does not deserve the name of a village. We could see no inn; it was stark midnight; and, except a lonely candle in one small cottage, there was not a light in the place. At the cottage, therefore, we knocked. A regular parley ensued; and after much explanation and fair promises, the door was opened by an old woman, who admitted us into a warm room, as clean and neat as any room could be, though everything testified that the owners were in humble circumstances. The only other inmate of the house, an old man, was in bed. All we asked was a cup of coffee, and a mattress to lie upon, both of which our hostess readily provided. As to eatables, we had brought a loaf of bread with us, which we finished without delay, then took a pull at our flasks, and so made a meal which for my part I relished as much as any I had ever eaten. Next, divesting ourselves of our outer clothing, we threw ourselves on our mattresses, and slept a deep and refreshing sleep until seven next morning, when we made the acquaintance of a well in the yard, at which we performed our ablutions, after the manner of professional tramps. This done, we notified to the old lady that we were still hungry, and asked her to get us some bread and meat. She replied civilly that she had neither the one nor the other;--an unpleasant piece of news, for we were famished. I enlarged to her on our inward sufferings, and at the same time slipped four francs into her hand, bidding her get as good a meal as she could, and as soon as possible. This douceur had its effect. Madame, or "la bourgeoise," as country-folks say, disappeared, only to return with a loaf of fresh bread, though a few minutes before I had been assured by a peasant that none was to be had for love or money. The truth was, that we were taken for Prussians, and treated accordingly. After a while, the dame announced that breakfast was ready, mentioning that she had a pot of stewed rabbit for us, which we set about demolishing with the loaf of new bread. As we sat devouring, neither of us spoke; but morsel after morsel of the rabbit disappeared, and we eyed one another significantly, for the same horrid suspicion was passing through our minds, that this white, insipid stuff was not rabbit at all, though what it might be we could not guess. Our natural history declared it to be cat, but we could not tell, nor did we much care. However, I inquired afterwards whether rabbits existed in the neighbourhood, and was assured that never a one dwelt within ten miles of it. Just as we were wishing ourselves at Lagny, who should pass through with his waggon, but the driver of the convoy with whom we had started from Corbeil? An accident to his waggon had delayed him on the road, which was a great piece of luck for us; and we thanked our hostess at once for her equivocal, but nourishing breakfast, put our traps in the buggy, and drove off. It was the 10th of January. We found it still very difficult to travel, but lest our driver should pull up as he did before, we plied him with brandy and liqueur out of a stone jar, that I had bought at Orleans. In consequence, he was in the best of humour all through the journey, and not in the least disconcerted when the horses fell or stumbled about. Some miles of our route lay through the Forest of Champigny; but here the road was impassable, for it had thawed during the small hours and frozen again, making the causeway one solid sheet of ice. Wherever we could we travelled along the edges; but it was dreadfully slow work, and the horses themselves, poor beasts, were afraid. While we were loitering at this funeral pace, I witnessed a sight that I never shall forget. We fell in with an ammunition train, about half a mile in length, conveying war material of all kinds to the positions before Paris. Our own waggon we had to draw in among the trees for safety, as the horses were falling every minute; and now when we looked along the line, we could see as many as ten horses on the ground at once. Sometimes two of the animals would slip down side by side, and fall again and again whenever they attempted to pull on their traces. Nay, more, I saw a team of four horses all come down simultaneously, not once, but twice. No description, indeed, could exaggerate the confusion of the scene,--drivers shouting, waggons slipping, and horses falling in all directions; while the more their guides interfered the more they fell, until the poor brutes became so terrified, that they trembled all over from fright. The ground was amazingly hard. In one place I saw a heavy ammunition waggon drawn by four horses, when coming down a slight incline, slip five or six yards along the road, and then glide off into the ditch, without a single wheel having turned on its axle. As it was now evident that they could not proceed through the Forest without inflicting grave and perhaps fatal injuries on their cattle, the men began to pick out the middle of the road where the horses trod, and strewed along it coal dust, which they carried with them on purpose. This made the road sufficiently passable to allow of the train to advance. But, meanwhile, it was about two hours before we of the convoy could move, though when we did we rattled on at a spanking pace. From time to time we met numbers of newly organised cavalry,--with droves of horses led by halters; and of these steeds I was ready to lay any odds that some were Irish bred. Men and horses were on their way to the front to replace the maimed, killed, and wounded, and to contribute themselves to a similar contingent. Early in the afternoon we came to Ferrières, where having dined, so to call it, we paid a visit to the splendid château of M. de Rothschild. Unheeded and unhindered, we roamed through this lovely demesne, marvelling at the beauty of house and grounds which, as all the world knows, would not disgrace the abode of royalty. The mansion of cut stone, the terraces with their marble statues, the flower-gardens, shrubberies, stables,--these last, a wonder in themselves,--all were in perfect preservation. Not a stick or a stone in the whole place had been touched by the Prussians, nor did a soldier set foot in it. Such was the good pleasure of William I. who had taken up his quarters here, such the reverence paid to the kings of finance by the House of Hohenzollern! We started again on our journey, but had proceeded only half a mile, when we fell in with a train of siege guns, some of them drawn by six horses. They were on the road to Paris, and would do service there. I remarked that some of the smaller guns were of brass, and shone in the sun like gold. The country we passed through was charmingly wooded, and looked pretty enough in its garment of snow. It was night when we arrived at Lagny. On demanding our billet, we were directed to the sick officers' quarters, in the upper portion of the station house, where we should find plenty of room. There we came upon two of our friends who had been quartered at Orleans. They, also, were on their way out of France, and we engaged to make a party of it. At four o'clock next morning a couple of soldiers called us, and at five we started. There were several officers in the carriage, from whom Sherwell and I received every civility. Passing Meaux we arrived at Épernay, and later on traversed the great camp at Châlons, which now presented a vast and beaten plain of enormous extent. By way of Vitry and Chaumont we came on to Toul and Nancy, of the fortifications round both of which we got an excellent view, in particular at Nancy, where we halted for some time, and were able to look about us. None of these places, however, was of so much interest to me as the little town of Lunéville. I knew nothing of the famous treaty concluded there by the First Consul, and had never heard of the Court of King Stanislaus, or of Voltaire and Madame la Marquise du Châtelet, in connection with it; I simply admired the view. Lunéville is situated on a hill, with some of its fortifications overlooking a steep precipice which serves as a natural protection for perhaps a third of its extent. From the railway which runs along the flat country, below the town, it appeared to be an impregnable stronghold; for where nature's protecting barriers were wanting, there were huge embankments, deep fosses, and steep artificial declivities. A picturesque place too. The face of the cliff and the old turreted walls were covered with ivy, a broad stream ran beneath the hill, which on the lowest slope was well wooded all round,--and now imagine all this clad in new-fallen snow, and you will have as lovely a scene as I remember. Close to the town we passed a bridge which had been blown up, but was now reconstructed on timber piles. It had been destroyed, not by the regular army, but by a band of Francs-Tireurs. This I learned from one of the officers who knew all about the place. I had seen Ferrières, the palace of a Frankfort Jew, with admiration, all the more that it had been respected as a sanctuary by orders from the Prussians. Yet it was during this same journey that I witnessed an incident in which a Jew was the hero or the victim, that filled me with astonishment, as it may do my readers who happen not to be acquainted with the ways of the Fatherland. I had frequently heard the Jews spoken of by my German friends in language of supreme contempt; but never did I realise the depth of that feeling until now. In the railway compartment in which I travelled, all were German officers except myself and one civilian. The latter had got in at a wayside station, and sat at the furthest corner opposite me. My companions began without delay to banter and tease him unmercifully, all the while addressing him as Lemann. He was a small stunted person, in make and features an Israelite, and not more than twenty-five. The behaviour of his fellow-travellers seemed to give him no concern; as they fired off at him their sneering jests, he scanned them with his sharp eyes, but did not move a muscle. I inquired of the officer next me, who spoke English well, how it came to pass that they knew this stranger's name. He explained that Lemann was the common term for a Jew in their language, going on to describe how much the sons of Jacob were detested throughout Germany; and for his part he thought they were a vile horde, who laid hands on everything they could seize, in a way which we English were incapable of fancying. The officers, he added, were all getting down to have some beer at the next station, and by way of illustration he would show me what manner of men these Jews were; and as he said the words, he took off his hairy fur-lined gloves, and threw them across the carriage to our man in the corner, remarking, "There, Lemann! it is a cold day". The Jew picked up the gloves eagerly, which he had missed on the catch, and pulled them on. When we were nearing the station, the officer who had thrown the gloves at him, took off his fur rug, and flung that also to the Jew. Once more he accepted the insulting present, and quickly rolled the rug about him. Finally, a third threw off his military cloak, and slung it on the Jew's back as he was passing out. This, again, the wretched creature put on; and their absence at the buffet left him for the next ten minutes in peace. Presently the horn sounded, and our Germans came back. One seized his rug, another his cloak, and finally, my first acquaintance recovered his gloves by one unceremonious tug from Lemann's meekly outstretched fingers. My own face, I think, must have flushed with indignation; but the others only laughed at my superfluous display of feeling; and Lemann, shrugging his shoulders,--but only because of the sudden change of temperature when his wraps were pulled away,--took out of his pocket a little book with red print, which he began to read backwards, and, turning up the sleeve of his coat, began to unwind a long cord which was coiled round his wrist and forearm as far as the elbow. Every now and then he would stop the unwinding, and pray with a fervour quite remarkable, then unwind his cord again, and so on till the whole was undone. For a time the officers resumed their jeering; but, seeing that it was like so much water on a stone, they turned the conversation, and allowed the unhappy Jew to continue his devotions unmolested till he got out at Strasburg. What would these officers have done, had they travelled in the same railway carriage with M. de Rothschild? CHAPTER XXVIII. STRASBURG AFTER THE SIEGE.--ALONG THE RHINE.--HOME, AND BACK AGAIN TO VERSAILLES.--CAPTAIN BRACKENBURY.--I LOSE MY PAPERS AND HAVE TO GET FRESH ONES. At half-past nine we arrived at Strasburg, and were all billeted together in the most central part of the town, at a grand hotel, where we had the best of living and accommodation. There were about thirty officers quartered there, with whom we messed. I strolled out in the evening through some of the busiest streets. They were brilliantly lighted up; the shops were open, and as much bustle and business seemed to be going on, as if we were in the heart of a peaceable country, and no siege of Strasburg had just taken place. However, before long I learned that a large section of the inhabitants looked upon the Germans with anything but friendly feelings. Next morning, 12th January, we went out, six in number, to see the town. We visited the fine old Cathedral, and hung about it for an hour, examining every detail so far as time permitted. One of the chief attractions was its famous clock, which I was quite ready to admire; but the complicated details, and curious performances of this wonderful timepiece are too well known to need description. When Sherwell and I parted from our companions, we went to visit the ruins of the great Library and the Theatre, both of which were burned to the ground during the siege. Our dinner in the evening was splendidly served, in the French style, and with abundance of wines. Next morning Sherwell, myself, and two of our old travelling companions chartered a spacious waggonette, in which we set out, determined to see all that we could in and around Strasburg. We first drove through that part of the town which was destroyed by the besiegers,--a dreary but most interesting excursion. So far as I could judge, about one fifth of the suburbs had been ruined. When I say ruined, I don't mean simply made roofless and windowless,--that might have happened in a huge conflagration; but that whole streets were reduced to long heaps of stones, with a few yards' interval between, which marked where the roadway had formerly passed. Nothing could have given a more vivid idea of the effects of a bombardment now-a-days. Even where the demolition was not so complete, and where portions only of the house had been carried away, the sight was appalling. Some of the furniture still remained in its place on the half-shattered floors, being too high to reach easily, or not worth the trouble and danger of removing it. Here was a second edition of Bazeilles, on a far more extensive scale. I believe one of the best accounts of what took place during the siege is to be read in Auerbach's novel on the subject, called _Waldfried_. Having wandered for a couple of hours through the ruins, we drove outside the town. Then we alighted, and one of our party, a captain of artillery who had been through the siege, acted as our guide, and made all the particulars clear to us. Walking along the fortifications, we arrived at the immense breach in the parapet which sealed the fate of Strasburg. It was of great extent, and already hundreds of men were at work repairing it;--but in the interests of Germany, not of France, from whose dominion the city had passed, for who knows how many years? Further on we saw a second breach, not so wide as the other. We now proceeded a considerable distance along the parallels and rifle pits, and visited the captured French lunettes, which seemed to be matters of intense interest to my military friends. A curious fact I learned about this siege was, that of the garrison in the town a comparatively smaller number were killed than of civilians, who met their death in the streets by the bursting of shells. This I was told by several who had been present, and who were likely to be well-informed. When we had explored the various evidences of the mining operations during this memorable blockade, it was almost evening. We returned to our hotel, overcome with admiration at the skill of those who had not only devised, but successfully carried through, these intricate plans for approaching, storming, and capturing a stronghold with such mighty defences. Assuredly, the campaigns of 1870, in the open, and about the historic fortresses of France, afford examples of science, courage, and endurance which it will not be easy to match, and may be impossible to surpass, in the future. On the 14th, I was up early, went out to make some purchases, came home, packed up, and set off from the station. We crossed the Rhine on the beautiful bridge to Kehl, took our seats in a fresh train, and started northwards. We went by Karlsruhe and Heidelberg, at the latter of which places we halted twenty minutes; and soon after leaving it we found ourselves in a hop-growing district, where there was nothing to be seen but hop-stacks; we passed, also, through extensive vineyards: but, as yet, had only an occasional glimpse of the Rhine in the distance. During part of our journey, we skirted round steep mountain barriers, which, at times, towered above us with their impenetrable masses of fir-trees, at others, being thickly sprinkled with snow and tipped with hoar-frost, shone resplendent in the sunlight, as if silver dust had been shaken all over them, while here and there peeped out the snow-capped towers of some old castle or baronial hall. I do not pretend that these hills would have looked anything wonderful, had they not been covered with snow, and had not the pellicles of ice, formed on the fir trees by a thick fog the night before, first run into tears, and then been frozen hard, covering the trees with brilliants which sparkled in the sun. These decorations, indeed, gave them an air of fairyland. On arriving at Darmstadt I took leave of Sherwell and my fellow-travellers, who were going on to Hamburg, and took the train to Mayence. It was very late when I got there, and I stayed the night at the Railway Hotel; for, having a sick officer's pass, I could break my journey where I pleased, which was a great convenience, besides being a cheap mode of travelling. I had practically nothing to pay; my sufficient warrant was the pass, stamped with the royal seal, which I exhibited to inquiring officials. Mayence is not interesting. I went on next morning as early as I could, had to wait at Coblentz and Bonn to allow some special military trains to pass, and did not get into Cologne till the afternoon. The Rhine scenery, which one gets at times from the train, is very fine; but somehow this was the grand disappointment of my journey. It did not come up to my expectations; and I felt far more delight on viewing the unrivalled beauties of our own Killarney, and of the river Blackwater. But I had not yet gone up the Rhine in a steamboat, which is quite another expedition than the one I was taking just then. From Cologne, which I explored in a few hours, I travelled by Aix la Chapelle to Liège. At the Hôtel de l'Europe my quarters seemed comfortable; but I had no longer a free billet, and might consider myself to be now in the enemy's country. It was the 16th, and I went off to call on my friend Vercourt, with whom I spent the forenoon. Then by Ostend, London, and Holyhead, I prosecuted my journey, and arrived in Dublin on the morning of the 19th, and at home at Scarteen on the 22nd. My furlough was made out for a month: but eight days after my arrival, a telegram came from Dr. Pratt, saying:-- "I return to-morrow; go to Versailles as soon as possible, find out Ambulance, and join it". I had no alternative but to pack up and start next day, which I did by the morning train on Jan. 31st. On reaching London, I called at the English Society's rooms in Trafalgar Square, and reported myself to Colonel Lloyd Lindsay. Mr. Pearce, the secretary, made me known to Captain Burgess; and I met there my _confrère_, Dr. Frank, who greeted me cordially, and sent many affectionate messages to his former colleagues. It will be remembered that Dr. Frank was chief of that section of our Ambulance which had a hospital at Balan and Bazeilles, and which afterwards established itself at Épernay, where it worked for some months before disbanding. Having got all requisite papers and certificates of identification, I started from London Bridge for Newhaven. As I was taking my ticket I met Captain Brackenbury, who told me that he also was going to Versailles to rejoin the headquarters of the Crown Prince, that he had a private carriage at Dieppe, was going to drive all the way, and would willingly give me a seat. This kind offer I gladly accepted, and was delighted to have so entertaining and accomplished a host on my journey. At Newhaven, as we were crossing by night, we turned at once into our berths, and slept until called by the steward in sight of Dieppe. Going up on deck I found it was a lovely morning, warm and genial, and very unlike the weather we had been enduring of late. As we approached Dieppe in the morning sun, we could see the glistening bayonets of the ubiquitous Prussian sentries. They were pacing to and fro on the pier, in what appeared to us an aggressive, not to say, menacing fashion. I confess the sight startled me: we had the vision of England still in our eyes, and these ambitious warriors seemed too dangerously near. I felt that I should have liked to take them by the collar, and pitch them into the sea. I could not help saying to Capt. Brackenbury that I felt inclined to ask them what they were peering at across the Channel. But, as he dryly remarked, their answer might be that they were peering at a little island fortress on the high seas:--a mere speck in creation when compared to the great German Empire which had just been proclaimed at Versailles. He was in the right of it; and we had already held conversations on this subject at Orleans, which I should like to set down, were not my space fast running out. The carriage in which we travelled from Dieppe was a large and comfortable sort of landau, from which we could view the country at our ease. The weather was now mild and bright, the snow had disappeared, and our journey became a pleasure. But when travelling between Mantes and St. Germain, as I was getting out of the carriage to walk up a steep hill, I had the misfortune to lose out of my overcoat pocket all my passes, letters of identification and the other documents I carried with me. At the gates of the Forest of St. Germain, a Prussian non-commissioned officer stepped out, and demanded our papers. I was minus every document which would have accounted satisfactorily for my being there; and I should certainly have been arrested and sent off to the Commandant of Versailles under an escort, had not Capt. Brackenbury assured the officer on duty that he had seen the papers in question. I had, as it happened, shown them to him that very morning. This satisfied the guard, and I was allowed to pass; but I need hardly say that I was supremely uncomfortable at the case I was in, and thought my journeys along the valley of the Seine were always doomed to misfortune. Last time the Francs-Tireurs had arrested me; now it was the turn of the Prussians. When we reached St. Germain, we dined, in spite of my lost papers, and visited the Palace and the Bois, from the terrace of which there is such a glorious view, away to Mont Valérien and one or two other of the forts. As we were looking about us, there was quite a stir, bordering on excitement among the soldiers. King William, now the Emperor of Germany, and the Crown Prince, were expected every moment from Versailles, and the road was lined with infantry and cavalry to receive them. But we waited an hour, and his Imperial Majesty did not arrive, so we resumed our journey to Versailles. There I left Capt. Brackenbury at a private house, where he and Dr. Russell, the _Times_ correspondent, put up; and thanking him for his great kindness I bade him good-bye. This was the last time I saw him. It would be difficult to do justice to the character of this noble soldier; a more generous heart or more gracious disposition, I never had the privilege of knowing. My business now was to search for lodgings, I could no longer requisition one at the Mayor's, since I had lost all my papers. Having secured a niche, I resolved to call at the Hôtel des Réservoirs, where I knew I should find Prince Pless, or some one who would recognise me, and get me these important testimonials. By way of introduction I looked in at the office of the Military Ambulance stores, and inquired whether all those belonging to the Anglo-American Corps had been taken to Orleans or not. This was a happy thought; for they informed me that all the particulars I required would be given by Major de Haveland in the Rue des Réservoirs,--the Maltese knight to whom I have referred as visiting us at Ste. Euverte. This was what I wanted. I called at once on the Major, and he undertook to see the commandant of the place, and explain the whole matter. Thus, thanks to his kind attention, I was given the necessary papers next day, and that evening I chartered a car to Étampes, from which place I could get to Orleans by train. CHAPTER XXIX. IN ORLEANS ONCE MORE.--PEACE IS SIGNED.--AN EASY TIME.--SENDING AWAY THE CONVALESCENTS.--THE AMBULANCE BROKEN UP. I had to bribe the driver whom I thus engaged with an extra napoleon, so afraid was he that his trap and horse would be seized; but when I showed him my German papers he knew that he was safe. Accordingly, I started before daylight, and after a pleasant journey arrived at Étampes in the evening, soon enough to escape an awful downpour of rain, and to catch the night train to Orleans. The train was crowded with peasants, some of whom had no tickets, and it was amusing to watch the stratagems which they adopted in order to hide themselves from the German guard. This fellow was much too good-humoured and indifferent to pretend to see them, though all the while knowing their whereabouts, as I could tell by the twinkle in his eye when their crouching forms betrayed them. It was nothing to him, and he left them under the delusion that they had got to the blind side of their Prussian,--a parable which might serve to describe the whole French tactics during the war! When I arrived at Orleans it was nearly midnight, and as there were no vehicles at the terminus, I had to tramp across the town to the Quai du Châtelet, where the door was opened to me by our faithful Turco Jean. This barbarian, becoming excited at seeing an old friend, shrieked with delight, and gave utterance to much unintelligible jargon, accompanied by low bows, reverences, or salaams, all which, I believe, is the orthodox method of greeting adopted by Mohammedans. As I entered our general sitting-room, I heard a ringing cheer from my _confrères_, who, in this most cordial manner, welcomed me back. I confess that I felt pleased and proud at this spontaneous outburst of kindly feeling. Nigger Charlie, who had been grinning from ear to ear for the past ten minutes, now disappeared, and after the lapse of a quarter of an hour, came back, bearing in his hands the historic bowl of punch. That was his salaam,--not unkindly meant either. Next morning I went to see my patients in the Convent of Notre Dame des Récouvrances. Mère Pauline, Soeur Léopoldine, and the other sisters welcomed me into the wards, and Henry Schroeder cried so heartily that I had to put it down to the weakness from which he was suffering. Young Rüdiger cheered, Kirkhof clapped his hands, and all my patients looked pleased,--which things I mention as giving me a real gratification in themselves, and showing what rewards a doctor who tries to do his duty may expect. I went on to see other patients, among whom were two in the Rue de Bourdon Blanc. One of these had had his knee joint resected, an operation in which both ends of the bones of the leg and thigh, which enter into the formation of the knee joint, were removed, the limb remaining otherwise intact. It was at this period rather a rare operation, and was performed by Dr. Nussbaum of Munich, who then handed the invalid into my care. The limb was swung in an anterior suspension-splint, which was Dr. May's improvement on the American splint by Smyth. This was a case in which Dr. Nussbaum felt deeply interested, and he inquired of me repeatedly as to its progress. After one or two days I fell again into the routine, and was running along smoothly in the old groove, which I had left for so short but eventful a period. Several weeks now passed away without anything worthy to chronicle, if I may judge from the blank in my notes. The work had become easier, and my patients, though scattered about the town, had become fewer and less troublesome to manage as they approached convalescence. We had now much time to ourselves. The armistice continued, and no fresh supplies of wounded came in. Yet, we did not feel sure that hostilities would not recommence, until on the afternoon of the 26th of February, news reached us that peace was signed. Yes, peace was signed! The joyful tidings spread quickly through the town, and exclamations and prayers of joy and gratitude were on every tongue; nor was it easy to discern whether the townsfolk or the garrison were filled with greater gladness at the news. Indeed, the change that came over the face of the town in an hour was marvellous. Civilians rushed about the streets shaking hands in the most frantic style with those German soldiers who had hitherto been their deadly enemies, while the soldiers cordially returned these friendly advances on the part of their vanquished foes. As the evening drew near, the cheering and confusion increased, and the streets became crowded with a mixed assembly of soldiers and inhabitants. Nor did the authorities appear to object; nay, all the military bands in the town turned out, and marched up and down the principal streets, playing popular French airs, and even the "Marseillaise". It was amusing as well as touching to see these mighty processions, the bands in front, and long lines of French and Prussians linked arm in arm, marching some fourteen abreast, and keeping time with the music. Thus in one hour did the memory of yesterday seem quite obliterated. While I was following one of the bands, and listening to the stirring airs which they were playing, I descried a white figure among the crowd, and what was my astonishment to find that this was Nigger Charlie! Still in his white kitchen-suit, with white sleeves and a paper cap, he was carrying on all kinds of antics, and grinning for the amusement of the juveniles who crowded after the procession. Our duties now became so light that I was able to do all my work in a couple of hours, and generally had the rest of the day to myself. This time I employed in making excursions on horseback and on foot, to all the places of interest in the adjoining country. I could always get a mount from the ambulance equerry when I wished for one. As March came on, the weather grew fine, and I rode out to Gien, Chevilly, Patay, and Coulmiers; but Olivet and its neighbourhood, and the picturesque Source du Loiret, were especially my attraction. Dr. Warren, who, like me, preferred walking to riding, often accompanied me on these excursions. But time rolled on, and we found ourselves in March, with March weather accompanying it. I now met Miss Pearson and Miss McLoughlin, who gave me a stirring account of themselves and their doings during the battles outside Orleans; for the convent, full of wounded, of which they were in charge, was situated in the suburbs. The adventures undergone and the work accomplished by these energetic English ladies have been admirably described in the volume which relates their experiences during the Campaigns of 1870 and 1871. Too much praise cannot be given for the untiring zeal and heroic self-sacrifice which they always displayed in the discharge of their mission, under circumstances which were constantly most trying. On the 3rd, Dr. Pratt, who had some time back returned from headquarters at Versailles, announced to us that our mission was over, and he must now disband us. We agreed, however, not to separate until we got to Paris, for which place we were to start in a few days. There we should meet Dr. Duplessy, and the heads of the French Ambulance, into whose hands we could deliver the horses, waggons, and _infirmiers_ that we had originally received from them in the Palais de l'Industrie. We wished, also, in the presence of the above-named gentleman, to give an account of our stewardship, so far as the care of the French wounded in our charge was concerned. Accordingly, every preparation was made to start. I sent away the wounded that were on my hands, including poor Henry Schroeder, who said, that since I must leave, he would leave too. I had the poor fellow conveyed through town to his railway carriage in a sedan chair. When we parted he shed bitter tears. I had grave misgivings for the ultimate success of his case, for his arm was suppurating profusely; and he had that delusive hectic freshness of appearance, which I had now learnt was so untoward a symptom. Afterwards I had the pain of hearing from his brother that my forebodings were verified, and that Henry died soon after his return home. On the 4th of March, we had finished nearly all our preparations; and our kind host Proust seemed inconsolable at losing Warren and myself, towards both of whom he had evinced a parental affection. But my time to leave Orleans was not yet come. CHAPTER XXX. I FALL ILL OF FEVER.--GERMANS LEAVE ORLEANS.--MY BROTHER ARRIVES FROM HOME.--END OF MY EXPERIENCES AS A FIELD SURGEON. One bright evening, as I was out walking on the bank of the Loire, I had felt a dead dull pain at the back of my head and in my back. On my return the pain became so intense that I was obliged to go straight to bed. All night and next day I felt very unwell, and Dr. Bouglet was sent for. He pronounced me to be in fever, of what kind he could not exactly tell; but as small-pox was prevalent in Orleans, he feared it might be that. Subsequently he came to the conclusion that it was low fever of a typhoid sort. On the 6th, I felt very ill indeed, and beyond a dim recollection of saying good-bye to my _confrères_, and the consciousness that my old friends Warren and Hayden were continually at my bedside, I can recall but little of what passed around me for the next fortnight. In a few days all the members of the Anglo-American Ambulance, who had been my friends and companions throughout this adventurous campaign, were off to Paris. So there was I in No. 12 Rue Royale, away from home, and prostrated by a dangerous illness. To those who read this, it may appear that I was alone and friendless. But it was not so. For no father's care could have been more tender, no mother's solicitude more lavish, than that bestowed upon me by M. and Madame Proust, on the one hand, and, on the other, by my guardian angel and nurse, Soeur Berthe, from Notre Dame des Récouvrances. During five long weeks, this indefatigable woman never left my bedside day or night, save for an interval of an hour or so. She had been working under me in the Hospitals, attending the wounded for many months; and to her valuable and skilful aid I owe any success which may have attended my efforts on behalf of the patients in those wards. Now this good sister saw me, a stranger, but a fellow-labourer in the same cause, struck down at the end of the campaign; and she bestowed upon me, as she was wont to bestow upon them, with that grace of manner and beaming kindness which characterised all she undertook, the same devoted attentions. It was a privilege to be ill in her hands. I learned much from her; and I should be ungrateful indeed, were I to forget the lessons which her refinement, self-sacrifice, and unwearied good temper printed on my mind and heart during those weeks. Dr. Bouglet came and went, sometimes making a second visit the same day. Evidently he thought my case a serious one. At the end of about ten days from the beginning of my illness, I became so stupid and lethargic that I remembered nothing for the next fortnight, save that during one of my lucid intervals I saw Hayden, Parker, and Warren at my bedside, the first two having come from Paris for the express purpose of seeing me. Warren stayed until I was getting better, and wrote home for me. He finished his letter, but almost failed in getting the address from me, so weak was my mind at the time. Hayden, on being questioned by one of the townspeople as to the chances of my recovery, answered, that it was all up with me. Soeur Berthe, likewise, wrote to Scarteen in my name; but I could do nothing of the kind myself. About the fourth week I had completely regained consciousness, and was daily getting stronger; but that was not saying much, for I could neither turn in bed, nor lift an arm. I was simply skin and bone, and used to wonder how my knuckles did not come through the skin. When I looked at my limbs, I began to cry like a child, and this loss of control over my feelings was particularly distressing to me. They never let me see myself in the mirror until I was far advanced on the road to recovery; and then I beheld what looked more like a corpse than my living self, and was much taken aback. When allowed to speak, many hours were spent in pleasant conversation with Madame and M. Proust, and with Soeur Berthe, who was always an interesting and lively companion. She used to pray with me, read to me, both serious and amusing books, and instruct me in the secrets of the science of which she was mistress. She would bring me flowers and fruit according to my fancy. And so the weeks passed by, and, with the assistance of such good friends, they were pleasant enough. Before my brain got quite clear, I used to imagine that I saw numbers of my friends at home, and was talking with them. Nor were the persons phantoms. For I spoke to those who happened to be paying me a visit to see how I was going on. Upon discovering my mistake, I felt it bitterly, but was soon put into good humour again by Soeur Berthe. I have not yet said much of my hostess Madame Proust; not because she was wanting in any way,--far from it, indeed. That kind lady put her house and all therein at my disposal, and was a most agreeable and sympathetic friend. Occasionally, after returning from her walk in the town, she would tell me of the people who were inquiring for me, which was an equal pleasure and help to a convalescent. Just about this stage of my illness the Germans evacuated Orleans. I can remember well hearing the last of their bands playing in one direction; while the French were advancing in the other. This was succeeded after a while by frantic cheering, by the din of music, and the tramp of soldiery,--a tramp which I knew to be very different from the measured tread that I had heard an hour previously. And so had come and gone the second German occupation of Orleans,--an epoch in the life of those who took any share in it which is indelibly stamped on their memories. As time wore on I was removed to the arm-chair by the open window, where I used to remain for several hours every day, when the weather permitted, propped up with pillows and covered against the cold. Many of the passers-by seemed to think me worth looking at, for quite a number stopped in very French fashion to stare up at me. This was only curiosity, and by no means rudeness. At last I was able to go out, or rather to hobble out; and for the first few days had enough to do to keep on my legs while shaking hands with the many kind and friendly townspeople who came forward to greet me. I would go into one shop and rest there for a few minutes, and then move a few doors further on. Thus I spent some hours every day. Many of our old Ambulance friends and acquaintances came also to pay me a visit. There was no end, I may truly say, to the kindness I met with on all sides. One day I went to the Church of St. Aignan, which is at the end of the Quai du Châtelet, to hear a grand High Mass, offered up for the regeneration of France, which was attended by the _élite_ of Orleans. I settled myself in a chair at the end of the church, and presently the ceremonies began by a procession. As it passed me a priest stepped out of the ranks, and, taking me by the arm, led me up the church, and, to my great confusion, showed me into one of the stalls in the Sanctuary. I never saw the priest before or since. When I look back on those days of trial and sickness, and how I lay on that bed unable to stir hand or foot, I remember what a longing came over me for the sight of one familiar face, though but for a few minutes. One was still in one's youth; and I fancied, whilst my head was buried in the pillow, that if I could but speak just a few words to my mother, or to some one at home, it would be enough to cure me. Until then, I never knew how much I loved my native land, or realised my heart's deep devotion to that little spot called home, and to all those dear friends about it. Little by little I came round. I used to drive out with M. Proust to his lovely little country house near Olivet, and visited the camellia houses and orange groves, all of which were under glass, at the great château there. But during my convalescence, the event of the day was the morning post, which brought my letters and newspapers, every line of which I read and re-read with the greatest avidity, until I knew them by heart. One letter in particular, from a great friend of mine, was so amusing, and had such a reviving effect on me, that I read it certainly a score of times, and I laughed as much the last time as the first. I was strictly prohibited by the doctor from writing; but in spite of his orders I coaxed Soeur Berthe to let me have pen and ink. Her consternation was great when she saw me fainting from the exertion. One letter I wrote to my mother while my hand was held on the paper, placed on a desk before me; so that I had only, as it were, to form the characters. I used to write a sentence or two every day, and so put them together bit by bit. I compiled several commonplace and uninteresting productions, and sent them home in great glee at the success of my performance. I could not guess how startled they would be at receiving these curious epistles, some of which afterwards came back into my hands. They resolved to send my brother Arthur to fetch me home; and he travelled immediately to Orleans, where he received a hearty welcome from M. and Madame Proust and my other friends. I insert as an Appendix, from the journal which my brother kept, the impressions made on us both by a visit we paid to the field of Coulmiers. It was my last view of the scenes in which I had taken part. My brother arrived on 8th April, and on the 21st we bade farewell to our home in the Rue Royale, and the friends who had made it such, and set out on our journey to Ireland. CHAPTER XXXI. AN APPENDIX.--M. AND MADAME COLOMBIER.--VISIT TO THE BATTLEFIELD OF COULMIERS.--THE SOLE FRENCH VICTORY.--CONCLUSION. (_From Arthur Ryan's Diary, Wednesday, 19th April._) Our déjeûner had not long been over when a carriage drove up, and Charlie bade me prepare for a drive with some friends into the country. We wished M. and Madame Proust good-bye for the day, and stepped into the carriage, where our new host and hostess were awaiting us. M. and Madame Colombier welcomed me cordially as the brother of their friend, and I was not long in their company before I knew how truly they had been such to him. M. Colombier had been a Papal Zouave, but, on the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian war, had joined the ranks of his countrymen. A middle-aged man with a frank warm manner, and evidently very proud of his wife,--as well he might be. I have seen but little of men or women; but I fancy that many years of experience may fail to remove Madame Colombier from the place she gained that day in my estimation. She was a heroine, and, what is still rarer, a humble heroine. Being a Canadian she spoke English very fairly; and as we drove along she told us many stories of her war experiences, and with so much gaiety that I felt it hard to believe those experiences had been so often bitter ones to her and her husband. Privations, loss of property, personal danger, all were related as if she were inventing and not recording; all were jested about whenever they affected only herself. But when she spoke of the sufferings of others, of her husband's danger, of the poor soldiers whom she had lodged and tended to the last, then her woman's heart revealed itself, and showed that though gay it was tender, though buoyant it was thoroughly unselfish; and, through all, she seemed so perfectly unconscious of any merit on her part, that one would have thought that her services had been remunerative or a part of her ordinary duty, instead of absorbing as they did the great part of what the war had left them. A shower came on, and to my surprise Madame Colombier unpinned her warm shawl, and insisted in wrapping Charlie up in it, lest in his weak state he should take cold. "This is my campaigning dress," said she, as I expressed my fears as to the insufficiency of her black silk dress in the teeth of the driving rain; but little she seemed to care, her only anxiety being to shield the "poor invalid" from the storm. After what seemed a short drive, we were so pleasant together, we came to the battlefield of Coulmiers. On each side of the road the ground was littered with the débris of camp fires, and with the straw that had served to keep some of the soldiers off the frosty ground, as they slept after their fight. Deep ruts--ploughed by the wheels of the guns, cut up the roads and fields; but beyond these marks, and the general bare, down-trodden look of the ground, nothing remained to speak of the terrible battle that had so lately covered these fields with the dead and dying. But as we drove into the Château Renardier, M. Colombier's country place, the sad remembrances of war were multiplied ten-fold. The great trees on each side of the drive were riven in all directions, by the shot and shells; and I remarked several thick firs cut clean in two by what was evidently a single shot. But here we are at the Château. It was a large house, in the regular French style, prettily situated in the midst of a well-planted lawn. It was not, however, at the architecture of the house, nor at the beauties of the lawn, that I looked, as I drove up. No: what riveted my gaze was the number of round holes that perforated the front in every direction. The shells had done their work well; shattered windows and pierced walls were sorry sights for M. Colombier to show his guests; and little more could be seen of the Château Renardier on the front side. As we entered, and passed from room to room, we began to realise the full extent of the damage. Deep stains of blood were on the dark oak floors, which in many places had been splintered by the bursting shells. Madame Colombier took us to her boudoir. Panelled in gold and white, it must have been a lovely room--but now it was a wreck. Right through the mirrors had the splintered shells crashed; in one corner of the rich ceiling the sky was visible through a large shot hole,--"and here," said our hostess, "here they used to skin their sheep"; and she pointed to the chandelier, which had sadly suffered from its unwonted use, and beneath which the floor was stained, this time not with human gore. "This is my room," said M. Colombier, as he showed us into the billiard room. The slate table was cracked in two, and on the tattered green cloth lay the remains of the oats which had fed the horses; for that room had served as a stable. We passed into the garden. It had been the scene of a French bayonet charge; and little shape remained, or sign of garden beauty, save that in one trampled bed, we found some plants of the lily of the valley sprouting to the early spring sunshine. Deep in the gravel walks, and through the once well-trimmed turf, had the wheels of the guns sunk, as the Prussians made their hasty retreat before the victorious French; and it must have been some consolation to the fair owner of this desolated garden, to think that it was the scene of the solitary French victory in that disastrous war. In the front garden every vine was dead, cut from the wall. For the wall had served as a shelter for the German soldiers, and was pierced all along for rifle rests, and by every hole was a heap of empty cartridge cases. The greenhouse and conservatories,--who shall tell their ruin? Glass is a poor protection against artillery, and the fierce frost had completed the work. There were the plants all arranged on their stands; there stood the orange trees--all were dead and brown--not a twig was alive. I thought of my mother and her flowers, as Madame Colombier turned with a sigh from her ruined conservatory, and walked back through the melancholy garden. But she was gay enough, though her husband seemed to feel deeply the destruction of his lovely home. He had been married but five years, and had spent much money in making this a happy spot for his wife and children--and now, the wreck! But even M. Colombier laughed with us when we came to the piles of empty bottles that lay in the yard; they were all that was left of two well-filled cellars. The French soldiers had celebrated their victory at the expense of the master of the Château Renardier. In the coach-house were Madame Colombier's two broughams; they had been used in the battle as temporary fortifications, and were literally riddled with bullets. We walked to the fish pond--a piece of ornamental water in the lawn. It had been netted, and not a fish was left. I stumbled on something under the trees by its brink. It was a Prussian cavalry saddle, not a comfortable-looking thing, thought I, as I surveyed the angular hide-covered wood,--but certainly economical when it is so easily lost. But evening was coming on; so having had lunch in the Château (the strangest ruin I ever picnicked in), we bade adieu to Renardier, and drove back to Orleans. M. Colombier's house there had, like his country château, been used during the war as a little hospital; and Charlie told me, as he waited in the drawing-room before dinner, how many wounded and dying inmates that room lately had. Dinner was served in an ante-room, for which Madame Colombier made her apologies, as her dining-room was occupied--by whom we presently saw. Having dined heartily, and been highly amused by the penalties with which the children threatened the Prussians,--such as feeding them on poisonous mushrooms, wood, and such like, I was surprised by Madame Colombier taking out a cigar case, handing it round, and helping herself. "Necessity has made me a smoker," she laughingly observed, as she saw my ill-concealed wonder; and if any lady would condemn my hostess for her cigar, let her follow Madame Colombier as she slips quietly out; and see for herself how false is that delicacy which would place a difficulty in the way of true and heroic Christian charity. We were not long before we followed our hostess. We found her in her dining-room, which had been fitted up as a temporary hospital. There she was tending the wound of her last patient, with a skill which was the result of long and hard-earned experience. And here we will leave Madame Colombier, with the firm trust that her unselfish charity and unostentatious heroism will not go unrewarded before Him, who has promised to repay a cup of cold water given for His sake. EPILOGUE. A quarter of a century has elapsed since the occurrence of the events which I have described. When I view the scenes of those eventful days through this long vista, and when sometimes for a moment one particular picture of hospital or camp life presents itself before my mind, I start as if awakened from a troubled dream, to find there still the shape and form of fact. The years have come and gone, and with them have passed away many of the principal actors in that great drama. Wilhelm, Napoléon, Moltke, the Crown Prince, the Red Prince, Gambetta, d'Aureille de Paladine, Bazaine, MacMahon, have disappeared from the stage. Modern surgery and medicine have lost some of their ablest pioneers in Langenbeck, Nussbaum, Esmark and Marion Sims; and I personally have to mourn for many who were kindly and helpful to me in those days, amongst them M. and Madame Proust and General Charles Brackenbury. I have often wished to revisit Sedan and Orleans; but the desire to make the most of a somewhat limited holiday-time, and to gain fresh experiences, has always led me to new districts and countries previously unknown to me, and I have never had my wish fulfilled. I am glad to say, however, that I never quite lost sight of my old friends M. and Madame Proust, and a visit from their nephew revived all the old associations and remembrances afresh. It may interest my readers to hear something of our ambulance surgeons. Sir William MacCormac, who succeeded Marion Sims at Sedan, is now one of the greatest living authorities on military surgery and gunshot wounds. His colleague Dr. Mackellar is distinguished on the staff of St. Thomas's Hospital, and Dr. Parker is an eminent London specialist. The others, scattered over the face of the globe, I have lost sight of, but would fain hope one day to meet some of them again. One object I have had in view in publishing these notes may be worthy of mention. As I have tried to write down exactly what I witnessed, they may help to afford some idea of what war really means,--war as a hard practical fact--stripped of all the glamour, and poetry, and pride of conquest, that are so attractive when seen in history. Even from my own observations I could gather that all is not victory to the victors themselves. When the German soldiery learnt that Louis Napoléon was present in the trap at Sedan, there broke out among them the wildest exhibition of delight; for they believed--wrongly as it came to pass--that his capture would end the war and enable them to go back to their homes. And when peace was finally proclaimed, the Germans in Orleans were no less demonstrative and enthusiastic than the French, whose cup of suffering had been filled to overflowing. Now-a-days there is perhaps a tendency to undervalue this aspect of the case. People talk very lightly of the great European war that is said to be inevitable. It can do no harm to measure as far as possible what such a war may mean. Those who count the cost in advance are far more likely to be able to meet it, should the necessity arise, and to bear themselves resolutely and bravely to the end, whatever the event, than those who rush blindly forward, depending mainly on enthusiasm for organisation, and on the reputation of the past to achieve victories in the future. That seems to be the great lesson taught by the war of 1870 and 1871. There never was, perhaps, a more flagrant instance of disregard for that wise Shakesperian saying familiar to us all:-- "Beware Of entrance to a quarrel: but, being in, Bear it that the opposed may beware of thee". However, my readers will probably be disposed to form their own opinions on these subjects, and will have far more attractive material elsewhere on which to found them. Before concluding, I think I am not out of order in mentioning a notable occurrence which took place during the year 1895, and which to my mind affords a favourable augury for the future of France. I mean the celebration at Orleans, with all the pomp and ceremony due to the occasion, of the festival of Jeanne d'Arc. From the general enthusiasm then displayed by the French people, I cannot help thinking that greater things and brighter hopes are in store for that beautiful country, the fortunes of which have ever been as dramatic in their circumstances as they are interesting in themselves. Finally, I wish here to record, if I may, my own admiration, sympathy and delight in the bright and genial character of the French, and to bear witness that as this feeling was at first so it is now; nor do I think it will ever change. My task is finished. Though the re-writing of these notes has been a source of great pleasure to me, bringing back as it does old memories and picturesque scenes so vividly, yet I lay aside the unaccustomed pen with--perhaps not unnaturally--some little sense of relief, trusting to the indulgence of my readers that they will overlook the blemishes incidental to a first literary performance. And thus I bid them farewell. THE END. [Illustration: PART OF FRANCE To illustrate the journey of D^r. Ryan from Sedan to Orleans, 1870-1. London, John Murray, Albemarle St. Edw^d. Weller] INDEX. A. Ambulance, Anglo-American: staff, 27; labours at Sedan, 47-59, 79; routine, 71; discipline, 73; additional staff, 89; number of operations, 93; use of antiseptics, 96; transferred to German side, 108, 143; fresh arrangements, 115; leaves Sedan, 116; at Orleans, 160 to end; routine there, 166; at battle of Coulmiers, 194-207; evacuates terminus, 215; given French _infirmiers_, 223; visited by M. Crémieux, 231; critical position, 232; at battle of Neuville, 242, _seq._; at Patay, 253; at Beaugency, 283; disbanded, 343. Ambulance, Belgian, 21. Ambulance, French, 16; want of discipline, 82, 103, 114; broken up, 121. Ambulance, German: treatment of French wounded, 81; at Floing, 107; amputation, Dr. Ryan's first, 166. Antiseptic treatment, 96. Ardennes, Forest, 113. Arlon, 115. Arpajon, 153. Artenay, 154. Asfeld, Caserne d', 39-49, 59. B. Bavarians: cavalry, 140; occupy Orleans, 176; fighting there, 176; their religious behaviour, 185; losses, 189; evacuate Orleans, 190; at Coulmiers, 195; retreat, 196; leave dead on field, 200; at Beaugency, 285; despised by Prussians, 284. Bayonne, Père, 43, 94. Bazeilles, burning of, 53, 56, 85; visit to, 87. Beaugency, battle, 282, _seq._ Beaumont, village, 35. Beck, 89, 107. Berthe, Soeur, 235, 303, 348, 351. Bilotte, Intendant Militaire, at Sedan, 72. Bismarck, Count, 83, 147, 217. "Black and Tans," the, 113. Blood poisoning, 91; open-air treatment, 108; at Orleans, 179, 183, 310. Bonjour, M., 252. Bouglet, Dr., 345, seq. Bouillon, town and castle, 112, 117. Bourbaki, General, 226. Brackenbury, Captain C., 115, 121, 334-337. Brussels, 5, 8, 118, 120. Burnside, General, 142. C. Cahirmee, Horse Fair, 119. Carignan, village, 22. Caserne d'Asfeld, 39, _seq._, 49, 59. Caserne St. Charles, at Orleans, 217-219. Cases, remarkable, 179, and _passim_. Cathedral, Orleans, desecrated, 280. Charlie, Nigger, 61, 94, 142, 233, 307, 339, 342. Château Bellevue, 83, 114. Château Mouville, 56. Château Renardier, 196, 207, 354. Châtelet, Marquise de, 324. Châtelet, Quai du, 160 to end. Cavalry, African, 255. Cavalry, Bavarian, 140. Chevilly, village, 56; battle, 251, _seq._ Chivry, 318. Chizelles, Vicomte de, 32. Churches desecrated, 153. Colombier, M. and Mme., 353, _seq._ _Conscrit, Le_, incident resembling, 99. Corbeil, 312, 314. Coulmiers, battle, 191, 193, 209; visit to field, 353 _seq._ Crémieux, M., 231. D. D'Allaine, M., 217. _Débâcle, La_, accuracy of, 57. D'Iges, Isle of, 75, _seq._ Dilger, Martin, 181, 218, 309, 313. Donchery, village, 41. Douai, General, killed, 100. Douzy, village, burning of, 42. Ducrot, General, 48, 251. Dupanloup, Bishop, 289. E. Étampes, 154, 197, 338. Eugénie, Empress, 17. Euverte, Ste., Church of, 252, 273, _seq._; evacuated, 310. F. Failly de, General, 34. Flavigny, Count de, 29. Floing, Plain of, 39. Francs-Tireurs, 126, 177. Francs-Tireurs, American, 226. Frank, Dr., 26, 35, 55, 56, 115. Frazer, Captain, 232, 287. Frederick Charles, Prince, enters Orleans, 274-276. French: commissariat breaks down, 34; Marines, 46; also at Orleans, 228; bravery at Patay, 261; prisoners, 75; wounded, 81; miserable clothing, 212; want of physique, 214; imaginary victories, 248. Frénois, village, 40, 83. Fritz, Dr., 312. Fugitive peasants, 157. G. Gaillon, 124. Gambetta, M., 197, 217. Garde Nationale, 23. Garenne, Bois de, 53, 64, 67. Geneva Convention, 223. German: ambition, 276; treatment of French prisoners, 281; character and manners, 170; piety, 185. Giant, a Bavarian, 204, 274. Glenbane, 132. Gravelotte, battle of, 312. Gunboats on Loire, 229. H. Haveland, Major de, 305, 337. Hayden, Frank, 37, 60, 74, 77, 83, 112, 345, 347. Hewitt, Dr., 43, 68, 115, 118, 125, 145, 154. Hohenzollern, Prince of, 141. Holt White, Mr., 306. Horses, suffering of, 48, 74. Hospital: at Sedan, 39, 52-116; at Balan, 56; at Orleans railway, 162; invaded by townsfolk, 202; au Grand Marché, 217; at Caserne St. Charles, 2, 8; at Ste. Euverte, 273-310. Hozier, Colonel, 232, 287, 307. I. _Illustrated London News_, 89. Isle d'Iges, 75, _seq._ J. Jean the Turco, 116, 167, 339. Jeanne d'Arc, 160, 192. Jews, 314. Journalism, French, 248. L. Labouchère, M., 19, 21, 25. Lagny, 315, 323. Langenbeck, Prof., 286. Léopoldine, Soeur, 308, 339. Lévy, M. Michel, 14. Libramont, 118. Lille, 122. Lloyd-Lindsay, Col., 27, 143, 333. Loire, Army of the, 158, 254, 263. Lundon, Mr. W., 132. M. MacCormac, Dr. (now Sir W.), at Sedan, 47, 68, 70, 90, 97, 111, 115. Mackellar, Dr., 89, 145, 209, 224, 282. MacMahon, Marshal, 31, 83. Madeleine, La, 16, 28. Manners, French, 161; German, 148, 172. Mantes, 135, 138. Maps, requisitioned, 231. Marfée, Heights, 35, 41, _seq._ Marly, 140. May, Dr., 36, 47, 49, 71, 97, 99, 114, 245, 282, 340. McLoughlin, Miss, 89, 260. Mejonelle, Mr., 306. Melun, Vicomte de, 4, 8, 15, 16, 18, 20. Metz, 22; surrendered, 176, 188. Meuse, river, 37; bridge over, 84. Mézières, village, burnt, 139. Moltke, General, 147. Monod, M. Chaplain, 94. Mont Valérien, 140. Mouzon, village, 38. N. Napoléon III., 33, 38, 83. Neuville, 236; fighting at, 243, 251. Nicholl, Dr., 47, 115. Nihil, T., Fenian exile, 131. Nussbaum, Prof., 162, 340. O. O'Hanlon, Mme., 178. Olivet, 350. Orleans: march to, 154; entering, 158; in Quai du Châtelet, 160, _seq._; at railway, 162-215; Place Martroi, 168; state of siege, 172; shop windows, 172; Bavarians evacuate, 190; hospital invaded, 203; ambulance returns, 207; French enter, 210; French Marines arrive, 228; Ste. Euverte, 252; French retreat upon, 254; German assault, 263; street fighting, 269; surrendered, 270; Red Prince enters, 274; chronic hunger, 277; prisoners in cathedral, 279; Christmas Day at, 292; fined 600,000 francs, 311; evacuated by Germans, 349. Ostend, 4, 333. P. Paladine, General de, 197, _seq._ Paris, 11-25; siege of, 317. Parker, Dr., 95, 107, 115, 193, 202, 270, 312, 343, 347. Patay, battle, 251-260. Pauline, Mère, 307, 339. Peace, signed, 341. Pearson, Miss, 89, 260, 347. Peasants, 134. Peyen, Louis, 99, 101. Poniatowsky, Princess, 26. Pontoon bridge over Meuse, 84; over Loire, 277; burnt, 266. Pratt, Dr., 95, 115, 120, 137, 141, 151, 158, 161, 184, 226, 287, 311, 343. Prince Frederick Charles, 276. Prince of Hohenzollern, 141. Prince Pless, 141-3, 337. Prisoners at Orleans, 279. Property, rights of, in war, 137. Proust, M. and Mme., 274, 346-350, _seq._ Prussians, 35, 41, 123, 140, 276, 349. R. Raucourt, village, 35. Reilly, Colonel, 232. Renardier, Château de, 196, 207, 354. Rouen, 123. Rüdiger, 308. Russell, Dr., of the Times, 45. Ryan, Arthur (now Canon), 352; diary, 353, _seq._ Ryan, Dr. C. E., leaves Dublin, 3; at Paris, 10-30; joins Anglo-Americans, 27; arrives at Sedan, 31; first sight of Germans, 35; during 1st Sept., 1870, 43-59; goes over battlefield, 61, _seq._; at Isle d'Iges, 75; visits Bazeilles, 86; work in Caserne, 102; rides to Bouillon, 112; leaves Sedan, 116; goes to Brussels, 118; to Rouen, 123; in Seine Valley, 125; captured by Francs-Tireurs, 126; to Mantes, 134; sees fighting from Marly, 140; at Versailles, 141-150; marches to Orleans by Étampes, 153-160; enters to sound of cannon, 157; remarkable cases, 179; at battle of Chevilly, 195; visits that field, 352, _seq._; in French camp, 199; back to Orléans, 207; sees French enter, 213; at Neuville, 242; sees battle of Patay, 259; and French retreat across Loire, 264; and burning of bridge, 266; during assault on Orleans, 271; sees entry of Red Prince, 274; at Ste. Euverte, 252-310; night duties, 292, _seq._; leaves Orleans on furlough, 312; journeys home by Lagny, Strasburg, etc., 315-332; recalled, 333; loses papers in Seine Valley, 335; at Versailles, 336; in Orleans again, 339; falls ill of typhoid fever, 345; recovers and leaves Orleans, 351. S. Sailors, French, 46, 228, 261; German, 288. Schrenk, Captain, 177. Schroeder, Henry, 274, 285, 307, 343. Sedan, arrival at, 31; no surgeons or medical appliances, 38; defences, 39; battle, 43-53, _seq._; number of wounded, 53; field after the battle, 62-65; operations in hospital, 70, _seq._, 93; inhabitants shut up, 85; captured guns in Park, 101; ambulance leaves, 116. Seine Valley, 124, 336. Sentinels, French, 207; German, 230. Sheridan, General, 142. Sherwell, Dr., 89, 208, 311. Sims, Dr. Marion, 27, 28, 31, 70, 73, 94. Sims, Harry, 27. Soissons, 30. Soldiers' burials, 62. Southern exiles, 142. St. Aignan, Church, 350. St. Aubin, Louis, 45, 96, _seq._, 116. St. Cloud, burnt, 146. St. Germain, 139; forest of, 336. St. Pierre, village, 124. Ste. Euverte, 252, 273, 276, 291, 306, 310. Steel, General, 10. Strasburg, 328-330. T. Tann, Von der, his proclamation 174. Tilghman, Dr., 27, 36, 47, 184, 200, 209, 282. Torcy, gate of Sedan, 32. Trochu, General, 251. Turcos, 51, 212, 240. U. Uniforms, German, 169. Urbonouski, Mme., 145. V. Vercourt, M. de, 4, 330. Verdière, M. le, 20. Versailles, 145; the Château a hospital, 147, 287, 337. W. Walsh, Dr., 2. Warren, Dr., 89, 105, 193, 202, 253, 269, 342, 345, 347. Webb, Dr., 70. Weissenburg, battle of, 1, 50. William I., king and emperor, 147, 323. Wimpffen, General de, 34, 48. Wörth, 1, 50. Wounded, number at Sedan, 53; in hospital, 70-93. Wyman, Dr., 115. Z. Zouaves, 241. Zouave, Well of the, 90. * * * * * Transcriber's note: Obvious errors of punctuation and diacritical markings were corrected, although "Orleans" appeared frequently without the accent aigu and was not modified. Hyphen removed: "bomb[-]shells" (p. 317), "towns[-]people" (p. 152). The following words appear both with and without hyphens and have not been changed: "dead-house", "side-arms", "station-master's". P. 217: "Coulmier" changed to "Coulmiers". P. 229: "univeral" changed to "universal" (universal scramble of excited Frenchmen). P. 248: "befel" changed to "befell" (befell the French arms). Index: Many page numbers seem to be wrong but have been left as printed. Entry "Madelieie" changed to "Madeleine". Entry "Nihill" changed to "Nihil". Entries moved to their correct alphabetical positions: "Frénois, village" "Hayden, Frank" "Loire, Army of the" 
36945	----	A TATTER OF SCARLET A TATTER OF SCARLET ADVENTUROUS EPISODES OF THE COMMUNE IN THE MIDI 1871 BY S. R. CROCKETT SECOND EDITION HODDER AND STOUGHTON LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO _Printed in 1913_ CONTENTS PAGE CHAPTER I HOW THE TRICOLOUR CAME DOWN 1 CHAPTER II KITH AND KIN 9 CHAPTER III THE LAUNDRY DOOR 13 CHAPTER IV THROUGH THE ENEMY'S LINES 21 CHAPTER V THE DEVENTER GIRLS 30 CHAPTER VI AN OLD MAN MASTERFUL 34 CHAPTER VII OUR FIRST COMMUNARD 44 CHAPTER VIII I SEE THE SCARLET TATTER NEAR AT HAND 50 CHAPTER IX A REUNION OF THE REDS 57 CHAPTER X JEANNE'S VELVET EYES 65 CHAPTER XI HOW MEN SEE RED 73 CHAPTER XII "GOOD-BYE, RHODA POLLY" 78 CHAPTER XIII WE SEEK GARIBALDI 84 CHAPTER XIV "THE CHILDREN" 96 CHAPTER XV FIRST BLOOD 101 CHAPTER XVI THE COMING OF ALIDA 107 CHAPTER XVII A DESERT PRINCESS 117 CHAPTER XVIII THE PRINCESS COMMANDS 126 CHAPTER XIX KELLER BEY COMES TO ARAMON 132 CHAPTER XX I PLAY "THREE'S COMPANY" 138 CHAPTER XXI THE GOLDEN HEART OF RHODA POLLY 145 CHAPTER XXII IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 149 CHAPTER XXIII THE MISGIVINGS OF ALIDA 156 CHAPTER XXIV PEACE BEFORE STORM 169 CHAPTER XXV THE PROCLAMATION 175 CHAPTER XXVI KELLER BEY, INSURGENT 185 CHAPTER XXVII UNDER WHICH KING, BEZONIAN? 199 CHAPTER XXVIII STORM GATHERING 208 CHAPTER XXIX WITHIN THE PALE 216 CHAPTER XXX DEVIL'S TALK 226 CHAPTER XXXI THE BLACK BAND 233 CHAPTER XXXII "READY!" 239 CHAPTER XXXIII "HELL UPSIDE DOWN!" 251 CHAPTER XXXIV THE PASSING OF KELLER BEY 259 CHAPTER XXXV A CAPTAIN OF BRIGANDS 266 CHAPTER XXXVI LEFT-HANDED MATTHEW 273 CHAPTER XXXVII LOOT 284 CHAPTER XXXVIII THE LAST ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK BAND 291 CHAPTER XXXIX THE CONVERSION OF CHANOT 306 CHAPTER XL THE LAST OF THE "TATTER OF SCARLET" 312 A TATTER OF SCARLET CHAPTER I HOW THE TRICOLOUR CAME DOWN Deventer and I leaned on the parapet and watched the curious things which were happening in Aramon across the river. We were the biggest boys in the school and kept even the Seniors in awe, being "Les Anglais" to them--and so familiar with the "boxe"--though Deventer was an Irishman, and I, Angus Cawdor, a Scot of the Scots. We had explained the difference to them many times by arguments which may have temporarily persuaded some, but without in the least affecting the fixed French notion that all English-speaking people are of English race. Behind us circulated the usual menagerie-promenade of the "Grands," gabbling and whispering tremendous secrets in files of two and three. Hugh Deventer was a great hulk of a fellow who would take half a dozen French Seniors and rub their heads together if I told him, laughing loudly at their protestations as to loss of honour. He had been challenged several times to fight duels with small swords, but the Frenchmen had given that up now. For Deventer spat on his palms and pursued the seconds who came with the challenge round and round the playground till he caught and smacked them. Whereat he laughed again. His father was chief of the Small Arms Factory, which of late years had been added to the arsenal works of New Aramon opposite to us on the left bank of the Rhône. My own father was a clergyman, who for the sake of his health had retired to the dry sunny Rhône valley, and had settled in a green and white villa at Aramon because of the famous _lycée_ which was perched up on the heights of Aramon le Vieux. There was not much to distinguish Aramon the Old from Aramon the New, that is, from a distance. Both glowed out startingly white and delicately creamy between the burnished river and the flawless sapphire of the Provençal sky. It was still winter time by the calendar, but the sun beat on our bowed shoulders as we bent over the solid masonry of the breastwork, and the stones were hotter than in English dog-days as we plucked away our hands from it. Deventer and I looked across at the greater New Aramon where his father lived. It was the Aramon of shops and hotels and factories, while Aramon le Vieux, over which our great _lycée_ throned it like a glorified barracks, was a place of crumbling walls, ancient arcaded streets, twelfth-century palaces let as tenements, and all the interesting _débris_ of a historical city on the verges of Languedoc. Our French _lycéens_ were too used to all this beauty and antiquity to care anything about it, but we English did. We were left pretty much to ourselves on our rare days of liberty, and as the professors, and especially the _proviseur_, knew that we were to be trusted, we were allowed to poke about the old Languedocian outpost much as we pleased. It was the month of January, 1871. France was invaded, beaten, but not conquered; but here in the far South, though tongues wagged fiercely, in his heart the good bourgeois was glad to be out of it all. At any rate, the _lycée_ was carried on just as usual. Punishments were dealt out and tasks exacted. _Pions_ watched constantly over our unstable morals, and occasionally reported misdemeanours of a milder kind, not daring to make their position worse by revealing anything that really mattered. But, generally speaking, Aramon le Vieux dreamed away the hours, blinking in the sunshine. The war did not touch it save in the fierce clatter of _café_ dispute. Only in the forts that rose about the arsenal of the newer city opposite to us a feeble guard of artillery and linesmen lingered as a protection for the Small Arms Factory. For the new Paris Government was still far from stable, and some feared a renewal of the White Terror of 1815, and others the Red of the Commune of 1848. The workmen of the arsenal, hastily gathered from all quarters, were mostly sealed to the "Internationale," but it was supposed that the field-pieces in Fort St. André could easily account for any number of these hot-heads. Besides Hugh Deventer and I there were several other English boys, but they were still screeching like seagulls somewhere in the Lower School and so did not count, except when an anxious mamma besought us with tears in her voice to look after her darling, abandoned all day to his fate among these horrid French. To "look after" them Deventer and I could not do, but we gathered them into a sort of fives team, and organised a poor feckless game in the windowless angle of the refectory. We also got hockey sticks and bastinadoed their legs for their souls' good to the great marvel of the natives. Deventer had even been responsible for a trial of lacrosse, but good missionaries though we were, we made no French converts. The Juniors squealed like driven piglings when the ball came their way, while the Seniors preferred walking up and down their paved cattle-pen, interminably talking with linked arms and lips close to the ear of a chosen friend. Always one or two read as they walked alone, memorising fiercely against next Saturday's examination. The pariah _pion_ or outcast usher, a most unhappy out-at-elbows youth, was expected to keep us all under his eye, but we saw to it early that that eye passed leniently over Deventer and myself. Otherwise he counted for nothing. The War--the War--nothing but talk of the War came to our ears from the murmuring throng behind us. How "France has been betrayed." "How the new armies of the Third Republic would liberate Paris and sweep the Prussians back to Berlin. From every side brave patriots were even now closing in upon the beleaguered city. Ha, then the spiked helmets would see!" Still, a few facts grew more clear to us. At Lyons and Grenoble, Bourbaki was organising the army of the South-East. There came a sound from nowhere in particular that this army was to be joined and led by Garibaldi himself with thirty thousand of his red jackets from Italy. Deventer and I were immensely excited. We made plans for immediate invasion. We would fight for France and wear a red cardigan in the Foreign Legion. But the _Lycée_ St. André was well guarded, and so far no one had succeeded in escaping. I do not know that they tried very hard. They were French lads and brave--as many of them showed afterwards--but they were of the Midi, and even then the Midi was proverbially hard to budge. Not as in the North and East had the iron of the invasion entered the soul. The parapet upon which we leaned was of very ancient masonry, solid blocks laid clean and Cyclopean with very little visible cement. It had formed part of the defences of an ancient castle, long since overwhelmed by the college buildings, the materials of which had mostly been quarried from its imposing mass. Beneath us ran the Rhône in a fine, broad, half-mile-wide sweep, five or six miles an hour, yet save for the heaped hillocks of water about the bridge piers, and the swirl where the far bank curved over, as smooth as a mirror. Hugh Deventer and I had been talking of the great '61 campaign of Garibaldi in Sicily and through Naples--a thousand red-shirts and a kingdom in the dust! Ah, the glory of that time! But as we leaned and looked we fell silent. We saw Aramon the New opposite to us, as it were at our feet, across only that span of water. The factories were curiously silent, and from one fort after another darted the white spurt of smoke which meant artillery practice. We listened, knowing that in a little we should hear the report. _Boom! Boom! Rattle-rattle-chirr!_ Fighting--they were fighting in Aramon! Deventer's father would be in the thick of it. We looked and longed, but the way was closed. What could it be? Deventer knew that there were continually troubles between the operatives and the "masters," or rather the representatives of the masters of whom his father was the chief. The great _Compagnie d'Armes de Guerre Aramoise_ was not distinguished for generosity. The men were well lodged but poorly paid. In these war times they had been over-driven. So many hundreds of rifles to turn out daily--field artillery, too, and a new department to be set up for the manufacture of mitrailleuses. Outside, Dennis Deventer said little about the politics of the works, nothing at all to his son Hugh. We of the _lycée_ knew that France was already fairly evenly divided between true Republicans and those others who looked upon Gambetta's republic as a step to a monarchy or even the restoration of the Napoleons. The sons of functionaries mostly held the latter opinion. The scions of the aristocratic families of the neighbourhood, the old Whites of the Midi, prayed for the Bourbon flag and the coming of Henry V to his own again. So when we heard the ripple of musketry fire and the sullen boom of the artillery, Deventer and I supposed that a mutiny of sorts had broken out at the works, or that news had come from Paris of some sudden change of government. We were not far from the mark. There had been news from Paris and a mutiny had broken out. At any rate, they were fighting over in Aramon, and we must find out what it was all about. For the moment this was impossible for us. The cliff was too sheer on the side of our recreation ground. There were over many eyes upon us. We must wait for the night, and in the meantime Deventer could only sniff the battle from afar, and hold in the desire to set off and help his father. "The Dad doesn't want me," he said. "Of course, I know that. He would most likely tan me well for breaking bounds, but I can't bear being cooped up here doing silly mathematics when over yonder----But listen to them!" A patter of what might have been heavy rain on a tin roof came faintly to our ears. A little white cloud hung over the statue in the market square, and presently flung down devilish fingers earthward. We did not then know the signs of the explosion of shrapnel. By this time the school was crowding about us, as curious as ourselves. The bell clanged for classes to resume, but no one moved. The _pion_ screamed impotently in the rear. None took any notice, and the windows above were black with the gowns of the professors. Some thought that the noise was only the letting off of blasts in the Pierre de Montagne quarries, but it was pointed out that such explosions took place only at eight, one, and four, the hours when the men would be out of the quarries at their meals. Besides, the crackle of small fire was unaccounted for, and each moment it became more lively. Practice at the Chassepot factories? Very likely--but at human targets. Finally the college authorities caused discipline to prevail, and Deventer and I watched alone by the parapet. We had both passed our _bachot_, and were an honour to the college. So the strictness of rule and line was relaxed in our case. Our hearts beat, and in the instancy of our watch we would not have turned our heads if the _proviseur_ himself had been at our side. Presently we could see soldiers marching, the flash of bayonets, and groups of a dozen, as if pushed beyond their patience, turning and firing with rapid irregularity. All this in flashes of vision, mostly at the bridge-end, or at the intersection of two streets. Through the northern gate a kind of uncertain retreat began to dribble--the red breeches of the linesmen, the canter of the artillery horses attacking the hill, with stragglers here and there looking about for their regiments. Neither Deventer nor I knew enough to explain these things. "There are no Germans nearer than Toul or Besançon," he said, with a puzzled anxiety. The field guns answered him smartly. From all the houses about the northern gate a storm of rifle fire broke out. The soldiers on foot hastened their retreat. The artillerymen, better led or of firmer courage, faced about, and with one volley pitted the façades of the houses from which the attack had come. They withdrew regularly, covering the retreat of the infantry, and spat out their little devils' claws of shrapnel over every group which showed itself outside the wall. Slowly the soldiers passed out of sight. The artillery bucketed over the knolls of the Montagne of Aramon among the evergreen odoriferous plants and the faint traces of the last snow wreaths. There was nothing left for us to see now except the town of Aramon, its green and white houses sleeping in the sun, the tall chimney of the Small Arms Factory, now smokeless--and the broad Rhône sweeping grave and placid between them and us. Nevertheless we waited alone on the recreation ground, our heads a little dizzy. The swooning hum of the class-rooms awoke behind us, but we heeded not at all. We saw the tricolour of the Republic come down with a run from the tall flagstaff on Fort St. André, and presently, irregularly tugged, rising a few feet at a time, a red flag fluttered out, probably an improvised table-cover or bedspread. It flapped out bravely in the brisk breeze off the water. We had had our first glimpse of "The Tatter of Scarlet." CHAPTER II KITH AND KIN I don't think I troubled much about my father when I resolved to run away from the _Lycée_ St. André. He had, as I thought, never troubled much about me. Afterwards I found that I had been mistaken, but perhaps not more than most. For it is the rarest thing in the world to find a son entering upon life, able to do justice to his father's ideas and motives. Yet it was for my sake that he had given up the society of his fellow savants and had exiled himself to Aramon le Vieux, with only his books for company. At Nice, Mentone, or Cap Martin, the author of "The History and Growth of Italian Art" could have lived a great part of the year among kindred spirits, but because of me and St. André, he had shut himself up with his books and collections in the Villa Gobelet on the piney southern slopes of the long convent ridge, the summit of which was crowned by the immense acreage of rambling white masonry which constituted our _lycée_. My father, Gordon Cawdor, mixed freely enough with the engineers in New Aramon. But I knew very well that he endured rather than enjoyed their society. They talked of springs and hoppers, of pauls and recoil tampons, and my father sat with his gentle wise head nodding as if taking in each point. But he never spoke to them of his own work, and, excepting Deventer's father, there was not one who knew more about Italian art than a dim memory of a bad lithograph of Da Vinci's "Last Supper" could recall to him. Dennis Deventer, a tall dark grey man with the most mobile eyebrows I ever saw in my life, lives much in my early memories of my father's house. He seems now to have been always there, though of course he could really have come but seldom--a massive, slow-moving, swiftly scrutinising man, who bent shaggy eyebrows upon his son and myself, and in whose presence it was not good to make the easily forged excuses which served so well for my scholarly father. Hugh said that it was because he listened all day to excuses and explanations over at the Arms Factory, without believing any one of them. He had succeeded a manager who had been driven from Aramon because he was afraid of his men. But now the men, though they hated him as the representative of the Company, freely acknowledged his courage and austere justice. His house was the largest in New Aramon, and he had within it three daughters all verging on, or just overlapping early womanhood, besides a comfortable wife who purred her way contented and motherly through all domestic storms. She alone could tame her husband's furies. They sank before her eye, her husband changing obviously to all men's sight, his factory oaths silenced, his bullying temper visibly crumbling, and the man growing sweet and wholesome as newly ground meal. These were the two houses best known to me as a boy, and indeed to the edge of manhood. Judge ye which I liked the best? My father was a beautifully profiled Scottish minister of the old school, whom an unexpected fortune had enabled to follow his impulses in the matter of work. He had long ago retired from his parish, indeed before I could remember, and as I learned from his steadfast retainer, old Saunders McKie, immediately after the death of my mother. "Irongray Parish was no more for him, oh no," Saunders would say, sententiously pausing in the polishing of my father's silver shoe-buckles. "He laid down his wark as if he had been stricken. He never preached again, and his pulpit was silent for three whole weeks after her death. Assistants and siccan cattle werena sae common to come at then as now--when ye send a telegram in the morning, and the laddie is down on the six train wi' his baggie. So the elders juist read a portion, and sent down to the Cameronian meeting-house for a man fit to put up a prayer. We were Established, ye see, so the like was no to be expected o' _us_! "Eh, a broken man was your farther in thae days. He would wander from room to room, tak' down a book here, look at it a while and then put it up again with a muttered 'Tush' as if he could make nothing of it. I doubt if he so much as saw the print line by line, but all troubled-like, as one might through a green whorl of skylight glass. Then he would dawner into the room where you were lying, or maybe being fed, and at sight o' ye, the state that man would be in! "He could not get out o' the nursery quick enough, yet for all that he would be back within the hour." Saunders was a great standby. His humour jumped with mine far more nearly than my father's. This, too, in spite of the fact that I rarely saw him without calling down the vials of his wrath. My father seldom reproved me, never in anger, but Saunders, with the care of my young soul heavy on his Calvinistic conscience, laboured faithfully with me in season and out of season. One good he did me. He kept me from forgetting my Scottish tongue, and there was never a day that he did not supply me with some phrase sappy with mother wit and drowned in Scotland. "Aängus," he would say, "I kenna wha it is ye favour--nane o' your faither's folk at any rate--all chestnut-brown and quick as an eel. No wonder ye can tie knots in yoursel' at the parallel bars that were siccan a trouble to set up for ye to caper on, and your e'en like sloes after the first frosts. It's a gipsy ye are and no real Cawdor of all. Though they do say that the Cawdors have gipsy blood on the distaff side. At ony rate ye will never be the 'sponsible sober man your faither is." In spite of all this I stood high in the good graces of Saunders, and he would sometimes ask my father for the additional pocket-money which I dared not hint at myself. Saunders often wandered back into reminiscence of the time when he had been a jobbing stonemason on the Cromarty Firth, a companion of Hugh Miller's, and "the very deevil for raking the country." He had tramped scores of miles with Hugh Miller only for the sake of hearing him talk, yet I gathered that he had not believed a single word he had been told about the great fishes and curious monsters that once swam in the lakes of the Old Red Sandstone. "But I never telled him sae," he would conclude; "oh, no, Saunders kenned better. Hugh Miller was no doubt a wonderful genius, but at that time he was a man easily angered, and when roused, violent of his hands." So now I have sketched the school, and the several domestic surroundings which we proposed to leave behind us. I do not think that we thought much about these. I know that I did not, and I don't believe that Deventer did either--not, that is, till we saw the soldiers retreating from the barracks and forts of Aramon, and that little oblong blot of red in the sky which meant insurrection, and God only knew what of terror and destruction, fluttering in the brisk mistral wind from the tower on which we had so long seen the tricolour. At that time we had only the vaguest idea of what the Commune was, and none whatsoever of the new ideas of justice and equality which underlay that cumbrously ill-managed business. CHAPTER III THE LAUNDRY DOOR After a while Deventer and I went back to our joint study, where we essayed to do some work. But mostly we spoke apart, with lips that hardly moved, of our plans and all that lay in liberty-land beyond the walls. Deventer would go nowhere but to his father's house, and though I meant to end up with the red blouse of Garibaldi on my chest, I did not see how I could fail him at such a time. We had to wait till night, and the time was almost unendurably long. The lines in our text-books which our eyes followed did not bite upon our minds. We were thinking so hard of other things that philosophies slid aside impotent and discomfited. We began immediately to plan our escape, or at least I planned and Deventer, his great shaggy head on his hands and his eyes tight shut to concentrate thought, gave himself to the task of spotting the weak points. At the bottom of the junior promenade was a door which opened upon the river, and on the opposite side dwelt a man who owned a skiff. The elders of the upper school used to employ this man, Jules Rameau by name, to ferry them across as often as they had enough money for a secret supper at a cabaret in some shy street. But some ill-paid _pion_ must be bribed to allow the key to be "lifted" from the inside of his door. He must also take care to be in the deepest of sleep when it was returned. But this would not do for us. We were not coming back at all, and we could not allow any wretched usher to be sent about his business on our account. In our leisure time we had studied the whole of the ground plan of St. André. The school buildings occupied an enormous amount of space, far more than was needed for educational purposes. By sticking to it we made some astonishing discoveries. For instance, after passing through the kitchen, by descending a flight of steps which led to an unoccupied wing, where all sorts of educational rubbish had been accumulated--globes, wall-maps, ancient copy-books with headlines set by hand, and a good bust of the first Napoleon--we reached a clean-smelling, brightly lighted range of offices all set out with tubs, soap, boiling vats, and blue stains which ran over smooth boards. We had come upon the laundry of the college. On pegs, which ran all round, overalls were hung. There was even a shawl here and there, or a bonnet or two, as it were, flaunting their sex in this temple of the masculine virtues. Not Crusoe on his island was more astonished when he came on the footprint. For it was not known to any of us, not even to the _pions_, that a single feminine foot profaned any part of the _lycée_. But, whatever our surprise, it did not prevent us from locking the door and extracting the key of one of the range of exits which led out from the fixed washtubs upon the narrow drying ground, a terrace wholly invisible and unsuspected from our quarters on the opposite waterfront of the building. Of course, Deventer and I said nothing about our discovery. We did not want the whole upper school playing leap-frog through the kitchens, or telling lies as to their conquests among the laundry maids. It was possible that the lock of the door might be changed immediately, but we considered it more likely that the forewoman or caretaker in charge would say nothing at all about the loss, and trust to the key turning up. We thought the whole matter well over, and considered it probable that a gate in the wall would be left permanently open to facilitate the comings and goings of the workwomen in the early morning. Such an opening in the wall must lead immediately out upon the main road that wound circuitously up the hill, and by which all stores and provisions were brought to the porter's lodge. Then we made ready for the trip, laying out our most comfortable and inconspicuous town-going suits to take the place of the brass-buttoned _lycée_ uniform. With our door carefully locked, we raised a piece of the skirting board of our study and examined our store of arms, a couple of revolvers procured by Deventer in some vague inexplicable way at the works, three packets of ammunition apiece, and a couple of "surins," or long Apache knives--the use of which we had learned from the sous-préfet's son, a youth precondemned to the gallows, who before expulsion had sojourned an eventful and long-remembered three months at St. André. We profited by his instructions as to guards and undercuts by practising with models whittled in wood. This we were enabled to do in open playground by the simple expedient of calling the exercise legerdemain. Except what we could carry in our pockets, and the warlike accoutrement mentioned above, we left the whole of our property at the college. At the last minute Deventer packed away a Globe Shakespeare, and I found room for a limp Bagster Bible of small size, which my father had given me. The clatter of the bedward-driven flocks began to tramp past our study door. The hum of lesson preparation in the schoolrooms ceased. We carefully set our house in order, for it was time for our evening visit from Professor Renard. But he was called "Renard by Name and Renard by Nature" among the Juniors whose small deceits he had the knack of seeing through, even before the explanation was well under way. He was a Jesuit of the newer school, of an educated candour, which seemed natural to our young eyes, and a ready sympathy for our misdemeanours, which made him the most popular professor in the _lycée_ of St. André. He always tapped at our door before entering. He never listened nor made use of the information of the common school spy. These things counted for much. "Well, gentlemen," he said, as he came in and sat down in our one arm-chair, "you were too long on the terrace to-day to have a good report of your studies!" We convinced him to the contrary. For we had always gone on the principle that who does his work early and well has his way made plain for him, and in him a thousand things are overlooked for which a "slacker" would get himself jumped upon. After he had examined our exercises and approved of them, he looked up at us suddenly from under his overhanging brows. "You understood what the disturbance was about over there?" he demanded. "I knew," said Deventer, before I could stop him, "that if my father was left behind with his factories to look after, he would find himself mightily short-handed. He would have only the English staff to support him." "Ah," said Professor Renard, "you look at it from a personal point of view, as is natural. Your father----" "I have also a mother and sisters over there----" "I think I can promise that they will be safe whatever happens to your father. And you can trust to my judgment. By custom and training my class, the clergy of France, parochial and regular, are royalists. The fight over yonder was only tiger eating leopard. The reds of Gambetta's hue were chased out by the deeper scarlet of the Commune. Did you see that flag of theirs to-night, just before sunset? It glowed with the true hell-fire light." I had been in the habit of arguing in favour of the working men who were to constitute the brain and brawn of the Commune, but to-night I said nothing. Renard did not notice my silence, however, but continued his diatribe. "We have had Napoleons of victory and Napoleons of disaster--republics of guillotine and republics of veiled Cæsarism. And now we have a third which is a house divided against itself. Listen well, young men--the Bible speaks the truth--it cannot stand. Even now the time for its fall is almost come. The little financier Thiers will pay off the Germans from the chimney-corner hoards of the peasants. Oh, make no mistake, lads, we are beaten as a nation, because we have not obeyed God and His anointed king. The atheist Garibaldi, spoiler of churches and enemy of the Pope, will do nothing for France, except to widen the area over which the German flood will spread. Their armies of Rouen, of the Loire, and of the South-East are condemned in advance. It is as if the Lord of Hosts had said, 'I am against thee, O France! Thou wast once the eldest daughter of the Church. Now thou hast defiled thyself with the unbeliever, with the captains of Assyria, and art become a castaway.'" He seemed to recall himself. He was speaking as he did in the pulpit. The glow faded from his features. He smiled a little contemptuously at himself. "I am gabbling like a novice of the first year, and withal to a couple of Protestants," he said, getting up and extending his hands, one to each, as was his habit. "Forgive me!" Cramming our special themes into his pocket for after-consideration, he went downstairs with a heavy regular tread, and the noisy dormitories hushed at the sound. The Renard could not be taken in with the usual explanation that they had been reciting their prayers. Not till he was safe in his own room did the hum and clatter begin all over again. It was past midnight before we judged it prudent to begin our descent. Safe of course it was not, nor could ever be. In a school directed by clerical influences, supervision is personal and unceasing. The two of us owed our comparative immunity to our having passed our recent _baccalauréat_, and to having done honour to the college in the national examinations, but still more to the fact that we were English heretics, whose eternal damnation was assured beforehand, and whose lesser transgressions, therefore, mattered little, so long as they did not flaunt themselves before the pupils, devout, Catholic, and Roman. There was a faint sufficient light from the southern windows, for the moon was nearly full. The empty class-rooms smelt heavy and sour, and their doors stood open like the portholes of a battery, setting our hearts fluttering. We did not mean to let anything stand in the way of our purpose, but as we had been on good terms with the heads of the _lycée_ of St. André, we did not want any trouble now at the eleventh hour, or rather when for us the time was close on the stroke of twelve. We passed through the schoolrooms unchallenged. The dormitories were hushed and silent. We could see the dim light of the _pions'_ watch-candles under the doors. We considered that we had passed the zone of danger, and were hurrying forward with less precaution, when a light in the open door of the kitchen pulled us up all standing. I was lighter than Deventer, so I slipped my shoes and went forward on my stocking-soles to spy out the land. A "mitron," or cook-boy, was writing a letter to his sweetheart with incredible pains. He wrote with his hands, with his body, with the wrinkles on his brow, and the tongue which stuck out of his mouth, responsively vibrant as a compass-needle to the spirit of his composition. Here was a pretty pass. We must wait on this white-capped, dirty-aproned rascal who seemed in no hurry to finish his task. He had a file of feuilletons bound in brown paper before him, and he turned over the leaves of these in search of expressions which had pleased him, and which he now desired to appropriate. There seemed no end to his literary zeal, and if he was not hurried morning might come before we could get clear. Then I remembered that among Deventer's accomplishments was that of being able to imitate the wheezy asthmatic breathing and hollow cough of the _proviseur_. So I sent him back with instructions to carry out his imitation at the foot of the kitchen stairs. At the first wheeze and accompanying shuffle of a hand on the smooth wooden stair-rail, out went the "mitron's" candle. I could hear him gathering up his home-bound books of feuilletons, and whisking away his letter paper. I drew back as close to the wall as possible, for I suspected he would pass my way in order to reach his bedroom. I was no more than in time, for he stumbled over my foot, which had been carelessly thrust forward into the passage way. He did not stop to inquire into this, probably thinking that someone had put out their shoes to be cleaned in the morning. It was a narrow escape, for if it had chanced to be the boot-boy instead of an amorous 'prentice-cook we might not have escaped so easily. Deventer and I crossed the kitchen quickly. The wick of the "mitron's" candle was still smoking red, as we stole down the corkscrew stair which led to the laundry. Everything here smelt strongly of damp clothes and lye, but somewhere a window was open, for the current of air was pronounced, and suggested possible alternative if the lock of our door had been changed. But in this we were fortunate. The key which I had carried so long in the inner pocket of my jacket turned easily. The door swung noiselessly inwards, and the clean breath of the salt breeze from the Camargue marshes made our faces pleasantly chill and our lips sticky. We locked the door on the outside, and in another minute stood in the roadway, looking back at the great ghostly pile of the Palace of the Monks--as Louis the XIV had called it, when he cut down the plans so that it should not rival in dimensions that "abyss of expenditure" which was Versailles. But it was no time to stand sentimentalising upon architecture. We turned and went down the vacant white road as fast as our legs would serve us. CHAPTER IV THROUGH THE ENEMY'S LINES "Halt there!" cried Deventer suddenly to me. We were passing a pleasant white and green villa with a light in one ground-floor window. I stopped, and Deventer took me by the arm, with forceful compulsion. "I am going to help _my_ father," he whispered. "Don't you run off without telling yours what you mean to do. He can't prevent you, if you have made your mind up." "He won't try--he will only be glad to get back to his books." "Perhaps, but at any rate tell him yourself. He will like it better than when the hue and cry gets up to-morrow over yonder. You take my word for it, Angus Cawdor." I did not want to go, for at that time I did not understand nor much like my father. But Deventer said that if I would not walk he would carry me, a threat which at any other time would have made me smile. However, to please him I walked carefully to the window. With his habitual thoughtlessness about external things, the sash swung a little open and the light air blew the curtains back. My father was sitting like a student, with a shawl over his knees, a quite necessary fire of olive roots smouldering on the andirons, and his head, shining and silvery, bent over a book in which he was making notes. I did not wish to startle him, so I spoke in English, and in as commonplace a tone as I could muster. "Father," I said, as if my calling hours were the most ordinary in the world, "will you come across to the window for a moment?" He rose instantly and came over to the open window, one half of which I had pushed wide. The note-book was still in his hand, and the breeze ruffled its leaves so that he shut and clasped it. "Why, Angus, where do you come from?" he said. "Is it late? Won't you come in? Are you on your way back to college?" "No, father," I said; "I ought to be, but I have made up my mind to go to the war. I have had enough of learning, and examinations disgust me even when I come out first." He looked at me long and quietly, and then nodded his head. "I know--I know," he said, "it is the riot in the blood. I do not say that you do wrong to go, but you will need some money. I have a few hundred francs by me for which I have no use. They will not come amiss. Let me see--six, seven, eight hundred and fifty. Does Deventer go with you?" "He is waiting on the road below." "I thought as much--well, bid him good luck from me, and now good night, and God be with you, boy! Get your wild-oat sowing done as soon as possible and come back. You will find me waiting for you. You and I will do something yet." My father coughed a little in the draught through the open window, whereupon I made haste to be gone. The movement was purely unconscious, yet it was just such slight things that kept me such a long while from understanding my father. He seemed to be so careful for himself in little matters of health, that he had no care to spare for me, his only son, and this thought, I am ashamed to say, I carried away with me, even while my fingers caressed the eight hundred and fifty francs nestling safely in my breeches pocket. On the road I found Deventer waiting for me. "Well," he said, "I see you are glad you went?" "Yes," I answered, "eight hundred and fifty francs glad, but the old man hurried up my going, because the open window made a draught that irritated his cough." Deventer did not answer directly. "My governor thinks a lot of yours!" he said, and left the reproach to sink in. The which it did, all the more because _I_ thought a lot of Deventer's father, and was presently to think more and better. We took our road between the rows of sleeping houses, alternately black in shadow and mildly radiant under the moon. Not a light showed anywhere, not even in the _auberge_, with the huge branch stuck over the door in token of the excellence of the wine served out within. A vagrant cat or two, a baying dog spasmodically darting in and out of an alley-way, alone took note of our bygoing. The crowning buildings of the _lycée_ on the Convent Ridge showed up massive and almost martial among the dark pines. Then, after a sprinkle of villas, we struck the close-packed town with the clean water from the Gardon river prattling in the sewers at either side of every street. Aramon was one of the towns of the Midi (now rare) where they had not forgotten ancient Roman lessons as to the value of running water. As we descended the flat plain the river-meadow came up to meet us. We crossed the market-place among the splotched trunks of the plane trees, and turned along the quay of the great canal of the Little Rhône. Barges in long lines and solid tiers occupied it from end to end, and on each of these was a dog. So that we passed through a chorus of yelping curs, till the massive pillars of the great suspension bridge rose stark and marble-white in the moonlight. On the Old Aramon side the _douanier_ was asleep in his little creeper-covered cabin. We saw his head pillowed on his crossed arms as he bent over the table, and a smoking tallow candle guttered low at his elbow. Along the wide quadruple track of the bridge, stretched like the taut string of a bow for half a mile ahead of us, we saw nothing except the glistening planks underfoot, and overhead the mighty webbing of chains. But as we were stepping down the little descent which leads into the newer town of Aramon-les-Ateliers, we found our way suddenly barred. A couple of fellows, not much older than ourselves, suddenly sprang out of the shadows, and set shining bayonets to our breasts, demanding at the same time where we came from and whither we were going. It had been arranged between us previously that in any difficulty Deventer was to let me do the talking. Somehow he did not tell his lies with conviction, at least not yet. I gave our names, and said that we were runaway Seniors from the _lycée_ on the hill, on our way to enlist with the red-shirts of Garibaldi. I think that on hearing this one of the youths would have let us go on our way, but the younger, a cautious lad, spoke out in favour of taking us to head-quarters. "What! And leave the bridge unguarded!" cried his companion. "Either shoot them out of hand, say I, or let them go on to seek their Garibaldi. They wear the red as well as we. We have heard of his army at Dijon, but his son is recruiting at Orange, so your tramp will be so much the shorter." Finally they permitted us to pass after a whispered consultation, but the younger put several questions to us to prove whether we really came from the college or not--what days certain meats were served, the names of the lay brothers, the woodman, the _ramoneur_ or sweep, with personal details of several others. These we answered promptly, and to his apparent satisfaction. He knew much about the _lycée_, but we could not place him. His smooth face was hidden under a great Biscayan bonnet with red tassel, and his common speech was probably assumed. They directed us to follow the outer boulevard which skirted the town, and which should bring us to the Avignon gate without our needing to enter Aramon at all. The younger drew out a small box filled with inkpads and brass _tampons_, with which he stamped an order that would permit us to pass the opposite gate without annoyance. Naturally we took the road between the scant white poplars, as it had been indicated to us, and stuck to it faithfully so long as we were in sight of the post at the bridge-end. Then, at a particularly dark corner where the blank gable of a workshop loomed up to meet the overhanging flange of a fitting-shed, Deventer, who was now on his own ground, slid suddenly aside, and was lost in a devious track along which I had hard work to follow him. I could see his big figure, black against the glimmer of white-washed walls. I stumbled over anvils and heavy gearing scattered about, among which Deventer steered his way with the crafty experience and dainty serenity of a night-raking cat. From this labyrinth we emerged on innumerable tiny little gardens, with the stubs of cabbages and a few trenches of early vegetables for sole contents. Rickety cane hedges leaning over at every angle surrounded these, and Deventer pushed his way through them with the silent expertness of an Indian on the trail. Soon we came out on a wide park which was surrounded by a high wall. Deventer made directly for this. He struck it at a spot where a tree had thrust a sturdy limb through a fissure. The crack had been mended with plaster, but perhaps from curiosity, perhaps owing to carelessness, the branch of the tree had been allowed to go on growing. It was easy to swing oneself upon it and so gain the top of the wall. Deventer and I had made a good straight rush from cover, and flattered ourselves that we should be able to mount unnoticed, but a patter of bullets went buzzing like bees over our heads, while others buried themselves with a sullen "spat" which threw up little fountains of black leaf-mould in the ground at the foot of the wall. None, however, came our way, and the next moment Deventer and I were crouching among the lean spiky laurels and green-bedripped statues of his father's garden. "They are besieged," he whispered; "we must be careful. We are not inside yet, and you may be sure they will shoot quite as readily as the insurgent jacks behind there, and with better aim too. Dad kept the English and Americans on the ranges every evening all last summer." It was I who had the idea this time. "Lend me your lantern and I will Morse them a message." "The sentinel may not be able to read it off." "No, but he will bring someone who can. At any rate let us try." We established ourselves in an old summer-house at the edge of a pond, with a foolishly rustic door which opened straight upon the front of the house. Our light would be seen only by someone on the balconies, or at the windows of the upper floors. It was entirely dark, of course, but Deventer had no doubt that his father was there with all his faithful forces, "keeping his end up like a good old fighting Derryman," as his son expressed it. "Hugh--Deventer--and--his--friend--Cawdor-are--down--here. Answer--by--Morse--by--which--door--they--can--enter--the--house." I had Morsed this message three times before any notice was taken from within, and I had begun to give up hope. There must be nobody inside Château Schneider, as the place was called. But Deventer was far more hopeful. "They have gone to waken my father," he whispered. "You see, they daren't do anything in these parts without the old bird. He is quite a different man from the one you saw poking about among your father's books, or drinking in his wisdom. Here he makes people do things. Try her again." It was tedious work, but I flashed the whole message over again, according to the Morse code. This time the reply came back short and sweet. "What--the--devil--are--you--doing--there?" "That's Dad," said Hugh Deventer triumphantly. "Now we shall catch it." I answered that having seen the soldiers retreat, we had come to help. "Did--anybody--send--word--that--you--were--wanted?" twinkled the point of fire somewhere high among the chimney-stacks on the roof. These were a rarity in a district where one chimney for a house is counted a good average, but after one winter's experience of the windy Rhône valley, Dennis Deventer had refused to be done out of an open fireplace in every room. Now he reaped the fruit of his labours, for in summer he had sat behind his low wall and taken the air of an evening, and now it needed little to convert the chimney-stacks on the flat roof of his house into reliable defences. It was difficult to say in slow Morse alphabetage what we were doing down in the old summer-house, but at least I managed to convey that we had run the insurgent pickets and were in danger of being captured. We got our reply quickly enough. "Hugh--knows--the--door--under--the--main-outer--staircase." "Of course," said Hugh, "I always went in that way when my feet were dirty. Come on!" And we hurried across the sward, keeping between a sundial and fountain-basin railed about, into which half a dozen copper frogs sent each a thin thrill of water, with a sound quite unexpectedly cheerful and domestic thus heard in the darkness of the night. This time there was no clatter of firing behind us. The sharpshooters of the insurrectionaries had learned a lesson of caution near the house of the manager of the Small Arms Factory. Dennis Deventer had been training his assistants and lieutenants the whole year at movable butts. He had rigged up a defile of six men-shaped figures which passed in front of a firing party, or, bent forward in the attitude of men running, dashed one by one across the men's field of vision as they lay at the firing line. Hugh Deventer and I took for our goal the great double flight of steps, broad as a couple of carriage ways, which in the style of the Adams architecture united in front of a debased Corinthian portico at the height of the first floor windows of the Château. "What, Jack Jaikes!" cried Hugh to the grinning young man who opened the door for us. "Aye, just Jack Jaikes same as yesterday, and eh, but the chief is going to leather ye properly afore he sends ye back to school." "But we are not going to school any more!" "Maybe not--maybe not, but in this house we mostly go by what the master says. 'Tis more comfortable like all round. Eh, but ye have come in time to be leathered proper. If the lads of the Internationale yonder had been brisk at the firing ye might have gotten off, but as it is the auld man has nothing better to do than attend to ye on the spot!" This made me a little uncomfortable as to our reception, but Deventer did not seem greatly disturbed. "You tell me where my sisters are, and then go and find somebody else who will believe your lies, Jack Jaikes!" The dark young man with the large hands grinned still more. "Where should the three young ladies be at this time of night but in their beds? Go and take your dose, young gentlemen. No use stopping to think it over. In an hour, maybe, the worst of the sting will be by with--and at any rate there are sofas in the parlour!" "Get out, Jack Jaikes! Hannah and Liz may be in bed, but I warrant that Rhoda Polly is somewhere on the look-out with a gun ready." "Correct!" admitted Jaikes, with a chuckle. "I saw her at the window just over this old stone staircase a minute before t'owd man shouted the order for me to let you in." "Come on then, Cawdor," Hugh cried; "let's find Rhoda Polly!" He ran upstairs as fast as he could, anxious to find his sister before having the first interview with his father. For though he knew that Jack Jaikes had been lying, he could not be sure on what basis of fact so much imagination reposed. And then there was the message flashed from behind the chimney-pots, "Did anyone send you word that you were to come?" "You did not want to go and see your father," he whispered, as we stood close together, panting in the dark of the second landing. "You came away with well on a thousand francs in your pocket--got without asking, too. I run a thousand dangers to see my father, and all I am likely to get is a hiding." The moon was lighting up one side of the landing, and showing where mattresses and corn-sacks had been used to block the windows damaged by rifle fire. The house was wonderfully still, astonishingly so when one thought how many people were in it on the alert. But we must have made more noise than we had supposed in coming up the stairs, for as we stood here out of breath with the speed of our rush, a voice came calmly from the shadows by the window curtains. "Come over here, Hugh--and you, Angus Cawdor--I am Rhoda Polly." CHAPTER V THE DEVENTER GIRLS I suppose this is as good a place as any to bring in and explain the daughters of the house of Deventer. I had known them ever since I could remember. First as "kids" to be properly despised, then as long-legged, short-skirted, undistinguishable entities, useful at fielding, but remarkably bad at throwing in to the wicket. During our long stay at the _lycée_ these creatures had been at schools of their own. Their hair had gradually darkened and lengthened, so that it could be more easily tugged. It had been gathered up and arranged about their heads at a period which synchronised with the lengthening of their skirts, and the complete retirement of the ankles which had once been so freely whacked with hockey sticks and even (I regret to say) kicked at football practice. There was no great difference in age between the girls. They might have been triplets, but denied the accusation fiercely and unanimously, with more of personal feeling than seemed necessary. Often as court of last appeal the arbitration of their mother had to be referred to. In her gentle cooing voice she would give the names of the various medical men who had ushered them into the world. These were settled in various mineralogical centres. "There was Doctor Laidlaw of Coatbridge. He was Rhoda Polly's. A fine sharp man was Doctor Laidlaw, sandy-whiskered, but given to profane swearing. Not that he ever swore in _my_ presence, but he had the name for it among the colliers and ironworkers." "It's from him," insinuated Hugh, "that Rhoda Polly gets her vocabulary." "That's as it may be," his mother would reply patiently, her thoughts travelling before her to pick out number two. "Let me see. For Hannah I had Doctor Butterworth--Tom Butterworth of Barrow-in-Furness--and of all the upsetting conceited creatures on this earth, commend me to Tom. Tom-Show-a-Leg he was called, because he came to the balls in knee-breeches and silk stockings. But for all that I will never deny that he did his duty by Hannah, though at times I had my own adoes to keep Dennis from heaving him out of the window. "And there was Liz, poor thing. She had to put up with a 'locum' at Herbestal, in Belgium, before your father came here. There was not an English doctor in the place, but it made no great difference, for Madame Batyer was wiser than a whole college of doctors, and I will always think that beginning to be used to the language so soon has improved Liz's French accent!" Obviously it was impossible for me during my salad days to escape from falling in love with one or other of these three pretty girls. I solved the question by falling in love with all three in turns, the rotation of crops being determined chiefly by whose vacations coincided with mine. This bred no jealousies, for the girls were large-minded, and at that time a sweetheart more or less had no particular significance for them. Rhoda Polly was the learned one; she had been to college at Selborne, and still retained in speech and manner something Oxonian and aloof. But really she was gentle and humble-minded, eager with sympathy, and only shy because afraid of proffering it where it was not wanted. Rhoda Polly was a creamy blonde with abundant rippling hair, clearly cut small features, and the most sensitive of mouths. Yet she was full of the most unselfish courage, ready for long smiling endurances, and with that unusual feminine silence which enables a woman to keep her griefs to herself and even to deceive others into thinking she has none. Did anyone want anything, Rhoda Polly would find it. Had two tickets only been sent for the theatre, Rhoda Polly would not mind staying at home. Rhoda Polly never minded anything. She did not cry half the afternoon like Hannah over a spoilt dress, nor fall into any of Liz's miniature rages. She was Rhoda Polly, and everybody depended upon her. The girls confided in her largely, and never expected her to have any secrets of her own for truck, barter, or exchange. Hannah had been delicate always--or at least had been so considered by her mother. Her character had been formed between her mother's favour and her elder sister's habit of giving way rather than face an argument. She was dark and slender, placidly sure of being always right, and of looking best in a large picture hat with a raven plume. Hannah had been sent to school near Lausanne, which was kept by the daughter of the famous Froebel, assisted by a relative of the still more famous Pestalozzi. An English lady was in residence at the Pestalozzi-Froebel Institute, to teach the pupils the aristocratic manners, so rare and necessary an accomplishment in a country where the President of the Republic returns from his high office to put on his grocer's apron, and goes on weighing out pounds of tea at the counter of the old shop which had been his father's before him. Liz was all dimples and easy manners, the plaything of the house. She knew she could do no wrong, so long as she went on opening wide her eyes of myosotis blue, now purring and now scratching like a kitten; she would often dart away for no reason whatever, only to come back a minute after, having apparently forgotten the cause of her brusque disappearance. She was accordingly a good deal spoilt, not only by the young engineers who frequented the Château Schneider, but by her parents and sisters as well. One of the former, asked the reason of a decided preference for Liz, declared that it was because she could never be mistaken for a French convent-bred girl. It was pointed out to him that the same might be said for the other two, but he stuck to his point. Rhoda Polly with her Oxford manner of condescending to undergraduates, and Hannah with the Pestalozzi Institute refinements, might speak and look as if they had a duenna hidden in the background, but Liz--never! She was more likely to box somebody's ears. CHAPTER VI AN OLD MAN MASTERFUL Deventer and I came upon Rhoda Polly while we were getting our breath after the rush upstairs. We were old friends, and Rhoda Polly did not even put aside her rifle to greet us. "Come from school without leave--run away--good!" she exclaimed. "Have you made it all right with father?" "Not yet--that is--the fact is---we thought you might as well come along with us, Rhoda Polly." "You think there will be a storm, Hugh?" "Sure of it, but at least you can tell the Pater that Cawdor here is no prodigal. He comes with his father's blessing and a whole pile of paper money." "Father is among his entrenchments on the roof," said the girl; "better wait till he comes down. He is never quite himself when he is up there and the wind is blowing. Now tell me what made you run away?" "We are going to enlist among Garibaldi's volunteers, and fight for France--at least that's what Cawdor says. But I mean to stay here till all is safe for mother and you." At this moment Rhoda Polly nudged us. There was a sound of heavy decided footsteps grating on the steel ladder which led to the roof, then a thump and the noise of feet stamping on the floor above us. "He has been lying behind the chimney till he is stiff," whispered Rhoda Polly. "Give him time to limber himself." For a minute all was quiet along the Potomac, and then a mighty voice was heard demanding "those two young rascals." Deventer's smile was somewhat forced, and it might only have been the moonlight, but he certainly looked both sick and white about the gills. I was not greatly affected, but then I had not had his discipline. My case and credit were clear. All the same, it was obvious that the Dennis Deventer who captained his forces against the insurgents within the walls of Château Schneider, and the seeker after knowledge who prowled about my father's library or listened modestly to his interminable expositions, were very different persons. "Better not keep him waiting," said Rhoda Polly. "I will take you. He has a room for himself fitted up on the third floor." At the opening of the door we saw a long table covered with guns and revolvers, each ready to the hand, while behind the centre ran a continuous mountain range of ammunition in packets of gay-coloured green, red, and yellow. "What's all this, boys?" said Dennis Deventer gruffly, as soon as he caught sight of us. "Now, you Rhoda Polly, hold your tongue! You are not put up to tell their story. Come--out with it. What is it?" He thrust his hands through his crisping mane of hair with quick, nervous movements. "Come, get it into word, Master Hugh Deventer. You were put to do your duty at school. Why didn't you stay put?" Hugh Deventer had a difficulty about articulation. He was bold and brave really, besides being extraordinarily strong of body, but something in the tones of his father's voice seemed to make all these qualities, which I had seen proved so often, of no use to him. I looked at Rhoda Polly, and, to my amazement, even she appeared a little anxious. I began vaguely to understand the difference among parents, and to realise that with a father of the calibre of the Old Man Masterful I might have turned out a very different sort of son. Finally Deventer managed to stammer out his account of the retreat of the troops and the hoisting of the Red Flag. "I knew that they would be besieging you," he said, "so I came. I could not stop there doing mathematics, hearing the shots go off, and thinking what might be happening to my mother and the girls!" I could see in a moment that he had taken good ground with his father. The strong muscular hands were laid flat on the table, with a loud clap which made the pistols spring. "You did pretty well in your examinations--they tell me?" "Second--Cawdor was first. He coached me, or I should never have got within smelling distance. As it was we halved the honours, and were asked to dine with the _proviseur_ and professors when we got back." "You look a perfect ox for strength. Let me see if you can lift this table without disturbing anything." Deventer smiled for the first time, and after trying about for a little time so as to find the proper centre of gravity, he lifted the table, guns, ammunition and all, holding them with flexible arm on the level of his father's eyes. I think he was perfectly happy at that moment. Old Dennis did not smile like his son. He only nodded, and said, "Yes, you may be useful. Can you shoot?" "Fairly," Deventer admitted, "but not so well as Cawdor; and you should just see him send the Frenchmen's foils twirling to the roof of the gymnasium. He has fought three duels, Pater, and won every time. Even the Frenchmen could not deny it!" "Gilt-edged nonsense--duelling," old Dennis broke out, "though your grandfather was out a score of times in County Down in his day. But what do you do when the Frenchmen challenge you?" "Oh," cried Hugh gleefully, "I just chase them or their seconds till I catch them, and then I spank them till they agree that honour is satisfied. Generally by that time they are crying with rage, but that does not matter. However, they mostly let me alone now." "Well done, Hugh," said his father; "have something to eat, and then come up and find me on the roof. We ought to have something lively to amuse you before the morning. By the way, Cawdor, what does your father say to all this?" Deventer forestalled me, for he was anxious that I should say nothing about the draught from the window or my father's sending me off. "His father sent him along with his blessing, and eight hundred and fifty francs." "Well," rapped out the old man with the mane of grey hair, "you can keep the blessing, but I will take care of the money for you." And with that he held out his hand. Quite instinctively I gave it to him, without thinking what I was doing. Then, the next moment, I regretted the act and strove to undo it. I remembered muttering something about fighting for France and joining the levies of Garibaldi, when I should need all the money I could get. But old Dennis calmly locked my banknotes away in his safe, and assured me that I might 'list if I liked, but that it would be a downright fool's trick to carry about so much money among a parcel of Italians. He would send it on to me as I wanted it--twenty francs at a time. I could pick it up as I went, either at a bank, or from a correspondent of the Small Arms firm. Once left to ourselves, Rhoda Polly seemed to think that we had come rather well out of the scrape. "But it was Cawdor being there that saved you," said Rhoda Polly. "Father got so keen about Angus not spending his father's money, that he forgot about you. Now, you have only to run straight and do as you are bid----" "Do you think I shall be able to go with Cawdor when this simmers down? I want to wear the red blouse as much as he does." "As to that I don't know," said Rhoda Polly. "I don't believe he took it that you wanted to go soldiering as well. He means to put you into the works--fair field--no favour--up at five in the morning, breakfast in a tin can--that sort of thing--and as for Garibaldi's red jackets, he will sell them guns, but I rather fancy he will keep his son at home." "Well," said Deventer, "I shall be ready for the works all in good time, but if Cawdor goes off with Garibaldi, I go. I could not stay behind. Nor could even the Pater keep me. He would not chain me to a wall, and----" "At any rate," broke in the watchful Rhoda Polly, "here you are now, and the better you please the commander-in-chief the better chance there will be for you afterwards when the time comes. I shall do what I can for you, Hugh." "Thanks, old girl," said Deventer. "Where are Hannah and Liz?" "Where should they be but in bed, where, of course, I ought to be also. Only I have a dispensation to get what sleep I can in the daytime. I can see in the dark better than anyone in the house. I saw them gathering for the attack under the shadow of the pines on Thursday night, an hour after the moon had gone down. The Pater said it was a near shave, and spoke about my 'high-power vision' as if it were an attachment he had had fitted before I was born." The defence of the Château was undertaken by the entire English-speaking colony of Aramon. The wives and children of the overseers and foremen were lodged in the rooms looking on the inner quadrangle, but took their meals in the great hall floored with many-coloured marbles. Their husbands and the younger unmarried men looked in occasionally when they could get off, ate what snacks stood handy on the sideboard and disappeared. It was their duty to keep a watch over the workshops of the Company, and on the roof of the stables were half a dozen mitrailleuses ready to sweep the open square which lay out flat as a billiard-board beneath the windows of the Château Schneider, surrounded by workshops and storehouses on every side. But a far more dangerous task was the raid through the ateliers themselves, which Dennis Deventer ordered to be made at irregular intervals. "The divils would be breaking up the Company's machinery if I did not keep all their little plans in the back of my head. And that's none so easy, young Cawdor, for mark me this, 'tis easy to keep track of what a clever man will imagine to do. You have only to think what you would do yourself in his place. But you never know where ignorant stupid fools will break out, and that's the danger of it, Angus me lad!" "But," I said, "they cannot all be such fools, for with my own eyes I saw them send the regular soldiers to the rightabout." "The regular soldiers--raw levies mostly, I tell you," burst out old Dennis fiercely. "I should know, for I armed them man by man out of my own gun-sheds and rifle-racks. And I tell ye that beyond a few instruction sergeants from the artillery, there was divil a man among them who could point a chassepot or lay a piece. Our noisy revolutionaries simply frightened them out of the town, and if it had not been for our little stock company here, the biggest manufacturing arsenal in France would have been in their hands. Even as it is they have found enough rifles to arm themselves, but so far we have saved the mitrailleuses and the field artillery. The deputation which came from Marseilles did not go away very much the richer." "But what is it that they want, sir?" I asked. Dennis Deventer looked at me straight between the eyes. "They want what they ought to have, Angus me boy, and what they should have, if I were not a servant of the Small Arms Company." I was taken aback at his answer, though I had heard something like it from my father. But in his case I had taken it for mere poetry or philosophy, and so thought no more about it. But a man like Dennis Deventer, who was fighting these very insurgents--why, I tell you it was a curious thing to listen to, and made me wonder if I had heard aright. The old man continued, his bold blue eyes looking straight over my shoulder as if he saw something beyond me. "You ask me why in that case I am fighting men who are in the right? Right is right, and wrong is wrong, you say. But bide a moment, Master Angus. I agree that these poor devils should have better wages, shorter hours, and a chance to lead the lives of human beings. I agree that at least half of the net profits we make ought to go to the men who made every penny. The proportion would not be too large. I should be willing that my own share should be cut down to help this along. But, also, Angus me lad, I know that murder and arson are not the best way for men to get their rights. General insurrection is still worse. They have tried to kill me, who am their best friend. That is nothing. It belongs to the business of manager. It is one of our risks. But they have also tried to break the machinery and to set fire to the buildings. They would burn Aramon if they could--they are so ill-advised. And what for? Only to find themselves left stranded without work or wages. "This is a flea-bite," he went on. "I defend the Château because of my wife and daughters. But the business began when the men saw the masters flaunting their riches, entertaining the Emperor and Empress at the cost of millions on the very day when processes were being served from door to door of the rows of cottages belonging to the Company. A man may burn his hand or hurt his foot, but he must by no means get behind with his rent. If we had not laid a dozen firebrands by the heels without troubling the police, blood would have been shed in Aramon that day of the Imperial reception." Dennis Deventer had spoken with such determination and cold anger, that it took me with a new surprise to see him spring like a boy up the steel ladder on to the roof in answer to some call unheard by me. Rhoda Polly followed, and Hugh and I did not stay behind. Rhoda Polly gave us both a hand. "Mind your feet," she whispered, "there are all sorts of things scattered about." I could hear the voice of Dennis Deventer somewhere in the darkness. The stars were still keen and bright, though the morning of the Midi was nigh to the breaking. "Clear machine-guns three, four, and six," he ordered. "Train them on the doors of the fitting-shed. There are lights over yonder I don't like, and I can sniff the paraffin in the air!" Deventer and I stood quite still with Rhoda Polly between us. Neither of us knew what to do. We had received no word of command, and what we had just heard had somehow dislocated our simple world of duty. We had imagined all the right to be on one side, all the wrong on the other. Now quite unexpectedly we saw the "tatter of scarlet" from a new angle. Its colour heightened till it glowed like a ruby. After all it stood for an idea--the ideal even which had brought us from school, and sent us on our wild-goose chase for Garibaldi. The weak were to be supported against the strong. Perhaps, after all, those who had been long driven to the wall were at last to hold the crown of the causeway. Meanwhile, peering into the night we could see the dark masses of men clustering about the street corners of Aramon. The stars were paling a little when we saw them suddenly bunch together and run towards the long tiled roofs of the fitting-sheds, filled with valuable new machinery. Lanterns winked and tossed as they went, torches flamed high, and there came to our ears a kind of smothered cheer. "Are you there, Jack Jaikes?" "Here, sir." "Aim well in front of them, and let them have it as soon as they get close to the buildings. The ricochet from the walls will scare them as well as anything else." There was no hesitation in the Old Man's fighting dispositions, whatever he might think privately of the men's cause. He would protect his master's property, and point out in the most practical way to the men that they were going the wrong way about to get their wrongs redressed. "B-r-r-r! B-r-r-r!" whirred and spluttered the mitrailleuses. These first machine-guns made a curious noise like the explosion of many sulphur matches held one after the other over a lamp chimney. The effect, however, was wonderful. The black rush of men checked itself a score of paces from the fitting-sheds. Several fell to the ground, with a clatter of spilt petroleum cans, but the most turned tail and ran as hard as possible for the shelter of the streets and the trees along the boulevards. One man only, very broad in the shoulders, bareheaded and belted with a red sash, kept on. He was carrying a torch dipped with tar, and this he thrust repeatedly under the doorway of the atelier. "Give me Number 27, quick!" commanded Dennis Deventer. "I know who that man is, and I am sorry, but he must be stopped." Jack Jaikes placed the rifle in the old man's hand, and everybody held their breaths. The lintel of the fitting-shed protected the fire-raiser a little. We could see him thrusting with his torch till the sparks and smoke almost enveloped him. Then he threw down the torch and ran heavily back. He took hold of the first jar of petroleum which had been abandoned in the flight, and was hastening back with it when Number 27 spoke. The man appeared to gather himself up. Then he made a spring forwards, spilling the oil in a gush in the direction of the smouldering torch. But there came no answering burst of flame. The distance was too great. Dennis watched a moment after reloading, then shook his head gloomily. "He was a good workman too--yet that does not help a man when once the maggot begins to gnaw underneath the brain pan." The next day broke fresh and bright, with only that faint touch of Camargue mist which the sun dissolves in his first quarter of an hour. From the roof and northern balcony we could hear a curious thudding sound in the direction of the moulding-works. "The steam hammer," said Jack Jaikes; "pity we did not think to put her out of gear." When he came down the chief listened a moment with his better ear turned towards the sound. Then he smiled ironically. "They are trying to get a big field-gun ready for us. Luckily we have sent off the last we had in store. But they can't do it. At least they can't do it in time. There are good workmen and capital fitters among them, but who is to do their calculations?" "No matter," grumbled Jack Jaikes, half to himself, "they will go by rule of thumb, and though their gun would not pass army tests, they will make it big enough and strong enough to drive a solid shell in at one side of this house and out at the other." At that moment the girls came down for breakfast, and there was no more talk about the insurgents, or the state of siege at Château Schneider. CHAPTER VII OUR FIRST COMMUNARD Hannah and Liz Deventer came in arm and arm. Hannah grave and sweet, with her air of taking admiration for granted and being rather bored by it; Liz dimpled and glancing from one to the other, deciding which of the young men would best serve her for cavalier that day. As for Rhoda Polly she had been in and out of the room for an hour, enforcing authority in the kitchen, rousing new courage in frightened servants whom only her example and abounding vitality shamed into remaining at their duty. Dennis Deventer did not appear. Jack Jaikes came down presently and carried him up a pot of strong coffee and some rolls. Most of us hardly made even a pretence of sitting down, so eager were we to get back to our posts, but Hugh Deventer and a young apprentice, Laurent, the son of an English mother and a French father, stayed to keep the two younger girls company. As for me, I followed Rhoda Polly out upon the roof. There I cleaned her rifle for her carefully, while she sat and watched me, her chin upon her palms. We were both quite comfortably hidden behind the stack of north-looking chimneys. Rhoda Polly had always been a friend of mine, and there was no false shame between us, any more than between two college comrades of the same age and standing. In quickly lapsing phrases she told me how the trouble had begun. "It was," she said, "altogether a political matter at first. It had to do with the position of Procureur of the Republic, held by young Gaston Cremieux of Marseilles. He had been appointed by Gambetta in September, in the war year. But he was a 'red' and belonged to the Internationale, so that the solid people of the department, royalists for the most part, set about to try and dislodge him. He used to come often to our house, and he and father sat long arguing. I think we all liked him. He had great influence with the men up at the works, and so long as he was permitted to speak to them and go to their reunions, we had no trouble. "But when Gambetta lost his power, and Thiers became dictator, or president, or something, Gaston Cremieux could not long remain Procureur. They stripped him of his office, and gave it to a dry-as-dust lawyer who did as the military tribunals bade him." I put a question here. "No," continued Rhoda Polly, with a flash of indignation, "if you knew my father better, you would know that he does not shelter himself behind anyone. Still, Cremieux was undoubtedly a help. My father can explain better than I can, but the men down here wanted to make our department a sovereign state like the American ones--New York, Massachusetts, Ohio, and so on." "But," said I, "over there they have just fought a long and bloody war for the purpose of proving that no state is sovereign, but each must be subordinate to the central authority at Washington." "Well, I don't know," said Rhoda Polly, "at least, that was the idea of these people down here, and I suppose all over France wherever there are many workmen. The peasants and agriculturists are different. They want only two things: low taxes and high prices." Rhoda Polly was swinging herself back and forward on the low parapet which ran round the roof in so careless a fashion, that I begged her to take care that she did not lose her balance. At my words she stopped, cast a glance behind her, was instantly brought to her feet by what she saw, and ran towards the steel ladder crying, "It is Gaston Cremieux. I must let him in." I went to the parapet holding the cleaned gun idly in my hand. A tall young man, with dark hair and a slight pointed beard, was coming straight across from the head-quarters of the insurgents. He walked easily and with a confident swing up the wide Stair of Honour which led to the front door. Before he had reached the top the bolts were already shooting from within, and the door soon stood open; for Rhoda Polly had gathered in Jack Jaikes on her way, to help in undoing the intricate barrage and strengthening of the defence. I am not sure that Jack Jaikes looked with much favour upon the welcome which Rhoda Polly gave to the young ex-Procureur of the Republic, but the lady knew well what she was about. In losing his office he had neither lost in influence nor authority, and she knew that if anyone could help to end the strife, it was this polite and deferential young man. "I have been over at Nîmes seeing the family of my friend Rossel," he explained. "I heard there was some trouble at the works, so I took Aramon-les-Ateliers on my way back to Marseilles." "That was good of you," said Rhoda Polly, "if anyone can set things right, you can. You know what my father thinks, and what he has done for the men, but he will not have the firm's machinery tampered with if he can help it." Gaston Cremieux nodded his head of crisp black curls. "_I_ understand," he said; "but there are men over yonder who cannot understand the uprightness of a man like your father. Worse still, they cannot believe that he wishes them well, just because he is a manager in the pay of the Company. He must on that very account be their enemy, they say, and they remain blind to the fact that he alone can put their needs and demands before the masters." "Come up and see my father," said the girl, and without waiting for any word of consent, she turned and led the way, flitting before him with the lithe grace learned in the gymnasia of Selborne College. Some minutes afterwards I encountered Jack Jaikes who had returned from re-bolting and restrengthening the door. "If I could break that young scoundrel's neck I would be doing some good. He is at the bottom of all this trouble. I went to one of his speechifyings to see what he was after, and he led them like a flock of lambs. He was preaching revolt and red revolution, so far as I could make out--the works to belong to the workers and such-like clotted nonsense--and now Rhoda Polly receives him like an angel from heaven, and up they go to throw dust in the eyes of the old man. If I had my way of it--_augh_!" And here Jack Jaikes turned away snorting to express the suddenness and certainty with which he would regulate the case of ex-Procureur Gaston Cremieux, if the matter were left in his hands. On the roof another view was being taken. I heard the details from Hugh Deventer, who at this time was constantly with his father, now that he had been forgiven and, as it were, taken back into the general scheme of things as conceived by Dennis Deventer. "Rhoda Polly brought him up" (so ran his narrative), "and it was like watching a hen with a new brood of chickens to see the pair of them. Rhoda Polly is like that. She was quite sure that she had found the specific remedy for all our woes, so she could hardly let the man speak at first, so anxious was she that he should say the right thing. "She kept at it interrupting so long, that at last the Pater, who was not specially patient just then, told her to go away and let them talk it out in peace. And that is pretty strong from the Pater to Rhoda Polly, for mostly he encourages her to say and do just what she likes. She is not like the others. There is nothing of the mother's-apron-string-girl about Rhoda Polly. She likes running about the works in a dirty blouse much better than sitting all day, with embroidery on her knee, listening to mother purring. "As for Cremieux and my father, they understood each other from the first. It was wonderful to find how much they had in common. And he will help to stop the rioting. He says he will not go away from Aramon till the men are back at work. Cremieux's opinion is that these sporadic risings do no good, even when run on the best lines, without personal violence or destruction of property. To succeed, the thing must be a national movement, concerted and directed from each one of the great towns, otherwise the bourgeois government merely waits till its feet are free elsewhere, and then tramples out one by one all the little revolts." At that moment Deventer caught me by the arm. "Hold hard," he whispered, "here he comes with the Chief. I declare they are as thick as thieves, and yet in an hour he may be leading the rascals over yonder to burn down the Château." The restless eyes of Dennis Deventer spied me out. "Ah, Angus me boy," he hailed, "come this way. You two ought to know one another. This is our philosopher's son from Gobelet, who has run away from college to take service under Garibaldi." "If he casts his eyes in that direction," said the dark young man, smiling, "I can find him more profitable work nearer home." "Come, none of your proselytising on my ground!" said Dennis Deventer, laying a heavy hand on his companion's shoulder. "If he chooses to go and get a bullet in him for the sake of France, that is his own affair. But I will not have him mixed up in your little revolutions about which he knows nothing at all." "But I will teach him. He is intelligent--of a fine race--it is such men we need. Let me speak to him, I beg." But Dennis Deventer would listen to nothing. He pushed his visitor out of the hall, laughing and shaking his head good-humouredly. "Take anyone you like from my rank and file," he said, "but leave my staff officers alone." But I did not forget that tall, grave young man, who talked so earnestly and pleaded so strongly for a chance to teach me the wisdom of insurrection. CHAPTER VIII I SEE THE SCARLET TATTER NEAR AT HAND I might have thought much more about Gaston Cremieux and the dark fatality of his eyes, if other things had not immediately distracted my attention. The garrison had had its noon dinner in the great hall, and at one o'clock the family were served in the fine red and gold dining-room, the furnishings of which had been the gift of the Emperor. Dennis Deventer sat at the top of the table with the gleeful air of having dispatched the business of the day. There was a feeling of picnic unceremoniousness about the feast. The servants were somewhat thinned by flight, and as there was no hard-and-fast etiquette in Dennis Deventer's house on any occasion, several of the younger apprentice engineers assisted in the service, partly from a general feeling of loyalty, and partly because they liked to steal glances at the three Deventer girls--glances of which only Liz appeared conscious and or in any way prompt with a return fire. Even Jack Jaikes, a dark figure of a Spanish hidalgo, in engineer's blue serge and pockets continually bulging with spanners, looked in and said with brusque courtesy: "Anything I can do for you, Chief?" "Nothing," said Dennis Deventer, over his shoulder, "except to come in and sit down with us." "Thank you, Chief," answered Jaikes, "but I have dined already. I am watching the rascals from the roof. They have gone away for a while to their 'speak-house,' where doubtless they are talking over the matter. But it will not do to trust to appearances. I wish you would let me run that live wire from the big dynamo in the power-house. That would curl them up by the score if they tried any more of their rushes." Dennis Deventer turned on him savagely, the carving-knife in hand and upheld threateningly. "You pirate," he cried, "do as I tell you, and if I hear of your meddling with the wires I will blow your brains out. Don't you see that we have got to go on living here, and the men we have to work the factory with are the fellows out in the brush yonder? They will try to kill us now, but they will not bear any lasting malice if a few of them are bowled over while we are defending ourselves. But electrocution by a live wire is a different thing. They can't fight us with those weapons, and I am not going to have our lives made impossible by any wholesale scientific butchery." Jack Jaikes held his ground in the doorway, his thin body flattened against the panels to let the hurrying servants and apprentices pass. "I don't know about 'scientific butchery,'" he said, "but I do know that some one of them is pretty handy with the trick of short-circuiting our new Gramme armature. It wasn't any garlic-smelling 'Gugusse' who worked that out. I have put it right three times, so I know it was no accident. But at any rate I am going to watch, if I have to slink about the dynamo-sheds all night. I shall carry the new Henry thirteen repeater I had from Edinburgh yesterday, and if I don't touch up that other gang of scientific ruffians my name is not Jack Jaikes, and I never smelt the good Clyde water from the Broomielaw." Having thus had the last word, he shouldered his notable new Henry rifle and strode off with his head in the air. "Bit of buccaneer blood in that fellow," said Dennis Deventer, "a hard horse to hold in sober times, but deuced dependable in an emergency. Hates the Frenchmen, however, and does not get on with them. Mostly I have to keep him on special duty, or in the office, though he is a capital engineer, and a capital 'driver' with Englishmen or Scots of his own breed who understand him. But if he is not careful he will get something for himself one of these days--a knife between the shoulder-blades as like as not." Gentle Mrs. Dennis had her lament to make. "I wish you would give him to me to look after. He can do almost anything. He mended my spare sewing-machine which has not worked for years, and made the missing parts himself. I believe some of them were given to Liz to play with when she was a little girl, and I have never seen them since." "By all means have Jack Jaikes to tinker at your embroidery frames--that is, if you can tame him. For myself I do not see him in the rôle of family emergency man. But you must wait till we get the things all fixed here and the shops running handily. Then I dare say it may be just as well for Jaikes to eclipse himself for a day or two. If you can persuade him to spend his time in the Château without coming into the works till things cool off a bit, it will be best for all of us. He will not find himself exactly popular for a while." "Of course I can, Dennis," said his wife, who never doubted her powers of persuasion. "There are hundreds of things that need to be done, and the girls and I can easily find him work for a year. The place is going to rack and ruin. High or low hardly a bolt will slide. Not a door will lock except the outer ones which you yourself have had looked to recently. What do you say, girls?" "It is quite true, father," said Rhoda Polly. "I was trying to get Hugh to do some little things down in the kitchen yesterday, but whatever they teach him up at St. André, to make himself useful is certainly not among them. He was as dense as a French plum-pudding, and I had far more idea of how to handle a tool, for all he is older and twice my size." Both Hannah and Liz agreed that there was a decided missionary call for the assistance of Jack Jaikes in the Château as soon as possible. Something in the tone of his youngest daughter touched Dennis Deventer's educated ear. He looked up sharply from his plate. "Now, Liz," he said, "I will have no nonsense of _that_ kind!" Liz blushed and dimpled, but kept her eyes well on her knife and fork without a word. But there was a smile which lurked about the corners of her mouth which said that her father, though a wise and masterful man in his own house, could not control what was in the mind of a young girl. It was a family tradition that at table Dennis Deventer should not be argued with. Their mother might say inconsequent things in her purring fashion, but only Rhoda Polly was allowed to stand up to their Old Man. Even she rarely interfered, except in case of flagrant injustice or misunderstanding, or when the subject matter under discussion had been agreed upon beforehand in the family conclave. In Liz's case Rhoda Polly judged there was no cause to interfere. It had become too much Liz's habit to count all males coming to the house as "her meat," hardly excluding the halt, the maimed, and the blind. If her father had noticed this growing peculiarity, he had done so "off his own bat," and on the whole it was a good thing. The knowledge that she was under suspicion at head-quarters might do something to keep Liz within bounds. At least if she did get tangled up in her own snares, she would not have the face to go to their father for pity or demands for disentanglement. Rhoda Polly hoped that this would put some of the iron which was in her own blood into that of her more temperamental and impulsive younger sister. The turmoil, the constant clatter of knives, forks, and plates, the discussion which swayed from one side of the table to the other, the well-worn family jests, which, because I held no key to their origin, shut me out from the shouts of merriment they provoked--all produced on me a feeling of dazed isolation. I liked the Deventers singly, especially Rhoda Polly and her father. I could talk to each with ease and an honest eye to my own profit or amusement. But I will not hide it from you that I found the entire Deventer family, taken together, too much for me. I think I inherit my father's feeling for a "twa-handed crack" as the only genuine method of intercourse among reasoning beings. More than three in a conversation only serves to darken counsel by words without knowledge. In a company of four my father is reduced to complete silence, unless, indeed, he assumes his gown professorial and simply prelects. In this way alone, and on condition that nobody says a word, my father could be induced to give forth of his wisdom in company. But a sympathetic touch on the shoulder from Rhoda Polly, one of whose peculiarities was that she understood things without being told, delivered me from my awkwardness. "I don't think you have been here since we all grew up," she said, with a smile. "We _are_ rather _assommant_, I admit. We stun people with our trick of throwing ourselves at each other's heads. But you will soon get used to the clamour. Meantime, if I were you, I should go out and walk in the acacia avenue. It is a good place to be quiet in, and I have it in my mind that you may learn something there"--she paused a moment--"something that will take the taste of Jack Jaikes' threatenings and slaughters out of your mouth." She had moved back her chair a little so as to let me slip out, and then with a nod and half-smile she launched herself into the fiercest of the fray. So keen was challenge and _réplique_ just at that moment that I was outside the fine old tapestried dining-room without being perceived by anyone. I ran downstairs and reported to the sentinel on duty at the front door. I told him that I did not feel well and was going to take the air. He asked if I had my revolvers with me, and was only pacified at sight of them. He had gone often with messages from the Chief to my father at Gobelet, and so took an interest in me. I skirted the house, and was just plunging into a belt of woodland through which I could gain the acacia walk without being seen, when I was hailed from the roof by Jack Jaikes. He wanted to know where I was going, and what I was going to do when I got there. Instead of being rude and obvious I made him the reply which I knew would baffle him. "Ask Rhoda Polly!" I said, and he swore aloud. If he had not been safe on the roof he would have come after me at once. As it was I advised him that he had as much responsibility as one man could safely shoulder, and that he would do wisely not to fret about me. With that I waved my hand and stepped into the thickest of the bushes. The little wood ran round an artificial lake, and was prolonged right to the great wall of the Château policies half a mile away. It was the part of the grounds most distant from the works, and from what might be called the centre of disturbance. I climbed a young but good-sized plane which overtopped the wall. It had been pollarded, and the step from the tree to the top of the wall was rather a long one. I managed it, however, without difficulty, thanks to the bough of an acacia which came swaying and trembling over from the highway beyond. The next moment I had dropped like a cat out of the acacia boughs into the road. A young man was sitting on a fallen tree trunk, pensively smoking a cigarette, his hat pulled low on his brow, and his eyes on the road. I had no chance to escape his notice, for the sound of my feet attracted him and he looked up at once. He rose smilingly and held out his hand. It was Gaston Cremieux. CHAPTER IX A REUNION OF THE REDS "Did Rhoda Polly send you?" Cremieux asked, though I am sure he knew. "She bade me come here, saying that perhaps I might learn something to my advantage." He looked at me queerly, and with a shade of suspicion which I quite misunderstood. "Then I may take it that she does not mean to come herself?" "I am sure she has not the least idea of that. She was in the very thick of a discussion upon the possibility of factories and ateliers being run entirely by working men. The whole family had taken sides, and when I came away I expected every moment to see them leap at each other's throats." "They are extraordinary, but quite admirable," he said, throwing away his cigarette and rising. "We cannot breed anything of the kind in France. Our spirit of family discipline forbids it. We have the cult of ancestor worship as in China, only we do not get farther back than father and mother. It is mainly the mother who leads the young men of France. We have them among us too, these good mothers, women who teach their sons to fight to the death for the great Day of Freedom. But they are scarce. Our women are still under the heel of the priesthood, and the young men, though they may follow us, still keep the inmost corner of their hearts for their mothers; and one day when we most want them, we may find them missing at roll-call. His mother cannot bear that her son should be outcast and accursed. He need not go to Mass, but if he will only see her favourite priest a moment in secret, she is sure that he will stay at home with her. Like you, Rossel is a Protestant and has not this to put up with. He is now in Metz with Bazaine, but he will return, and then you and the world will see a man." I asked him what the men meant to do, and if he thought he could not prevent further fighting and burning. Before he had time to answer a bell began clanging furiously in the town. "That is the signal," he said; "the Commune of Aramon is to meet in general assembly. Will you come? You will be quite safe with me, even though I am going to make them very angry. And besides, as Rhoda Polly says, you will learn something to your advantage." "Do you think she meant that?" I asked. "Ah, you may go far and look long before you find out all that is in Rhoda Polly's mind, but at any rate I suppose she meant that you would be safe with me, and might hear a few things that are not included in the curriculum of the _Lycée_ St. André." We took our way towards the clanging bell, and it had the weirdest effect as we topped a knoll, where the noise came so fierce and angry as to put a stop to our conversation. Anon descending into deep dells out of which the pines shot straight upwards like darts, sheer trunks for a hundred feet before the first branch was poised delicately outwards as if to grasp the light, we lost the sound of the rebellious tocsin, or it came to our ears soft as the Angelus floated over the fields to a worshipping peasantry in days that were yet of faith. But Gaston Cremieux kept on his way without paying much notice to the woodland sights about him. His colour rose, and his shoulders were bent forward with a certain eagerness. The bell seemed to be calling him, and I doubt not he was thinking of the responsibility of guiding aright these darkened souls. His convictions, his aspirations were theirs. But their volcanic outbursts of destructive energy, sudden, spiteful, and inexplicable, vexed and troubled him. Yet the reason plainly was that they had been hurt by those in authority over them, and they struck back as naturally and instinctively as bees fly out to sting when their hive is overturned. That the affair is partly an accident does not matter either to bee or workman. Presently we began to pass little villas--"Mon Plaisir," "Mont Dore," and "Château des Roses." The mountain path among the pines began to widen into a made road, and to carry traces of wheelmarks. My leader quickened his pace, and after a few minutes of threading our way among the houses of New Aramon, we turned aside and entered a wide space in the centre of which was a hall roofed with corrugated iron. Doors wide and high as those of a barn stood open, and in the interior we could see many people, men and women, already seated on rude benches. There were also groups outside, but these were mostly younger men, sullen-faced and furtive of eye. To me it seemed as if they regarded my companion with no favourable looks. Several had been wounded in the fighting, and now carried bandaged arms or white-wrapped heads. Somehow I knew at once that this was the dangerous element, and I knew that the whirring machine guns behind which glanced the pitiless eye of Jack Jaikes, had had something to say to them. Outwardly the Reunion of the Reds had nothing to distinguish it from other political gatherings in the Midi. Indeed the type had been struck out in the earlier pre-Robespierre period of the great Revolution, improved upon in 1830 and 1848, and had now imposed itself even upon the anarchists. A president was appointed, who had his pair of vice-presidents and a couple of secretaries to prepare a report of the proceedings exactly as you may find described in Mirabeau's _Courier de Provence_. The Hall of the People at Aramon had been an old riding-school in the days before Solferino, when the scheming Emperor was hotly preparing for his campaign across the Milanese plains. It was now a rather dimly lighted, well-ventilated meeting-place, with a clean light-varnished platform in front for speakers, and behind a broader space on which cane chairs had been set out for the "assessors"--as we would say "members of committee." These were being filled as we entered the hall. Names were called out, and sturdy fathers of families rose from beside their spouses to tramp up to the "assessors" chairs, not without a certain conscious dignity as citizens whose worth was unexpectedly made apparent to all men. I have seen the same expression since on the faces of men pressed to become members of a municipality, or even a village council, and I suppose Cabinet Ministers look like that when the new Prime Minister hints at the object of his visit. The entrance of Gaston Cremieux called forth a kind of shrill cheer, but the Latin races had not at that time learned the full-bodied roar which greets and encourages a favourite orator in England or America. I was seated at the right of the speaker's platform, and a little behind in shadow--which was as well, for there I could see without being seen. And what I saw astonished me. There were nearly a couple of thousand people in the riding-school by the time that Gaston Cremieux had shaken hands with the President and taken his seat. The iron galleries which ran round contained the younger people, many girls and their sweethearts, while at the far end were a score or two of long-limbed fellows clustered together--probably day labourers whose dusky tints and clustering black curls indicated their Italian origin. So long as the great doors remained open, I could see outside the restless hither and thither of the young men who had scowled at us as we came into the court. It was not long before the President and Bureau of Workmen of the Ateliers des Armes at Aramon declared that this properly called and constituted general meeting was open. It was evident that some of the elder men were ready enough to speak, and a grave-faced grey-headed man rose to make his way towards the speaker's platform. But long before he reached the _estrade_, it had already been taken possession of by a young man with a shaggy head and wild beady eyes. This was Georges Barrès, a moulder in the new big gun factory. He had but recently arrived from St. Etienne, and had instantly become a notable firebrand. The speech into which he plunged was a fierce denunciation of the masters and managers, through which ran the assertion that all property was theft. The workers, therefore, were justified in redressing their wrongs with the strong hand, and he and his companions would see to it that they did not die of starvation with so many rich and fine houses all about them. As for Monsieur Deventer and his English vermin of overseers, they must be killed out like rats. Only so would the town be purified. Only so would their dead comrades be avenged, and a solid foundation be laid for the Free Commune in which the works and all within them, the profits and everything included in the year's trading, should belong absolutely to the workers. There was some applause from the groups that had gathered in, ceasing their rapid caged-wolf sentry-go to hear their leader. But for the most part the meeting sat silent and unresponsive. At a nod from the chairman a sturdy mechanician rose. He was an "assembler," or skilled workman, who takes the parts of the gun as they are sent in from the various departments, and then with file, saw, and sandpaper, but especially by the wisdom of the eye, "assembles" them into one complete weapon such as can be issued to fill the orders of the Government. Père Félix was a man much regarded in Aramon les Ateliers, and a silence followed his taking of the speaker's place. He was in no hurry to begin. He knew his power and the worth of his opinion, and was determined to conduct himself with the restraint and gravity which he demanded from his audience. Père Félix opened by a word as to the speaker who had preceded him on the rostrum. Comrade Barrès had spoken (he said) with an earnestness which would have been noble if it had been allied with wisdom. But of course their companion laboured under the double disadvantage of being a foreigner himself, a Spaniard from Catalonia, and of knowing nothing about the district. The Englishmen who were to be killed like rats had been for the most part of them friends and neighbours ever since the works were opened, and in any case for a much longer period than Comrade Barrès had spent in France. Besides, like themselves, they were men with wives and families. They had aided each other in sickness, their wives had interchanged kindlinesses, their children had played together--why should they be doomed to a slaughter of the innocents worse than that of Bethlehem? As for Director Deventer, he had defended himself when he was attacked in his own house as every man has a right to do. And what was the use of founding an Internationale in Aramon to bring about universal peace if its first action was to send men sneaking forth under cloud of night to kill women and children? Blood had been shed and he regretted it, but the lesson learned was a useful one, bitter in the mouth, but sweet in the belly. When Gaston Cremieux rose to give an account of his mission he was received with a storm of applause, but the young men at the back, clustered near the door, were conspicuously silent. But lately Cremieux had been their idol, and would be so again; but for the moment he was under deep suspicion, and they stood sullenly glowering at him, occasionally murmuring to each other the accusations so typical of men of Latin race, when their idol does not exactly fulfil their expectations. Gaston was a traitor. He had sold himself. So much was evident to them, though as usual it was difficult to see who would have money or interest to buy the traitor to the Cause. But after all there is something communicative in the thunderous applause of a great assembly, and many of those who had come to hoot were readiest with their cheers before Cremieux had uttered a score of sentences. He spoke rather slowly, with marked emphasis, and repeated each point of his argument in different words till he had firmly impressed his meaning on his audience. Yes, he had seen the manager. He had talked with him on the subject of their grievances, and he knew that so far as the power lay with Monsieur Dennis Deventer, their demands would be granted. Moreover, the Director would use what influence he had with the Government to prevent reprisals for the expulsion of the garrison from the town on the 21st of January. They, on their side, must return as good workmen to take up their jobs. Nothing would be said. No man would suffer for the past, and pay on the higher scale would begin from the day they started work. "And the comrades who died fighting, what of them?" The question came bitter and scornful from the back of the hall, deep under the shadow of the gallery. "What of them?" answered Gaston Cremieux calmly. "Well, we are all travelling the same road. We shall all end the same. They a little earlier, I a little later. We are not making revolution by sprinkling rosewater. From the beginning your Aramon outbreak was a mistake, as all such things done in a corner must be. When the bells ring for that august Twilight of the Newer Gods, you must waste no time storming through the streets of Aramon, shooting and destroying. You must go in mass to the railway, requisition trains, get yourselves instantly transported to Marseilles, to Lyons, or to Paris. There your brothers will have formed governments which your disciplined bayonets must sustain. Then, having established a firm rule over the big towns, the submission of the rural districts is only a matter of time. "But," he added, with slow emphasis, "we can only succeed by being sure of our comrades. They must wait for the signal, and the signal may not be long in coming." He concluded with a moving picture of the new Heavens and earth which would arise when the workman was made part owner of his factory, and when wars were no longer made by kings and emperors against the will of the people--a glad peaceful world, well ordered, well content, and without poverty. It was very noble and very convincing, delivered with a kind of austere fire strange in one so young and fragile. The people shouted for "Gaston" as if he had been a son of each of their houses. The motherly women shed tears, and I heard prayers spoken aloud that this and that saint, or more especially the Holy Virgin, should protect him. There was no doubt at all that he carried the meeting with him. The works of Aramon would be reopened next day, and the director's terms would be accepted. This was the sense of the meeting as interpreted by the President. It was put to the vote and carried unanimously, but the sullen young men under the gallery had already opened the doors and passed silently out. I could see them resuming their wolf's prowl in little packs of four or five, keeping quite distinct from the decent burgesses who had so lately filled the body of the riding-school, and were now pouring towards their homes in Aramon in dense black streams. CHAPTER X JEANNE'S VELVET EYES "These are our potential Troppmanns," said Gaston Cremieux, as we passed through the grounds of the riding-school. "We must not blame them too much. It is partly our fault. We have taken their religion from them, and they have not yet enough moral sense to balance the loss. They have learned at our meetings and conferences that they have not come to their own, and they want to break their way to immediate wealth and independence by the stroke of their own hands. All they can see is that the rich have pleasures from which they are shut out--wine, women, and feasting chiefly. This orgy of their imaginations heats the blood so that the younger of them have come to think such things the only good. The schoolmasters also are to blame. They have not instructed them in noble thoughts and duties. The Church which has let them slip without effort is to blame. But we of the liberating societies are most to blame, for we have given them nothing to replace the Catechism they learned, and the mystic trappings of that religion in which we have taught them not to believe. Hence they are our Troppmanns in haste to be rich, on edge to taste every sort of forbidden fruit, and in order to reach their pleasure they are ready to slaughter men, women, and little children with as much cold-bloodedness as did the murderer of the Kinck family at Pantin." Gaston spoke of a terrible crime which had shaken France the year before, when a young man of twenty, active and intelligent, had with devilish cunning slain an entire family of eight, his friends and neighbours, in order that he might "get rich quick," and begin a new life in a new country. Cremieux seemed to feel himself in some measure responsible for these lost sheep, but he made no attempt at present to conciliate them, feeling perhaps that the pains would be thrown away or his motives misunderstood. "If we can keep them from active mischief till we want them, all will be well," he kept repeating. "A time will come when such as they will be invaluable, but at present they exist in every town and village in France--budding 'hooligans' or 'Apaches,' ready for robbery and murder, counting their own life a light thing and the taking of another's a jest. If only they would take service with Garibaldi and be made into men! That is where the North and East are going to outstrip us in the coming years. Their Troppmanns are all being swept into the fighting line, and will come out honourable citizens, while we of the South, untouched by the German armies, have our idle rascals on our hands, becoming a greater curse and burden every year, and a standing menace to the next generation. "But," he paused thoughtfully upon the phrase, "when the day for the real struggle begins, we can find them work to do, and shoot them if they will not do it. To keep them quiet in the meantime is the difficulty." By the time Gaston Cremieux had thus delivered his soul upon the question of the town-bred ne'er-do-weels--the Vauriens of the Midi--he was striding along the edge of the Rhône, till at the end of the quay we turned in the direction of the Durance, the swift river which comes rushing from the mountains, and the muddy torrent of which makes turbulent the clear glaucous-blue of the Rhône from a little below Avignon. By this time my stomach, always on campaign, began to remind me that, though I had been learning the secrets of Communism, particularism was still rampant within my body. "Let us go to see Madame Félix," I suggested. "Her husband spoke at the reunion to-day. He is a chief among the workmen, but his wife is worth a score of him when a fellow is hungry, and his daughter Jeanne Félix is the girl best worth looking at in these parts--our friends at the Château alone excepted." Gaston Cremieux smiled indulgently and with a sort of patient scorn for my enthusiasms. "I hardly know what it is to be hungry," he said gently; "and except some of our brave mothers of the Commune, and of course Rhoda Polly, one woman is much the same to me as another." It was on the tip of my tongue to say, as I should have done to Deventer, "Then the more fool you!" But there was actually something about the young ex-Procureur of the Republic which made one shrink from familiarity. Instead, I turned through a growth of tall rushes, the cane-brakes peculiar to Provence, in the direction of the little ferry-house. It was war-year, and nobody had thought of cutting them. The stiff leaves whistled frostily as we pushed our way through, the supple yellow _cannes_ clattering behind us as they sprang back. After them came a tangle of withered vines, still clinging to the trellis of a dismantled house, and then we found ourselves on the river bank overlooking the cottage belonging to Mère Félix of the Durance Ferry. The boats were all on the other side, so I was obliged to make a trumpet of my hands and call loud and long for "Mariana," which besides being the baptismal name of the lady of the house, is an excellent resonant word to carry across an estuary. Now the Durance, though an absurdly tricky river, is no arm of the sea. Its race is short and turbulent, though it makes as much trouble as possible (which is no little) for those who dwell on its banks. It plays with inundations, whirlpools, eddies, and deceitful currents, as a child with toys. You cannot row for ten strokes straight upon it, for it will bubble up and snatch the oar out of your hand, or failing in this, it will suddenly send the bow of your boat deep into a reed-bed as if it were part of a conjuring trick. I knew somewhat more of the matter than most, for had not Jeanne Félix taught me? I had often gone over to spend a day there during the long vacations. For my father, buried among his books, made no objections to my roaming the country at will. Cremieux and I presently stood at the top of a rough and tumble-down flight of steps which led to a pier in somewhat better condition. I recognised the work of my own hands upon this last. For Jeanne and I had coopered it up only last year, so that her passengers might land without risking their lives each time. Paths extended both up and down stream, but as yet nothing had been done to the flight of rough-hewn steps of split pinewood leading to the forest above. These things I did not communicate to my new revolutionary friend, for I was busy wondering what effect Jeanne Félix would have upon him. My fourth or fifth shout brought the Mère Félix wrathfully down to the river edge where her white cap and broad head ribbons showed between the tall _cannes_. She had a couple of oars upon one shoulder and called across at us, "Who is making such a noise with their Marianas? There is no Mariana here except to my husband, the Père Félix, who is now from home, doubtless at one of his foolish reunions----" "Dear Mariana," I answered, showing myself at the end of the little pier, "push out a boat and you can kiss me for it. My father says you may. Also send Jeanne quickly, for she and I can row so well together." "It is that rascal of an English student, Monsieu' Aügoose from Gobelet. Well, I might have guessed. Yet it is not playtime at St. André that I have heard. I shall have you sent back and whipped. What, they do not whip at St. André? Ah, it is no wonder, then, that you young people wax so impertinent. If only you were _my_ boy, I should not call upon Père Félix to help me. No, no--I would----" and the old lady, smacking one hard hand upon the other, conveyed her meaning exactly. "Send Jeanne," I repeated, taking no notice of her pantomime. "Send Jeanne," she imitated my college-trained voice, "Jeanne--Jeanne--it is always Jeanne!" "Perhaps," I ventured, "when you were Jeanne's age it was always 'Mariana'! I'll wager that more people than Père Félix called you that in those days, petite mère!" "Here comes Jeanne at last," she called, so that I could hear. "Do not put up with his insolence, Jeanne. He is a spoilt schoolboy, nothing more." Jeanne stepped sagely into the skiff, with a foot so light and practised that the frail craft hardly quivered in the water. She was a tall, dark girl with a supple figure, both light and well-rounded, remarkably Diana-ish in a land where the women, save a few, are inclined to shortness, and in addition are already overshadowed by the stoutness which inevitably overtakes them after marriage. Jeanne Félix received us without the least embarrassment into her boat. When I mentioned my friend's name in introducing him, there was one rapid up-and-down flicker of the drooping eyelashes, a flash of velvet eyes, and then without a word or a salutation she handed me the bow oar as if we had parted only the night before. When we landed on the neat little _embarcadère_, below the Restaurant Sambre-et-Meuse, Madame Félix had vanished. I knew her to be already busy with the _menu_ of our dinner, a matter which, in spite of her abuse of me, she would entrust to nobody. There was a great chestnut tree before the door, and though the month was January, my pocket thermometer registered 62° Fahrenheit in our shadowed nook. Here we sat and waited, talking with Jeanne till her mother should call us in to lunch. The reformer smoked innumerable cigarettes, but he said little. I fancy he had not much small talk, and at times he seemed so far away that I wondered whether he heard the light badinage in which Jeanne and I are fond of engaging. Jeanne is freed from all fear of her mother's reproof and I do as I like, because I am a choice favourite with that lady, being the only person in the world she permits herself to abuse grossly, except her goodman Père Félix--who, according to her, is still more _impayable_ and gifted with a faculty of irritation not to be told. As for me, I am younger and not her husband, but she has known me since I could really receive from her palm the manual chastisement she had so familiarly illustrated. Still, I must admit that so far as Cremieux was concerned, interest in the Restaurant Sambre-et-Meuse awaked only when from the river-path along the Durance we heard the sound of voices, and presently Père Félix emerged talking eagerly with Pipe-en-Bois Soult, nicknamed the Marshal, and several of the Old Guard of the Commune. Then his eyes lit up suddenly. He rose as if throwing a weight from his shoulders. He had come to his own again. This man bore the weight of a bullet he had gained on the day of the _coup d-étât_. Pipe-en-Bois had been in front of the battle about the Luxembourg that morning of 1848 when Cavaignac's fusillade proved the futility of moderate Republican promises. In the kitchen was great rattling of dishes, the voice of Mère Félix calling on her daughter Jeanne, summoning from a great way off her "torchon" Babette, a kind of scullery-maid gathered chance-wise from among the numerous squatter families clustered along the river's edge. Such long-limbed slatterns were plentiful as blackberries and of as rank a growth all along the Durance. Monsieur Brunet, horsemaster and former "Red of the Midi," owned the water meadows all about, and smilingly allowed the little street of wooden houses fringing the banks. A stray rabbit might be caught out of the pine knolls, but Monsieur's grazing rights must be respected, and his ponies and brood-mares left in peace. Probably none except the family Félix all along that riverine sweep of reed-bed paid a penny of rent or a tax to the Government. The rural guard with his sash and his great brass plate of office must, of course, have known of the colony. But for some reason or another he said nothing, and all the time the huts of the "zoniers" tailed out at both ends into more and more ramshackle sheds and _bicoques_. Here arose the danger of the community. They could only exist by attracting no attention, and many of the ancient inhabitants, in good odour with the Sieur Brunet, were compelled to replace the fences which had been torn down to burn, or used as building material by their less scrupulous neighbours. Hence came quarrels, sharp words, and occasionally the breaking of heads. The chief penalty was that no offenders against the unwritten law of the settlement were allowed to drink under the cool shade of Mère Félix's vine trellises. The men who had come back with the proprietor of the Restaurant Sambre-et-Meuse were, of course, the fine flower of this scattering Faubourg Durance. They were full of admiration for their host, but every man of them knew that Père Félix would occupy a very different position at the Sambre-et-Meuse from what had been his in the late great meeting of citizens at the riding-school of Aramon. They seemed to be wishing to make up to him all the way for the coming loss of prestige. At the journey's end he would have to submit to his wife's inevitable dictatorship, and support in his own proper person the reproach of the whole company. He became responsible (among other things) for the misdeeds of the half-wild cook-maid, for the uncertainties of the weather, for the lack of fuel, and for the vicissitudes of the lady's culinary apparatus. Like many a high officer, colonel, or commandant, whose word is law to a thousand men in barracks, the Père Félix came home to do pack-drill and practise the goose-step under the eye of a severe drill-sergeant armed with a broomstick. But the good woman allowed no one except herself to treat her husband lightly, so that in a measure his self-esteem was re-established before company. The more guests there were at the Sambre-et-Meuse, the more consideration was it necessary to show for the proprietor. A chicken had been set aside for me, and of that I was not to be deprived, or at least of as great a portion as could be piled on my plate within her inviolable kitchen, by Mariana of the liberal hand. Gaston Cremieux, though she looked upon him as a perverter of youth, and the worst of examples for her husband, was still a guest of honour, and he had come there in my company. Therefore he should have a share in the chicken. Roast mutton, soup, and boiled beef out of the soup-pot which had simmered all day by the fire were good enough for the others. There was plenty of good bread, better than rich men could buy in Paris at that moment--let the newcomers "bank up" with that and be thankful. These, with regard to food supply, were the conclusions of Mariana of the Restaurant of Sambre-et-Meuse among the reed-beds of the Durance. CHAPTER XI HOW MEN SEE RED I need not tell at length of the wonderful talk, so new and strange to me, in which men and things were judged wholly from a revolutionary point of view. But all the same I began to perceive that the men before me were really and fundamentally simple souls, to whom the future state of Liberty and Equality appeared as a kind of fairy godmother. Out of some inexhaustible bag she would pay each man according to his family needs, money sufficient for his wants and pleasures. He would labour just long enough to place an equivalent in the Fairy Godmother's hands, but no longer. Their wives would keep in order the wardrobes of the bachelor leaders and orators. They would at certain hours also set their houses in order. Others would clean the schools and public-buildings, and for such services additional monies would accrue. The immediate settlement with the Small Arms Company and its manager was considered purely a temporary matter. Oh, yes, Monsieur Deventer was a good man, and no one could find any fault with him so far as the work was concerned. But, of course, there would be no real peace till they themselves owned the mines and factories, the rolling-mills, the assembling sheds and the hard-stone quarries. Then, indeed, a golden flood would flow directly into their pockets, and in a year or two they might be busily building houses "like proprietors." It was their own word, and even then they did see the delightful incongruity of the proposal. I did not think it worth while to point out that if they disinherited the mill-owners, a younger and still more advanced generation would very hastily expropriate any villas they might build. But one question I did put to them. "Supposing," I said, "that you take possession of the Arms Factories and carry them on dividing the proceeds among you in proper ratio, after all machinery such as you use is delicate. It wears out quickly. Who is to replace it? Will you keep back so much each week from your wages? Whom will you entrust with the money? How do you know that he will not escape to Switzerland or Italy, carrying your new machinery with him in his breeches pocket?" This they could not answer themselves. They had not thought of it. Of course, they were accustomed to seeing Deventer and his gang installing a new machine, but where it came from or who paid for it never crossed their minds. With one accord they looked to Gaston Cremieux. He would know what to reply, for he had taught them all they knew. Only by his teaching did they understand even so much. His answer was ready. "The Commune will lay aside so much of the factory profits each week or month for repairs, the renewal of machinery, the introduction of new types, and so on. This deduction shall be made before wages can be paid." Such was the oracle's decision, which to me seemed just and natural, but it was wonderful to see the swiftly darkening brows of those who listened. "What, the Commune would keep back a part of our earnings!" cried Pipe-en-Bois. "Then I say that we will only have exchanged one master for another, and it is not worth the trouble." Nor could he be moved from his position. Gaston Cremieux could silence him, telling him that doubtless he would himself be a member of the Commune of Aramon. But the man's dark mask as of a gargoyle only took on a deeper scowl, and he looked from one to the other of his companions, sure of their sympathy as he repeated, "What is the use of changing when the Commune will steal from us the earnings of our hands even as the masters do now?" These were early days and militant theorists (as at present) found construction as difficult as destruction was easy. Marvelling I sat, and viewed about me these grave men, the elect of the factories and mills, accomplished artisans, yet even now incapable of leadership, or even of submitting to the guiding brain which would give them a chance of success. This thoughtful young advocate of Marseilles was their idol, yet for a mere difference of opinion they were ready to cast him down from the throne they had just set for him. I conceived a new opinion as to the value of popular favour, and I noted that the head of an iconoclast had no easier a resting-pillow than that of the king whose crown he threatened. We waited till the feast had begun to degenerate a little. Sundry jests and snatches of song seemed to offend the austere thoughtfulness of Cremieux. So I made a signal to Jeanne, previously agreed upon, and she hastened away to get ready the boat, while Gaston and I regulated the expenses with the good hostess, her face still shining from her culinary labours. While she was changing a ten-franc piece from an immense pocket which swung from her side under her blue rep petticoat, she seemed suddenly to become aware of the noise within. She stepped to the door of the dining-room, listened a moment, and then opening it sharply, said, "Père Félix, if you continue as you are doing, I shall ask you to leave my house!" "Pardon, Madame," said her husband instantly, rising to his feet and bowing, and the company, feeling themselves somehow vaguely in the wrong, rose to their feet and bowed also in the direction of the door at which appeared the heated face of Madame la Ménagère. There was no doubt about it that Mère Félix intended to be both master and mistress in her own house, and behind her back the men rubbed their hands and thought how differently _they_ could manage a woman. We stepped outside into the clean well-aired vault of the twilight. The breeze was from the east, which in Provence of the South has not the terrors of our wind of that name, but is soft and perfumed with the early blossoms along the Gulf of Genoa. The Coast of Azure was sending us up an evening blessing. We strolled a long way in silence, taking the river road which leads towards Aramon. Then Cremieux broke the silence by asking me brusquely if I had known Rhoda Polly long. I did not think the question ought to have been asked in that tone, but he had done a good deal for me that day and I most certainly owed him a civil answer. "I have known Rhoda Polly," I said, "ever since I can remember. We used to fight in the garden for pig-nuts and in the woods for acorns. Rhoda Polly scratched my face with long sharp nails, and I thumped her back with little attention to chivalry. She could run faster than I, scratch more savagely, and when trapped she would sometimes bite like a little squirrel taken in the hand--yes, bite till the blood came." Gaston Cremieux listened with a rather forced smile upon his lips. "And the others--were they present? Were you two allowed to run about the woods all by yourselves?" You can change anything about a Frenchman except his idea concerning the co-education of the sexes. Here the anarchist is at one with Monsieur the Count de Mun, and Monsieur Jean Jaurès with the Archbishop of Paris. The convent rule, whether applied by lay mistress or sister of the Sacré Coeur, constant supervision, a fiction of ignorance of things of the commonest knowledge, the girl never to be out of sight of her mother or aunt till the day she is delivered to her husband--these are what the heart of every Frenchman believes to be the only path which the girls he would marry should be allowed to tread. He may praise English and American methods, allow the charm of the result, but in his heart he prefers for himself his "snow-white gosling." "Tell me about the college to which Rhoda Polly went," he continued, putting aside the early fightings and scratchings as too unsatisfactory for comment. I told him of the restless yet ordered activity of Selborne College, of the work and of the professors, of the days when the students were permitted to receive young men of other colleges, properly introduced and vouched for. I dwelt mischievously upon the friendships which arose during the common intellectual life of these years. I pitched it all a little strong, because I could not see why in the world he could not take Rhoda Polly as she was, and accept her marked kindness to him without submitting her past to hostile analysis. When I told him all, he seemed to shake himself suddenly as a man half awake by force of will breaks his way out of a bad dream. "Good night," he said, "I must go back to Aramon." And so he left me planted open-mouthed upon the river bank. CHAPTER XII "GOOD-BYE, RHODA POLLY" At Château Schneider I was received with tumultuary questioning on my return from the reed-beds. Where had I been? What had I been doing? I might easily have got my throat cut and no one would have been sorry. It was a scurvy trick I played them, slipping off like that. And so on--Hugh De venter being the loudest and most persistent. "My friend in whom I trusted," was his cry. His grievance was not that I had broken bounds and would give no account of myself, but that I had sneaked off alone without giving him a chance to come along with me. However, a glance from Rhoda Polly and the smiling response of her eyes shut my ears to all this hubbub. She understood, and that was enough. I would, of course, tell her about it, making only a mental reservation in the little private matter of Jeanne Félix, and the spraying shadows which her long lashes cast on her eyes of purple-velvet. With a woman, there is no use of talking of another woman--not at least till the listener is well over fifty, and even then it must be done with circumspection. But I knew my duty, and with another glance at Rhoda Polly I demanded to know where her father was, and in five minutes was sitting among the chimney-pots with that old fighter and captain of men stuffing a pipe bowl and preparing to listen. He nodded his head gravely when I told of my meeting with Gaston Cremieux. He grew restless as a caged beast himself when I described to him the hither-and-yon wolf's prowl of the sullen young men in front of the riding-school. But when I told him of the men's resolve to go at once to work, he rose suddenly to his feet with a shout. "Jaikes, Irvin, Allerdyce, Brown, Macallister! Here!" And at his cry these subordinates came running to him like dogs at the shepherd's whistle. Eagerness was in their faces, and confidence in their leader showed in their eyes. "Young Cawdor has brought good news," he said. "The men are coming back. It may not be for long, but they are coming. They have taken the terms, and now I shall have to fight the masters single-handed. However, I can manage that. Run, fellows! Get the squads together. Set the furnaces going, and steam up in the boilers. It will be the easier for the men when they come in if they find everything ready for them. A few will troop in first in a non-committal way, then will set in a steady trickle of the secretly willing, and lastly the factory benches will fill up with a rush. In two days we will have the ateliers working at high pressure, and we may begin to send out our orders by Saturday." The engineering sub-chiefs swung their hats in the air and yelled. It was the best of news for them, and they did not even wait to ask how I chanced to be so well informed. Dennis Deventer had doubtless assured himself of that. That was his business, not theirs. They rattled down the ladder one after the other as quickly as a barrel would roll the same distance. They simply fell through the trap-door and disappeared from sight. Presently we could see them leading their emergency gangs across the courtyard to the entrance of the works. In Jack Jaikes's contingent I noticed the broad shoulders and rough blond head of Hugh Deventer, towering like a Viking among the wiry Clydeside and bearded Tynemouth men about him. His father must have noticed him too, for he turned to me with a smile. "Yonder goes our Hugh. He is a strong lad, but has no spring. He falls all over himself at present. If you are still set on soldiering, you can take him with you. He has little sense as yet, but I can see that he will do what you tell him." "Thank you, sir," I said; "war is a stranger business than we young fellows dream of. I cannot be responsible for accidents, but if you trust me with Hugh--well, he is my comrade, and I shall look after him as myself." He held out his hand, after first glancing about to see that we were not overlooked, and grasped my fingers. Such demonstrations of emotion were by no means in his way. "With Hugh it is a case of thews and brawn," he said. "When it comes to the marching, see that you make him carry your musket as well as his own. He has no heavy load in his top story." Of course I had to see Rhoda Polly before our final marching off towards the north. As I came down the great front steps of the Château Schneider I saw her crossing the lawn far away to the right. She was going in the direction of the vegetable garden, and I stood still on the steps till I watched her into the potting-house. With her hand on the latch she cast a look over her shoulder in my direction. "Amaryllis desires to be first seen," I muttered, and after a comprehensive tour of the grounds I approached the potting-house from the rear. Rhoda Polly was sitting on a bench with peat and leaf-mould in little boxes about her, and a red flowerpot held firmly between her knees while she kneaded the black flaky mass down with urgent little knuckles. "If I don't get those Alan Richardson roses to do this year--why, the devil fly away with me!" She spoke in French, and the words had not the same sound as in English. Something gay and Rhoda Polly-ish rang cheerfully in my heart. "Really you should not swear!" said I. "What would Miss Balfour-Lansdowne say to that at Selborne College?" "Oh, sometimes we said a good deal worse than that on the hockey ground, or in the heat of an argument. Besides, if you did not want to hear, you need not have followed me." "Rhoda Polly," I said, "you know that I followed you because you made me a signal that you wanted to talk to me." "Yes, I know," owned up Rhoda Polly, who scorned concealment. "Well, what have you to tell me now that you are here? I let you go just now and unbosom yourself to the Paternal without complaining. That was only playing the game, but certainly you owe it to me to stand and deliver as soon as you got clear." "Well, and here I am, Rhoda Polly--which will you have--plain narrative--question and answer--the Socratic method, or a judicious mixture of the two?" I knew the inquiry would resolve itself into the latter. Rhoda Polly went on with the potting of her Alan Richardson, biting her under lip at critical points, but ever and anon flashing a pertinent query at me over the boxes of mould without once raising her head. With the exception of my talks with Jeanne and the harmless little philandering we had indulged in to pass the time, I confided the whole of my day's adventures to Rhoda Polly. I told her also of the permission that her father had given that Hugh should go north and join the new armies with me. Then at last Rhoda Polly did lift her eyes with a vividness of reproach in them. "You cannot find enough to do here?" she said. "You trust these men at the works? I tell you they are not to be trusted. I know them better than either you or my father, I have heard their women-folk talking, and I know what they mean to do." "I know what they _say_ they mean to do," I retorted. "I also have heard them in their cups, but it is only folly and emptiness." "Do not be too sure," she said, patting the flowerpot round the edges and squinting down at it as if it were a work of art symmetrically finished. "I warn you we may need you here sooner than you think, and then Gaston Cremieux may not be so friendly as he is to-day." I asked her why, but she only bent more over her work and shook her head. It had been clear to me from Cremieux's questions that he was in love with Rhoda Polly, and now from Rhoda Polly's prophecy of his future unfriendliness that she had made up her mind to reject him. But, in the meantime, it was my clear duty to go on and do what I could in the army. We could not hope to defeat the Germans, but at least every additional man in the ranks added to the chance of withstanding them. If we could only hold them at bay till the politicians did their work, all this peaceful Southland would be spared the horrors of war and the more wearing pains of occupation and pillage. I said this to Rhoda Polly and she could not help agreeing. Her assent, however, came from her clear head and trained intelligence, but her heart was still unconvinced that Hugh and I ought to go, leaving that houseful of women in Château Schneider. All this was perhaps natural enough, and certainly it made me feel warmer within to know that Rhoda Polly would regret me. "I owe you a grudge," she said, as she stood up and rubbed the black crumbly mould briskly from her hands, "for without you we should at least have had Hugh. He would never have thought of going by himself." Rhoda Polly had finished with her roses. She set out the boxes in a row, and then stood up facing me. Her eyes were steady and level like a man's--I mean a man of the North. They did not droop and flutter like Jeanne's at the Ferry. Her breast did not heave nor her full throat swell. The pent-up emotion in Rhoda Polly's bosom found no such commonplace feminine vents. Only the firm lines about her mouth betrayed her, and perhaps a certain moist luminousness of eye. "I would not hinder you, Angus Cawdor," she said steadily, "let a man do what he knows he ought. But at least you owe it to me to come back the very day the war is over. It is not till then that the storm here will break. I have it from the women. They advise us to go out of the country, but I have a better plan in my head. You must be here to help me carry it out." "I shall be here, Rhoda Polly, if I get through all right!" "If you get through all right----?" The words fell uncertainly. "If I live, Rhoda Polly." "Ah, if you live," repeated the girl, mechanically holding out her hand. And even as I looked, the bold bright look in her eyes was dimmed, as a pool greys over with the first coming of a breeze. And thus I took my real farewell of Rhoda Polly. There was some of the black mould on my fingers as I went over to the shops to search for Hugh Deventer. CHAPTER XIII WE SEEK GARIBALDI Hugh Deventer and I reached Orange only to hear that the recruiting parties of the Garibaldians had gone away north. But on the railway, hundreds of wagons laden with supplies were moving in the same direction, and with the conductors of these we made what interest we could. We showed the letter we had brought from Gaston Cremieux, but these were men of the Saône and Isère, who had never heard of the agitator. But Hugh's willing help during heavy hours of loading and "transhipment," and perhaps also the multitude and flavour of my tales of Scotland, gained us a footing. From them we heard with pride of what had already been done by Garibaldi, with such wretched material, and how the great Manteuffel himself, in his dispatches, had allowed the excellence of Garibaldi's tactics. What we were most afraid of was that the whole war would be over before we got a chance. The men of the Isère, however, who on the strength of six months' campaigning considered themselves veterans, laughed scornfully at our young enthusiasms. They would march. They would fight. But as for beating the Germans in the long run it was impossible. That time had gone by when Bazaine had let himself be locked up in Metz. "All we can do is to help the Republic to get out of the mess with some credit!" said a tall sergeant who sat in the open door of a bullock wagon. And the others agreed with him. They were on tenterhooks to know why we English should be so eager to take up their quarrel. The thousand Italians they could understand. They came because Garibaldi did, touched by the glory of his name, but we English--what had we to do with the affair? Me they suspected of Southern blood from my quick slimness and swarthy colour, but Deventer was a joy to them. "That Englishman!" they cried, and laughed as at an excellent jest. His big hearty blundering ways, his ignorance of military affairs kept them perpetually on the grin. But when they saw him strip and repair a chassepot with no more tools than a pocket screw-driver and a nail file, they changed the fashion of their countenances. Hugh was not the son of Dennis Deventer for nothing. Presently we found ourselves privileged stowaways, whirling in the direction of Lyons, protected by these good fellows, who hid us carefully from the rounds of inspection which visited the wagons at every stopping place. Mostly, however, no severe examination was made, and the word of the sergeant was taken that all was right inside. But as soon as the train slackened speed we sprang on a shelf which ran along one end of the wagon, and there lay snug behind a couple of bags of potatoes. At last, near Civry, a little town on the foothills of the Côte d'Or, we were abruptly ordered down. It was a dark night and raining as we set our noses out. We would much rather have remained behind the potato sacks, but there was no help for it. Out we must come along with the rest, for Manteuffel's Uhlans were off on a raid and had cut the line between us and Dijon. At first we could only see the blackness and the shapes of the trees bent eastward by many winter blasts, but after a time our eyes grew accustomed, and we became aware of a long line of wagoners' teams drawn up on a road that skirted the railway. We did our best to assist at the changing of the provisions and ammunition, and would have been glad of permission to accompany the convoy through the hills to its destination. But we had the ill fortune to fall in the way of a captain of regulars who asked us our business there, and on our telling him, he answered with evident contempt, that in that case we had better go and look for "Monsieur Garibaldi." As far as he was concerned, if he found us in his convoy again he would have us shot for spies. Hugh Deventer and I could not rejoice enough that we had left our two beautiful Henry rifles and our stores of ammunition on our sleeping shelf. We knew well that our protector the sergeant and his men would say nothing about the matter, though they looked with unrestrained envy and desire of possession upon our repeating rifles. Accordingly I advised Hugh to confide to the sergeant in private the name of his father, and promise that a similar rifle would be sent to him with the next consignment of chassepots. The sergeant's eyes glowed, and he told us that he was under orders for his native town of Epinal, which he hoped to reach in about a fortnight. Hugh promised that he would find a Henry repeater with an abundant supply of cartridges waiting for him there at his mother's house. And accordingly he sat down in the empty wagon, and by the light of the lantern wrote a note to his father which he gave into the sergeant's hands to be posted at the first opportunity. He in his turn entrusted it to the care of the engine driver, who was getting ready to take his empty wagons rattling southward again to bring further supplies from the rich Rhône valley. The sergeant also arranged that we should accompany the rear-guard so far as was possible during the night, when we were to strike off diagonally to the west to pick up Autun, where Menotti Garibaldi was reported to be waiting with a large force to cut off the retreat of the German raiders. So we started on our march, and had soon reason to be glad that we were not stumbling at hazard up and down those leg-breaking vine-terraces. The convoy had relays of peasants as guides, and at least we were kept along some semblance of a path. We could hear the rumbling and creaking of the wheels before us, but for that night the goad superseded the loud crack of the whip, and the language beloved of all nationalities of teamsters was, if not wholly silenced, at least sunk to a whisper. We marched far enough in the rear to be rid of the cloud of dust raised by the convoy, which fell quickly in the damp night air. Occasionally an orderly would gallop back, dust-mantled in grey from head to heel. He was sent to see that we of the rear-guard kept our distance and did not straggle. The Isère and Grenoble men with whom we marched were veterans and in no ways likely to desert, so that the adjutant's report was at once accepted, and the officer galloped back. All the same we two regularly sneaked aside into a belt of trees or took refuge behind the vine-terraces as soon as the sound of hoofs was heard. We had marched many hours in the darkness--from eight or nine of the evening till the small hours were passing one by one with infinite weariness. I was lighter on my feet than Hugh, having less to carry in the way of "too, too solid flesh." Consequently he suffered more, both from the weight of his rifle, and the dumb remorseless steadiness of the marching column. Forward we went, however, stumbling now and then with sleep, our feet blistered, and the rattle and wheeze of the ammunition wagons coming back to us mixed with a jingle of mules' gear through the dark. At last, when it seemed as if we could do no more, the column halted, and our grateful sergeant came back in order to set us on the road to Autun. "Yonder," he said, "you can see a hill which cuts the stars. It is high and steep, but to the right of it is a pass, and when you reach the top you will look down upon the lights of Autun." He bade us a rapid good-bye, and hastened away to his own place in the column. With a final word of thanks to the adjutant (who is here a kind of sergeant-major), we left our kindly rear-guard and set out to find Garibaldi. The night grew suddenly darker as we missed the shoulder-touch of a comrade on either side of us. We rolled over vine-terraces, clutching at the gnarled roots, or stumbled with a breath-expelling "ouch" into dry ditches all laid out for the summer irrigation. Fence rails and the corner posts of vineyard guard-shelters marked us black, and blue, but aloft or alow we held firm to the Henry rifles which were to be our chief treasures, when we should at last don the red cardigan of the Garibaldian troops. To us it seemed as if we never would reach the top of that pass. We could see the mountain towering up on our left hand, and once a shower of stones came rumbling down as a warning not to venture too near. The wind was now soft and equal, and the unusual warmth had served no doubt to loosen the frost-bound rocks above, as well as to keep us in a gentle perspiration while we climbed the corkscrew pathway towards the hill crest. Things became easier after we had left the vineyards beneath us, and our road lay over the clean grassy plateau on which the sheep had that day been grazing. We rested a while in a shepherd's shelter hut, and did not scruple to refresh ourselves with some slices of bread and sausage, washed down by a long swig from a skin of wine. We left a franc in payment, stuck into the cut end of the sausage, with a note appended that we were two recruits on our way to join Garibaldi. Little did we imagine that in a few weeks we should, without hurt to our consciences, simply have transferred the whole supply to our haversacks without thanks or payment. There was still no hint of dawn when we started out, but beyond the lowest part of the ridge immediately above us a kind of faint illumination appeared. It burned steadily, and for a long while we could not explain it. It could not be the approaching sunrise, for our compasses told us that we were marching as near as possible due west. Quite suddenly we topped the crest, and saw beneath us the lights of Autun gleaming hazily through a kind of misty drizzle. But that which struck our faces was in no wise wetting. It only struck a chill through us, making our greatcoats welcome. We had so far carried them _en bandoulière_. The west side of the ridge was, in fact, already spotted with fine sifted snow, which blew in our faces and sought a way down our necks. Its coming had caused the fluorescent light we had seen as we were mounting the eastern slopes, and now with bowed heads and our rifles as well "happed" as possible, we strode downhill in the direction of the town. At the limits of the chestnut woods the vineyards began again, and our troubles threatened to be as great as they had been after we left the convoy. But though fine snow fell steadily, its clinging whiteness showed up the stone-dykes and terraces as black objects to be avoided. There was, therefore, less tumbling about among the ledges of loose stones, and presently we came out upon a regular "departmental" road, with drainage ditches on either side, rows of pollarded willows and poplars, and kilometric pillars, with numbers on them which it was too dark to see. Along this we made all haste, for we were bent on getting to Autun as soon as possible, and indeed it was not long before we were in the way of getting our wish. "Halt! Who goes there?" came a challenge out of the unseen. Well was it for us that we had attempted no stealthy approach upon the town, but serenely clattered down the middle of the turnpike. Luckier still that we fell into the hands of regular mobiles of the army of the Vosges, instead of a stray company of _franc-tireurs_, who as like as not, would have cut our throats for the sake of our rifles, the stores of ammunition, and the few silver coins we carried. We had come upon a picket of men of the regiment of Gray on the borders of the Haute Saône. It was like one of Napoleon's levies after Moscow--young lads of sixteen and men of forty or fifty standing by each other cheerfully, and without distinction of age or previous occupation. We stated our purpose and asked to be taken to head-quarters. Like most of such casual recruits, we thought we would be taken directly into the presence of Garibaldi, but the Gray men astonished us by the information that the great soldier was almost a recluse, and indeed so much of an invalid that he could only review his troops from a carriage. His sons, Menotti and Ricciotti, were his fighting generals, but all directing power was centred in Colonel Bordone, through whom all orders came to the army. In the meantime we were conveyed amicably to the temporary head-quarters of the 14th Mobiles of the Haute Saône. Here we found several officers, but after a look at us and a civil enough demand for the production of our papers, we were permitted to betake ourselves to the snug kitchen of an ancient monastery, where the soldiers of the outpost guard were sitting around a huge fire, or lying extended on couches of straw, sleeping the sleep of men who had marched far the day before, and expected to do as much more on the morrow. Our clothes were soon dry, and our overcoats spread out to the blaze, after being well shaken and thumped to get rid of the clinging snow. The morning began to come tardily, and as if reluctantly. The snow had ceased, but a thin whitish mist had been left behind, softening and dimming all outlines. The town of Autun bethought itself of waking up. A few shopkeepers took down their shutters in a leisurely fashion, the first of these being a couple of ladies, venders of sweet cakes, both pretty and apparently exceedingly attractive to the young Italian officers, all of whom had the racial sweet tooth as well as the desire to rival each other in the eyes of beauty. Our men of Gray were rather contemptuous, but could not deny that these young sweet-suckers fought well and bravely whenever it came to blows. "And I dare say, after all," said a tall brigadier, "it is better to munch sugar cakes flavoured with cinnamon than to swallow the filth they serve out to you in the _cafés_." The others agreed, but we did not observe that their teetotal sentiments were more than platonic. At least, during all our stay with the 3rd Corps in the town of Autun, the Frenchmen went to the _café_ and the Italians to the _pâtissière_. It was nine o'clock when the brigadier of the post detailed two men to accompany us to the Cadran Bleu, the inn where the army head-quarters was established. We had a short time to wait, for the officers within were judging the case of a spy, a dull heavy-witted fellow who had formerly served in a line regiment, but who had had the ill thought to turn his knowledge of the army of the Vosges to account by compiling a careful estimate of the strength of Garibaldi's command, and offering it by ordinary letter post to General Werder of the Prussian service. The letter was addressed to his brother-in-law at Macon, who was to arrange terms. He, however, preferred patriotism (and the chance of a possible heritage) to his relative's life. So the officer of the day was already picking out the firing-party, for, as was the way of the army of the Vosges under Garibaldi, a very short shrift was given to any traitor. Though the supreme judges were Italian and the man a Frenchman, the good sense of the soldiers supported them in the certainty and rapidity of such military punishments. I saw the man come out between a couple of Mobiles with fixed bayonets. His hair fell in an unkempt mass over his brow. His face was animal and stupid, but he had little pig's eyes that glanced rapidly from one side to the other as if seeking for any way of escape. But there was none for him, as the rattle of musketry testified almost before we had reached the antechamber. Here there were half a dozen young French officers and many Italians all talking together, who turned from their conversations to gaze at us. We had made what toilets we could, and the men of the Gray regiments had rolled up our overcoats in military style. "Two English come from Aramon to enlist," we heard them say, with a certain resentment as if they had been offered an affront. "Do all the foreigners in the world think that France has need of them to fight her battles?" However, one of the sub-lieutenants, a handsome lad, from a Protestant family in the Isère, came over to talk to us. The ice was at once broken, and the next moment we had quite a gathering round us admiring our Henry repeaters, and asking questions. "That is the new Remington action!" said one who stated that he read English and American periodicals, but became appallingly unintelligible as soon as he attempted to speak a single sentence of the language. "No," said Hugh Deventer, "the movement was invented by my father." "And who may your father be? Are you travelling for the firm?" "My father," said Hugh steadily, "is Monsieur Dennis Deventer, director-in-chief of the Arms Factory at Aramon-sur-Rhône, and he will supply as many of these repeaters as the Company is paid for. The Government have the matter under consideration, but if they do not hurry, the war will be over before their minds are made up." An officer in the red cloak of the Italian corps pushed a door open, spoke an order in imperfect French, and the next moment we found ourselves in an apartment where two men were sitting rolling cigarettes at opposite sides of a long table. They were both tall, dark-bearded men with swarthy faces, clad in uniforms much the worse for wear. I knew them by instinct to be Menotti and Ricciotti Garibaldi. Both had a look of the common lithograph portraits of their father, but perhaps no more than one weather-beaten shepherd on a Scottish hill resembles his comrade on the next. We stood at attention after the English manner instilled into us by Jack Jaikes and the numerous old soldiers who by Dennis Deventer's orders had taken us for drill during vacation time at the works. The two grave men looked at one another and smiled. "We have seen something like this when the English lads came to us in Sicily eleven years ago, eh, brother? Tell us your names, little ones! Can you speak Italian?" We could, and that made us, if not of the "children," at least something very different from the dull peasants whom Gambetta's conscription supplied, or the innumerable company of ne'er-do-weels who appeared from nowhere in particular, drawn by the mere sound of Garibaldi's name. Hugh Deventer did not much like to be called a "little one," but the Italian speech is not like our English, which lends itself more easily to oaths and cursing than to the "little language" and the expression of emotion. We presented the letters with which we had been furnished--one a personal epistle to Ricciotti from Dennis Deventer--the others for the most part addressed to the General himself. That, however, made no difference. His sons opened them all without hesitation or apology. Indeed, we soon learned that, excepting the conduct of the campaign, Father Garibaldi was not allowed to concern himself with anything. "Ah, Dennis Deventer," said Ricciotti, starting up and embracing Hugh on both cheeks. "I owe much to your father, more than I am likely to pay for some while. He took our word for it that the chassepots for the new troops would be paid for, even though he knows that the Government is likely to fall into the hands of those who hate us. Also the new twelve-pounders--Menotti, brother, what shall we do for this man's son?" "I must stay with my comrade, Angus Cawdor," put in Hugh Deventer. "He is far more clever than I am, and I should be lost without him. I am only a boy, but he----" "Has the thoughts of a man--I see," interrupted Menotti, who had been considering us from under his hand without speaking. "I think it would be no kindness to add two recruits of such mettle to the number of the admirably combed and pressed young gentlemen in the anteroom out there. You had better take them, Ricciotti. You will be sure to find old Manteuffel hammering away at you on your return to Dijon, and the lads can take bite and sup with the 'Enfants.' Since they speak Italian no explanations need be made. They can be fitted out by the commissariat adjutant." "The favour is an unusual one, brother. There will be grumbling." "The circumstances are unusual, and so are the lads. There is but one Dennis Deventer, and we must do the best we can for his son." And in this manner we became part of the personal following of Ricciotti Garibaldi, and were destined to take part in the war game which he played out successfully against Manteuffel and Werder till the coming of the armistice stopped all fighting. CHAPTER XIV "THE CHILDREN" "The Children" were young men, some of them hardly more than boys, who had followed the Dictator from Italy. They came from all parts of the Peninsula, but the wide windy Milanese plain supplied most of them. A curious exaltation reigned in the camp. It was like the mystic aura of a new religion. One became infected with it after a few hours among the troops. They were already veterans in their own opinion, and, feeling that the eyes of their General was always upon them, they claimed as their monopoly all desperate ventures, the front rank in stubborn defences, the rear-guard in retreat, and they died with an "Evviva, Garibaldi!" upon their lips. One snatched the standard from a falling comrade that he might carry it closer to the Prussian lines, only in most cases to fall in his turn under the fatal steadiness of the needle-gun. The rest of the army of the Vosges fought under the tricolour of France, but for "Les Enfants" Garibaldi had devised his own emblem. It was sufficiently striking and characteristic of the man, but in France at least it only excited astonishment among the masses, and hatred and contempt among the clerical and aristocratic party, which was at that time in a great majority in the provinces. The flag was of a vivid crimson, darker a little than the "Tatter of Scarlet" I had seen go up at Aramon when the Communards expelled the troops from the town. There was no device upon it--only the one word in large letters: "PATATRAC!" I saw the rustics gazing open-mouthed upon it every day, yet it was a word admirably descriptive and one which I have heard in frequent use among the peasant folk of the South. "Patatrac!" or "Patatras!" the labourer will exclaim when he lets a bucket fall at a stair-head and hears it go rumbling down. "Patatrac!" a housewife will say when she describes how a careless maid drops a trayful of crockery. It is the crashing sound of the fall that is represented, and in this fashion Garibaldi had been so accustomed to bring down in thunderous earthquake ruin all the brood of century-old tyrannies. It was his well-earned boast that he had made the device good against all comers (except his special _bête noires_ of the Papacy) until the fell day at Mentana when the French chassepots rather belatedly gave him as we say at home "his kail through the reek!" Yet here he was, only five years after, a broken man, fighting for that same France, just because she had shaken off the yoke of the tyrant and become a republic. Wonderful always to hear the soldiers speak of their leader. They did not cheer him as did the French corps. They clustered close about his carriage as he moved slowly along, his thin hand, which had so long held a sword, touching their heads, and his feeble sick man's voice saying: "My children--oh, my children!" Neither of his sons accompanied him on these pilgrimages in the shabby hired barouche in which he drove out every day, but Bordone was always with him--watchful, stern, and devoted, the real tyrant of the little army. Menotti and Ricciotti were always with their troops, perhaps from jealousy of Bordone, perhaps because they had enough to do licking their raw levies into some manner of fighting shape. The winter was bitter even among bitter winters, and the snow soon began to be trampled hard. The troops, continually arriving, were quartered all over Autun, and in the villages about. Finally the churches had to be occupied, and though nothing was done there that would not have happened with any army of occupation, Garibaldi the polluter was cursed from one end of France to the other as if he had torn down the golden cross upon St. Peter's dome. Not that it mattered to the old Dictator. In silence and solitude he made his plans. He read the reports and dispatches as they came in. He issued his orders through Bordone, before driving out in the halting ramshackle barouche, sometimes with two horses, more often with only one. At every halt he spoke a word or two to the troops as he passed among them, words treasured by the true "Children" like the oracles of God. Then he would return to his lodgings, sit down to his bowl of soup, his loaf of bread, and his glass of water, exactly as if he were on his own island farm within hearing of the waves breaking on the rocks of Caprera. We found ourselves among Ricciotti's fourth corps of Guides. We were sent to the outfitting captain whose quarters were established in a long hangar overlooking the river. There we found a little rotund man, very bright of eye and limber of tongue, who fitted us out with many compliments and bows. We had brought a letter from the commander himself. Our first uniform was the gayest ever seen--too picturesque indeed for sober British tastes. It consisted of a red shirt, blue-grey riding breeches, and high boots with jingling silver spurs (for which last we paid from our own purses). On our heads we wore a fascinating "biretta," or cap with a tall feather. The captain of outfitting showed us how to sport it with a conquering air, and with what a grace to swing the short red cloak over one shoulder so that we should not be able to pass a girl in Autun who did not turn and look after us. This was what the master of the stores said as he stood with his back against the rough pine door-post of his quarters and rubbed his shoulder-blades luxuriously. But in practice I looked like a carnival Mephistopheles, while Hugh Deventer's feather generally drooped over one eye in a drunken fashion. We were not long in suppressing these gauds, though we did our duty in them as gallopers for several days. Finally we went to Ricciotti and begged to be allowed to carry our rifles in one of the foot regiments. We did not want to leave the foreign troops, knowing something of the ostracism and persecution which would be our part among the French regiments. So we were allowed to return our chargers to the remounting officer, and make another visit to the small rotund outfitter in his wooden barrack by the river. There of all our gallant array we retained only our red shirts, and for the rest were rigged out in sober dark blue, a _képi_ apiece, and a pair of stout marching shoes on our feet. We mounted knapsack and haversack, shouldered our Henry rifles, and in an hour found ourselves established among the first "Etranger," a Milanese regiment with three or four mountain companies from Valtelline and the Bergel. Now it chanced that I had spent some part of my vacations climbing among the peaks about Promontonio. There I had taken, more as companion than as guide, a Swiss-Italian, or to be exact "Ladin"--of my own age or a little older, by the name of Victor Dor. He was a pleasant lad, and we talked of many things as we shared the contents of our rük-sacks on the perilous shoulder of some mountain just a few feet removed from the overhang of the glacier. And here and now, with the chevrons of a sergeant, was this same Victor Dor, who embraced me as if he had been my brother. "Oh, the happiness to see you!" he cried. "And among the children of our father. I know you do not come to save the French who shot us down at Mentana. You are like us. You come because our father calls, and yet to think of those long days in the Val Bergel when we never knew that we were brothers. And yet I do not know. You spoke of the Man who was a Carpenter at Nazareth, and who called his disciples to follow him. So our father came, and we followed him. Princes and Emperors scatter honours. Republics give decorations and offices. But look at our lads lying on the straw yonder. Where will they be in a week? In the hospital or in the grave? Some of these men are well off at home, others are poor. No matter! All share alike, and all are equal before our father. Ah, that is it! You see there is nothing to be gained except the joy of following him. Our poor dear father Garibaldi, what has he to offer? He has nothing for himself but a barren isle, and even that he owes to you English.[1] The liberty of following him, of seeing his face when he passes by, of hearing his voice as he calls us his children, the pride of being his very own chosen, who have shared his perils and never deserted him to the last. These are our rewards. Tell me if they are of this world?" [Footnote 1: See Hamerton's "Round my House."] CHAPTER XV FIRST BLOOD On the third morning after our entry into the Ricciotti's first foreign legion, both Hugh and I awoke stiff and chilled by the frost. The lucky among us had early found quarters in byres and cattle-sheds, where the closely packed animals kept the place warm. We had to make the best of it on a floor of beaten earth, still sparsely strewn with heads of wheat and flecks of straw. The fodder had been requisitioned to the last armful, and not enough was left to build a nest for a sparrow. The barn was doorless, and, except for the shelter of the roof, we might as well have slept in the open air. At least so we thought, but next day men on the outposts told us a different tale. That night the head-quarters thermometers had showed twenty below zero, and many men slept never again to waken, under the open sky--slept leaning on their chassepots, and so died standing up, no one guessing they were dead till they fell over all in one piece like an icicle snapped. But even Hugh Deventer and I were sorely tried in our open barn. We had lain soft and fed well all our lives. We were not yet broken to the work like the campaigners of Sicily, or even like those who had passed through the war since the autumn. "If I bored a hole or two where the joints are," groaned Hugh, "one of Jack Jaikes's oil cans might easy my bearings greatly this morning!" "From what I can guess," said Victor Dor, "you will find it warm enough in an hour or two. Manteuffel is going to make a push for it to-day. Ricciotti managed to capture a couple of Werder's Uhlans, and one of our _franc-tireurs_ says that the whole Pomeranian army corps is coming upon us as fast as the men can march." "A _franc-tireur_ always lies," said another Valtelline man, Marius Girr, scornfully, but enunciating a principle generally received in the army. "Still, it is possible that this one told the truth by mistake--at any rate, it is not a safe thing to lie to Ricciotti about a matter which, in a few days, will prove itself true or untrue. Ricciotti knows the use of a firing party at twelve yards just as well as Bordone." The morning grew more and more threatening as time passed. The chill tang of coming snow clung to the nostrils. We had breakfasted meagrely on the last rinds of bacon and scraps of sausage in our haversacks. We longed for hot coffee till we ached, but had to content ourselves with sucking an icicle or two from the roof of the barn, good for the thirst, but very afflicting to the tongue at a temperature of minus twenty. Presently the inexorable bugles called us forward to the trenches, which extended in a vast hollow crescent from the Arroux bank opposite Autun to the hills above St. Leger on the borders of the Nièvre. We could see against the snow dark masses of overcoated Prussians defiling this way and that among the valleys, and at sight of them our field-guns began to speak. With eyes that hardly yet understood we watched the shells bursting and the marching columns shred suddenly apart to be reformed automatically only an instant after, as the narrow strips of dark blue uncoiled themselves towards the plain. Hugh and I lay close against a railway embankment from which the rails had been ruthlessly torn up. I was inclined to make an additional shelter of these, and indeed Hugh and I had begun the work when Victor Dor stopped us. "As much earth as you like," he said; "earth or sand stops bullets, but iron only makes them glance off, and often kill two in place of one. Scatter all the rails, plates, and ties down our side of the slope. I will show you something that is far better!" And with the edge of the shallow iron saucepan which he carried like a targe at his back, he scooped up the earth so that we soon had in front of us a very competent breastwork, giving sufficient cover for our heads and shoulders as well as a resting-place for our rifles. During the next hour we heard the roar of the German artillery away in the direction of St. Léger, and the resounding "boom-boom" of our heavy mortars and twelve-pounders answering them. "What would Jack Jaikes give to see these in action," I said in Hugh's ear. "And still more my father," he answered. Our outposts began to be driven in, but they had stubbornly defended our front, nor did they yield till the masses of blue battalions showed thickly, and then only to give the artillery free play. It was in waiting behind us, and the first crash as the shells hurtled over our heads made Hugh and I feel very strange in the pits of our stomachs--something like incipient sea-sickness. The veterans never once looked aloft, but only cuddled their rifles and wriggled their bodies to find a comfortable niche from which to fire. "Dig your toes into the embankment, you English," Marius Girr of our company called to us; "if you don't, the first recoil of the rifle will send you slipping down into the ditch." It was good advice, and with a few kicks we dug solid stances for our feet, in which our thick marching shoes were ensconced to the heels. We excavated also hollow troughs for our knees, and, as Hugh said, we behaved generally like so many burying beetles instead of gallant soldiers. All this was not done easily, for the ground was frozen hard, and in the river behind us we could hear the solid blocks of ice clinking and crunching together as the sullen grey-green current swept them along. It was Sunday, and upon the town road a little behind our line, but quite within the zone of fire, comfortable mammas and trim little daughters were trotting to Mass with their service books wrapped in white napkins. Hugh and I yelled at them to go home, but it was no use. Luckily I remembered their fear of the Iron Chancellor, and assured them by all the saints that "Bismarck was coming," whereupon they kilted their petticoats and made off homeward, their fat white-stockinged legs twinkling in the pearl-grey twilight. It was like a Dutch picture--trampled snow, low brooding sky, white-capped matrons and little girls wrapped in red shawls. But in a few moments we had other matters to occupy us. The Tanara regiment was on our right, and the sweep of the crescent being farther advanced than at our position, they received the first rush of the Pomeranians. But there was no waiting, for suddenly out of the woods in front of us stiff lines of blue emerged and began moving forward with the Noah's Ark regularity of marionettes. It seemed impossible that these could be soldiers charging. But we were soon convinced. The dip of the ground hid them for a long time, and then suddenly they appeared not four hundred yards off, no longer in column, but in two lines close together, with a supporting third some distance in the rear. We could see them extending companies far away on either side. But this we knew to be in vain, for the river protected us on the right, while on the left our entrenchments reached as far as the St. Leger hills which were crowned with our forts. Then came the splitting growl of the mitrailleuses behind us. These were still held to be rather uncertain weapons. Men familiarly called them pepper-pots, and it was as likely as not that a few bullets might come spattering our way, spread-eagled as we were on the railway embankment, and offering a far more practicable target than the advancing Germans. But there were no casualties, at least near us, and in a moment the Germans fired a volley which swept the embankment like hail. The rifles of the first Milanese cracked on every side, but I bade Hugh hold his fire till the charging enemy was only a hundred yards away. Our Henry rifles gave us an immense advantage in speed of firing. They came on, breaking at last through a dark barrier of yew and poplar hedge, and as they came we could see their bayonets flash like silver in the dull light. Their colonel was mounted on a black charger, a tall fine-looking man who pushed his horse up every knoll in order the better to see whom and what he was attacking. But he dropped a little way from the yew hedge, and almost before he reached the ground two men with a stretcher were lifting up their officer, while a third had taken the horse by the bridle and was leading him to the rear, as composedly as a groom in a stable-yard. "Now, then, Hugh," I cried, "you take the right of the line and I will take the left. But sight carefully and don't aim high." "_Crack_--_crack_--_crack!_!" went our magazine rifles, and the big Pomeranians went down as if an invisible sickle had mown them. As I expected, Hugh was finished before me, but we had scarcely time to adjust our new cartridge holders before the line broke and the blue coats turned and ran. A few officers and a man or two immediately in their wake got as far as the curve of the embankment--only, however, to be shot down. The air rang with the shouts of "Evivva Garibaldi!" And a few minutes afterwards the Tanara regiment, encouraged by our success, repulsed the enemy's bayonet charge, so that in an instant our whole line was disengaged. Only out in the open the trampled earth and the glistening crushed-sugar snow were starred here and there with spots and splotches of red and the contorted bodies of men, some still moving, but mostly stricken into the strange stiff attitudes of death. It was our first battle in the service of Garibaldi. It was destined to be our last. For that night the news of the fall of Paris and the signing of the armistice stopped the fighting everywhere, except at Belfort and along the desperate rear-guard line of Bourbaki's army, which was being driven like a pack of famished wolves into the passes of the Jura. CHAPTER XVI THE COMING OF ALIDA It was the evening of the 27th of January, and we were back in Autun. The Milanese were later than most in getting inside the gates. We had pushed far forward after the retreating Pomeranians, and now our lot was to bivouac in the square. The houses were full, and the churches with their damp floors did not tempt us. Besides, we were full of the glow of victory, and for that night a camp-fire in the middle of the square satisfied us. The evening had fallen mild and still--clear too, though rapidly growing misty under the red loom of camp-fire smoke. There was not much open rejoicing. The French would not believe that the end had come, and the Italians, still flushed with victory, felt that they had come a long way to do but little. Still, as we lay close to our camp-fires or threshed our arms about to keep warm, we could not keep out of our minds the hope of better days. I know not of what Hugh Deventer thought, but for me I was talking to Rhoda Polly, or lazily steering the ferry-boat across the river while before me Jeanne Félix bent lissomly to the oars. It was clear that I had not yet reached the age of the grand expulsive passion which ignores partage. Indeed, given a temperament like mine, no youth is worth his salt who at twenty-one cannot drive several teams abreast. Hugh and I put in the night wandering up and down, rendered restless by the thoughts of peace, and unable to sleep about the camp-fires before which we had spread our blankets. Upon the advice of a stranger in a doorway we penetrated into a school, and from the first class-room brought out benches and desks enough to feed our camp-fires all night in the square of Autun. With a stroke or two of the axe Hugh smashed these across the middle, and we soon built up such a range of blaze that the heat drove back the sleepers, some of whom, caught betwixt two, were in peril of being roasted. Those who did not waken we dragged off by the shoulders, usually to be soundly cursed for our officiousness. Then we went back to find the man who had told us of the school-house treasure. He was standing at his door grimly regarding our bonfires. We thanked him courteously in the name of the regiment. "At least the Jesuits will teach no more lies to poor children on those benches," he said. "You are true Garibaldians, though you do speak French like Linn and myself!" He was a tall man with a grey beard that came half-way to his waistbelt, and when he invited us in we were wondering who Linn might be. We found ourselves in a comfortable little kitchen, floored with red brick. On the walls, trophies of matchlocks and Dervish swords on a ground of palm leaves and alfa grass told us that we were in the dwelling of one who in his day had made the campaign of the Atlas. Over the mantelshelf, and framed in oak in a rough but artistic manner, was a document which attracted me. One side was written in Arabic of the dashing and ornamental sort. I had seen many such in my father's library. The other side was ruled with a pencil, and there the writing was that of a schoolboy just beyond the stage of pot-hooks. "Is it permitted to read?" I asked, for my curiosity was great. The man with the long beard was talking to Hugh, but he turned to me with a courteous wave of the hand, and said with a ceremony that was never learned in Autun: "Sir, this house and all that it contains are at your service." I followed the ill-traced letters of the translation. It was dated "From my prison-house, in the fortress-city called Amboise," and was signed "Sheik Abd-el-Kader." It contained, after the usual compliments, greetings and affection to the brave fellow soldier and commander of his forces, Keller Bey--with a congratulation on his release from imprisonment. So it became immediately evident to me that our host had indeed made the campaign of the Atlas, but that he had fought against and not for the tricolour. He seemed to watch out of the corner of his eye the effect of the framed certificate. "You are English," he said, "and though you have stolen much yourselves, you can still feel for a great man defending his country, and not condemn the little man who helped him." "You are Keller Bey?" I asked, pointing to the name on the much crumpled sheet. "I am Keller," he said, "Keller grown old and staid. Linn keeps me at home. She had the devil's own job ere she got me buckled down, but she did it, and now there is only Linn and our daughter Alida for me to think about." And in the silence of the house he lifted his voice and called aloud for "Linn." Presently we heard footsteps coming swiftly along the passage which led from the inner rooms. A woman entered--tall, gaunt, and angular. Her aspect was severe to the borders of being forbidding, and she frowned upon us as Keller, ex-officer of Abd-el-Kader, made some brief introduction. But the smile with which she held out her hand was transfiguring. The face which had been almost ugly suddenly became attractive and even fascinating. One saw that her eyes were of forget-me-not blue, and when she said "You are welcome" to one and the other of us, it was clear that Linn Keller possessed gifts of attraction which do not depend upon age or external beauty. She was taller than her husband, but awkward and angular in her movement. She walked with a curious shuffle as if the slipper on one foot was always on the point of coming off, yet--in a moment we found ourselves at home with her, and in five minutes we were calling her "Linn" just as her husband had done. The assurance of youth can surely no farther go. The lamp on the mantelpiece was of an Oriental design. Curtains and rugs were abundantly scattered about, and in one corner a looped-up hanging showed an oblong bath sunk in the tiled floor. "This house is our own," said Linn; "we have arranged some things to suit ourselves, having been so long abroad that it seems impossible to do without them. But at any rate you must stay and see Alida. You must rise early, for she has to go out to give her lessons. Alida is a teacher of music. We have put everything except this house and a provision for our old age into Alida's education." I explained to the pair that we would indeed be most grateful for the warmth and refuge of the kitchen, but that if that were inconvenient we could return at any hour of the morning, always provided the regiment did not march. "They are fine lads, eh, Linn?" said Keller, turning to his wife. "Can we not do something better for them than the kitchen floor?" I assured them that we asked no more than permission to stretch ourselves on a couple of rugs with knapsacks beneath our heads. But Linn's housewifery instinct was roused. She took us to a room on the entresol, with two beds, and even insisted on helping us off with our boots. There we should sleep, and she would keep an eye on the regiment, and have us on parade in good time. As for her she was a barrack's child and understood such things. Besides, Keller and she were back and forward all night like the Arabs among whom they had lived. Never had the touch of sheets felt more caressing. Never did sleep fall upon us so deep and dreamless as when our heads touched the pillow. It was still dark when we were awakened by a light touch on the shoulder, and sitting up each on an elbow we beheld Linn stalking about the room and putting back our uniforms all carefully brushed and folded. A candle stood on a stand, and farther back a gigantic Linn was grotesquely shadowed upon the walls. "Breakfast is ready," she said, when we had somewhat got over our first blankness. "You have a good hour before you, and if you dress now you will have time to breakfast, and besides you shall see Alida." I do not know whether it was the breakfast or the prospect of Alida seen in the flesh which aroused us, but no sooner was the door closed behind Linn's back than we flung ourselves into our uniforms with that ordered rapidity which only a soldier understands. Everything we touched had been warmed and cared for with that affectionate motherliness which looked out of Linn's eyes. We had never experienced any kindness like this before, and it seemed the more marvellous that by merely putting aside the blinds of our sleeping-room we could see our comrades still lying about the fires, and the cooks for the week beginning with their bayonet butts to crush and grind the berries for the morning coffee. Yonder were Victor Dor and Marius Girr looking down at our sleeping places, and presently beginning to roll up our blankets. It seemed a shame that we should have passed the night between sheets, thus basely abandoning our comrades among the trampled snow of the market square of Autun. But there interposed between them and us two necessities: a "made" breakfast which we must eat--eat till we could eat no more, and--we must see Alida Keller, daughter of the Atlas "goums." I don't know what Hugh expected. But for myself I mingled Linn and the ideal music mistress. Tall, forceful, and striding she must be, with energy to bring into such evident subjection Keller Bey and his wife. Something younger and less weather-beaten than Linn, of course--perhaps with a certain passing glow of good looks which would fade out like the mist bloom upon the peach trees in the frost of April. But when at last she came in, and stood a moment to give a hand to each of us, before nestling into her familiar corner of a low old Oriental couch--I think both our hearts cried out at the same moment: "Oh, the perfect creature!" She was not like Linn in the least. Her father still less resembled her. It is almost impossible to describe this girl of the South, nevertheless I can but try, Alida Keller was little, but shaped with such delicate perfection that she gave the impression of a greater height. Her skin was of a creamy duskiness through which went and came colour now as faint as that of a rose leaf, which anon flamed out into a vivid red, the colour of the pomegranate flower. Her father and Linn served her like a princess, and to this she seemed accustomed, for except that she patted Linn's hand, or with a smile said "Petit Père" to her father, she seemed unconscious of their attentions. As for Hugh and myself, I declare that we were completely cheated out of that admirable breakfast. We had meant to square our elbows, grasp our knives and forks, and fall on. We had rank appetites, sharpened with fighting and hard fare, but the mere presence of Alida cut at the roots of hunger as a scythe cuts down reeds. We simply sat and gazed at her. She was not in the least put out, ate well and daintily, and looked at us impartially from under her dark lashes. For the instant--I will not admit more--I forgot Rhoda Polly and Jeanne Félix. But I am not much to be blamed. For the burden of the conversation fell on me. Hugh Deventer could only sit and gape, lifting the same morsel half a dozen times to his mouth without once getting it safely in. He uttered not a word, save sometimes in answer to a direct question he would produce a "yes" or "no," so jerky and mechanical that I was obliged to kick his shins under the table to keep him aware of himself. Of this Keller and Linn saw nothing. They were all eyes and ears for Alida, and had not a glance for us. The table was covered--we were soldiers and could help ourselves. Meantime I was kept busy answering the questions of Alida. She spoke in a low and thrilling contralto, a voice that had a _ron-ron_ in it, something like the pulsing whisper of a bell after it has been rung in a church tower. How had we left school? We must tell her. Tell her I did, describing as vividly as possible the laundry and the secret way out upon the road, then the good-bye call at my father's house, and our escape from the sentinel at the bridge end. It was lovely to see the cheeks of Alida now going pale now flaming scarlet, and I admit that I made the most of my opportunity. I passed rapidly over the troubles in Aramon-les-Ateliers, both because I knew such things could not interest Alida Keller--also (and chiefly) because I gathered that Keller and Linn would be altogether on the side of the workmen, and I did not feel called upon to defend the difficult position of Dennis Deventer as Manager of the Small Arms Factory--at least not just then. Our later adventures with the transport train, our march by night, our incorporation in the Garibaldi army, and the many skirmishes culminating in the big fight when we had defeated the Prussians, were all easy to tell--and I had scarcely finished when Linn came in with the news that the regiments were forming up for roll-call. We had hardly time to promise to come back before we were equipped and pushed out by Linn with well-plenished haversacks. We scurried across the square and appeared in our places out of nowhere in particular, to the great astonishment of Victor and Marius, who hastily arranged our blankets across our shoulders so that we might pass inspection. "You English fear nothing, I know," said Victor Dor, "but you almost ran things a trifle fine this morning. See yonder!" He pointed with a finger towards a narrow street which debouched into the upper end of the Market Square. At first we could see nothing--and then--lo, the ramshackle barouche, and the two fatigued white horses of the General himself! "_Garibaldi! Garibaldi!_" The "Children" of the Milanese regiment could hardly keep their lines. We front-rank men felt an impulse as if someone were pushing us from behind. It was the concentred yearning of a thousand men. Our officers kept whispering to us, "Stand firm. Not just now. He will return. See how the Tanara regiment is standing--would you have them put us to shame before our father?" So the Milanese men stood quivering each like a tuning-fork while their General passed by. Bordone was with him, and Ricciotti rode on the side farthest from the lines. I saw him clearly, and noted the waxen pallor of his face. But his eye was still bright, and the smile kindly on his lips as he passed down the lines. It was the face of a philosopher, a thinker, or a prophet, rather than that of the greatest leader of irregular troops the world had ever seen. But when the carriage turned at the end of the square, the men could no longer be held. They surrounded the old barouche, hanging round it in clusters, like grapes, or more exactly like bees about their queen in her summer flight. Hugh Deventer and I stood a little back, for we felt that this was, as one might say, a family matter, and no concern of ours. But Ricciotti spied us out, and putting his horse into the press, brought us forward to introduce us personally to his father. The old man extended his hand which, instead of kissing, we shook in the English fashion. The difference pleased him. "It is like Sicily to see you here. I had once over eight hundred of you, and not a white feather or a faint heart among them all. I trusted them as I trusted my children. They were as my children. Well may I love England. They fought for me seeking no reward, and afterwards when there was talk of expelling me, they bought my island and gave it to me, so that none could take it away for ever." He moved on, nodding his head and smiling, while Bordone glooming on the seat opposite seemed vastly relieved. Ricciotti was in high spirits. "The Chief is better to-day than I have seen him for years," he confided to us. "He said we had done well against Manteuffel--yes, even I, his son whom he never praises." Victor Dor and Marius Girr came and shook hands with us repeatedly. It was an honour to the company that the General had so distinguished us, and would we tell them what he had said--yes, every word. From their archway Keller and Linn had beheld, one standing on either side of the door, and a slight vibration of the window curtains suggested that perhaps Alida herself was not wholly without curiosity. Then the troops were dismissed. The town was placarded with the white oblongs reserved for Government proclamations. The Armistice (they said) had been concluded with the Emperor of Germany, but in the meantime its army of the Vosges was to remain under arms for the reason that poor Bourbaki's army of the East was excepted from the cessation of hostilities. At first no one could imagine why, because it was now little more than a broken troop, hardly able to fight a rearguard action, and ready to be driven through the perishing cold of the mountain passes to surrender to a Swiss colonel beyond the frontier. Later the truth appeared. By their own politicians the army of the East had been wholly overlooked and forgotten! And Bismarck, irritated by the stubborn resistance of Denfert at Belfort, was willing to take advantage of this fact to overrun two additional French departments. Thus it came to pass that we remained full three weeks more kicking our heels in Autun. We were allowed to make our own arrangements for _billets de logement_, which carried us naturally to the house in the square inhabited by Keller Bey, his wife Linn, and--Alida. The officers all knew that the war was over and chafed at the delay. So I think did most of the soldiers excepting ourselves. Hugh and I alone were content, of all the army of the Vosges encamped in and about Autun. CHAPTER XVII A DESERT PRINCESS We occupied the two big gable rooms looking east on the second floor of the Kellers' house in the market square of Autun. This suited us admirably, though we were obliged to keep quiet so as not to disturb Alida, who had the corresponding suite on the first floor below. We found that the room in the entresol where we had slept the first night was the proper bedroom of Keller and Linn his wife. But as a matter of habit, neither of them appeared to care very much for a regular night's rest. You would catch them, indeed, closing their eyes after dinner over a newspaper, or when Alida was practising on her noble grand piano, the chief pride and luxury of the Keller house. But Hugh and I, who slept with our door of communication open in order to talk to one another in case of sleeplessness, could hear Keller and Linn moving about at all hours of the night down in the silence of the ground floor--sometimes advertising their presence by a little silvery rattle of glass set on a tray, the dull fall of a log on the chimney and irons, or the curious slip-shuffle of Linn's walk. Sometimes, too, we heard voices, but that not often. Once about the end of the first week, when I could not sleep, I slipped down for a stroll about the town. It was half-past two of a black February morning, and the snow swirls were waltzing like spinning tops all about the market square. But there in the archway, his back to the carven lintel, stood Keller Bey, calmly smoking his pipe and looking out on the black turmoil as though it had been the cool of an August evening. Linn heard us talking, and came quickly to see who was there. Even at that hour she was in her ordinary dress, and she dried her hands composedly on a long sheath apron of blue _toile nationale_. "Why are you not asleep?" she demanded sharply. "Keller, you are teaching this young man bad habits." His wife's accusation only made Keller wag his head wisely. Instantly I took all blame upon myself. I had not been able to sleep, I said, I was ashamed to disturb Deventer by my restlessness. "You drank too much of that black coffee last night, Monsieur Auguste" (thus had Angus gone wrong). "I must ration you in future, so that you can get your natural sleep as young folks should." I hastened out into the night with Keller's huge "pellerine" cast about my shoulders, and the hood reaching my ears. It was a comfortable garment of some unknown African cloth, rough as frieze and warm as wool. The sudden dashes of snow swooping upon me were turned victoriously aside by its formidable brown folds, and I felt as I wandered in the black of the streets with the buildings towering dim and shadowy above me, like one who in a storm has by some magic carried his house along with him. No soldiers were bivouacking in the streets that night. The squares were void of bonfires. All the red shirts and blue breeches had alike found shelter, for the superfluous regiments were now quartered upon the neighbouring villages, or had marched to their head-quarters at Dijon. Back and forth I tramped, from the Mairie clock with its dim one-candle power illumination of face to the dark mass of the towers of the Holy Trinity, I patrolled the town from end to end. It was perhaps an hour or a little more that I wandered so, tiring myself for sleep, my face beaten upon pleasantly by the fierce gusts of snow charging down from among the chimney-pots, or driving level across the open spaces. At last I turned my face towards the market square, which I entered by the little dusky street of the Arches, and so came suddenly upon the Keller house at the angle opposite to the mayoral belfry. I had expected Keller in the same position waiting for me, but when I sheltered in the archway, no Keller was in sight. Behind me, however, the door stood open, and as I stood dusting down and shaking out the thick folds of Keller's pellerine, I was conscious of a stir behind me. I turned my head in doubt, and was just in time to see the man himself whisk upstairs with the curious enamelled iron water-jug in his hand, which is known through all the South as a "bouillotte." The fire had newly been made up in the kitchen, and glowed warmly. The kettle sang shrill, and even the German stove, used on the occasions of great feast, had hastily been put into commission. Feeling sure that something was gravely wrong, I took off my boots to dry slowly on the high bar alongside those of Keller and Hugh. I tiptoed upward, hoping to gain my room without running across any one. But on the first floor the door of the sitting-room stood wide open, and all was bright within. I saw Alida sobbing bitterly, Linn kneeling beside her with bottles of Cologne water and smelling-salts. She was murmuring something evidently designed to be comforting. The girl's long dark hair fell around her in loose masses, overspreading and almost inundating the low canary-coloured divan of soft Oriental silk on which she was reclining. Keller hovered helplessly about the couch, or proffered a suggestion, to be swept off the scene with a sharp word from Linn which sent him to the far end of the room, only to begin again a stealthy approach. I promise you I was passing the door as cautiously as might be, and giving myself no small credit for my excellent management of the business, when suddenly I heard my name called as only one in the house could speak it. "Aügoos Cawdori--Aügoos, I want you--I want to tell you!" Alida, leaning on her elbow, had caught sight of me, and I could see Linn's gesture of something like despair, which I took to mean--"There---the secret is out. We can never stop it if once she speaks." She bent forward and spoke earnestly into Alida's ear. But the girl merely signed to Linn to retire. The gesture was made unconsciously, but with all the dignity of a princess accustomed to be unquestioningly obeyed. "Let Monsieur Cawdori come hither at once. I must speak with him. His advice is good. You and Keller Bey are old and speak as the old. Aügoos Cawdori is young as I am young, but he has the wise heart. So much I have seen from the first." She spoke in French, but with a curious redundancy and largeness of phrasing unnatural to a language which is an exact science. In all moments of agitation Alida seemed to be translating from another and more copious tongue. Obedient to her command I entered the sitting-room where she was lying among the cushions of the yellow divan. The room was fitted up with a certain barbaric splendour, and the only touches of modern life to be seen were a bookcase of prettily bound books--red, green, and gold--set in a corner, the big Steinway Grand with its cabinets of music ready to hand, and the piano-stool upon which Alida often amused herself by spinning round and round, her tiny feet in their heelless slippers of golden brocade showing beneath the flutter of her light silk robe. As she lay on the divan, I could see that she wore under her dressing-gown a blouse of white silk flowered with gold, and an abundant pair of trousers of the same gathered close about her ankles by a button and a knot of golden cord. "I will speak," she cried. "This young man is worthy of my confidence, and you know it, Linn. If my father had wished me to go with Said Ali Mohammed, the slave prince, he would not have committed me to you. No, he would have sent me to nibble sweetmeats among the women behind the veil. But I am not a woman of the harem. I am free and French. Obey I shall not. I would rather die!" She suddenly threw off a slipper, reached out a bare brown foot exquisitely moulded, deftly picked up a letter from the floor with her toes, and handed it to me. It was in Arabic, and at the sight of the characters I shook my head. "My father could read it, but not I," I said mournfully, wishing that I had spent less time on Greek and Latin at the _Lycée_ St. André. "Then you must learn--you must--I shall teach you to speak, and your father shall drill you in the verbs. Listen, Aügoos Cawdori, I am not, save in love and in the kindness which not even my life could repay, the daughter of these best and dearest folk in the world. No, parents are not so kind as Keller and Linn. They are more selfish, though God forbid that I should speak so of my father. He was, ever since I can remember, a prisoner of war--even the great Emir Abd-el-Kader himself. I am the daughter of his one Queen, his first wife--no child of the 'Smala,' but a princess, the daughter of a princess. Abd-el-Kader, thinking himself near his end, committed me to the care of his old officer and his wife, instructing them that in all things I should be brought up as a maiden of the Franks. This they have done. You Linn, and you Keller, have kept watch about me day and night. The God who is the God of Jesus and of Mahomet reward you, as surely he will. I am a European girl in that which I have learned. I have chosen a profession in which I can be happy, here in this little town among the hills, till I seek larger fields and try my fate in other cities." She paused in her tale and smiled. The tears were falling steadily down Linn's face, and she seemed suddenly to have aged a quarter of a century. But Keller Bey, no longer restless, stood stiffly at attention as if he had been listening to the commands of his master, the great Emir. Alida looked from one to the other. Then lightly as a cat leaping from the floor to a window-sill, she sprang to her feet and embraced them tenderly. "I am your true daughter always. Do not forget it. I owe everything to you, and I shall never quit you if you will let me stay." She sat down again, and taking her letter, she began: "This is from my father, Abd-el-Kader, presently living at Brousse in Syria on the road to Damascus. He is old, he says, and he desires to see me about him in his latter days. All is good in Syria. The water of Brousse is sweet, and the French Government gives him much money. He has found a husband for me, a prince royal of Egypt, though not of Arab race. Sidi ben Mohammed is his name, the man whom he sends with a letter that I may see him, upon receipt of which his servant Keller Bey and his wife will hasten to bring me to Brousse under the protection and escort of this Prince of Egypt. Upon my arrival the solemn rites shall be observed, and I shall be the first wife of Ali Mohammed the Prince, a worthy man and one of great power in his own country. "So it is written, and my father signs and seals, but whether it was written for him or by him, I cannot tell. At any rate he has made his signature with the flourish which none can mistake, and an order is an order. What say you, Aügoos Cawdori? Must I obey, and become the chief wife of this coffee-coloured fellah, no Arab of my father's race, say the Egyptians what they will?" Alida sat among the scatter of cushions regarding me fixedly. "Tell me," she said, with a pitiful little gesture of appeal, "must I obey my father? _They_ think so, though I know well it will break their hearts as it would mine. Rather would I use this little toy" (she showed a dainty pair of golden scissors, with which the high born of her people sometimes open their arteries in a bath) "than I would go to Brousse to wed the brown man with the skin greasy like that of a toad--A-ä-ä-ch!" She shuddered and flung herself back on the cushions. I stood there in my stockinged feet as if I had been in a mosque, but no one remarked my bootless condition. "Now," said Alida, "you have heard the letter of the Emir, my father--what am I to reply to him? Tell me and I shall say it. You are the gift of God. The messenger with the message. I knew as much when I saw you passing the door. You have come out of the darkness to bring me light." It was a difficult position for my father's son. I was conscious of no message from heaven. But on my spirits preyed the same disgust as had fallen on her own. It was a thing impossible that this delicate girl, educated, well-read, accomplished, should mate with an African brute, with his Oriental ideas of the servitude of woman. "Princess Alida," I began, but she cried out instantly, "Alida--just Alida the music mistress--no princess at all!" "Well, then," I acquiesced, "Alida be it. You ask for my opinion. I will give it you. But I warn you that perhaps I am not the best of advisers, for having a good father after his ideas (which are not mine) I have not obeyed him very well, nor, indeed, has he asked me to obey. "But it seems to me that your father, by making you over to Keller Bey and Linn there--by ordering you to be brought up as their daughter, by allowing and encouraging you to acquire the tastes and arts of the Western people--has now no right to summon you back to a life which would be worse to you than death. I should refuse now and always. If necessary I should make good my French citizenship, and claim the protection of the Government. The mere threat of the loss of his great pension would be sufficient for Abd-el-Kader!" The delicious little brown head was bent low, and Alida's fingers pulled nervously at the gold threads on the sleeve of her long dressing-gown. She was carefully considering my advice, but I could see that she flushed her brightest scarlet at my words about her father. The proud little spirit within her spoke freely of the Emir, but resented the speech of others. I regretted that I had been so plain, but it was my manifest duty (so at least I regarded it) to save this daintiest of human creatures from the pollution and mental death of a harem, surrounded with evil-talking slave girls and sweet-sucking, moon-faced concubines. Alida was a product of the West, in spite of her ancestry. The whole business appeared ludicrous and impossible. I seemed to be listening and talking in a dream from which I would presently awaken. Alida would don her smart walking dress, and with her brown leather music roll under her arm would set off to give the Sous-Préfet's young wife her daily music lesson, Linn stalking majestically beside her like a great Danish hound on guard. At last she spoke, but without looking at me. "Though I agree that the thing itself is impossible--that I cannot marry Ali Mohammed the slave and slave's son--tell me what is to be done? I shall ruin these good people whom I love, who are paid to take care of me. Or if I do not ruin them, I shall be obliged to live on their scanty savings, for I know that they have spent the moneys they received from the Emir on my education." Linn gave one look at Keller, and flung herself down beside the girl. "Whatever we have is yours--we shall do very well. Everyone is pleased with you. Your professors prophesy great things for you. Keller, you dumb dog, tell her we shall manage very well, and that she shall never know the difference!" "If she decides to disobey her father," said Keller Bey, "we must do as things will do with us. But I wash my hands of the responsibility." For the first time I saw the flash in Linn's eyes. "Wash your hands of the responsibility, will you, Keller? So did Pilate. But I cannot hear that much good came of that! You and I must stand between, and prevent a Calvary for our Alida--or a Golgotha, for she will never marry that man alive!--I know her--I brought her up, and I never mastered her once. No more shall her father by one letter brought by a brown thick-lipped prince in a frock coat and glossy hat!" "Let us say no more about it," murmured Alida. "I will send away the slave's son to-morrow. I shall write to my father also. Doubtless he will be angry, but then--surely it is true that he and those about him are imagining a vain thing. He should have kept me veiled and cloistered, without a book, without music, without a mind. Then I might have been fit for the plaything of an idle man, but that time is past. I am a woman of the Occident, fitted to carry out my life alone, to earn my living, and to be the mate of some man who shall be altogether mine!" CHAPTER XVIII THE PRINCESS COMMANDS We slept late the next morning, Hugh and I. Indeed, Hugh always slept late unless he had the luck to be awakened. We did not breakfast till Linn had returned from her watch-dog march along with Alida to the house of the Sous-Préfet. There was now no regular drill, and instead of roll-call it was regarded sufficient if we reported to the guard which remained in permanence playing at cards and "bouchon" under the central bastion of the fort. This Hugh and I did, remaining a little while to gossip with Victor Dor and others of our company who were lounging about the barrack square. I fear that during those weeks we passed for rather sulky dogs who would not share our bone with our neighbours. For, having little to do, the young fellows of the first Milanese often followed with admiring eyes the daily progress of Alida and Linn in the direction of the Sous-Préfecture. We had requests for introductions even from the younger officers, but all such we referred to Keller Bey, knowing that the old man would be able to deal with any intrusion. And indeed matters stopped there till the regiment was disbanded, and the Italians were sent home at the expense of the French Republic. Meantime we continued, as Saunders McKie would have said, "living at hack and manger," free of the privileges of the house of Keller Bey and Linn his wife. Since Alida had taken my advice and written to her father that she would not marry the brown man, nor leave the life for which he had educated her for that of the harem, she had treated me as an intimate friend and adviser. We had long talks together, so often and so long, indeed, that I could see that Keller Bey and Linn were seriously troubled. Perhaps they were a little jealous also, but for all that they did not dream of opposing their wills to the slightest wish of their ward. "What shall I do when you are gone?" Alida cried one day. It was still early forenoon, for the Sous-Préfet's lady had to attend a Government function. Besides, it was a dismalish day outside with a low crawl of leaden clouds overhead, and along the horizon only one swiftly eclipsed streak of gold bead-work to show where the sunshine was at work. "I can _not_ stay on here, content with only the round of teaching visits, and the love of these two good souls! 'I have had playmates--I have had companions,' as your poet sings, and now there is you--and Hugh--who have come to me to show me how lonely I was." She thought a while, and then in her imperious way she sketched a programme. "There is no reason why Keller Bey and Linn should stop here. The house is well placed, and one of the best in the town. It would let to-morrow. Why should we not all go to Aramon and be happy? We could find a house there and company--all those girls, Hugh's sisters, of whom you have told me. I should be so happy. And we would get away from the brown man. He would not know where to find us if he should come back!" She clapped her hands joyfully, as if the matter were already settled, and ran upstairs to break the matter to Keller and Linn. When next I saw these two I was conscious of a little chill in the atmosphere. They thought that I was responsible for the wish of Alida to leave Autun and go to Aramon. "Do you think it is a proper thing," said Linn, "that a maid should follow two young men?" "I think you wrong her," I said, "unwittingly of course, but certainly you mistake Alida. It springs from no feeling of love for either of us, but she has now tasted comradeship and the equality of years for the first time. She thinks there is nothing else worth living for in the world. She will change her mind by and by. Her mind and affection will turn again to her elders." So I spoke from the unplumbed depths of a youthful self-sufficiency--that curious malady (happily fleeting) which compels all clever young men to feel called upon to lay down rules for their elders and for the world about them, at or about the age of twenty-one. Linn and Keller looked at one another in a kind of hopeless bewilderment. I think they felt that this was only the first of a series of changes from the quiet life they had been leading. They told themselves that they need expect no more happy uneventful days and delicious nights when they used their house as of old they had done many an Arab encampment, a place to wander and dally in, to lie down and rise up, to drowse and wake, to smoke in, and to play bezique together when the heart told them to. A sort of terror seized them as they saw themselves going off to bed at reasonable hours like mere untravelled burghers, each with a candle in hand, and nothing but the drum of the rain on the roof or the gnawing of a mouse in the wainscot to help them over the dead hours till the sun should rise. It was Keller who this time broke the silence. "Of course," he said, speaking slowly, and poising each word carefully, "if Alida has set her heart upon it of her own free will, there is nothing to be said. Linn and I must obey, at whatever cost to ourselves. For all we have is hers, and has come to us because of her. On that score we need not fear. We have enough for ourselves, and enough to leave to Alida. We can go to Aramon, but the business will need to be carefully gone about, and not too soon after your return. Alida is a girl among ten thousand. You are well-looking young men, and doubtless there are as many evil tongues in Aramon as there are in all places where human creatures herd together." This was a great concession, and accordingly I plucked up heart and began to make plans and suggest ways and means, eager to get ahead of all possible objections on the part of Linn. "There is an empty house at the corner of my father's property of Gobelet--not one so large as this, but quite large enough and pleasantly situated within the grounds. My father has never let it, but I know that he would be glad of a brave soldier and his wife to take care of it and keep it in order. The place is retired and he would feel protected. The gate in the wall opens on to the road to the _lycée_ of St. André, so that you would come and go without any overlooking. Besides, my father is a student and interferes with no one. He would talk as much Arabic to you as you wish. So too would old Professor Renard up at the College. He was once Vicar Apostolic out in your parts. You would have the best companions for Alida, in the sisters Deventer and their friends. If you like I will write to my father to-day? Not that there is any need. I know that he will be delighted, nay, that he will offer you a wing of Gobelet itself, which is much too large for him. But do not accept, the Garden Cottage is ten times as amusing, and infinitely prettier." I could see that I was making some way. Linn and her husband looked at each other, and if they did not smile, at least there was a more hopeful look on their faces. Linn was touched by the thought of the companionship of the Deventer girls, for in this matter Autun had been gravely lacking. Nor did the bribe of Arabic-speaking students to talk with appear to be wholly lost upon Keller Bey, even though he spoke still somewhat restively. "I have little acquaintance with book Arabic beyond the Koran, but it is a noble language in which to vent one's thoughts." I reassured him that both the ex-Vicar Apostolic and my father found it so. They would sit smoking and talking Arabic all a long evening over their parchments. "All this must I come and see for myself," said Keller Bey; "such a plant as Alida is not to be pulled up by the roots till we know where we shall find better ground and more fertile in which to reset her. But tell me, is not this Aramon of yours an unsafe town? The mob had possession of it for some days lately, attacking the works and the manager's house--can we safely take Alida to such a place?" Then in mighty haste I showed him the difference between the unceasing activity of Aramon-of-the-Workshops and the scholastic calm of Aramon le Vieux. I extended the width of the dividing river to a three-quarters of a mile, a size to which it only reaches in times of flood when the tall ladder of the painted scale by the bridge-end is wholly covered, and still the flood creeps up inch by inch till the people of Vallabrègues and Saint Jacques are crying for succour from the roofs of their drowned-out houses, and the pigs and poultry go out to sea feet up on a six-knot current. Keller and Linn sat and listened--Linn with a lost air of someone whose scheme of life has suddenly become impossible. I think Linn had expected the quiet days, the morning promenades with Alida, the cheerful suppers of the house in the square in Autun to go on always. Alida would always be as content with them as she had been when a little girl. Had she not come back from school to the warm love and unbounded spoiling which awaited her there? As they sat and pondered, Alida entered, her roll of music in her hand. "What," she cried, "you are all sitting as gloomy as crows in a cemetery. Where is Hugh? I want you both to come out and walk by the river. The early violets are out, and yesterday Madame the Sous-Préfet found a daffodil." "Alida," said I, "at Aramon all the flowers are out, and the broom runs along the river banks like a mile-wide flame of fire. Everywhere is yellow in spring, ranunculus, buttercups, celandine, and the yellow wallflowers sprouting among all the old walls of Gobelet. When will you come and see them?" Alida went prettily to Linn and kissed her. Then she put her arms about Keller without saying anything. The game was won. No more remained but to make the arrangements. "As soon as these two dear people will let me!" she said. Bless her! She might have started next morning if she had been set upon the matter! That is, so far as Keller and Linn were concerned. Afterwards while we were walking home Hugh looked edgeways at me. "Angus," said he gravely, "I should not like to have your responsibility. Are you sure that she will take to the family at Château Schneider? Or they to her? We are rather a handful, you know, and she--well, she is not exactly ordinary." "As to that I don't know," I said sharply, for I did not like to hear my darling project decried or even suspected, "and what is more, I don't care. The garden and the Garden Cottage at Gobelet are large enough and safe enough." "Pardon," he retorted, more unpleasantly than he had ever spoken to me. "I was under the impression that Alida was going to Aramon for society." "Well, and suppose she finds it without crossing the bridge--what then?" "Oh, nothing," he said, "I was only considering what you meant to do for yourself in the way of a career!" CHAPTER XIX KELLER BEY COMES TO ARAMON Keller Bey came to Aramon ten days after the time of our return. Before letting us go Alida decided that I must write her every day, and Hugh once a week. She had never seen a line from either, but she judged from our faculty of conversation--often quite a false test, as witness Cowper and Gray. For the details of that first visit of Keller to Aramon I must have recourse to the daily letters which I wrote at that time to Alida. _Monday, February_--, 1871. "NOBLE AND SWEET,-- "The Bey came last night into the station of Aramon-les-Ateliers, where Hugh and I met him. A manifestation of the Internationale was crowding the platform to welcome some delegate who was to address the companions in their hall. I could see the old soldier quiver at the sight of the red flags they carried. If the St. André diligence had not been waiting at the station portico, I hardly think we could have persuaded him to go on. Any opposition to the tricolour, which he hates with the hatred of an old Atlas fighter, appears to excite him. We shall have trouble with him at Aramon if events thicken as they seem to be doing. "But for the time being, everything marched as to music. The Bey was installed beside me, and Hugh very considerately took his leave. I am sending him over a message to-day telling him how matters fell out. The view from the bridge enchanted Keller. Aramon the Elder was rich with sunset glow--'a rose-red city half as old as time,' with the tall Montmorency keep standing up from its rock as firm and proud as the day it was finished five centuries ago. "He asked concerning the fort on the top, and gloom overspread his face when he heard that St. André had long been a famous _lycée_. I think he feared the neighbourhood of hosts of Jesuits. But I tranquillised his mind, telling him that he would find Professor Renard as free a thinker and as tolerant a listener as even my father. "Before long we stopped at the gate of Gobelet, and to my astonishment and delight my father opened it in person. He had even made toilet to the extent of a rough pilot suit and a pair of patent leather slippers. "Keller instinctively saluted as my father held out his hand. He seemed unaccountably shy of taking it, but at last he did and even shook it warmly if somewhat jerkily, 'after the English fashion' as he was eager to inform me afterwards--making a useful comparison of French and English characteristics between 'serrer la main' and hand-shaking. "I let the old gentlemen go on by themselves, sure that they would thus become better friends, and if you will believe me, Alida, they were not at the corner of the path leading to the Garden Cottage before they were deep in Arabic, and the next thing I knew was my father leading the Bey prisoner through the open windows of his study that he might show him some singular and infinitely precious manuscript. "Well, I left them till supper time. We are simple folk and sup early. Then I went into the study, where I had some difficulty in awakening them to a world where people washed hands before eating and drinking. "'Well, we must thresh that out again,' I heard my father say, and I am sure he never showed himself so much interested by any of my performances, not even when I brought home the gold medal for the first place in the _baccalauréat_. They could hardly let each other go, and if you, Alida, were present at that moment in the mind of the Bey, you were relegated to some distant hinterland, by me unexplored. "At supper, before Saunders McKie and the domestics I steered my barque with care. For the ears of Saunders were growing long and lop like a rabbit's, with sheer intensity of listening. Once or twice things became a little sultry, as when the Bey described the bannered procession he had seen at the station. "'Ah, politics,' said my father. 'I am glad they do not manifest over on this side of the water. White, red, or tricolour, it is all one to a man among his books.' "'Not to me!' said the Bey, somewhat explosively. "'Of course not--you are a soldier, and these things have been your life's business. But you must make allowances for a recluse and a scholar!' "I did not think my father could have been so tactful. "So _Salaam_, for to-night, dear lady! I kiss your golden feet." "_Tuesday._ "The freshness of this high air to you! I take up my tale. The Bey and my father have continued inseparable. Twice have I guided Keller to the Garden Cottage, and twice has he beheld it with wandering eyes. I am so sure that he has taken little in and that he will be able to give Linn no proper satisfaction, that I have made a plan of each floor to scale, marking all the cupboards deep and shallow, all exits and entrances, and the distance from Gobelet itself, with the garden walks and coppices on a separate plan. These I send now, so that you can have them well studied before the Bey's return, when Linn and you will know a great deal more about the Garden Cottage than he will. The third expert in Arabic came to dinner to-night, and to my relief he wore his college gown. I was afraid that he might appear in the full black uniform of the Company of Jesus. Keller did not turn a hair. They addressed each other in the current Arabic of Algeria, and in a clapping of hands they were deep in the discussion of Abd-el-Kader and all manner of recent tribal matters among the clans of the Atlas. "I did not understand very much, and indeed even the scholarly Arabic of my father was momentarily put out by words and expressions so richly local that the recollection of them caused the Vicar Apostolic to laugh aloud. "As far as I could make out, however, there was talk of a threatened rebellion because of the defeat and humiliation of France, and how, from his home in Brousse, Abd-el-Kader was doing all he could to prevent it. The dinner was a great success, but my chief amusement was to watch the face of old Saunders McKie. "'Losh-an-entie, Maister Aängus,' he said afterwards, 'to think that men wha can talk a reasonable civilised langwage like English, or even a chatter-chatter like the French, should bemean themselves to roar at yin anither like the beasts o' the forest!' "I told him that in all probability Jesus of Nazareth and his disciples spoke a dialect of it. Now I did not know how closely Aramaic approached Arabic, but I did know that the argument was calculated to impress Saunders. However, he only said, 'Maybe, but I think none the mair o' them for a caper like that, and I have ay been informed by them that kens a deal mair than you, Maister Aängus, that when the disceeples spak' or wrote, they set their tongues to the Greek, which is a decent responsible dead language, and weel thocht o' amang learned folks, or they would never spend sae muckle time learning it to the puir divinity laddies at the college.' I argued, somewhat foolishly, that most universities now had a professor of Arabic, but Saunders only said, 'Guid peety them that has to sit under _him_!' "Before going out, for I had stayed behind to smoke a cigarette and enjoy the dismay of the old servant, Saunders betrayed the reason of his anger at the use of Arabic. "'And to think,' he grumbled, as he went about dumping trays on the sideboard, 'that there's Mistress Syme and a' the rest o' them in the kitchen waiting for me to tell them a' that was said, and me has to gang doon never a bit the wiser, wi' my finger in my mouth like a bairn that hasna learned his lesson!'" So much I wrote to Alida of the successful reception and early doings of Keller Bey, ancient war-leader under the Emir of the Atlas. He had taken enthusiastically to Aramon le Vieux, and certainly Aramon in the person of my father and Professor Renard had taken enthusiastically to him. My father duly made the offer that I had side-tracked by anticipation. There was room enough for half a dozen families of that size in Gobelet. The servants were lazy, and needed something to do. Renard should come down, and all of them should dwell together in a haze of Arabic poetry and tobacco smoke. Besides, my father found the Bey a night-bird after his own heart, and absolutely rejoiced in having someone under his roof whom at any hour he might find awake and smoking in the library, if he should find himself restless. But this I would have at no price. I begged Keller Bey to remember that he was here to arrange for Alida and Linn. If they were to be under my father's roof, they would be eternally exposed to the jealous spying of Saunders and of the other servants, while at the Garden Cottage they would have a wall, and if necessary a locked gate, between them and any espionage. But by far the most delicate part of my mission was to break the news to the Deventer family. I had sworn Hugh by solemn oath not to forestall me in the matter, and I think he awaited my attempt with a kind of malicious pleasure. Certainly it was a large task to explain an unseen Alida to such a contradictory and turbulent family as the Deventers. Yet upon them and their manner of receiving Alida, befriending or showing her the cold shoulder, the whole success of the plan depended. I might indeed bluster to Hugh that we could make a society sufficient for her within the garden bounds of Gobelet, but even as I spoke I knew the emptiness of the boast. To be happy Alida must meet and mix with girls of her own education and, so far as the Western world was concerned, social position. I resolved to begin with Rhoda Polly, and a Rhoda Polly not argumentative and combative as in the family circle, but Rhoda Polly walking along the river bank, her eyes full of the sunset light, and the reeds whistling musically in a gentle fanning wind from the west. Not till two days after the return of Keller Bey to Autun did I get my chance, which brought us to Saturday afternoon. The occupancy of the Garden Cottage was decided upon, and after a severe struggle on my father's part a rent, low yet not merely nominal, was agreed upon. But I knew from the expression of my father's face that he meant to be even with his tenant for all that. CHAPTER XX I PLAY "THREE'S COMPANY" I met Rhoda Polly by arrangement made openly on a post card, which could be discussed in conclave and passed from hand to hand. I should be walking over to the restaurant of Mère Félix, and as the river Durance was in flood it might be worth while seeing. The day I mentioned, Saturday, was generally chosen by Hannah and Liz for their private outings, and I judged that the project would be unlikely to interest them in any case, not even if the Durance swept the plain, so long as the railway to Aramon remained open to them, by which to bring home their finery. Hugh was back with his father in the works, and Mrs. Deventer might be counted a fixture at the Château Schneider. Remained, therefore, only Rhoda Polly, but would Rhoda Polly come? That would depend on how Hugh Deventer had kept his promise to me. Still, I thought that in any case, there being no jealousy in the matter, I could trust Rhoda Polly's curiosity in the matter of Jeanne Félix. It must be admitted that in taking her over to the Restaurant of Sambre-et-Meuse I was sailing very near indeed to the wind. For though my conscience (such as it was) remained clear of any overact of love-making with regard to Rhoda Polly, it was by no means the same when I came to review my dealings with Jeanne. Not that I mean for a moment that Jeanne thought anything of the matter, or cherished any deep feelings for me. She was no daughter of the sainted bourgeoisie. She was frankly of the people, and had not been educated out of her sphere. She was just a simple frank girl, such as one might find by Dee or Nithwater, not ignorant of the world, nor of the designs of man, and for a French girl wonderfully capable of looking after herself. Still, whether Jeanne was capable of recognising in Rhoda Polly a mere comrade of mine after the manner of the English, was a problem which could only be solved by experiment. Rhoda Polly met me at the corner of the garden of the Château Schneider about half-past ten of that Saturday morning. The works were crashing away behind, and the new big gun factory especially was noisy with roaring blast furnaces and spitting jets of white steam. We did not shake hands nor make any demonstration beyond the lifting of a hat on my part and a slight nod on Rhoda Polly's. We might have been the merest acquaintances, yet no sooner were we alongside each other, walking on the same path, than the old understanding, trustful and confident, took hold of us. The spring on the slopes of the Rhône and the Durance comes early, and is the fairest time of the year. On the sandy tracts between the rivers we passed a world of fine things. The whole peninsula, almost correctly V-shaped, had been so often overflowed by the turbulent Durance that the permanent shrubs, the bushes of broom, thyme, and cistus had ascended the little rocky knolls which could keep their heads above water. But where our path wound was a delightful wilderness of alternate sun and shadow, black umbrageous stone pines, laurel, myrtle, and clove, planted out as in a nursery garden, yet all wild, the seeds brought down by the river, and now (like Shem and his brothers scattering from Ararat) true Children of the Flood. On the way Rhoda Polly ran hither and thither gathering flowers. With us at Aramon the spring is well under way before the autumn flowers are tired of blooming. She gathered purple colt's-foot and orchis, yellow iris and goats' honeysuckle. Troops of butterflies attended us, especially the Red Admiral and the swift poising Humming Bird Moth, some of them so large as to look like the bird itself. Even Bates on his beloved Amazon was deceived by it, as I took care to tell Rhoda Polly. We arrived at the edge of the crossing, and from the bank I shouted for Jeanne to take us over. She came down tall and nonchalant, an oar over her shoulder, unlocked the padlock and rowed unconcernedly across. She stood to help Rhoda Polly in, and then handed me the bow oar as was our habit like one long accustomed to such visits. I delayed introductions till we had reached the farther side. Rhoda Polly gave Jeanne her hand with the swift grip of liking. But I saw a glow in Jeanne's eyes as she took the oar away from me and marched with them both over her shoulder to the house. "Mademoiselle Deventer, mother," she cried, "come to visit us. Monsieur has brought her--so kind of Monsieur!" And Jeanne vanished round the corner with a kind of swirl of her pretty figure, the oar-blades swooping perilously after her. "I say," whispered Rhoda Polly, "that girl has never worn stays. Did you see her waist and hips when she turned--a full half circle? None of us, pinched-up wretches that we are, could do that! It was beautiful, the poetry of motion." I did not say so aloud, but I knew that it was something quite different on Jeanne's part--in fact, a little fling of temper. And with the thought of opening out the matter of Alida on the way home, I began to wish that Rhoda Polly and I had taken another road than that which led to the riverside hostelry of the Sambre-et-Meuse. Mère Félix was clamorous with welcomes, smiling heartsomely upon the daughter of the powerful manager of her husband's works, and quite willing to accept me as an elderly relative placed in charge of the outing. In which she made mistake, for nothing is more certain that all such expeditions were conducted according to the sole will of Rhoda Polly. We arranged for lunch to be served under the _tonnelle_ overlooking the river, and I stayed in the kitchen along with Mère Félix and the moon-faced maid-of-all-work. It was in my mind that perhaps Rhoda Polly might strike up one of her friendships with Jeanne, or at least do something to explain away the rather strained situation. Nor did I seem to be altogether wrong, for presently I saw the two girls amicably putting a boat to rights after a night's fishing in the flooded river. They were too distant for me to gather anything from their behaviour to one another. But presently it was evident that Rhoda Polly was talking in her wild harum-scarum fashion, for Jeanne threw back her head suddenly with a tinkle of laughter and a flash of brown throat showing pleasantly under a scarlet kerchief. I said in my heart--so vain and foolish was I--that the battle was to the cunning, and I thought no small potatoes of myself at that moment. I soon found, however, that Jeanne, though she might laugh at Rhoda Polly's freely expressed yarns, had no intention of forgiving me. If Rhoda Polly was heart-free, that was certainly not my fault. So when they came back to the house I tried in vain to inveigle Jeanne behind the barns where the fish-ponds lay safe and solitary, so that I might explain at my leisure. But it was "Monsieur is too good, but a poor girl has her work to do. _She_ has no time to go off sightseeing of a forenoon even with so charming a cicerone as Monsieur!" The little vixen! She tossed her head as she said it, and I declare that her small white teeth snapped together like a rat-trap. When I spoke to her after this, she answered me only with the distant civility of a well-trained servitor: "What can I do for Monsieur? If Monsieur will only take the trouble to rest himself in the _salle_ while I send Babette to attend to his wants!" (Babette was the moon-faced, rather besmutted scullion of the kitchen and the courtyard.) "Why, Jeanne," I cried, seeing that Rhoda Polly was at a safe distance learning the receipt for some sauce or dish from the Mère Félix, "Jeanne, why do you treat me like this? Are we not old comrades? Do you remember the day among the reeds after the boat went down and we had to tramp all the way home barefoot? I wrapped your feet in our handkerchiefs, Jeanne, because you had lost your shoes and stockings in the boat." "I do not know to what Monsieur is good enough to refer. I think that the walk in the sun from Château Schneider must have made Monsieur a little light-headed!" Of course if I had been wiser or older I would have said nothing more, and left Time to do his own perfect work. But I could not be content. I forgot all about Alida, and it seemed to me at that moment that nothing else mattered so long as Jeanne Félix remained friends with me. I have always been like that, and I cannot say that the business has worked out badly in the long run. No matter what a tangled web I wove, I always managed in the end to retain the good will of my dear lost loves, even when the losing was entirely my fault. The thought that was most prominent in my own mind at that moment was how pleasant it would be to obey the imperious rule of Alida the Princess on the sunny slopes below St. André, without prejudice to the charming boy-and-girl comradeship I enjoyed with Rhoda Polly on the walks and river promenades of Aramon-les-Ateliers--neither of these to interfere in the least with the sweetness of Jeanne's breath and the touch of her surrendered lips in the bosky thickets along the Durance. The young male of twenty-one has a heart which can beat for considerably more than one. At least so it was in my time. It surprised me, and I must admit rather shocked me, when Jeanne of all girls refused to lend herself to any such combination. I might have dotted the twin rivers with my loves and Rhoda Polly would not have cared, but such conduct from Jeanne Félix I could only look upon as highly unsatisfactory. I had never expected it of Jeanne. It would teach me to walk very warily in the matter of Alida. Foolish Jeanne, thus to have killed the pure flower of candour in my bosom! I made a last appeal to her, which to myself seemed irresistible. There was (I averred) a relationship in the world which might be called real brother-and-sisterhood, a fraternity of the spirit. This existed between Rhoda Polly and myself. We had always been conscious of it. When we played in pinafores in the dust we chose to be together, and left the others to their noisier sports. Afterwards we studied the same subjects at college--she at Selborne, I at St. André. We compared notes afterwards. We talked, but Jeanne must not think that there was more in the business than that. I could, would, must, and did assure her that the whole matter began and ended in a close spiritual brotherhood---- "Spiritual fiddlestick!" burst out Jeanne, turning fiercely upon me. "Have you ever kissed her?" Now I could lie upon occasion to oblige a lady, but the question was shot out at me so unexpectedly that my lips moved but I spake not. Jeanne eyed me one instant, with a length, breadth, and depth of contempt which cut to the quick even my self-conceit, at that time a young and exceedingly healthy growth. Then without a word she turned on her heel and went into the house. We saw no more of her that day. And when Rhoda Polly asked after her to say good-bye as we were leaving, the Mère Félix, after taking counsel with a casual stable-boy, informed us that Jeanne had rowed away up the river to visit a friend whose father kept a _pépinière_ or nursery of young trees at Cabannes farther up the Durance. Yes, Jeanne was often there. She and Blanche Eymard had been at school together. It was an old friendship. Besides, there was more company and gaiety at Cabannes--what would you, maids are but young once, and with a daughter so "sage" as Jeanne--why, Père Félix and she never disquieted themselves for a moment. She sometimes stayed a week or a fortnight, for she loved the culture of the young trees and the flower seeds. The work at the _pépinière_ was like a play to her with so many young people about her! CHAPTER XXI THE GOLDEN HEART OF RHODA POLLY I admit that I was gloomy and disappointed as I turned to walk back with Rhoda Polly--disappointed in the turn things had taken, in the ill success of my cherished diplomacy, and especially disappointed in the desertion of Jeanne, who had carried what ought at least to have been a broken heart, to the consolation of a newer and gayer place where doubtless young men abounded, as full of admiration and eagerness to please as I had been--well, any time these last two years. It did not strike me at the time that I was only a vain young fool, whose corns had been most deservedly trampled upon, and that here was the lesson which of all others would benefit me the most. It was therefore in a most humbled and chastened frame of mind that I opened out to Rhoda Polly the vexed and difficult problem of Alida. Perhaps it was well that I was still suffering from the rods with which Jeanne had chastised me. For, had I begun on the way towards the Restaurant Félix, when I was rampant and haughty of crest, I might not have made my points so well. But for once I forgot my silly self, and devoted all my energies to pleading for Alida. I painted her solitary condition, and the unlikelihood that, if she (Rhoda Polly) refused to help her, she would find any other friend of her rank in Aramon. "Why, of course I will!" cried Rhoda Polly the golden-hearted; "why did it ever get into your stupid old noddle that I would not? And so will the rest--specially mother, who will be the most useful of us all. She has never had any mother, really, this Alida of yours! Oh, of course, your Linn has done her best, but then, you see, she knew she was a princess, and from early association Madame Keller would be little more than a servant. Oh, I shall understand, never fear. Mother will be as grand a dame as she is, and I--well, I shall be the daughter of the Great Emir of the Aramon Small Arms Factory. I wish she had been coming to stay with us--but no, it is better as it is. The Garden Cottage!--Think of it, what a Princess of the Sleeping Woods she will make. We are too noisy. But why did Hugh never tell us? I should have thought he would simply have raved about such a marvel. But he has been as silent as mumchance!" "Forgive me. I wanted to tell you myself," I said, still humbly; "it was very good of Hugh, but I really could not let anyone else tell you, and it seemed so hard to get hold of you these days--I mean without your fighting tail." "The fighting tail have gone off to-day to rustle chiffons," cried Rhoda Polly; "but never mind them! Tell me about this Princess from the East. I never thought I should see one, yet I once saw her father, a patch of white on the high promenade at Amboise, the year that Dad took me with him for company. He was bringing out a new carbine for the Cavalry School at Saumur on the Loire. So it was from there that we went one day to see the great man." Then I told Rhoda Polly about the brown prince of the Khedival house, his visit and the answer he had carried back. "Of course she could not," she cried, all on fire in a moment. "It would be like imprisonment for life, only far more dreadful." Rhoda Polly's eyes, unused to untimeous moisture, were at least vague and misty, but that might only be because she was looking into the blue distance towards the Alps of Mont Ventoux. "Poor precious waif," she said, "if she is wayward and a little difficult--who can wonder? We shall all try hard to make her happy. We will come and pay court to her in the garden." I explained that a girl who had been a music mistress to the exigent Sous-Préfectoral dames and other ladies of Autun, might not be so difficult to deal with as she seemed to expect. It was only Keller Bey and Linn who, if spoiling had been possible, had spoilt her ever since she came to them as a little child, the charge committed to them by their master, the battle Emir of the Atlas. "Oh," cried Rhoda Polly, hardly able to curb her feet to a decent walk, "how mean it will be if they stop Keller Bey's money, and that wretch of an old Emir getting so much from the Government. I wish I did not spend every centime of my allowance without ever knowing where it goes to! But at any rate I mean for the future to share with Alida if she will let me." I explained how from what Keller had told me Alida would have enough to live upon even if they never saw another sixpence of her father's money. Also I described what my father was doing to the Garden Cottage to fit it for their coming. "Oh, do let me come and help. Ask your father. I should love to! And I should have far more idea than a man. I could get mother to come too, sometimes, though you know how loath she is to move far out of her own house. Still, she could drive over." Never was there so short a walk as that between the pier above Mère Felix's and the gate of Château Schneider. Rhoda Polly was so eager that she would have gone right across the river there and then, and climbed the hill to Garden Cottage, if I had not insisted on delivering her to her mother, and generally giving an account of my stewardship. Before going in, however, I warned her that the secret of Alida the Princess must be kept. It was only for herself. To the rest of the family she must be Mademoiselle Keller, the daughter of Keller Bey and his wife Linn. The need to keep so great a matter secret seemed to damp the girl's enthusiasm for a moment, but almost instantly she caught me by the hand in her impulsive boyish way. "I promise," she said, "and you are quite right. It was splendid of you to tell me. I am so grateful for that." "Of course I told you, Rhoda Polly. Who else could I have told?" She meditated a little, finger on lip before speaking. "Do you know it is rather a pity not to tell mother," she said at last. "She does not interfere, but she moderates and eases off the hard places. She has a great deal of influence in a quiet way--more than any-one--and she would never tell a soul. I really think that it would do Alida more good than anything else to have mother on our side from the first. We are all trumpeters like father (except perhaps Hugh, who is not like any of our brood), but it is mother who tells the trumpets when to stop sounding." I assured Rhoda Polly that she could do as she thought best in the matter. Mrs. Deventer was all she said and more. She possessed, besides, a pleasant quality of motherhood that glinted kindly through her spectacles. Then, of course, Rhoda Polly knew best. All that I wanted to avoid was having the secret which had been entrusted to me being battered about in the daily brawls of the Deventer family--still less did I wish that it should get abroad to set talking the commonplace gossips of the town. "Ah, _mon ami_," said Rhoda Polly, "you need not fear my mother. She knows the secrets of every one of us, I think--except perhaps Hugh's, who is too young to have any--and yet when we girls come to confide some tremendous fact to each other, we are astonished to find that mother has known it all the time." CHAPTER XXII IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW Garden Cottage was occupied on the eleventh of March, 1871. For several days before that, the great discharging lorries lent by Mr. Deventer had toiled up the hill, the four stout horses leaning hard on the collar and their drivers ready to insert the wheel-rest at every turning. Ever since this time began, Rhoda Polly had almost lived at our house, and she it was who had done the ordering of all the strange Oriental furnishings, partly from her own taste and partly from questioning me as to the arrangement of the different rooms I had seen at Autun. Mrs. Deventer came across the bridge every day in her little blue Victoria--taking a peep in at us in the morning and hurrying back to tend her flocks, but in the afternoon, stopping over tea till she could drive a rather soiled Rhoda Polly home, as it were a much ruffled chick under a motherly wing. For indeed Rhoda Polly spared neither man nor beast, least of all did she spare herself. A tack-hammering, painting and varnishing, cellar-to-garret Rhoda Polly pervaded the house, swooping upon all and sundry and compelling strict attention to business among the much-promising, little-performing tradesmen of Aramon. My father had already done his part, for he was a man who could not endure the chill mistral of the Rhône valley. Every room which had a chimney was equipped above with a wind shield, and beneath with steel andirons, beside which the cut faggots lay ready piled. The chambers without chimneys had been fitted with porcelain German stoves, the pipes of which bristled like lightning-rods along the roof ridges, and in the hall a great open fire-place shone with brass and copper, the spoil of an ancient Spanish monastery condemned in 1835 by Mendizabal, prime minister and Jew share-broker. What wonder if Rhoda Polly went home dishevelled and not over clean, but full of excitement and ready to battle for her new fad with the family at Château Schneider. Once there her mother plumped her into a hot bath, and after a smart douche to close the pores, Rhoda Polly came down literally as fresh as paint, to do battle for her new enthusiasms. Hannah and Liz Deventer came once or twice to see what it was all about, but as they would not help, but only went round accumulating brickbats to pelt Rhoda Polly with later in the day, on the second occasion that capable young woman turned them both out _vi et armis_, though she must have weighed a good third less than Hannah. The girls went good-humouredly enough, and having found my father talked with him in the Gobelet garden, by the old sundial which bore the arms of a former Marquis de Gallifet, and a date which commemorated the visit of Mesdames de Grignan and de Sevigné during the governorship of the former's husband. Gordon Cawdor, my father, pleased all women, and I must admit most men--though up till now I had not been able to allow him the full measure of my sympathy or admiration. To do him justice he did not seem in the least conscious of the need of these, so long as I behaved decently and did my duty at school and college. He was a man wonderfully stoical about the modern lack of filial recognition, no doubt saying to himself, as I came to do later, that the bringing up of sons was a poor business if one looked for direct returns on the capital and labour expended. But he never complained, and must, I think, have been finally and lastingly astonished when the long-barren fields of my filial piety ripened of themselves. At any rate I began to know him better during these days. I marked his gentle ways, his enormous reading and erudition, never flaunted, never refused, never at fault. He had already finished his part of the work at the Garden Cottage, so he sat either in his study with the tall French window on the hasp ready to a visitor's hand--or, if the sun shone and the mistral was stilled, out on the broad wooden bench by the fish pond, a volume in his hand to read or annotate when alone--but quite ready to drop it into the pocket of his velvet jacket, and turn the gaze of his gentle scholarly eyes upon whomsoever had come forth in need of society or soul refreshment. I learned a lesson in those days--to know how other people estimated my father. Of course, I had seen Dennis Deventer drinking in the knowledge he felt the lack of, as from a fountain. I knew what Professor Renard and the Bey thought of him. Yet, after all, these were men of Gordon Cawdor's own age and stamp. But when I saw the fine sweet house-motherliness of Mrs. Deventer sitting at my father's feet and talking confidentially yet with respect, the thing seemed to me strange. I have seen her finish the review and arrangement of a series of china and napery closets, the laying down of fresh papers in chests of drawers, or the ordering of knick-knacks gathered in the Bey's campaigns. Then she would throw a fold of black Spanish lace over her pretty grey hair, always shining and neat--and so, without explanation or apology, hie herself out to find my father. "A talk with him is my refreshment!" she said once when she came back and laid the folded lace scarf down beside the work she was next to attack. More than once I had passed them speaking low and earnestly, and I am sure she was consulting him about some intimate affairs of which she had spoken to no one else. Or it was the turn of Rhoda Polly and her procedure was different. She would remove the provision of tin-tacks, French nails, or whatnot from her mouth, her habitual ready receptacle, throw a wisp or two of rebellious ripe-corn hair back from her brow, and demand to be told if there were any very bad smuts on her face! When she presented her handkerchief or the hem of her apron to me I knew from long experience what was expected of me. I was to remove the offending smuts from Rhoda Polly's face with the oldest and most natural of cleansers, exactly as we had done to one another when the dinner bell or the voice of authority called us from some extra grubby tree-climbing or mud-pie making experiment in the days when the world was young. "Spell ho!" Rhoda Polly would cry; "had enough this one time. I am off to talk to your father. He does me good." And now when the other Deventer girls, the stately swan-necked Hannah and the Dresden shepherdess of a dainty Liz, being expelled for "shameless slacking" and "getting in everybody's way," took their road with happy expectant faces to the bench by the sundial, I knew in my heart for the first time that I would never so add to the happiness of humanity as that gentle refined scholarly man who was my father. To my shame I took a cast about the garden, and from the top of a ladder looked down upon the trio in an unworthy and wholly ungentlemanly way. I did not mean to overhear--of course not--but I overheard. My only excuse is that I was in a quandary. I knew that I had somehow been all wrong about my father, and I wanted to find out how I could put matters right. Hannah was seated on the bench beside him, listening and looking down, making diagrams meanwhile in the gravel with the point of her _en-tout-cas_, a sort of long-handled parasol sent from Paris. Liz had characteristically pulled one of the little stools called "banquettes" from under the sundial, and had seated herself between my father's knees. She had taken her hat off and now leaned her elbow on his knee looking up into his face. He was telling them about maidens of old times, how the Lesbia of Catullus looked and dressed, how he and she idled the day by the length a-dream in a boat in the bays about Sirmio. He quoted Tennyson's delicious verses to them, and they promised to look them up that night. "If it were not that Rhoda Polly knows so much, I should begin Latin this very day," said Liz; "but she is such a swell that she can always come down on a fellow. She thinks we know nothing!" "I know I don't," said Hannah, "except how to walk and dance and behave at table." "No, that last you don't," retorted Liz Deventer; "you were far the noisiest (mother said so) in our last big family fight!" "Well, I mean I can do these things when I like, Silly!" said Hannah, unmoved. The hand of my father descended slowly. It had been raised to mark the rhythm of _Olive-silvery-Sirmio_! It now rested on the curly brown locks of Liz Deventer. He ceased to speak, and then suddenly with a sigh he said, "I envy Dennis. I have a good son--yes, a good son," he repeated with emphasis, "but I should have liked a daughter also. There is a side of me she would have understood." Instantly the girls had their arms about his neck, and I hastily descended my shameful ladder, leaving behind me a chorus of "We will be your daughters--Rhoda Polly too--mother too--she thinks----" But I got out of earshot as fast as might be, quite chopfallen and ashamed. I had not been a good son, whatever Gordon Cawdor might say--I knew it. I had held him lightly and withheld what others found their greatest joy in giving him--my confidence. It was no use saying that he never invited it. No more had he invited that of Mrs. Deventer, or of the girls--or, what touched me more nearly, that of Rhoda Polly herself. At last the great day came, and by the same train which had brought the Bey on his errand of inspection the three new tenants of the Cottage arrived. The Bey looked military and imposing as he stood over the baggage counter. Linn, tall and gaunt in unbroken black, accepted my father's arm smilingly almost at the first sound of his voice. He showed her through the narrow shed-like waiting-rooms to the carriage in readiness outside. Mrs. Deventer had received Alida into her arms as she descended from the carriage, and was now cooing over her, watched hungrily by Rhoda Polly, who wearied for her turn to come. It struck me that Alida was not looking quite so well as usual. It had cost her more than I thought to disobey her father--more afterwards perhaps than at the time. For among those of her blood, the servitude of woman goes with heredity, and the culture of Europe, though it may render obedience impossible, does not kill the idea of parental authority. "Though he slay me, yet shall I trust in him!" But when Alida greeted me, I knew in a moment that though the battle had been sore, the victory was won. There would be no looking back. "What, Angoos, _mon ami_, have I all those friends already? I owe them all to you!" I took Rhoda Polly's hand, and put it into the gloved fingers of the little Princess. "Not to me, dear Alida," I said, "but to this girl; she has, as you shall find, a heart of gold." Alida kept the strong roughened fingers in hers, and looked deep into the eyes of Rhoda Polly as if to read her inmost soul. "I shall remember that, Angoos," she said; "that is a beautiful thing when it is said in the language of my own country. It sings itself--it makes poetry. Listen! "'Rhoda Polly of the Golden Heart--Heart of Gold, how true is my maiden!' Wait, I will sing it for you in Arabic----" But suddenly, no one knew why, the female heart being many stringed and unaccountable, even to me, Rhoda Polly was crying--yes, Rhoda Polly the dry-eyed, and who but Alida was comforting her under the stupid gaze of hangers-on about the station of Aramon! CHAPTER XXIII THE MISGIVINGS OF ALIDA At the house in the garden the new servants stood ready, neat and smiling. My father had written to a Protestant pastor at Grenoble to send him two maids of his religion. Accordingly two sisters had arrived, Claire and Hermance Tessier, reliable pleasant-faced girls with no family ties in Aramon and with the difference of religion to keep them apart from indiscriminate gossipry. The wing of the house where they were to sleep had formed a part of the wall, possibly even it may have been an ancient gateway in the time of the Montmorencies. My father had joined it to the main building by a flying bridge of iron roofed with zinc--which was Dennis Deventer's own private contribution to Garden Cottage. I had warned him of the nocturnal habits of Linn and her husband, and he agreed with me that while for Alida's sake they must be served according to the French fashion, they need not be deprived of the nightly freedom of their own house which was their greatest luxury. So at the Cottage door we judged it best to leave them. Rhoda Polly and her mother drove home. My father and I withdrew, I to my den, he to his study. If the new tenants of the Garden Cottage had any changes to make or any fault to find with what had been prepared for them, the alterations could be done quietly and by degrees. Besides, the pale face of Alida haunted me and I thought that a night's rest would be for her the surest medicine. But the general joyousness of the journey up the hill was our best hope that all would be well. The Bey was gay. Even Linn relaxed when she saw the noble prospect of the blue Rhône and the little white and green house among the laurels, walled in like a fortress. Hand in hand but silent Rhoda Polly sat beside Alida as the coachman drove over the bridge and up the winding road, St. André looming up a crenellated wall of red and gold above them. This was the beginning of a wonderful week which, lived in the unseen and unsuspected shadow of disaster, now shines the brighter for the contrast with what was to come after. The last week of the theatres and baths of Pompeii was not more memorable, and we who sunned ourselves upon the limestone slopes of Mont St. André thought as little of the future as the many tinted crowd of merry-makers who thronged the beaches between the city gate and the white sands of Torre del Greco. They came on the 11th of March, and one week after fell the 18th, a date ever memorable in the history of the cities of France. Yet how much happiness did we manage to put in between the one day and the other. Next morning, that is on the 12th, I was up early, so early that no one was visible about the Garden Cottage except the two Grenoble maids, who had settled down to their duties as if they had been on the spot for months. They were indeed lucky, for few new _bonnes_ come to so clean a house--"shining like a soldier's button," averred Claire. Linn and her husband had doubtless spent the night in making an exhaustive survey of the dwelling, and Linn especially would be full of discoveries. At present they were retired in their own chamber, dozing doubtless, after their long nocturnal expeditions, and also probably because after the awakening of the maids they felt the house no more their own. It was a morning when the chill gusting of the mistral wind hurtled and raved about St. André. I had already made friends with the sisters Tessier, of whom Claire was housemaid and Hermance cook. Rhoda Polly had introduced us and that curious and almost affectionate regard which springs up between good servants and friends of the house soon made my visits very agreeable to them. They asked counsels of me--as for example, how Monsieur liked his coffee, if Madame was more set upon the kitchen or the "lingerie," and how best to serve Mademoiselle, who, as they had been given to understand (probably by Linn), was of chief standing in the house. I told them that they needed no more than to be good brave girls and all would go well. But I warned them that both Madame and her husband had been accustomed to many things in the wild countries where they had dwelt, which would be looked upon as strange by a burgher who had never set a head outside his own wall. I prepared them for the Bey's occasional absences, and for Linn's restless wanderings and perpetual rangings of cupboards. They were quite contented, thanked me blithely, and Claire took up the morning breakfast of rolls and _café au lait_ with shining success. All that she had to tell when she came down was that Mademoiselle had asked her to rub her feet in order to awaken her. Whereupon I pointed the not unuseful moral that what I had said applied to Mademoiselle also. She had spent her childhood in Africa and though the best and sweetest lady in the world, might do or ask for things that need not be repeated outside the house. The Tessiers quite saw the necessity. "They are all tattlers in the south," said Claire, "I have heard it from my friend who had service here. It is different at Nîmes or Grenoble, where the families are mostly Protestant." They knew somehow that my father had once been a _pasteur_ and they had all the Scottish weakness for a "son of the manse." When at last Linn began to make her presence heard in the upper story, I retreated without being discovered, extremely satisfied with my diplomacy. After all, this transplantation was a hazardous experiment, and all who had taken part in the business must see to it that the little foxes did not spoil the vineyard by any side entrance. I had scarcely begun my task of writing for the day, when I was called from my desk by a message from Alida. It was a cunningly folded note, sealed with the great seal which had been her father's. The bright splash of red wax occupied quite a third of the back. So, not to tear the paper, I laid it a moment on the hob, and then with the thinnest blade of my knife, I lifted it cleanly away in one piece. After which I unfolded the rustling sheet. "Come and see me before anyone else." That was all and indeed quite enough, for with quick beating pulses I hastened to obey. Linn was waiting for me at the first turn of the wooded path, and as we paced along together towards Garden Cottage I could feel the "gleg" inquisitorial eyes of Saunders McKie boring into my back. I wished Linn had sent over one of the Tessiers on this first occasion, but I do not suppose it ever occurred to her to let another do for Alida what she could do herself. The Bey was within the walled garden, pacing up and down, revolving in his mind something which pleased him but little. "What is it, Keller Bey?" I asked sharply. "Do you not find yourself comfortable among us?" "Too comfortable by half," he grunted, "here are many things which must have cost much money, and yet I am told by Alida that they are presents of welcome for which I must not pay--whereupon, of course, Linn agrees with her, and I who was the right hand of Abd-el-Kader and thought myself indebted to no man, am made in my own eyes a veritable pauper!" "Keller Bey," I said, "you speak in ignorance of our English customs. At a house-warming or the taking possession of a new residence, all your friends are under obligation to bring their contribution to the home. It is our way of wishing you good luck and a happy tenancy. Nothing could be more unfortunate than any offer of payment for such a service." "Yes--yes--I understand," he broke in testily, "I suppose I have been too long among the black tents. I learn your ways with difficulty. I am sure every one means well, but how am I to do all that thanking? Can I bow backs at my age and say grace for what I would rather have done without?" "You cannot," I said, laughing at his perturbed face, "for we do not tell the name of the givers lest it should bring ill-luck. But where is Alida?" Alida, it seemed, was in the pleasant gable parlour which, with so much anxious forethought, we had fitted up for her. She had been arranging her books on the shelves, and was now going from picture to picture and from window to window. She gave me both hands when she saw me and said immediately, "Angoos, who would have thought that we had among us at Autun such an observant boy! You have reproduced my room there with hardly a change, save the pictures and the pottery. Has your father let them to us along with the house?" "No," I said, "they are loving gifts from Madame Deventer, and as for the arrangement, Rhoda Polly did that, questioning me as she went, and forcing me to recall exactly whether I would or not." "I sent for you," said Alida, "to tell me all about this family who have been so kind, so that I may make no mistake. And first, why did only the women come?--where was Monsieur Hugh, who dwelt with us at Autun?" I explained to her the mystery of a great factory, where were thousands of men all doing different things, and how Hugh, though but a small wheel in such a mechanism, could not leave his post at will without interfering with the work of many others. I sketched rough, strong, imperious Dennis to her. Rhoda Polly purposely somewhat vague, because I knew that she would soon enough find out about Rhoda Polly for herself. But I made word cameos of Hannah and Liz and concluded with a full-length portrait of Mrs. Deventer, in whom I hoped (though I took care not to say so) Alida would find the mother her youth had lacked. She listened with lowered eyes and a silent attention as if she were weighing every word. "Yes," she said, "I shall like them all. I feel sure--or almost." Then she asked suddenly, "Does Rhoda Polly sing? Can she play?" "In a way," I answered lamely enough; "she has had the usual lessons before she went to college, but her voice has never been trained." "Is she very clever?" "Yes, at driving nails, hanging pictures, laying down carpets, and getting a house ready--I never saw anyone to match her." "But I mean--she is very learned--will she look down upon me who have to step carefully among abysses of ignorance?" "Alida," I said earnestly, "she is likely to spoil you far more than is good for you. The others will do so also, but you will find that Rhoda Polly will win your heart more than all of us put together." "I do not think so," said Alida composedly. And then, struck by the astonishment in my face, she continued, "I shall not like her if you praise her so much!" "Do not be foolish, Alida," I said, "you should have heard me praising you to Rhoda Polly when I got back from Autun. It took me nearly one whole day, and ever since she has been painting, varnishing, and scrubbing, that the nest should be worthy of such a bird of Paradise as I described." "Oh, I know," pouted Alida, "she is infinitely better than I, more unselfish, and--and--you love her!" "She is certainly more unselfish," I said, firing up; "you have yet to learn what the word means. Perhaps that partly explains your charm, but all the same you must love Rhoda Polly." "Because _you_ do?" I was tempted to deny my gods and declare that I did not love Rhoda Polly, when the remembrance of a particular smear on her nose one day of mutual paintwork on opposite sides of a fireplace, and a way she had of throwing her head back to toss the blonde curls out of her eyes, stopped me. "Of course I love Rhoda Polly, and so will you (and more than I love her) when your eyes are opened!" And with that I left Alida to digest the fact of her own selfishness. At the time I considered myself a kind of hero for having so spoken. Now I am not so sure. She was what Keller and Linn had made her, and I ought to have remembered the snubs and rebuffs which she must have suffered from Sous-Préfecture dames and other exacting though respectable ladies of Autun. * * * * * This week held many other matters and the seeds of more. Rhoda Polly came to take Alida out in her mother's Victoria, and spent a long day in the garden instead, sending back the coachman to be ready to take Mrs. Deventer to the works to drive her husband home to lunch, as was her daily custom. I do not know what the girls said to one another. I kept out of the way, but when I came into the dining-room with my father a little before noon, I was certain that Alida had been crying and that Rhoda Polly had been dabbing her eyes with hasty inexperienced fingers. I thought this no ill sign of coming friendship, and indeed it was not an hour before I received a first confidence on the subject from Alida. "She is all you say and more. She makes me so ashamed of myself!" "So she does me!" I answered, thinking of my dealings with Jeanne and our walk home from the restaurant of Mère Félix. Alida held out her hand quickly. "Does she make you feel that too?--I am glad," she said, and smiled gratefully like a child consoled. Then came Rhoda Polly's mother, and my father, who had been talking to Rhoda Polly by the sundial, rose and with a word and smile excused himself and went indoors. The interview that followed I should have loved well to watch and hear. But after all I doubt if any great part of the gentle influences which rained from Mrs. Deventer could have been written down. No stenographer could take note of those captivating intonations, the soft subtle pauses of speech, the lingering tender understanding in her motherly eyes, the way she had of laying her hand upon Alida's. She had been a counsellor to many, and had never forgotten a sore heart even when healed, nor told a tale out of that gracious confessional. Certain it is that the conquest of Alida was soon made, in so far as Mrs. Deventer could make it. They saw each other every day, and the sight of Rhoda Polly and Alida striking across the big bridge with the wind right in their faces--or of Alida, with Linn, like a gaunt watch-dog, thrusting a combative shoulder into the mistral to fend a way for her charge--became familiar on the windy sidewalks of the great suspension bridge. All went as we could have wished it, till one day I took the Bey across to go over the works. Dennis Deventer was to afford enough time to conduct us in person. It was no small honour, for visitors were generally either refused altogether, or handed over to Jack Jaikes with instructions that they should see as little as possible. I was wholly at ease about the meeting of the Bey and Dennis Deventer. Two such fighters, I thought, could not but be delighted with one another. I was only partly right. They met with mutual respect. Dennis had been in Algeria at a more recent date than the Bey, and could give news of deaths of chiefs, of successions disputed and consequently bloody, and of all the tangled politics of the South Oran. But once in the hum and turmoil of the works, the power-straps running overhead like lightning flashes, the spinning lathes, the small busy mechanisms installed on tables and set going by tiny levers, the Bey's attention wandered. Instead of attending to the wonderful fittings and the constant jingle of the finished parts, he seemed to search out each man's face, in a manner to compel their attention. Usually when a visitor goes round with the "chief," the men make it a point of honour to turn away their eyes almost disdainfully. But it was different with the personally conducted trip of Keller Bey. At him the men gazed with sudden evident respect, and we were not half-way through the first room before the whisper of our coming ran far ahead of us through the workshops. I could see nothing about Keller Bey to explain this sudden interest. He did not make masonic signs with his hands. He hardly spoke a word. He never looked at the men who were devouring him with their eyes. All I could see was that he wore the red tie habitual to him, clasped by a little pin made of two crossed standards drooped upon their _hampes_, one red with rubies and the other formed of black diamonds. It was the only jewellery Keller Bey ever wore and naturally, since I had never seen him without it, it seemed a part of him like his collar-stud or his sleeve-links. Dennis Deventer, who never missed anything in the works, noted the men's behaviour, but continued his exposition of the secret of preventing the jamming of the mitrailleuses. "I am a little late with my invention," he said, "I shall have to wait for the next war to make my demonstration complete." "You may not have to wait so long as you think!" said the Bey quietly. "Had you not a little private war of your own a month ago?" The time was so ill chosen as to make Keller's reference almost a disaster. There were men within earshot who had driven the troops of the Republic out of Aramon, perhaps even some who had assaulted the house of the Chief Director. "We had some little trouble like other folks," said Dennis Deventer lightly, "but we have forgotten all about that!" "Ah!" said the Bey reflectively, as they passed on. In the big gun foundry a huge Hercules of a fellow, naked to the waist, thrust his way through the little crowd about us, seized Keller Bey by the hand, murmured something to us unintelligible. The Bey took no notice beyond nodding briefly to the man. Then turning to Deventer he continued unconcernedly, "About that feeding gear, you were saying----?" But Dennis Deventer looked at Keller Bey curiously. "Did you know that man?" he asked earnestly. "No, I never set eyes on him before," said the Bey carelessly as before; "is there anything against him?" "Not exactly," replied Deventer, "but he is one of the most dangerous men in the works--almost as strong in body as I am myself, and much listened to by the men. I wish I could say he leads them wisely." Keller Bey shook his head gravely, but except repeating that he knew nothing whatever about the foundryman, he uttered no word of excuse or commendation. However, Dennis Deventer was in no mind to let him off so easily. "You are having such a success among the men as I never saw the like of, and would not have believed if I had not seen with my own eyes. Have you been to St. Etienne or Creusot? Many of our fellows come from there. It is possible that they may recognise you." "I have never been in either place in my life," said Keller Bey simply, and so cut off discussion. But I could see that a doubt remained and brooded upon the spirit of Dennis Deventer. He brought the visit abruptly and rather disappointingly to a close, by saying that there was a man waiting for him in his office. But as men were always waiting to see Dennis Deventer at any hour of the day, his taking himself off must have been an excuse. I felt vaguely to blame. Indeed, I was wholly at sea, the more so when just outside the great gates of the Small Arms Company's yards Keller was met by half a dozen workmen of a superior sort, who saluted him respectfully and asked for a private interview. I said I should go and wait for him at the bridge-end, and he kept me waiting for an hour and a half, which I would much rather have spent with Rhoda Polly. Keller Bey was altogether too much of a responsibility in Aramon-les-Ateliers. If he had further visits to pay on this side, he could find his way himself, so far as I was concerned. I would not waste a whole morning only to get myself suspected by Rhoda Polly's father. I sat down on the parapet and watched the drowsy _douaniers_ at the receipt of custom, or the still drowsier fishermen dropping baited lines into a seven-knot current, which banked itself up and then swirled high between the piers. And lazying thus in the sunshine, I cast my mind over many things, but particularly I thought of Hugh. Had I indeed lost Hugh Deventer? Why was he no longer my faithful confidant and comrade as of old? Had we gone together to the wars, slept under one blanket, only to bring about this separation? Even to-day I had not seen him. Had he of set purpose hid himself away? Certainly he was no more the dreamily affectionate companion, a little slow in comprehension but rapid and accurate in execution, upon whose thews and muscles I had been wont to depend. Hugh Deventer was lost to me. More than that, he could hardly any more be said to belong to the family circle at Château Schneider. He had furnished a room for himself down at the works, where he read and slept. His meals were cooked by the wife of the chief night-watchman and at home no one was surprised. For the Deventers were, even before coming of age, in fact as soon as they had left school, a law to themselves. And I think that Dennis was secretly pleased at his boy's setting up for himself. But I knew that Hugh was not driven by any noble desire for independence. Sitting there in the warm sun which beat upon the bridge parapet, I set aside one possible cause for our estrangement after another. It was not on account of Jeanne or Rhoda Polly. No jealousy possessed Hugh Deventer because I sat at his father's table far oftener than he did. One reason only could explain all the circumstances. He had been at Autun and had supposed that Alida's idea of coming to the Garden Cottage had originated with me. Evidently he had resented this, and since our return he had kept himself, in all save the most formal fashion, apart from all the rejoicing over the new tenants. Obviously he must consider himself in love with Alida, which was, of course, wholly natural and within his right. But why vent his humour upon me? I could not make Alida return his love, and certainly sulking in the holes and corners of a factory would do nothing to soften the heart of that imperious little lady. He had indeed become little more than a memory to Alida. "I don't think Hugh likes me," she said, more than once. "He never comes to see me--not even to tell me how selfish I am!" CHAPTER XXIV PEACE BEFORE STORM The 18th of March dawned clear and bright, the wind still a little chill, but the whole land, as we looked down upon it from our Gobelet watch-tower on the front of St. Andre's hill, tinted white and pink with blossom, almond, peach, pear, plum, and cherry. It was wonderful to see them running up, as it were scrambling over fence and rock scarp, till they broke in a sunshiny spray of hawthorn blossom against the grey walls of the _lycée_ of St. André. Never was there a quieter day nor one that seemed filled with more happy promise. For the first time Linn and Alida had resumed their old understanding. For there is no doubt that Linn had been somewhat jealous of the absorbing commerce between the house of Deventer and the cottage in the laurel bushes beyond the garden of Gobelet. Keller had gone to Aramon, Linn said. He might be away all night, for he had it in his mind to push as far as Marseilles. I knew of the Bey's absences from Autun, and so thought no more of the matter. Linn, put in good humour by having Alida to herself (for me she did not count), talked freely of the beauties of their installation. The Basse Cour and the poultry especially delighted her, and she had already prepared a ruled book which was to show in parallel columns the cost of feeding as compared with the result in chickens and eggs. All that day no one crossed over the bridge from Château Schneider and the time was blessed for Linn. She knew very well that it was for just such companionship that Alida had come to Aramon. She had herself supported the necessity for change, even against her husband. But all the same, now when she got her Princess a day to herself she made the most of it, falling back into her old caressing habits and ready to treat Alida as the little girl who long ago had been put in her hands with all a queen's habits of command and the sweet waywardness of a child. I helped when I could and fetched huge stuffed buffets and cushions, so that Alida could install herself beside my father at the fishpond, and then I left him to make his usual conquest. He was smiling and tranquil as I remember, but with an unwonted eagerness in his eye, which did not by any means come from the anticipation of a morning with Alida. I remembered afterwards that he had had an interview the night before with Keller Bey in which they had talked much Arabic, and early this morning he had dispatched Saunders McKie over the water with a letter to Dennis Deventer. But these things did not fall into place in my mind, at least not till long afterwards. We had a happy day among the sunflecked glades of Gobelet--that is, Alida, my father and I. When they two were alone, they talked Arabic, but ceased as soon as I joined them. Conscious of the awkwardness Alida renewed her offer to teach me colloquially if my father would put me in the way of learning the grammar, while I regretted bitterly having wasted my time at St. André. Finally to change the subject we fell to talking over the Montmorencies and their _Tour Carrée_ on the heights of Aramon le Vieux. Here at hand, where the Tessiers slept at the far side of Dennis Deventer's flying bridge of steel, was their gateway tower, still pitted by the balls of Mazarin's troops. For a Montmorency of those days, probably held in leash by his wife, had taken the popular side in the wars of the Fronde. Down there on that islet in the reign of Louis XII (said my father) a great tournament was held in which the knights of France, light and lissom, overwhelmed the weightier champions of Burgundy. If we had been more watchful as we talked, we might have seen the smoke die out of the tall chimneys of Aramon-les-Ateliers, the blast furnaces withdraw their crowns of pale flame, and an unnatural quiet settle down upon the busy city. But our minds were bent wholly on giving pleasure to Alida. She must be taken through this glade, climb this steep path, and see the marvellous spectacle of the Rhône delta with its wide wastes wandered over by fierce cattle, its sinuous waterways blocked by the only beavers remaining in Europe, and far away beyond it the violet-blue bar of the Midland Sea. We did indeed conduct Alida from admiration to admiration, and she had what I fear Rhoda Polly would have called "the time of her life." It did strike me several times how strange it was that since my father had sent his morning message to Dennis Deventer, we had had no news of the household at Château Schneider. I sounded Saunders on the subject, but he knew nothing, or at least would tell nothing. "The letter? Oh, Maister Dennis just read it and put it in his waistcoat pooch. Syne, says he, 'Saunders, will ye drink?' 'No,' says I; for if I did, when I gaed hame I micht smell! So he gied me yin o' thae French sovereigns as easy as puttin' a penny in the plate. Oh, a grand man is Maister Deventer when ye get the richt side o' him, but as they tell me the very deevil and a' when his monkey is up. Do you ken, Maister Aängus, he was just trying me on, by asking me to drink? For if I had ta'en as muckle as a sup frae his hand, I micht hae whistled for the wee French sovereign--whilk is only barely worth saxteen shillings when a' is said and done!" Nevertheless in the full bliss of ignorance we idled away the day while about us the flowers grew as we looked at them, so keen an edge was on that spring day. Linn ranged her napery cupboards to her most perfect content, not that she could do it better than Mrs. Deventer had done, but simply for the satisfaction of, as it were, expressing her mind and doing it differently. The shadows passed steadily across the sundial. The underneath inscription became more strongly incised as the sun dipped westward. The rock plants on the little island in the pond fell into shadow and some closed up their petals for the night. And still in the midst of a great silence we moved and smiled and were happy. Aramon le Vieux drowsed beneath us. The good wives at their doors were out gossiping their hardest, but in undertones which must not pass from one group to another. Cats sunned themselves in window sills beyond the reach of the prowling cur, and the majestic river, so soon to be split and worried into a hundred waterways, _étangs_ and backwaters, passed noiselessly in front of us in one noble rush, level, calm, and swift. I think it was about three o'clock in the afternoon when Professor Renard, coming from the post office, where the telegraph had been recently installed, brought tidings. "There is a revolt in Paris," he said, "the soldiers and the National Guard have expelled the Government. That is the news they have received, but no one knows whether it is false or true." Nor in the midst of our quiet park with the fruit trees in blossom everywhere could we have any guess at the turmoil, the riding of orderlies, and the hasty ordering of official carriages in Paris. Indeed, the talk passed to other matter and on the surface, and the tidings seemed to affect us little. So having left Linn still busy with her linen, Alida and I took our way to the look-out summer-house above the aerial swing of the suspension bridge, leaving the elders talking very soberly together. "Surely there is no danger here?" the girl asked when we had seated ourselves. She spoke not from any fear but that she might contrive means of helping her friends the Deventers if they needed it. "Not that I know of," I answered, "but the workmen of Aramon are always fiery and hard to handle. We _have_ had battles and sieges, yet things were smoothed over and the works went on as before--the men who had been busily shooting each other down talking over details of work and taking orders from one another as if nothing had happened." "How long ago was that?" "Only about two months," I explained, "but you need expect nothing of that kind on this side. The workmen never cross the bridge save when on pleasure bent, or when our July fair-time fills the green yonder with the din of booths, circuses, and penny theatres." Nevertheless, Alida's face continued to express trouble. "But Rhoda Polly, her mother, and the others--are they in danger?" "Not, I think, for the moment. The more serious the news from Paris, the less will the men think of their grievances against the Company and the Company's manager. Last time the siege was bitter and determined on both sides. Many were killed. Yet it was no more than a trade dispute which Mr. Deventer could have settled in half an hour if the men had brought their grievances directly to him, instead of trying to wreck the works for the safety of which he is responsible." "We must go and see for ourselves," said Alida imperiously. "If there is danger for my friends, I must be there to share it." "You must not do anything of the kind," I cried, "you do not understand the fierce blindness which comes upon men at such times. I shall go, if necessary, and you shall stay with my father and Linn in the refuge which those who love you have chosen for you." "Then if I let you go, you will come back and tell me all--remember, do not put me off with lies such as they tell to ordinary women." I promised, and as we stood looking across the glistening waters I saw for the second time in my life the tricolour flutter down from its staff, and after a pause the shining "Tatter of Scarlet" of the red revolution blow out on the valley wind. CHAPTER XXV THE PROCLAMATION The street lamps had not been lighted when I landed on the left bank of the river, well above any outposts of the new revolt. I pulled my skiff safely under shelter of some bushes. The spot I had chosen was one well known to me, and exceedingly safe. My father often sent me over to bring plants and seeds from Arcadius, the gardener at Les Linottes, whose extensive grounds ran right down to the river's edge. A soft, rather hulking, good-natured man was Arcadius, who went through the world apparently breathing to the full ease of life. His body somewhat resembled a large slug supported on two smaller slugs, which were his legs. He worked in his garden, his pipe continually between his lips. At a first glance the slowness of his movements seemed laughable and ridiculous. But leave him half an hour and then see what he had accomplished. There was no man in Aramon who could get through so much work as Arcadius the Slug. By a kind of instinct he saw exactly where every stroke ought to fall, how much or how little was to be done, and the completed task ran out behind him like the wake from a well-rowed boat. It was in a little bay behind a promontory filled with the Slug's sapling pines that I landed. I knew the place well, I knew also that Arcadius would almost certainly be in his potting house, putting things to rights after the labours of the day (the middle of March is high season for every gardener in the Midi). There indeed I found him surrounded with repaired hoes and rakes, and at that moment putting a new handle into the small gardener's _bêche_ (or mattock) which was hardly ever out of his hands while in the open air. Arcadius was not a man of politics. "I have never known politics to improve the weather or keep off frosts!" he said. "I have yet to learn what good they do to a working gardener!" I asked about the works and the town. "Oh," he said, "my 'prentice lads stayed with me till six o'clock because I had put the fear of death on them if they tried to run. Yet I could see that they were itching to be off, and as soon as six struck from the Mairie, they dropped their tools and were over the wall. Only my Italians stayed and went soberly to bed. More I do not know. But, though there has been much noise of cheering in the square, there has been no shooting." I told Arcadius of the skiff fastened up behind his sapling copse. He nodded easily and looked out of doors to examine the weather signs. "It is not likely to rain, but it will hurt nothing to turn her upside down and stay her with a rope and a pair of stones. She will be ready when you want her. If you are bound on going into Aramon to-night, you may want her with great suddenness." I left him at the upper gate of his garden opposite to the waste ground where the harmless bull fights of Provence took place. "Now," he said, "there is a key for you. Put it in your pocket. Cross that bull yard and go through the passage, at the end of which you will come upon a door. When you open it you will find yourself in the narrow street by the new Lay Schools of the town." Then my kindly Slug took himself off without waiting for thanks, shaking all over like a jelly, and his lantern making a trickle of clear yellow light on the pathway in front of him. His wife was calling him in to supper, "Arcad-arcad-ar-cad-i-oos!" I crossed the road hastily. All was empty and desolate, and in a moment more I was fronted by the barricade over which every Sunday the "amateurs" of this innocent bull-baiting leaped back to safety and the applause of their friends. Almost I had lost my way among piled benches, when a faint light showed through a much barred door. I passed through the money-taker's box with double doors and found myself facing the dark tunnel of which Arcadius had spoken. It looked dismal and uninviting enough, but at least there was no reason to suppose that any revolutionaries would be skulking there. Even if there were, what had I, an old Garibaldian, to fear? The passage had evidently been used for bringing the bull into the arena, and I was glad enough when the massive double portal stopped me, even though it was the bump on my forehead which first acquainted me with its position. I felt for the keyhole and found that it took all my strength to turn the wards of the ancient lock which in that damp place creaked dismally. The half of the heavy door swung back ponderously. The street without seemed dim and forlorn in front of me, glimmering with a kind of bluish light. I was glad that I had not to step at once into the bright illumination of the Cours or the more restrained golden glow which distinguished the Place de la Mairie. I made what slight toilet I could, carefully wiping my muddy boots on the door-mat of a perfect stranger to whom in days to come I make belated acknowledgments. I peered out and it was well I did so, for not ten yards from the end of the passage a sentry was posted in the dress of the National Guard of Aramon, blue breeches, blue coat liberally faced with red, and a red _képi_. I could see the light from an unseen lamp shining on the flat of his sword-bayonet, no doubt fresh from the storehouse of Dennis Deventer. For since the ignominious retreat of the military two months ago, the Government had insisted that a National Guard on the Paris model should be established in Aramon and, for that matter, in all the larger towns of the Midi. Dennis Deventer warned the prefect of the department of Rhône-et-Durance that they were laying up trouble for themselves. He told them that if they armed the workmen of the Arms Factories on the slightest outbreak in Paris, all power in Aramon-les-Ateliers would pass instantly into their hands. The like would also happen in every town of the Midi. "You of the South are afraid when a mouse squeaks," the Secretary of the Interior had replied (for Dennis and he were closeted together). "We accounted for the Reds easily enough in October and again in January. They have lost both in power and numbers since then. If anything grave does happen, we can always take Cavaignac's way--isolate suburb from suburb and--shoot!" "Very well," said Dennis, "if you are sure of your regular army that may do for Paris--but at Aramon, at Marseilles, our suburbs are our rich quarters. The men of the revolt live in the city, and to put arms into their hands is to centralise all power there." But the watchword of the Government for the moment was "trust of the people," and it was not till its generals were being shot down under the bloody apple blossom of the Rue des Rosiers, its army fraternising with the revolutionaries, and the chiefs of the Government clattering with foaming steeds and strained harness on the way to Versailles, that they became aware that Dennis Deventer had been right. At any rate, there was I, who had not been consulted in the affair, almost within arms' length of a National Guard, my refuge in the doorway liable to be intruded upon at any moment, and all exit blocked. I began to ask myself what I was doing there. Yet I had no idea of going back. I must know what had happened at Château Schneider. I must see Rhoda Polly. There was no sound except a confused murmur like wind overhead in high trees. No shots were fired, and except the erect sentinel in his blue coat, his red _kêpi_ tipped rakishly over one ear, and his shining rifle and sword-bayonet, I heard no sound of civil strife. I watched him carefully. He was new to his work and fidgeted constantly, now coming a little down the street and then going a little way up, but never a moment losing sight of my alley arch, which seemed to attract him like a sort of black hole into the unknown. Twice or thrice he fumbled in his pockets, and once he drew out a short pipe which he eyed with longing. But apparently he had had his orders, for he put it back again, changed his piece from one shoulder to another, and resumed his uneasy guard. I think that it must have been a good hour that I stood there watching the shining of that fellow's broad bayonet. So we might have stood indefinitely had not the pipe in my gentleman's pocket proved in time too much for him. He looked this way and that, ducked suddenly under my archway, bayonet and all, and then proceeded to strike a match. I can affirm in excuse for what followed that I had no time to form plans. The most natural defence was that which most concerned me. My opponent was armed and strong, I only agile, young, and unarmed. So while the vile governmental match still stank and hissed with its blue flame, I leaped upon him like a cat. He screamed, dropped his pipe, and made immediately for the street. If he reached it I was a dead man. So I throttled him, pulling back his head till I feared his neck might crack. He fell, and in a twinkling I had tossed aside his gun and revolver, strapped his hands with my waistbelt and thrust a handkerchief into his mouth, fastening it in with another which I found in his own pocket. Then I dragged him backwards towards the door and after some difficulty opened it. I lifted him as well as I could upon my shoulders so that only his feet trailed. But he must have received some stunning blow about the head, for he never moved, though it was with relief that I felt him breathing when I laid him down. I extended him comfortably on a fodder crib in the bull enclosure, for which luckily my key was also good. Then I hastily reckoned the chances such as they were. It was clear I could not go about the streets of Aramon as I was, with armed sentinels at every corner. The man's red _képi_ gave me an idea. It had fallen off. I picked it up, cleaned it, and was about to replace it, when I suddenly snatched it away again. I lifted the man up and took off his cloak and blue uniform coat. I would be a National Guard for the night, and I felt sure that with my experience of soldiering I could look the part. I bestowed my coat upon him, and gazed with longing at his blue breeches, but gave up that exchange as too long and perilous an undertaking. Dark brown must serve in place of the regulation blue pattern on the principle that at night all cats are grey. But I put on the coat which was considerably too big. I carefully cleaned the skirts of the cloak, and then added to my array the red _képi_. The door once locked upon my prisoner, I left him to come to himself at his own time and as he would. On my way out I gathered up the arms that were missing. Already I had provided myself with his cartridge belt, his haversack and all accessories. The revolver was safe in its case near the door-mat and the rifle and sword-bayonet were soon polished on one of the tails of the coat. I kept the cloak open a little so that the broad red facings might show. With a beating heart I peeped out. The street was empty, and it struck me forcibly that the sooner I got away from there the better. The military organisation of the Revolt might be more complete than I supposed. They might send out Grand Rounds to visit their sentinels, or the guard might be changed---both of which events would be exceedingly awkward for me, especially as I was wholly without knowledge of the password. Not more than an instant did I hesitate on the threshold. Then with (I admit) my heart in my mouth, I stepped out and marched directly for the end of the alley. The broad Place de la République (as it had been named for six months, vice "Imperial" superseded) was filled with a dim but pervading illumination. The resinous smell of many torches filled the air, and as I turned towards the Hôtel de Ville I saw the reason. On the broad platform over the doorway, many men were standing bareheaded, and a little in advance of the others one was holding a document in his hand. Flags that certainly were not tricolour drooped on either hand of this balcony and cascaded down the front of the building, hiding the first-floor windows and reaching the ground. I saw many National Guards hurrying from their places, some singly, some in little groups of three and four. I let myself be carried along till I reached the press in front of the ceremony. Discreetly I did not try to penetrate, but kept well on the outskirts, as far from the hundred torches as possible. Mine was not a popular position, for the reek of the tar set people coughing, and most were not slow to move away. But I stood as if on faction, and as such was saluted and passed by a hurrying officer, who, barely saluting, barked at me the single word "Marx," shooting it in my direction like a missile. I saluted in return and he went his way, leaving me in possession of the password for the night. It was no immediate service, for all there were too intent on the ceremony in front of the town hall to look at one National Guard more or less. When I had accustomed my eyes to the acrid sting of the smoke, I moved nearer in order to hear better, and then for the first time I became aware that the man who was proclaiming the Commune in Aramon was--Keller Bey himself! The accents of the voice, falling clamorously on my ear, had indeed sounded familiar, but I had rather thought of Père Félix, Pipe-en-Bois, Soult or any other valiants of the former revolutions. What was Keller doing here? Suppositions crowded dizzily about me. Of course, there had always been an unknown side to Keller Bey, and his hatred of the priests and the bourgeoisie had been things to reckon with. "Who is the speaker?" I asked of a man beside me, still in the blouse of his daily work, his eyes red with tending furnaces and his hands grimy with coal. He cast one look of contempt on me. "Where have you come from," he demanded, "that you do not know Keller Chief of the Secret Council of the Internationale?" "I have been fighting along with Garibaldi," I answered truthfully enough, "I have not been long in the National Guard." Which in its way was still truer. "Ah," he answered carelessly, "the Italian! I have heard of him. What sort of a fellow was he?" I explained enthusiastically, but as usual quite in vain. "Well," said the man, cursing the smoke and beginning to move off, "he might as well have stopped at home for all the good he did. That's my way of it!" And I will not conceal from the reader that this summed up pretty fairly the bulk of French opinion upon the great leader. As may well be imagined I stood far back, shrouded in shadow and smoke till Keller Bey had finished his speech. He told how in Paris the revolt of the proletariat had been completely successful, how the army had gone over to the cause of the people, how the bourgeois Government had fled to Versailles with hardly one to do them honour--how in all the great cities of France the new Commune was being declared and established. At Marseilles Gambetta's young Procureur-Général, the citizen Gaston Cremieux, headed the movement. He read a dispatch that moment received, urging Aramon to send a thousand men to help their brothers in Marseilles, threatened with troops from overseas and exposed to daily attacks from the still untaken forts. "We shall be glad to aid our brothers in Marseilles if we are let alone here. We desire no fighting. The troops of the tricolour are not within our gates, and though there are some left who think differently from us, we can, I believe, live on excellent terms with them, until our Government is solidified and the Company of Arms is ready to nationalise its works. Till that day we must deal prudently, rule well, allow no attempts on private property, and behave as if we were all in reality as well as in name comrades and brothers." So far as I could judge, I think Keller Bey carried the audience with him. I did not hear a murmur of dissent. Only, on the other hand, the plaudits could not be called long-continued or well-nourished. The workers of Aramon-les-Ateliers cherished a secret doubt--a doubt which they wished set at rest. "What of Dennis?" they cried. "Dennis Deventer? Are the works to be closed? Where is the week's wage to come from?" Keller Bey rose again, brushing aside the Père Félix. "To-morrow," he said "you shall elect your Commune--twenty citizens of weight and mark to take the place of the present provisional government which has declared Aramon a city of liberty. Choose you good strong men who can deal with the Company and the Company's agent. Have no fear. Our cause is just. Marseilles and the great cities are with us. And to-morrow, doubt it not, France shall be with us also. We have inaugurated the reign of international peace. Let us begin by keeping the peace within our own borders. If we are to govern at all, we must show an example of good government, so that every city, town, and hamlet shall desire to throw in its lot with us. There is to be no wrecking of machinery, which we know must one day belong to the workers. We shall make friends with the foremen of departments, and when we come to restarting the works on the Communist plan we shall pay every man his wage according to his deserts--aye, and to Dennis Deventer his, for a head we must have. A business without a head is like an army without a general." At this moment I was suddenly gripped solidly from behind, my weapons snatched away from me, and with the butt of the rifle such a blow was delivered on the back of my head that the marvel is I am here writing of it to-day. My gentleman of the bull enclosure had been cleverer than I had anticipated. Most likely he had been shamming dead, and now, having loosened himself, he had leaped the fence, made a detour of the boulevard and appeared from behind me at the moment when I was expecting him as little as he had looked for me in the archway. That gun-butt was enough for me. I sank swooning on the ground under the low smoke drift from the dim torches and with the words of Keller Bey as to universal peace and concord still in my ears. CHAPTER XXVI KELLER BEY, INSURGENT Among the panelled mirrors and gilt splendours of the Hôtel de Ville of Aramon I opened my eyes. A doctor had been attending me. My head was tightly bandaged and my left hand was also bound up. From many aches and pains I judged that in my quality of detected spy I had been somewhat severely dealt with, by the crowd, or perhaps my own man had remembered the taste of the gag and had perpetrated some little personal atrocities on his own account, before delivering me up to justice, in order to square the account. The doctor was talking to Keller Bey. It was broad day, and abundant light, filtering through the plane trees, flooded the great room. It was usually the Salle des Mariages, but for the time being it had been converted into a lounging place for the people of Aramon. I had in fact awakened on election day, and in the new Commune my vote was as good as that of any other man. At one end was a space boarded off in the regular way, into which one elector after another passed with his voting ticket, and having deposited it under the eyes of the four watchful questors, walked immediately out by the opposite door. Presently Keller Bey passed into an inner room, which, from the gilding upon the door and the allegorical figures above holding swords of justice and ill-adjusted balances, I took to be a court room. It was in fact the mayoral parlour, and the comfortable office coat and even the dressing-gown of the late occupant still hung on the pegs behind the door. Keller Bey gave an order and I was immediately brought in and laid upon a wide and springy sofa which furnished one whole side of the apartment. I noticed the device of the crossed red and black flags had been removed from his tie, and was now worn upon the lapel of his coat like a decoration. As soon as the room was clear he came over and sat down beside me. At sight of me his grim face softened almost as it was wont to do when Linn or Alida spoke to him. "All this may seem very strange to you," he said, with a faint feeling of apology in his voice, "you who have only seen me going about the house like a tame cat. But since I was raised to high place and consideration in the Internationale, the old fighting spirit rose within me. I could not deny the appeal of my brothers to stand by them, and so you find me here, at the head of the Commune of Aramon--at least till the will of the voters is ascertained. The men who are with me are honest fellows, but, so far as I see, quite incapable of leadership. I do not believe that the vote will strip me of any authority or responsibility." I thought that he was talking straight on without stopping in order to escape the question which he must have seen on my lips. "And your duty to Linn and Alida?" I demanded abruptly. I could see him flush and pale. "Personal and private interests must give way at such times," he answered firmly enough, but his tones did not carry conviction, not even, I think, to himself. "Besides," he added, after a pause, "Linn knew that it would have to come. I dare not refuse a call of duty because of the danger." "It is lucky for Linn and Alida," I said with the studied cruelty only attained by boys, "that they have friends who put them before all public duties." "Sir," said Keller Bey, his cheek blanching to a kind of cadaveric rigidity, so great was the intensity of his anger, "I do not allow anyone to call my actions into question." "Call in your soldiers, Monsieur of the Internationale," I said tauntingly, "you can soon get even with me. There are many walls between here and the cottage in my father's garden. My shooting will not have the _éclat_ of the assassination of the Paris generals, but it will come as blithe news for the three left wondering in the garden of Gobelet." I spoke like a bad, spiteful boy, conscious of a power to wound to the quick and thoroughly enjoying my triumph. Keller Bey did not answer directly to my railings. He felt instinctively that he could not meet me along these lines. "How did you come here?" he demanded abruptly, "and why in the coat of a Garde Nationale?" "Because," I said, looking at him with my bandaged head lifted on my hand, "_I_ do not forget old kindnesses. Nor yet new ones--though _my_ house had not been set in order and largely furnished by the kindness of the Deventers. I crossed the river in a boat and was going to find them--to help them if I could, if necessary to fight and die with them, if your people should besiege them as they have done before." Keller Bey threw out his arms suddenly with the gesture of a tortured man who seeks something to grip in his agony. "I had not thought youth so cruel," he moaned. "Do you not understand that I am here to prevent all that? I stand between the hotheads and Dennis Deventer. His wife and family are as safe here as mine in your father's garden, of which you are so good as repeatedly to remind me!" I am afraid that my expression expressed unbelief. "You must pardon me," I said suavely and still provocatively, "but I have been among the chimneys of the Château Schneider when the mitrailleuses were talking. You intend to rule justly and love mercy, but what of the men about you? I have seen them streaming across the open court wrecking and destroying." "Exactly," said Keller Bey, with suddenly recovered dignity, "but then I was not at the direction of affairs. If any man now disobeys he shall be made to feel the vengeance of the Internationale! We shall sow fear among them as corn is sown on a windy day." At this moment Keller was summoned outside, and I could hear his voice dominating and allaying a quarrel between functionaries, as I lay back listening and determined to find out what he intended to do with myself as soon as he came back. But one thing and another was referred to him for judgment, and it was the better part of an hour before he came in holding a sheaf of telegrams in his hand. A secretary accompanied him, and I had perforce to put off my demand. Keller Bey had evidently regained some of the old military readiness which had made him the favourite lieutenant of the great Emir. He dictated telegrams and dispatches to Paris, to St. Etienne, to Narbonne, and especially a long communication to Gaston Cremieux at Marseilles. There were (he said) certainly men at Aramon and to spare, but for the moment each Commune in revolt must depend upon itself. When the provisional Government of Aramon, of which he was the head, had handed over its powers to a properly elected Commune, then would be the time to speak of sending reinforcements to a greater neighbour. It was true that there were no troops belonging to the expelled Government of Versailles in the city of Aramon itself, but to the north the ancient, highly clerical Avignon offered an excellent centre for collecting an army corps. The Government of the Assembly, exiled to Versailles, had its hands tied by the marvellous success of the Paris revolt. But save that the Commune of Paris was sending a pair of delegates to arrange terms of association, no help need be looked for from that quarter. At last Keller Bey made an end and dismissed the secretary. Then he sat a while with his head upon his hands in deep thought. I interrupted his meditation with my question. "And now, Keller Bey, what do you mean to do with me?" He did not reply instantly, but continued his meditations in silence. I was compelled to put the question three times, and the third time with some heat, before he raised his head to answer. "In the meantime I shall keep you by me as a hostage. The voting is not yet over, and, though I do not anticipate any violent change, there is always a possibility that the fiery spirits may urge violent measures. In that case I shall use you for a messenger to our friends at Château Schneider. In any case, you have come to me and here you had better stay. It may be necessary also to communicate with my family and in that matter I could trust only you." This was a great disappointment to me, who had thought that an hour would see me inside the walls of the Château Schneider, talking with Mrs. Deventer or sneaking off into the conservatory or out upon the roof with Rhoda Polly for one of our long talks about everything in heaven above and on the earth beneath. But it was very evident that Keller Bey had made up his mind, and, at any rate, I had galled him too bitterly in the beginning of our conversation to admit of my finishing it by asking a favour. I only shrugged my shoulders and said mockingly: "Perhaps you would like me to lead your thousand men to Marseilles as well?" "Indeed," he replied unexpectedly, "I am not sure but that it is an excellent idea--you are a friend of Gaston Cremieux. I could send you as civil delegate without awakening any jealousy among the chiefs of battalion. It is a suggestion which will bear thinking over--certainly not to be lost sight of." * * * * * I had many and excellent opportunities of watching Keller Bey in his new character of insurrectional leader during the days which followed. As every one anticipated, his name led the list of the new Commune by many thousands majority. The others came meekly behind, even the Père Félix only emerging from the crowd by a head. What specially gratified Keller Bey was that no member of the noisy gang of wreckers had been chosen. "What did I tell you?" he cried, patting me on the shoulder; "our Government is to be a model of firmness and sobriety." And so it was, as far as Keller Bey could make it. But there remained dangerous elements of which he was ignorant, but which were very clear to Dennis Deventer, who had seen the leaven of evil at work for many years. On the morrow began the organisation of the services of the new Government. It was a strange installation, and I sat there like a spectator in a good seat at a theatre and watched the play. None of those who were on the stage seemed to have any idea of the ridiculousness of the performance. Only I, outside all wire-pulling, saw the truth. The rest were hypnotised by the wonderful thing which had happened--a Commune at Aramon! Hour by hour I saw Aramon being cut off from the world. At the first news of the election of a Commune the officials of the post office had disappeared. Piles of letters accumulated on the desks and before the ranged pigeon-holes. Sacks arrived by train so long as these were running, and were heaped in corners. The telegraphic machines were set down where the operators had abandoned them. I amused myself by calling up the different towns in our neighbourhood, but received answers only from Marseilles and Narbonne. The rest had nothing to say to a revolted city like ours. By and by Narbonne was abruptly cut off, probably at Cette or some intervening town favourable to the Government of Versailles. Half of Keller Bey's time was taken up with such matters as the choice of a new post office staff. Where they came from I cannot imagine, these seekers after office. And their credentials! One highly recommended claimant for the office of receiver of contributions had been expelled by the brutal tyranny of Napoleon from a Tobacco Bureau. He had thereafter languished in prison, not, as he gave Keller to understand, as a political victim, but as a good, solid embezzler of Government money. Yet he was supported by a Commandant of the National Guards, a relative of his own, and but for my chance recognition of him, would doubtless have been appointed. The post office staff was soon complete--director, assistants, money-order clerks, telegraph clerks, and messengers--postmen for the district town deliveries, postmen for the rural rounds--but after the first solemn sorting of the _débris_ left behind by the old staff, not so much as a letter or a newspaper, to pass from hand to hand, even as a curiosity! The civil services, the mayoral staff, the judges of the tribunal, judges of the commercial court, Procureur of the Republic and so forth gave a little more trouble. Père Félix was appointed President of the Tribunal, and his good nature and popularity promised easy sentences for the malefactors of Aramon. But they gave him for public prosecutor one Raoux, a little wizened wisp of a man, a shoemaker and bold orator of the bars, who in his readiness of denunciation threw Fouquier-Tinville into the shade, and in irreverence and insolence approached Raoul Rigault himself. Raoux was high in the National Guards, which Keller Bey had not yet begun to recognise as the power behind his throne. Consequently he had a real influence and soon aspired to nothing less than a ministry of justice, both making denunciations and by his authority sending the denounced to prison. The officers of the city gaol were almost the only ones who remained of the civil servants of the Empire. They were mostly Corsicans, and as their chief Calvi said: "They had come to France to keep prisoners safely." He would give a receipt for each on arrival, and exact a similar receipt on his leaving the Château du Monsieur le Duc. But he would take the same pains with the prisoners of the new Government as with those of the old--and so, since, in fact, no Communard wished to become a turnkey, a _garde-chiourme_, Calvi and his staff were left in undisputed possession of the Central Prison and House of correction of the department of Rhône-et-Durance. Some of the happenings were curious. The prisoners within, sentenced to various terms of reclusion and imprisonment under the Empire, found themselves on their release walking about in a world which knew not Joseph. Some were rearrested as spies, but even the vibrant little cobbler Raoux could not break down the excellence of the alibi which they had ready to hand. Some alarmed good women by asking news of the Emperor, or loudly expressing disbelief in a _café_ when the disasters of the war were hinted at. A ruffianly fellow, excited by his first cup of spirits for some years, offered to fight any man who dared to say that the Germans had entered Paris. So fiercely did he assault the original patriot who had mentioned the fact, that the rest of the party, gathered over their cards and mulled wine in the Café Jacquard, denied one by one that they had ever heard of such a thing. Finally the tyranny of the "nervi" or ticket-of-leave man became so overbearing that it took half a company of National Guards with fixed bayonets to convey him to the "gendarmerie," and from thence, after due committal, to the gloomy prison-house of Monsieur le Duc, from which he had been but three hours released. He had struggled gallantly against bayonet prick and rifle butt. The escort, amateurs at this kind of work, had pitied the few wardens who must handle such a desperado. But when the first policeman appeared he merely bade the "nervi" lay his thumbs together, and in an instant he was leading the formidable warrior whither he would as submissive and obedient as a child. Calvi was called and came hastily in, donning a uniform coat, and leaving a half-played game of "dames" behind him. He examined the order of the new Procureur. The stamp was as usual. The signature mattered nothing to Calvi, who looked up at the rioter with a kind of reproach. "Number 333," he said, with severity, "if you had told us that we were to be honoured with your custom so soon again, you would have saved us the trouble of whitewashing your cell. Take care not to overturn the materials which have been left, make yourself as comfortable as you can to-night, and you can do the rest of the work to-morrow. Good night, gentlemen of the National Guard!" He should have said "citizens," and every man knew it; but after all he was a miserable child of the Isle of Despots, and besides, no citizen, however loyal, objects to being called a gentleman once in a way. Keller gave me work to do occasionally. I drafted proclamations and, after rounding the sentences to make them more sonorous, I carried them to the Communal printing office, which did not differ from other printing offices, save that, in the absence of a master, each printer lounged and smoked about the cases, or took himself off to the nearest grog-shop in the intervals of labour. Often I had to work Keller Bey's name for all it was worth, and threaten a guard and the Bastille of Aramon before I could get anything done. Sometimes, during my long hours of waiting at the printing office of the Commune, I strolled up to the Aramon station. Only a stray lamp-cleaner sat with his legs dangling from the platform and spat upon the quickly rusting rails, looking over his shoulder occasionally to throw a remark to the single Garde National, who, though on duty, had laid his rifle and cartridge-belt upon a luggage-barrow, sought out a pile of "returned empty" sacks of coarse jute, arranged these to his mind, and finally had laid himself down on them, only rolling over occasionally to refill his pipe or to wheel his couch into a shady place or one more convenient for a friendly gossip. On the whole this was the man I liked best. His "relief," a burly fellow from the Hard Stone Quarries above the town, calmly divested himself of his coat, wrapped his feet in his cloak, drew his coat loosely over him, put his head on his knapsack, and slept his watch out on the green velvet cushions of the first-class waiting-room. Above, the man really responsible, the station-master of Aramon Junction, was supposed to be busying himself with a report of the reopening of the line between Lyons and Marseilles. This news had been brought to Keller Bey by my friend of the travelling bed on the luggage truck. He considered it hard that Monsieur Weyse never came down to patrol the platform and pass the time of day. He yearned for society, and one of the comfortable arm-chairs in the station-master's room would have appealed to him strongly. It was the unseen official's own fault if a man so naturally companionable as he of the luggage-barrow were driven by neglect to prefer a complaint against him. The expanse of empty quays and innumerable parallels of iron rails preyed on his spirits. He tired of the man who cleaned lamps and sat upon the stone parapet. He had already heard all his opinions, knew where he was going to place his oaths, and scented his grotesque and improper anecdotes afar off--with a sense of loathing because, in addition to all, the lamp-man spat with a regularity and vigour singularly disgustful to a Frenchman, who does not use his tobacco in the "plug" form. I was sent to interview the station-master as to the famous report. I found him comfortably ensconced at his fireside, his legs embracing one side and the other of the hearth, a huge pile of the complete works of Victor Hugo, the Brussels edition, on a chair by his side. He was fathoms deep in the third volume of "Les Misérables." I never saw a man more enraptured nor one more enviable. I stood and looked at him, a broad, beefy man with a shrewd Scottish countenance. His uniformed coat and gold-broidered cap were neatly placed on a chair behind him. But the man himself, in a long blouse drawn well above his knees, so that he might feel the comforting of the fire, continued his reading without a pause, stirring the logs occasionally with his toe. I was sorry to interrupt him, but I was resolved to make a friend, for here was a man with a set of Hugo. I had already been at the Municipal Library, but there, the collection dating entirely from the times of the Empire, it of course contained nothing of Hugo's later than "Hernani." "Your servant, sir!" Already at a mere waft of my entrance he had sprung to his feet and laid down his book. "You take me a little by surprise--ah--from Keller Bey? Are you a Communard, young man?" I reassured him. Keller Bey's family lived with my father across the water in Languedoc. I had been captured and had given my parole, but I was no partisan. I acted as occasional secretary to Keller Bey, that was all. He shook his head sorrowfully, for I think the verdancy of my youth appealed to him. "Do not run with the wolves too long or the wolf-hunters may not stop to ask the difference. There is a fable about that--which I have read somewhere--in Perrault or La Fontaine. Take back your parole and get out of Aramon. All this foolishness will go like that----" (he snapped his finger and thumb in the air), "and I only hope that I shall have time to read Hugo once through before I have again to think of a train every five minutes pouring north and south, east and west, through Aramon Junction!" I put the question of the report as delicately as possible. I have rarely seen a Frenchman laugh more boisterously. "But I have made no report. Why should I? I have received none and written none. The wires are cut in all directions. I have not a telegraphist on the place. There are my files if you want to look. Everything is going by the branch lines on the other side, but even of that I know only what I can see from my bedroom window, the white steam of trains trailing off among the green woods, and sometimes the dull rumble of a heavily laden goods convoy crossing a bridge. Of positive knowledge concerning railway affairs I have none. I sit and read Hugo and wait for the end of things. The old life will come back soon enough. Meanwhile I am earning my salary, and when traffic opens a pretty sum will be owing to me on the books of the company. "See here," he said, chuckling, "this is my only report. I will write it before your eyes." He pointed to a folio which lay open with the day and date, but all else blank. He took a pen and wrote: "As yesterday--no change. Guards--Caspar and Nolli. Both quiet. Messenger from Communal Government to ask about a report I am supposed to be making. Exhibit this." "There you are--you can copy that if you like. I give you my word of honour that is all the report I ever write, and that is just enough to prove me on the spot, able for duty, and to claim my pay!" I told Monsieur Weyse that I would not trouble him further. I should explain the foolish rumour to Keller Bey, and in all things he might count upon me. At the same time _if_ there happened to be any volume of Hugo he was not using----! Well, he might imagine my gratitude. He sprang to his feet with a kind of smothered whoop and began to delve among the pile which occupied the chair and slopped over upon the floor. "Here--here," he explained, "take the first two volumes of "Les Misérables." It is the best of all. I shall read faster than you, for I have nothing else to do, and I keep it up far into the night. Why, my friend, if you come to-morrow, I shall have the third volume ready for you. No, no, don't thank me, but go instead and get your head clear of this noose. This Communist Aramon is going to be no safe place to play unpaid secretary in after a week or two. Those white wreaths of smoke against the Cevennes tell me that. The Company and the Government are working together over there, and when they are ready--it will be good not to be here and in your shoes!" "But, Monsieur Weyse, you will be here!" "Ah, that is different! I am a lonely man, and a servant in the way of his duty. Nothing can come amiss to me. Even if either side fortifies the junction buildings--why, I am the station-master acting for the Company. I sit and write my report once a day, and for the rest I read Hugo. Nothing is more simple. But as for you, take an old man's word. You are better anywhere than where you are!" CHAPTER XXVII UNDER WHICH KING, BEZONIAN? The station-master was right. I saw how things were tending and how the revolt was sure to end. Yet I was by nature so curious of the oddities of the business that I put off speaking to Keller Bey. For one thing, I did not want to find myself shut up in the Duke's Castle along with the other martyrs of the new rule. I preferred the open air and risk. Besides, I could each day assure myself of the well-being of Dennis Deventer and his family. I discovered where Jack Jaikes was usually to be found on guard, and, early in the dusk of the morning, I slipped from my room in order to speak half an hour with him in private. He first abused me like a pickpocket for taking sides with such a dirty pack, and it was with the utmost difficulty that he could be persuaded that there was after all a difference between a Communard and a prisoner on parole. He did not trouble to conceal his opinion of the latter. "Jump over the wall," he whispered, "see, catch hold of my belt. I tell ye, man, in business we cannot afford to be so fine. I learned that in Glasgow long syne, when a brither-in-law o' mine took my job from me. Now, he was my brither, though not by blood, and in a manner o' speaking I had promised to love, honour, and obey. But instead I just bashed him till he was laid up in bed for six weeks--so I got my job back! Now tell me, where would I have been if I had minded about honour and 'paroles' and them things?" It was in vain that I pointed out to Jack Jaikes that, after all, it was not he but his sister who had promised to love, honour, and obey the maltreated job-jumper. "It doesna maitter. It's all the wan thing!" was all that I could get out of Jack Jaikes. "Now then, catch a haud and I'll hae ye beside me in the crack o' a cow's tail!" Now, though I had fought duels on the sly at St. André on the most approved principles of French honour, I had done so chiefly because I possessed an excellent method and a supple wrist trained by years of the "Salle." Really I cared nothing about any artificial code of honour. But it was quite a different thing to have passed my word to Keller Bey, and entirely unthinkable to leave him in the lurch by making my escape without telling him. I began about this time to imagine a vain thing. It seemed that in some way I could save both Keller Bey and the Deventers. I would be on both sides of the fence at once, and play a universal providence. I did not then see that I should end by being outlawed by both sides--as, save for a curious interposition, I should have been. Jack Jaikes had, however, sufficiently impressed me that I went to Keller Bey and told him that he must trust me completely without any parole. He must give me back my word about escaping. I might (I explained) disappear for a time without leaving him altogether. In reality I did not mean to do anything of the kind, and if it came to any trouble about saving the Deventers, he would find me again at his side. All this I believed perfectly feasible at the time. Indeed, I spoke with such earnestness and spontaneity that he finished by shutting his eyes, even as I was doing, to the difficulties or, rather, impossibilities of the position. Somehow he clung to my presence among these men to whom he was already no more than a symbol of authority. They did not know the man Keller Bey. I did. And he seemed to wish to keep me near him as a link with a past with which he had broken. In his heart I am sure he regretted the garden and his talks with my father and Professor Renard, while as to Linn and Alida, they did not simply bear thinking about. Yet he was possessed by that driving fate, ambition, call of duty, what you will---which sends men forth from comfortable homes to battle for life about the frozen pole, to die miserably, to leave their bones there--though all the while in bright homes the loving hearts of women and the laughter of children are waiting for them. Keller Bey was fate-driven. This Aramon rising had fallen accidentally in his way. The idealist in the man tempted him to believe that he could make a Socialist Land of Promise out of those factories and arsenals, which had grown up in such a beauty spot of nature, where (it was Keller Bey's word) "merely to be alive between sea, sky, and earth was a daily revelation of religion." He thought nothing of the small questions of pay and personal interest which really made up the gist of the matter to the workmen. Perhaps also, though quite unwillingly, he had been led astray by Dennis Deventer. Dennis was an idealist also, and he saw the workmen's side of the question of private ownership. He would express these opinions with such dialectic sympathy that it almost seemed to the listener that he would be found one day persuading the owners of the factories to make over their possessions to the workers. His wife often reproached him with this treachery of words. "I know, I know, colleen," he would answer contritely, "'tis Irish Dennis hot in my brain that will get talking--then when I _do_ things Deventer the Scot sets the count right." "But, then, how about the people with whom you have talked, and who may be depending on your words?" "'Tis more the pity of them," he would say quizzically, "but, anyway, I am no worse than these young chicks that you have brought up." "That is nonsense, Dennis--you are the master and yet you talk like a 'red' as often as not--very likely when you have just sent Jack Jaikes to fix a new gun where it will command a street or a gate by which you may be attacked." Then Dennis would hold up his hand in token of surrender. It was all gospel truth, due perhaps as much as anything to the family habit of free discussion, when Dennis would take up a losing cause and champion it to the bitter end. There is, however, room to commiserate Keller Bey, from whom these things were hidden. He reported to the Commune of Aramon at its daily séances, of the favourable dispositions of the representative of the Company. Nay, during the space of a week, it was quite on the cards that the men should return to work on the basis of some half-understood (and wholly misunderstood) word of Dennis's, which Keller Bey and his Social Commission had taken to mean the admission of the men's right to a share in the half-yearly profits. Fortunately or unfortunately, another phrase at a succeeding interview had revealed that Dennis Deventer had no intention of committing his owners to anything. Nor had he the power. He had merely been willing to cast his own salary and commissions into the common fund gained by all the workers, and leave the total to be divided by the committee according to their idea of equity. But then, though this was exceedingly generous, Dennis was also a partner and a rich man. The men, except Keller Bey, were indignant at what they counted a cheat--a false offer. Very unjustly, for to Dennis Deventer the rights of labour extended to what a man earned. Those of property, equally important to him, included the defence of his wife's money invested in the Small Arms Company, and also what he had been able to put aside during the years of his strenuous life. This is how the great misunderstanding arose, and I do not see that any of the parties to it were free from blame--certainly not Dennis. But I hasten to tell how the events fell out and what was my part in the adventure. The same day that I had required my parole back from Keller Bey I marched boldly and in the face of all to the gate of Château Schneider, which was shut and boarded up, strengthened besides by criss-cross work of iron bars, so that the half which was opened creaked and groaned on its hinges when it turned. So careful was the watch that when at last after parley and explanation Jack Jaikes let me in, it was only to find myself commanded by three separate batteries of machine guns from behind which peered the perplexed faces of McAllister's gang. They were simple men and they could not understand this running with the hare and hunting with the hounds. I do not blame them. No one who did not know Keller Bey and the need of standing by him could possibly have understood. Jack Jaikes explained as well as he could, but not being convinced himself of the goodness of my cause, I fear his words only darkened counsel. It was generally understood by those on guard at Château Schneider that "I would bear watching," and indeed it was not long before the sentinels of the National Guard on the other side of the wall came to exactly the same conclusion, so to please all parties I was blindfolded. But the welcome I had from the household of Deventer made up for all this enveloping suspicion. Here, at least, I stood clear. I was re-established in my own conceit, in my position a most valuable asset. Was I not a martyr to duty, a prisoner on parole, one castaway among wild and dangerous people, because I had ventured out by night to join the Deventer defence? Jack Jaikes had evidently done his part well. He had given me the rough side of his tongue, but had permitted the Deventers to understand that in the morning hours he had held converse with a hero and martyr to duty. Mrs. Deventer came over and graciously kissed me, and I verily believe that I might have kissed all three girls--yes, even Hannah--under the eye maternal, without a reprimand. Hugh was more comrade-like than he had been for a long time, and linked arms with me in the good old St. André way as we stood by the fire-place. Dennis Deventer came in smiling. "Now our family is more like itself again. Angus me boy, and how did ye leave my good friend the commander of the forces?" I told him that Keller Bey was well but much worried by the cares of office. At this he laughed a little mischievously, and burst out in one of his usual phrases: "St. Patrick's Day and a fine morning to be whittling shillalahs. But Keller Bey has not seen the first green of his wild oat-sowing. Let him wait till his lambs begin to frolic. Then I do not envy him his task. As for me, Jack Jaikes and I are making this place so strong that they might blow it piece by piece about our ears without making us surrender." Presently I found myself at luncheon at the Deventers' table. Nothing appeared to have changed, except that the young apprentices were no longer to be seen, and indeed there was no external service of any kind. We cut and poured out at the sideboard for ourselves. Mrs. Deventer was the only one waited upon, Rhoda Polly bringing her what she wanted. The discussion grew as loud as ever, but hushed instantly when a messenger appeared at the door, cap in hand and a little breathless, to report the situation of the various posts, or to request instructions. Sometimes Dennis merely bade the messenger to "Ask Jack Jaikes!" More often he reeled off a detailed and technical explanation which the apprentice understood though I did not. Or again he would dash a few lines on the leaf of a note-book, indicate a design sketchily, and send the lad off again as fast as he could clatter down the stairs. I could not help being struck with admiration of the Chief's method and science. Keller Bey was a leader of men, but I could not help seeing, apart from his indubitable personal magnetism, how things were bungled for lack of those very qualities of science and method. It went well in Château Schneider. No need for speech or lifted hand. Silence fell like a spell whenever the runner appeared in that ever-open doorway. And while the master of men launched his commands there was not even the ordinary clatter of knives and forks. Everyone seemed to feel the importance of the decision to be given. All were proud of the giver, though the moment before and the moment after they would be refuting his arguments, denying his statements, and generally assaulting his positions in a Donnybrook of sound and fury, without the least apparent reverence for the grey hairs to which he often appealed with mock pathos. I took care not to see any of the defences of the workshops, or those about the Château. These had been wholly reorganised since the attempts of January, and were now nearing completion on a far more serious scale. I had to go back and I should assuredly be questioned. If I did not answer I might doubtless be suspected. Therefore it was arranged that when the time came for me to go Jack Jaikes should blindfold me and lead me out by the main fortified entrance of the works, which was immediately in front of a large post of National Guards. I was longing to get Rhoda Polly by herself and hear the news from her own lips, but Dennis was so eager for more and more detailed gossip about this one and that other among the members of the Commune, that he detained me a long while. He did not fish for secrets nor ask me to divulge any of Keller's plans. I think he felt himself too strong and sure for that. He was, moreover, genuinely interested in the men, and wishful to know how they conducted themselves in their new spheres. He was specially amused at my account of the staffing of the Post-Office-Without-Letters, and when he heard the names he instantly baptized it "The Bureau of the Incompetents"--a sobriquet which afterwards got abroad and became a saying, so that many of those who had earned the name left the place to escape from it. At last Rhoda Polly and I did manage to take refuge up on the roof behind our favourite chimney-stack at a place where the parapet was almost breast high. It was comfortable hiding and quite secluded--the fortifications of the Château roof being long perfected, and indeed only to be used as a watch-tower or as a last line of defence. Rhoda Polly told me how she had sent three messengers to Alida, of whom only one had been faithful to his trust. She had had to enlist Jack Jaikes in the business, and between them they had called up lads from the town, butchers' boys and such-like, known to the foreman from the Clyde. To each of these she had perforce to commit her letter, taking care that it should contain nothing compromising in case of capture. But only one ever returned with an answer, and he a little bare-footed rascal of a boot-black, from whom nothing had been expected. He had even brought back a letter from Alida, telling her friend that they were well but that for safety's sake Linn and she, with the two Tessier maids, had been taken into the main building of Gobelet, where at least they should be farther from the road and have men to protect them. Alida went on to say that Linn went about as usual, but evidently grieved for her husband in silence. She herself was occupied in learning Latin from Mr. Cawdor, and already could read in a book called "Cæsar" and in another by an author named Sallust. I saw the letter as Rhoda Polly turned it over, and noted that not a word of inquiry was wasted upon myself. My name was not once mentioned. The Lady Alida had taken dire offence at my flight, and this was in spite of the fact that Rhoda Polly had mentioned that I was with Keller Bey in the city of Aramon. CHAPTER XXVIII STORM GATHERING On my return I was, as I had expected, put to the question, with lenience by Keller Bey, but with biting irony and something like personal dislike by the Procureur Raoux. Then stood apparent all the man's bitter nature, mordantly distilled from years of poverty and hatred of the well-to-do. The name of Dennis Deventer set his eyes ablaze, and the idea of his family sitting down to a comfortable meal in spite of their isolation from markets was to him gall and wormwood. He would hardly believe the tale of the National Guards that they had seen me come down the steps of the Château already blindfolded and under escort, and that I had so continued till I was pushed out of the main entrance of the works by Jack Jaikes. How many guns had I seen? The little man shot out the question at me. "Only those on the roof," I answered readily, "those which had been used in January. They were hooded and protected from rain by waterproof jackets." "How did you know that?" "Because I went up there to take the air after dinner, and I leaned my back against one while I smoked." "Was it a big gun? Three--four-pounder?" I could not say exactly, but I should think four. I knew nothing about any defensive works within the square of the factory. I had traversed all that part blindfold. The fierce little man grunted disbelievingly, but desisted when it was obvious that he could make nothing more of me. "Let Dennis Deventer take care," he snarled, "he speaks smooth words now. Oh, the great things he will do for the workmen, but not for all his promises does he stop that Jacques Jaikes from fortifying and placing guns. Oh, I know more than you or Keller Bey are aware of. I do not go about with my eyes blindfolded. What is the use of a tower of Saint Crispin if a shoemaker may not climb it and spy out the works of his enemy?" "That will do, Raoux," said Keller Bey, somewhat impatiently. "I shall send for you again when I need you." He went out slowly, with a lingering, backward look, full of spite and malice, his words and face distilling hatred like the poison-fangs of a viper. I heard him mutter as he passed: "You will send for me when you want me--take care I do not come when you want me least!" It was indeed time to get away--the Commune of Aramon stood on the verge of a volcano which might blow us into the air any day. Yet, how could I leave Keller Bey to his fate, and, if I did, how could I face Linn and Alida? * * * * * The days passed heavily in Aramon, yet with a kind of feverish excitement too--an undercurrent of danger which thrills a swimmer cutting his way through smooth upper waters when he feels the swirl of the undertow. The Commune of Aramon met daily for discussion, and reports of its meetings are still to be found in the little red-covered, tri-weekly sheet, _Le Flambeau du Midi_, of which I possess a set. They appear to have discussed the most anodyne matters. They gabbled of drainage and water supplies, the suspension of rents and pawnbrokers' pledges for six months. They came to sharp words, almost to blows--"Moderates" and "Mountain," as in the old days of 1793--while outside the companies of the Avengers of Marat, the dark young men of the wolf-like prowl, kept their watch and took their sullen counsel. Provisions showed no visible stoppage. The country about Aramon was an early one--the great market for _primeurs_ being Château Renard, only ten miles away. Thither Père Félix, learned in the arts of restaurant supply, sent a little permanent guard to direct the provisioning of Aramon city. I think the only man outside Château Schneider who saw what was coming upon the new Government was my Hugolâtre of a station-master up at the junction. I went to see him every day and he never ceased to urge me to clear out of the town lest worse should befall me. "They are arming," he said one day in early April, "they are coming nearer. Put your eye to that telescope--no, don't alter it--tell me what you see. A signal post on the railway--semaphore you call it! Yes, but did you ever see such a semaphore on a railway? With us the stiff arm drops and all is clear. It rises half-way--'_go slowly!_' It stands at right angles to the post--'_stop_--_the way is barred!_' But what do you see yonder? The stiff arms are moving this way and that. You who can Morse out a message on the telegraph apparatus, why cannot you read something infinitely more simple? That is on the other side of the river and tells me that the Government engineers are creeping nearer. There is no railway line where the semaphore is. They are signalling to their comrades on this side. The storm is gathering--be very sure. For the present there is no great hurry. Little Dictator Thiers has many irons in the fire. He has no time to read Hugo like me, nor has he time to give much thought to Aramon. But yonder are those who are preparing a path for his feet, and for the feet of his little Breton Moblots when the time comes." It appeared to me that I ought to look into this myself, but in a way that would not compromise my friend the station-master. So I made my way boldly up into St. Crispin's tower and turned the long spyglass, old as the first Napoleon, upon the semaphore ridge. It was wagging away cheerfully, spelling out messages which I could not understand. I went at once to Keller Bey. "The Government of Versailles is not so far off as you think," I said, "they are watching you from the other side of the river, and I believe talking across the water to the commanders of troops on this side." And with that I told him of the semaphore and of what I had seen from the tower of St. Crispin. He sent instantly for someone who could read semaphore messages, and within half an hour a deserter from the engineers quartered at Avignon was brought to him--a small, brown, snippet of a man whom I christened at sight "the runt," but whose real name was Pichon--one of a clan mighty in all the southland of Languedoc. Keller Bey came with us to witness the trial, and we had not reached the summit when we heard behind us the wheezing, asthmatic breathing of the Procureur Raoux sorely tried by the hasty ascent. "Why, why, why?" he gasped, poking his head through the door--"who gave you the liberty? Ah, Keller Bey--I beg your pardon. I was not aware of your presence." "This young man has brought us important information," said Keller Bey. "He has discovered a semaphore signal newly erected on a spur among the olive trees. The enemy have a post there, and are busily sending messages to corresponding bodies making an advance southward upon this side." By this time I had the glass into position, and was moving gingerly out of the way to let in the ex-engineer of Avignon, when the little cobbler fairly rushed at the vacant seat, catching a foot on one of the legs of the tripod and, of course, entirely losing the semaphore on the opposite bank of the Rhône. "I can see nothing--there is nothing to see!" he cried, gesticulating fiercely with fingers like claws, "it is the lies of the English. I know them. They have always lied to us. Dennis Deventer lies. There is no message--no semaphore. There is no regiment nearer than Lyons or Marseilles, and there I warrant Gaston Cremieux, Procureur-Général like myself, is giving them as much as they can think about." With extreme difficulty Keller persuaded the acrid little man to allow me to try. "I will send him to the Central Prison if he has been bringing us false news--and of course he has. What a blessing! I have a committal form with me." I did not shrink from the test, and while Keller Bey maintained the cobbler-magistrate in some degree of quiet on the other side of the platform, the expert deserter quickly got his eye on the signalling apparatus. "I have it," he cried, his brow glued to the eyepiece and his hand signalling for stillness. "Oh, do be quiet!" Raoux's dancing feet were shaking the crazy platform. "The devil is in the fellow's legs," said Keller Bey. "Will you be quiet, Raoux, or shall I drop you over to the glory of your patron saint?" He held him for a moment asprawl over the edge with a drop of two hundred feet clear upon the packed causeway stones. Something of helplessness in the grip of Keller Bey for a moment took the madness out of Raoux. He kept fairly still when Keller placed him again on the floor of the platform, and with a pair of huge hands, one on each shoulder, held him in place. Without taking his eyes from the spyglass the engineer searched and found a dirty note-book to which was attached by a string a stump of pencil. Presently he began to spell out a message from one side of the river to the other. I could see his fingers shaking with excitement as he jotted down the letters. "Why," he exclaimed at the first pause, "it's our fellows from Avignon, and they are not even troubling to code the message--shows what they think of us." "Tell us what they say," said Keller Bey. "One moment--they are beginning again," and the pencil stub began to travel. "_Gun platform can be laid out on spur mountain, 250 feet above present shelter trenches. Will command bridge-head of Aramon--possibly also rebel headquarters._" I saw Keller Bey turn pale to the lips. He understood well enough. He had campaigned against those same invisible, tireless French engineers for many desperate African years, and he knew that in the long run they always made out to do the task set for them. But Raoux the cobbler-procureur was quite unmoved. "They are playing with levels and angle-machines as they used to do when I was at Avignon. They went out every day clean and came back dirty. The colonel could find nothing better for them to do. To-morrow we shall send half a column of ours and shoot a few. Then the rest will keep further up the river where they belong." "As you will," said Keller Bey, "but you had better send a battalion at least with provisions for three days." "Provisions for three days--absurd nonsense!" foamed the little man, for this was touching his tenderest spot, "our citizen soldiers are the National Guard of Aramon, and will not consent to sleep away from their houses, not for all the wig-wagging engineers and railway signalling in France! We are not slaves but freemen. No, no, a day's excursion to brush away these impudent land surveyors with a volley from our patriotic rifles--and then back again before dark with victory on our untarnished banners--that is what you can expect from the lion hearts of our young men. We defend the Commune. We do not make war outside it. And why should we when the chief strength of the enemy remains unassaulted and untaken within our walls?" Keller Bey called off the ex-engineer. With such a war method as that which was evidently popular in Aramon, it was no use wasting time reading semaphore messages. The Chief and I returned very mournfully to the Mairie. I could see that his reflections were bitter. "They do not understand the Commune or what it means--they do not know the spirit of the Internationale here. They care nothing except for their little municipal quarrels. They cherish wild, vague hopes about the works, and would attack the man upon whose charity they are living. But of the fact that France will one day speak to them with a voice of authority--nay, is now speaking in warning--to that they will pay no heed. At the Commune meeting to-day a whole day was wasted arguing for or against an extra duty on potatoes when brought across the bridge from the Protestant department of the Deux Rives. Protestant potatoes, Catholic and Roman potatoes! What irony, when the dusky signal-men are crawling from hill to hill ever nearer, and any day may bring our doom upon us!" I let it sink well in, for I could see that Keller Bey was at last conscious of the mistake he had made. "You must go," he said, "I cannot fairly keep you longer. Go to your friends and advise the good women of them to accept a safe conduct across the river. I have still enough authority for that, if I promise an ultimatum and an assault on the works to follow. It would make me happy to think of these kind folk who welcomed Alida and Linn so warmly, safely lodged under your father's roof as in a city of refuge." He paused and looked pensively out on the uniformed groups of National Guard lounging and smoking in the white courtyard of Fontveille stone. "As for me," he said, "there is no room for any going back. The Government would accept no resignation or belated repentance. I have dreamed my dream. I thought (as thought Carl Marx) that these working men were ready for an ideal reform, for government over themselves. I saw other cities joining themselves to us, the good seed sown over the country from department to department, till all should work for all and no man only for himself. Now I see that the nature of man cannot be changed by a theory or a form of government. Go, young man, to your friends. I, Keller Bey, bid you! Be kind to Linn and to Alida, my master's daughter. Perhaps all this has come because I disobeyed him for the first time when he sent the prince of the house of Ali to bring home his daughter. I may be justly punished, yet, nevertheless, the will of Alida is nearer to my heart than that of the Emir Abd-el-Kader in his house at Brousse!" CHAPTER XXIX WITHIN THE PALE It was indeed high time that I went away from the perils of Aramon-les-Ateliers. Indeed, Keller Bey was in greater danger and condemned to greater isolation owing to my stay. At first he had counted it a happiness to talk with me of things outside his unfortunate office as head of the Commune. But even Père Félix and the more dependable of the little band of members of the Government, faithful to their head, showed something like the cold shoulder when Keller withdrew regularly to find me in his parlour as soon as the séance was over. I waited most of a dark and moonless night for the coming of Jack Jaikes to the corner of the wall. At the first sound of my voice he threw over a rope to help me to scramble up. He himself was astride the top when I got there and we were inside the fortifications within thirty seconds. And lo! how easy it all was--and what a difference! I seemed a thousand miles away from everyone on the town side, and now only a few rods divided me from the house of friends--from the sudden breaking ires of Dennis Deventer and the quiet smiles of his wife, a mistress within her own domain. Yes, and from Rhoda Polly--though I have left her to the last, I had not forgotten Rhoda Polly. "Well," said Jack Jaikes, "ye've come at last, as ye had much better have done at the first, biding there among anarchists' trash and breakers of God's beautiful machinery. God knows I am as good a Liberal as ever voted for what Maister Gladstone said was right--yes, me and my faither before me. But before I would mix mysel' up with such a lazy, unclean, unsatisfied, cankered crew--sakes alive, I wad raither turn Tory at yince and lose my self-respect!" This was a terrible threat for Jack Jaikes, who had brought away from Scotland no particular religion, except (as was common in these years) that unbounded adoration of Mr. Gladstone, which culminated in 1880. For that night Jack Jaikes made me a shake-down among his own gang, and urged me to get the Chief to let me serve there. "Man, I could be doing wi' ye fine," he said, "even though ye do not ken one end of a gun from anither till she goes off! But there's a headpiece on ye and they tell me that ye are fair bursting with the mathematics!" I told him I was better at classics, and he was, I think, more desirous of my company than ever. "My brither passed for the kirk and was something of a dab at the Greek. You learned yours here in France--will that be the same sort? It will? That's grand. Ye can gie me a bit help, then? I have some o' his auld college buiks in my box. I hae put in heaps o' spadewark at readin' them, but it is a dreary business by yersel'! For ane foot that ye gang forward, ye slip back twa, as the Irishman said aboot the road covered with ice!" Above my head great steel armatures rose high in the air. The flitting lanterns brought out now the brass knobs of a governor, now the dim glistening bulk of a huge fly-wheel away up near the roof of the shed which Jack Jaikes and his men used as a dormitory. There was one fixed light which shone upon the instrument attached to a little field telegraph. Jack Jaikes had given up his idea of a wholesale electrocution of an attacking force--that is, Dennis Deventer had compelled him to give it up. But he had perfected a kind of burglar alarm applied to a wider area, which completely encircled the works and (separately) protected the Château and its grounds. If anyone interfered with his wires at any point, Jack Jaikes could instantly warn the nearest post to the disturbance, and the men would swarm out like wasps. The plan had its little inconveniences. Cats in particular loved and were loved upon the great factory wall. But Jack Jaikes devised means, by "stinging them up a bit" electrically, to make them "leave that," as he expressed it. Rooks also came to perch and left with a whoop of terror, or clung desperately head down with paralysed claws firmly knotted till the men plucked them off and threw them into a corner to recover. But the first company of the Avengers, tentatively scrambling about the north-west corner to see what sort of watch the English kept, were promptly checked by a dozen bayonets thrust down from above, and having received information, they departed without standing on ceremony. Let it not be thought that I slept much in the power-house. It was altogether too picturesque and vivid for me. My heart beat with a rousing and incommunicable joy. I was again among my own kind. I had done my best to sympathise with those others over the wall. I had tried to help and understand Keller Bey, but though I might wear the red cardigan, follow Garibaldi, run up the "tatter of scarlet" under Keller Bey's orders, my heart beat with the after-guard. My instincts were "yellow"--the rest was but the rash of the blood which came with youth and would pass like a malady of childhood. Small wonder I did not sleep. Into that entrancing and mysterious hangar, hooded and cloaked men stole from nowhere in particular. Each gave a kick or a shake in passing to other men, who, silently rising, cloaked themselves, seized arms, adjusted belts, and so wordlessly clanked away into the dark. Then the new-comers would go over to the embers of the fire on the forge in the corner, where the red glow would reveal him as a pleasant-faced English lad, munching ardently his bread and sausage, or heating his coffee on the coals. In the gloom of the dormitory shake-downs men would talk rapidly, muttering in their sleep. If a man snored too vigorously, Jack Jaikes, or a lieutenant of that considerable sub-chief, would turn him over on his side, or, in extreme case, send him to the boiler-room, where the men had room to snore one against the other. These Jack Jaikes, always reminiscent of Glasgow, called the "Partick Social Warblers," in memory of a certain church glee-club soirée, to enter which he had once paid a "silver collection" in the unfulfilled expectation of "tea and a bag." But that night as I lay I kept awake for the pure joy of knowing myself alive. I loved the breathing of the men about me, the ordered mystery of the comings and goings, the clicking of the telegraphic machine as Jack Jaikes bent over it, even the little circle of golden light which the lamp shed, and the bristly way his moustache had of standing out beyond the wicks of his grimly humorous mouth. I wondered if he ever slept. Certainly he lay down. He had a blanket with which he covered himself, head and all. It was not much of a blanket, being pierced in the centre so that it could be worn with the head thrust through, poncho-wise, as he stalked about. It was full of burnt holes, showing where he had thrown himself down on cinders, some of which had proved too recent. About four there came a shrill _tirr-r-r-r_ of the small call-bell and every sleeper was instantly on his feet. How Jack Jaikes got to the ticker I do not know, but long before the men had their belts snapped, he was reading off to them the location of the alarm. "Between posts 48 and 49, Norwell and Omand warned. Ready there, file out!" The dark figures passed one by one out of the faint copper glow of the forge, stood each a moment against the blue-black mystery of the night framed in the doorway, and were then lost in the obscurity. I thought of following, but first of all I was afraid of Jack Jaikes, who had made no sign to me, and secondly and chiefly, in a yard and among defences so sown with dangers and (for all I knew) corded with live wires, I might easily do myself much harm, and the general welfare of the cause little good. So, sorely against the grain, I stayed where I was. Presently the men came laughingly back, their humour quite vanished. Two of the town goats--for Aramon was near enough to the mountains and to Spain to possess many of these--had chosen to contest the narrow way to the factory wall, from a pure point of honour as gentlemen should, for there was no lady in the case. They had died fighting, and a bayonet's point had been requisitioned to dislodge them both. They were now brought in and handed over to the cook for preparation. Both had been hard fighters in their time, and looked as if they would furnish what Caroline in "The Heir at Law" calls "not an inviting meal." Everybody was now fully waked up, and no one thought any more of sleep. The night was still of the indigo dark peculiar to the South, and outside, I could see the stars sinking one by one. The glow on the forge-hearth was set blazing, tea billies were soon boiling, and there was a fragrant smell of coffee in the air. The clean, appetising hiss of frying bacon struck a joyous note. Someone set a big globe of electric light flaring, when, _whisk-whisk_, a quartette of bullets tore through the shed and knocked it to flinders. Then in like an avenging genie entered Jack Jaikes. "If I kenned wha that idiot was that set yon infernal thing blazing, I would knock the amazing friskiness out o' him. Have I not telled ye a score o' times that ye are no to make exhibitions o' yerselves? Exhibitions, did I say, waur nor that, juist blank eediot targets that the Frenchmen haena sense enough to hit!" He made a silence about him, for all knew that his angers were black and that he would stick at nothing, but, if provoked, strike with what came nearest to his hand. But the mood passed, the globe and carbons were renewed, and by the end of their early breakfast his good-humour also was quite restored. The men moved easily again without casting furtive eyes to see how the black dog was riding Jack Jaikes. They knew him for an incomparable fighting leader, an engineer without rival in the camp, but there was no doubt that he needed humouring when, as he would have said himself, "his birse was up." It had been remarked, even before he left the Clyde, that he was "far ower handy wi' a spanner," and that might have been the reason why he had tried Bristol and the Tyne before finding his master in Dennis Deventer of the Arms Factory of Aramon. I broke in upon the Deventers at breakfast--a meal which in defiance of all local custom they took together as they had been used to do far away in Barrow under the Cumberland fells. Or rather it was Jack Jaikes himself who did the breaking. He could not deny himself that. We heard the noise and clatter as we mounted the stairs. "A fight," chuckled Jack Jaikes, half to himself, "but two to one on Rhoda Polly, anyway." But he had his little effect to make. He flung the door open, grounded his rifle with a ringing clash, and announced in a stentorian voice: "A deserter!" The clamour ceased instantly. Every face was turned towards the door, Dennis Deventer half rose, his napkin in his hand. I could see the pale, clear-cut features of Rhoda Polly, her red lips parted, peering over her father's shoulder. Dennis Deventer received me with a friendly push that sent me in the direction of Hugh, who "cleared" like a goal-keeper, and I fell into a chair beside Rhoda Polly. "Come in, Jack Jaikes--what will you take? Try those kidneys--they are rather good. No, no, your chaps can't want you so soon. You are not hatching them out there, you know!" These and other cries at last persuaded Jack Jaikes to do what he was yearning to do--sit down and eat a second breakfast with his master's family. His grin was at once triumphant and sardonic, yet he left me to answer for myself. His pleasure was not to talk much at these festivals of his soul. I think he was fearful of what he called "langwage"--such as he used occasionally in the works--escaping his control. At any rate he was a happy listener, and the few words he uttered were always destined to foment a discussion, acerbate a verbal quarrel, so that he could lay mental bets upon his admired Rhoda Polly. When she made a good hit, he felt inclined (as he confessed) to rise up and yell, "like a gallery student on an opera night"--a set of savages whom he had known during the college days of his brother, now a creditable and responsible "placed" minister in Scotland. When I announced that I had come to stay Rhoda Polly nearly trod my foot off under the table, a vulgar disgrace to our comradeship for which she apologised afterwards. "I had to do it," she said, "or I should have been blubbering on your shoulder with my arms about your neck! How would you have liked that, Angus my lad?" I answered, that before company I should have liked it ill enough, but proffered my shoulder for the purpose since we were in private. Rhoda Polly in her turn cried shame upon me. If I could not remember our compact, she would not forget it. She also reminded me of saying of my own accord that she and I had put away childish things. In vain I represented to her that I had just returned from great danger and that if she had been so overwhelmed with joy at breakfast as to make pemmican of my foot, she must have still some remaining for which a suitable expression might be found without looking out the word in the dictionary. But Rhoda Polly would have none of my suggestions. She was glad she had shown her feelings, however irregularly, but now if I pleased we would resume our good old talks together, at least when the incidents of the siege permitted. Her father did not allow her to run round the yard or about the posts with the men, as she had been wont to do during the first January difficulties. "Oh, it isn't that," she said, answering a question in my eyes which was also an accusation; "of course some of them think I'm nice and all that. But it isn't that! I'm not Liz! Only father says that there are snipers on the towers--the cathedral, St. Servan's, St. Marthe's, and St. Crispin's--and he doesn't want any accidents happening to his eldest daughter. But I am sure the boys miss me. I know Jack Jaikes does. He told me so when he came in to arrange mother's sewing machine, which I 'wrongulated' on purpose to hear the news." Later I retold Dennis Deventer the story of the coming trouble in Aramon and the despair of Keller Bey. He listened without surprise, his deep-set Irish eyes almost hidden under his twitching, bushy brows. "There's a man that is obleeged to me, Angus me lad. He runs a copper ore boat from Huelva--that's in Spain--to Marseilles. If we could get the owld Keller man down there, I know a boatman in the Joliette who would give him shelter till the steamer lifts her anchor. There is no need for him to be desperate about any such thing. The world is wide and Governments in this country are made of cardboard and bad paste. He will be amnestied in a year or two. Can the man not be reasonable?" I told him that the difficulty lay there. Keller Bey considered himself bound to those who had helped him to set up the Commune in Aramon. He would make no separate peace for himself. "Separate fiddlesticks!" shouted Dennis Deventer. "Does he mean such comfortable old soup-bags as Père Félix, or wine-skins like Pipe-en-Bois, or alcohol gutters like the Marshal Soult? Let him set his mind at rest. They are safe. No Government while I live shall harm a hair of their heads. They will never stand behind a barricade--never fire a shot; if they will be careful not to fall downstairs after celebration suppers to the memory of Danton and Marat and the men of '48, they will all die in their beds and have their memories honoured in turn by the suppers of another and redder generation!" There was truth in what Dennis said. These were not the men who would die fighting when the day of reckoning came. The young sullen wolf's breed of the sidelong glances and the whispered counsels--these were those who would line the last ditches of the defence of Aramon. But, then, Keller Bey felt that he was responsible also for them. He was their chief and normal leader. He had the secrets of the Internationale and he had made proselytes, even among the young people. Could he leave them and flee? I knew very well Keller Bey's line of argument, and I put it to Dennis. He clapped his knee testily. "Oh, for a good Scots or Ulster head on a man--even English would do because of the fine, solid underpinning and bodygear the Lord God puts into his southern-built vessels. But when a man gets this megrim of honour in his brain, there is no saying beforehand what he will or will not do--except that it will surely be eediocy." "It's a pity, too," he added, after thought, "a man that can be talking the Arab or the Turkish with men like your father (God bless him) and old Professor Renard." I suggested that there was one factor we were overlooking--that it was more than likely that before long the Conservative Commune of Aramon would be displaced and with it would disappear the rule of Keller. No, I did not think they would kill him. They would probably expel the ex-Dictator and let him go where he would. Then would be the time to secure him, and send him to the captain of the Huelva cargo-boat. Dennis patted me on the head. "We cannot be sure of doing much," he said, "but we can always have a try. We shall probably be desperately busy ourselves if the wild rakes take the lead over the wall yonder. They will come at us, not this time in undisciplined rush, but with method and well armed--thanks to the folly of the National Assembly." Still, Dennis Deventer had a card up his sleeve. "You must wait with us and see the rubber played out." CHAPTER XXX DEVILS' TALK The black day which was coming upon Aramon was not long in dawning. Barrès and Imbert were the leaders of the anarchist party, which had always secretly opposed the Marxian communism of Keller Bey and his adherents. These were the men of the opposition, dark-browed cub-engineers and piece-workers, not high in their professions--being far too careless and off-hand for regular work, but with a dashing strain in them, and a way of putting the matter which imposed upon the younger men. Were they hungry? There was food in the shops. Was their miserable fifteen pence a day insufficient? Yonder were the villas of the traders who had sucked and grown rich on the money they had earned, inadequate as it was. Had any man a wrong? The Government had put arms in his hands--let him go and right it!--It may be imagined what was the outcome of this kind of talk. So long as Keller Bey kept his hold there was no night plundering, and several men caught playing at "individual expropriation" were first threatened with the provost marshal and then with a firing party. Instead they were sent to the care of Calvi in the prison of Monsieur le Duc because the heart of Keller was tender. This gloomy, four-square hulk of a mediæval keep had been built in the thirteenth century by the Duke of Burgundy, to awe the riotous Frankish burghers of Aramon le Vieux, and stands still, machicolated and fossed, much as he left it. It was difficult now to think of the Aramon with its strong guild of hammer men, its coppersmiths swarming from their clattering toil, its tanners and booth-men pouring out of these same _ruelles_ and squares, now grey with mistral or dreamy in the white sunshine. To-day not a cat would jump for a dozen Dukes of Burgundy, but seven hundred years ago Aramon le Vieux had a fierce _élan_ of its own and knew how to singe the beard of an oppressor, especially if he were at some considerable distance. After the building of the great feudal keep on the opposite bank, we hear little more of the turbulent traders, and the likelihood is that they paid their dues and gave no trouble ever afterwards, especially after the Duke constructed a bridge of boats which opened at both sides to allow of traffic. Now, however, the lofty walls of the fortress of Monsieur le Duc became the rallying place of revolt. Every evening in front of the grand entrance, or upon the _fossé_ bridge, Georges Barrès preached the doctrine of plunder and petroleum. There were in Aramon a certain number of "haves"--let those who heard him see to it that there were ten times that number of "takes"! For what were their brethren shut up there (he pointed to the Loches-like cliff of masonry above him, nearly twice the height of Rochester Castle), and answered, "For retaking their own--for redressing the wrongs of the poor!" "For plain theft--they stole hens!" proclaimed a voice in the crowd. "Down with the spy--kill the royalist--dismember the traitor!" howled the mob. And to show their honesty they fell upon a good citizen of Aramon, a respectable apothecary, come there almost at random. He had been discreetly silent. It was not he who had made the outcry, but wore he not a black frock-coat and looked he not sleek and well fed? If he were not a spy, what was he doing there? So they threw him in the Rhône. He was fished out half a mile below, where for a long distance the workshop wall skirts the river. Jack Jaikes did the job with grumbling thoroughness and the man of drugs was brought to with a science and celerity unknown in his own pharmacy. Having thus asserted its power, the crowd turned with self-approval to listen to its favourite orator. "Here in Aramon we have a Government, and over it presides a Great Shadow which has been sent us from the Internationale. What did ever the Internationale do for us? Did it stop this war? Did it force back the Germans? You tell me that we owe to this shadow the thirty sous a day on which we starve. What of that? It is a bribe to keep us from taking all they possess. Every day in that Château yonder the silver gleams on the white table-cloth, the red wine mantles in the glass, the champagne foams, and--my great God! you can hear them laughing--from the miserable lairs where your children are clamouring for bread, and your wives are weeping because there is none to give them!" Now the soul of such crowds is most strange. In all that listening assembly there was no single man who did not know that every word was false. There was a special grant for families, and if any worker's children had not enough bread, it was because the patriot himself had spent the money on absinthe! Every worker knew this. Yet tears started to their eyes, and a deep-throated roar of anger went out against the Government which had arranged such a monstrous iniquity. "Yonder lie the workshops--the place where money is spun--money such as you have no idea of--millions a week--all the fruit of your toil. Do not break the machinery. We will set it spinning money on our own account--but first we must be quit of Dennis Deventer and his foreign gang. Keller Bey will tell you that they are workers like yourselves--citizens, of equal rights before the Internationale. Why then did they collect together yonder, these brave citizens, these honest workers, these noble revolutionaries? Why are they not walking about these streets and taking their turn at mounting guard? I will tell you. Because they are the guardians of the treasures of the masters--they are keeping locked in Dennis Deventer's safes the millions which have been wrung from you in cruelty and blood and tears!" Such a roar as went up from that black assembly in which the white caps of women were dotted and the massed blue knots of the National Guard could be seen! It reached the council, drearily debating in the town house, and there was a general desire to adjourn. The air was electric with coming trouble. These duly elected members of the Commune felt themselves caught between two great unknown forces--the Government of Versailles, which was represented by the pushing surveyors of the engineers' corps, the first skirmishers of an army which was certain to come upon them from the north, and this uprising of the idlers and workspoilers of their own kind. Personally their Socialism was not deep-rooted. They had the national respect for small property-holders, and even if they possessed none themselves, Oncle Jean Marie or Tante Frizade were _propriétaires_ in their own right. When these heritages fell in none of their loving nephews and nieces would fight harder for their share than the red-begirt members of the Commune of Aramon. Only men like Keller Bey and Gaston Cremieux lived in a world beyond such things--and on the other hand were those who, like Barrès and Imbert, had nothing to gain or to lose however fortune's wheel might turn. Père Félix pushed his way into the dense masses about the entrance of the prison keep. He was sure of himself, but very indignant at those of the Commune who had allowed him to come alone. Of course it was not fitting that Keller Bey should expose his person, but if the twenty of Aramon had marched together in a body, each with his crimson scarf of office girding him, they might have dominated the mob and silenced the hair-brained Barrès. Still, all the more honour to himself, when he should go back to twit them with their fears and tell them the story of his triumph! "We don't want to hear Père Félix! Down with the traitor! Trample him, spit upon him!" He could not believe his ears. For then began a din such as he had never heard. The young men on the outskirts had seized the instruments of the band of the National Guard and were now blowing, bellowing, and clanging upon them. He stood beside Barrès, who looked at him contemptuously, tossing the light fall of hair off his brow with a regular movement, as a challenged bull tosses his horns. "Comrades and citizens, in the name of the Commune of Aramon, elected by you, I address you----" Brazen horns brayed, tin trays and kettles were beaten, the big drum thundered just underneath. Words issued from the mouth of Père Félix. They must have done so, for his lips were moving, but not even himself heard a word, and the sardonic smile on the face of the Catalan Barrès became a grin. The old orator, who had swayed all meetings of the plebs in Aramon ever since '48, threw up his hands in hopeless misery. "They will not hear me," he cried, so that this time the words reached the ear of Barrès. "Why will they not hear me?" Now Barrès was by this time content with his triumph, and he put his hand to the old man's ear and shouted, "Because your day is past--you are down, you and all your gang. You silenced me at the Riding School meeting three months ago, but then you had Gaston Cremieux to help you. You had better go home. I shall see to it that you do go home, and let not Aramon see your face again. Keep on the farther side of the Durance and no man shall meddle with you. But from this day forth take notice that Aramon means to do without you!" He beckoned a few determined-looking fellows from the crowd, each armed with a rifle and cartridge-belt. A few instructions, a determined push through the crowd which divided to right and left, shouting hateful words all the time he was passing, and Père Félix found himself thrust ignominiously out of the northern gate of Aramon. His captors had treated him with a certain hasty roughness, but had up till now refrained from insult. Now they tore the red scarf of office from about his body and trampled it in the dust. The rule of the Twenty was over in Aramon. Slowly and mournfully Père Félix took the way under the beautiful trees of the water road toward the Durance. He did not see where he was going. His foot caught more than once in twisted roots from which the soil had been washed away by the winter floods. Under the willows and among the glimmering poplars shedding blue and gold, he drew nearer the broken pier and the little height of sandy dune from which he could see the blue reek curl upward from the kitchen chimney of the restaurant of the Sambre-et-Meuse. When he saw it his heart gave a sudden throb, as if he had recognised suddenly the face of a friend unseen and neglected for years. "This is mine," he muttered, "and what have I been caring for? The popular applause! Mariana told me they would turn upon me and kick me at the last. Then perhaps I would remember that I had a home. They trampled my red sash in the dust. It was they who gave it to me--it was their own authority vested in me. They ought to have remembered!" There were tears in the eyes of Père Félix. The tribune of the people could not all at once bring himself to accept a final defeat. But as he looked a different feeling gathered warm about his heart. Yonder was Jeanne bringing back a boat-load of firewood gathered from the flood mark. How tall she was, and how beautiful! He had not noticed these things before. How nobly and regularly she stood in the stern and poled the boat with the current--a splash or two and she was safe within the little backwater. Beyond was Mariana, busy with her fowls, scattering feed for them with the shrill _chook_--_chook-chookychooks_ used on such occasions by the hen-wives of all nations. Père Félix could see the birds running stumblingly with wings outspread to the feast. Mariana turned, glanced across the water, put on her spectacles, and called aloud to Jeanne without any surprise. "There is your father, Jeanne--go, fetch him home!" And suddenly, as his daughter leaped lightly out of the boat and kissed him on both cheeks, the colour flushing to her face and her bosom heaving, Père Félix felt himself no more ashamed and outcasted. "Father," said Jeanne, "I have found such a nest of logs--fine burning wood. You are just in time to cut it into faggots for me. Then I can go and bring away the rest while you are at work." "Félix, you are just in time for dinner," his wife cried out at sight of him. "There is roast lamb and green peas from Les Cabannes. You old gourmand, I'll wager you knew and came home on purpose!" No, Père Félix had not known, but he certainly did come on purpose and on purpose he meant to stay. CHAPTER XXXI THE BLACK BAND The first Commune of Aramon had fallen. Its place was taken by a Committee of Public Safety sitting at the Riding School. Of these the chiefs were Georges Barrès, the Catalan, who called himself "of Perpignan"; Chanot, the cadet of a good house, just released from a term of imprisonment (which he described as being for political offences); Auroy, the proprietor of an hotel by no means of the highest class, and Chardon, whose knowledge of the world extended as far as New Caledonia. They were a crew of desperadoes who had been employed chiefly in labourers' work at the factories. They knew no handicraft--at least none sufficiently well to pass the eye of such foremen as worked for Dennis Deventer. And, in addition, they were lazy in working hours, given to obscene conversation and to drinking pure alcohol out of pocket flasks. So it may be well believed that they were not popular with the oversmen at the works, and when they fell under Jack Jaikes' rebuke he was apt to chastise them with whips of scorpions. At the same time, desperate and careless though they were, and backed by the majority of the unthinking younger men of the National Guard, they had some qualms as to disturbing Keller Bey in his fastness of the Mairie. He had still a number of faithful defenders, and like an old lion of the Atlas he would certainly sell his life dearly. So Barrès and the Committee of Public Safety laid aside his case for the moment. They had other matters which pressed. Their "rapine and pillage" adherents desired to begin work. On the outskirts were many villas and houses of summer resort which promised loot. Barrès had preached so much, that (though with no great good-will) he was now driven to a little practice. Yet he knew instinctively that in France offences against property are far longer remembered and far more severely dealt with than crimes against persons--shooting and assassination not excluded. Still, he had to satisfy his followers, and in the bosom of the committee there were already experts--the ex-political prisoner Chanot and the traveller to the coasts of Cayenne were not at their first essay in "personal expropriation." It was clearly unsafe to cross the river. The town of Aramon le Vieux was a hornets' nest, all Gambetta republicans and royalists. The department, too, had a fine National Guard, mostly Protestants or commanded by Protestants, and the Moblots or Mobiles of the department of Deux Rives were drilling every day. What plundering was to be done must be on this side of the bridge, but there was abundance and to spare for all, if the business were rightly managed. The first step was to disarm the doubtful companies, and re-enlist only those who were of proper anarchist hue and ready for "expropriation." This was done in the Riding School where the Committee sat all day devising mischief and laying out evil as on a map. On the night of the 6th of April they were ready. The villas and country houses left vacant by the officers of the troops formerly quartered in Aramon had remained unoccupied, and, as the soldiers went right off to the seat of war from Aramon Junction, the furniture and personal belongings were equally untouched. The wives and children had been dispatched to the care of parents paternal and maternal in Limousin castles and Norman apple-orchards. Only an ancient caretaker or two remained, hiding in some niche of the ground floor and cautiously venturing out to make a hasty and furtive "market" in the grey of the morning. For the adepts of "individual redistribution" these served to whet an appetite. By midnight Jack Jaikes called me up on the roof of the Château. All along the river front houses were already flaming. Some, as I looked, climaxed their particular display by the crashing down of roofs and the falling in of floor after floor, followed by bursts of flame many hundreds of feet high, which lit up the dim river and the white houses of Aramon le Vieux. I could see the ancient battlements of the Lycée St. André serrated against a velvet-black sky--nay, I could make out that very forehead of promenade from which we had watched, that day in January, the tricolour give place to the Tatter of Scarlet. The rabble were giving tongue down there like packs of wolves, and at the sound Jack Jaikes stamped and cursed as men swear only in Clydeside ship-building yards. "Whist now, Jackie," said the voice of Dennis Deventer at my elbow, "what's the use of using all the Lord's fine big words that are meant to embellish Scripture on the like of them? Is it not tempting Providence to be cursing fools who are sprinting hot-foot to damnation by themselves?" "Wait--oh, wait," growled Jack Jaikes, jerking his joints till they creaked in a way he had when he was excited; "I shall make them sing to a different tune. Listen to them baying. Chief" (he turned suddenly to Dennis) "could I not just lob over half a dozen shrapnel among these cattle? They seem to be having it all their own way. Let me remind them that there's a God left in the universe." "You've got your business to attend to, young man. Be good enough to leave your Maker's alone. He can manage His own affairs, Jack Jaikes, and has been doing so for quite a while." Yet I understood the haste of the senior lieutenant and gangforeman. Apart from the uncompromising temperament of the Strathclyde man, it was difficult even for me to stand idle and listen to the shrieks of demoniac mirth as each new villa was attacked. In the silence of the night we could hear the crash of doors beaten in, the splintering of wood and the jangle of glass. Then came the dull rumble of many feet beating irregularly on wooden floors, the rush upstairs, the windows flung open, their green outer _volets_ clattering against the walls, to let in the clear shining of a moon which had been full only the night before. "What could not a score of us be doing with plenty of ammunition and our Deventer rifles?" I whispered to Jack Jaikes. He hardly looked at me. He was in the mood for anything except disobedience. He merely heaved a protesting sigh in the direction of his Chief, a sigh which was eloquent of all that he could do if he were not controlled by a higher power. "Will our turn never come?" I asked him, as he stood and gazed, his eyes red and as if injected in the glowing of the burning buildings. "I fear not to-night," he said, "the beasts will slink back to their lairs to deposit their loot. To-morrow night we may expect something serious for ourselves. But in any case I can't stand here hopping about like a hen on a hot plate. Let us go and see that the posts are all on the look-out." I did not go out with him, however, instead I remained with Rhoda Polly, whom I had run downstairs to find. She told me the names of the burning houses and to whom they belonged--the Villa Mireille, built recently by a great Paris grocer--Sans Souci, that of a local sausage-maker, and so forth. All these people had long left the district, and, as I said, the smaller houses had been let to the officers of the former Imperial garrison. Presently Dennis Deventer came and sat down beside us. Said Rhoda Polly, "Father, I never knew that we harboured such wretches among our men. Surely they do not come from the Works?" "No," said Dennis, settling himself with his back to the chimney pots, "I rather judge we have to thank your friend Gaston Cremieux for most of these. His experience as Gambetta's Procureur made him intimately acquainted with all bad characters in Marseilles. So when he became dictator, a few executions along the Old Port, and the posting up of a warning proclamation set the whole hive of cosmopolitan ill-doers scattering northwards. I think Aramon got the cream of them, and they are now acting after their kind, sure of an immunity which they could not hope for under the rule of Gaston Cremieux." "But Keller Bey?" said Rhoda Polly, astonishment in her accent, "why should he allow it? He is a soldier. Alida told me of his campaigns in the Atlas." "Yes, Rhoda Polly," her father answered, "but though they let Keller Bey alone in the Mairie, he has no more power in Aramon. The party of the Reprise Individuelle, that is to say of plump and plain robbery, is in full possession, and I doubt not but that before long we shall have such a siege of Château Schneider as will make us forget the other altogether. Only remember this, Miss Rhoda Polly Deventer, we about the Yard and Works do not wish your assistance or countenance on any pretext." "I do not see why," said Rhoda Polly, pouting, "I know I am at least of as much use as Hugh." "He is a man--my son!" "Well, if it is _that_ you are thinking of," snapped Rhoda Polly, "you can afford better to lose a daughter than a son. You've got three of us, Dennis, don't forget! Take my advice. Risk a daughter, and send Hugh down cellar with the Mater!" "Not one like you, little spitfire!" Her father spoke more tenderly than I had ever heard him, and before going away he let his hand lie for an instant on the vaporous curls about her brow. We kept awake most of the night, while the moon sailed overhead and the tall chimney stalks of the factories were made picturesque by the red glow from the entire riverside quarter of Aramon. The shouting and the tumult died down with the incendiary fires. The river, sometime of molten copper, was again grey, unpolished silver under the moon, save where the webbed and delicate shadow of the great suspension bridge slept on the water. At the dawning of the day mighty sleep passed upon the two of us sitting there, and there Jack Jaikes found us sitting hand in hand, my head on Rhoda Polly's shoulder, shamelessly slumbering under the risen sun. CHAPTER XXXII "READY!" The weather changed brusquely during the day of the 7th April. Till now it had been lovely spring weather--indeed, save for the shorter days, comparable to our finest summers in England. Then about noon came a thunderstorm--a sudden blackening and indigoing of the south horizon--a constant darting of lightning flashes very far off, this way and that--no thunder, only the inky storm advancing over the sea. Wild fire playing about it and a white froth of spring cloud-tufts tossing along its front. By two the flashes were raging about us, the thunder continuous and deafening, and the hailstones hopping like crickets on the roof of Château Schneider. Then it rained a great rain, every gargoyle spouting, every gap and pipe gurgling full. The wind bent double the tall poplars and lashed the lithe willows till they fished the stream. At half-past two all was past, for the moment at least. The roofs were giving off a fine, visible steam under bright sunshine. The land reeked with rising moisture, and over the water the wet roofs of Aramon le Vieux and St. André winked like heliographs. So it continued all day, the thunder passing off to this hand and the other--the mountains of Languedoc or among the dainty fringe of the dentelated Alpines behind Daudet's three windmills--which were not yet his. But it never quite left us alone. The Rhône Valley is the laid track and ready-made road for all thunderstorms. Even those from the west turn into it as from a side lane, glad of the space and the easy right of way. I rose from my proper bed just in time to see the best of the thunderstorm. Rhoda Polly had been up "ages before," as she asserted. She had lunched with the family and confided to me that there had been less row than usual, for the Chief had not been able to take the meal with them. She had, therefore, been deprived of the pleasure of crying to their father, "Hey, Dennis, hold hard there!" Or, plaintively, "Now, Dennis, you _know_ that is not true!" So they had solaced themselves by teasing Hannah, who had first threatened assault and battery and then retired in the sulks to her own room, the door of which they had heard locked and double locked. Mrs. Deventer had reproved them for their cruelty to their sister--which was grossly unfair, seeing that she had appeared to enjoy the performance itself, and even contributed a homily on Hannah's love of finery. Altogether it had been a stupid lunch, and I had done well to keep out of it. Oh, certainly, Rhoda Polly would gladly get me something to eat. Indeed, she did not mind having a pauper's plateful of scraps herself. Lunch proper was such an accidental meal that oftentimes all that reached the mouth was the bare fork! So on scraps and a glass of ale Rhoda Polly and I lunched together with great amity and content. We spoke of the coming (or at least expected) attack, and Rhoda Polly revealed to me her plans for seeing all she could and yet keeping clear of the eyes of her father. This was undutiful, but certainly not more so than shouting "You, Dennis!" at him down the whole length of an uproarious dinner-table. Jack Jaikes looked in upon us in a search for the Chief. There was no privacy of any kind in Château Schneider in those days. You simply went from room to room and from floor to floor till you ran your quarry to earth. Rhoda Polly and I were sitting with the width of the table between us, our two chins on our palms, the eyes of one never leaving those of the other, drowned in our high debate. Jack Jaikes gazed at us a moment and then, with a grin which might have meant "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may," if Jack Jaikes had read any poetry, he turned on his heel and went out again without speaking. "I say," said Rhoda Polly, "he never told about catching us asleep up behind the chimney pots with the sun baking our noses brick-red----" "Holding hands too, and my head----" "Glory, I'm glad it wasn't Hugh who caught us--then we should never have heard the last of it. What sillies we must have looked. I say, Angus Cawdor, that Jack Jaikes is a very decent sort. Suppose he had brought the others up! Hanged if I could have kept from telling!" "Oh, it was not to spare me, don't you deceive yourself. It was for your sake, Rhoda Polly. He would aid and abet you in forging the Governor's name to a cheque for a dressmaker's bill." Rhoda Polly went to find her mother, after promising to lie down awhile and so be fresher for the night. Dennis Deventer had instituted four-hour watches for the same reason, and everyone not on duty was sent to turn in. But the restless Jack Jaikes refused obedience. He had a thousand things to do. Oh, yes, everything was in readiness, of course. Things always were "last gaiter button" and that sort of rubbish, but to look everything over from one end to the other of all the posts was by no means useless, and to this he, Jack Jaikes, meant to devote himself. At any rate I slept, and I believe so also did Rhoda Polly. At least there was a period which otherwise could not be accounted for in that young lady's diurnal of her time. Supper was a snatch meal, and I don't think anyone thought much about eating, but Rhoda Polly was down in the kitchen seeing that the men's rations were sent out to the posts. At six I reported for duty to Jack Jaikes who had asked for me particularly. He gave me a powerful pair of night-glasses, presented to him for life-saving, as an inscription upon the instrument itself testified. "You know the streets of Aramon as well as I do," he said, "you have only got to keep your eyes about you, and report all you see. There is a nice little Morse installed on the top of the gateway, and you will be fairly safe behind the parapet--at least as safe as anywhere." The little tower he spoke of carried a clock and was placed not directly over the main gate, but to the side above the offices of the time-keepers and accountants. "I suppose," he added, "Rhoda Polly is coming. If so, don't let her fire, and, of course, don't fire yourself. You are the watch, so keep all dark above. Not a light, not a cigarette. And when Rhoda Polly comes, make her stay behind those sand-bags in the corner. I hiked a few up on purpose for her." "I know nothing about it," I asserted, "I never thought of it for an instant. If Rhoda Polly comes it will not be because I asked her." He looked at me with a slight contemptuous grin. "Do not worry yourself," he said; "if Rhoda Polly wants to come she will come, and neither you will entice her, nor her father forbid her." And he went his way. * * * * * I watched the wide Cours of Aramon, white under the moon, with its plane trees casting inky shadows on the flat stones and trampled earth. A silence had fallen upon the streets that opened on it, and no lights showed from the houses. The anarchists knew the value of darkness as well as we. But for a while the moon continued to block them. The sky filled and as regularly emptied of great white clouds, charioting up from the Mediterranean like angelic harvest-wains. I did not see anything worth reporting from the top of the clock-tower, nor hear anything except a distant hammering. An intense quiet reigned over the town of Aramon-les-Ateliers. I saw no new conflagrations. The old were extinct, and no yelling mobs poured out towards the well-to-do suburbs. The Extremists of the Commune had withdrawn their sentries and outposts--at least from within sight of the defences of the works. Jack Jaikes argued that this alone showed that they were plotting mischief. "These gutter scrapings of a hundred ports and a thousand prisons" was what he called "the new lot" who had supplanted Keller Bey. I think he secretly rejoiced. For, so long as it was a matter of fighting the elected Commune with Keller Bey at its head, he knew that the Chief had been lukewarm about extreme measures. He had even negotiated in the early time, which Jack Jaikes called "a burning shame. The best way to negotiate wi' a rattlesnake is to break his back wi' a stick!" He recognised, however, it was no use holding back when the Chief said "March!" "But noo, lad," he confided to me, "they are coming for what they will get. They are going to harry and burn and kill. There are four women yonder, and Dennis kens as well as me that if they win in on us, it will be death and hell following after. So he will let us turn on the fire-hose from the first, and let off no volleys in the air. That suits Jack Jaikes. This is no Sunday-school treat wi' tugs-o'-war and shying at Aunt Sally for coco-nits! Aye, a-richt, you below--haud a wee, I'm comin'!" He had hardly remained five minutes with me, but he had put some iron into my blood. We were no longer fighting against theorists like Keller Bey, or broad-beamed, first-class mechanicians like the Père Félix. And then the women--they would not bear thinking about, and indeed I had not time, for prompt, as if answering to a call, Rhoda Polly plumped down beside me in the sand-bag niche. "I met Jack Jaikes," she explained. "He said he knew I was coming and had made all snug for me. How did he know? You did not?" "He must have guessed, Rhoda Polly--perhaps it was something you said." "Nonsense, he is altogether too previous, that Jack Jaikes, but all the same these sand-bags are comfy, and I can see as from an upper box." "There is not much to see." I was saying the very words when with a crash a wall on the opposite side of the Cours seemed to crumble in upon itself. There was a jet of flame, a rain of stones, which reached half-way to the defences of the works, and then a gap, dark and vague in the veiled moonlight. "That was dynamite," said Rhoda Polly, "though the report was not loud. There is, quarrymen say, a silent zone in which the explosion is not heard. We must be just on the verge of that. I wonder if there is more to come." We waited--I straining my eyes into the darkness and seeing nothing. The moon did not reach down into the gulf which the explosion had created. But I was vaguely conscious of shapes that moved and of a curious crushing noise like that of the steam-roller upon the fresh macadam of a roadway in the making. But though Jack Jaikes came up to see for himself, none of us could make out anything--till Rhoda Polly, whose eyes were like those of a cat, made a telescope of her hands and after a long look whispered eagerly, "I see something they have got in there. It is like a bear on end--you know--when it is dancing." "Try again, Rhoda Polly. Try the night-glass!" "I can do better without it, Jack Jaikes--yes, I see better now--it is like a big boiler for washing clothes or boiling pig's-meat with the mouth tilted towards us. It looks as if it were mounted on a kind of cradle!" The words were hardly out of her mouth when Jack Jaikes exclaimed, in a voice which might have been heard half across the wide oblong of the Cours, "A mortar--I never thought of that--they have got a mortar. They were clearing a way for using it--at short range too. They can plug us anywhere now." He sprang towards the Morse telegraph, but he did not reach it. A concussion and a roar shook the tower to its base. I saw the flame shoot out a yard wide from the gap in the defence wall. Our main gate and part of the rampart to the right had been badly smashed, quite enough for a determined storming party to penetrate if the new gun made any more successes. "They are firing solid shell at us," said Jack Jaikes, frantically manipulating the keys of the telegraph instrument. "Now I must get a gun to play upon them. It will need something big, for though we can scourge their gun emplacement with mitraille fire, the merit of their plan is that the gunners lie hid in a ditch. Only one man, or two at most, are needed to slip round and drop in the charge and shell." "I see them," said Rhoda Polly, pointing where we saw only blank darkness. "Give me a rifle, Jack Jaikes. I believe I can pick that man off!" "You shall have number 27, Rhoda Polly, the best ever made. Oh, if only I had eyes like you!" Jack Jaikes groaned aloud, and Rhoda Polly settled herself behind the sand-bags. But she glanced up almost instantly. "He is gone!" she said. "Then look out!" cried Jack Jaikes. We both saw the broad stream of fire this time, and the wall on the other side of the gate came rattling down, while a big ball went skipping across the yard of the works, kicking the dust into clouds and bringing up with a dull smack against the wall of the foundry just opposite. "No harm done this journey, just topped us and brought down a few stones. But this can't last. They will get the range and make hay of us." He was already making off on his quest. "Better get down out of that, Rhoda Polly," he called back, as his feet clattered among the fallen bricks and masonry. "Go to the cellar, Rhoda Polly!" "Go to the cellar yourself, Jack Jaikes--I'm going to watch for the man who does the loading of that gun!" And Jack Jaikes laughed, well pleased. I felt vaguely humiliated, for I was a far better shot than Rhoda Polly, only I could not see. Furthermore I wished her well out of the clock-tower, for the flash of a rifle from the top of it would almost certainly cause us to be bombarded, and with the lobbing action of the mortar shot the projectile might very well land right on top of us, in which case the sand-bags would prove no protection. All I could do, however, was to stick to the Morse machine and send down the reports that Rhoda Polly threw at me over her shoulder. As soon as Jack Jaikes had made a tour of the posts, a hail of rifle fire broke from the wall of our defences, directed upon the gap in the wall and the _débris_ which sheltered the mortar. "It's no use! Tell them to stop," called out Rhoda Polly; "they are only making the plaster fall." I transmitted the message, and the firing from our side slackened and ceased. The smoke of the volleys drifted slowly along the wall, blinding and provoking the watcher. She waved it petulantly away with her hands. "They will make me miss my chance," she mourned. "The gunners can do what they like behind that. I wish Jack Jaikes had had more sense. What is the use of shooting at sparrows' nests under the eaves when the men are down in a ditch?" She was quite right, the next shell was a live one, and passed quite near us with a whistling sound. It exploded just under the big iron door, which was blown from its fastenings and fell backward into the yard with a heavy, jangling crash which went to all our hearts like a warning. The square of the doorway, seen over the edge of the clock-tower, was now quite open. The mortar of the anarchists had done good work, and our carefully-thought-out positions were endangered. I could see Dennis Deventer walking about from post to post, where there was danger of an attack. The wall was not high, especially on the side of the Château, and it would not do to leave these posts denuded of men. At the moment while I was looking at him, Jack Jaikes with a full gunners' team came galloping across the yard with a four-inch Deventer quick-firing field-gun lurching after them. If once they could get that up to the doorway they might be able to make some efficient reply to the enemy's mortar. But a gun of that size needs some sort of emplacement, and an approach to the doorway must be contrived. Dennis was on the spot and I could hear him giving his orders in sharp, lapidary phrases. In the interest below me I had not been watching Rhoda Polly, and so the sharp report of her No. 27 startled me. Of course I could discern nothing in the huge black gash torn by the explosion. But Rhoda Polly was triumphant. "I got him," she whispered; "I saw him coming out and before he could get the shell into the muzzle, I fired. He dropped the shell and fell on top of it. What a pity it did not go off!" Such a bloodthirsty Rhoda Polly! But the truth was that, when it came to fighting and what she called "taking a hand," Rhoda Polly felt absolutely at one with the defence. She only strove to outdo those who were her comrades, and the matter of sex, never prominent in Rhoda Polly's mind, was altogether in abeyance. I tapped the keys of the Morse viciously. It was all I was good for. "Rhoda Polly has shot the gunner--now is your time!" But still the embankment for the four-inch did not quite please Dennis. He preferred to take his chance and wait. It seemed a long, weariful time. Rhoda Polly peered into the blackness along the tube of No. 27. Rhoda Polly wriggled and settled herself. "Bang!" said No. 27. "Winged him! But he made off!" said the marksman disgustedly. "He was quarrying under the other fellow for the shell, so they can't have many or he would have brought out a fresh one. I do wish father would hurry up. In a minute or two there will be such a beautiful chance--just before they are going to fire. They will send three or four men this next time so that I can't shoot them all. If our folk are not speedy, down will come this old clock-tower!" Rhoda Polly was a good prophet, and when next she spoke she had to report that there was a little cloud of men on either side, hiding behind the wall and preparing to load the piece, when their comrades were ready, at any hazard. The four-inch was now poking a lean snout out of the door which had been smashed open by the mortar, and stretched along, laying her on the centre of the darkness, was Jack Jaikes, cursing the Providence which had not given him eyes like Rhoda Polly's. "Now," said my mentor hastily, "tell them now is the time. They can't miss if they fire into the brown! Right in the centre of the gap in the line of that white chimney." The discharge of the big gun beneath us quite made us gasp. It shook Rhoda Polly's aim, and this time No. 27 went off pretty much at random. But what we saw within the gap opposite made up for everything. The shell burst under the mortar or perhaps within it--I could not distinguish which. At any rate, something black and huge rose in the air, poised as if for flight, and then, turning over, fell with a clangorous reverberation into the house behind, smashing down the white chimney and causing the blue-coated National Guards with which it was filled to swarm out. Some took to their heels and were no more heard of in the history of the revolt of Aramon. Others pulled off their coats and fought it through in their shirts. Dennis Deventer waved his hat, and all except Jack Jaikes yelled. He was busy getting the gun ready for a second discharge. But Dennis stopped him. "Jackie, my lad," he said, "no more from this good lady the day--get up the mitrailleuses. They had only that one big fellow and you have tumbled him in scrap through the house behind. I don't know how you sighted as you did." "I did not," said Jack Jaikes grumpily--"only where Rhoda Polly told me." "Well, never mind--that job's done," said the Chief soothingly; "hurry with the machine guns. They will take ten minutes to get over that little surprise and wash it down with absinthe. Then we shall have to look out. They will come, and if we have not their welcome ready, they will come to stay." At this point I begged for permission to come down and join Jack Jaikes' gang. I was no use up there, I said, Rhoda Polly could see all round me. She must call down the news, as there was no time to teach her the Morse. "Well, come along then," said Dennis, and I did not stop even to say good-bye to Rhoda Polly. At last I was going to have a chance. When I got to my gang Dennis Deventer was speaking. "I will give you what help I can by sending men from the north wall and that next the river. I don't expect any assault there. But I cannot weaken the defence along the side of the Château orchard. That is where we are weakest, and where I must go myself. For they are sharp enough to know it. I leave you in charge here, Jack Jaikes. Keep the men steady and don't allow swearing in the ranks!" CHAPTER XXXIII "HELL UPSIDE DOWN!" There was strangely little exultation. Each man felt the tussle was yet to come and nerved himself for it. The big square lay out silent under the moon, splashed with the shadows of the pollarded poplars, the benches upturned, a tree or two uprooted, and beyond all the black gash knocked in the row of white houses. It had a strange look, sinister, threatening, all the more so because it had always been so peaceful and well-ordered--like a man's tranquil life till the day Fate's mortal-shell bursts and there is no more peace for ever and ever. "Now mind, you fellows," said Jack Jaikes, "fire low and steady. They are ten times our numbers, but we will fight in shelter and we have these beauties!" He patted the three mitrailleuses in turn. He had taken charge of the middle one himself, and set his friend Allerdyce and young Brown to command those on either side. We stood at attention, each man knowing that the time could not be long. Far down towards the Château we heard the rush and jar of an attack. A similar noise came from farther up the wall towards the fitting shops. "Jehoshaphat, they are flanking us!" exclaimed Jack Jaikes. And before anyone could interfere--supposing that any had so dared--Jack Jaikes had stepped outside the wall into the cumbered Cours of Aramon. I took the liberty of following. Away to the right we could see nothing, except the clouds of smoke drifting up or being tossed by the rough sudden swoop of the blast, stooping down out of the moonlit heavens and the night of stars. Jack Jaikes must have been conscious of my presence, but he did not order me back. He was talking to himself and he wanted a listener. As Bacon says, he wanted a friend with whom to toss his ideas as a haymaker tosses hay. "Down there by the Château doesn't matter," he said, looking that way long and earnestly, "Dennis Deventer is there--with MacIntyre and the whole Clydebank gang--little to fear there. Listen, young fellow, how the machine guns are barking--_U-r-r-r-rh!_ I wish ours were talking too, but that mortar shot rather scared them--though it ought not--easy thing to rush a four-inch gun firing shell at that distance and with their numbers. One hole in the line, and then you are upon her. But--see, young un, there they go butting in at the corner of the wall yonder. We must give them a volley. Fellows, run out the mitrailleuses--my own one first. Easy there over the stones! Now the others!" Presently with the three machine guns we were standing completely shelterless in the Cours of Aramon with half a dozen darksome streets and alleyways gaping at us truculently. "Turn them to the left," he shouted. "Farther out, Allerdyce! Keep your alignment, you Brown--swearing's forbidden, but think that ye hear Donald Iverach at it!" The light little guns with the pepperpot snouts were swiftly swung round in the direction of the scaling ladders and the hurrying clouds of men. Each man, Allerdyce, Brown, and Jack Jaikes himself, had his hand on the handle which was to grind death. "Lie down, you sweeps!" he called to us. "Flat--not a head up." We lay down, but I looked sideways between the wheels of the centre machine gun. The long legs of Jack Jaikes almost bestrode me. "GO!" And then all hell broke loose. The noise of the jarring explosions melted into one infernal whoop, and seemed to ride the storm which at this moment was mounting to the heavens from the south and shutting out the moon. The attacking party was mown as with a clean-swept scythe. For an instant three swathes were clearly visible--Jack Jaikes, Brown, and Allerdyce had each made his share of the crop lie down. There came an explosion of rage and anguish. "Again!" shouted Jack Jaikes. "Keep down that head," he cried to me, and kicked savagely in my direction as he danced about. I obeyed. No account could be required of men at such moments. He might stamp on my head if he found it in his way. "Sweep the wall and fire low!" was the next order. "Mind, Donald Iverach and the boys are on top. We must not shoot them, but we _must_ help those ladders down. It is a pity we dare not run out the four-inch--only we could never get her back." Again the rending siren shriek divided the night. We lay on the ground seeing gigantic shapes twisted in seeming agony over guns high above us. Our chins were in the dust and the play of the lightning flashes made the thing somehow demoniacal and unearthly. "Hell upside down!" as the man next to me pithily said--a parson's son like myself, but from Kent, Pembury in Kent, where young Battersby is still not forgotten. The mitrailleuses flared red below and the skies flared blue above. The thunder roared continuously and the noise of the machine guns cut it like the thin notes in the treble corner of a piano. Heaven raged against earth, and earth in the person of Jack Jaikes ground out shrill defiance. But that night the bolts from the earthly artillery were the more deadly. "Cleaned the beggars out!" shouted Jack Jaikes, or at least that is near enough to what he said. "Now then, up you fellows and we will get them back!" It was easier said than done. For it was one thing to get the little guns down the rubble heaps beneath the battered gateway and quite another to fetch them back. We were compelled to put all our three gun crews into one, and even then we could not have succeeded without the help of the men with ropes pulling from within. I saw Rhoda Polly tugging like one possessed, though why she was not on her tower I do not know. We had left the other two machine guns unprotected and had to jump back to rescue them. Still there was no enemy in sight and we got Brown's fine No. 1 back into shelter. Remained Allerdyce, and as we rattled down to fetch her up, suddenly the whole of the square in front of us was swept by a storm of bullets. Somehow I found Hugh Deventer beside me. "You gave us a good easement up at the corner," he said, "I was sure they would get back on you next. Give me a place. I can hoist a gun better than you!" He was behind the wheel, but even as he set his weight to it Allerdyce---eternally smiling Scot from Ayrshire, called Soda Bannocks--collapsed over the piece he had commanded and worked. Another man yelled with sudden pain, and I felt a sharp blow on the calf of my leg. "Clear!" shouted Jack Jaikes, "I will fetch the men. Up with the gun." And he drew Allerdyce off the top of the mitrailleuse as one might gather a wet rag. The storm passed and as we panted upwards the bullets still tore our ranks. It could not be done. We had not the force. We paused half-way and blocked the wheels with stones so that she would not slip back. "Great God, what's that?" I turned at the anguish and surprise in the voice of Jack Jaikes, and I saw clear under the rain-washed splendours of the moon Keller Bey walking down the main Cours of Aramon. One hand held aloft a white flag, and on the other side clasping his arm was--Alida! I dreamed--I was sure I dreamed. That bullet--those fellows knocked over--Allerdyce smiling and abominably limp on the top of his own gun--Jack Jaikes gathering him up--all these things had crazed me, and no wonder. I saw "cats in corners," as I used to do in old college days when I studied too much and too long. But yet I looked and saw the vision continued. Moreover I heard. Keller Bey was calling out something as he waved the flag. Black cats did not speak. They keep an exact distance away--about four yards and always in the corner of a room or in a stairway--never in the open. What was he saying? One word recurred. "Trêve!--Trêve!--Trêve!" "I proclaim a truce in the name of the Internationale!" Mocking laughter answered him. The Internationale! What did they care for the Internationale? They were out to kill and to take. Little groups began to gather at the dark alley mouths. I could see the glitter of rifles and bayonets. Present fear was arrested when they saw us withdrawing our guns. Hope sprang into their minds that they might capture the mitrailleuse abandoned halfway up. Their losses stung them to a wild and reckless fury. I do not know whence the first bullets came--I think from the north end of the Cours Nationale, where some men had been busy removing their dead and wounded. At any rate it was the signal for a general discharge. The streets and alley-ways vomited fire. The crackle of rifle shots sprang from the windows of houses. Somehow we found ourselves outside on the Cours. We had abandoned the gun. Jack Jaikes seemed to be giving some kind of instructions, but I could not make out what he was saying. What I saw was too terrible--Keller Bey on the ground, the white flag of truce stained with blood, and Alida kneeling beside him. "Take them up!" yelled Jack Jaikes, "run for it!" Before me strode Hugh Deventer, huge and blond like a Viking. He caught up Alida and would have marched off with her, but that Jack Jaikes barred the way. "Idiot," he cried, "who can carry a man of Keller's size but you? Give the girl to Cawdor!" I think at that moment Hugh could have killed him, but he gave me Alida as bidden, and bending he shouldered the dead weight of the wounded man. "Put him higher, then, you fool," he shouted to Jack Jaikes. "I can't, they are coming at us with the white weapon. Heave him yourself," yelled back Jack Jaikes. I heard no more for Alida, waking suddenly to her position, fought desperately in my arms, escaped, and ran up the broken stones past the abandoned machine gun till I lost sight of her in the dusk of the broken gateway. Hugh Deventer, stumbling after with Keller Bey, cursed me for getting in his road. We did and said a number of things that night which can't well go in a log book, not even now. I turned and in a moment was with the small band which Jack Jaikes had gathered about the gun. At any cost we must not lose that. There were too many men in Aramon who knew how to make ammunition for any purpose. Yes, they were coming. They were so near that I had just time to snap in my bayonet and get beside Jack Jaikes. I saw him shake something wet from his hand. "Are you wounded?" I asked anxiously, for that would have been the crown of our misfortunes. "No, that's Allerdyce!" he answered, with ghastly brevity, but nevertheless the thing somehow nerved me. We all might be even as Allerdyce, but in the meantime we must stop that ugly black rush--the charge "with the white" as they called a bayonet charge. Behind was the gun--Allerdyce's gun--and beyond that the open defenceless port, the waiting men clewed there by their duty--and the girls! Lord, how slow they were--these running men! "Now then, one volley," said Jack Jaikes, "scourge them and then steady for the steel! Remember we are taller men and we have on an average a foot longer reach than they have. You, Gregory, keep behind and blow holes in anybody you can see running." I cannot remember very clearly this part. How could I? I rather think we did not stand very firm. I seem to remember charging out to meet them--the others too--and Jack Jaikes laying about him in front of everybody with clubbed rifle, grunting like a man who fells bullocks. The lines met with a clash of steel. I remember the click and lunge perfectly. Then suddenly we seemed to be all back to back, and somehow or other the centre of a terrible mixed business, a sort of whirlpool of fighting. Men quite unknown to us had appeared mysteriously from the direction of the Mairie. They were attacking our assailants on the flank. It was warm there under the trees of the promenade for a few minutes. But after a volley or two, as if they had come to seek for Keller Bey, our new allies decided to retire without him. They sucked back firing as they went, and taking with them the red mayoral flag they had carried. We were left with our own battle to fight. But they had done something. The solidity of the attack had been somewhat fused down. We were not now so closely surrounded. "Glory, the tucker's out of them!" cried Jack Jaikes, "give them a volley--Henry rifles to the front. Scourge them!" It was his word--"scourge them." And that to the best of our ability was what we did. The shooting was not very good, or we should have been rid of the enemy much more quickly. "Stand clear, there!" commanded a voice from above our heads. Rhoda Polly had got a team of men together to lever up Allerdyce's machine gun. She was now bending over it, and those who remained of the dead man's crew bent themselves to the task of getting it in order. "To right and left, and fire as they run. Now then----!" commanded Rhoda Polly. "Re-r-r-r-rach-rach-rach!" The mitrailleuse spat hate and revenge over our heads. The young "second-in-command," trained by Allerdyce, stood calmly to his post and swept the muzzle wherever he saw a cluster of assailants. "Allerdyce! Allerdyce!" yelled the crew of No. 4. They did not mean him to hear. Allerdyce would never hear anything again--neither the voice of his native Doon, running free over the shallows, nor the raucous voice of his beloved gun, nor even the shouting of his men as they wrote their vengeance for a dead leader across the Cours of Aramon in letters of blood. This happened almost at the end of the battle, but what I remember best of it all, in all that unknown and unknowable turmoil of death, is the half-wild, half-quixotic, altogether heroic figure of Jack Jaikes, dancing and vapouring under the splendours of the moonlight. "Come back and fecht!" he yelled. "Come back and fecht for the sowl o' Allerdyce! On'y ten o' ye. I tell ye I'll slay ye for the sake o' Allerdyce! Ye made what's no human o' him. Come back and I will choke ye wi' my bare hands. We were chums, Allerdyce and me, at the Clydebank yaird. God curdle your blood for what ye did to Allerdyce. Come back and fecht, ye hounds o' hell, come back and fecht!" CHAPTER XXXIV THE PASSING OF KELLER BEY We were hard put to it before we got the madman in, and then it was worse than ever. For he, our master, the bravest man that I ever saw or think to see, sat down beside his friend and wept like a child. He did not even look at us when we took up Allerdyce and buried him in a long trench with the others who had fallen--five in all, a heavy loss for us who were so few. "I never want to see Greenock again!" wailed Jack Jaikes, "we were that pack, Allerdyce and me----" "Go and fetch your father, Rhoda Polly," said I, "this will never do. It would be no use to telegraph. He would never believe the like of Jack Jaikes." "May God grant he can come!" said Rhoda Polly, and darted off. I went into the outhouse where Keller Bey lay. Harold Wilson was bending over him, a steel probe in his hand. He stood up as I came in, looking narrowly at the point. "I think we shall pull him through, but so long as we have that young lady"--he pointed at Alida, who was exhausting herself in a long outburst of Oriental sorrow--"I fear we can do nothing radical." "Wait till Rhoda Polly comes back," I said, "she will get her friend away." "I do not think so," he said, "she has been trying for some time." "Could he be moved?" "Far?" queried the doctor. "Well, across the river in a boat, and up the hill to my father's house." Wilson winced. "That is rather a responsibility," he said dubiously; "still, the man is unconscious and will probably remain so for many hours. It certainly would be a good thing if we could be rid of him and of that young woman--though in ordinary circumstances we should not be in such a hurry to send her off." He grinned pleasantly, and asked how I proposed to set about the business. I told him it would be easy to get Keller Bey down to the nursery gardens by the waterside. Here I would rout out my friend the patron Arcadius, who would do as much for three or four of his gardeners--Italians all, and not touched with local politics. My boat was there, and the gardener lads would carry the stretcher up the hill. They did harder tasks every day of their lives. "Well, but you see I can't leave all these--where's your doctor?" I told him I could bring down the resident from the college hospital. "Oh, I know him, Vallier, a very decent fellow for an _interne_. He'll do. Well, off with you. I will give you a note for him." "We must wait till we get this stopped." I pointed to Jack Jaikes. "You can't do anything I suppose?" He shook his head. "No, it needs moral authority for that. He would care as little for me as for you--less perhaps. But here comes Mr. Deventer!" "Thank God!" I gasped. "Jaikes," commanded Dennis Deventer, "bring the guns forward." Jack Jaikes staggered to his feet and looked irresolutely about him. Was he going to obey? Did he even understand? For a moment it seemed doubtful. But whether his mind grasped the situation or not he answered the voice of Dennis Deventer. "What guns, sir?" "Allerdyce's, Brown's, and your own!" said Dennis firmly. "Take command. Forward with them into the breach," and the machine guns moved forward, the remnant of their crews being reinforced by men from other posts. "Hold yourself ready there, Jack Jaikes," said Dennis, "this is your business. So far you have done well. We had to fight hard all along our wall, but you have beaten us!" "But you scourged them too?" demanded Jack Jaikes, lowering and truculent. Dennis drew a sigh of relief. His lieutenant was himself again. "Yes, Jack Jaikes, we scourged them!" For answer Jack Jaikes swept his index finger round the half-circle of the Cours of Aramon, dotted with black bodies lying still. "It's a pity ye can't see them all," he said, "they are lying in heaps up in the corner yonder, where we cut the scaling ladders from beneath them!" * * * * * Though our gallant little Dr. Wilson permitted the removal of Keller Bey, the task before me was one to tax me to the utmost. I think I should have given it up and let Keller Bey lie, but for Rhoda Polly. She came out from a long consultation with Alida, and at once took charge of the situation, much as her father might have done. I don't know in the least what the girls said to one another, or what reason Alida gave Rhoda Polly for her presence in Aramon or for her dislike of me, but whatever these might have been, they must at least have been sufficient. As I say, Rhoda Polly took hold. She commandeered an improvised carrying stretcher, which had been prepared at the orchard end of the Château policies. She prevailed on her father to lend her a carrying party as far as the river. The thought of letting any fraction of his few defenders go outside even for such a purpose made Dennis Deventer frown. "It will not take ten poor minutes," pleaded Rhoda Polly. "I will see that they get safe back. Let me, Dennis!" It was not often that she called him by his Christian name save in the heat of wordy strife, and perhaps the very unexpectedness of it touched him. "Have it your own way then, but be quick--don't forget I am risking the whole defence. I do not see in the least why Wilson could not have attended to him here." She stepped up and whispered in his ear. He looked first doubtful, then incredulous, and a smile flickered a moment on his face. "Ah, so!" he exclaimed, "I did not know you were so fanciful, my lady." But he made no further objection, and we lifted up Keller Bey and put him in the stretcher, where he lay without speech or knowledge. Wilson tried his pulse and listened to his respiration. "Get him away," he commanded, "the quicker the better!" Rhoda Polly, Hugh and I helped the men over the wall with him, and held the _brancard_ in place till they could get over to our assistance. We did not try to go straight to the landing place through the bull ring, but instead cast a wide circuit about the town, and finally came out upon the little house of gardener Arcadius buried among its trees. Him I awakened with care, first a hail of pebbles on his window panes, followed the scratching teeth of a garden rake to indicate a friend, and lastly my own voice calling softly his name. He looked sleepily out, for he cared nothing about the town and its ongoings, if the early blossoms were not frosted and his young trees were not eaten by predatory goats. He made me a sign that he would be down immediately, and he was buckling an equatorial waistbelt even as he opened the door. He started back at the sight of the _brancard_. "What! A dead man?" I explained the desperate need of Keller Bey and his daughter--how they must cross the river and how we counted on him to give us porters. For the boat Rhoda Polly and I would be sufficient, but for the carrying of the stretcher up the hill we had need of four stout fellows. "I have my Italians," he said, "that is, if none of them have decamped; I locked them in, but the lads from the Peninsula are very handy with a crooked nail." As we went, Arcadius, lurching in front like a huge sea-lion doing tricks, waved a lantern and spoke of the prospects of his garden. The hard winter had done no harm. It had broken the clods and killed the grubs. The war, the Commune, the black terror of Aramon did not exist for Arcadius. Barrès would not come to expropriate his cauliflowers and early potatoes. He asked no questions about Keller Bey and genially cut short any offer of explanation. His business was the soil, the fruit trees, planting and transplanting, and the sale of young vegetables. Beyond these he desired to know nothing. His four Italians were there, big, good-looking lads from the north, who found gardening more to their taste than making roads or piling up railway embankments. Arcadius addressed them in a kind of _lingua franca_ which included much gesticulation and even foot-stamping. The men appeared to understand, and I put in a few words as to remuneration in their own tongue. For the son of the historian of Italian Art had, of course, been bred to the language. They started and turned upon me eager eyes, and then broke into a torrent of Tuscan which took me instantly to the scented bean-fields and beautiful hills about Siena. Of course they would be proud to carry my friend up the hill. I was the son of the Wise Man of the Many Books. I had been with Garibaldi. Ah, then, that said all. One had a brother who had died following the Little Father. Another had even been told to get out of the way by hasty Menotti. He laughed at the oath which accompanied the command. Of course they were all ready. They could find the boat. It was quite safe. They knew where. They had emptied it once when a squall had overturned it, so that it lay on its side facing the rain. So with Hugh, Rhoda Polly, one of the Tuscans and myself at the oars we were soon letting ourselves slip away from the shore on which stood Arcadius and his lantern, urging us to bring the lads safe back, because there was a big job with the sweet peas on the morrow. We went slantingly, not fighting the current too hard, but gliding easily, and avoiding the shallows where we could hear the current roar over the sand and pebbles. Presently we grounded in the shadow of woods. I knew the place well. The path led almost directly up past Rameau's hut to the little door of the Lycée St. André. We could not have fallen better. We would escape the town altogether, and along a _clairière_ or open vista of cleared forest land we could easily gain the garden gate of Gobelet. Keller Bey lay still, the wound on his head keeping him in a state of unconsciousness, which was very helpful to our project. The bullet had glanced from the bone and was now imbedded in the muscles of the neck. During the transit Alida clove to Rhoda Polly when she could, and when she could not (because of that young person's surprising activity), she fell back on Hugh Deventer. Not once did she look at me, and if I approached she would slip away to the other side. The four Italians lifted the stretcher and began the ascent. Morn was just beginning to break, so there was not much time. The Tuscans marched to a kind of grunting chorus, as if they were counting numbers slowly. They arranged their own work and rested when they had enough. Once the cleared alley-way of the forest was reached the work became easy. Now the march was on the level. We found the garden gate locked on the inside, but Hugh gave me a hoist up, and in a moment I had it open. My father, ever a light sleeper, was easily awakened, indeed his student's lamp still burned in his room, and he took it up when he went to warn Linn. She came out sternly composed, listened silently to my report of what Dr. Wilson had said, and what still remained to be done. Then she nodded, still without words, and with a decided air she moved towards their bedroom. At first sight of Linn, Alida had sprung forward and caught her foster-mother in her arms. Linn gently kissed her, but immediately released herself, that she might be able to give all her attention to her husband. The leave-takings were of the scantiest. The Italians were on fire to be off before the morning broke. I repeated the directions about the _interne_ Vallier up at the hospital to my father. Then we struck riverward through the pines, racing the sun. Rhoda Polly arrived far in front, and in a few minutes we were on the water again. It was not till we landed on the little greensward above the backwater where I hid the boat that we asked one another, "Where is Hugh?" As we did so the sun rose and lighted up the world and all its problems with the terrible clarity of morn, and by it we saw clearly that Hugh Deventer had stayed behind. Rhoda Polly and I looked at one another till we could look no longer, and then, in spite of the danger, we burst into a peal of the gayest laughter. CHAPTER XXXV A CAPTAIN OF BRIGANDS The beaten wolves had slunk back to their lairs, but the fierceness of their hate may be guessed from the fact that they would neither bury their dead nor permit us to do it. Thrice was a burying party fired upon, and it was only in the dead of night that Jack Jaikes and Brown succeeded in cleaning the wide square in front of the main gate of the factory. Dennis Deventer had the iron gate new clamped and strengthened. On the second night it was swung into place by the aid of an improvised crane, which Dennis made, if not like the Creator "out of nothing," yet out of the first things which came handy. Our messes were now rather smaller. Between the Orchard and the Main Gate attacks we had lost so many that the posts had to be strung out wider to cover the long mileage of wall which had to be guarded. The elated feeling of the earlier siege had departed. But in its place we were conscious of a kind of proven and almost apathetic courage. We might be called upon by any peril, and we knew now that we could do what should be required of us. I lived altogether with the gang now, only occasionally (by Jack Jaikes' permission) running in to take a meal with the Deventers and to sun myself in the approval of Rhoda Polly. Of course, I saw her often. She had taken strongly to Allerdyce's gang, and, I think, cherished a hope that Jack Jaikes might one day allow her to command it. But, fond of Rhoda Polly as he was, Jack Jaikes had no idea of the equality of the sexes when it came to a battery of machine guns. So he gave the captaincy to Penman, a tall, thoughtful fellow of a dusky skin, from the south, a good mechanician and a man dependable on all occasions. Rhoda Polly sulked a little and confided in me. I pointed out to her that nothing more delicate than a mitrailleuse had yet been invented. They jammed. They jibbed. They refused to fire when they ought, but let go a shot or two without the least excuse, when they might place those who served them in the greatest danger. What could she, Rhoda Polly, do to remedy these ills? Nothing--whereas Penman had been reared in the factory where they were made, and had long been a foreman "assembler." "Yes, but," she said, "I could tell him to do all that, and I am sure that I could direct the fighting better. I have been a lot with my father and I have kept my eyes open." I told her to take her complaints to Jack Jaikes, but she knew better than that. This is how she explained the apparent contempt of the second in command. "He has seen us sitting sleeping on the roof, hand in hand, when the sunlight was two hours old, and you will see that neither you nor I will ever get farther than we are at present under the consulship of Jack Jaikes. He considers us in the light of a good joke, all because of that unhappy rencontre!" I was not ambitious like Rhoda Polly, and my position as confidential lieutenant to Jack Jaikes suited me exactly. I do not mean that he ever consulted me, or asked for my opinion on matters of business. But he liked a listener and he loved to thresh out every question immediately and to put down the contradictor. I must have been an immense comfort to him, for I contradicted regularly, with or without conviction, and as regularly allowed myself to be beaten down. That was what I was there _for_! Dennis Deventer had placed Jack Jaikes over the whole of the Works, as distinct from the defences of the Château--which, as the less defensible and the more likely to be attacked, he kept in his own hand. He strengthened the wall of the orchard with palisades, and established posts at either end with a machine gun to sweep its length. In spite of all, the Old Orchard remained the weak spot in our defences, and the sight of it with the enemy's posts so near put an idea into my head. I went directly to Dennis Deventer. He was sitting placidly watching the "assembling" of a new machine gun, the parts of which had been all ready before the stoppage of the Works. He looked on critically, but without needing to put in a word. Penman, Brown, and the rest were far too good engineers to need even a suggestion. All the same they doubtless knew themselves to be under the eye of the master. "Chief," said I, "we took Keller Bey and Alida across the water for safety, and I saw them into my father's care at Gobelet, where Hugh remains as a guard. Now the real weakness of our position here is the presence in our midst of Mrs. Deventer and your two daughters!" "Two daughters--I have three!" said he, but I thought somewhat quizzically and as if comprehending very well. "Oh, I do not include Rhoda Polly," I answered, "she is as good a soldier as any of us, and could be trusted in all circumstances, even if she were rushed----" "Rushed?" he said sharply. "How that? How trusted?" I spoke and I saw him wince. Then, in a moment, he answered me, "You are quite right--ten times right. And you mean that the others--could not!" "I am speaking of what I pray God may never happen, but yet--the odds against us are great. If it were as I suggested--with the other three women--that would be your duty!" He drew in his breath, hissing, between his teeth, like one who feels the first sharp incision of the knife. His hands clenched and something like a groan came from the strong man. I pursued my advantage. "You might not be there, Mr. Deventer--you might be lying as I saw Allerdyce along the top of your gun. So might I--so might anyone you dared delegate." "God forgive you--you put water into my veins. How could any man 'delegate' such a thing!" "No," said I, "I feel as you do, and for that reason I beg of you to let me escort your wife and daughters to the care of my father." "And suppose," he said, "that our friends the enemy, finding us a hard nut to crack and probably with little kernel when cracked, should take it into their heads to cross the bridge and plunder the houses on the hill of St. André?" "I think not, sir," I answered steadily. "There are Government troops in Aramon le Vieux. The National Guard there is all against the revolutionists. In the old town the tricolour has never been in the least danger. The whole department would move upon them if they attempted such a thing." "Well argued, my Cicero," said he, "you are your father's son. But these black-a-vised rogues of ours defy reasoning. They may do the very thing all wisdom shows that they ought not to do. And a visit to Gobelet on the hill is one of these temptations which may prove too much for the gaol birds who shelter themselves under the black flag of anarchy. I do not see that the danger would be much lessened, considering the devil's crew with whom we have to deal. A raid across the water, made by night, would be an exploit worthy of them." So my proposition was for the time rejected, but I did not despair. For I knew, or thought I knew, that the absence of the women would relieve us who were fighting the lines of the Château and Factory from an almost intolerable fear. In this respect I now think I was wrong. For the idea of the girls and their mother being entrusted to them to defend, made every man behind the defences hate the enemy with a deep steady hatred. Each became in his own eyes charged with the care of Liz or Hannah, of Rhoda Polly or their mother, according to where, or in what relation of life--sweetheart, sister, or mother--their hearts were tenderest. Outside the situation changed but slowly. The Committee of Public Safety had taken possession of the Mairie after Keller Bey had been abandoned by his colleagues--and when with Alida he had come forth to make a last effort at conciliation. Except the desperate Chanot, none of the leaders of the Revolt-against-the-Revolt had taken any part in the fighting. Barrès, Chardon, even Bonnot had sat and directed operations from the safe shelter of the Hôtel de Ville. It was not cowardice, the scoundrels were brave enough, as they showed afterwards--but they had reached what seemed a haven of peace, and the share of the plunder which had been claimed by the "administration" assured them of good restaurant meals and such joyous company as was to be found in Aramon. Speaking to Chardon, his lieutenant Chanot treated the whole business lightly. "Why should we not take the best of life we can? It may not be for long," he said, referring to this period. "You people of the Château had taken toll of our numbers. Well, I do not complain. There was the more left for the rest. We had appropriated, and who had a better right to spend? There was no more cant of liberty and individualism among us, and each man being a law and a religion to himself, we stole from one another when we could. That is, if we found a friend's cash-box in a place where a hand might grasp it, we thought how much good it would do him to drink of his own brewing. So we 'individually expropriated' him. That is why Lasalle of St. Gilles was killed by Auroy. Auroy found him mixed up with a roll of bank-notes he had hidden in his mattress. There had been a new election for the Quartier St. Marthe, and as nobody thought of voting, we nominated Eusèbe le Plan who had lost an arm in the fighting and would be a long time in hospital. This made the plums go still farther round." "The old 'reds'? Oh, they were in the town mostly, hidden in garrets, passing their time like Troppman in reading 'The Picturesque Magazine'" (here he laughed), "and listening for our footsteps and the grounding of our rifle-butts before their doors. They thought we wanted them. What in the devil's name should we want with such feeble, broken, bellowing cattle? They had brought nothing to the office. They had been content with their fifteen pence a day. Not one of them had a sou to rub against another, and their wives hardly knew where the next day's soup was to come from. Oh, yes, I know now, that which had I known then, some blood would have splashed the garden walls--that Dennis Deventer had his own folk among them who distributed money and food. They were his best workmen and it was an agreed thing that when all this had blown over and when we who had turned them out were all shot or beheaded, he should enlist them again, and they would go back in the 'shops' to speak with deference and sobriety as becomes an inferior to his superior!" * * * * * I do not mean that there was any regular truce--rather a kind of inaction and exhaustion. The first ardours of the political brigands had been cooled by machine gun practice--Napoleon's old prescription of "the whiff of grapeshot." A good many of this miscellaneous collection of rascals, especially those who had done well in the earlier work of incendiarism among the villas along the riverside, tailed off without crying a warning. They made their way, some to Marseilles, where the troops were just putting down the rule of Gaston Cremieux, some to Narbonne, which was still in the wildest revolt, while others scattered over the country, committing crimes in lonely places, hiding in the forests by day and tramping by night, till for the most part they managed to get themselves out of the country into Germany, Switzerland, or Spain--wherever, indeed, they were least known. But those who were left behind at Aramon waxed all the more deadly and desperate because of these desertions. If only they had guessed how severe our losses had been, they would have attacked with more vigour than they did, but I think they judged that the "scourging" inflicted upon them by Jack Jaikes had been almost without loss to ourselves. Alas, besides the mound in the Orchard, the double row of graves in the beaten earth of the courtyard told another tale! I do not think anyone ever passed the spot without lifting his hat to Allerdyce and his troop of gallant men, to whom the noble May days and the starry nights of the last days of our siege mattered so little. CHAPTER XXXVI LEFT-HANDED MATTHEW It was about this time that Matteo le Gaucher--Matteo the Left-handed--began to interest himself in our concerns. At first sight nothing was more unlikely than that Matteo could ever make the slightest difference to the fate of any human soul. Yet great and even final events hung upon Matteo le Gaucher. He was an Italian from Arquà, and, as was said by his comrades, a "spiteful toad." He was deformed in body, and of course carried with him the repute of a _jettatore_. The evil eye certainly looked out from under his low brows, but it was with his evil tongue that he could actually do the most mischief. He had been employed by Arcadius in his garden. He was not a bad workman. "The ground," as he said, "was not too far off for him." He could work when he chose, better than anyone at the task of the day. But he was a born fault-finder, a born idler, insolent and quarrelsome. The four who were his room-mates and who worked with him bore longer with him because of his bodily infirmity and also because of the Evil Eye, which they mocked at but devoutly believed in. At last he aroused Arcadius, across whose path he had always been loath to come. Arcadius found a fault. Matteo found a knife. All men knew the light gardening hoe which seldom left the hand of Arcadius. Well, the master's eye was accurate, and Matteo went to the town hospital with a broken wrist and a right hand almost hagged off. Let no one for a moment be sorry for Matteo. In that comprehensive interval he began to plot many things rendered natural by years of vendetta practice. Directly, he could not hurt Arcadius. He had tried that and Chanot had only laughed at him. No, even to please him, the Committee of Public Safety would not shoot the man who sent them their finest, indeed their only, early fruits. Arcadius had no store of gold hid in his chimney. He had spent it all with Chanot's uncle the notary, buying new land, ever more and more--and some still not paid for--but all regularly being covered instalment and interest. This Chanot knew, because in his days of (oh, so dull) respectability, Chanot had had to make out the receipts. And how he hated the thought of the long days of deskwork. Matteo mourned over his broken wrist, which hurt the more abominably whenever he hated anyone and could in no wise wreck his hatred. He must think out something else. He retired into his pillows, turned his face to the wall, and for a day and a night thought by what means he could best hurt Arcadius or the friends of the master-gardener. He had been in the corner of the hangar-dormitory that night when the four Tuscans had been called up to follow the lantern of Arcadius. The Toad, with the venom attributed to him for centuries, had risen quietly and from behind the great arbutus, had seen the boat with Keller Bey lying stark on his stretcher, and the beautiful girl watching over him, push out into the night. On their return the Tuscans had exhibited their newly earned gold, and all innocently had striven to set his cupidity wild by tales of the wonderful paradise of fertility and riches under the brow of the hill of Mont St. André. Matteo le Gaucher snarled at them, denying that the coins were good, or, if good, that they had been won (as they asserted) by merely carrying a sick man up a hill. Not for such service did men give gold Napoleons. They lied, Carlo, Beppo, Lorenzo, and the oaf from San Ghomigniano of the Seven Towers. They all lied, and Matteo, who was certainly in most evil humour that day, tried to knock up the hand in which the Tuscan was jingling them. He of the City of the Seven Towers felled Matteo, who would never have forgiven him, if the bone-splintering blow of the mattock in the hand of Arcadius had not come to fill the hater with the hope of a greater vengeance. Nevertheless the thought of the rich man who dwelt on the slopes of Mont St. André, with sacks of golden Napoleons on either side of every room, kept haunting him. Matteo could neither eat nor sleep till he had seen. So he took a half-holiday without asking permission (the beginning of his quarrel with the huge Arcadius) and, stealing a skiff from a neighbouring landing, scrambled up the steep face of Mont St. André. Fortune willed that he should meet the junior _lycéens_ out for a walk, two and two, with only a weak _pion_ to restrain them. Naturally Matteo was mocked and mobbed. Matteo drew a knife, and grinned like a wild cat, but recognised his error in time, accepted the situation, and with the hate of hell in his heart, began to show the juniors knife tricks--how to let it fall always with the point down, how to send it whizzing like a gleam of light deep into the heart of a tree, which might just as well have been the heart of a man. At last he got clear of them, smiling and bowing, till the sober-coated little rascals were lost to sight on the high path. Then he brandished his knife in fury, and vowed that if he could he would cut the throat of every wretched imp among them. But at the sound of voices he subdued his anger, and, humbly asking his way from this passer-by and that other, he at last made his way to Gobelet. He knocked long for admission at the porter's lodge, but the porteress seeing such a calumny on God's handiwork outside, and scenting appeals for charity, eyed him disfavourably through the little cross-barred spy-window and let him knock. A little farther down the road, he was quite as unsuccessful at the tower port of the Garden Cottage, over which the Tessiers had been wont to sleep. There was no one in the house at all, yet Matteo le Gaucher quickly running to the top of the bank opposite, imagined he saw faces mocking him at every window. It chanced that for his sins (whatever they may have been) my father was at that moment coming leisurely down the hill, his hands behind his back. He had been up to call upon his friend Renard before his siesta, and they two had argued over-long as to the purport of the fourteenth chapter of the Koran. Suddenly full in his path he found Matteo grovelling before him, his hands and knees covered with blood, foam from his lips, and to all appearance in a state of extreme exhaustion. Now my father, Gordon Cawdor, was a man of very simple and direct mind, so far as the actions of those about him went. He believed that what he saw was the reality. Indeed, so transparent was his honesty that men took fright at it, counting it as the last achievement of duplicity, so that on an average he was as seldom deceived as any other man in the country. Now he cried out for help, and after one or two shouts Saunders McKie and Hugh Deventer came through the gate and took up the seeming epileptic. Saunders was wholly sceptical and when ordered by his master to wash the froth from the sufferer's mouth prospected with such good will for soap within that Matteo, had he dared, would gladly have bitten the finger off. He was compelled to swallow what might have served him another time. "Dowse him wi' a bucket o' water, and let him gang his ways. I like not the look o' the speldron. He is like the Brownie that my Uncle Jock yince saw on the Lang Hill o' Lowden--a fearsome taed it was, juist like this Eytalian." "Hold your peace, Saunders," commented my father. "You, he, and I are as God made us, and little that matters. What is written of us in the Book, _that_ alone shall praise or condemn us!" "Lord's sake, Maister Cawdor," said Saunders, who always wilted before my father in his moments of spiritual reproof, "I was sayin' and thinkin' no different. The Book and What is Written Therein! That's the rub, an' no to be spoken o' lichtly. And after a' the craitur's a craitur, though I will say----" "Say nothing, Saunders, till you have given the unfortunate to eat and drink. Then when he is recovered I shall speak with him a moment." "Weel, Maister Cawdor, let your speech be silver, and no gowden." "You mean, Saunders?" "I juist mean that the buckie has a gallow's look aboot him, and if ye are so ill-advised and--aye, I will say it--sae wicked as to gie him gold, we shall a' hae our throats cuttit in our beds yin o' thae nichts!" Whereupon my father reproved his old servant for narrow-mindedness and evil thinking, but Saunders held his own. "Narrow-mindedness here and ill-thinkin' there," he said, "blessed are they that think no evil, I ken, and that blessing ye are sure o', Maister Cawdor. But ye pay me a wage to keep watch and ward for ye over all evil-doers, and may I never taste porridge mair if this lad doesna smell the reek o' the deil's peats a mile away." Saunders prevailed in the matter of the gold, and it was only a five-franc piece that Matteo carried away from the gate of Gobelet. Hugh Deventer and Alida came out to see off the man who had caused such a disturbance in the peace of the quiet villa. Matteo gazed at Alida with the look of a wild beast before whose cage passes a fine-skinned plump gazelle. He was full to the lips with rage, bitterness, and all uncharitableness. Gobelet he had seen, but owing to the machinations of that enemy of mankind, Saunders, only the great paved kitchen in which the menservants and maidservants passed to and fro, all gazing at him with inquisitive and contemptuous eyes. Ah, if only he could make them smart for that, those full-fed minions whose broken meats had been set down to him, Matteo of Arquà. Not but that these were good, yes, and the wine was excellent. It might be worth while, when he should decide to turn honest, to find some such place, perhaps as porter or lodge-keeper against his old age. So after ringing the piece of a hundred sous on a stone, Matteo gave himself to meditation as he descended to his boat. The house was rich. There were many servants, and access to the money-bags along the wall would be impossible to him. But there were others who would think but little of the task. If only he were at Arquà, he knew of as pretty a gang as ever donned masks--honest, too, in their way, men who would not cheat the indicator of good business out of his lawful share. But here Matteo le Gaucher must think things over. It was vain for him to give away a valuable secret without some guarantee of gain. So Matteo crept back and took to his bed, where he turned the matter over and turned it over, till he began to despair of ever finding a way of bettering his condition without having to work. The touch of the five-franc piece in his pocket, gained by a little dissimulation, had disgusted him with the culture of cauliflower and early potato. Next morning he scamped his work, fell athwart the bluff bows of Arcadius, and so found himself with a broken bone and a wounded wrist in the hospital of La Grâce at Aramon. Here he fell in the way of ex-notary's clerk Chanot, whose practice in his uncle's office soon wormed Matteo's whole confidence from him--that is, save on one point which he kept obstinately to himself. It had long been a question with the Committee of Public Safety where Keller had disappeared to. It was not believed that he had remained long in the Château. A boat had been seen in mid-stream--the sound of voices heard by watchers on the bridge. He might have been less seriously wounded than they supposed, and at Arles, Aix, or even Marseilles he might be seeking help from old-fashioned revolutionaries like himself. The Committee of Public Safety had for some time abandoned all pretence of government. The little red newspaper had stopped. The shops were put under weekly contributions in return for permission to open their doors. No maids or wives came any more to the Aramon markets, and though provisions continued to arrive, they were brought in by farmers who came in bands and well armed. The "government" sat no more in the seats of the mighty, but lounged and swung their legs from the tables, openly and shamelessly discussing the next _coup à faire_, houses to dismantle, or rich men to hold to ransom or doom to death. They smoked and deliberated, an oath at every word. Men who had worked at the Small Arms Factory were now few, though there were still several who had dug the foundations of the big-gun annex--a professional bully or two from the city, deprived by the war of his hareem and his means of livelihood, one or two well-educated youths, _lycée_-bred even, who had "turned out badly," a few clever apprentice workmen from the town, locksmiths and plumbers chiefly, who appreciated idleness and a share in the profits of their skill in opening locks more than the lash of the patron's tongue and the long day's toil from six to six, year in and year out. But all were less martial and more cautious now. They did not think any more of attacking the strong, entrenched position behind which Dennis Deventer and Jack Jaikes kept watch and ward, night and day. They had courage--no man could truthfully say that they lacked that. They had given their proofs. But they knew that the men within the Works were growing stronger. There were rumours that Dennis Deventer had only to hold up his hand and that he would have all the men he wanted within the Château walls. The men who had fought the troops, cleared the town, and set up the "Tatter of Scarlet," the "Old Reds of the Midi," were no longer with the rabble who used the black flag as an excuse for plunder and massacre. The original Commune of Aramon (like that of Paris) had always been meticulously careful as to the rights of private property. No Communalist in Paris enriched himself one sou, at a time when the wealth of all the banks and shops lay within the push of a gun-butt or the explosion of a dynamite cartridge. The men of the Old Commune had come to Dennis, Père Félix at their head, as Nicodemus came to Another long ago, secretly by night. Their chief prayer had been to be allowed, though late, to take part in the defence. Père Félix appealed to Dennis not to discourage these willing hearts. They were all approved Republicans and would fight for their opinion if necessary, but they were no robbers nor murderers--nor would they have any dealings with such. But Dennis had enough men and desired no more. He had kept his own bounds and let any attack him at their peril. Still, there was much they could do. They could send him word of any new scheme of devilry. A written word wrapped about a stone and tossed over the wall at a convenient corner, where a watch was kept, would be sufficient. Or, if proper notice were given, they could come, as to-night, to the Orchard port. But this only upon matters of serious import which could not be put off. Moreover, since Père Félix had all the country of Vaucluse open to him, he could collect provisions from Orange to the Durance. For anything fresh and portable good prices would be given. Yes, they could be delivered at the Orchard gate. Three times a week, on such nights as Père Félix would appoint, he would have a guard put there to receive and transport. Jack Jaikes would settle the bills. They all knew Jack Jaikes. The men looked from one to the other and smiled. Yes, they all knew Monsieur Jack. There was never a man nor a boy in all the Ateliers but knew Monsieur Jack. He had a way with him. He asked for what he wanted, did Monsieur Jack. And he could do more with his bare hands and booted feet when it came to a mêlée (what Jack Jaikes would have called a scrap) than half a dozen ordinary men armed to the teeth. Oh yes, a well-known figure in the Works, Monsieur Jack. In fact, quite a favourite! And they winked at one another, being quite aware that, without the quiver of an eyelash, Dennis Deventer was winking too. * * * * * Matteo lay on his couch in the Hôpital de Grâce nursing his arm. The wound had healed and they were treating the bone by friction now--reducing and suppling it, but causing Matteo a good deal of incidental pain, which the hospital doctors in their careless way took very much as a matter of course. If Matteo had had the long Arquà knife which had been taken away from him, the two _internes_ might have been surprised by a sudden revelation of the sentiments of the patient under treatment. Matteo had privileges, however. The house surgeons only tortured him once a day, and generally about four Chanot came to bring him a screw of tobacco, a little brandy, and the news of the town, adroitly seasoned to suit Matteo's taste in publicity. "Ah, my good Matteo," he would say, as he came in with that nonchalant ease in his gait and that devilish glitter in his eye which made Matteo at once envy and adore him. "Matteo of the left hand, how goes the other to-day? Have you had dreams of the beautiful lady you saw--or imagined you saw--at the house on the hill?" "It was no dream, Master," said the Gaucher, "I saw her. She had brown hair, a wilderness of it, and her lips were redder than the grenadine flower." "The house was a rich one?" "Wonderfully rich. I did not see much of it myself, being only on the ground floor with the servants, but I have four comrades who saw the bags of golden coins heaped up like corn sacks against the wall, and the master is an old man, very wise and learned, who speaks my speech only with a southern accent. He dips his hands into the gold and draws out the Napoleons, jingling and glittering. They run over his palms, set close together like a cup, and slip through his fingers upon the floor, where they lie, for it is not worth while among so much to pick them up. The sweeper has them for his pains in stooping. It is true Master, as God is in heaven. My comrades saw all this and swore on the bones of the blessed Saint Catherine of Siena, whose servant I am, that they spoke no lie." Then would Chanot rise and go his way meditating. There might be some truth at the bottom of this fairy tale. It was worth while thinking over. But there were points to study. Should he take the whole gang into his confidence or only a few? That would depend on the number and courage of the servants--their dispositions to fight for their master--and then the girl--that also was a point to be weighed most carefully. Yet Chanot could by no means put off too long, for the hill of St. André was not far away, and the wind of the rich trover might be wafted down on any breeze. Chanot had no need of temptations to plot or to do evil. These came natural to him. He was better acquainted with the evil he had done than with that which he was going to do. His future was not, if one might say so, on the knees of his gods, but on those of his devils. Anton Chanot had been bred good, but up till now he had never thought, desired, or done aught but evil. Evil, indeed, was his good, and if on occasion he showed himself a little kind, as in the bringing of Matteo's tobacco, it was only that he might obtain the secrets of some man's heart. But Matteo was an Italian, and an Italian of Arquà. He was full of ruse and as little trustful as a Norman peasant. He saw through Chanot's little luxuries. He weighed the news gossip as in a balance, and even the tobacco he smelt curiously, and found of second quality. One person he meant at all hazards to benefit, and that person was Matteo le Gaucher. He was a shrewd schemer, and if it had not been for one thing his conclusions would have been sound. He had forgotten that Anton Chanot would just as lief kill him as any other, without thought or remorse, smiling all the while as when he handed him over the daily paper of tobacco in the hospital of Aramon. CHAPTER XXXVII LOOT I now enter on the final struggle, but before doing so I must recapitulate if only to remind myself of where stands the tale and how much yet remains to be told. It was on the 21st of May and a Sunday. In Paris the lucky Ducatel of the Roads and Bridges was guiding into the city the first division of Vinoy's army under the astonished eyes of Thiers and Mac-Mahon who were looking down from Mont Valerien. There were in Paris in the Tuileries garden thousands who had come to listen to a concert for the wounded of the Commune. Disarray, and a muddling purblindness, kept the Commune talking and talking in the Hôtel de Ville. But the men there at least were honest as other men, and when they became exiles and prisoners they had brought no spoil away with them. Men there were among them who, in the midst of the wholesale slaughter of the Versailles troops, were ready to shoot hostages as did Rigaut and Ferré, or to burn public buildings when driven out, as the Russians did at Moscow--but no thieves. But nowhere, save in one or two towns in the Midi, had the inhabitants to taste the rule of cosmopolitan rascaldom. The Chanot gang made hardly any pretext now, even before the people. The band which ruled Aramon still called itself the Committee of Public Safety, and still met daily at the town house. But all the men knew that they might just as well have been named "The Black Band" or the "Gang of Cartouche." A few belonged to the town and its bordering hamlets--Chanot, Auroy, Grau. But the great majority were adventurers of all grades and nations, come from far, and eager to secure and carry away as much booty as possible from the turmoil. From amongst these, Chanot, quietly ripening his plans, picked out his attacking force. Each had his price, and Chanot chose those younger men, almost lads, who being still apprentices would be content with less, and at the critical moment would not be so likely to get out of hand. The Château and the Factories were held as before, but now more strongly, being strengthened by the steady flood-tide of a public opinion which of all things desired peace. Dennis held to his determination to allow none but his English, Scots, Irish, and Americans within the walls. But even this self-denying prohibition strengthened him and brought other men to his side. The Committee of Public Safety arrested one or two who were over free with their tongues in the public debates of the _cafés_. But the prisoners were soon released, the measure being as useless as unpopular. Besides, they had something else to think about, these patriots of the loot-bag and the _pince-monseigneur_. For all that Chanot made speeches and signed manifestos which were duly posted. A collection of these is under my eyes as I write, and forms one of the most amazing monuments of human impudence it is possible to conceive. "The work of Social equalisation continues." (Such was the edict promulgated on this fateful Sunday.) "The ill-gotten gains of the robbers of the proletariat are slowly being added to the sums held in trust for the people. The Quartier St. Jacques began to be visited last week and the results were so excellent that further perquisitions will be made by our admirable expropriation brigade. "The citizens of Aramon are therefore freed from all taxes of every sort, and the public service of every kind will be carried on with the suborned wealth restored to its proper owners. "During the strike at Creusot, that great oppressor of the people, Schneider, declared that the stoppage of work was costing him eight hundred thousand francs a day!--We may make ourselves happy that the present strike for which we are responsible is costing at least as much to Deventer and the bloodthirsty Company which he represents. Let him not flatter himself because he has escaped so long. His time is near at hand and his doom terrible and sure. "A. CHANOT, "P. CHARDON, &c. "For the Committee of Public Safety. "The Mairie, Aramon-les-Ateliers. "May 21st, 1871." But on the Monday the proclamation of Thiers to the Mayors of Communes throughout France, sent on the Sunday night of the entry, reached Aramon. The text may be given, since the effect was so tremendous and, indeed, cataclysmic. "_Versailles, 21st May, 7.30, evening._ "_The gate of St. Cloud has been forced by the fire of our batteries. General Douai precipitated his command into the breach. At this moment he is occupying Paris with his troops. Ladmirault and Clinchant are moving in support._ "A. THIERS." The message was false in detail, though true in the main fact. A full week's hard fighting in the streets of Paris lay between the army of Versailles and the end of the revolt. But none of those who in the Mairie of Aramon-les-Ateliers bent their heads over the flimsy message doubted for a moment that the day of their own doom was at hand. They began to think of the best means of reaching the most convenient frontier--Italy, Switzerland, or Spain. Some were limited in their choice, owing to previous troubles with the justice of otherwise eligible countries. But all, without exception, knew that the game was up and resolved on flight. Unfortunately the receipts of the Quartier St. Jacques had not come up to expectation, and a general blankness overspread the company till Anton Chanot hinted at a final scheme which would make them rich enough to live years in the safe seclusion of Barcelona or Genoa. He did not tell all he had planned at once. He wished to take only a chosen few into his inner secrets, but he could not make a raid which would involve an armed attack upon the soil of a hostile department without the whole force at this disposal. Chanot therefore flashed before the eyes of the committee promises of boundless loot to be attained by attacking the rich foundation of St. André on the hill over Aramon le Vieux. The church was an ancient one and the treasury had long been one of the sights of the neighbourhood--gold cups, patens, _ciboires_, boxes of inlaid thirteenth-century work, and the jewelled pastoral staff of the saint himself, ablaze with precious stones--all were there, and of a value which would make them rich men, and render their exile, so long as they chose to remain, agreeable and easy. They must refrain, Chanot added, from any disturbance or looting in the town itself. If the monks fought, care must be taken of the school, and the safes in the _économe's_ office, and the treasure of the golden vessels in the church must alone be touched. Marseilles was under military law and had been declared in a state of siege. The troops of General Espivent de la Villeboisnet occupied the city and constituted a barrier not to be passed. No rogue's paradise could be found in Marseilles under martial law. The expedition into the department of Deux Rives, and the attack upon St. André, was therefore their last chance, and it was a great one, of a comfortable exile. Chanot and Chardon counted their adherents who could be trusted, who numbered about thirty, all proven men--not an old "Red," a theoretic Communard or a National Guard among them. They were chary even of any whose families were connected with the Small Arms Factory, for the business must be gone about with the most perfect secrecy. Meantime Chanot took Chardon more fully into his confidence. "We will let these fools thresh away at the walls of the _lycée_. I know a professor there who has a good knowledge of defence. That business will keep them busy all night. Renard is the man's name. He was in the Algerian wars--grand high priest he was, or something like that. But they say that he kilted his petticoats and charged with the regiment. He will be a hard nut to crack if they get out of bed quick enough to man the walls." "But," suggested Chardon, "our business is to take the place before the man is awake. They will keep no watch." "Monks and priests are always about at night in a place like St. André. They have midnight Masses, and they take turns to play the spy on the boys and ushers. Besides" (he beckoned Chardon closer to him and spoke in his ear) "we do not want them to finish the business too soon!" "How so?" cried Chardon, much astonished; "the sooner we get our treasure back the sooner we can divide it and scatter out of Aramon. The game is up." "Up, indeed--I believe you," said Chanot; "but what are some fragments of gold plate? How will they divide those? There will be a battle royal if it comes to that. Do you want to be there and go running helter-skelter over the fields with that rabble? No, you and I have something better on hand. I know where Keller Bey is, his treasure and his daughter!" Chardon looked his amazement, but he did not interrupt. Chanot was a kind of god to him, and it had always been his chief pride to be chosen as his confidant. "No," said the Expropriator-in-Chief, "we will choose two other fellows as determined as ourselves, only more stupid. We will attack the house where Keller Bey lies. I do not know exactly where it is, but I have a guide ready--Matteo le Gaucher, you know him? Well, that does not matter. He has been in hospital but is able for his task now. I have been cooking him with talk and tobacco all through his illness, and I wormed the secret out of him. He was not unwilling. I think he was glad of somebody to confide in, or else he had some vengeance on hand. He is a little twisted atomy and thinks himself at war with all the world." "Can you trust him?" demanded Chardon. "Yes, with a pistol at his ear and a hand on his arm. Otherwise I should as soon think of trusting him as a Protestant pastor!" Chardon grinned delightedly and they began to lay out their plans. They chose the pair who were to share the secret with them. "We want men of action, not gabblers like Barrès. I have a boat ready at Les Saintes to take us off, we must get fellows who can ride, for if we are pursued we must borrow horses and make straight across the Camargue." "Leduc is of that country," said Chardon, "he could guide us, and Violet was a rough-rider in the eleventh hussars." "But are they men to trust?" demanded Chanot, with a sharp suspicion. A man of the country and an ex-cavalryman might account for Chardon and himself in that wild country and no one be any the wiser. Besides, who would trouble themselves about the fate of a couple of fleeing outlaws? "They are as good as you will get," said Chardon, "and we shall be more than their match in any case. They cannot get the boat without you, and without a boat on the coast of Les Saintes a man is like an eel in a trap. He can get in but he cannot get out." CHAPTER XXXVIII THE LAST ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK BAND The last hours of the Black Band in Aramon were marked by many exploits still remembered in the town. Citizens, even men marked for their former devotion to the cause of the workmen, were stopped in the streets and relieved of all they had about them, to their very watches and chains. Shopkeepers were given the alternative of executing an immediate forced loan or having their premises burnt over their heads. Some, running too complacently to the hiding-places of their wealth, found themselves despoiled of all. The two banks were threatened and squeezed alternately. A poll-tax was levied on the population and exacted at the point of the bayonet. Underground reaction growled and raged in Aramon, and if the Committee of Public Safety had remained a few days more, it is likely that they would have found themselves hunted and shot like mad dogs. But they had no such intentions. They acted precisely as does a fraudulent bankrupt who lays his hand on every shilling in preparation for an immediate flight. They did not intend ever to set eyes on Aramon again, and they cared nothing for the dissatisfaction caused by their last measures of rapacity. But the favour accorded to Matteo le Gaucher by the chief of the band at the Mairie had not escaped the notice of his compatriots. The little hunchback one day appeared sunning himself on the bridge wall, with his wrist displaying a gold bangle, which everyone recognised as that which had been worn by Chanot. Instantly the quick Italian suspicions were aroused--and in all Italy none are so silent and shrewd as the men of Tuscany. But though they tried this way and that for a good clue, they were beaten. All they could learn was that Le Gaucher was in the pay of the Bad Men, and that boded no good to their master. So, because they were fond of the big, slow-moving, kindly man, they went back and told him. Arcadius served out a litre of wine apiece to mark his sense of their good-will, but as for any danger from Matteo, he merely shrugged his shoulders. But Arcadius, as he moved in his garden with his dainty mattock in his hand, and in his pocket his garden-scissors, which were strong enough to cut through a branch the thickness of his own thumb, had a vast deal of time for thinking. And generally Arcadius thought to some purpose. He was persuaded that neither Chanot nor any other would trouble their heads about him. They would leave him with his flower seeds, his tree plants, and his brussels-sprouts in peace between the great gate of the cemetery and the rush of the river waters to the sea. But for what, then, would so selfish and insolent a dog as Chanot not only be willing to be openly on good terms with an impossible reptile like Matteo, but actually present him with the gold bangle which he was supposed to wear in memory of an ancient love affair? Arcadius delved and thought. He pruned and snipped and thought, and finally he finished by coming to a conclusion. A wise man was Arcadius, and like all who cultivate the ground his thoughts were longer and wiser than his speech--though that was wise, too, when the slow sluices were raised and Arcadius, under the influence of friendship or wine, let his talk run free. The night of the 24th May, when at Paris the whole city seemed to be burning, was one of great quiet in Aramon. The Band at the Mairie seemed to have tired of their house searchings and the town had rest behind the bolted doors and barred windows which garnished every house, yet in spite of which no man felt safe. With many doubts the burgesses drew on their night-caps, and before climbing into bed, looked out back and front to see if the horizon were lit by the torches of burning houses in the suburbs, and to listen if the gun-butts were not beating some neighbour's door in, trembling all the while lest their time should come next. But for that night the grocer and the wineseller, the grain merchant and the locksmith might sleep in peace beside their coiffed and bonneted spouses. The Black Band had left the Mairie empty and resonant. A part had passed the river in boats. Others had stolen one by one across the bridge, but instead of continuing down the main street of Aramon le Vieux, had twisted sharply round to the left, passed under the railway embankment, threaded a beautiful but difficult pathway overlooking the river, and so at length, a mile below the town, found the boating-parties waiting for them. The four of the inner circle, Chanot, Chardon, Leduc, and Violet, with the necessary Matteo, kept together and avoided any conspicuous part in the arrangements. But Barrès did the talking for everybody. He was most anxious to distinguish himself. He had been taunted with his careful inaction, and now against schoolboys and their professors, mostly men of the peaceful robe, he had suddenly grown very brave indeed. Chanot had his reasons for thinking otherwise. He was playing a game so quaintly double and triple to-night that he smiled as he thought it over, and admired the intricate subtlety of his own brain as compared with the simple criminal instincts of his coadjutors. All the way he kept a hand on the collar of Matteo. The hunchback of Arquà did not fill him with confidence. Indeed, he trusted only Chardon, whose innocent admiration he had long proven sincere. Leduc and Violet were better than the rest, but taken because strictly necessary for the business in hand. After that he, Chanot, would attend to their case. They could not expect to share equally with him. He had discovered Matteo. He had wormed his secret out of him. His was the idea of the masking attack on the Lycée St. André, which would make a noise and occupy the attention of the National Guard of Aramon le Vieux. He had thought of the boat at Les Saintes, and had arranged for it to be in time to meet them there. What had Leduc and Violet to do with these things? Nothing whatever, they were simply privates called from the ranks, and he would see to it that they did not interfere with the perquisites of the Commander-in-Chief. He had even permitted himself to drop a hint of the proposed attack upon Mont St. André in quarters which would ensure a prompt transmission of the news to Dennis Deventer. Chanot only waited the proper moment to disassociate himself from the brigands whom he despised for their ignorance and almost (but not quite) pitied for their simplicity. The scaling party would have lost itself among the trees if it had not been for Chanot. He had been born in the neighbourhood and, if he had chosen, could have led them blindfold. But for his own purposes he allowed them to stumble on, bruising and buffeting themselves against the rocks and trees, losing nerve and temper. Then, just when they were worn out, he found the well-trodden path by the boat-hirer's house, guided them along it, and with encouraging words adjured them to greater silence and caution. In fact, he behaved in every way like the model leader of an expedition. If any had doubted him before, he had repented in dust and ashes when Anton the wise, Anton Chanot, turned over the leadership to Barrès, who, as his manner was, grasped it eagerly, without thanks, and simply as a right too long withheld. The attack had been timed for midnight, when the ditches of the old fortress were to be crossed, the scaling-ladders which they had carried applied to the walls, and they would find themselves inside. The treasure was in the chapel, at least the bulk of it. The rest was in the safes of the _économe_, who had his bureaux opposite. That wing, therefore, of the college must be held against all comers, while with chisel and file, jemmy and dynamite the "expropriators" were busy with their task. So little did these men trust each other that one man from each company was nominated to see the enumeration of the plate and to watch the opening of the safes. One man they trusted, Chanot, and their respect was heightened by his declaration that he desired no part of the spoil for himself. They had followed him faithfully, and if he could reward those who had stood by him when the majority drew back to save their skins, he was content. A base of simplicity and even sentimentality underlies the brutality of many criminals. One has only to note the songs which are applauded at a penitentiary or reformatory concert. These men believed Chanot, and preferred his self-abnegation to the rhodomontades of Barrès, who repeatedly declared that he, and he alone, would lead them to victory. The black half-hour of waiting was horribly trying to the nerves. They were quite on the top of things, and though the night was so dark, they could see the walls of St. André cutting the sky and shutting out the stars. The woods through which they had come were now retired farther back--or at least so it seemed. The plateau stretched out behind, mysteriously grey, gradually descending towards Nîmes and St. Gilles, but almost imperceptibly. Indeed, to the eyes of those town birds of prey, it seemed a plain. That was their path of safety. By it they would make good their retreat, laden with a golden spoil. The signal was to be the striking of the Mairie clock, the golden, illuminated dial of which, almost beneath their feet, testified in the tranquillity which had not ceased to reign in Aramon le Vieux. The old conservative and Protestant town had known how to keep its gates closed, its inhabitants safe (if not very prosperous), and always behind the dial of its Mairie clock was to be seen the equal shining of the mellowest and gentlest light in the world. During ten minutes the hand of Chanot pushed Matteo steadily before him into the dusky covert of the wood. At the same moment three men at different parts of the attacking line glided away unnoticed. The hands of the clock moved on. Though the figuring of the dial was too distant to be made out, the black lines of the minutes and hour hands could be seen approaching one another. It was time for Chanot to be elsewhere. He had other work and Matteo must guide him. They slipped in Indian file through the wood, Chanot still with his hand upon the Left Handed man's shoulder. For an instant Matteo seemed to hesitate. He had ascended from the other side and Gobelet was hard to find, but at last he struck the main road between the town and the _lycée_ above. It appeared to be perfectly empty, but Chanot whispered angrily in his guide's ear. They must get back into shelter. Here they were exposed to any passers-by--nay, to the first faint-hearted deserter from the attack above. A thrill passed through Matteo's heart. He gave thanks to his patron saint and promised candles for his altar when he should be rich. Before him was the bombed forehead of the gatehouse of Gobelet. The gate itself was padlocked securely, and the top adorned with spikes, but Chanot made no attempt there. He only skirted the wall till he found a place which pleased him. Then he ordered Leduc and Violet to make a ladder up which the light Chardon climbed. Then came Matteo and Chanot himself. Lastly the ladder was dissolved into its elements and all found themselves on the inner side of the garden wall of Gobelet. Matteo now advanced with more certainty. Yes, the house lay there through this gate, along this path. There was the well-shelter he had seen, and above them rose the dark side of the house, where was the kitchen entrance and all the apartments of service. "BONG--BONG--BONG!" Solemnly, and with an air of detachment from merely worldly affairs, the big hammer gave out the twelve strokes of midnight. Just so had it once called holy nuns to prayer in the Convent of the Visitation, and it tolled just the same to let loose a pack of the worst ruffians on earth upon the chapel of St. André. Anton Chanot listened carefully. He knew that now the _fossés_ would be crossed and the scaling-ladders laid against the walls. But sudden and startling there came down the hill a wild yell, mingled of pain and anger. Rifles ripped and crashed. A light filtered through the tree-tops, which faintly illuminated the covered well-stoop under which the five were hiding. "What fools!" said Chanot, cursing his late companions. "They have begun firing too soon! And the light? Can they have already set fire to the chapel?" He did not know that fate and a message from Dennis Deventer had served him well--that is, so far as his immediate purpose was concerned. The missive which Hugh Deventer received at Gobelet contained these words in his father's hand: "St. André to be attacked to-night. Go up and see what you can do. I send you some arms--also Brown with an electric-light plant which you may find useful." Hugh was compelled to go, and though he hated to leave Gobelet and Alida, he dared not disobey his father. Besides, hidden among its woods and showing no façade to tempt plunderers, he did not believe that my father's house was in any great danger. In this he was right so far as the Band of the Mairie was concerned, but he had not taken into account the vendetta of Matteo, the ambitions of Chanot, and the plot against the person of Alida. The noise on the hill-top seemed rather to increase than to diminish, volley responded to volley, and to the yells of the brigands another cry, shriller and more piercing, replied. Chanot had altered his plans and taken his cue while he stood listening. He had some remarkable qualities and this readiness was one of them. He had intended to break his way into Gobelet before the noise of the assault brought up the swarming town or the National Guard of Aramon le Vieux. But this (he saw now) would not do. Already on the Place Beauvais they were beating to arms. Well, he must make the more haste. So without an alteration of his determined bearing he walked round the house and knocked loudly at the main door. My father, who as usual was not yet in bed, threw open a first-floor window (for those on the ground floor had been closed and strengthened by the hand of Hugh Deventer). "What can I do for you?" my father inquired courteously. "Let us in for God's sake, they are killing everyone up at the _lycée_. We have escaped--my friends and I, _pions_, and the others, three honest fellows from the gardens, whom we picked up on our way." "Wait a moment, gentlemen," my father called out, "and if you will pardon the delay, you shall have all the shelter and succour my house can give you!" "What a lamb!" murmured Chanot, "he presents us with his fleece. Are all foreigners fools?" "All English are," snarled Matteo. "In my country we give them to our children to cheat--to prove their teeth upon." The door opened, and there before them, a lamp in his hand, stood the gentle scholar, Gordon Cawdor, with a smile of welcome on his face. The less instructed four would have leaped upon him immediately, but Chanot held them back. I can see my father standing there before his potential butchers, inviting them to enter with a single large movement of the hand, infinitely noble and touching to me to think of to-day. He precedes them with an apology. They tramp after him, treading on one another's heels in haste to see the sacks of coin reported by Matteo. That worthy has drawn his knife from its sheath. The others have made ready their revolvers. Only Chanot has the education and the strength of will to keep a hold upon himself--which in turn gives him a hold upon his comrades. A stern gesture bade them put up their arms. They must play out their parts and follow his lead. In the study they found lights, a fire, and tier upon tier of books climbing to the ceiling--a marvellous place, undreamed of by any of them. But where were the bags of coin, the wallets stuffed with bank-notes with which they were to flee across the wilderness of the Camargue? "Seat yourselves, gentlemen, a welcome to you," said the host. "You are well out of the trouble and safe with me." And he set before them meat and drink, such as he could find in the cupboards of Saunders McKie. "I do not disturb my servants for what I can do myself," he added smilingly, "but you are welcome and--here is Madame Keller and her daughter Alida--which means that our dear invalid goes better. Madame, Mademoiselle, let me introduce to you some new friends who have taken refuge with us. The _lycée_ has been beset by brigands and these gentlemen have come to claim, what Gobelet has never refused, the right of asylum." At sight of Alida in her white, gauzy robes, standing in the doorway, a thrill ran through the blood of Chanot. Never had he looked on such beauty. His heart beat thick, and instinctively he glanced sideways at his followers. Matteo sat bent forward, almost crouched as for a spring, his eyes small and glowing red like those of a wild boar before he charges. Chardon was open-mouthed, but watchful of his leader. Leduc and Violet showed their teeth and fingered the hilts of their revolvers. A kind of revulsion of feeling passed over Chanot, perhaps as much akin to what we in Scotland would call conversion as can be imagined of a trained and thorough-paced French scoundrel. Under his breath he bade Leduc and his companion to keep their seats, and kept his own hand hard on the shoulder of Matteo. "We thank you, ladies, for your presence," he said, with his pleasantest manner. "We had not expected so great an honour." But Alida, glad of new faces and eager for news of Hugh Deventer, whose desertion had left her companionless, asked many questions, to some of which it took all Chanot's readiness to answer. She was, however, called off by Linn, who presently issued from the kitchen with a dish of eggs hastily cooked. "There is bread on the sideboard, cut it for these gentlemen!" said Linn. And Alida hastened to serve each in turn, with a smile that was an accomplishment in flattery. Then followed a strange hour. The sound of shouting and continuous firing could be heard from above. On the road outside the hoofs of horses clattered, and more than once Chanot thought that he heard the jingle of harness. But with my father at the head of the table talking gently and equably, and Alida at the foot with her chin on her clasped hands, the men sat and listened. Chardon answered when he was spoken to, but he kept looking at his chief for guidance. Leduc and Violet drank steadily, though Chanot tried to kick them under the table. Matteo alone could not be still. His breath whistled between his teeth. He leaned over to Chanot and whispered, "Kill, kill--if you do not, I shall!" But even for him the influence of these peaceful surroundings had its power. The richly carpeted floor, the table with many flowers, the rows on rows of beautifully bound books, were so much powerful necromancy to the Man from Arquà. But it could not last. The wolf must spring, and Chanot watched him with an anxious eye. "_Kill--kill!_" The words came like the hiss of a poison snake. They had come to the end of the meal now and were trifling with their wineglasses--that is, Chanot and Chardon did so. Leduc and Violet looked on stupidly, but not yet ready for any movement against their chief. Only Matteo had become intractable. He at least would not be done out of his prize by a handful of fine words. So Chanot should know. Matteo was in the house of the treasure, and he meant to have his fingers among the clinking pieces. "_Kill, man, kill, or I shall kill!_" Chanot looked about apprehensively. Surely this time they must have heard. But my father continued his talk upon the early art of Provence and from her end of the table Alida placidly listened, all her thoughts intent on the speaker. Matteo rose unsteadily and stumbled towards her. She sat back in her chair with a gesture of fear. For the big hairy hands of the Arquàn were groping to seize her. "Oh, take him away," she cried, turning to Chanot as the leader, perhaps also because of the human qualities she had seen in his eyes--not exactly good, but with the capacity for good. "I shall take the _donzella_!" cried Matteo, and caught her about the neck. Linn was beside her in a moment, but even her powerful hands could not disengage that hairy clutch. The fierce visage frothing at the lips was close to Alida's face. She moved her head this way and that. "Save me--save me!" she cried out in an agony of fear. "_Kill--kill--lay out the others--take your gold--the gold I found for you--the girl for me!_" All were now on their feet. Chardon was watching his chief. Chanot's face was pale as wood ash, but there was on it a kind of joy--the strength of a new resolve. "To the door--Leduc, and you, Violet," he ordered, "wait for me outside. I have something which will satisfy you!" The men moved uncertainly away. Things were turning out strangely. Was Chanot turning traitor? If so--they would see. But the power of the stronger will was upon them, and they were soon in the garden. They came out on a dark, shadowy world, in which all things seemed of the same colour, but scented of flowers and the full bloom of the _tilleul_, the bee-haunted lime tree of the south. Above them they heard the irregular rattle of musketry, and the din of combat. A fierce light beat upon the tree-tops at intervals. No fire could pierce like that. The gleam was far too steady. It looked like the beam of an electric arc-lamp, but how could the Jesuit professors of St. André have come into possession of such a thing? Within the house of Gobelet they heard the voice of Matteo uplifted. "_Kill--kill--you have turned soft, I shall kill you, Chanot. Matteo of Arquà is not to be cheated!_" Leduc and Violet looked back through the door out of which they had come. The hall was dusk, but a light was burning somewhere out of sight. They could see a couple emerge out of the passage which led to the study--Chanot pushed the Arquàn in front of him. The face of the chief was calm, but of a ghastly pallor--his lips almost disappearing, so firmly were they set. His blue eyes had the dull glitter of lapis lazuli, or rather of malachite--green rather than blue. But they were not good to see. Death looked out of them, and chilled the marrow of Leduc and Violet. Not for the world would they have crossed the will of Chanot at that moment. They could see Chardon shutting the door of the study from within, and guessed that he was left there on guard, but they could not hear Chanot's courteous last words of excuse for Matteo, "I fear this gentleman is ill. He is from Italy and troubled with fever. He will be better outside. I will conduct him." "Shut the door and let no one pass," he added to Chardon, in a rapid whisper, "talk as if nothing had happened till I come back!" And the next moment he was pushing his prisoner along the corridor. Leduc and Violet saw them come, and made ready to fall in behind, but they were not prepared for what followed so swiftly. Matteo le Gaucher suddenly dropped to the floor, pulling his collar out of the grasp of his captor. Then, quick as thought, he drew a long knife from his belt and struck the deadly forward blow at Chanot--the Arquàn blow below the belt for which there is no parry. But Chanot had not for nothing been President of the Athletic and Sportive Association of the Midi. He was in admirable training and his eye forestalled the Gaucher's movement. It was a fine thrust, delivered with the broad-cutting edge upward. No man, even in Arquà, could have saved himself. But Chanot had leaped aside, nimble as a cat. And the next moment the knife was stricken from the Arquàn's hand. There was a wild, fierce struggle there on the threshold, the movements of the combatants being so quick that Leduc and Violet dared not interfere lest they should harm the wrong man. Biting, kicking, and scratching, Matteo le Gaucher was shoved out across the gravel, over the lawn and into a little _clairière_ upon which shone directly the beam of Hugh Deventer's electric installation up on the heights of Mont St. André. Leduc and Violet had followed marvelling, their eyes starting from their heads, eager to see the end like children at a play. They knew that this was the chief's business and that he must finish it for himself. In the middle of the green cleared space was a rustic bench, and the ground was thickly strewn with pine-cones and needles. Chanot thrust his prisoner's head down till he lay across the back of the seat, and then, without haste and calmly as a man who consults his watch, he drew from his pocket a revolver and fired once behind Matteo's ear. There was no struggle. That had gone before. Chanot was very calm, and as for Matteo he only shuddered and sank in a heap, his body swinging arms down over the rustic bench. The fierce light of the arc-lamp lay on the _clairière_ and Matteo's shadow made a strange toad-like patch on the grey-green sward. That was all. "Now, Leduc, and you, Violet, take up this carrion and carry him near enough to the fighting up yonder to be clear of all connection with this house. There is no treasure here. He deceived us, like the Italian he was. But I shall not deceive you." He opened his pocket-book and took out small notes for two thousand francs. One thousand he gave to Leduc and the other to Violet. "I shall meet you in Spain," he said, "and there I shall expect to receive from you an account of this night's mission. I am not to be trifled with as you see. I warn you to be very faithful. Take up the Arquàn, and I will see you safe outside the wall." He unlocked the gate which opened from the grounds of the Garden Cottage into the road, and stood watching them, as they toiled painfully up the hill, Violet leading with the dead man's legs over his shoulders, and Leduc supporting his head, the long, hairy arms which had wrought so much evil trailing in the dust. "_Missa est! Amen!!_" said Chanot, who had served Mass in his time, and turning on his heel he strode back towards the house of Gobelet. CHAPTER XXXIX THE CONVERSION OF CHANOT "The gentleman has perfectly recovered," he announced with sympathetic gravity in answer to Alida's questions. "Matteo of Arquà has long been subject to such attacks, but the best medical advice agrees that they have lost force of late, and, in fact, are not likely again to recur. As for Messieurs, the gentlemen who have taken him for an airing, they have business which calls them away before the morning, so they will not be able to return. I make their apologies. They came with us--yes--for safety, but they were not quite of our world, Chardon's and mine--eh, Chardon?" Chardon mutely acquiesced, and Chanot sat down beside Alida, who, with a gesture of gratitude, gave him her hand. "He frightened me," she said, smiling gratefully, "that man from Arquà. He has the Evil Eye. Thank you for taking him away. Ugh!--I can feel his hands upon me still." Chanot kept the little hand with the silver ring upon it in both of his. He bent and kissed it reverently. As he did so the door opened and there stood in the dark passage-way a startling figure. It was Keller Bey, his head wrapped about with bandages like cere cloths, his reddish white beard shaggy and unkempt, his arm bandaged, and his dressing-gown frayed and tarnished. But in his eyes the fire of fever burned like the braise of a Yule log, dull and ominous. With one lean finger he pointed to Chanot as he sat by the table. He called him by name. "What do you here, bandit and traitor?" he demanded. "But for you there would have been peace in Aramon, the best of governments, and--you broke it all up. Touch not the hand of the daughter of kings! There is blood upon your own, sower of the wind, assassin, wild ass of the desert!" Here he leaped into Arabic, understood only by Alida and Gordon Cawdor. "Go--get hence, hound!" he thundered. "You have done enough evil--would you pursue me even to this quiet place?" "Hush, father!" said Alida, going hastily to his side; "he has saved my life--perhaps all our lives." "He is my enemy!" "He is my friend!" As Alida said this, she turned and smiled upon Chanot. The young man repressed a groan. "If I had known," he muttered, "ah, if I had known. But it is too late." Linn had been watching her time, and now, by a swift intervention, got Keller Bey out of the library and back to his own room. He had in fact missed her presence and wandered out in search. Then, at sight of the arch-enemy of his ideal rule, memory had returned to him. After the departure of Keller Bey my father left the room to assure himself that all was well in the sick man's chamber, and that Linn wanted for nothing. Chanot and Alida were left practically alone, for Chardon, obedient to his chief's eye, had withdrawn into an alcove where, with a book in his hand, he slept or pretended to sleep. "My father is wandering in his mind," she said, letting the light of her young eyes dwell upon his. "He had a bullet which grazed the brain----" "I fired that bullet," said Chanot, with bent head. "But not in anger--not to do him any hurt?" The voice of Alida was almost pleading now. She wanted to think well of this young man. "Not more than any other," he answered, after a look at her. "We did not wish--we could not permit--I will not weary you with politics, but I want you to know that I put down Keller Bey. I fired the River Quarter. I was the chief of the plunderers. I deserve death a score of times. I came here to rob and if necessary to kill----" "No--no!" cried Alida, reaching out her hand a second time. "I saw you with the little Italian. He had a knife. I saw him reaching for it, and that made me feel for mine. You see, I am from Algeria and go armed. He came to kill, if you like. But not you--you are a gentleman!" "Thank you," said Chanot quickly, but still not taking her hand, "it will help--that which you have said--when it comes to the pinch. I am--I was a gentleman!" "A brave one and true," said the girl, and then, something she had heard or read working in her head, she added, "gentle and a gentleman." The day was coming up over the river, and soon the lamps in the room burned faint and yellow. Chardon, waking, opened the window by which he sat and the fresh air of the May morning fanned out the heated atmosphere. The coolness brought a faint flush to Alida's cheek and her lips grew redder. Chanot rose to his feet and held out his hand. "Good-bye, dear lady--I have met you too late. Yet do not think quite unkindly of me, of whom much evil will be spoken." "Chardon," he said, "I leave you here on guard. I commit these ladies to you--should--should any of our people--you understand." Chardon stood without bareheaded, watching his leader go. Chanot reached the Garden Cottage in time to find himself face to face with a company of soldiers--red-breeched infantry men they were, of the 131st of the line. These were under the command of a very young officer in a tremendous haste. He held a piece of paper in one hand and with the other he knocked loudly, with the hilt of his recently acquired sword, on the door of the Garden Cottage. "I have a warrant for the instant arrest of the chief of the Aramon insurrection. I am advised that he lives here. His name is Keller, Charles Keller." "I am the chief of the Aramon insurrection," said Chanot calmly, "I am Keller!" The rattle of the _peloton_ fire came irregularly from above, among the rocks of St. André. Chanot heard it and knew his fate. No lingering trial for him, no stupid military commanders murmuring sleepily over a foregone verdict. "There against the wall--we must cross the river--there is no time to lose. Form a firing party." The young officer, in a hurry, fairly jetted out his orders. "_Mon lieutenant_," said Chanot coolly, "there are ladies within the Château of Gobelet--the house you see yonder through the trees. It belongs to a great English scholar, who is a friend of Monsieur Thiers, and a historian like him. I have no objections to being shot, but you will have the goodness to let me march with you till we turn the corner of the policies. Then we will have a steep cliff and the river below, which will be convenient." The lieutenant nodded. His men were ordered in that direction, and so it chanced that twenty of the defenders of our Château Schneider witnessed the end of the Black Insurrection of Aramon. Jack Jaikes and the others of the old machine-gun gang greeted the appearance of Chanot guarded and marching to execution with a yell of triumph. "Allerdyce--Allerdyce!" they shouted, and turned aside that they might see. I also went with them, not knowing aught of the history of the night. We came out on a plain sward overlooking the river. A path ran along and there was a low wall, with lizards darting everyway in the sun. The _peloton_ formed up with the readiness of practice, and the officer raised his sword. Chanot stepped briskly to the wall, and as he drew up his tall figure and stood facing us with squared shoulders, I think I never saw anyone so transfigured. The sullen wolfishness was all gone. His eyes shone like those of a boy engaged in some innocent frolic. But his mien was grave as befitted the circumstances. He had been smoking a cigarette when the officer accosted him. He threw away the remainder with a smile. "Have you anything to say?" demanded the officer. "Only good-bye!" "Anything to leave?" "Only life!" "Then you are ready?" "I am ready!" The officer let his sword drop and as from a great distance I seemed to hear his voice commanding "Fire!" The volley rang out, and Chanot, taking a step backwards as if driven by the impact of the bullets, toppled over into the deep and rapid Rhône and was seen no more. The young officer was methodical. He drew out of his breast a note-book, and into this he entered several lines which, perhaps that we might bear witness, he read aloud. "May 25th, 1871. Upon the hill called St. André, immediately above the Rhône, I caused to be executed one Charles Keller, upon his own confession, as being the chief of the revolt in Aramon-les-Ateliers." "No, no!" cried Jack Jaikes and several others before they thought. "Eh! what's that?" demanded the infantry lieutenant, wheeling upon us with his note-book and pencil still in his hand. I had just time to whisper one word to Jack Jaikes. That word was "Fool!" To the others I conveyed as well as I could that they were to hold their tongues. "Who are you, and what do you mean by 'No, no'?" "I am Dennis Deventer's second-in-command," said Jack Jaikes. "I stood the two sieges in command of the machine guns, which I had made myself, and by saying 'No--no' I meant that there were other chiefs besides this one whom you have sent to his account!" "No doubt," said the officer drily; "the others are up yonder under the walls. We surrounded them while they were blocked by young Deventer's wire entanglements and dazzled by his electric light. But why have you left your fortifications and why----" He stopped his questions, for just then Rhoda Polly strolled nonchalantly upon the sward. He stood staring at her. Rhoda Polly held out her hand to the young man. "I am Dennis Deventer's daughter," she said, English, smiling, and frank, "not his only one, but the only one who counts on days like these." The lieutenant flushed and bowed. He wished the firing party would stand a little closer about a certain square of the green turf. He need not have troubled, Rhoda Polly's mind was a hundred miles from any idea of minute observation at that moment. "_Tiens!_ The 131st!" she exclaimed. "If you cross the river you must go up and see my father. Your colonel is rather a pet of his!" At the idea of their fire-eating bristling old colonel being anybody's pet, a smile passed among the rank and file, but the lieutenant being well-mannered remained grave. "I shall immediately do myself the honour of waiting on your father!" He marched his men down the hill. Jack Jaikes and his party stepped out on the highway which led to St. André. Only Rhoda Polly and I lingered. CHAPTER XL THE LAST OF THE "TATTER OF SCARLET" Rhoda Polly was on her way to see her friend Alida, and knowing well that parental permission would be refused her in the troublous state of the neighbourhood, she had taken it and followed unobtrusively in the wake of Jack Jaikes and his party. I had trouble even now to get her away from the scene of the execution. She would have sat down on the very spot, save that I hastened her departure, saying that I must go back and see her father. I had, I said, both news and a message for him. So we walked through the woods to Gobelet, very quietly and without much talk between us. We reached there to find that Dennis Deventer had just arrived from the Château, that Chardon had disappeared, and that Hugh was in the full flush of his morning's triumph. His father nodded approval. As for Alida she clung to his arm and looked up in his face. I do not think she was conscious of my presence in the room, and even upon Rhoda Polly she only bestowed a left-handed greeting without letting go her hold upon Hugh Deventer. Verily the manners of the East are strange. I knew very well that she would find her hero one day, but I never supposed he would come to her in my poor Hugh's likeness. I felt a sudden leap of loneliness in my heart and moved nearer to Rhoda Polly. _She_ would never look at me like that. But instead she stood on tiptoe till her lips were near my ear and whispered, "I have always known it would be so--don't they look silly?" It was a point of view, though at that moment hardly mine, but who was I that I should grudge Hugh Deventer his one hour of triumph? He was telling his story. "I heard them all about us, and I knew they were getting ready for the rush. There were about forty of us, professors, _pions_, and seniors, to whom rifles could be served. I tell you I had a time finding out who could shoot even a bit. I had to try each with a dummy gun to see how he handled it. They lied so--yes, even the professors! "But your old Renard was a brick. He spotted the sportsmen as if by magic and remembered the boys whose fathers had shootings. He helped a lot, I can tell you--and tucked up his black gown and hopped about on his thin legs (which were black too) as lively as a cricket. "Brown was attending to the electric lamp and barbed-wire obstacles while I was doing the drill sergeant, and by ten we had the business in pretty fair shape. I set the posts as you told me, sir, or as near as possible. For, of course, having been a pupil, the old place was like my bedroom to me, and I knew just where they would try to rush us." His father nodded, and the smile which accompanied the nod encouraged the hero to continue. Not that this was necessary, for at his elbow Alida was behaving most foolishly. ("_You_ never looked at me like that, Rhoda Polly," I whispered, "the night when we blew them back from the Big Gate, when Jack Jaikes and I fought in the open." "Hadn't time," retorted Rhoda Polly, "besides, I was in that business as well as you. Did you think that I had been left behind in the Château cellar?") "Just when twelve struck," Hugh proceeded, "they dashed into the ditch with a yell--just at the places you said, father, when I showed you the plan I had made. But the wire and stakes brought them all up standing. My black regiment fired all round the wall. I don't believe they hit many, but the crackle of the rifle fire was a very disconcerting circumstance, and at any rate Brown and I 'scourged' them well with your repeaters, sir. Brown had switched on his big search-light and everything was as bright as glory. "'How many were there?' That I could not say, sir. They looked a lot when they clumped together, which was not often. But the line was thin-sown when they spread out to take cover. The professors swore to a hundred, but I could not really make it more than fifty. "They let fly at us, but we were all behind the big stone wall. The bullets whizzed over us, and spotted the walls, but that was all. Then they drew off to hold a council. "Once they nearly got us. They had dynamite or some infernal stuff, and they blew up the outer main gate. But then, as you know, that did not much matter, for the really strong one is twenty yards farther on, and those who ran in found themselves up Blind Alley. I tell you, sir, Brown and I sacrificed them before they got out. But they kept it up, firing at us till dawn without ever making a hit. They saw the uselessness of this at last, and were just hopping off over the plateau on the road to Spain, when the red breeches put in an appearance, and nabbed the lot--that is very nearly all, for some got away by the woods. "'After that?'--Well, sir. I shall tell you the rest to-night. I came down here to see how Mr. Cawdor was getting on." Hugh Deventer had so clearly the floor that I did not attempt to interfere. Nor did I grudge him his glory. Had we not, Jack Jaikes, Rhoda Polly, and I, seen a greater thing--the fight over Allerdyce's gun before the main entrance? "Come out on the terrace, Rhoda Polly," I said, for I really had had enough of Hugh's strutting and Alida's languorous glances. We passed through the tall window out upon the lawn, and went slowly to the crescent sweep of the promenade, which made so beautiful a look-out station over the river. The morning smoke was rising over Aramon-les-Ateliers. Within the factory some of the tall chimneys were already sending forth long trails of vapour. Dennis Deventer's gangs were preparing for a return to normal conditions. The secret negotiations had been going on some time. The men were wearying to get back. The tyranny of the Black Band was wholly dissipated, and honest folks breathed freely. The women were more anxious than the men. For if the city should be occupied by troops--if military tribunals were set up, where would their husbands be so safe as in the factory? Dennis Deventer had the long arm. Dennis Deventer could protect his own. I looked at Rhoda Polly, and she smiled. "I suppose there is really nothing to say," I said, answering her glance. "This is not proper love-making, but we simply can't do without one another, can we, Rhoda Polly? So it has just got to be." "I suppose so," said Rhoda Polly, looking far out across the flat lands to the blue line of the Mediterranean. "But what are you going to do all day--and I? We are busy people, Angus Cawdor, and in idleness we should soon quarrel!" She swung her legs engagingly, awaiting my answer. "Well," I said, "I will let you into a secret. My father's next book, 'A History of the Third Republic,' is to have both our names on the title-page. Also I am to translate all his books into French. You have got to help." "I shall love it," cried Rhoda Polly, "but what else am I to do?" "You will have this house of Gobelet to be sole mistress of, and, besides, you and your mother must superintend the housekeeping of Linn and Keller Bey in the Garden Cottage!" "But, Angus, have you thought of Jeanne?" "What Jeanne?" "Jeanne Félix, sir!" I was so stunned I could not answer, so great was my astonishment. Rhoda Polly had not been so blind as I had supposed--or was it possible that Jeanne herself----? No, I thanked Heaven that at least need not be thought of. Rhoda Polly laughed a ringing, joyous laugh, and gave my arm a little playful clutch. "Silly," she said, "I will put you out of any remorse you may feel for any of your misdeeds. Jeanne is to be married to young Emile Bert, the fruit-grower of Les Cabannes. She is at last going to reward his constancy--as I am yours!" She looked at me with gay, ironic eyes. The vixen! I did not answer. It was indeed a difficult corner to turn with plain lying, but most happily at that moment we saw a strange and memorable thing. Across the river, from the fort which dominated the town, and also from the high tower of the Mairie, we saw the red flag of revolt flutter down, and simultaneously, like a burst of sunlight, the tricolour was broken out at each mast-head, gay and hopeful in that entrancing Provençal air. Instinctively Rhoda Polly's hand sought mine. We both stood silent and bareheaded as in the presence of the dead, for both of us knew that we had looked our last upon the "Tatter of Scarlet." THE END WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD. PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ PRINCESS PENNILESS Crown 8vo, net, 2_s._ Popular Edition, 6_d._ THE DEW OF THEIR YOUTH Crown 8vo, cloth, 6_s._ Popular Edition, 6_d._ ROSE OF THE WILDERNESS Cloth, net, 2_s._ Popular Edition, 6_d._ THE CHERRY RIBBAND New Cloth Edition, net, 1_s._ LADS' LOVE Popular Edition, 6_d._ DEEP MOAT GRANGE Popular Edition, 6_d._ LOVE IN PERNICKETTY TOWN Crown 8vo, cloth, 6_s._ Popular Edition, 6_d._ THE SMUGGLERS Crown 8vo, cloth, 6_s._ Cloth, net, 7_d._ ANNE OF THE BARRICADES Crown 8vo, cloth, 6_s._ THE MOSS TROOPERS Crown 8vo, cloth, 6_s._ SWEETHEARTS AT HOME Crown 8vo, cloth, 6_s._ LONDON: HODDER & STOUGHTON Transcriber's Notes: Dialect was not altered. Alternate and obsolete spellings in English were retained; French words with circonflex or that lack an accent aigu were not altered. Remaining punctuation was standardized. The list of books by the same author was moved from the beginning to the end of the book. One footnote is indented and follows the paragraph in which the anchor occurs. Other alterations: changed "remoneur" to "ramoneur" ... the woodman, the _ramoneur_ or sweep,... changed "Guguss" to "Gugusse" ... garlic-smelling 'Gugusse' who ... changed "as" to "at" ... just at that moment ... changed "Préfeture" to "Préfecture" ... of the Sous-Préfecture.... added a space between "after a" ... putting a boat to rights after a night's fishing ... changed "beng" to "being" ... roof being long perfected ... changed "wil" to "will" ... the beasts will slink back to their lairs ... removed hyphen from 'fairy-tale' ... at the bottom of this fairy tale.... changed "Espivnet" to "Espivent" ... troops of General Espivent ... 
9896	----	generously made available by the Bibliothèque nationale de France (BnF/Gallica) at http://gallica.bnf.fr. MY DAYS OF ADVENTURE THE FALL OF FRANCE, 1870-71 By Ernest Alfred Vizetelly Le Petit Homme Rouge Author of "The Court of the Tuileries 1852-70" etc. With A Frontispiece London, 1914 THE PEOPLE'S WAR O husbandmen of hill and dale, O dressers of the vines, O sea-tossed fighters of the gale, O hewers of the mines, O wealthy ones who need not strive, O sons of learning, art, O craftsmen of the city's hive, O traders of the man, Hark to the cannon's thunder-call Appealing to the brave! Your France is wounded, and may fall Beneath the foreign grave! Then gird your loins! Let none delay Her glory to maintain; Drive out the foe, throw off his sway, Win back your land again! 1870. E.A.V. PREFACE While this volume is largely of an autobiographical character, it will be found to contain also a variety of general information concerning the Franco-German War of 1870-71, more particularly with respect to the second part of that great struggle--the so-called "People's War" which followed the crash of Sedan and the downfall of the Second French Empire. If I have incorporated this historical matter in my book, it is because I have repeatedly noticed in these later years that, whilst English people are conversant with the main facts of the Sedan disaster and such subsequent outstanding events as the siege of Paris and the capitulation of Metz, they usually know very little about the manner in which the war generally was carried on by the French under the virtual dictatorship of Gambetta. Should England ever be invaded by a large hostile force, we, with our very limited regular army, should probably be obliged to rely largely on elements similar to those which were called to the field by the French National Defence Government of 1870 after the regular armies of the Empire had been either crushed at Sedan or closely invested at Metz. For that reason I have always taken a keen interest in our Territorial Force, well realizing what heavy responsibilities would fall upon it if a powerful enemy should obtain a footing in this country. Some indication of those responsibilities will be found in the present book. Generally speaking, however, I have given only a sketch of the latter part of the Franco-German War. To have entered into details on an infinity of matters would have necessitated the writing of a very much longer work. However, I have supplied, I think, a good deal of precise information respecting the events which I actually witnessed, and in this connexion, perhaps, I may have thrown some useful sidelights on the war generally; for many things akin to those which I saw, occurred under more or less similar circumstances in other parts of France. People who are aware that I am acquainted with the shortcomings of the French in those already distant days, and that I have watched, as closely as most foreigners can watch, the evolution of the French army in these later times, have often asked me what, to my thinking, would be the outcome of another Franco-German War. For many years I fully anticipated another struggle between the two Powers, and held myself in readiness to do duty as a war-correspondent. I long thought, also, that the signal for that struggle would be given by France. But I am no longer of that opinion. I fully believe that all French statesmen worthy of the name realize that it would be suicidal for France to provoke a war with her formidable neighbour. And at the same time I candidly confess that I do not know what some journalists mean by what they call the "New France." To my thinking there is no "New France" at all. There was as much spirit, as much patriotism, in the days of MacMahon, in the days of Boulanger, and at other periods, as there is now. The only real novelty that I notice in the France of to-day is the cultivation of many branches of sport and athletic exercise. Of that kind of thing there was very little indeed when I was a stripling. But granting that young Frenchmen of to-day are more athletic, more "fit" than were those of my generation, granting, moreover, that the present organization and the equipment of the French army are vastly superior to what they were in 1870, and also that the conditions of warfare have greatly changed, I feel that if France were to engage, unaided, in a contest with Germany, she would again be worsted, and worsted by her own fault. She fully knows that she cannot bring into the field anything like as many men as Germany; and it is in a vain hope of supplying the deficiency that she has lately reverted from a two to a three years' system of military service. The latter certainly gives her a larger effective for the first contingencies of a campaign, but in all other respects it is merely a piece of jugglery, for it does not add a single unit to the total number of Frenchmen capable of bearing arms. The truth is, that during forty years of prosperity France has been intent on racial suicide. In the whole of that period only some 3,500,000 inhabitants have been added to her population, which is now still under 40 millions; whereas that of Germany has increased by leaps and bounds, and stands at about 66 millions. At the present time the German birth-rate is certainly falling, but the numerical superiority which Germany has acquired over France since the war of 1870 is so great that I feel it would be impossible for the latter to triumph in an encounter unless she should be assisted by powerful allies. Bismarck said in 1870 that God was on the side of the big battalions; and those big battalions Germany can again supply. I hold, then, that no such Franco-German war as the last one can again occur. Europe is now virtually divided into two camps, each composed of three Powers, all of which would be more or less involved in a Franco-German struggle. The allies and friends on either side are well aware of it, and in their own interests are bound to exert a restraining influence which makes for the maintenance of peace. We have had evidence of this in the limitations imposed on the recent Balkan War. On the other hand, it is, of course, the unexpected which usually happens; and whilst Europe generally remains armed to the teeth, and so many jealousies are still rife, no one Power can in prudence desist from her armaments. We who are the wealthiest nation in Europe spend on our armaments, in proportion to our wealth and our population, less than any other great Power. Yet some among us would have us curtail our expenditure, and thereby incur the vulnerability which would tempt a foe. Undoubtedly the armaments of the present day are great and grievous burdens on the nations, terrible impediments to social progress, but they constitute, unfortunately, our only real insurance against war, justifying yet to-day, after so many long centuries, the truth of the ancient Latin adage--_Si vis pacem, para bellum_. It is, I think, unnecessary for me to comment here on the autobiographical part of my book. It will, I feel, speak for itself. It treats of days long past, and on a few points, perhaps, my memory may be slightly defective. In preparing my narrative, however, I have constantly referred to my old diaries, note-books and early newspaper articles, and have done my best to abstain from all exaggeration. Whether this story of some of my youthful experiences and impressions of men and things was worth telling or not is a point which I must leave my readers to decide. E.A.V. London, _January_ 1914. CONTENTS I. INTRODUCTORY--SOME EARLY RECOLLECTIONS II. THE OUTBREAK OF THE FRANCO-GERMAN WAR III. ON THE ROAD TO REVOLUTION IV. FROM REVOLUTION TO SIEGE V. BESIEGED VI. MORE ABOUT THE SIEGE DAYS VII. FROM PARIS TO VERSAILLES VIII. FROM VERSAILLES TO BRITTANY IX. THE WAR IN THE PROVINCES X. WITH THE "ARMY OF BRITTANY" XI. BEFORE LE MANS XII. LE MANS AND AFTER XIII. THE BITTER END INDEX MY DAYS OF ADVENTURE I INTRODUCTORY--SOME EARLY RECOLLECTIONS The Vizetelly Family--My Mother and her Kinsfolk--The _Illustrated Times_ and its Staff--My Unpleasant Disposition--Thackeray and my First Half-Crown--School days at Eastbourne--Queen Alexandra--Garibaldi--A few old Plays and Songs--Nadar and the "Giant" Balloon--My Arrival in France-- My Tutor Brossard--Berezowski's Attempt on Alexander II--My Apprenticeship to Journalism--My first Article--I see some French Celebrities--Visits to the Tuileries--At Compiègne--A few Words with Napoleon III--A "Revolutionary" Beard. This is an age of "Reminiscences," and although I have never played any part in the world's affairs, I have witnessed so many notable things and met so many notable people during the three-score years which I have lately completed, that it is perhaps allowable for me to add yet another volume of personal recollections to the many which have already poured from the press. On starting on an undertaking of this kind it is usual, I perceive by the many examples around me, to say something about one's family and upbringing. There is less reason for me to depart from this practice, as in the course of the present volume it will often be necessary for me to refer to some of my near relations. A few years ago a distinguished Italian philosopher and author, Angelo de Gubernatis, was good enough to include me in a dictionary of writers belonging to the Latin races, and stated, in doing so, that the Vizetellys were of French origin. That was a rather curious mistake on the part of an Italian writer, the truth being that the family originated at Ravenna, where some members of it held various offices in the Middle Ages. Subsequently, after dabbling in a conspiracy, some of the Vizzetelli fled to Venice and took to glass-making there, until at last Jacopo, from whom I am descended, came to England in the spacious days of Queen Elizabeth. From that time until my own the men of my family invariably married English women, so that very little Italian blood can flow in my veins. Matrimonial alliances are sometimes of more than personal interest. One point has particularly struck me in regard to those contracted by members of my own family, this being the diversity of English counties from which the men have derived their wives and the women their husbands. References to Cheshire, Lancashire, Yorkshire, Staffordshire, Warwickshire, Leicestershire, Berkshire, Bucks, Suffolk, Kent, Surrey, Sussex, and Devonshire, in addition to Middlesex, otherwise London, appear in my family papers. We have become connected with Johnstons, Burslems, Bartletts, Pitts, Smiths, Wards, Covells, Randalls, Finemores, Radfords, Hindes, Pollards, Lemprières, Wakes, Godbolds, Ansells, Fennells, Vaughans, Edens, Scotts, and Pearces, and I was the very first member of the family (subsequent to its arrival in England) to take a foreigner as wife, she being the daughter of a landowner of Savoy who proceeded from the Tissots of Switzerland. My elder brother Edward subsequently married a Burgundian girl named Clerget, and my stepbrother Frank chose an American one, _née_ Krehbiel, as his wife, these marriages occurring because circumstances led us to live for many years abroad. Among the first London parishes with which the family was connected was St. Botolph's, Bishopsgate, where my forerunner, the first Henry Vizetelly, was buried in 1691, he then being fifty years of age, and where my father, the second Henry of the name, was baptised soon after his birth in 1820. St. Bride's, Fleet Street, was, however, our parish for many years, as its registers testify, though in 1781 my great-grandfather was resident in the parish of St. Ann's, Blackfriars, and was elected constable thereof. At that date the family name, which figures in old English registers under a variety of forms--Vissitaler, Vissitaly, Visataly, Visitelly, Vizetely, etc.--was by him spelt Vizzetelly, as is shown by documents now in the Guildhall Library; but a few years later he dropped the second z, with the idea, perhaps, of giving the name a more English appearance. This great-grandfather of mine was, like his father before him, a printer and a member of the Stationers' Company. He was twice married, having by his first wife two sons, George and William, neither of whom left posterity. The former, I believe, died in the service of the Honourable East India Company. In June, 1775, however, my great-grandfather married Elizabeth, daughter of James Hinde, stationer, of Little Moorfields, and had by her, first, a daughter Elizabeth, from whom some of the Burslems and Godbolds are descended; and, secondly, twins, a boy and a girl, who were respectively christened James Henry and Mary Mehetabel. The former became my grandfather. In August, 1816, he married, at St. Bride's, Martha Jane Vaughan, daughter of a stage-coach proprietor of Chester, and had by her a daughter, who died unmarried, and four sons--my father, Henry Richard, and my uncles James, Frank, and Frederick Whitehead Vizetelly. Some account of my grandfather is given in my father's "Glances Back through Seventy Years," and I need not add to it here. I will only say that, like his immediate forerunners, James Henry Vizetelly was a printer and freeman of the city. A clever versifier, and so able as an amateur actor that on certain occasions he replaced Edmund Kean on the boards when the latter was hopelessly drunk, he died in 1840, leaving his two elder sons, James and Henry, to carry on the printing business, which was then established in premises occupying the site of the _Daily Telegraph_ building in Fleet Street. In 1844 my father married Ellen Elizabeth, only child of John Pollard, M.D., a member of the ancient Yorkshire family of the Pollards of Bierley and Brunton, now chiefly represented, I believe, by the Pollards of Scarr Hall. John Pollard's wife, Charlotte Maria Fennell, belonged to a family which gave officers to the British Navy--one of them serving directly under Nelson--and clergy to the Church of England. The Fennells were related to the Brontë sisters through the latter's mother; and one was closely connected with the Shackle who founded the original _John Bull_ newspaper. Those, then, were my kinsfolk on the maternal side. My mother presented my father with seven children, of whom I was the sixth, being also the fourth son. I was born on November 29, 1853, at a house called Chalfont Lodge in Campden House Road, Kensington, and well do I remember the great conflagration which destroyed the fine old historical mansion built by Baptist Hicks, sometime a mercer in Cheapside and ultimately Viscount Campden. But another scene which has more particularly haunted me all through my life was that of my mother's sudden death in a saloon carriage of an express train on the London and Brighton line. Though she was in failing health, nobody thought her end so near; but in the very midst of a journey to London, whilst the train was rushing on at full speed, and no help could be procured, a sudden weakness came over her, and in a few minutes she passed away. I was very young at the time, barely five years old, yet everything still rises before me with all the vividness of an imperishable memory. Again, too, I see that beautiful intellectual brow and those lustrous eyes, and hear that musical voice, and feel the gentle touch of that loving motherly hand. She was a woman of attainments, fond of setting words to music, speaking perfect French, for she had been partly educated at Evreux in Normandy, and having no little knowledge of Greek and Latin literature, as was shown by her annotations to a copy of Lemprière's "Classical Dictionary" which is now in my possession. About eighteen months after I was born, that is in the midst of the Crimean War, my father founded, in conjunction with David Bogue, a well-known publisher of the time, a journal called the _Illustrated Times_, which for several years competed successfully with the _Illustrated London News_. It was issued at threepence per copy, and an old memorandum of the printers now lying before me shows that in the paper's earlier years the average printings were 130,000 copies weekly--a notable figure for that period, and one which was considerably exceeded when any really important event occurred. My father was the chief editor and manager, his leading coadjutor being Frederick Greenwood, who afterwards founded the _Pall Mall Gazette_. I do not think that Greenwood's connection with the _Illustrated Times_ and with my father's other journal, the _Welcome Guest_, is mentioned in any of the accounts of his career. The literary staff included four of the Brothers Mayhew-- Henry, Jules, Horace, and Augustus, two of whom, Jules and Horace, became godfathers to my father's first children by his second wife. Then there were also William and Robert Brough, Edmund Yates, George Augustus Sala, Hain Friswell, W.B. Rands, Tom Robertson, Sutherland Edwards, James Hannay, Edward Draper, and Hale White (father of "Mark Rutherford"), and several artists and engravers, such as Birket Foster, "Phiz." Portch, Andrews, Duncan, Skelton, Bennett, McConnell, Linton, London, and Horace Harrall. I saw all those men in my early years, for my father was very hospitably inclined, and they were often guests at Chalfont Lodge. After my mother's death, my grandmother, _née_ Vaughan, took charge of the establishment, and I soon became the terror of the house, developing a most violent temper and acquiring the vocabulary of the roughest market porter. My wilfulness was probably innate (nearly all the Vizetellys having had impulsive wills of their own), and my flowery language was picked up by perversely loitering to listen whenever there happened to be a street row in Church Lane, which I had to cross on my way to or from Kensington Gardens, my daily place of resort. At an early age I started bullying my younger brother, I defied my grandmother, insulted the family doctor because he was too fond of prescribing grey powders for my particular benefit, and behaved abominably to the excellent Miss Lindup of Sheffield Terrace, who endeavoured to instruct me in the rudiments of reading, writing, and arithmetic. I frequently astonished or appalled the literary men and artists who were my father's guests. I hated being continually asked what I should like to be when I grew up, and the slightest chaff threw me into a perfect paroxysm of passion. Whilst, however, I was resentful of the authority of others, I was greatly inclined to exercise authority myself--to such a degree, indeed, that my father's servants generally spoke of me as "the young master," regardless of the existence of my elder brothers. Having already a retentive memory, I was set to learn sundry "recitations," and every now and then was called upon to emerge from behind the dining-room curtains and repeat "My Name is Norval" or "The Spanish Armada," for the delectation of my father's friends whilst they lingered over their wine. Disaster generally ensued, provoked either by some genial chaff or well-meant criticism from such men as Sala and Augustus Mayhew, and I was ultimately carried off--whilst venting incoherent protests--to be soundly castigated and put to bed. Among the real celebrities who occasionally called at Chalfont Lodge was Thackeray, whom I can still picture sitting on one side of the fireplace, whilst my father sat on the other, I being installed on the hearthrug between them. Provided that I was left to myself, I could behave decently enough, discreetly preserving silence, and, indeed, listening intently to the conversation of my father's friends, and thereby picking up a very odd mixture of knowledge. I was, I believe, a pale little chap with lank fair hair and a wistful face, and no casual observer would have imagined that my nature was largely compounded of such elements as enter into the composition of Italian brigands, Scandinavian pirates, and wild Welshmen. Thackeray, at all events, did not appear to think badly of the little boy who sat so quietly at his feet. One day, indeed, when he came upon me and my younger brother Arthur, with our devoted attendant Selina Horrocks, in Kensington Gardens, he put into practice his own dictum that one could never see a schoolboy without feeling an impulse to dip one's hand in one's pocket. Accordingly he presented me with the first half-crown I ever possessed, for though my father's gifts were frequent they were small. It was understood, I believe, that I was to share the aforesaid half-crown with my brother Arthur, but in spite of the many remonstrances of the faithful Selina--a worthy West-country woman, who had largely taken my mother's place--I appropriated the gift in its entirety, and became extremely ill by reason of my many indiscreet purchases at a tuck-stall which stood, if I remember rightly, at a corner of the then renowned Kensington Flower Walk. This incident must have occurred late in Thackeray's life. My childish recollection of him is that of a very big gentleman with beaming eyes. My grandmother's reign in my father's house was not of great duration, as in February, 1861, he contracted a second marriage, taking on this occasion as his wife a "fair maid of Kent," [Elizabeth Anne Ansell, of Broadstairs; mother of my step-brother, Dr. Frank H. Vizetelly, editor of the "Standard Dictionary," New York.] to whose entry into our home I was at first violently opposed, but who promptly won me over by her unremitting affection and kindness, eventually becoming the best and truest friend of my youth and early manhood. My circumstances changed, however, soon after that marriage, for as I was now nearly eight years old it was deemed appropriate that I should be sent to a boarding-school, both by way of improving my mind and of having some nonsense knocked out of me, which, indeed, was promptly accomplished by the pugnacious kindness of my schoolfellows. Among the latter was one, my senior by a few years, who became a very distinguished journalist. I refer to the late Horace Voules, so long associated with Labouchere's journal, _Truth_. My brother Edward was also at the same school, and my brother Arthur came there a little later. It was situated at Eastbourne, and a good deal has been written about it in recent works on the history of that well-known watering-place, which, when I was first sent there, counted less than 6000 inhabitants. Located in the old town or village, at a distance of a mile or more from the sea, the school occupied a building called "The Gables," and was an offshoot of a former ancient school connected with the famous parish church. In my time this "academy" was carried on as a private venture by a certain James Anthony Bown, a portly old gentleman of considerable attainments. I was unusually precocious in some respects, and though I frequently got into scrapes by playing impish tricks--as, for instance, when I combined with others to secure an obnoxious French master to his chair by means of some cobbler's wax, thereby ruining a beautiful pair of peg-top trousers which he had just purchased--I did not neglect my lessons, but secured a number of "prizes" with considerable facility. When I was barely twelve years old, not one of my schoolfellows--and some were sixteen and seventeen years old--could compete with me in Latin, in which language Bown ended by taking me separately. I also won three or four prizes for "excelling" my successive classes in English grammar as prescribed by the celebrated Lindley Murray. In spite of my misdeeds (some of which, fortunately, were never brought home to me), I became, I think, somewhat of a favourite with the worthy James Anthony, for he lent me interesting books to read, occasionally had me to supper in his own quarters, and was now and then good enough to overlook the swollen state of my nose or the blackness of one of my eyes when I had been having a bout with a schoolfellow or a young clodhopper of the village. We usually fought with the village lads in Love Lane on Sunday evenings, after getting over the playground wall. I received firstly the nickname of Moses, through falling among some rushes whilst fielding a ball at cricket; and secondly, that of Noses, because my nasal organ, like that of Cyrano de Bergerac, suddenly grew to huge proportions, in such wise that it embodied sufficient material for two noses of ordinary dimensions. Its size was largely responsible for my defeats when fighting, for I found it difficult to keep guard over such a prominent organ and prevent my claret from being tapped. Having generations of printers' ink mingled with my blood, I could not escape the unkind fate which made me a writer of articles and books. In conjunction with a chum named Clement Ireland I ran a manuscript school journal, which included stories of pirates and highwaymen, illustrated with lurid designs in which red ink was plentifully employed in order to picture the gore which flowed so freely through the various tales. My grandmother Vaughan was an inveterate reader of the _London Journal_ and the _Family Herald_, and whenever I went home for my holidays I used to pounce upon those journals and devour some of the stories of the author of "Minnegrey," as well as Miss Braddon's "Aurora Floyd" and "Henry Dunbar." The perusal of books by Ainsworth, Scott, Lever, Marryat, James Grant, G. P. R. James, Dumas, and Whyte Melville gave me additional material for storytelling; and so, concocting wonderful blends of all sorts of fiction, I spun many a yarn to my schoolfellows in the dormitory in which I slept--yarns which were sometimes supplied in instalments, being kept up for a week or longer. My summer holidays were usually spent in the country, but at other times I went to London, and was treated to interesting sights. At Kensington, in my earlier years, I often saw Queen Victoria and the Prince Consort with their children, notably the Princess Royal (Empress Frederick) and the Prince of Wales (Edward VII). When the last-named married the "Sea-King's daughter from over the sea"--since then our admired and gracious Queen Alexandra--and they drove together through the crowded streets of London on their way to Windsor, I came specially from Eastbourne to witness that triumphal progress, and even now I can picture the young prince with his round chubby face and little side-whiskers, and the vision of almost tearfully-smiling beauty, in blue and white, which swept past my eager boyish eyes. During the Easter holidays of 1864 Garibaldi came to England. My uncle, Frank Vizetelly, was the chief war-artist of that period, the predecessor, in fact, of the late Melton Prior. He knew Garibaldi well, having first met him during the war of 1859, and having subsequently accompanied him during his campaign through Sicily and then on to Naples--afterwards, moreover, staying with him at Caprera. And so my uncle carried me and his son, my cousin Albert, to Stafford House (where he had the _entrée_), and the grave-looking Liberator patted us on the head, called us his children, and at Frank Vizetelly's request gave us photographs of himself. I then little imagined that I should next see him in France, at the close of the war with Germany, during a part of which my brother Edward acted as one of his orderly officers. My father, being at the head of a prominent London newspaper, often received tickets for one and another theatre. Thus, during my winter holidays, I saw many of the old pantomimes at Drury Lane and elsewhere. I also well remember Sothern's "Lord Dundreary," and a play called "The Duke's Motto," which was based on Paul Féval's novel, "Le Bossu." I frequently witnessed the entertainments given by the German Reeds, Corney Grain, and Woodin, the clever quick-change artist. I likewise remember Leotard the acrobat at the Alhambra, and sundry performances at the old Pantheon, where I heard such popular songs as "The Captain with the Whiskers" and "The Charming Young Widow I met in the Train." Nigger ditties were often the "rage" during my boyhood, and some of them, like "Dixie-land" and "So Early in the Morning," still linger in my memory. Then, too, there were such songs as "Billy Taylor," "I'm Afloat," "I'll hang my Harp on a Willow Tree," and an inane composition which contained the lines-- "When a lady elopes Down a ladder of ropes, She may go, she may go, She may go to--Hongkong--for me!" In those schoolboy days of mine, however, the song of songs, to my thinking, was one which we invariably sang on breaking up for the holidays. Whether it was peculiar to Eastbourne or had been derived from some other school I cannot say. I only know that the last verse ran, approximately, as follows: "Magistrorum is a borum, Hic-haec-hoc has made his bow. Let us cry: 'O cockalorum!' That's the Latin for us now. Alpha, beta, gamma, delta, Off to Greece, for we are free! Helter, skelter, melter, pelter, We're the lads for mirth and spree!" For "cockalorum," be it noted, we frequently substituted the name of some particularly obnoxious master. To return to the interesting sights of my boyhood, I have some recollection of the Exhibition of 1862, but can recall more vividly a visit to the Crystal Palace towards the end of the following year, when I there saw the strange house-like oar of the "Giant" balloon in which Nadar, the photographer and aeronaut, had lately made, with his wife and others, a memorable and disastrous aerial voyage. Readers of Jules Verne will remember that Nadar figures conspicuously in his "Journey to the Moon." Quite a party of us went to the Palace to see the "Giant's" car, and Nadar, standing over six feet high, with a great tangled mane of frizzy flaxen hair, a ruddy moustache, and a red shirt _à la_ Garibaldi, took us inside it and showed us all the accommodation it contained for eating, sleeping and photographic purposes. I could not follow what he said, for I then knew only a few French words, and I certainly had no idea that I should one day ascend into the air with him in a car of a very different type, that of the captive balloon which, for purposes of military observation, he installed on the Place Saint Pierre at Montmartre, during the German siege of Paris. A time came when my father disposed of his interest in the _Illustrated Times_ and repaired to Paris to take up the position of Continental representative of the _Illustrated London News_. My brother Edward, at that time a student at the École des Beaux Arts, then became his assistant, and a little later I was taken across the Channel with my brother Arthur to join the rest of the family. We lived, first, at Auteuil, and then at Passy, where I was placed in a day-school called the Institution Nouissel, where lads were prepared for admission to the State or municipal colleges. There had been some attempt to teach me French at Eastbourne, but it had met with little success, partly, I think, because I was prejudiced against the French generally, regarding them as a mere race of frog-eaters whom we had deservedly whacked at Waterloo. Eventually my prejudices were in a measure overcome by what I heard from our drill-master, a retired non-commissioned officer, who had served in the Crimea, and who told us some rousing anecdotes about the gallantry of "our allies" at the Alma and elsewhere. In the result, the old sergeant's converse gave me "furiously to think" that there might be some good in the French after all. At Nouissel's I acquired some knowledge of the language rapidly enough, and I was afterwards placed in the charge of a tutor, a clever scamp named Brossard, who prepared me for the Lycée Bonaparte (now Condorcet), where I eventually became a pupil, Brossard still continuing to coach me with a view to my passing various examinations, and ultimately securing the usual _baccalauréat_, without which nobody could then be anything at all in France. In the same way he coached Evelyn Jerrold, son of Blanchard and grandson of Douglas Jerrold, both of whom were on terms of close friendship with the Vizetellys. But while Brossard was a clever man, he was also an unprincipled one, and although I was afterwards indebted to him for an introduction to old General Changarnier, to whom he was related, it would doubtless have been all the better if he had not introduced me to some other people with whom he was connected. He lived for a while with a woman who was not his wife, and deserted her for a girl of eighteen, whom he also abandoned, in order to devote himself to a creature in fleshings who rode a bare-backed steed at the Cirque de l'Impératrice. When I was first introduced to her "behind the scenes," she was bestriding a chair, and smoking a pink cigarette, and she addressed me as _mon petit_. Briefly, the moral atmosphere of Brossard's life was not such as befitted him to be a mentor of youth. Let me now go back a little. At the time of the great Paris Exhibition of 1867 I was in my fourteenth year. The city was then crowded with royalties, many of whom I saw on one or another occasion. I was in the Bois de Boulogne with my father when, after a great review, a shot was fired at the carriage in which Napoleon III and his guest, Alexander II of Russia, were seated side by side. I saw equerry Raimbeaux gallop forward to screen the two monarchs, and I saw the culprit seized by a sergeant of our Royal Engineers, attached to the British section of the Exhibition. Both sovereigns stood up in the carriage to show that they were uninjured, and it was afterwards reported that the Emperor Napoleon said to the Emperor Alexander: "If that shot was fired by an Italian it was meant for me; if by a Pole, it was meant for your Majesty." Whether those words were really spoken, or were afterwards invented, as such things often are, by some clever journalist, I cannot say; but the man proved to be a Pole named Berezowski, who was subsequently sentenced to transportation for life. It was in connection with this attempt on the Czar that I did my first little bit of journalistic work. By my father's directions, I took a few notes and made a hasty little sketch of the surroundings. This and my explanations enabled M. Jules Pelcoq, an artist of Belgian birth, whom my father largely employed on behalf of the _Illustrated London News_, to make a drawing which appeared on the first page of that journal's next issue. I do not think that any other paper in the world was able to supply a pictorial representation of Berezowski's attempt. I have said enough, I think, to show that I was a precocious lad, perhaps, indeed, a great deal too precocious. However, I worked very hard in those days. My hours at Bonaparte were from ten to twelve and from two to four. I had also to prepare home-lessons for the Lycée, take special lessons from Brossard, and again lessons in German from a tutor named With. Then, too, my brother Edward ceasing to act as my father's assistant in order to devote himself to journalism on his own account, I had to take over a part of his duties. One of my cousins, Montague Vizetelly (son of my uncle James, who was the head of our family), came from England, however, to assist my father in the more serious work, such as I, by reason of my youth, could not yet perform. My spare time was spent largely in taking instructions to artists or fetching drawings from them. At one moment I might be at Mont-martre, and at another in the Quartier Latin, calling on Pelcoq, Anastasi, Janet Lange, Gustave Janet, Pauquet, Thorigny, Gaildrau, Deroy, Bocourt, Darjou, Lix, Moulin, Fichot, Blanchard, or other artists who worked for the _Illustrated London News_. Occasionally a sketch was posted to England, but more frequently I had to despatch some drawing on wood by rail. Though I have never been anything but an amateurish draughtsman myself, I certainly developed a critical faculty, and acquired a knowledge of different artistic methods, during my intercourse with so many of the _dessinateurs_ of the last years of the Second Empire. By-and-by more serious duties were allotted to me. The "Paris Fashions" design then appearing every month in the _Illustrated London News_ was for a time prepared according to certain dresses which Worth and other famous costumiers made for empresses, queens, princesses, great ladies, and theatrical celebrities; and, accompanying Pelcoq or Janet when they went to sketch those gowns (nowadays one would simply obtain photographs), I took down from _la première_, or sometimes from Worth himself, full particulars respecting materials and styles, in order that the descriptive letterpress, which was to accompany the illustration, might be correct. In this wise I served my apprenticeship to journalism. My father naturally revised my work. The first article, all my own, which appeared in print was one on that notorious theatrical institution, the Claque. I sent it to _Once a Week_, which E. S. Dallas then edited, and knowing that he was well acquainted with my father, and feeling very diffident respecting the merits of what I had written, I assumed a _nom de plume_ ("Charles Ludhurst") for the occasion, Needless to say that I was delighted when I saw the article in print, and yet more so when I received for it a couple of guineas, which I speedily expended on gloves, neckties, and a walking-stick. Here let me say that we were rather swagger young fellows at Bonaparte. We did not have to wear hideous ill-fitting uniforms like other Lycéens, but endeavoured to present a very smart appearance. Thus we made it a practice to wear gloves and to carry walking-sticks or canes on our way to or from the Lycée. I even improved on that by buying "button-holes" at the flower-market beside the Madeleine, and this idea "catching on," as the phrase goes, quite a commotion occurred one morning when virtually half my classmates were found wearing flowers--for it happened to be La Saint Henri, the _fête_-day of the Count de Chambord, and both our Proviseur and our professor imagined that this was, on our part, a seditious Legitimist demonstration. There were, however, very few Legitimists among us, though Orleanists and Republicans were numerous. I have mentioned that my first article was on the Claque, that organisation established to encourage applause in theatres, it being held that the Parisian spectator required to be roused by some such method. Brossard having introduced me to the _sous-chef_ of the Claque at the Opéra Comique, I often obtained admission to that house as a _claqueur_. I even went to a few other theatres in the same capacity. Further, Brossard knew sundry authors and journalists, and took me to the Café de Suède and the Café de Madrid, where I saw and heard some of the celebrities of the day. I can still picture the great Dumas, loud of voice and exuberant in gesture whilst holding forth to a band of young "spongers," on whom he was spending his last napoleons. I can also see Gambetta--young, slim, black-haired and bearded, with a full sensual underlip--seated at the same table as Delescluze, whose hair and beard, once red, had become a dingy white, whose figure was emaciated and angular, and whose yellowish, wrinkled face seemed to betoken that he was possessed by some fixed idea. What that idea was, the Commune subsequently showed. Again, I can see Henri Rochefort and Gustave Flourens together: the former straight and sinewy, with a great tuft of very dark curly hair, flashing eyes and high and prominent cheekbones; while the latter, tall and bald, with long moustaches and a flowing beard, gazed at you in an eager imperious way, as if he were about to issue some command. Other men who helped to overthrow the Empire also became known to me. My father, whilst engaged in some costly litigation respecting a large castellated house which he had leased at Le Vésinet, secured Jules Favre as his advocate, and on various occasions I went with him to Favre's residence. Here let me say that my father, in spite of all his interest in French literature, did not know the language. He could scarcely express himself in it, and thus he always made it a practice to have one of his sons with him, we having inherited our mother's linguistic gifts. Favre's command of language was great, but his eloquence was by no means rousing, and I well remember that when he pleaded for my father, the three judges of the Appeal Court composed themselves to sleep, and did not awaken until the counsel opposed to us started banging his fist and shouting in thunderous tones. Naturally enough, as the judges never heard our side of the case, but only our adversary's, they decided against us. Some retrenchment then became necessary on my father's part, and he sent my step-mother, her children and my brother Arthur, to Saint Servan in Brittany, where he rented a house which was called "La petite Amélia," after George III's daughter of that name, who, during some interval of peace between France and Great Britain, went to stay at Saint Servan for the benefit of her health. The majority of our family having repaired there and my cousin Monty returning to England some time in 1869, I remained alone with my father in Paris. We resided in what I may call a bachelor's flat at No. 16, Rue de Miromesnil, near the Elysée Palace. The principal part of the house was occupied by the Count and Countess de Chateaubriand and their daughters. The Countess was good enough to take some notice of me, and subsequently, when she departed for Combourg at the approach of the German siege, she gave me full permission to make use, if necessary, of the coals and wood left in the Chateaubriand cellars. In 1869, the date I have now reached, I was in my sixteenth year, still studying, and at the same time giving more and more assistance to my father in connection with his journalistic work. He has included in his "Glances Back" some account of the facilities which enabled him to secure adequate pictorial delineation of the Court life of the Empire. He has told the story of Moulin, the police-agent, who frequently watched over the Emperor's personal safety, and who also supplied sketches of Court functions for the use of the _Illustrated London News_. Napoleon III resembled his great-uncle in at least one respect. He fully understood the art of advertisement; and, in his desire to be thought well of in England, he was always ready to favour English journalists. Whilst a certain part of the London Press preserved throughout the reign a very critical attitude towards the Imperial policy, it is certain that some of the Paris correspondents were in close touch with the Emperor's Government, and that some of them were actually subsidized by it. The best-informed man with respect to Court and social events was undoubtedly Mr. Felix Whiteburst of _The Daily Telegraph_, whom I well remember. He had the _entrée_ at the Tuileries and elsewhere, and there were occasions when very important information was imparted to him with a view to its early publication in London. For the most part, however, Whitehurst confined himself to chronicling events or incidents occurring at Court or in Bonapartist high society. Anxious to avoid giving offence, he usually glossed over any scandal that occurred, or dismissed it airily, with the _désinvolture_ of a _roué_ of the Regency. Withal, he was an extremely amiable man, very condescending towards me when we met, as sometimes happened at the Tuileries itself. I had to go there on several occasions to meet Moulin, the detective-artist, by appointment, and a few years ago this helped me to write a book which has been more than once reprinted. [Note] I utilized in it many notes made by me in 1869-70, notably with respect to the Emperor and Empress's private apartments, the kitchens, and the arrangements made for balls and banquets. I am not aware at what age a young fellow is usually provided with his first dress-suit, but I know that mine was made about the time I speak of. I was then, I suppose, about five feet five inches in height, and my face led people to suppose that I was eighteen or nineteen years of age. [Note: The work in question was entitled "The Court of the Tuileries, 1852-1870," by "Le Petit Homme Rouge"--a pseudonym which I have since used when producing other books. "The Court of the Tuileries" was founded in part on previously published works, on a quantity of notes and memoranda made by my father, other relatives, and myself, and on some of the private papers of one of my wife's kinsmen, General Mollard, who after greatly distinguishing himself at the Tchernaya and Magenta, became for a time an aide-de-camp to Napoleon III.] In the autumn of 1869, I fell rather ill from over-study--I had already begun to read up Roman law--and, on securing a holiday, I accompanied my father to Compiègne, where the Imperial Court was then staying. We were not among the invited guests, but it had been arranged that every facility should be given to the _Illustrated London News_ representatives in order that the Court _villegiatura_ might be fully depicted in that journal. I need not recapitulate my experiences on this occasion. There is an account of our visit in my father's "Glances Back," and I inserted many additional particulars in my "Court of the Tuileries." I may mention, however, that it was at Compiègne that I first exchanged a few words with Napoleon III. One day, my father being unwell (the weather was intensely cold), I proceeded to the château [We slept at the Hôtel de la Cloche, but had the _entrée_ to the château at virtually any time.] accompanied only by our artist, young M. Montbard, who was currently known as "Apollo" in the Quartier Latin, where he delighted the _habitués_ of the Bal Bullier by a style of choregraphy in comparison with which the achievements subsequently witnessed at the notorious Moulin Rouge would have sunk into insignificance. Montbard had to make a couple of drawings on the day I have mentioned, and it so happened that, whilst we were going about with M. de la Ferrière, the chamberlain on duty, Napoleon III suddenly appeared before us. Directly I was presented to him he spoke to me in English, telling me that he often saw the _Illustrated London News_, and that the illustrations of French life and Paris improvements (in which he took so keen an interest) were very ably executed. He asked me also how long I had been in France, and where I had learnt the language. Then, remarking that it was near the _déjeuner_ hour, he told M. de la Ferrière to see that Montbard and myself were suitably entertained. I do not think that I had any particular political opinions at that time. Montbard, however, was a Republican--in fact, a future Communard--and I know that he did not appreciate his virtually enforced introduction to the so-called "Badinguet." Still, he contrived to be fairly polite, and allowed the Emperor to inspect the sketch he was making. There was to be a theatrical performance at the château that evening, and it had already been arranged that Montbard should witness it. On hearing, however, that it had been impossible to provide my father and myself with seats, on account of the great demand for admission on the part of local magnates and the officers of the garrison, the Emperor was good enough to say, after I had explained that my father's indisposition would prevent him from attending: "Voyons, vous pourrez bien trouver une petite place pour ce jeune homme. Il n'est pas si grand, et je suis sûr que cela lui fera plaisir." M. de la Ferrière bowed, and thus it came to pass that I witnessed the performance after all, being seated on a stool behind some extremely beautiful women whose white shoulders repeatedly distracted my attention from the stage. In regard to Montbard there was some little trouble, as M. de la Ferrière did not like the appearance of his "revolutionary-looking beard," the sight of which, said he, might greatly alarm the Empress. Montbard, however, indignantly refused to shave it off, and ten months later the "revolutionary beards" were predominant, the power and the pomp of the Empire having been swept away amidst all the disasters of invasion. II THE OUTBREAK OF THE FRANCO-GERMAN WAR Napoleon's Plans for a War with Prussia--The Garde Mobile and the French Army generally--Its Armament--The "White Blouses" and the Paris Riots--The Emperor and the Elections of 1869--The Troppmann and Pierre Bonaparte Affairs--Captain the Hon. Dennis Bingham--The Ollivier Ministry--French Campaigning Plans--Frossard and Bazaine--The Negotiations with Archduke Albert and Count Vimeroati--The War forced on by Bismarck--I shout "A Berlin!"--The Imperial Guard and General Bourbaki--My Dream of seeing a War--My uncle Frank Vizetelly and his Campaigns--"The Siege of Pekin"-- Organization of the French Forces--The Information Service--I witness the departure of Napoleon III and the Imperial Prince from Saint Cloud. There was no little agitation in France during the years 1868 and 1869. The outcome first of the Schleswig-Holstein war, and secondly of the war between Prussia and Austria in 1866, had alarmed many French politicians. Napoleon III had expected some territorial compensation in return for his neutrality at those periods, and it is certain that Bismarck, as chief Prussian minister, had allowed him to suppose that he would be able to indemnify himself for his non-intervention in the afore-mentioned contests. After attaining her ends, however, Prussia turned an unwilling ear to the French Emperor's suggestions, and from that moment a Franco-German war became inevitable. Although, as I well remember, there was a perfect "rage" for Bismarck "this" and Bismarck "that" in Paris--particularly for the Bismarck colour, a shade of Havana brown--the Prussian statesman, who had so successfully "jockeyed" the Man of Destiny, was undoubtedly a well hated and dreaded individual among the Parisians, at least among all those who thought of the future of Europe. Prussian policy, however, was not the only cause of anxiety in France, for at the same period the Republican opposition to the Imperial authority was steadily gaining strength in the great cities, and the political concessions by which Napoleon III sought to disarm it only emboldened it to make fresh demands. In planning a war on Prussia, the Emperor was influenced both by national and by dynastic considerations. The rise of Prussia--which had become head of the North German Confederation--was without doubt a menace not only to French ascendency on the Continent, but also to France's general interests. On the other hand, the prestige of the Empire having been seriously impaired, in France itself, by the diplomatic defeats which Bismarck had inflicted on Napoleon, it seemed that only a successful war, waged on the Power from which France had received those successive rebuffs, could restore the aforesaid prestige and ensure the duration of the Bonaparte dynasty. Even nowadays, in spite of innumerable revelations, many writers continue to cast all the responsibility of the Franco-German War on Germany, or, to be more precise, on Prussia as represented by Bismarck. That, however, is a great error. A trial of strength was regarded on both sides as inevitable, and both sides contributed to bring it about. Bismarck's share in the conflict was to precipitate hostilities, selecting for them what he judged to be an opportune moment for his country, and thereby preventing the Emperor Napoleon from maturing his designs. The latter did not intend to declare war until early in 1871; the Prussian statesman brought it about in July, 1870. The Emperor really took to the war-path soon after 1866. A great military council was assembled, and various measures were devised to strengthen the army. The principal step was the creation of a territorial force called the Garde Mobile, which was expected to yield more than half a million men. Marshal Niel, who was then Minister of War, attempted to carry out this scheme, but was hampered by an insufficiency of money. Nowadays, I often think of Niel and the Garde Mobile when I read of Lord Haldane, Colonel Seely, and our own "terriers." It seems to me, at times, as if the clock had gone back more than forty years. Niel died in August, 1869, leaving his task in an extremely unfinished state, and Marshal Le Boeuf, who succeeded him, persevered with it in a very faint-hearted way. The regular army, however, was kept in fair condition, though it was never so strong as it appeared to be on paper. There was a system in vogue by which a conscript of means could avoid service by supplying a _remplaçant_. Originally, he was expected to provide his _remplaçant_ himself; but, ultimately, he only had to pay a sum of money to the military authorities, who undertook to find a man to take his place. Unfortunately, in thousands of instances, over a term of some years, the _remplaçants_ were never provided at all. I do not suggest that the money was absolutely misappropriated, but it was diverted to other military purposes, and, in the result, there was always a considerable shortage in the annual contingent. The creature comforts of the men were certainly well looked after. My particular chum at Bonaparte was the son of a general-officer, and I visited more than one barracks or encampment. Without doubt, there was always an abundance of good sound food. Further, the men were well-armed. All military authorities are agreed, I believe, that the Chassepot rifle--invented in or about 1866--was superior to the Dreyse needle-gun, which was in use in the Prussian army. Then, too, there was Colonel de Reffye's machine-gun or _mitrailleuse_, in a sense the forerunner of the Gatling and the Maxim. It was first devised, I think, in 1863, and, according to official statements, some three or four years later there were more than a score of _mitrailleuse_ batteries. With regard to other ordnance, however, that of the French was inferior to that of the Germans, as was conclusively proved at Sedan and elsewhere. In many respects the work of army reform, publicly advised by General Trochu in a famous pamphlet, and by other officers in reports to the Emperor and the Ministry of War, proceeded at a very slow pace, being impeded by a variety of considerations. The young men of the large towns did not take kindly to the idea of serving in the new Garde Mobile. Having escaped service in the regular army, by drawing exempting "numbers" or by paying for _remplaçants_, they regarded it as very unfair that they should be called upon to serve at all, and there were serious riots in various parts of France at the time of their first enrolment in 1868. Many of them failed to realize the necessities of the case. There was no great wave of patriotism sweeping through the country. The German danger was not yet generally apparent. Further, many upholders of the Imperial authority shook their heads in deprecation of this scheme of enrolling and arming so many young men, who might suddenly blossom into revolutionaries and turn their weapons against the powers of the day. There was great unrest in Paris in 1868, the year of Henri Rochefort's famous journal _La Lanterne_. Issue after issue of that bitterly-penned effusion was seized and confiscated, and more than once did I see vigilant detectives snatch copies from people in the streets. In June, 1869, we had general elections, accompanied by rioting on the Boulevards. It was then that the "White Blouse" legend arose, it being alleged that many of the rioters were _agents provocateurs_ in the pay of the Prefecture of Police, and wore white blouses expressly in order that they might be known to the sergents-de-ville and the Gardes de Paris who were called upon to quell the disturbances. At first thought, it might seem ridiculous that any Government should stir up rioting for the mere sake of putting it down, but it was generally held that the authorities wished some disturbances to occur in order, first, that the middle-classes might be frightened by the prospect of a violent revolution, and thereby induced to vote for Government candidates at the elections; and, secondly, that some of the many real Revolutionaries might be led to participate in the rioting in such wise as to supply a pretext for arresting them. I was with my mentor Brossard and my brother Edward one night in June when a "Madeleine-Bastille" omnibus was overturned on the Boulevard Montmartre and two or three newspaper kiosks were added to it by way of forming a barricade, the purpose of which was by no means clear. The great crowd of promenaders seemed to regard the affair as capital fun until the police suddenly came up, followed by some mounted men of the Garde de Paris, whereupon the laughing spectators became terrified and suddenly fled for their lives. With my companions I gazed on the scene from the _entresol_ of the Café Mazarin. It was the first affair of the kind I had ever witnessed, and for that reason impressed itself more vividly on my mind than several subsequent and more serious ones. In the twinkling of an eye all the little tables set out in front of the cafés were deserted, and tragi-comical was the sight of the many women with golden chignons scurrying away with their alarmed companions, and tripping now and again over some fallen chair whilst the pursuing cavalry clattered noisily along the foot-pavements. A Londoner might form some idea of the scene by picturing a charge from Leicester Square to Piccadilly Circus at the hour when Coventry Street is most thronged with undesirables of both sexes. The majority of the White Blouses and their friends escaped unhurt, and the police and the guards chiefly expended their vigour on the spectators of the original disturbance. Whether this had been secretly engineered by the authorities for one of the purposes I previously indicated, must always remain a moot point. In any case it did not incline the Parisians to vote for the Government candidates. Every deputy returned for the city on that occasion was an opponent of the Empire, and in later years I was told by an ex-Court official that when Napoleon became acquainted with the result of the pollings he said, in reference to the nominees whom he had favoured, "Not one! not a single one!" The ingratitude of the Parisians, as the Emperor styled it, was always a thorn in his side; yet he should have remembered that in the past the bulk of the Parisians had seldom, if ever, been on the side of constituted authority. Later that year came the famous affair of the Pantin crimes, and I was present with my father when Troppmann, the brutish murderer of the Kinck family, stood his trial at the Assizes. But, quite properly, my father would not let me accompany him when he attended the miscreant's execution outside the prison of La Roquette. Some years later, however, I witnessed the execution of Prévost on the same spot; and at a subsequent date I attended both the trial and the execution of Caserio--the assassin of President Carnot--at Lyons. Following Troppmann's case, in the early days of 1870 came the crime of the so-called Wild Boar of Corsica, Prince Pierre Bonaparte (grandfather of the present Princess George of Greece), who shot the young journalist Victor Noir, when the latter went with Ulrich de Fonvielle, aeronaut as well as journalist, to call him out on behalf of the irrepressible Henri Rochefort. I remember accompanying one of our artists, Gaildrau, when a sketch was made of the scene of the crime, the Prince's drawing-room at Auteuil, a peculiar semi-circular, panelled and white-painted apartment furnished in what we should call in England a tawdry mid-Victorian style. On the occasion of Noir's funeral my father and myself were in the Champs Elysées when the tumultuous revolutionary procession, in which Rochefort figured conspicuously, swept down the famous avenue along which the victorious Germans were to march little more than a year afterwards. Near the Rond-point the _cortège_ was broken up and scattered by the police, whose violence was extreme. Rochefort, brave enough on the duelling-ground, fainted away, and was carried off in a vehicle, his position as a member of the Legislative Body momentarily rendering him immune from arrest. Within a month, however, he was under lock and key, and some fierce rioting ensued in the north of Paris. During the spring, my father went to Ireland as special commissioner of the _Illustrated London News_ and the _Pall Mall Gazette_, in order to investigate the condition of the tenantry and the agrarian crimes which were then so prevalent there. Meantime, I was left in Paris, virtually "on my own," though I was often with my elder brother Edward. About this time, moreover, a friend of my father's began to take a good deal of interest in me. This was Captain the Hon. Dennis Bingham, a member of the Clanmorris family, and the regular correspondent of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ in Paris. He subsequently became known as the author of various works on the Bonapartes and the Bourbons, and of a volume of recollections of Paris life, in which I am once or twice mentioned. Bingham was married to a very charming lady of the Laoretelle family, which gave a couple of historians to France, and I was always received most kindly at their home near the Arc de Triomphe. Moreover, Bingham often took me about with him in my spare time, and introduced me to several prominent people. Later, during the street fighting at the close of the Commune in 1871, we had some dramatic adventures together, and on one occasion Bingham saved my life. The earlier months of 1870 went by very swiftly amidst a multiplicity of interesting events. Emile Ollivier had now become chief Minister, and an era of liberal reforms appeared to have begun. It seemed, moreover, as if the Minister's charming wife were for her part intent on reforming the practices of her sex in regard to dress, for she resolutely set her face against the extravagant toilettes of the ladies of the Court, repeatedly appearing at the Tuileries in the most unassuming attire, which, however, by sheer force of contrast, rendered her very conspicuous there. The patronesses of the great _couturiers_ were quite irate at receiving such a lesson from a _petite bourgeoise_; but all who shared the views expressed by President Dupin a few years previously respecting the "unbridled luxury of women," were naturally delighted. Her husband's attempts at political reform were certainly well meant, but the Republicans regarded him as a renegade and the older Imperialists as an intruder, and nothing that he did gave satisfaction. The concession of the right of public meeting led to frequent disorders at Belleville and Montmartre, and the increased freedom of the Press only acted as an incentive to violence of language. Nevertheless, when there came a Plebiscitum--the last of the reign--to ascertain the country's opinion respecting the reforms devised by the Emperor and Ollivier, a huge majority signified approval of them, and thus the "liberal Empire" seemed to be firmly established. If, however, the nation at large had known what was going on behind the scenes, both in diplomatic and in military spheres, the result of the Plebiscitum would probably have been very different. Already on the morrow of the war between Prussia and Austria (1866) the Emperor, as I previously indicated, had begun to devise a plan of campaign in regard to the former Power, taking as his particular _confidants_ in the matter General Lebrun, his _aide-de-camp_, and General Frossard, the governor of the young Imperial Prince. Marshal Niel, as War Minister, was cognizant of the Emperor's conferences with Lebrun and Frossard, but does not appear to have taken any direct part in the plans which were devised. They were originally purely defensive plans, intended to provide for any invasion of French territory from across the Rhine. Colonel Baron Stoffel, the French military _attaché_ at Berlin, had frequently warned the War Office in Paris respecting the possibility of a Prussian attack and the strength of the Prussian armaments, which, he wrote, would enable King William (with the assistance of the other German rulers) to throw a force of nearly a million men into Alsace-Lorraine. Further, General Ducrot, who commanded the garrison at Strasburg, became acquainted with many things which he communicated to his relative, Baron de Bourgoing, one of the Emperor's equerries. There is no doubt that these various communications reached Napoleon III; and though he may have regarded both the statements of Stoffel and those of Ducrot as exaggerated, he was certainly sufficiently impressed by them to order the preparation of certain plans. Frossard, basing himself on the operations of the Austrians in December, 1793, and keeping in mind the methods by which Hoche, with the Moselle army, and Pichegru, with the Rhine army, forced them back from the French frontier, drafted a scheme of defence in which he foresaw the battle of Wörth, but, through following erroneous information, greatly miscalculated the probable number of combatants. He set forth in his scheme that the Imperial Government could not possibly allow Alsace-Lorraine and Champagne to be invaded without a trial of strength at the very outset; and Marshal Bazaine, who, at some period or other, annotated a copy of Frossard's scheme, signified his approval of that dictum, but added significantly that good tactical measures should be adopted. He himself demurred to Frossard's plans, saying that he was no partisan of a frontal defence, but believed in falling on the enemy's flanks and rear. Yet, as we know, MacMahon fought the battle of Wörth under conditions in many respects similar to those which Frossard had foreseen. However, the purely defensive plans on which Napoleon III at first worked, were replaced in 1868 by offensive ones, in which General Lebrun took a prominent part, both from the military and from the diplomatic standpoints. It was not, however, until March, 1870, that the Archduke Albert of Austria came to Paris to confer with the French Emperor. Lebrun's plan of campaign was discussed by them, and Marshal Le Boeuf and Generals Frossard and Jarras were privy to the negotiations. It was proposed that France, Austria, and Italy should invade Germany conjointly; and, according to Le Boeuf, the first-named Power could place 400,000 men on the frontier in a fortnight's time. Both Austria and Italy, however, required forty-two days to mobilize their forces, though the former offered to provide two army corps during the interval. When Lebrun subsequently went to Vienna to come to a positive decision and arrange details, the Archduke Albert pointed out that the war ought to begin in the spring season, for, said he, the North Germans would be able to support the cold and dampness of a winter campaign far better than the allies. That was an absolutely correct forecast, fully confirmed by all that took place in France during the winter of 1870-1871. But Prussia heard of what was brewing. Austria was betrayed to her by Hungary; and Italy and France could not come to an understanding on the question of Rome. At the outset Prince Napoleon (Jérome) was concerned in the latter negotiations, which were eventually conducted by Count Vimercati, the Italian military _attaché_ in Paris. Napoleon, however, steadily refused to withdraw his forces from the States of the Church and to allow Victor Emmanuel to occupy Rome. Had he yielded on those points Italy would certainly have joined him, and Austria--however much Hungarian statesmen might have disliked it--would, in all probability, have followed suit. By the policy he pursued in this matter, the French Emperor lost everything, and prevented nothing. On the one hand, France was defeated and the Empire of the Bonapartes collapsed; whilst, on the other, Rome became Italy's true capital. Bismarck was in no way inclined to allow the negotiations for an anti-Prussian alliance to mature. They dragged on for a considerable time, but the Government of Napoleon III was not particularly disturbed thereat, as it felt certain that victory would attend the French arms at the outset, and that Italy and Austria would eventually give support. Bismarck, however, precipitated events. Already in the previous year Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen had been a candidate for the throne of Spain. That candidature had been withdrawn in order to avert a conflict between France and Germany; but now it was revived at Bismarck's instigation in order to bring about one. I have said, I think, enough to show--in fairness to Germany--that the war of 1870 was not an unprovoked attack on France. The incidents--such as the Ems affair--which directly led up to it were after all only of secondary importance, although they bulked so largely at the time of their occurrence. I well remember the great excitement which prevailed in Paris during the few anxious days when to the man in the street the question of peace or war seemed to be trembling in the balance, though in reality that question was already virtually decided upon both sides. Judging by all that has been revealed to us during the last forty years, I do not think that M. Emile Ollivier, the Prime Minister, would have been able to modify the decision of the fateful council held at Saint Cloud even if he had attended it. Possessed by many delusions, the bulk of the imperial councillors were too confident of success to draw back, and, besides, Bismarck and Moltke were not disposed to let France draw back. They were ready, and they knew right well that opportunity is a fine thing. It was on July 15 that the Duc de Gramont, the Imperial Minister of Foreign Affairs, read his memorable statement to the Legislative Body, and two days later a formal declaration of war was signed. Paris at once became delirious with enthusiasm, though, as we know by all the telegrams from the Prefects of the departments, the provinces generally desired that peace might be preserved. Resident in Paris, and knowing at that time very little about the rest of France--for I had merely stayed during my summer holidays at such seaside resorts as Trouville, Deauville, Beuzeval, St. Malo, and St. Servan--I undoubtedly caught the Parisian fever, and I dare say that I sometimes joined in the universal chorus of "À Berlin!" Mere lad as I was, in spite of my precocity, I shared also the universal confidence in the French army. In that confidence many English military men participated. Only those who, like Captain Hozier of _The Times_, had closely watched Prussian methods during the Seven Weeks' War in 1866, clearly realized that the North German kingdom possessed a thoroughly well organized fighting machine, led by officers of the greatest ability, and capable of effecting something like a revolution in the art of war. France was currently thought stronger than she really was. Of the good physique of her men there could be no doubt. Everybody who witnessed the great military pageants of those times was impressed by the bearing of the troops and their efficiency under arms. And nobody anticipated that they would be so inferior to the Germans in numbers as proved to be the case, and that the generals would show themselves so inferior in mental calibre to the commanders of the opposing forces. The Paris garrison, it is true, was no real criterion of the French army generally, though foreigners were apt to judge the latter by what they saw of it in the capital. The troops stationed there were mostly picked men, the garrison being very largely composed of the Imperial Guard. The latter always made a brilliant display, not merely by reason of its somewhat showy uniforms, recalling at times those of the First Empire, but also by the men's fine _physique_ and their general military proficiency. They certainly fought well in some of the earlier battles of the war. Their commander was General Bourbaki, a fine soldierly looking man, the grandson of a Greek pilot who acted as intermediary between Napoleon I and his brother Joseph, at the time of the former's expedition to Egypt. It was this original Bourbaki who carried to Napoleon Joseph's secret letters reporting Josephine's misconduct in her husband's absence, misconduct which Napoleon condoned at the time, though it would have entitled him to a divorce nine years before he decided on one. With the spectacle of the Imperial Guard constantly before their eyes, the Parisians of July, 1870, could not believe in the possibility of defeat, and, moreover, at the first moment it was not believed that the Southern German States would join North Germany against France. Napoleon III and his confidential advisers well knew, however, what to think on that point, and the delusions of the man in the street departed when, on July 20, Bavaria, Würtemberg, Baden, and Hesse-Darmstadt announced their intention of supporting Prussia and the North German Confederation. Still, this did not dismay the Parisians, and the shouts of "To Berlin! To Berlin!" were as frequent as ever. It had long been one of my dreams to see and participate in the great drama of war. All boys, I suppose, come into the world with pugnacious instincts. There must be few, too, who never "play at soldiers." My own interest in warfare and soldiering had been steadily fanned from my earliest childhood. In the first place, I had been incessantly confronted by all the scenes of war depicted in the _Illustrated Times_ and the _Illustrated London News_, those journals being posted to me regularly every week whilst I was still only a little chap at Eastbourne. Further, the career of my uncle, Frank Vizetelly, exercised a strange fascination over me. Born in Fleet Street in September, 1830, he was the youngest of my father's three brothers. Educated with Gustave Doré, he became an artist for the illustrated Press, and, in 1850, represented the _Illustrated Times_ as war-artist in Italy, being a part of the time with the French and at other moments with the Sardinian forces. That was the first of his many campaigns. His services being afterwards secured by the _Illustrated London News_, he next accompanied Garibaldi from Palermo to Naples. Then, at the outbreak of the Civil War in the United States, he repaired thither with Howard Russell, and, on finding obstacles placed in his way on the Federal side, travelled "underground" to Richmond and joined the Confederates. The late Duke of Devonshire, the late Lord Wolseley, and Francis Lawley were among his successive companions. At one time he and the first-named shared the same tent and lent socks and shirts to one another. Now and again, however, Frank Vizetelly came to England after running the blockade, stayed a few weeks in London, and then departed for America once more, yet again running the blockade on his way. This he did on at least three occasions. His next campaign was the war of 1866, when he was with the Austrian commander Benedek. For a few years afterwards he remained in London assisting his eldest brother James to run what was probably the first of the society journals, _Echoes of the Clubs_, to which Mortimer Collins and the late Sir Edmund Monson largely contributed. However, Frank Vizetelly went back to America once again, this time with Wolseley on the Red River Expedition. Later, he was with Don Carlos in Spain and with the French in Tunis, whence he proceeded to Egypt. He died on the field of duty, meeting his death when Hicks Pasha's little army was annihilated in the denies of Kashgil, in the Soudan. Now, in the earlier years, when Frank Vizetelly returned from Italy or America, he was often at my father's house at Kensington, and I heard him talk of Napoleon III, MacMahon, Garibaldi, Victor Emmanuel, Cialdini, Robert Lee, Longstreet, Stonewall Jackson, and Captain Semmes. Between-times I saw all the engravings prepared after his sketches, and I regarded him and them with a kind of childish reverence. I can picture him still, a hale, bluff, tall, and burly-looking man, with short dark hair, blue eyes and a big ruddy moustache. He was far away the best known member of our family in my younger days, when anonymity in journalism was an almost universal rule. In the same way, however, as everybody had heard of Howard Russell, the war correspondent of the _Times_, so most people had heard of Frank Vizetelly, the war-artist of the _Illustrated_. He was, by-the-by, in the service of the _Graphic_ when he was killed. I well remember being alternately amused and disgusted by a French theatrical delineation of an English war correspondent, given in a spectacular military piece which I witnessed a short time after my first arrival in Paris. It was called "The Siege of Pekin," and had been concocted by Mocquard, the Emperor Napoleon's secretary. All the "comic business" in the affair was supplied by a so-called war correspondent of the _Times_, who strutted about in a tropical helmet embellished with a green Derby veil, and was provided with a portable desk and a huge umbrella. This red-nosed and red-whiskered individual was for ever talking of having to do this and that for "the first paper of the first country in the world," and, in order to obtain a better view of an engagement, he deliberately planted himself between the French and Chinese combatants. I should doubtless have derived more amusement from his tomfoolery had I not already known that English war correspondents did not behave in any such idiotic manner, and I came away from the performance with strong feelings of resentment respecting so outrageous a caricature of a profession counting among its members the uncle whom I so much admired. Whatever my dreams may have been, I hardly anticipated that I should join that profession myself during the Franco-German war. The Lycées "broke up" in confusion, and my father decided to send me to join my stepmother and the younger members of the family at Saint Servan, it being his intention to go to the front with my elder brother Edward. But Simpson, the veteran Crimean War artist, came over to join the so-called Army of the Rhine, and my brother, securing an engagement from the _New York Times_, set out on his own account. Thus I was promptly recalled to Paris, where my father had decided to remain. In those days the journey from Brittany to the capital took many long and wearisome hours, and I made it in a third-class carriage of a train crowded with soldiers of all arms, cavalry, infantry, and artillery. Most of them were intoxicated, and the grossness of their language and manners was almost beyond belief. That dreadful night spent on the boards of a slowly-moving and jolting train, [There were then no cushioned seats in French third-class carriages.] amidst drunken and foul-mouthed companions, gave me, as it were, a glimpse of the other side of the picture--that is, of several things which lie behind the glamour of war. It must have been about July 25 when I returned to Paris. A decree had just been issued appointing the Empress as Regent in the absence of the Emperor, who was to take command of the Army of the Rhine. It had originally been intended that there should be three French armies, but during the conferences with Archduke Albert in the spring, that plan was abandoned in favour of one sole army under the command of Napoleon III. The idea underlying the change was to avoid a superfluity of staff-officers, and to augment the number of actual combatants. Both Le Boeuf and Lebrun approved of the alteration, and this would seem to indicate that there were already misgivings on the French side in regard to the inferior strength of their effectives. The army was divided into eight sections, that is, seven army corps, and the Imperial Guard. Bourbaki, as already mentioned, commanded the Guard, and at the head of the army corps were (1) MacMahon, (2) Frossard, (3) Bazaine, (4) Ladmerault, (5) Failly, (6) Canrobert, and (7) Félix Douay. Both Frossard and Failly, however, were at first made subordinate to Bazaine. The head of the information service was Colonel Lewal, who rose to be a general and Minister of War under the Republic, and who wrote some commendable works on tactics; and immediately under him were Lieut.-Colonel Fay, also subsequently a well-known general, and Captain Jung, who is best remembered perhaps by his inquiries into the mystery of the Man with the Iron Mask. I give those names because, however distinguished those three men may have become in later years, the French intelligence service at the outset of the war was without doubt extremely faulty, and responsible for some of the disasters which occurred. On returning to Paris one of my first duties was to go in search of Moulin, the detective-artist whom I mentioned in my first chapter. I found him in his somewhat squalid home in the Quartier Mouffetard, surrounded by a tribe of children, and he immediately informed me that he was one of the "agents" appointed to attend the Emperor on the campaign. The somewhat lavish Imperial _équipage_, on which Zola so frequently dilated in "The Downfall," had, I think, already been despatched to Metz, where the Emperor proposed to fix his headquarters, and the escort of Cent Gardes was about to proceed thither. Moulin told me, however, that he and two of his colleagues were to travel in the same train as Napoleon, and it was agreed that he should forward either to Paris or to London, as might prove most convenient, such sketches as he might from time to time contrive to make. He suggested that there should be one of the Emperor's departure from Saint Cloud, and that in order to avoid delay I should accompany him on the occasion and take it from him. We therefore went down together on July 28, promptly obtained admittance to the château, where Moulin took certain instructions, and then repaired to the railway-siding in the park, whence the Imperial train was to start. Officers and high officials, nearly all in uniform, were constantly going to and fro between the siding and the château, and presently the Imperial party appeared, the Emperor being between the Empress and the young Imperial Prince. Quite a crowd of dignitaries followed. I do not recollect seeing Emile Ollivier, though he must have been present, but I took particular note of Rouher, the once all-powerful minister, currently nicknamed the Vice-Emperor, and later President of the Senate. In spite of his portliness, he walked with a most determined stride, held his head very erect, and spoke in his customary loud voice. The Emperor, who wore the undress uniform of a general, looked very grave and sallow. The disease which eventually ended in his death had already become serious, [I have given many particulars of it in my two books, "The Court of the Tuileries, 1862-1870" (Chatto and Windus), and "Republican France, 1870-1912" (Holden and Hardingham).] and only a few days later, that is, during the Saarbrucken affair (August 2), he was painfully affected by it. Nevertheless, he had undertaken to command the Army of France! The Imperial Prince, then fourteen years of age, was also in uniform, it having been arranged that he should accompany his father to the front, and he seemed to be extremely animated and restless, repeatedly turning to exchange remarks with one or another officer near him. The Empress, who was very simply gowned, smiled once or twice in response to some words which fell from her husband, but for the most part she looked as serious as he did. Whatever Emile Ollivier may have said about beginning this war with a light heart, it is certain that these two sovereigns of France realized, at that hour of parting, the magnitude of the issues at stake. After they had exchanged a farewell kiss, the Empress took her eager young son in her arms and embraced him fondly, and when we next saw her face we could perceive the tears standing in her eyes. The Emperor was already taking his seat and the boy speedily sprang after him. Did the Empress at that moment wonder when, where, and how she would next see them again? Perchance she did. Everything, however, was speedily in readiness for departure. As the train began to move, both the Emperor and the Prince waved their hands from the windows, whilst all the enthusiastic Imperial dignitaries flourished their hats and raised a prolonged cry of "Vive l'Empereur!" It was not, perhaps, so loud as it might have been; but, then, they were mostly elderly men. Moulin, during the interval, had contrived to make something in the nature of a thumb-nail sketch; I had also taken a few notes myself; and thus provided I hastened back to Paris. III ON THE ROAD TO REVOLUTION First French Defeats--A Great Victory rumoured--The Marseillaise, Capoul and Marie Sass--Edward Vizetelly brings News of Forbach to Paris--Emile Ollivier again--His Fall from Power--Cousin Montauban, Comte de Palikao-- English War Correspondents in Paris--Gambetta calls me "a Little Spy"-- More French Defeats--Palikao and the Defence of Paris--Feats of a Siege-- Wounded returning from the Front--Wild Reports of French Victories--The Quarries of Jaumont--The Anglo-American Ambulance--The News of Sedan-- Sala's Unpleasant Adventure--The Fall of the Empire. It was, I think, two days after the Emperor's arrival at Metz that the first Germans--a detachment of Badeners--entered French territory. Then, on the second of August came the successful French attack on Saarbrucken, a petty affair but a well-remembered one, as it was on this occasion that the young Imperial Prince received the "baptism of fire." Appropriately enough, the troops, whose success he witnessed, were commanded by his late governor, General Frossard. More important was the engagement at Weissenburg two days later, when a division of the French under General Abel Douay was surprised by much superior forces, and utterly overwhelmed, Douay himself being killed during the fighting. Yet another two days elapsed, and then the Crown Prince of Prussia--later the Emperor Frederick--routed MacMahon at Wörth, in spite of a vigorous resistance, carried on the part of the French Cuirassiers, under General the Vicomte de Bonnemains, to the point of heroism. In later days the general's son married a handsome and wealthy young lady of the bourgeoisie named Marguerite Crouzet, whom, however, he had to divorce, and who afterwards became notorious as the mistress of General Boulanger. Curiously enough, on the very day of the disaster of Wörth a rumour of a great French victory spread through Paris. My father had occasion to send me to his bankers in the Rue Vivienne, and on making my way to the Boulevards, which I proposed to follow, I was amazed to see the shopkeepers eagerly setting up the tricolour flags which they habitually displayed on the Emperor's fête-day (August 15). Nobody knew exactly how the rumours of victory had originated, nobody could give any precise details respecting the alleged great success, but everybody believed in it, and the enthusiasm was universal. It was about the middle of the day when I repaired to the Rue Vivienne, and after transacting my business there, I turned into the Place de la Bourse, where a huge crowd was assembled. The steps of the exchange were also covered with people, and amidst a myriad eager gesticulations a perfect babel of voices was ascending to the blue sky. One of the green omnibuses, which in those days ran from the Bourse to Passy, was waiting on the square, unable to depart owing to the density of the crowd; and all at once, amidst a scene of great excitement and repeated shouts of "La Marseillaise!" "La Marseillaise!" three or four well-dressed men climbed on to the vehicle, and turning towards the mob of speculators and sightseers covering the steps of the Bourse, they called to them repeatedly: "Silence! Silence!" The hubbub slightly subsided, and thereupon one of the party on the omnibus, a good-looking slim young fellow with a little moustache, took off his hat, raised his right arm, and began to sing the war-hymn of the Revolution. The stanza finished, the whole assembly took up the refrain. Since the days of the Coup d'État, the Marseillaise had been banned in France, the official imperial air being "Partant pour la Syrie," a military march composed by the Emperor's mother, Queen Hortense, with words by Count Alexandre de Laborde, who therein pictured a handsome young knight praying to the Blessed Virgin before his departure for Palestine, and soliciting of her benevolence that he might "prove to be the bravest brave, and love the fairest fair." During the twenty years of the third Napoleon's rule, Paris had heard the strains of "Partant pour la Syrie" many thousand times, and, though they were tuneful enough, had become thoroughly tired of them. To stimulate popular enthusiasm in the war the Ollivier Cabinet had accordingly authorized the playing and singing of the long-forbidden "Marseillaise," which, although it was well-remembered by the survivors of '48, and was hummed even by the young Republicans of Belleville and the Quartier Latin, proved quite a novelty to half the population, who were destined to hear it again and again and again from that period until the present time. The young vocalist who sang it from the top of a Passy-Bourse omnibus on that fateful day of Wörth, claimed to be a tenor, but was more correctly a tenorino, his voice possessing far more sweetness than power. He was already well-known and popular, for he had taken the part of Romeo in Gounod's well-known opera based on the Shakespearean play. Like many another singer, Victor Capoul might have become forgotten before very long, but a curious circumstance, having nothing to do with vocalism, diffused and perpetuated his name. He adopted a particular way of dressing his hair, "plastering" a part of it down in a kind of semi-circle over the forehead; and the new style "catching on" among young Parisians, the "coiffure Capoul" eventually went round the world. It is exemplified in certain portraits of King George V. In those war-days Capoul sang the "Marseillaise" either at the Opéra Comique or the Théâtre Lyrique; but at the Opera it was sung by Marie Sass, then at the height of her reputation. I came in touch with her a few years later when she was living in the Paris suburbs, and more than once, when we both travelled to the city in the same train, I had the honour of assisting her to alight from it--this being no very easy matter, as la Sass was the very fattest and heaviest of all the _prime donne_ that I have ever seen. On the same day that MacMahon was defeated at Wörth, Frossard was badly beaten at Forbach, an engagement witnessed by my elder brother Edward, [Born January 1, 1847, and therefore in 1870 in his twenty-fourth year.] who, as I previously mentioned, had gone to the front for an American journal. Finding it impossible to telegraph the news of this serious French reverse, he contrived to make his way to Paris on a locomotive- engine, and arrived at our flat in the Rue de Miromesnil looking as black as any coal-heaver. When he had handed his account of the affair to Ryan, the Paris representative of the _New York Times_, it was suggested that his information might perhaps be useful to the French Minister of War. So he hastened to the Ministry, where the news he brought put a finishing touch to the dismay of the officials, who were already staggering under the first news of the disaster of Wörth. Paris, jubilant over an imaginary victory, was enraged by the tidings of Wörth and Forbach. Already dreading some Revolutionary enterprise, the Government declared the city to be in a state of siege, thereby placing it under military authority. Although additional men had recently been enrolled in the National Guard the arming of them had been intentionally delayed, precisely from a fear of revolutionary troubles, which the _entourage_ of the Empress-Regent at Saint Cloud feared from the very moment of the first defeats. I recollect witnessing on the Place Venddme one day early in August a very tumultuous gathering of National Guards who had flocked thither in order to demand weapons of the Prime Minister, that is, Emile Ollivier, who in addition to the premiership, otherwise the "Presidency of the Council," held the offices of Keeper of the Seals and Minister of Justice, this department then having its offices in one of the buildings of the Place Vendôme. Ollivier responded to the demonstration by appearing on the balcony of his private room and delivering a brief speech, which, embraced a vague promise to comply with the popular demand. In point of fact, however, nothing of the kind was done during his term of office. Whilst writing these lines I hear that this much-abused statesman has just passed away at Saint Gervais-les-Bains in Upper Savoy (August 20, 1913). Born at Marseilles in July, 1825, he lived to complete his eighty-eighth year. His second wife (née Gravier), to whom I referred in a previous chapter, survives him. I do not wish to be unduly hard on his memory. He came, however, of a very Republican family, and in his earlier years he personally evinced what seemed to be most staunch Republicanism. When he was first elected as a member of the Legislative Body in 1857, he publicly declared that he would appear before that essentially Bonapartist assembly as one of the spectres of the crime of the Coup d'Etat. But subsequently M. de Morny baited him with a lucrative appointment connected with the Suez Canal. Later still, the Empress smiled on him, and finally he took office under the Emperor, thereby disgusting nearly every one of his former friends and associates. I believe, however, that Ollivier was sincerely convinced of the possibility of firmly establishing a liberal-imperialist _regime_. But although various reforms were carried out under his auspices, it is quite certain that he was not allowed a perfectly free hand. Nor was he fully taken into confidence with respect to the Emperor's secret diplomatic and military policy. That was proved by the very speech in which he spoke of entering upon the war with Prussia "with a light heart"; for in his very next sentences he spoke of that war as being absolutely forced upon France, and of himself and his colleagues as having done all that was humanly and honourably possible to avoid it. Assuredly he would not have spoken quite as he did had he realized at the time that Bismarck had merely forced on the war in order to defeat the Emperor Napoleon's intention to invade Germany in the ensuing spring. The public provocation on Prussia's part was, as I previously showed, merely her reply to the secret provocation offered by France, as evidenced by all the negotiations with Archduke Albert on behalf of Austria, and with Count Vimercati on behalf of Italy. On all those matters Ollivier was at the utmost but very imperfectly informed. Finally, be it remembered that he was absent from the Council at Saint Cloud at which war was finally decided upon. At a very early hour on the morning of Sunday, August 7--the day following Wörth and Forbach--the Empress Eugénie came in all haste and sore distress from Saint Cloud to the Tuileries. The position was very serious, and anxious conferences were held by the ministers. When the Legislative Body met on the morrow, a number of deputies roundly denounced the manner in which the military operations were being conducted. One deputy, a certain Guyot-Montpeyroux, who was well known for the outspokenness of his language, horrified the more devoted Imperialists by describing the French forces as an army of lions led by jackasses. On the following day Ollivier and his colleagues resigned office. Their position had become untenable, though little if any responsibility attached to them respecting the military operations. The Minister of War, General Dejean, had been merely a stop-gap, appointed to carry out the measures agreed upon before his predecessor, Marshal Le Boeuf, had gone to the front as Major General of the army. It was felt; however, among the Empress's _entourage_ that the new Prime Minister ought to be a military man of energy, devoted, moreover, to the Imperial _régime_. As the marshals and most of the conspicuous generals of the time were already serving in the field, it was difficult to find any prominent individual possessed of the desired qualifications. Finally, however, the Empress was prevailed upon to telegraph to an officer whom she personally disliked, this being General Cousin-Montauban, Comte de Palikao. He was certainly, and with good reason, devoted to the Empire, and in the past he had undoubtedly proved himself to be a man of energy. But he was at this date in his seventy-fifth year--a fact often overlooked by historians of the Franco-German war--and for that very reason, although he had solicited a command in the field at the first outbreak of hostilities, it had been decided to decline his application, and to leave him at Lyons, where he had commanded the garrison for five years past. Thirty years of Palikao's life had been spent in Algeria, contending, during most of that time, against the Arabs; but in 1860 he had been appointed commander of the French expedition to China, where with a small force he had conducted hostilities with the greatest vigour, repeatedly decimating or scattering the hordes of Chinamen who were opposed to him, and, in conjunction with the English, victoriously taking Pekin. A kind of stain rested on the expedition by reason of the looting of the Chinese Emperor's summer-palace, but the entire responsibility of that affair could not be cast on the French commander, as he only continued and completed what the English began. On his return to France, Napoleon III created him Comte de Palikao (the name being taken from one of his Chinese victories), and in addition wished the Legislative Body to grant him a _dotation_. However, the summer-palace looting scandal prevented this, much to the Emperor's annoyance, and subsequent to the fall of the Empire it was discovered that, by Napoleon's express orders, the War Ministry had paid Palikao a sum of about £60,000, diverting that amount of money (in accordance with the practices of the time) from the purpose originally assigned to it in the Estimates. This was not generally known when Palikao became Chief Minister. He was then what might be called a very well preserved old officer, but his lungs had been somewhat affected by a bullet-wound of long standing, and this he more than once gave as a reason for replying with the greatest brevity to interpellations in the Chamber. Moreover, as matters went from bad to worse, this same lung trouble became a good excuse for preserving absolute silence on certain inconvenient occasions. When, however, Palikao was willing to speak he often did so untruthfully, repeatedly adding the _suggestio falsi_ to the _suppressio veri_. As a matter of fact, he, like other fervent partisans of the dynasty, was afraid to let the Parisians know the true state of affairs. Besides, he himself was often ignorant of it. He took office (he was the third War Minister in fifty days) without any knowledge whatever of the imperial plan of campaign, or the steps to be adopted in the event of further French reverses, and a herculean task lay before this septuagenarian officer, who by experience knew right well how to deal with Arabs and Chinamen, but had never had to contend with European troops. Nevertheless, he displayed zeal and activity in his new semi-political and semi-military position. He greatly assisted MacMahon to reconstitute his army at Châlons, he planned the organization of three more army corps, and he started on the work of placing Paris in a state of defence, whilst his colleague, Clément Duvernois, the new Minister of Commerce, began gathering flocks and herds together, in order that the city, if besieged, might have the necessary means of subsistence. At this time there were quite a number of English "war" as well as "own" correspondents in Paris. The former had mostly returned from Metz, whither they had repaired at the time of the Emperor's departure for the front. At the outset it had seemed as though the French would allow foreign journalists to accompany them on their "promenade to Berlin," but, on reverses setting in, all official recognition was denied to newspaper men, and, moreover, some of the representatives of the London Press had a very unpleasant time at Metz, being arrested there as spies and subjected to divers indignities. I do not remember whether they were ordered back to Paris or whether they voluntarily withdrew to the capital on their position with the army becoming untenable; but in any case they arrived in the city and lingered there for a time, holding daily symposiums at the Grand Café at the corner of the Ruè Scribe, on the Boulevards. From time to time I went there with my father, and amongst, this galaxy of journalistic talent I met certain men with whom I had spoken in my childhood. One of them, for instance, was George Augustus Sala, and another was Henry Mayhew, the famous author of "London Labour and the London Poor," he being accompanied by his son Athol. Looking back, it seems to me that, in spite of all their brilliant gifts, neither Sala nor Henry Mayhew was fitted to be a correspondent in the field, and they were certainly much better placed in Paris than at the headquarters of the Army of the Rhine. Among the resident correspondents who attended the gatherings at the Grand Café were Captain Bingham, Blanchard (son of Douglas) Jerrold, and the jaunty Bower, who had once been tried for his life and acquitted by virtue of the "unwritten law" in connection with an _affaire passíonelle_ in which he was the aggrieved party. For more than forty years past, whenever I have seen a bluff looking elderly gentleman sporting a buff-waistcoat and a white-spotted blue necktie, I have instinctively thought of Bower, who wore such a waistcoat and such a necktie, with the glossiest of silk hats and most shapely of patent-leather boots, throughout the siege of Paris, when he was fond of dilating on the merits of boiled ostrich and stewed elephant's foot, of which expensive dainties he partook at his club, after the inmates of the Jardin des Plantes had been slaughtered. Bower represented the _Morning Advertiser_. I do not remember seeing Bowes of the _Standard_ at the gatherings I have referred to, or Crawford of the _Daily News_, who so long wrote his Paris letters at a little café fronting the Bourse. But it was certainly at the Grand Café that I first set eyes on Labouchere, who, like Sala, was installed at the neighbouring Grand Hotel, and was soon to become famous as the _Daily News_' "Besieged Resident." As for Mr. Thomas Gibson Bowles, who represented the _Morning Post_ during the German Siege, I first set eyes on him at the British Embassy, when he had a beautiful little moustache (which I greatly envied) and wore his hair nicely parted down the middle. _Eheu! fugaces labuntur anni_. Sala was the life and soul of those gatherings at the Grand Café, always exuberantly gay, unless indeed the conversation turned on the prospects of the French forces, when he railed at them without ceasing. Blanchard Jerrold, who was well acquainted with the spy system of the Empire, repeatedly warned Sala to be cautious--but in vain; and the eventual result of his outspokenness was a very unpleasant adventure on the eve of the Empire's fall. In the presence of all those distinguished men of the pen, I myself mostly preserved, as befitted my age, a very discreet silence, listening intently, but seldom opening my lips unless it were to accept or refuse another cup of coffee, or some _sirop de groseille_ or _grenadine_. I never touched any intoxicant excepting claret at my meals, and though, in my Eastbourne days, I had, like most boys of my time, experimented with a clay pipe and some dark shag, I did not smoke. My father personally was extremely fond of cigars, but had he caught me smoking one, he would, I believe, have knocked me down. In connection with those Grand Café gatherings I one day had a little adventure. It had been arranged that I should meet my father there, and turning into the Boulevards from the Madeleine I went slowly past what was then called the Rue Basse du Rempart. I was thinking of something or other--I do not remember what, but in any case I was absorbed in thought, and inadvertently I dogged the footsteps of two black-coated gentlemen who were deep in conversation. I was almost unconscious of their presence, and in any case I did not hear a word of what they were saying. But all at once one of them turned round, and said to me angrily: "Veux-tu bien t'en aller, petit espion!" otherwise: "Be off, little spy!" I woke up as it were, looked at him, and to my amazement recognized Gambetta, whom I had seen several times already, when I was with my mentor Brossard at either the Café de Suède or the Café de Madrid. At the same time, however, his companion also turned round, and proved to be Jules Simon, who knew me through a son of his. This was fortunate, for he immediately exclaimed: "Why, no! It is young Vizetelly, a friend of my son's," adding, "Did you wish to speak to me?" I replied in the negative, saying that I had not even recognized him from behind, and trying to explain that it was purely by chance that I had been following him and M. Gambetta. "You know me, then?" exclaimed the future dictator somewhat sharply; whereupon I mentioned that he had been pointed out to me more than once, notably when he was in the company of M. Delescluze. "Ah, oui, fort bien," he answered. "I am sorry if I spoke as I did. But"--and here he turned to Simon--"one never knows, one can never take too many precautions. The Spaniard would willingly send both of us to Mazas." By "the Spaniard," of course, he meant the Empress Eugénie, just as people meant Marie-Antoinette when they referred to "the Austrian" during the first Revolution. That ended the affair. They both shook hands with me, I raised my hat, and hurried on to the Grand Café, leaving them to their private conversation. This was the first time that I ever exchanged words with Gambetta. The incident must have occurred just after his return from Switzerland, whither he had repaired fully anticipating the triumph of the French arms, returning, however, directly he heard of the first disasters. Simon and he were naturally drawn together by their opposition to the Empire, but they were men of very different characters, and some six months later they were at daggers drawn. Events moved rapidly during Palikao's ministry. Reviving a former proposition of Jules Favre's, Gambetta proposed to the Legislative Body the formation of a Committee of National Defence, and one was ultimately appointed; but the only member of the Opposition included in it was Thiers. In the middle of August there were some revolutionary disturbances at La Villette. Then, after the famous conference at Châlons, where Rouher, Prince Napoleon, and others discussed the situation with the Emperor and MacMahon, Trochu was appointed Military Governor of Paris, where he soon found himself at loggerheads with Palikao. Meantime, the French under Bazaine, to whom the Emperor was obliged to relinquish the supreme command--the Opposition deputies particularly insisting on Bazaine's appointment in his stead--were experiencing reverse after reverse. The battle of Courcelles or Pange, on August 14, was followed two days later by that of Vionville or Mars-la-Tour, and, after yet another two days, came the great struggle of Gravelotte, and Bazaine was thrown back on Metz. At the Châlons conference it had been decided that the Emperor should return to Paris and that MacMahon's army also should retreat towards the capital. But Palikao telegraphed to Napoleon: "If you abandon Bazaine there will be Revolution in Paris, and you yourself will be attacked by all the enemy's forces. Paris will defend herself from all assault from outside. The fortifications are completed." It has been argued that the plan to save Bazaine might have succeeded had it been immediately carried into effect, and in accordance, too, with Palikao's ideas; but the original scheme was modified, delay ensued, and the French were outmarched by the Germans, who came up with them at Sedan. As for Palikao's statement that the Paris fortifications were completed at the time when he despatched his telegram, that was absolutely untrue. The armament of the outlying forts had scarcely begun, and not a single gun was in position on any one of the ninety-five bastions of the ramparts. On the other hand, Palikao was certainly doing all he could for the city. He had formed the aforementioned Committee of Defence, and under his auspices the fosse or ditch in front of the ramparts was carried across the sixty-nine roads leading into Paris, whilst drawbridges were installed on all these points, with armed lunettes in front of them. Again, redoubts were thrown up in advance of some of the outlying forts, or on spots where breaks occurred in the chain of defensive works. At the same time, ships' guns were ordered up from Cherbourg, Brest, Lorient, and Toulon, together with naval gunners to serve them. Sailors, customhouse officers, and provincial gendarmes were also conveyed to Paris in considerable numbers. Gardes-mobiles, francs-tireurs, and even firemen likewise came from the provinces, whilst the work of provisioning the city proceeded briskly, the Chamber never hesitating to vote all the money asked of it. At the same time, whilst there were many new arrivals in Paris, there were also many departures from the city. The general fear of a siege spread rapidly. Every day thousands of well-to-do middle-class folk went off in order to place themselves out of harm's way; and at the same time thousands of foreigners were expelled on the ground that, in the event of a siege occurring, they would merely be "useless mouths." In contrast with that exodus was the great inrush of people from the suburbs of Paris. They poured into the city unceasingly, from villas, cottages, and farms, employing every variety of vehicle to convey their furniture and other household goods, their corn, flour, wine, and other produce. There was a block at virtually every city gate, so many were the folk eager for shelter within the protecting ramparts raised at the instigation of Thiers some thirty years previously. In point of fact, although the Germans were not yet really marching on Paris--for Bazaine's army had to be bottled up, and MacMahon's disposed of, before there could be an effective advance on the French capital--it was imagined in the city and its outskirts that the enemy might arrive at any moment. The general alarm was intensified when, on the night of August 21, a large body of invalided men, who had fought at Weissenburg or Worth, made their way into Paris, looking battle and travel-stained, some with their heads bandaged, others with their arms in slings, and others limping along with the help of sticks. It is difficult to conceive by what aberration the authorities allowed the Parisians to obtain that woeful glimpse of the misfortunes of France. The men in question ought never to have been sent to Paris at all. They might well have been cared for elsewhere. As it happened, the sorry sight affected all who beheld it. Some were angered by it, others depressed, and others well-nigh terrified. As a kind of set-off, however, to that gloomy spectacle, fresh rumours of French successes began to circulate. There was a report that Bazaine's army had annihilated the whole of Prince Frederick-Charles's cavalry, and, in particular, there was a most sensational account of how three German army-corps, including the famous white Cuirassiers to which Bismarck belonged, had been tumbled into the "Quarries of Jaumont" and there absolutely destroyed! I will not say that there is no locality named Jaumont, but I cannot find any such place mentioned in Joanne's elaborate dictionary of the communes of France, and possibly it was as mythical as was the alleged German disaster, the rumours of which momentarily revived the spirits of the deluded Parisians, who were particularly pleased to think that the hated Bismarck's regiment had been annihilated. On or about August 30, a friend of my eldest brother Adrian, a medical man named Blewitt, arrived in Paris with the object of joining an Anglo-American ambulance which was being formed in connection with the Red Cross Society. Dr. Blewitt spoke a little French, but he was not well acquainted with the city, and I was deputed to assist him whilst he remained there. An interesting account of the doings of the ambulance in question was written some sixteen or seventeen years ago by Dr. Charles Edward Ryan, of Glenlara, Tipperary, who belonged to it. Its head men were Dr. Marion-Sims and Dr. Frank, others being Dr. Ryan, as already mentioned, and Drs. Blewitt, Webb, May, Nicholl, Hayden, Howett, Tilghmann, and last but not least, the future Sir William MacCormack. Dr. Blewitt had a variety of business to transact with the officials of the French Red Cross Society, and I was with him at his interviews with its venerable-looking President, the Count de Flavigny, and others. It is of interest to recall that at the outbreak of the war the society's only means was an income of £5 6_s._ 3_d._, but that by August 28 its receipts had risen to nearly £112,000. By October it had expended more than £100,000 in organizing thirty-two field ambulances. Its total outlay during the war exceeded half a million sterling, and in its various field, town, and village ambulances no fewer than 110,000 men were succoured and nursed. In Paris the society's headquarters were established at the Palace de l'Industrie in the Champs Elysées, and among the members of its principal committee were several ladies of high rank. I well remember seeing there that great leader of fashion, the Marquise de Galliffet, whose elaborate ball gowns I had more than once admired at Worth's, but who, now that misfortune had fallen upon France, was, like all her friends, very plainly garbed in black. At the Palais de l'Industrie I also found Mme. de MacMahon, short and plump, but full of dignity and energy, as became a daughter of the Castries. I remember a brief address which she delivered to the Anglo-American Ambulance on the day when it quitted Paris, and in which she thanked its members for their courage and devotion in coming forward, and expressed her confidence, and that of all her friends, in the kindly services which they would undoubtedly bestow upon every sufferer who came under their care. I accompanied the ambulance on its march through Paris to the Eastern Hallway Station. When it was drawn up outside the Palais de l'Industrie, Count de Flavigny in his turn made a short but feeling speech, and immediately afterwards the _cortége_ started. At the head of it were three young ladies, the daughters of Dr. Marion-Sims, who carried respectively the flags of France, England, and the United States. Then came the chief surgeons, the assistant-surgeons, the dressers and male nurses, with some waggons of stores bringing up the rear. I walked, I remember, between Dr. Blewitt and Dr. May. On either side of the procession were members of the Red Cross Society, carrying sticks or poles tipped with collection bags, into which money speedily began to rain. We crossed the Place de la Concorde, turned up the Rue Royale, and then followed the main Boulevards as far, I think, as the Boulevard de Strasbourg. There were crowds of people on either hand, and our progress was necessarily slow, as it was desired to give the onlookers full time to deposit their offerings in the collection-bags. From the Cercle Impérial at the corner of the Champs Elysées, from the Jockey Club, the Turf Club, the Union, the Chemins-de- Fer, the Ganaches, and other clubs on or adjacent to the Boulevards, came servants, often in liveries, bearing with them both bank-notes and gold. Everybody seemed anxious to give something, and an official of the society afterwards told me that the collection had proved the largest it had ever made. There was also great enthusiasm all along the line of route, cries of "Vivent les Anglais! Vivent les Américains!" resounding upon every side. The train by which the ambulance quitted Paris did not start until a very late hour in the evening. Prior to its departure most of us dined at a restaurant near the railway-station. No little champagne was consumed at this repast, and, unaccustomed as I was to the sparkling wine of the Marne, it got, I fear, slightly into my head. However, my services as interpreter were requisitioned more than once by some members of the ambulance in connection with certain inquiries which they wished to make of the railway officials; and I recollect that when some question arose of going in and out of the station, and reaching the platform again without let or hindrance--the departure of the train being long delayed--the _sous-chef de gare_ made me a most courteous bow, and responded: "À vous, messieurs, tout est permis. There are no regulations for you!" At last the train started, proceeding on its way to Soissons, where it arrived at daybreak on August 29, the ambulance then hastening to join MacMahon, and reaching him just in time to be of good service at Sedan. I will only add here that my friend Dr. Blewitt was with Dr. Frank at Balan and Bazeilles, where the slaughter was so terrible. The rest of the ambulance's dramatic story must be read in Dr. Ryan's deeply interesting pages. Whilst the Parisians were being beguiled with stories of how the Prince of Saxe-Meiningen had written to his wife telling her that the German troops were suffering terribly from sore feet, the said troops were in point of fact lustily outmarching MacMahon's forces. On August 30, General de Failly was badly worsted at Beaumont, and on the following day MacMahon was forced to move on Sedan. The first reports which reached Paris indicated, as usual, very favourable results respecting the contest there. My friend Captain Bingham, however, obtained some correct information-- from, I believe, the British Embassy--and I have always understood that it was he who first made the terrible truth known to one of the deputies of the Opposition party, who hastened to convey it to Thiers. The battle of Sedan was fought on Thursday, September 1; but it was only on Saturday, September 3, that Palikao shadowed forth the disaster in the Chamber, stating that MacMahon had failed to effect a junction with Bazaine, and that, after alternate reverses and successes--that is, driving a part of the German army into the Meuse!--he had been obliged to retreat on Sedan and Mézières, some portion of his forces, moreover, having been compelled to cross the Belgian frontier. That tissue of inaccuracies, devised perhaps to palliate the effect of the German telegrams of victory which were now becoming known to the incredulous Parisians, was torn to shreds a few hours later when the Legislative Body assembled for a night-sitting. Palikao was then obliged to admit that the French army and the Emperor Napoleon had surrendered to the victorious German force. Jules Favre, who was the recognized leader of the Republican Opposition, thereupon brought forward a motion of dethronement, proposing that the executive authority should be vested in a parliamentary committee. In accordance with the practice of the Chamber, Farve's motion had to be referred to its _bureaux_, or ordinary committees, and thus no decision was arrived at that night, it being agreed that the Chamber should reassemble on the morrow at noon. The deputies separated at a very late hour. My father and myself were among all the anxious people who had assembled on the Place de la Concorde to await the issue of the debate. Wild talk was heard on every side, imprecations were levelled at the Empire, and it was already suggested that the country had been sold to the foreigner. At last, as the crowd became extremely restless, the authorities, who had taken their precautions in consequence of the revolutionary spirit which was abroad, decided to disperse it. During the evening a considerable body of mounted Gardes de Paris had been stationed in or near the Palais de l'Industrie, and now, on instructions being conveyed to their commander, they suddenly cantered down the Champs Elysées and cleared the square, chasing people round and round the fountains and the seated statues of the cities of France, until they fled by way either of the quays, the Rue de Rivoti, or the Rue Royale. The vigour which the troops displayed did not seem of good augury for the adversaries of the Empire. Without a doubt Revolution was already in the air, but everything indicated that the authorities were quite prepared to contend with it, and in all probability successfully. It was with difficulty that my father and myself contrived to avoid the troopers and reach the Avenue Gabriel, whence we made our way home. Meantime there had been disturbances in other parts of Paris. On the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle a band of demonstrators had come into collision with the police, who had arrested several of them. Thus, as I have already mentioned, the authorities seemed to be as vigilant and as energetic as ever. But, without doubt, on that night of Saturday, September 3, the secret Republican associations were very active, sending the _mot d'ordre_ from one to another part of the city, so that all might be ready for Revolution when the Legislative Body assembled on the morrow. It was on this same last night of the Empire that George Augustus Sala met with the very unpleasant adventure to which I previously referred. During the evening he went as usual to the Grand Café, and meeting Blanchard Jerrold there, he endeavoured to induce him to go to supper at the Café du Helder. Sala being in an even more talkative mood than usual, and--now that he had heard of the disaster of Sedan--more than ever inclined to express his contempt of the French in regard to military matters, Jerrold declined the invitation, fearing, as he afterwards said to my father in my presence, that some unpleasantness might well ensue, as Sala, in spite of all remonstrances, would not cease "gassing." Apropos of that expression, it is somewhat amusing to recall that Sala at one time designed for himself an illuminated visiting-card, on which appeared his initials G. A. S. in letters of gold, the A being intersected by a gas-lamp diffusing many vivid rays of light, whilst underneath it was a scroll bearing the appropriate motto, "Dux est Lux." But, to return to my story, Jerrold having refused the invitation; Sala repaired alone to the Café du Helder, an establishment which in those imperial times was particularly patronized by officers of the Paris garrison and officers from the provinces on leave. It was the height of folly for anybody to "run down" the French army in such a place, unless, indeed, he wished to have a number of duels on his hands. It is true that on the night of September 3, there may have been few, if any, military men at the Helder. Certain it is, however, that whilst Sala was supping in the principal room upstairs, he entered into conversation with other people, spoke incautiously, as he had been doing for a week past, and on departing from the establishment was summarily arrested and conveyed to the Poste de Police on the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle. The cells there were already more or less crowded with roughs who had been arrested during the disturbance earlier in the evening, and when a police official thrust Sala into their midst, at the same time calling him a vile Prussian spy, the patriotism of the other prisoners was immediately aroused, though, for the most part, they were utter scamps who had only created a disturbance for the purpose of filling their pockets. Sala was subjected not merely to much ill-treatment, but also to indignities which only Rabelais or Zola could have (in different ways) adequately described; and it was not until the morning that he was able to communicate with the manager of the Grand Hotel, where he had his quarters. The manager acquainted the British Embassy with his predicament, and it was, I think, Mr. Sheffield who repaired to the Préfecture de Police to obtain an order for Sala's liberation. The story told me at the time was that Lord Lyons's representative found matters already in great confusion at the Préfecture. There had been a stampede of officials, scarcely any being at their posts, in such wise that he made his way to the Prefect's sanctum unannounced. There he found M. Piétri engaged with a confidential acolyte in destroying a large number of compromising papers, emptying boxes and pigeon-holes in swift succession, and piling their contents on an already huge fire, which was stirred incessantly in order that it might burn more swiftly. Piétri only paused in his task in order to write an order for Sala's release, and I have always understood that this was the last official order that emanated from the famous Prefect of the Second Empire. It is true that he presented himself at the Tuileries before he fled to Belgium, but the Empress, as we know, was averse from any armed conflict with the population of Paris. As a matter of fact, the Prefecture had spent its last strength during the night of September 3. Disorganized as it was on the morning of the 4th, it could not have fought the Revolution. As will presently appear, those police who on the night of the 3rd were chosen to assist in guarding the approaches to the Palais Bourbon on the morrow, were quite unable to do so. Disorder, indeed, prevailed in many places. My father had recently found himself in a dilemma in regard to the requirements of the _Illustrated London News_. In those days the universal snap-shotting hand-camera was unknown. Every scene that it was desired to depict in the paper had to be sketched, and in presence of all the defensive preparations which were being made, a question arose as to what might and what might not be sketched. General Trochu was Governor of Paris, and applications were made to him on the subject. A reply came requiring a reference from the British Embassy before any permission whatever was granted. In due course a letter was obtained from the Embassy, signed not, I think, by Lord Lyons himself, but by one of the secretaries--perhaps Sir Edward Malet, or Mr. Wodehouse, or even Mr. Sheffield. At all events, on the morning of September 4, my father, being anxious to settle the matter, commissioned me to take the Embassy letter to Trochu's quarters at the Louvre. Here I found great confusion. Nobody was paying the slightest attention to official work. The _bureaux_ were half deserted. Officers came and went incessantly, or gathered in little groups in the passages and on the stairs, all of them looking extremely upset and talking anxiously and excitedly together. I could find nobody to attend to any business, and was at a loss what to do, when a door opened and a general officer in undress uniform appeared on the threshold of a large and finely appointed room. I immediately recognized Trochu's extremely bald head and determined jaw, for since his nomination as Governor, Paris had been flooded with portraits of him. He had opened the door, I believe, to look for an officer, but on seeing me standing there with a letter in my hand he inquired what I wanted. I replied that I had brought a letter from the British Embassy, and he may perhaps have thought that I was an Embassy messenger. At all events, he took the letter from me, saying curtly: "C'est bien, je m'en occuperai, revenez cet après-midi." With those words he stepped back into the room and carefully placed the letter on the top of several others which were neatly disposed on a side-table. The incident was trivial in itself, yet it afforded a glimpse of Trochu's character. Here was the man who, in his earlier years, had organized the French Expedition to the Crimea in a manner far superior to that in which our own had been organized; a man of method, order, precision, fully qualified to prepare the defence of Paris, though not to lead her army in the field. Brief as was that interview of mine, I could not help noticing how perfectly calm and self-possessed he was, for his demeanour greatly contrasted with the anxious or excited bearing of his subordinates. Yet he had reached the supreme crisis of his life. The Empire was falling, a first offer of Power had been made to him on the previous evening; and a second offer, which he finally accepted, [See my book, "Republican France," p. 8.] was almost imminent. Yet on that morning of Revolution he appeared as cool as a cucumber. I quitted the Louvre, going towards the Rue Royale, it having been arranged with my father that we should take _déjeuner_ at a well-known restaurant there. It was called "His Lordship's Larder," and was pre-eminently an English house, though the landlord bore the German name of Weber. He and his family were unhappily suffocated in the cellars of their establishment during one of the conflagrations which marked the Bloody Week of the Commune. At the time when I met my father, that is about noon, there was nothing particularly ominous in the appearance of the streets along which I myself passed. It was a fine bright Sunday, and, as was usual on such a day, there were plenty of people abroad. Recently enrolled National Guards certainly predominated among the men, but the latter included many in civilian attire, and there was no lack of women and children. As for agitation, I saw no sign of it. As I was afterwards told, however, by Delmas, the landlord of the Café Grétry, [Note] matters were very different that morning on the Boulevards, and particularly on the Boulevard Montmartre. By ten o'clock, indeed, great crowds had assembled there, and the excitement grew apace. The same words were on all lips: "Sedan--the whole French army taken--the wretched Emperor's sword surrendered--unworthy to reign--dethrone him!" Just as, in another crisis of French history, men had climbed on to the chairs and tables in the garden of the Palais Royal to denounce Monsieur and Madame Véto and urge the Parisians to march upon Versailles, so now others climbed on the chairs outside the Boulevard cafés to denounce the Empire, and urge a march upon the Palais Bourbon, where the Legislative Body was about to meet. And amidst the general clamour one cry persistently prevailed. It was: "Déchéance! Déchéance!--Dethronement! Dethronement!" [Note: This was a little café on the Boulevard des Italiens, and was noted for its quietude during the afternoon, though in the evening it was, by reason of its proximity to the "Petite Bourse" (held on the side-walk in front of it), invaded by noisy speculators. Captain Bingham, my father, and myself long frequented the Café Grétry, often writing our "Paris letters" there. Subsequent to the war, Bingham and I removed to the Café Cardinal, where, however, the everlasting rattle of dominoes proved very disturbing. In the end, on that account, and in order to be nearer to a club to which we both belonged, we emigrated to the Café Napolitain. One reason for writing one's copy at a café instead of at one's club was that, at the former, one could at any moment receive messengers bringing late news; in addition to which, afternoon newspapers were instantly available.] At every moment the numbers of the crowd increased. New-comers continually arrived from the eastern districts by way of the Boulevards, and from the north by way of the Faubourg Montmartre and the Rue Drouot, whilst from the south--the Quartier Latin and its neighbourhood--contingents made their way across the Pont St. Michel and the Pont Notre Dame, and thence, past the Halles, along the Boulevard de Sebastopol and the Rue Montmartre. Why the Quartier Latin element did not advance direct on the Palais Bourbon from its own side of the river I cannot exactly say; but it was, I believe, thought desirable to join hands, in the first instance, with the Revolutionary elements of northern Paris. All this took place whilst my father and myself were partaking of our meal. When we quitted the "Larder," a little before one o'clock, all the small parties of National Guards and civilians whom we had observed strolling about at an earlier hour, had congregated on the Place de la Concorde, attracted thither by the news of the special Sunday sitting, at which the Legislative Body would undoubtedly take momentous decisions. It should be added that nearly all the National Guards who assembled on the Place de la Concorde before one o'clock were absolutely unarmed. At that hour, however, a large force of them, equivalent to a couple of battalions or thereabouts, came marching down the Rue Royale from the Boulevards, and these men (who were preceded by a solitary drummer) carried, some of them, chassepots and others _fusils-à-tabatière,_ having moreover, in most instances, their bayonets fixed. They belonged to the north of Paris, though I cannot say precisely to what particular districts, nor do I know exactly by whose orders they had been assembled and instructed to march on the Palais Bourbon, as they speedily did. But it is certain that all the fermentation of the morning and all that occurred afterwards was the outcome of the night-work of the secret Republican Committees. As the guards marched on, loud cries of "Déchéance! Déchéance!" arose among them, and were at once taken up by the spectators. Perfect unanimity, indeed, appeared to prevail on the question of dethroning the Emperor. Even the soldiers who were scattered here and there--a few Linesmen, a few Zouaves, a few Turcos, some of them invalided from MacMahon's forces--eagerly joined in the universal cry, and began to follow the guards on to the Place de la Concorde. Never, I believe, had that square been more crowded--not even in the days when it was known as the Place Louis Quinze, and when hundreds of people were crushed to death there whilst witnessing a display of fireworks in connection with the espousals of the future Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, not even when it had become the Place de la Révolution and was thronged by all who wished to witness the successive executions of the last King and Queen of the old French monarchy. From the end of the Rue Royale to the bridge conducting across the Seine to the Palais Bourbon, from the gate of the Tuileries garden to the horses of Marly at the entrance of the Champs Elysées, around the obelisk of Luxor, and the fountains which were playing as usual in the bright sunshine which fell from the blue sky, along all the balustrades connecting the seated statues of the cities of France, here, there, and everywhere, indeed, you saw human heads. And the clamour was universal. The great square had again become one of Revolution, and yet it remained one of Concord also, for there was absolute agreement among the hundred thousand or hundred and fifty thousand people who had chosen it as their meeting-place, an agreement attested by that universal and never-ceasing cry of "Dethronement!" As the armed National Guards debouched from the Rue Royale, their solitary drummer plied his sticks. But the roll of the drum was scarcely heard in the general uproar, and so dense was the crowd that the men could advance but very slowly. For a while it took some minutes to make only a few steps. Meantime the ranks of the men were broken here and there, other people got among them, and at last my father and myself were caught in the stream and carried with it, still somewhat slowly, in the direction of the Pont de la Concorde. I read recently that the bridge was defended by mounted men of the Garde de Paris (the forerunner of the Garde Républicaine of to-day); a French writer, in recalling the scene, referring to "the men's helmets glistening in the sunshine." But that is pure imagination. The bridge was defended by a cordon of police ranged in front of a large body of Gendarmerie mobile, wearing the familiar dark blue white-braided _képis_ and the dark blue tunics with white aiguillettes. At first, as I have already said, we advanced but slowly towards that defending force; but, all at once, we were swept onward by other men who had come from the Boulevards, in our wake. A minute later an abrupt halt ensued, whereupon it was only with great difficulty that we were able to resist the pressure from behind. I at last contrived to raise myself on tiptoes. Our first ranks had effected a breach in those of the sergents-de-ville, but before us were the mounted gendarmes, whose officer suddenly gave a command and drew his sword. For an instant I saw him plainly: his face was intensely pale. But a sudden rattle succeeded his command, for his men responded to it by drawing their sabres, which flashed ominously. A minute, perhaps two minutes, elapsed, the pressure in our rear still and ever increasing. I do not know what happened exactly at the head of our column: the uproar was greater than ever, and it seemed as if, in another moment, we should be charged, ridden over, cut down, or dispersed. I believe, however, that in presence of that great concourse of people, in presence too of the universal reprobation of the Empire which had brought defeat, invasion, humiliation upon France, the officer commanding the gendarmes shrank from carrying out his orders. There must have been a brief parley with the leaders of our column. In any case, the ranks of the gendarmes suddenly opened, many of them taking to the footways of the bridge, over which our column swept at the double-quick, raising exultant shouts of "Vive la République!" It was almost a race as to who should be the first to reach the Palais Bourbon. Those in the rear were ever impelling the foremost onward, and there was no time to look about one. But in a rapid vision, as it were, I saw the gendarmes reining in their horses on either side of us; and, here and there, medals gleamed on their dark tunics, and it seemed to me as if more than one face wore an angry expression. These men had fought under the imperial eagles, they had been decorated for their valour in the Crimean, Italian, and Cochin-China wars. Veterans all, and faithful servants of the Empire, they saw the _régime_ for which they had fought, collapsing. Had their commanding officer ordered it, they might well have charged us; but, obedient to discipline, they had opened their ranks, and now the Will of the People was sweeping past them. None of our column had a particularly threatening mien; the general demeanour was rather suggestive of joyful expectancy. But, the bridge once crossed, there was a fresh pause at the gates shutting off the steps of the Palais Bourbon. Here infantry were assembled, with their chassepots in readiness. Another very brief but exciting interval ensued. Then the Linesmen were withdrawn, the gates swung open, and everybody rushed up the steps. I was carried hither and thither, and at last from the portico into the building, where I contrived to halt beside one of the statues in the "Salle des Pas Perdus." I looked for my father, but could not see him, and remained wedged in my corner for quite a considerable time. Finally, however, another rush of invaders dislodged me, and I was swept with many others into the Chamber itself. All was uproar and confusion there. Very few deputies were present. The public galleries, the seats of the members, the hemicycle in front of the tribune, were crowded with National Guards. Some were standing on the stenographers' table and on the ushers' chairs below the tribune. There were others on the tribune stairs. And at the tribune itself, with his hat on his head, stood Gambetta, hoarsely shouting, amidst the general din, that Louis Napoleon Bonaparte and his dynasty had for ever ceased to reign. Then, again and again, arose the cry of "Vive la République!" In the twinkling of an eye, however, Gambetta was lost to view--he and other Republican deputies betaking themselves, as I afterwards learnt, to the palace steps, where the dethronement of the Bonapartes was again proclaimed. The invaders of the chamber swarmed after them, and I was watching their departure when I suddenly saw my father quietly leaning back in one of the ministerial seats--perhaps that which, in the past, had been occupied by Billault, Rouher, Ollivier, and other powerful and prominent men of the fallen _régime_. At the outset of the proceedings that day Palikao had proposed the formation of a Council of Government and National Defence which was to include five members of the Legislative Body. The ministers were to be appointed by this Council, and he was to be Lieutenant-General of France. It so happened that the more fervent Imperialists had previously offered him a dictatorship, but he had declined it. Jules Favre met the General's proposal by claiming priority for the motion which he had submitted at the midnight sitting, whilst Thiers tried to bring about a compromise by suggesting such a Committee as Palikao had indicated, but placing the choice of its members entirely in the hands of the Legislative Body, omitting all reference to Palikao's Lieutenancy, and, further, setting forth that a Constituent Assembly should be convoked as soon as circumstances might permit. The three proposals--Thiers', Favre's, and Palikao's--were submitted to the _bureaux_, and whilst these _bureaux_ were deliberating in various rooms the first invasion of the Chamber took place in spite of the efforts of Jules Ferry, who had promised Palikao that the proceedings of the Legislature should not be disturbed. When the sitting was resumed the "invaders," who, at that moment, mainly occupied the galleries, would listen neither to President Schneider nor to their favourite Gambetta, though both appealed to them for silence and order. Jules Favre alone secured a few moments' quietude, during which he begged that there might be no violence. Palikao was present, but did not speak. [Later in the day, after urging Trochu to accept the presidency of the new Government, as otherwise "all might be lost," Palikao quitted Paris for Belgium. He stayed at Namur during the remainder of the war, and afterwards lived in retirement at Versailles, where he died in January, 1878.] Amidst the general confusion came the second invasion of the Chamber, when I was swept off my feet and carried on to the floor of the house. That second invasion precipitated events. Even Gambetta wished the dethronement of the dynasty to be signified by a formal vote, but the "invaders" would brook no delay. Both of us, my father and I, were tired and thirsty after our unexpected experiences. Accordingly we did not follow the crowd back to the steps overlooking the Place de la Concorde, but, like a good many other people, we went off by way of the Place de Bourgogne. No damage had been done in the Chamber itself, but as we quitted the building we noticed several inscriptions scrawled upon the walls. In some instances the words were merely "Vive la République!" and "Mort aux Prussiens!" At other times, however, they were too disgusting to be set down here. In or near the Rue de Bourgogne we found a fairly quiet wine-shop, where we rested and refreshed ourselves with _cannettes_ of so-called Bière de Strasbourg. We did not go at that moment to the Hôtel-de-Ville, whither a large part of the crowd betook itself by way of the quays, and where the Republic was again proclaimed; but returned to the Place de la Concorde, where some thousands of people still remained. Everybody was looking very animated and very pleased. Everybody imagined that, the Empire being overthrown, France would soon drive back the German invader. All fears for the future seemed, indeed, to have departed. Universal confidence prevailed, and everybody congratulated everybody else. There was, in any case, one good cause for congratulation: the Revolution had been absolutely bloodless--the first and only phenomenon of the kind in all French history. Whilst we were strolling about the Place de la Concorde I noticed that the chief gate of the Tuileries garden had been forced open and damaged. The gilded eagles which had decorated it had been struck off and pounded to pieces, this, it appeared, having been chiefly the work of an enterprising Turco. A few days later Victorien Sardou wrote an interesting account of how he and others obtained admittance, first to the reserved garden, and then to the palace itself. On glancing towards it I observed that the flag which had still waved over the principal pavilion that morning, had now disappeared. It had been lowered after the departure of the Empress. Of the last hours which she spent in the palace, before she quitted it with Prince Metternich and Count Nigra to seek a momentary refuge at the residence of her dentist, Dr. Evans, I have given a detailed account, based on reliable narratives and documents, in my "Court of the Tuileries." Quitting, at last, the Place de la Concorde, we strolled slowly homeward. Some tradespeople in the Rue Royale and the Faubourg St. Honoré, former purveyors to the Emperor or the Empress, were already hastily removing the imperial arms from above their shops. That same afternoon and during the ensuing Monday and Tuesday every escutcheon, every initial N, every crown, every eagle, every inscription that recalled the Empire, was removed or obliterated in one or another manner. George Augustus Sala, whose recent adventure confined him to his room at the Grand Hotel, spent most of his time in watching the men who removed the eagles, crowns, and Ns from the then unfinished Opera-house. Even the streets which recalled the imperial _regime_ were hastily renamed. The Avenue de l'Impératrice at once became the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne; and the Rue du Dix-Décembre (so called in memory of Napoleon's assumption of the imperial dignity) was rechristened Rue du Quatre Septembre--this being the "happy thought" of a Zouave, who, mounted on a ladder, set the new name above the old one, whilst the plate bearing the latter was struck off with a hammer by a young workman. As we went home on the afternoon of that memorable Fourth, we noticed that all the cafés and wine-shops were doing a brisk trade. Neither then nor during the evening, however, did I perceive much actual drunkenness. It was rather a universal jollity, as though some great victory had been gained. Truth to tell, the increase of drunkenness in Paris was an effect of the German Siege of the city, when drink was so plentiful and food so scarce. My father and I had reached the corner of our street when we witnessed an incident which I have related in detail in the first pages of my book, "Republican France." It was the arrival of Gambetta at the Ministry of the Interior, by way of the Avenue de Marigny, with an escort of red-shirted Francs-tireurs de la Presse. The future Dictator had seven companions with him, all huddled inside or on the roof of a four-wheel cab, which was drawn by two Breton nags. I can still picture him alighting from the vehicle and, in the name of the Republic, ordering a chubby little Linesman, who was mounting guard at the gate of the Ministry, to have the said gate opened; and I can see the sleek and elderly _concierge_, who had bowed to many an Imperial Minister, complying with the said injunction, and respectfully doffing his tasselled smoking-cap and bending double whilst he admitted his new master. Then the gate is closed, and from behind the finely-wrought ornamental iron-work Gambetta briefly addresses the little throng which has recognized him, saying that the Empire is dead, but that France is wounded, and that her very wounds will inflame her with fresh courage; promising, too, that the whole nation shall be armed; and asking one and all to place confidence in the new Government, even as the latter will place confidence in the people. In the evening I strolled with my father to the Place de l'Hôtel de Ville, where many people were congregated, A fairly large body of National Guards was posted in front of the building, most of whose windows were lighted up. The members of the New Government of National Defence were deliberating there. Trochu had become its President, and Jules Favre its Vice-President and Minister for Foreign Affairs. Henri Rochefort, released that afternoon by his admirers from the prison of Sainte Pélagie, was included in the administration, this being in the main composed of the deputies for Paris. Only one of the latter, the cautious Thiers, refused to join it. He presided, however, that same evening over a gathering of some two hundred members of the moribund Legislative Body, which then made a forlorn attempt to retain some measure of authority, by coming to some agreement with the new Government. But Jules Favre and Jules Simon, who attended the meeting on the latter's behalf, would not entertain the suggestion. It was politely signified to the deputies that their support in Paris was not required, and that if they desired to serve their country in any way, they had better betake themselves to their former constituencies in the provinces. So far as the Legislative Body and the Senate, [Note] also, were concerned, everything ended in a delightful bit of comedy. Not only were the doors of their respective meeting halls looked, but they were "secured" with strips of tape and seals of red wax. The awe with which red sealing-wax inspires Frenchmen is distinctly a trait of the national character. Had there been, however, a real Bonaparte in Paris at that time, he would probably have cut off the aforesaid seals with his sword. [Note: The Senate, over which Rouher presided, dispensed quietly on hearing of the invasion of the Chamber. The proposal that it should adjourn till more fortunate times emanated from Rouher himself. A few cries of "Vive l'Empereur!" were raised as the assembly dispersed. Almost immediately afterwards, however, most of the Senators, including Rouher, who knew that he was very obnoxious to the Parisians, quitted the city and even France.] On the morning of September 5, the _Charivari_--otherwise the daily Parisian _Punch_--came out with a cartoon designed to sum up the whole period covered by the imperial rule. It depicted France bound hand and foot and placed between the mouths of two cannons, one inscribed "Paris, 1851," and the other "Sedan, 1870"--those names and dates representing the Alpha and Omega of the Second Empire. IV FROM REVOLUTION TO SIEGE The Government of National Defence--The Army of Paris--The Return of Victor Hugo--The German advance on Paris--The National Guard reviewed--Hospitable Preparations for the Germans--They draw nearer still--Departure of Lord Lyons--Our Last Day of Liberty--On the Fortifications--The Bois de Boulogne and our Live Stock--Mass before the Statue of Strasbourg--Devout Breton Mobiles--Evening on the Boulevards and in the Clubs--Trochu and Ducrot--The Fight and Panic of Chatillon--The Siege begins. As I shall have occasion in these pages to mention a good many members of the self-constituted Government which succeeded the Empire, it may be as well for me to set down here their names and the offices they held. I have already mentioned that Trochu was President, and Jules Favre Vice-President, of the new administration. The former also retained his office as Governor of Paris, and at the same time became Generalissimo. Favre, for his part, took the Ministry for Foreign Affairs. With him and Trochu were Gambetta, Minister of the Interior; Jules Simon, Minister of Public Instruction; Adolphe Crémieux, Minister of Justice; Ernest Picard, Minister of Finance; Jules Ferry, Secretary-General to the Government, and later Mayor of Paris; and Henri Rochefort, President of the Committee of Barricades. Four of their colleagues, Emmanuel Arago, Garnier-Pagès, Eugène Pelletan, and Glais-Bizoin, did not take charge of any particular administrative departments, the remainder of these being allotted to men whose co-operation was secured. For instance, old General Le Flô became Minister of War--under Trochu, however, and not over him. Vice-Admiral Fourichon was appointed Minister of Marine; Magnin, an iron-master, became Minister of Commerce and Agriculture; Frédéric Dorian, another iron-master, took the department of Public Works; Count Emile de Kératry acted as Prefect of Police, and Etienne Arago, in the earlier days, as Mayor of Paris. The new Government was fully installed by Tuesday, September 6. It had already issued several more or less stirring proclamations, which were followed by a despatch which Jules Favre addressed to the French diplomatic representatives abroad. As a set-off to the arrival of a number of dejected travel-stained fugitives from MacMahon's army, whose appearance was by no means of a nature to exhilarate the Parisians, the defence was reinforced by a large number of Gardes Mobiles, who poured into the city, particularly from Brittany, Trochu's native province, and by a considerable force of regulars, infantry, cavalry, and artillery, commanded by the veteran General Vinoy (then seventy years of age), who had originally been despatched to assist MacMahon, but, having failed to reach him before the disaster of Sedan, retreated in good order on the capital. At the time when the Siege actually commenced there were in Paris about 90,000 regulars (including all arms and categories), 110,000 Mobile Guards, and a naval contingent of 13,500 men, that is a force of 213,000, in addition to the National Guards, who were about 280,000 in number. Thus, altogether, nearly half a million armed men were assembled in Paris for the purpose of defending it. As all authorities afterwards admitted, this was a very great blunder, as fully 100,000 regulars and mobiles might have been spared to advantage for service in the provinces. Of course the National Guards themselves could not be sent away from the city, though they were often an encumbrance rather than a help, and could not possibly have carried on the work of defence had they been left to their own resources. Besides troops, so long as the railway trains continued running, additional military stores and supplies of food, flour, rice, biscuits, preserved meats, rolled day by day into Paris. At the same time, several illustrious exiles returned to the capital. Louis Blanc and Edgar Quinet arrived there, after years of absence, in the most unostentatious fashion, though they soon succumbed to the prevailing mania of inditing manifestoes and exhortations for the benefit of their fellow-countrymen. Victor Hugo's return was more theatrical. In those famous "Châtiments" in which he had so severely flagellated the Third Napoleon (after, in earlier years, exalting the First to the dignity of a demi-god), he had vowed to keep out of France and to protest against the Empire so long as it lasted, penning, in this connection, the famous line: "Et s'il n'en reste qu'un, je serai celui-là!" But now the Empire had fallen, and so Hugo returned in triumph to Paris. When he alighted from the train which brought him, he said to those who had assembled to give him a fitting greeting, that he had come to do his duty in the hour of danger, that duty being to save Paris, which meant more than saving France, for it implied saving the world itself--Paris being the capital of civilization, the centre of mankind. Naturally enough, those fine sentiments were fervently applauded by the great poet's admirers, and when he had installed himself with his companions in an open carriage, two or three thousand people escorted him processionally along the Boulevards. It was night-time, and the cafés were crowded and the footways covered with promenaders as the _cortége_ went by, the escort singing now the "Marseillaise" and now the "Chant du Départ," whilst on every side shouts of "Vive Victor Hugo!" rang out as enthusiastically as if the appointed "Saviour of Paris" were indeed actually passing. More than once I saw the illustrious poet stand up, uncover, and wave his hat in response to the acclamations, and I then particularly noticed the loftiness of his forehead, and the splendid crop of white hair with which it was crowned. Hugo, at that time sixty-eight years old, still looked vigorous, but it was beyond the power of any such man as himself to save the city from what was impending. All he could do was to indite perfervid manifestoes, and subsequently, in "L'Année terrible," commemorate the doings and sufferings of the time. For the rest, he certainly enrolled himself as a National Guard, and I more than once caught sight of him wearing _képi_ and _vareuse_. I am not sure, however, whether he ever did a "sentry-go." It must have been on the day following Victor Hugo's arrival that I momentarily quitted Paris for reasons in which my youthful but precocious heart was deeply concerned. I was absent for four days or so, and on returning to the capital I was accompanied by my stepmother, who, knowing that my father intended to remain in the city during the impending siege, wished to be with him for a while before the investment began. I recollect that she even desired to remain with us, though that was impossible, as she had young children, whom she had left at Saint Servan; and, besides, as I one day jocularly remarked to her, she would, by staying in Paris, have added to the "useless mouths," whose numbers the Republican, like the Imperial, Government was, with very indifferent success, striving to diminish. However, she only quitted us at the last extremity, departing on the evening of September 17, by the Western line, which, on the morrow, the enemy out at Conflans, some fourteen miles from Paris. Day by day the Parisians had received news of the gradual approach of the German forces. On the 8th they heard that the Crown Prince of Prussia's army was advancing from Montmirail to Coulommiers--whereupon the city became very restless; whilst on the 9th there came word that the black and white pennons of the ubiquitous Uhlans had been seen at La Ferté-sous-Jouarre. That same day Thiers quitted Paris on a mission which he had undertaken for the new Government, that of pleading the cause of France at the Courts of London, St. Petersburg, Vienna, and Rome. Then, on the 11th, there were tidings that Laon had capitulated, though not without its defenders blowing up a powder-magazine and thereby injuring some German officers of exalted rank--for which reason the deed was enthusiastically commended by the Parisian Press, though it would seem to have been a somewhat treacherous one, contrary to the ordinary usages of war. On the 12th some German scouts reached Meaux, and a larger force leisurely occupied Melun. The French, on their part, were busy after a fashion. They offered no armed resistance to the German advance, but they tried to impede it in sundry ways. With the idea of depriving the enemy of "cover," various attempts were made to fire some of the woods in the vicinity of Paris, whilst in order to cheat him of supplies, stacks and standing crops were here and there destroyed. Then, too, several railway and other bridges were blown up, including the railway bridge at Creil, so that direct communication with Boulogne and Calais ceased on September 12. The 13th was a great day for the National Guards, who were then reviewed by General Trochu. With my father and my young stepmother, I went to see the sight, which was in many respects an interesting one. A hundred and thirty-six battalions, or approximately 180,000 men, of the so-called "citizen soldiery" were under arms; their lines extending, first, along the Boulevards from the Bastille to the Madeleine, then down the Rue Royale, across the Place de la Concorde and up the Champs Elysées as far as the Rond Point. In addition, 100,000 men of the Garde Mobile were assembled along the quays of the Seine and up the Champs Elysées from the Rond Point to the Arc de Triomphe. I have never since set eyes on so large a force of armed men. They were of all sorts. Some of the Mobiles, notably the Breton ones, who afterwards gave a good account of themselves, looked really soldierly; but the National Guards were a strangely mixed lot. They all wore _képis_, but quite half of them as yet had no uniforms, and were attired in blouses and trousers of various hues. Only here and there could one see a man of military bearing; most of them struck happy-go-lucky attitudes, and were quite unable to keep step in marching. A particular feature of the display was the number of flowers and sprigs of evergreen with which the men had decorated the muzzles of the _fusils-à-tabatière_ which they mostly carried. Here and there, moreover, one and another fellow displayed on his bayonet-point some coloured caricature of the ex-Emperor or the ex-Empress. What things they were, those innumerable caricatures of the months which followed the Revolution! Now and again there appeared one which was really clever, which embodied a smart, a witty idea; but how many of them were simply the outcome of a depraved, a lewd, a bestial imagination! The most offensive caricatures of Marie-Antoinette were as nothing beside those levelled at that unfortunate woman, the Empress Eugénie. Our last days of liberty were now slipping by. Some of the poorest folk of the environs of Paris were at last coming into the city, bringing their chattels with them. Strange ideas, however, had taken hold of some of the more simple-minded suburban bourgeois. Departing hastily into the provinces, so as to place their skins out of harm's reach, they had not troubled to store their household goods in the city; but had left them in their coquettish villas and pavilions, the doors of which were barely looked. The German soldiers would very likely occupy the houses, but assuredly they would do no harm to them. "Perhaps, however, it might be as well to propitiate the foreign soldiers. Let us leave something for them," said worthy Monsieur Durand to Madame Durand, his wife; "they will be hungry when they get here, and if they find something ready for them they will be grateful and do no damage." So, although the honest Durands carefully barred--at times even walled-up--their cellars of choice wines, they arranged that plenty of bottles, at times even a cask, of _vin ordinaire_ should be within easy access; and ham, cheese, sardines, _saucissons de Lyon_, and _patés de foie gras_ were deposited in the pantry cupboards, which were considerately left unlocked in order that the good, mild-mannered, honest Germans (who, according to a proclamation issued by "Unser Fritz" at an earlier stage of the hostilities, "made war on the Emperor Napoleon and not on the French nation") might regale themselves without let or hindrance. Moreover, the nights were "drawing in," the evenings becoming chilly; so why not lay the fires, and place matches and candles in convenient places for the benefit of the unbidden guests who would so soon arrive? All those things being done, M. and Mme. Durand departed to seek the quietude of Fouilly-les-Oies, never dreaming that on their return to Montfermeil, Palaiseau, or Sartrouville, they would find their _salon_ converted into a pigstye, their furniture smashed, and their clocks and chimney-ornaments abstracted. Of course the M. Durand of to-day knows what happened to his respected parents; he knows what to think of the good, honest, considerate German soldiery; and, if he can help it, he will not in any similar case leave so much as a wooden spoon to be carried off to the Fatherland, and added as yet another trophy to the hundred thousand French clocks and the million French nick-nacks which are still preserved there as mementoes of the "grosse Zeit." On September 15, we heard of some petty skirmishes between Uhlans and Francs-tireurs in the vicinity of Montereau and Melun; on the morrow the enemy captured a train at Senlis, and fired on another near Chantilly, fortunately without wounding any of the passengers; whilst on the same day his presence was signalled at Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, only ten miles south of Paris. That evening, moreover, he attempted to ford the Seine at Juvisy. On the 16th some of his forces appeared between Créteil and Neuilly-sur-Marne, on the eastern side of the city, and only some five miles from the fort of Vincennes. Then we again heard of him on the south--of his presence at Brunoy, Ablon, and Athis, and of the pontoons by which he was crossing the Seine at Villeneuve and Choisy-le-Roi. Thus the advance steadily continued, quite unchecked by force of arms, save for just a few trifling skirmishes initiated by sundry Francs-tireurs. Not a road, not a barricade, was defended by the authorities; not once was the passage of a river contested. Here and there the Germans found obstructions: poplars had been felled and laid across a highway, bridges and railway tunnels had occasionally been blown up; but all such impediments to their advance were speedily overcome by the enemy, who marched on quietly, feeling alternately puzzled and astonished at never being confronted by any French forces. As the invaders drew nearer to Paris they found an abundance of vegetables and fruit at their disposal, but most of the peasantry had fled, taking their live stock with them, and, as a German officer told me in after years, eggs, cheese, butter, and milk could seldom be procured. On the 17th the French began to recover from the stupor which seemed to have fallen on them. Old General Vinoy crossed the Marne at Charenton with some of his forces, and a rather sharp skirmish ensued in front of the village of Mesly. That same day Lord Lyons, the British Ambassador, took his departure from Paris, proceeding by devious ways to Tours, whither, a couple of days previously, three delegates of the National Defence--two septuagenarians and one sexagenarian, Crémieux, Glais-Bizoin, and Fourichon--had repaired in order to take over the general government of France. Lord Lyons had previously told Jules Favre that he intended to remain in the capital, but I believe that his decision was modified by instructions from London. With him went most of the Embassy staff, British interests in Paris remaining in the hands of the second secretary, Mr. Wodehouse, and the vice-consul. The consul himself had very prudently quitted Paris, in order "to drink the waters," some time previously. Colonel Claremont, the military attaché, still remained with us, but by degrees, as the siege went on, the Embassy staff dwindled down to the concierge and two--or was it four?--sheep browsing on the lawn. Mr. Wodehouse went off (my father and myself being among those who accompanied him, as I shall relate in a future chapter) towards the middle of November; and before the bombardment began Colonel Claremont likewise executed a strategical retreat. Nevertheless--or should I say for that very reason?--he was subsequently made a general officer. A day or two before Lord Lyons left he drew up a notice warning British subjects that if they should remain in Paris it would be at their own risk and peril. The British colony was not then so large as it is now, nevertheless it was a considerable one. A good many members of it undoubtedly departed on their own initiative. Few, if any, saw Lord Lyons's notice, for it was purely and simply conveyed to them through the medium of _Galignani's Messenger_, which, though it was patronized by tourists staying at the hotels, was seldom seen by genuine British residents, most of whom read London newspapers. The morrow of Lord Lyons's departure, Sunday, September 18, was our last day of liberty. The weather was splendid, the temperature as warm as that of June. All Paris was out of doors. We were not without women-folk and children. Not only were there the wives and offspring of the working-classes; but the better halves of many tradespeople and bourgeois had remained in the city, together with a good many ladies of higher social rank. Thus, in spite of all the departures, "papa, mamma, and baby" were still to be met in many directions on that last day preceding the investment. There were gay crowds everywhere, on the Boulevards, on the squares, along the quays, and along the roads skirting the ramparts. These last were the "great attraction," and thousands of people strolled about watching the work which was in progress. Stone casements were being roofed with earth, platforms were being prepared for guns, gabions were being set in position at the embrasures, sandbags were being carried to the parapets, stakes were being pointed for the many _pièges-à-loups_, and smooth earthworks were being planted with an infinity of spikes. Some guns were already in position, others, big naval guns from Brest or Cherbourg, were still lying on the turf. Meanwhile, at the various city gates, the very last vehicles laden with furniture and forage were arriving from the suburbs. And up and down went all the promenaders, chatting, laughing, examining this and that work of defence or engine of destruction in such a good-humoured, light-hearted way that the whole _chemin-de-ronde_ seemed to be a vast fair, held solely for the amusement of the most volatile people that the world has ever known. Access to the Bois de Boulogne was forbidden. Acres of timber had already been felled there, and from the open spaces the mild September breeze occasionally wafted the lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep, and the grunting of pigs. Our live stock consisted of 30,000 oxen, 175,000 sheep, 8,800 pigs, and 6,000 milch-cows. Little did we think how soon those animals (apart from the milch-cows) would be consumed! Few of us were aware that, according to Maxime Ducamp's great work on Paris, we had hitherto consumed, on an average, every day of the year, 935 oxen, 4680 sheep, 570 pigs, and 600 calves, to say nothing of 46,000 head of poultry, game, etc., 50 tons of fish, and 670,000 eggs. Turning from the Bois de Boulogne, which had become our principal ranch and sheep-walk, one found companies of National Guards learning the "goose-step" in the Champs Elysées and the Cours-la-Reine. Regulars were appropriately encamped both in the Avenue de la Grande Armée and on the Champ de Mars. Field-guns and caissons filled the Tuileries garden, whilst in the grounds of the Luxembourg Palace one again found cattle and sheep; yet other members of the bovine and ovine species being installed, singularly enough, almost cheek by jowl with the hungry wild beasts of the Jardin des Plantes, whose mouths fairly watered at the sight of their natural prey. If you followed the quays of the Seine you there found sightseers gazing at the little gunboats and floating batteries on the water; and if you climbed to Montmartre you there came upon people watching "The Neptune," the captive balloon which Nadar, the aeronaut and photographer, had already provided for purposes of military observation. I shall have occasion to speak of him and his balloons again. Among all that I myself saw on that memorable Sunday, I was perhaps most struck by the solemn celebration of Mass in front of the statue of Strasbourg on the Place de la Concorde. The capital of Alsace had been besieged since the middle of August, but was still offering a firm resistance to the enemy. Its chief defenders, General Uhrich and Edmond Valentin, were the most popular heroes of the hour. The latter had been appointed Prefect of the city by the Government of National Defence, and, resolving to reach his post in spite of the siege which was being actively prosecuted, had disguised himself and passed successfully through the German lines, escaping the shots which were fired at him. In Paris the statue of Strasbourg had become a place of pilgrimage, a sacred shrine, as it were, adorned with banners and with wreaths innumerable. Yet I certainly had not expected to see an altar set up and Mass celebrated in front of it, as if it had been, indeed, a statue of the Blessed Virgin. At this stage of affairs there was no general hostility to the Church in Paris. The _bourgeoisie_--I speak of its masculine element--was as sceptical then as it is now, but it knew that General Trochu, in whom it placed its trust, was a practising and fervent Catholic, and that in taking the Presidency of the Government he had made it one of his conditions that religion should be respected. Such animosity as was shown against the priesthood emanated from some of the public clubs where the future Communards perorated. It was only as time went on, and the defence grew more and more hopeless, that Trochu himself was denounced as a _cagot_ and a _souteneur de soutanes_; and not until the Commune did the Extremists give full rein to their hatred of the Church and its ministers. In connection with religion, there was another sight which impressed me on that same Sunday. I was on the point of leaving the Place de la Concorde when a large body of Mobiles debouched either from the Rue Royale or the Rue de Rivoli, and I noticed, with some astonishment, that not only were they accompanied by their chaplains, but that they bore aloft several processional religious banners. They were Bretons, and had been to Mass, I ascertained, at the church of Notre Dame des Victoires--the favourite church of the Empress Eugénie, who often attended early Mass there--and were now returning to their quarters in the arches of the railway viaduct of the Point-du-Jour. Many people uncovered as they thus went by processionally, carrying on high their banners of the Virgin, she who is invoked by the Catholic soldier as "Auzilium Christianorum." For a moment my thoughts strayed back to Brittany, where, during my holidays the previous year, I had witnessed the "Pardon" of Guingamp, In the evening I went to the Boulevards with my father, and we afterwards dropped into one or two of the public clubs. The Boulevard promenaders had a good deal to talk about. General Ambert, who under the Empire had been mayor of our arrondissement, had fallen out with his men, through speaking contemptuously of the Republic, and after being summarily arrested by some of them, had been deprived of his command. Further, the _Official Journal_ had published a circular addressed by Bismarck to the German diplomatists abroad, in which he stated formally that if France desired peace she would have to give "material guarantees." That idea, however, was vigorously pooh-poohed by the Boulevardiers, particularly as rumours of sudden French successes, originating nobody knew how, were once more in the air. Scandal, however, secured the attention of many of the people seated in the cafés, for the _Rappel_--Victor Hugo's organ--had that day printed a letter addressed to Napoleon III by his mistress Marguerite Bellenger, who admitted in it that she had deceived her imperial lover with respect to the paternity of her child. However, we went, my father and I, from the Boulevards to the Folies-Bergere, which had been turned for the time into a public club, and there we listened awhile to Citizen Lermina, who, taking Thiers's mission and Bismarck's despatch as his text, protested against France concluding any peace or even any armistice so long as the Germans had not withdrawn across the frontier. There was still no little talk of that description. The old agitator Auguste Blanqui--long confined in one of the cages of Mont Saint-Michel, but now once more in Paris--never wearied of opposing peace in the discourses that he delivered at his own particular club, which, like the newspaper he inspired, was called "La Patrie en Danger." In other directions, for instance at the Club du Maine, the Extremists were already attacking the new Government for its delay in distributing cartridges to the National Guards, being, no doubt, already impatient to seize authority themselves. Whilst other people were promenading or perorating, Trochu, in his room at the Louvre, was receiving telegram after telegram informing him that the Germans were now fast closing round the city. He himself, it appears, had no idea of preventing it; but at the urgent suggestion of his old friend and comrade General Ducrot, he had consented that an effort should be made to delay, at any rate, a complete investment. In an earlier chapter I had occasion to mention Ducrot in connexion with the warnings which Napoleon III received respecting the military preparations of Prussia. At this time, 1870, the general was fifty-three years old, and therefore still in his prime. As commander of a part of MacMahon's forces he had distinguished himself at the battle of Wörth, and when the Marshal was wounded at Sedan, it was he who, by right of seniority, at first assumed command of the army, being afterwards compelled, however, to relinquish the poet to Wimpfen, in accordance with an order from Palikao which Wimpfen produced. Included at the capitulation, among the prisoners taken by the Germans, Ducrot subsequently escaped--the Germans contending that he had broken his parole in doing so, though this does not appear to have been the case. Immediately afterwards he repaired to Paris to place himself at Trochu's disposal. At Wörth he had suggested certain tactics which might have benefited the French army; at Sedan he had wished to make a supreme effort to cut through the German lines; and now in Paris he proposed to Trochu a plan which if successful might, he thought, retard the investment and momentarily cut the German forces in halves. In attempting to carry out this scheme (September 19) Ducrot took with him most of Vinoy's corps, that is four divisions of infantry, some cavalry, and no little artillery, having indeed, according to his own account, seventy-two guns with him. The action was fought on the plateau of Châtillon (south of Paris), where the French had been constructing a redoubt, which was still, however, in a very unfinished state. At daybreak that morning all the districts of Paris lying on the left bank of the Seine were roused by the loud booming of guns. The noise was at times almost deafening, and it is certain that the French fired a vast number of projectiles, though, assuredly, the number--25,000--given in a copy of the official report which I have before me must be a clerical error. In any case, the Germans replied with an even more terrific fire than that of the French, and, as had previously happened at Sedan and elsewhere, the French ordnance proved to be no match for that emanating from Krupp's renowned workshops. The French defeat was, however, precipitated by a sudden panic which arose among a provisional regiment of Zouaves, who suddenly turned tail and fled. Panic is often, if not always, contagious, and so it proved to be on this occasion. Though some of the Gardes Mobiles, notably the Bretons of Ile-et-Vilaine, fought well, thanks to the support of the artillery (which is so essential in the case of untried troops), other men weakened, and imitated the example of the Zouaves. Duorot soon realized that it was useless to prolong the encounter, and after spiking the guns set up in the Châtillon redoubt, he retired under the protection of the Forts of Vanves and Montrouge. My father and I had hastened to the southern side of Paris as soon as the cannonade apprised us that an engagement was going on. Pitiful was the spectacle presented by the disbanded soldiers as they rushed down the Chaussée du Maine. Many had flung away their weapons. Some went on dejectedly; others burst into wine-shops, demanded drink with threats, and presently emerged swearing, cursing and shouting, "Nous sommes trahis!" Riderless horses went by, instinctively following the men, and here and there one saw a bewildered and indignant officer, whose orders were scouted with jeers. The whole scene was of evil augury for the defence of Paris. At a later hour, when we reached the Boulevards, we found the wildest rumours in circulation there. Nobody knew exactly what had happened, but there was talk of 20,000 French troops having been annihilated by five times that number of Germans. At last a proclamation emanating from Gambetta was posted up and eagerly perused. It supplied no details of the fighting, but urged the Parisians to give way neither to excitement nor to despondency, and reminded them that a court-martial had been instituted to deal with cowards and deserters. Thereupon the excitement seemed to subside, and people went to dinner. An hour afterwards the Boulevards were as gay as ever, thronged once more with promenaders, among whom were many officers of the Garde Mobile and the usual regiment of painted women. Cynicism and frivolity were once more the order of the day. But in the midst of it there came an unexpected incident. Some of the National Guards of the district were not unnaturally disgusted by the spectacle which the Boulevards presented only a few hours after misfortune had fallen on the French arms. Forming, therefore, into a body, they marched along, loudly calling upon the cafés to close. Particularly were they indignant when, on reaching Brébant's Restaurant at the corner of the Faubourg Montmartre, they heard somebody playing a lively Offenbachian air on a piano there. A party of heedless _viveurs_ and _demoiselles_ of the half-world were enjoying themselves together as in the palmy imperial days. But the piano was soon silenced, the cafés and restaurants were compelled to close, and the Boulevardian world went home in a slightly chastened mood. The Siege of Paris had begun. V BESIEGED The Surrender of Versailles--Captain Johnson, Queen's Messenger--No more Paris Fashions!--Prussians versus Germans--Bismarck's Hard Terms for Peace--Attempts to pass through the German Lines--Chartreuse Verte as an Explosive!--Tommy Webb's Party and the Germans--Couriers and Early Balloons--Our Arrangements with Nadar--Gambetta's Departure and Balloon Journey--The Amusing Verses of Albert Millaud--Siege Jokes and Satire--The Spy and Signal Craze--Amazons to the Rescue! It was at one o'clock on the afternoon of September 19 that the telegraph wires between Paris and Versailles, the last which linked us to the outside world, were suddenly cut by the enemy; the town so closely associated with the Grand Monarque and his magnificence having then surrendered to a very small force of Germans, although it had a couple of thousand men--Mobile and National Guards--to defend it. The capitulation which was arranged between the mayor and the enemy was flagrantly violated by the latter almost as soon as it had been concluded, tins being only one of many such instances which occurred during the war. Versailles was required to provide the invader with a number of oxen, to be slaughtered for food, numerous casks of wine, the purpose of which was obvious, and a large supply of forage valued at £12,000. After all, however, that was a mere trifle in comparison with what the present Kaiser's forces would probably demand on landing at Hull or Grimsby or Harwich, should they some day do so. By the terms of the surrender of Versailles, however, the local National Guards were to have remained armed and entrusted with the internal police of the town, and, moreover, there were to have been no further requisitions. But Bismarck and Moltke pooh-poohed all such stipulations, and the Versaillese had to submit to many indignities. In Paris that day the National Defence Government was busy in various ways, first in imposing fines, according to an ascending scale, on all absentees who ought to have remained in the city and taken their share of military duty; and, secondly, in decreeing that nobody with any money lodged in the Savings Bank should be entitled to draw out more than fifty francs, otherwise two pounds, leaving the entire balance of his or her deposit at the Government's disposal. This measure provoked no little dissatisfaction. It was also on September 19, the first day of the siege, that the last diplomatic courier entered Paris. I well remember the incident. Whilst I was walking along the Faubourg Saint Honoré I suddenly perceived an open _calèche_, drawn by a pair of horses, bestriding one of which was a postillion arrayed in the traditional costume--hair à la Catogan, jacket with scarlet facings, gold-banded hat, huge boots, and all the other appurtenances which one saw during long years on the stage in Adolphe Adam's sprightly but "impossible" opéra-comique "Le Postillon de Longjumeau." For an instant, indeed, I felt inclined to hum the famous refrain, "Oh, oh, oh, oh, qu'il était beau"--but many National Guards and others regarded the equipage with great suspicion, particularly as it was occupied by on individual in semi-military attire. Quite a number of people decided in their own minds that this personage must be a Prussian spy, and therefore desired to stop his carriage and march him off to prison. As a matter of fact, however, he was a British officer, Captain Johnson, discharging the duties of a Queen's Messenger; and as he repeatedly flourished a cane in a very menacing manner, and the door-porter of the British Embassy--a German, I believe--energetically came to his assistance, he escaped actual molestation, and drove in triumph into the courtyard of the ambassadorial mansion. At this time a great shock was awaiting the Parisians. During the same week the Vicomtesse de Renneville issued an announcement stating that in presence of the events which were occurring she was constrained to suspend the publication of her renowned journal of fashions, _La Gazette Rose_. This was a tragic blow both for the Parisians themselves and for all the world beyond them. There would be no more Paris fashions! To what despair would not millions of women be reduced? How would they dress, even supposing that they should contrive to dress at all? The thought was appalling; and as one and another great _couturier_ closed his doors, Paris began to realize that her prestige was indeed in jeopardy. A day or two after the investment the city became very restless on account of Thiers's mission to foreign Courts and Jules Favre's visit to the German headquarters, it being reported by the extremists that the Government did not intend to be a Government of National Defence but one of Capitulation. In reply to those rumours the authorities issued the famous proclamation in which they said; "The Government's policy is that formulated in these terms: Not an Inch of our Territory. Not a Stone of our Fortresses. The Government will maintain it to the end." On the morrow, September 21, Gambetta personally reminded us that it was the seventy-eighth anniversary of the foundation of the first French Republic, and, after recalling to the Parisians what their fathers had then accomplished, he exhorted them to follow that illustrious example, and to "secure victory by confronting death." That same evening the clubs decided that a great demonstration should be made on the morrow by way of insisting that no treaty should be discussed until the Germans had been driven out of France, that no territory, fort, vessel, or treasure should be surrendered, that all elections should be adjourned, and that a _levée en masse_ should be decreed. Jules Favre responded that he and his colleagues personified Defence and not Surrender, and Rochefort--poor Rochefort!--solemnly promised that the barricades of Paris should be begun that very night. That undertaking mightily pleased the agitators, though the use of the said barricades was not apparent; and the demonstrators dispersed with the usual shouts of "Vive la République! Mort aux Prussiens!" In connexion with that last cry it was a curious circumstance that from the beginning to the end of the war the French persistently ignored the presence of Saxons, Würtembergers, Hessians, Badeners, and so forth in the invading armies. Moreover, on only one or two occasions (such as the Bazeilles episode of the battle of Sedan) did they evince any particular animosity against the Bavarians. I must have heard "Death to the Prussians!" shouted at least a thousand times; but most certainly I never once heard a single cry of "Death to the Germans!" Still in the same connexion, let me mention that it was in Paris, during the siege, that the eminent naturalist and biologist Quatrefages de Bréau wrote that curious little book of his, "La Race Prussienne," in which he contended that the Prussians were not Germans at all. There was at least some measure of truth in the views which he enunciated. As I previously indicated, Jules Favre, the Foreign Minister of the National Defence, had gone to the German headquarters in order to discuss the position with Prince (then Count) Bismarck. He met him twice, first at the Comte de Rillac's Château de la Haute Maison, and secondly at Baron de Rothschild's Château de Ferrières--the German staff usually installing itself in the lordly "pleasure-houses" of the French noble or financial aristocracy, and leaving them as dirty as possible, and, naturally, bereft of their timepieces. Baron Alphonse de Rothschild told me in later years that sixteen clocks were carried off from Ferrières whilst King (afterwards the Emperor) William and Bismarck were staying there. I presume that they now decorate some of the salons of the schloss at Berlin, or possibly those of Varzin and Friedrichsruhe. Bismarck personally had an inordinate passion for clocks, as all who ever visited his quarters in the Wilhelmstrasse, when he was German Chancellor, will well remember. But he was not content with the clocks of Ferrières. He told Jules Favre that if France desired peace she must surrender the two departments of the Upper and the Lower Rhine, a part of the department of the Moselle, together with Metz, Chateau Salins, and Soissons; and he would only grant an armistice (to allow of the election of a French National Assembly to decide the question of War or Peace) on condition that the Germans should occupy Strasbourg, Toul, and Phalsburg, together with a fortress, such as Mont Valerien, commanding the city of Paris. Such conditions naturally stiffened the backs of the French, and for a time there was no more talk of negotiating. During the earlier days of the Siege of Paris I came into contact with various English people who, having delayed their departure until it was too late, found themselves shut up in the city, and were particularly anxious to depart from it. The British Embassy gave them no help in the matter. Having issued its paltry notice in _Galignani's Messenger_, it considered that there was no occasion for it to do anything further. Moreover, Great Britain had not recognized the French Republic, so that the position of Mr. Wodehouse was a somewhat difficult one. However, a few "imprisoned" Englishmen endeavoured to escape from the city by devices of their own. Two of them who set out together, fully expecting to get through the German lines and then reach a convenient railway station, followed the course of the Seine for several miles without being able to cross it, and in spite of their waving pocket-handkerchiefs (otherwise flags of truce) and their constant shouts of "English! Friends!" and so forth, were repeatedly fired at by both French and German outposts. At last they reached Rueil, where the villagers, on noticing how bad their French was, took them to be Prussian spies, and nearly lynched them. Fortunately, the local commissary of police believed their story, and they were sent back to Paris to face the horseflesh and the many other hardships which they had particularly desired to avoid. I also remember the representative of a Birmingham small-arms factory telling me of his unsuccessful attempt to escape. He had lingered in Paris in the hope of concluding a contract with the new Republican Government. Not having sufficient money to charter a balloon, and the Embassy, as usual at that time, refusing any help (O shades of Palmerston!), he set out as on a walking-tour with a knapsack strapped to his shoulders and an umbrella in his hand. His hope was to cross the Seine by the bridge of Saint Cloud or that of Suresnes, but he failed in both attempts, and was repeatedly fired upon by vigilant French outposts. After losing his way in the Bois de Boulogne, awakening both the cattle and the sheep there in the course of his nightly ramble, he at last found one of the little huts erected to shelter the gardeners and wood-cutters, and remained there until daybreak, when he was able to take his bearings and proceed towards the Auteuil gate of the ramparts. As he did not wish to be fired upon again, he deemed it expedient to hoist his pocket handkerchief at the end of his umbrella as a sign of his pacific intentions, and finding the gate open and the drawbridge down, he attempted to enter the city, but was immediately challenged by the National Guards on duty. These vigilant patriots observed his muddy condition--the previous day had been a wet one--and suspiciously inquired where he had come from at that early hour. His answer being given in broken French and in a very embarrassed manner, he was at once regarded as a Prussian spy, and dragged off to the guard-room. There he was carefully searched, and everything in his pockets having been taken from him, including a small bottle which the sergeant on duty regarded with grave suspicion, he was told that his after-fate would be decided when the commanding officer of that particular _secteur_ of the ramparts made his rounds. When this officer arrived he closely questioned the prisoner, who tried to explain his circumstances, and protested that his innocence was shown by the British passport and other papers which had been taken from him. "Oh! papers prove nothing!" was the prompt retort. "Spies are always provided with papers. But, come, I have proof that you are an unmitigated villain!" So saying, the officer produced the small bottle which had been taken from the unfortunate traveller, and added: "You see this? You had it in your pocket. Now, don't attempt to deceive me, for I know very well what is the nature of the green liquid which it contains--it is a combustible fluid with which you wanted to set fire to our _chevaux-de-frise!_" Denials and protests were in vain. The officer refused to listen to his prisoner until the latter at last offered to drink some of the terrible fluid in order to prove that it was not at all what it was supposed to be. With a little difficulty the tight-fitting cork was removed from the flask, and on the latter being handed to the prisoner he proceeded to imbibe some of its contents, the officer, meanwhile, retiring to a short distance, as if he imagined that the alleged "spy" would suddenly explode. Nothing of that kind happened, however. Indeed, the prisoner drank the terrible stuff with relish, smacked his lips, and even prepared to take a second draught, when the officer, feeling reassured, again drew near to him and expressed his willingness to sample the suspected fluid himself. He did so, and at once discovered that it was purely and simply some authentic Chartreuse verte! It did not take the pair of them long to exhaust this supply of the _liqueur_ of St. Bruno, and as soon as this was done, the prisoner was set at liberty with profuse apologies. Now and again some of those who attempted to leave the beleaguered city succeeded in their attempt. In one instance a party of four or five Englishmen ran the blockade in the traditional carriage and pair. They had been staying at the Grand Hotel, where another seven or eight visitors, including Labouchere, still remained, together with about the same number of servants to wait upon them; the famous caravanserai--then undoubtedly the largest in Paris--being otherwise quite untenanted. The carriage in which the party I have mentioned took their departure was driven by an old English jockey named Tommy Webb, who had been in France for nearly half a century, and had ridden the winners of some of the very first races started by the French Jockey Club. Misfortune had overtaken him, however, in his declining years, and he had become a mere Parisian "cabby." The party sallied forth from the courtyard of the Grand Hotel, taking with it several huge hampers of provisions and a quantity of other luggage; and all the participants in the attempt seemed to be quite confident of success. But a few hours later they returned in sore disappointment, having been stopped near Neuilly by the French outposts, as they were unprovided with any official _laisser-passer_. A document of that description having been obtained, however, from General Trochu on the morrow, a second attempt was made, and this time the party speedily passed through the French lines. But in trying to penetrate those of the enemy, some melodramatic adventures occurred. It became necessary, indeed, to dodge both the bullets of the Germans and those of the French Francs-tireurs, who paid not the slightest respect either to the Union Jack or to the large white flag which were displayed on either side of Tommy Webb's box-seat. At last, after a variety of mishaps, the party succeeded in parleying with a German cavalry officer, and after they had addressed a written appeal to the Crown Prince of Prussia (who was pleased to grant it), they were taken, blindfolded, to Versailles, where Blumenthal, the Crown Prince's Chief of Staff, asked them for information respecting the actual state of Paris, and then allowed them to proceed on their way. Captain Johnson, the Queen's Messenger of whom I have already spoken, also contrived to quit Paris again; but the Germans placed him under strict surveillance, and Blumenthal told him that no more Queen's Messengers would be allowed to pass through the German lines. About this same time, however, the English man-servant of one of Trochu's aides-de-camp contrived, not only to reach Saint Germain-en-Laye, where his master's family was residing, but also to return to Paris with messages. This young fellow had cleverly disguised himself as a French peasant, and on the Prefect of Police hearing of his adventures, he sent out several detectives in similar disguises, with instructions to ascertain all they could about the enemy, and report the same to him. Meantime, the Paris Post Office was endeavouring to send out couriers. One of them, named Létoile, managed to get as far as Evreux, in Normandy, and to return to the beleaguered city with a couple of hundred letters. Success also repeatedly attended the efforts of two shrewd fellows named Gême and Brare, who made several journeys to Saint Germain, Triel, and even Orleans. On one occasion they brought as many as seven hundred letters with them on their return to Paris; but between twenty and thirty other couriers failed to get through the German lines; whilst several others fell into the hands of the enemy, who at once confiscated the correspondence they carried, but did not otherwise molest them. The difficulty in sending letters out of Paris and in obtaining news from relatives and friends in other parts of France led to all sorts of schemes. The founder and editor of that well-known journal _Le Figaro_, Hippolyte de Villemessant, as he called himself, though I believe that his real Christian name was Auguste, declared in his paper that he would willingly allow his veins to be opened in return for a few lines from his beloved and absent wife. Conjugal affection could scarcely have gone further. Villemessant, however, followed up his touching declaration by announcing that a thousand francs (£40) a week was to be earned by a capable man willing to act as letter-carrier between Paris and the provinces. All who felt qualified for the post were invited to present themselves at the office of _Le Figaro_, which in those days was appropriately located in the Rue Rossini, named, of course, after the illustrious composer who wrote such sprightly music round the theme of Beaumarchais' comedy. As a result of Villemessant's announcement, the street was blocked during the next forty-eight hours by men of all classes, who were all the more eager to earn the aforesaid £40 a week as nearly every kind of work was at a standstill, and the daily stipend of a National Guard amounted only to 1_s._ 2-1/2_d._ It was difficult to choose from among so many candidates, but we were eventually assured that the right man had been found in the person of a retired poacher who knew so well how to circumvent both rural guards and forest guards, that during a career of twenty years or so he had never once been caught _in flagrante delicto_. Expert, moreover, in tracking game, he would also well know how to detect--and to avoid--the tracks of the Prussians. We were therefore invited to confide our correspondence to this sagacious individual, who would undertake to carry it through the German lines and to return with the answers in a week or ten days. The charge for each letter, which was to be of very small weight and dimensions, was fixed at five francs, and it was estimated that the ex-poacher would be able to carry about 200 letters on each journey. Many people were anxious to try the scheme, but rival newspapers denounced it as being a means of acquainting the Prussians with everything which was occurring in Paris--Villemessant, who they declared had taken bribes from the fallen Empire, being probably one of Bismarck's paid agents. Thus the enterprise speedily collapsed without even being put to the proof. However, the public was successfully exploited by various individuals who attempted to improve on Villemessant's idea, undertaking to send letters out of Paris for a fixed charge, half of which was to be returned to the sender if his letter were not delivered. As none of the letters handed in on these conditions was even entrusted to a messenger, the ingenious authors of this scheme made a handsome profit, politely returning half of the money which they received, but retaining the balance without making the slightest effort to carry out their contract. Dr. Rampont, a very clever man, who was now our postmaster-general, had already issued a circular bidding us to use the very thinnest paper and the smallest envelopes procurable. There being so many failures among the messengers whom he sent out of Paris with correspondence, the idea of a balloon postal service occurred to him. Although ninety years or so had elapsed since the days of the brothers Montgolfier, aeronautics had really made very little progress. There were no dirigible balloons at all. Dupuy de Lôme's first experiments only dated from the siege days, and Renard's dirigible was not devised until the early eighties. We only had the ordinary type of balloon at our disposal; and at the outset of the investment there were certainly not more than half a dozen balloons within our lines. A great city like Paris, however, is not without resources. Everything needed for the construction of balloons could be found there. Gas also was procurable, and we had amongst us quite a number of men expert in the science of ballooning, such as it then was. There was Nadar, there was Tissandier, there were the Godard brothers, Yon, Dartois, and a good many others. Both the Godards and Nadar established balloon factories, which were generally located in our large disused railway stations, such as the Gare du Nord, the Gare d'Orléans, and the Gare Montparnasse; but I also remember visiting one which Nadar installed in the dancing hall called the Elysée Montmartre. Each of these factories provided work for a good many people, and I recollect being particularly struck by the number of women who were employed in balloon-making. Such work was very helpful to them, and Nadar used to say to me that it grieved him to have to turn away so many applicants for employment, for every day ten, twenty, and thirty women would come to implore him to "take them on." Nearly all their usual workrooms were closed; some were reduced to live on charity and only very small allowances, from fivepence to sevenpence a day, were made to the wives and families of National Guards. But to return to the balloon postal-service which the Government organized, it was at once realized by my father and myself that it could be of little use to us so far as the work for the _Illustrated London News_ was concerned, on account of the restrictions which were imposed in regard to the size and weight of each letter that might be posted. The weight, indeed, was fixed at no more than three grammes! Now, there were a number of artists working for the _Illustrated_ in Paris, first and foremost among them being M. Jules Pelcoq, who must personally have supplied two-thirds of the sketches by which the British public was kept acquainted with the many incidents of Parisian siege-life. The weekly diary which I helped my father to compile could be drawn up in small handwriting on very thin, almost transparent paper, and despatched in the ordinary way. But how were we to circumvent the authorities in regard to our sketches, which were often of considerable size, and were always made on fairly substantial paper, the great majority of them being wash-drawings? Further, though I could prepare two or three drafts of our diary or our other "copy" for despatch by successive balloons--to provide for the contingency of one of the latter falling into the hands of the enemy--it seemed absurd that our artists should have to recopy every sketch they made. Fortunately, there was photography, the thought of which brought about a solution of the other difficulty in which we were placed. I was sent to interview Nadar on the Place Saint Pierre at Montmartre, above which his captive balloon the "Neptune" was oscillating in the September breeze. He was much the same man as I had seen at the Crystal Palace a few years previously, tall, red-haired, and red-shirted. He had begun life as a caricaturist and humorous writer, but by way of buttering his bread had set up in business as a photographer, his establishment on the Boulevard de la Madeleine soon becoming very favourably known. There was still a little "portrait-taking" in Paris during those early siege days. Photographs of the celebrities or notorieties of the hour sold fairly well, and every now and again some National Guard with means was anxious to be photographed in his uniform. But, naturally enough, the business generally had declined. Thus, Nadar was only too pleased to entertain the proposal which I made to him on my father's behalf, this being that every sketch for the _Illustrated_ should be taken to his establishment and there photographed, so that we might be able to send out copies in at least three successive balloons. When I broached to Nadar the subject of the postal regulations in regard to the weight and size of letters, he genially replied: "Leave that to me. Your packets need not go through the ordinary post at all--at least, here in Paris. Have them stamped, however, bring them whenever a balloon is about to sail, and I will see that the aeronaut takes them in his pocket. Wherever he alights they will be posted, like the letters in the official bags." That plan was carried out, and although several balloons were lost or fell within the German lines, only one small packet of sketches, which, on account of urgency, had not been photographed, remained subsequently unaccounted for. In all other instances either the original drawing or one of the photographic copies of it reached London safely. The very first balloon to leave Paris (in the early days of October) was precisely Nadar's "Neptune," which had originally been intended for purposes of military observation. One day when I was with Nadar on the Place Saint Pierre, he took me up in it. I found the experience a novel but not a pleasing one, for all my life I have had a tendency to vertigo when ascending to any unusual height. I remember that it was a clear day, and that we had a fine bird's-eye view of Paris on the one hand and of the plain of Saint Denis on the other, but I confess that I felt out of-my element, and was glad to set foot on _terra firma_ once more. From that day I was quite content to view the ascent of one and another balloon, without feeling any desire to get out of Paris by its aerial transport service. I must have witnessed the departure of practically all the balloons which left Paris until I myself quitted the city in November. The arrangements made with Nadar were perfected, and something very similar was contrived with the Godard brothers, the upshot being that we were always forewarned whenever it was proposed to send off a balloon. Sometimes we received by messenger, in the evening, an intimation that a balloon would start at daybreak on the morrow. Sometimes we were roused in the small hours of the morning, when everything intended for despatch had to be hastily got together and carried at once to the starting-place, such, for instance, as the Northern or the Orleans railway terminus, both being at a considerable distance from our flat in the Rue de Miromesnil. Those were by no means agreeable walks, especially when the cold weather had set in, as it did early that autumn; and every now and again at the end of the journey one found that it had been made in vain, for, the wind having shifted at the last moment, the departure of the balloon had been postponed. Of course, the only thing to be done was to trudge back home again. There was no omnibus service, all the horses having been requisitioned, and in the latter part of October there were not more than a couple of dozen cabs (drawn by decrepit animals) still plying for hire in all Paris. Thus Shanks's pony was the only means of locomotion. In the earlier days my father accompanied me on a few of those expeditions, but he soon grew tired of them, particularly as his health became affected by the siege diet. We were together, however, when Gambetta took his departure on October 7, ascending from the Place Saint Pierre in a balloon constructed by Nadar. It had been arranged that he should leave for the provinces, in order to reinforce the three Government delegates who had been despatched thither prior to the investment. Jules Favre, the Foreign Minister, had been previously urged to join those delegates, but would not trust himself to a balloon, and it was thereupon proposed to Gambetta that he should do so. He willingly assented to the suggestion, particularly as he feared that the rest of the country was being overlooked, owing to the prevailing opinion that Paris would suffice to deliver both herself and all the rest of France from the presence of the enemy. Born in April, 1838, he was at this time in his thirty-third year, and full of vigour, as the sequel showed. The delegates whom he was going to join were, as I previously mentioned, very old men, well meaning, no doubt, but incapable of making the great effort which was made by Gambetta in conjunction with Charles de Freycinet, who was just in his prime, being the young Dictator's senior by some ten years. I can still picture Gambetta's departure, and particularly his appearance on the occasion--his fur cap and his fur coat, which made him look somewhat like a Polish Jew. He had with him his secretary, the devoted Spuller. I cannot recall the name of the aeronaut who was in charge of the balloon, but, if my memory serves me rightly, it was precisely to him that Nadar handed the packet of sketches which failed to reach the _Illustrated London News_. They must have been lost in the confusion of the aerial voyage, which was marked by several dramatic incidents. Some accounts say that Gambetta evinced no little anxiety during the preparations for the ascent, but to me he appeared to be in a remarkably good humour, as if, indeed, in pleasurable anticipation of what he was about to experience. When, in response to the call of "Lachez tout!" the seamen released the last cables which had hitherto prevented the balloon from rising, and the crowd burst into shouts of "Vive la Republique!" and "Vive Gambetta!" the "youthful statesman," as he was then called, leant over the side of the car and waved his cap in response to the plaudits. [Another balloon, the "George Sand," ascended at the same time, having in its car various officials who were to negotiate the purchase of fire-arms in the United States.] The journey was eventful, for the Germans repeatedly fired at the balloon. A first attempt at descent had to be abandoned when the car was at an altitude of no more than 200 feet, for at that moment some German soldiers were seen almost immediately beneath it. They fired, and before the balloon could rise again a bullet grazed Gambetta's head. At four o'clock in the afternoon, however, the descent was renewed near Roye in the Somme, when the balloon was caught in an oak-tree, Gambetta at one moment hanging on to the ropes of the car, with his head downward. Some countryfolk came up in great anger, taking the party to be Prussians; but, on learning the truth, they rendered all possible assistance, and Gambetta and his companions repaired to the house of the mayor of the neighbouring village of Tricot. Alluding in after days to his experiences on this journey, the great man said that the earth, as seen by him from the car of the balloon, looked like a huge carpet woven chance-wise with different coloured wools. It did not impress him at all, he added, as it was really nothing but "une vilaine chinoiserie." It was from Rouen, where he arrived on the following day, that he issued the famous proclamation in which he called on France to make a compact with victory or death. On October 9, he joined the other delegates at Tours and took over the post of Minister of War as well as that of Minister of the Interior. His departure from the capital was celebrated by that clever versifier of the period, Albert Millaud, who contributed to _Le Figaro_ an amusing effusion, the first verse of which was to this effect: "Gambetta, pale and gloomy, Much wished to go to Tours, But two hundred thousand Prussians In his project made him pause. To aid the youthful statesman Came the aeronaut Nadar, Who sent up the 'Armand Barbes' With Gambetta in its car." Further on came the following lines, supposed to be spoken by Gambetta himself whilst he was gazing at the German lines beneath him-- "See how the plain is glistening With their helmets in a mass! Impalement would be dreadful On those spikes of polished brass!" Millaud, who was a Jew, the son, I think--or, at all events, a near relation--of the famous founder of _Le Petit Journal_, the advent of which constituted a great landmark in the history of the French Press--set himself, during several years of his career, to prove the truth of the axiom that in France "tout finit par des chansons." During those anxious siege days he was for ever striving to sound a gay note, something which, for a moment, at all events, might drive dull care away. Here is an English version of some verses which he wrote on Nadar: What a strange fellow is Nadar, Photographer and aeronaut! He is as clever as Godard. What a strange fellow is Nadar, Although, between ourselves, as far As art's concerned he knoweth naught. What a strange fellow is Nadar, Photographer and aeronaut! To guide the course of a balloon His mind conceived the wondrous screw. Some day he hopes unto the moon To guide the course of a balloon. Of 'airy navies' admiral soon, We'll see him 'grappling in the blue'-- To guide the course of a balloon His mind conceived the wondrous screw. Up in the kingdom of the air He now the foremost rank may claim. If poor Gambetta when up there, Up in the kingdom of the air, Does not find good cause to stare, Why, Nadar will not be to blame. Up in the kingdom of the air He now the foremost rank may claim. At Ferrières, above the park, Behold him darting through the sky, Soaring to heaven like a lark. At Ferrières above the park; Whilst William whispers to Bismarck-- 'Silence, see Nadar there on high!' At Ferrières above the park Behold him darting through the sky. Oh, thou more hairy than King Clodion, Bearer on high of this report, Thou yellower than a pure Cambodian, And far more daring than King Clodion, We'll cast thy statue in collodion And mount it on a gas retort. Oh, thou more hairy than King Clodion, Bearer on high of this report! Perhaps it may not be thought too pedantic on my part if I explain that the King Clodion referred to in Millaud's last verse was the legendary "Clodion the Hairy," a supposed fifth-century leader of the Franks, reputed to be a forerunner of the founder of the, Merovingian dynasty. Nadar's hair, however, was not long like that of _les rois chevelue_, for it was simply a huge curly and somewhat reddish mop. As for his complexion, Millaud's phrase, "yellow as a pure Cambodian," was a happy thought. These allusions to Millaud's sprightly verse remind me that throughout the siege of Paris the so-called _mot pour rire_ was never once lost sight of. At all times and in respect to everything there was a superabundance of jests--jests on the Germans, the National and the Mobile Guard, the fallen dynasty, and the new Republic, the fruitless sorties, the wretched rations, the failing gas, and many other people and things. One of the enemy's generals was said to have remarked one day: "I don't know how to satisfy my men. They complain of hunger, and yet I lead them every morning to the slaughterhouse." At another time a French colonel, of conservative ideas, was said to have replaced the inscription "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity," which he found painted on the walls of his barracks, by the words, "Infantry, Cavalry, Artillery," declaring that the latter were far more likely to free the country of the presence of the hated enemy. As for the "treason" mania, which was very prevalent at this time, it was related that a soldier remarked one day to a comrade: "I am sure that the captain is a traitor!" "Indeed! How's that?" was the prompt rejoinder. "Well," said the suspicious private, "have you not noticed that every time he orders us to march forward we invariably encounter the enemy?" When Trochu issued a decree incorporating all National Guards, under forty-five years of age, in the marching battalions for duty outside the city, one of these Guards, on being asked how old he was, replied, "six-and-forty." "How is that?" he was asked. "A few weeks ago, you told everybody that you were only thirty-six." "Quite true," rejoined the other, "but what with rampart-duty, demonstrating at the Hôtel-de-Ville, short rations, and the cold weather, I feel quite ten years older than I formerly did." When horseflesh became more or less our daily provender, many Parisian _bourgeois_ found their health failing. "What is the matter, my dearest?" Madame du Bois du Pont inquired of her husband, when he had collapsed one evening after dinner. "Oh! it is nothing, _mon amie_" he replied; "I dare say I shall soon feel well again, but I used to think myself a better horseman!" Directly our supply of gas began to fail, the wags insinuated that Henri Rochefort was jubilant, and if you inquired the reason thereof, you were told that owing to the scarcity of gas everybody would be obliged to buy hundreds of "_Lanternes_." We had, of course, plenty of sensations in those days, but if you wished to cap every one of them you merely had to walk into a café and ask the waiter for--a railway time-table. Once before I referred to the caricatures of the period, notably to those libelling the Emperor Napoleon III and the Empress Eugénie, the latter being currently personified as Messalina--or even as something worse, and this, of course, without the faintest shadow of justification. But the caricaturists were not merely concerned with the fallen dynasty. One of the principal cartoonists of the _Charivari_ at that moment was "Cham," otherwise the Vicomte Amédée de Noé, an old friend of my family's. It was he, by the way, who before the war insisted on my going to a fencing-school, saying: "Look here, if you mean to live in France and be a journalist, you must know how to hold a sword. Come with me to Ruzé's. I taught your uncle Frank and his friend Gustave Doré how to fence many years ago, and now I am going to have you taught." Well, in one of his cartoons issued during the siege, Cham (disgusted, like most Frenchmen, at the seeming indifference of Great Britain to the plight in which France found herself) summed up the situation, as he conceived it, by depicting the British Lion licking the boots of Bismarck, who was disguised as Davy Crockett. When my father remonstrated with Cham on the subject, reminding him of his own connexion with England, the indignant caricaturist replied: "Don't speak of it. I have renounced England and all her works." He, like other Frenchmen of the time, contended that we had placed ourselves under great obligations to France at the period of the Crimean War. Among the best caricatures of the siege-days was one by Daumier, which showed Death appearing to Bismarck in his sleep, and murmuring softly, "Thanks, many thanks." Another idea of the period found expression in a cartoon representing a large mouse-trap, labelled "France," into which a company of mice dressed up as German soldiers were eagerly marching, their officer meanwhile pointing to a cheese fixed inside the trap, and inscribed with the name of Paris. Below the design ran the legend: "Ah! if we could only catch them all in it!" Many, indeed most, of the caricatures of the time did not appear in the so-called humorous journals, but were issued separately at a penny apiece, and were usually coloured by the stencilling process. In one of them, I remember, Bismarck was seen wearing seven-league boots and making ineffectual attempts to step from Versailles to Paris. Another depicted the King of Prussia as Butcher William, knife in hand and attired in the orthodox slaughter-house costume; whilst in yet another design the same monarch was shown urging poor Death, who had fallen exhausted in the snow, with his scythe lying broken beside him, to continue on the march until the last of the French nation should be exterminated. Of caricatures representing cooks in connexion with cats there was no end, the _lapin de gouttière_ being in great demand for the dinner-table; and, after Gambetta had left us, there were designs showing the armies of succour (which were to be raised in the provinces) endeavouring to pass ribs of beef, fat geese, legs of mutton, and strings of sausages over several rows of German helmets, gathered round a bastion labelled Paris, whence a famished National Guard, eager for the proffered provisions, was trying to spring, but could not do so owing to the restraining arm of General Trochu. Before the investment began Paris was already afflicted with a spy mania. Sala's adventure, which I recounted in an earlier chapter, was in a way connected with this delusion, which originated with the cry "We are betrayed!" immediately after the first French reverses. The instances of so-called "spyophobia" were innumerable, and often curious and amusing. There was a slight abatement of the mania when, shortly before the siege, 188,000 Germans were expelled from Paris, leaving behind them only some 700 old folk, invalids, and children, who were unable to obey the Government's decree. But the disease soon revived, and we heard of rag-pickers having their baskets ransacked by zealous National Guards, who imagined that these receptacles might contain secret despatches or contraband ammunition. On another occasion _Le Figaro_ wickedly suggested that all the blind beggars in Paris were spies, with the result that several poor infirm old creatures were abominably ill-treated. Again, a fugitive sheet called _Les Nouvelles_ denounced all the English residents as spies. Labouchere was one of those pounced upon by a Parisian mob in consequence of that idiotic denunciation, but as he had the presence of mind to invite those who assailed him to go with him to the nearest police-station, he was speedily released. On two occasions my father and myself were arrested and carried to guard-houses, and in the course of those experiences we discovered that the beautifully engraved but essentially ridiculous British passport, which recited all the honours and dignities of the Secretary of State or the Ambassador delivering it, but gave not the slightest information respecting the person to whom it had been delivered (apart, that is, from his or her name), was of infinitely less value in the eyes of a French officer than a receipt for rent or a Parisian tradesman's bill. [That was forty-three years ago. The British passport, however, remains to-day as unsatisfactory as it was then.] But let me pass to other instances. One day an unfortunate individual, working in the Paris sewers, was espied by a zealous National Guard, who at once gave the alarm, declaring that there was a German spy in the aforesaid sewers, and that he was depositing bombs there with the intention of blowing up the city. Three hundred Guards at once volunteered their services, stalked the poor workman, and blew him to pieces the next time he popped his head out of a sewer-trap. The mistake was afterwards deplored, but people argued (wrote Mr. Thomas Gibson Bowles, who sent the story to The Morning Post) that it was far better that a hundred innocent Frenchmen should suffer than that a single Prussian should escape. Cham, to whom I previously alluded, old Marshal Vaillant, Mr. O'Sullivan, an American diplomatist, and Alexis Godillot, the French army contractor, were among the many well-known people arrested as spies at one or another moment. A certain Mme: de Beaulieu, who had joined a regiment of Mobiles as a _cantiniere_, was denounced as a spy "because her hands were so white." Another lady, who had installed an ambulance in her house, was carried off to prison on an equally frivolous pretext; and I remember yet another case in which a lady patron of the Societe de Secours aux Blesses was ill-treated. Matters would, however, probably be far worse at the present time, for Paris, with all her apaches and anarchists, now includes in her population even more scum than was the case three-and-forty years ago. There were, however, a few authentic instances of spying, one case being that of a young fellow whom Etienne Arago, the Mayor of Paris, engaged as a secretary, on the recommendation of Henri Rochefort, but who turned out to be of German extraction, and availed himself of his official position to draw up reports which were forwarded by balloon post to an agent of the German Government in London. I have forgotten the culprit's name, but it will be found, with particulars of his case, in the Paris journals of the siege days. There was, moreover, the Hardt affair, which resulted in the prisoner, a former lieutenant in the Prussian army, being convicted of espionage and shot in the courtyard of the Ecole Militaire. Co-existent with "spyophobia" there was another craze, that of suspecting any light seen at night-time in an attic or fifth-floor window to be a signal intended for the enemy. Many ludicrous incidents occurred in connexion with this panic. One night an elderly _bourgeois_, who had recently married a charming young woman, was suddenly dragged from his bed by a party of indignant National Guards, and consigned to the watch-house until daybreak. This had been brought about by his wife's maid placing a couple of lighted candles in her window as a signal to the wife's lover that, "master being at home," he was not to come up to the flat that night. On another occasion a poor old lady, who was patriotically depriving herself of sleep in order to make lint for the ambulances, was pounced upon and nearly strangled for exhibiting green and red signals from her window. It turned out, however, that the signals in question were merely the reflections of a harmless though charmingly variegated parrot which was the zealous old dame's sole and faithful companion. No matter what might be the quarter of Paris in which a presumed signal was observed, the house whence it emanated was at once invaded by National Guards, and perfectly innocent people were often carried off and subjected to ill-treatment. To such proportions did the craze attain that some papers even proposed that the Government should forbid any kind of light whatever, after dark, in any room situated above the second floor, unless the windows of that room were "hermetically sealed"! Most victims of the mania submitted to the mob's invasion of their homes without raising any particular protest; but a volunteer artilleryman, who wrote to the authorities complaining that his rooms had been ransacked in his absence and his aged mother frightened out of her wits, on the pretext that some fusees had been fired from his windows, declared that if there should be any repetition of such an intrusion whilst he was at home he would receive the invaders bayonet and revolver in hand. From that moment similar protests poured into the Hôtel-de-Ville, and Trochu ended by issuing a proclamation in which he said: "Under the most frivolous pretexts, numerous houses have been entered, and peaceful citizens have been maltreated. The flags of friendly nations have been powerless to protect the houses where they were displayed. I have ordered an inquiry on the subject, and I now command that all persons guilty of these abusive practices shall be arrested. A special service has been organized in order to prevent the enemy from keeping up any communication with any of its partisans in the city; and I remind everybody that excepting in such instances as are foreseen by the law every citizen's residence is inviolable." We nowadays hear a great deal about the claims of women, but although the followers of Mrs. Pankhurst have carried on "a sort of a war" for a considerable time past, I have not yet noticed any disposition on their part to "join the colours." Men currently assert that women cannot serve as soldiers. There are, however, many historical instances of women distinguishing themselves in warfare, and modern conditions are even more favourable than former ones for the employment of women as soldiers. There is splendid material to be derived from the golf-girl, the hockey-girl, the factory- and the laundry-girl--all of them active, and in innumerable instances far stronger than many of the narrow-chested, cigarette-smoking "boys" whom we now see in our regiments. Briefly, a day may well come when we shall see many of our so-called superfluous women taking to the "career of arms." However, the attempts made to establish a corps of women-soldiers in Paris, during the German siege, were more amusing than serious. Early in October some hundreds of women demonstrated outside the Hôtel-de-Ville, demanding that all the male nurses attached to the ambulances should be replaced by women. The authorities promised to grant that application, and the women next claimed the right to share the dangers of the field with their husbands and their brothers. This question was repeatedly discussed at the public clubs, notably at one in the Rue Pierre Levée, where Louise Michel, the schoolmistress who subsequently participated in the Commune and was transported to New Caledonia, officiated as high-priestess; and at another located at the Triat Gymnasium in the Avenue Montaigne, where as a rule no men were allowed to be present, that is, excepting a certain Citizen Jules Allix, an eccentric elderly survivor of the Republic of '48, at which period he had devised a system of telepathy effected by means of "sympathetic snails." One Sunday afternoon in October the lady members of this club, being in urgent need of funds, decided to admit men among their audience at the small charge of twopence per head, and on hearing this, my father and myself strolled round to witness the proceedings. They were remarkably lively. Allix, while reading a report respecting the club's progress, began to libel some of the Paris convents, whereupon a National Guard in the audience flatly called him a liar. A terrific hubbub arose, all the women gesticulating and protesting, whilst their _présidente_ energetically rang her bell, and the interrupter strode towards the platform. He proved to be none other than the Duc de Fitz-James, a lineal descendant of our last Stuart King by Marlborough's sister, Arabella Churchill. He tried to speak, but the many loud screams prevented him from doing so. Some of the women threatened him with violence, whilst a few others thanked him for defending the Church. At last, however, he leapt on the platform, and in doing so overturned both a long table covered with green baize, and the members of the committee who were seated behind it. Jules Allix thereupon sprang at the Duke's throat, they struggled and fell together from the platform, and rolled in the dust below it. It was long before order was restored, but this was finally effected by a good-looking young woman who, addressing the male portion of the audience, exclaimed: "Citizens! if you say another word we will fling what you have paid for admission in your faces, and order you out of doors!" Business then began, the discussion turning chiefly upon two points, the first being that all women should be armed and do duty on the ramparts, and the second that the women should defend their honour from the attacks of the Germans by means of prussic acid. Allix remarked that it would be very appropriate to employ prussic acid in killing Prussians, and explained to us that this might be effected by means of little indiarubber thimbles which the women would place on their fingers, each thimble being tipped with a small pointed tube containing some of the acid in question. If an amorous Prussian should venture too close to a fair Parisienne, the latter would merely have to hold out her hand and prick him. In another instant he would fall dead! "No matter how many of the enemy may assail her," added Allix, enthusiastically, "she will simply have to prick them one by one, and we shall see her standing still pure and holy in the midst of a circle of corpses!" At these words many of the women in the audience were moved to tears, but the men laughed hilariously. Such disorderly scenes occurred at this women's club, that the landlord of the Triat Gymnasium at last took possession of the premises again, and the ejected members vainly endeavoured to find accommodation elsewhere. Nevertheless, another scheme for organizing an armed force of women was started, and one day, on observing on the walls of Paris a green placard which announced the formation of a "Legion of Amazons of the Seine," I repaired to the Rue Turbigo, where this Legion's enlistment office had been opened. After making my way up a staircase crowded with recruits, who were mostly muscular women from five-and-twenty to forty years of age, the older ones sometimes being unduly stout, and not one of them, in my youthful opinion, at all good-looking, I managed to squeeze my way into the private office of the projector of the Legion, or, as he called himself, its "Provisional Chef de Bataillon." He was a wiry little man, with a grey moustache and a military bearing, and answered to the name of Félix Belly. A year or two previously he had unjustly incurred a great deal of ridicule in Paris, owing to his attempts to float a Panama Canal scheme. Only five years after the war, however, the same idea was taken up by Ferdinand de Lesseps, and French folk, who had laughed it to scorn in Belly's time, proved only too ready to fling their hard-earned savings into the bottomless gulf of Lesseps' enterprise. I remember having a long chat with Belly, who was most enthusiastic respecting his proposed Amazons. They were to defend the ramparts and barricades of Paris, said he, being armed with light guns carrying some 200 yards; and their costume, a model of which was shown me, was to consist of black trousers with orange-coloured stripes down the outer seams, black blouses with capes, and black képis, also with orange trimmings. Further, each woman was to carry a cartridge-box attached to a shoulder-belt. It was hoped that the first battalion would muster quite 1200 women, divided into eight companies of 150 each. There was to be a special medical service, and although the chief doctor would be a man, it was hoped to secure several assistant doctors of the female sex. Little M. Belly dwelt particularly on the fact that only women of unexceptionable moral character would be allowed to join the force, all recruits having to supply certificates from the Commissaries of Police of their districts, as well as the consent of their nearest connexions, such as their fathers or their husbands. "Now, listen to this," added M. Belly, enthusiastically, as he went to a piano which I was surprised to find, standing in a recruiting office; and seating himself at the instrument, he played for my especial benefit the stirring strains of a new, specially-commissioned battle-song, which, said he, "we intend to call the Marseillaise of the Paris Amazons!" Unfortunately for M. Belly, all his fine projects and preparations collapsed a few days afterwards, owing to the intervention of the police, who raided the premises in the Rue Turbigo, and carried off all the papers they found there. They justified these summary proceedings on the ground that General Trochu had forbidden the formation of any more free corps, and that M. Belly had unduly taken fees from his recruits. I believe, however, that the latter statement was incorrect. At all events, no further proceedings were instituted. But the raid sufficed to kill M. Belly's cherished scheme, which naturally supplied the caricaturists of the time with more or less brilliant ideas. One cartoon represented the German army surrendering _en masse_ to a mere battalion of the Beauties of Paris. VI MORE ABOUT THE SIEGE DAYS Reconnaissances and Sorties--Casimir-Perier at Bagneux--Some of the Paris Clubs--Demonstrations at the Hôtel-de-Ville--The Cannon Craze--The Fall of Metz foreshadowed--Le Bourget taken by the French--The Government's Policy of Concealment--The Germans recapture Le Bourget--Thiers, the Armistice, and Bazaine's Capitulation--The Rising of October 31--The Peril and the Rescue of the Government--Armistice and Peace Conditions--The Great Question of Rations--Personal Experiences respecting Food--My father, in failing Health, decides to leave Paris. After the engagement of Châtillon, fought on September 19, various reconnaissances were carried out by the army of Paris. In the first of these General Vinoy secured possession of the plateau of Villejuif, east of Châtillon, on the south side of the city. Next, the Germans had to retire from Pierre-fitte, a village in advance of Saint Denis on the northern side. There were subsequent reconnaissances in the direction of Neuilly-sur-Marne and the Plateau d'Avron, east of Paris; and on Michaelmas Day an engagement was fought at L'Hay and Chevilly, on the south. But the archangel did not on this occasion favour the French, who were repulsed, one of their commanders, the veteran brigadier Guilhem, being killed. A fight at Châtillon on October 12 was followed on the morrow by a more serious action at Bagneux, on the verge of the Châtillon plateau. During this engagement the Mobiles from the Burgundian Côte d'Or made a desperate attack on a German barricade bristling with guns, reinforced by infantry, and also protected by a number of sharp-shooters installed in the adjacent village-houses, whose window-shutters and walls had been loop-holed. During the encounter, the commander of the Mobiles, the Comte de Dampierre, a well-known member of the French Jockey Club, fell mortally wounded whilst urging on his men, but was succoured by a captain of the Mobiles of the Aube, who afterwards assumed the chief command, and, by a rapid flanking movement, was able to carry the barricade. This captain was Jean Casimir-Perier, who, in later years, became President of the Republic. He was rewarded for his gallantry with the Cross of the Legion of Honour. Nevertheless, the French success was only momentary. That same night the sky westward of Paris was illumined by a great ruddy glare. The famous Château of Saint Cloud, associated with many memories of the old _régime_ and both the Empires, was seen to be on fire. The cause of the conflagration has never been precisely ascertained. Present-day French reference-books still declare that the destruction of the château was the wilful act of the Germans, who undoubtedly occupied Saint Cloud; but German authorities invariably maintain that the fire was caused by a shell from the French fortress of Mont Valérien. Many of the sumptuous contents of the Château of Saint Cloud--the fatal spot where that same war had been decided on--were consumed by the flames, while the remainder were appropriated by the Germans as plunder. Many very valuable paintings of the period of Louis XIV were undoubtedly destroyed. By this time the word "reconnaissance," as applied to the engagements fought in the environs of the city, had become odious to the Parisians, who began to clamour for a real "sortie." Trochu, it may be said, had at this period no idea of being able to break out of Paris. In fact, he had no desire to do so. His object in all the earlier military operations of the siege was simply to enlarge the circle of investment, in the hope of thereby placing the Germans in a difficulty, of which he might subsequently take advantage. An attack which General Ducrot made, with a few thousand men, on the German position near La Malmaison, west of Paris, was the first action which was officially described as a "sortie." It took place on October 21, but the success which at first attended Ducrot's efforts was turned into a repulse by the arrival of German reinforcements, the affair ending with a loss of some four hundred killed and wounded on the French side, apart from that of another hundred men who were taken prisoners by the enemy. This kind of thing did not appeal to the many frequenters of the public clubs which were established in the different quarters of Paris. All theatrical performances had ceased there, and there was no more dancing. Even the concerts and readings given in aid of the funds for the wounded were few and far between. Thus, if a Parisian did not care to while away his evening in a cafe, his only resource was to betake himself to one of the clubs. Those held at the Folies-Bergère music-hall, the Valentino dancing-hall, the Porte St. Martin theatre, and the hall of the Collège de France, were mostly frequented by moderate Republicans, and attempts were often made there to discuss the situation in a sensible manner. But folly, even insanity, reigned at many of the other clubs, where men like Félix Pyat, Auguste Blanqui, Charles Delescluze, Gustave Flourens, and the three Ms--Mégy, Mottu, and Millière--raved and ranted. Go where you would, you found a club. There was that of La Reine Blanche at Montmartre and that of the Salle Favié at Belleville; there was the club de la Vengeance on the Boulevard Rochechouart, the Club des Montagnards on the Boulevard de Strasbourg, the Club des Etats-Unis d'Europe in the Rue Cadet, the Club du Préaux-Clercs in the Rue du Bac, the Club de la Cour des Miracles on the Ile Saint Louis, and twenty or thirty others of lesser note. At times the demagogues who perorated from the tribunes at these gatherings, brought forward proposals which seemed to have emanated from some madhouse, but which were nevertheless hailed with delirious applause by their infatuated audiences. Occasionally new engines of destruction were advocated--so-called "Satan-fusees," or pumps discharging flaming petroleum! Another speaker conceived the brilliant idea of keeping all the wild beasts in the Jardin des Plantes on short commons for some days, then removing them from Paris at the next sortie, and casting them adrift among the enemy. Yet another imbecile suggested that the water of the Seine and the Marne should be poisoned, regardless of, the fact that, in any such event, the Parisians would suffer quite as much as the enemy. But the malcontents were not satisfied with ranting at the clubs. On October 2, Paris became very gloomy, for we then received from outside the news that both Toul and Strasbourg had surrendered. Three days later, Gustave Flourens gathered the National Guards of Belleville together and marched with them on the Hôtel-de-Ville, where he called upon the Government to renounce the military tactics of the Empire which had set one Frenchman against three Germans, to decree a _levée en masse_, to make frequent sorties with the National Guards, to arm the latter with chassepots, and to establish at once a municipal "Commune of Paris." On the subject of sorties the Government promised to conform to the general desire, and to allow the National Guards to co-operate with the regular army as soon as they should know how to fight and escape being simply butchered. To other demands made by Flourens, evasive replies were returned, whereupon he indignantly resigned his command of the Belleville men, but resumed it at their urgent request. The affair somewhat alarmed the Government, who issued a proclamation forbidding armed demonstrations, and, far from consenting to the establishment of any Commune, postponed the ordinary municipal elections which were soon to have taken place. To this the Reds retorted by making yet another demonstration, which my father and myself witnessed. Thousands of people, many of them being armed National Guards, assembled on the Place de l'Hôtel de Ville, shouting: "La Commune! La Commune! Nous voulons la Commune!" But the authorities had received warning of their opponents' intentions, and the Hôtel-de-Ville was entirely surrounded by National Guards belonging to loyal battalions, behind whom, moreover, was stationed a force of trusty Mobile Guards, whose bayonets were already fixed. Thus no attempt could be made to raid the Hôtel-de-Ville with any chance of success. Further, several other contingents of loyal National Guards arrived on the square, and helped to check the demonstrators. While gazing on the scene from an upper window of the Cafe de la Garde Nationale, at one corner of the square, I suddenly saw Trochu ride out of the Government building, as it then was, followed by a couple of aides-de-camp, His appearance was attended by a fresh uproar. The yells of "La Commune! La Commune!" rose more loudly than ever, but were now answered by determined shouts of "Vive la Republique! Vive Trochu! Vive le Gouvernement!" whilst the drums beat, the trumpets sounded, and all the Government forces presented arms. The general rode up and down the lines, returning the salute, amidst prolonged acclamations, and presently his colleagues, Jules Favre and the others--excepting, of course, Gambetta, who had already left Paris--also came out of the Hotel-de-Ville and received an enthusiastic greeting from their supporters. For the time, the Reds were absolutely defeated, and in order to prevent similar disturbances in future, Keratry, the Prefect of Police, wished to arrest Flourens, Blanqui, Milliere, and others, which suggestion was countenanced by Trochu, but opposed by Rochefort and Etienne Arago. A few days later, Rochefort patched up a brief outward reconciliation between the contending parties. Nevertheless, it was evident that Paris was already sharply divided, both on the question of its defence and on that of its internal government. On October 23, some of the National Guards were at last allowed to join in a sortie. They were men from Montmartre, and the action, or rather skirmish, in which they participated took place at Villemomble, east of Paris, the guards behaving fairly well under fire, and having five of their number wounded. Patriotism was now taking another form in the city. There was a loud cry for cannons, more and more cannons. The Government replied that 227 mitrailleuses with over 800,000 cartridges, 50 mortars, 400 carriages for siege guns, several of the latter ordnance, and 300 seven-centimetre guns carrying 8600 yards, together with half a million shells of different sizes, had already been ordered, and in part delivered. Nevertheless, public subscriptions were started in order to provide another 1500 cannon, large sums being contributed to the fund by public bodies and business firms. Not only did the newspapers offer to collect small subscriptions, but stalls were set up for that purpose in different parts of Paris, as in the time of the first Revolution, and people there tendered their contributions, the women often offering jewelry in lieu of money. Trochu, however, deprecated the movement. There were already plenty of guns, said he; what he required was gunners to serve them. On October 25 we heard of the fall of the little town of Châteaudun in Eure-et-Loir, after a gallant resistance offered by 1200 National Guards and Francs-tireurs against 6000 German infantry, a regiment of cavalry, and four field batteries. Von Wittich, the German general, punished that resistance by setting fire to Châteaudun and a couple of adjacent villages, and his men, moreover, massacred a number of non-combatant civilians. Nevertheless, the courage shown by the people of Châteaudun revived the hopes of the Parisians and strengthened their resolution to brave every hardship rather than surrender. Two days later, however, Félix Pyat's journal _Le Combat_ published, within a mourning border, the following announcement: "It is a sure and certain fact that the Government of National Defence retains in its possession a State secret, which we denounce to an indignant country as high treason. Marshal Bazaine has sent a colonel to the camp of the King of Prussia to treat for the surrender of Metz and for Peace in the name of Napoleon III." The news seemed incredible, and, indeed, at the first moment, very few people believed it. If it were true, however, Prince Frederick Charles's forces, released from the siege of Metz, would evidently be able to march against D'Aurelle de Paladines' army of the Loire just when it was hoped that the latter would overthrow the Bavarians under Von der Tann and hasten to the relief of Paris. But people argued that Bazaine was surely as good a patriot as Bourbaki, who, it was already known, had escaped from Metz and offered his sword to the National Defence in the provinces. A number of indignant citizens hastened to the office of _Le Combat_ in order to seize Pyat and consign him to durance, but he was an adept in the art of escaping arrest, and contrived to get away by a back door. At the Hôtel-de-Ville Rochefort, on being interviewed, described Pyat as a cur, and declared that there was no truth whatever in his story. Public confidence completely revived on the following morning, when the official journal formally declared that Metz had not capitulated; and, in the evening, Paris became quite jubilant at the news that General Carré de Bellemare, who commanded on the north side of the city, had wrested from the Germans the position of Le Bourget, lying to the east of Saint Denis. Pyat, however, though he remained in hiding, clung to his story respecting Metz, stating in _Le Combat_, on October 29, that the news had been communicated to him by Gustave Flourens, who had derived it from Rochefort, by whom it was now impudently denied. It subsequently became known, moreover, that another member of the Government, Eugène Pelletan, had confided the same intelligence to Commander Longuet, of the National Guard. It appears that it had originally been derived from certain members of the Red Cross Society, who, when it became necessary to bury the dead and tend the wounded after an encounter in the environs of Paris, often came in contact with the Germans. The report was, of course, limited to the statement that Bazaine was negotiating a surrender, not that he had actually capitulated. The Government's denial of it can only be described as a quibble--of the kind to which at times even British Governments stoop when faced by inconvenient questions in the House of Commons--and, as we shall soon see, the gentlemen of the National Defence spent a _très mauvais quart d'heure_ as a result of the _suppressio veri_ of which they were guilty. Similar "bad quarters of an hour" have fallen upon politicians in other countries, including our own, under somewhat similar circumstances. On October 30, Thiers, after travelling all over Europe, pleading his country's cause at every great Court, arrived in Paris with a safe-conduct from Bismarck, in order to lay before the Government certain proposals for an armistice, which Russia, Great Britain, Austria, and Italy were prepared to support. And alas! he also brought with him the news that Metz had actually fallen--having capitulated, indeed, on October 27, the very day on which Pyat had issued his announcement. There was consternation at the Hôtel-de-Ville when this became known, and the gentlemen of the Government deeply but vainly regretted the futile tactics to which they had so foolishly stooped. To make matters worse, we received in the evening intelligence that the Germans had driven Carré de Bellemare's men out of Le Bourget after some brief but desperate fighting. Trochu declared that he had no need of the Bourget position, that it had never entered into his scheme of defence, and that Bellemare had been unduly zealous in attacking and taking it from the Germans. If that were the case, however, why had not the Governor of Paris ordered Le Bourget to be evacuated immediately after its capture, without waiting for the Germans to re-take it at the bayonet's point? Under the circumstances, the Parisians were naturally exasperated. Tumultuous were the scenes on the Boulevards that evening, and vehement and threatening were the speeches at the clubs. When the Parisians quitted their homes on the morning of Monday, the 31st, they found the city placarded with two official notices, one respecting the arrival of Thiers and the proposals for an armistice, and the second acknowledging the disaster of Metz. A hurricane of indignation at once swept through the city. Le Bourget lost! Metz taken! Proposals for an armistice with the detested Prussians entertained! Could Trochu's plan and Bazaine's plan be synonymous, then? The one word "Treachery!" was on every lip. When noon arrived the Place de l'Hôtel-de-Ville was crowded with indignant people. Deputations, composed chiefly of officers of the National Guard, interviewed the Government, and were by no means satisfied with the replies which they received from Jules Ferry and others. Meantime, the crowd on the square was increasing in numbers. Several members of the Government attempted to prevail on it to disperse; but no heed was paid to them. At last a free corps commanded by Tibaldi, an Italian conspirator of Imperial days, effected an entrance into the Hotel-de-Ville, followed by a good many of the mob. In the throne-room they were met by Jules Favre, whose attempts to address them failed, the shouts of "La Commune! La Commune!" speedily drowning his voice. Meantime, two shots were fired by somebody on the square, a window was broken, and the cry of the invaders became "To arms! to arms! Our brothers are being butchered!" In vain did Trochu and Rochefort endeavour to stem the tide of invasion. In vain, also, did the Government, assembled in the council-room, offer to submit itself to the suffrages of the citizens, to grant the election of municipal councillors, and to promise that no armistice should be signed without consulting the population. The mob pressed on through one room after another, smashing tables, desks, and windows on their way, and all at once the very apartment where the Government were deliberating was, in its turn, invaded, several officers of the National Guard, subsequently prominent at the time of the Commune, heading the intruders and demanding the election of a Commune and the appointment of a new administration under the presidency of Dorian, the popular Minister of Public Works. Amidst the ensuing confusion, M. Ernest Picard, a very corpulent, jovial-looking advocate, who was at the head of the department of Finances, contrived to escape; but all his colleagues were surrounded, insulted by the invaders, and summoned to resign their posts. They refused to do so, and the wrangle was still at its height when Gustave Flourens and his Belleville sharpshooters reached the Place de l'Hôtel-de-Ville. Flourens entered the building, which at this moment was occupied by some seven or eight thousand men, and proposed that the Commune should be elected by acclamation. This was agreed upon; Dorian's name--though, by the way, he was a wealthy ironmaster, and in no sense a Communard--being put at the head of the list. This included Flourens himself, Victor Hugo, Louis Blanc, Raspail, Mottu, Delescluze, Blanqui, Ledru-Rollin, Rochefort, Félix Pyat, Ranvier, and Avrial. Then Flourens, in his turn, entered the council-room, climbed on to the table, and summoned the captive members of the Government to resign; Again they refused to do so, and were therefore placed under arrest. Jules Ferry and Emmanuel Arago managed to escape, however, and some friendly National Guards succeeded in entering the building and carrying off General Trochu. Ernest Picard, meanwhile, had been very active in devising plans for the recapture of the Hôtel-de-Ville and providing for the safety of various Government departments. Thus, when Flourens sent a lieutenant to the treasury demanding the immediate payment of _£600,000(!)_ the request was refused, and the messenger placed under arrest. Nevertheless, the insurgents made themselves masters of several district town-halls. But Jules Ferry was collecting the loyal National Guards together, and at half-past eleven o'clock that night they and some Mobiles marched on the Hôtel-de-Ville. The military force which had been left there by the insurgents was not large. A parley ensued, and while it was still in progress, an entire battalion of Mobiles effected an entry by a subterranean passage leading from an adjacent barracks. Delescluze and Flourens then tried to arrange terms with Dorian, but Jules Ferry would accept no conditions. The imprisoned members of the Government were released, and the insurgent leaders compelled to retire. About this time Trochu and Ducrot arrived on the scene, and between three and four o'clock in the morning I saw them pass the Government forces in review on the square. On the following day, all the alleged conventions between M. Dorian and the Red Republican leaders were disavowed. There was, however, a conflict of opinion as to whether those leaders should be arrested or not, some members of the Government admitting that they had promised Delescluze and others that they should not be prosecuted. In consequence of this dispute, several officials, including Edmond Adam, Keratry's successor as Prefect of Police, resigned their functions. A few days later, twenty-one of the insurgent leaders were arrested, Pyat being among them, though nothing was done in regard to Flourens and Blanqui, both of whom had figured prominently in the affair. On November 3 we had a plebiscitum, the question put to the Parisians being: "Does the population of Paris, yes or no, maintain the powers of the Government of National Defence?" So far as the civilian element--which included the National Guards--was concerned, the ballot resulted as follows: Voting "Yes," 321,373 citizens; voting "No," 53,585 citizens. The vote of the army, inclusive of the Mobile Guard, was even more pronounced: "Yes," 236,623; "No," 9063, Thus the general result was 557,996 votes in favour of the Government, and 62,638 against it--the proportion being 9 to 1 for the entire male population of the invested circle. This naturally rendered the authorities jubilant. But the affair of October 31 had deplorable consequences with regard to the armistice negotiations. This explosion of sedition alarmed the German authorities. They lost confidence in the power of the National Defence to carry out such terms as might be stipulated, and, finally, Bismarck refused to allow Paris to be revictualled during the period requisite for the election of a legislative assembly--which was to have decided the question of peace or war--unless one fort, and possibly more than one, were surrendered to him. Thiers and Favre could not accept such a condition, and thus the negotiations were broken off. Before Thiers quitted Bismarck, however, the latter significantly told him that the terms of peace at that juncture would be the cession of Alsace to Germany, and the payment of three milliards of francs as an indemnity; but that after the fall of Paris the terms would be the cession of both Alsace and Lorraine, and a payment of five milliards. In the earlier days of the siege there was no rationing of provisions, though the price of meat was fixed by Government decree. At the end of September, however, the authorities decided to limit the supply to a maximum of 500 oxen and 4000 sheep per diem. It was decided also that the butchers' shops should only open on every fourth day, when four days' meat should be distributed at the official prices. During the earlier period the daily ration ranged from 80 to 100 grammes, that is, about 2-2/3 oz. to 3-1/3 oz. in weight, one-fifth part of it being bone in the case of beef, though, with respect to mutton, the butchers were forbidden to make up the weight with any bones which did not adhere to the meat. At the outset of the siege only twenty or thirty horses were slaughtered each day; but on September 30 the number had risen to 275. A week later there were nearly thirty shops in Paris where horseflesh was exclusively sold, and scarcely a day elapsed without an increase in their number. Eventually horseflesh became virtually the only meat procurable by all classes of the besieged, but in the earlier period it was patronized chiefly by the poorer folk, the prices fixed for it by authority being naturally lower than those edicted for beef and mutton. With regard to the arrangements made by my father and myself respecting food, they were, in the earlier days of the siege, very simple. We were keeping no servant at our flat in the Rue de Miromesnil. The concierge of the house, and his wife, did all such work as we required. This concierge, whose name was Saby, had been a Zouave, and had acted as orderly to his captain in Algeria. He was personally expert in the art of preparing "couscoussou" and other Algerian dishes, and his wife was a thoroughly good cook _à la française_. Directly meat was rationed, Saby said to me: "The allowance is very small; you and Monsieur votre père will be able to eat a good deal more than that. Now, some of the poorer folk cannot afford to pay for butchers' meat, they are contented with horseflesh, which is not yet rationed, and are willing to sell their ration cards. You can well afford to buy one or two of them, and in that manner secure extra allowances of beef or mutton." That plan was adopted, and for a time everything went on satisfactorily. On a few occasions I joined the queue outside our butcher's in the Rue de Penthièvre, and waited an hour or two to secure our share of meat, We were not over-crowded in that part of Paris. A great many members of the aristocracy and bourgeoisie, who usually dwelt there, had left the city with their families and servants prior to the investment; and thus the queues and the waits were not so long as in the poorer and more densely populated districts. Saby, however, often procured our meat himself or employed somebody else to do so, for women were heartily glad of the opportunity to earn half a franc or so by acting as deputy for other people. We had secured a small supply of tinned provisions, and would have increased it if the prices had not gone up by leaps and bounds, in such wise that a tin of corned beef or something similar, which one saw priced in the morning at about 5 francs, was labelled 20 francs a few hours later. Dry beans and peas were still easily procurable, but fresh vegetables at once became both rare and costly. Potatoes failed us at an early date. On the other hand, jam and preserved fruit could be readily obtained at the grocer's at the corner of our street. The bread slowly deteriorated in quality, but was still very fair down to the date of my departure from Paris (November 8 [See the following chapter.]). Milk and butter, however, became rare--the former being reserved for the hospitals, the ambulances, the mothers of infants, and so forth--whilst one sighed in vain for a bit of Gruyère, Roquefort, Port-Salut, Brie, or indeed any other cheese. Saby, who was a very shrewd fellow, had conceived a brilliant idea before the siege actually began. The Chateaubriands having quitted the house and removed their horses from the stables, he took possession of the latter, purchased some rabbits--several does and a couple of bucks--laid in a supply of food for them, and resolved to make his fortune by rabbit-breeding. He did not quite effect his purpose, but rabbits are so prolific that he was repaid many times over for the trouble which he took in rearing them. For some time he kept the affair quite secret. More than once I saw him going in and out of the stables, without guessing the reason; but one morning, having occasion to speak to him, I followed him and discovered the truth. He certainly bred several scores of rabbits during the course of the siege, merely ceasing to do so when he found it impossible to continue feeding the animals. On two or three occasions we paid him ten francs or so for a rabbit, and that was certainly "most-favoured-nation treatment;" for, at the same period, he was charging twenty and twenty-five francs to other people. Cooks, with whom he communicated, came to him from mansions both near and far. He sold quite a number of rabbits to Baron Alphonse de Rothschild's _chef_ at the rate of £2 apiece, and others to Count Pillet-Will at about the same price, so that, so far as his pockets were concerned, he in no wise suffered by the siege of Paris. We were blessed with an abundance of charcoal for cooking purposes, and of coals and wood for ordinary fires, having at our disposal not only the store in our own cellars, but that which the Chateaubriand family had left behind. The cold weather set in very soon, and firing was speedily in great demand. Our artist Jules Pelcoq, who lived in the Rue Lepic at Montmartre, found himself reduced to great straits in this respect, nothing being procurable at the dealers' excepting virtually green wood which had been felled a short time previously in the Bois de Boulogne and Bois de Vincennes. On a couple of occasions Pelcoq and I carried some coals in bags to his flat, and my father, being anxious for his comfort, wished to provide him with a larger supply. Saby was therefore requisitioned to procure a man who would undertake to convey some coals in a handcart to Montmartre. The man was found, and paid for his services in advance. But alas! the coals never reached poor Pelcoq. When we next saw the man who had been engaged, he told us that he had been intercepted on his way by some National Guards, who had asked him what his load was, and, on discovering that it consisted of coals, had promptly confiscated them and the barrow also, dragging the latter to some bivouac on the ramparts. I have always doubted that story, however, and incline to the opinion that our improvised porter had simply sold the coals and pocketed the proceeds. One day, early in November, when our allowance of beef or mutton was growing small by degrees and beautifully less and infrequent--horseflesh becoming more and more _en évidence_ at the butchers' shops, [Only 1-1/2 oz. of beef or mutton was now allowed per diem, but in lieu thereof you could obtain 1/4 lb. of horseflesh.] I had occasion to call on one of our artists, Blanchard, who lived in the Faubourg Saint Germain. When we had finished our business he said to me: "Ernest, it is my _fête_ day. I am going to have a superb dinner. My brother-in-law, who is an official of the Eastern Railway Line, is giving it in my honour. Come with me; I invite you." We thereupon went to his brother-in-law's flat, where I was most cordially received, and before long we sat down at table in a warm and well-lighted dining-room, the company consisting of two ladies and three men, myself included. The soup, I think, had been prepared from horseflesh with the addition of a little Liebig's extract of meat; but it was followed by a beautiful leg of mutton, with beans a la Bretonne and--potatoes! I had not tasted a potato for weeks past, for in vain had the ingenious Saby endeavoured to procure some. But the crowning triumph of the evening was the appearance of a huge piece of Gruyère cheese, which at that time was not to be seen in a single shop in Paris. Even Chevet, that renowned purveyor of dainties, had declared that he had none. My surprise in presence of the cheese and the potatoes being evident, Blanchard's brother-in-law blandly informed me that he had stolen them. "There is no doubt," said he, "that many tradespeople hold secret stores of one thing and another, but wish prices to rise still higher than they are before they produce them. I did not, however, take those potatoes or that cheese from any shopkeeper's cellar. But, in the store-places of the railway company to which I belong, there are tons and tons of provisions, including both cheese and potatoes, for which the consignees never apply, preferring, as they do, to leave them there until famine prices are reached. Well, I have helped myself to just a few things, so as to give Blanchard a good dinner this evening. As for the leg of mutton, I bribed the butcher--not with money, he might have refused it--but with cheese and potatoes, and it was fair exchange." When I returned home that evening I carried in my pockets more than half a pound of Gruyère and two or three pounds of potatoes, which my father heartily welcomed. The truth about the provisions which were still stored at some of the railway dépôts was soon afterwards revealed to the authorities. Although my father was then only fifty years of age and had plenty of nervous energy, his health was at least momentarily failing him. He had led an extremely strenuous life ever since his twentieth year, when my grandfather's death had cast great responsibilities on him. He had also suffered from illnesses which required that he should have an ample supply of nourishing food. So long as a fair amount of ordinary butcher's meat could be procured, he did not complain; but when it came to eating horseflesh two or three times a week he could not undertake it, although, only a year or two previously, he had attended a great _banquet hippophagique_ given in Paris, and had then even written favourably of _viande de cheval_ in an article he prepared on the subject. For my own part, being a mere lad, I had a lad's appetite and stomach, and I did not find horseflesh so much amiss, particularly as prepared with garlic and other savouries by Mme. Saby's expert hands. But, after a day or two, my father refused to touch it. For three days, I remember, he tried to live on bread, jam, and preserved fruit; but the sweetness of such a diet became nauseous to him--even as it became nauseous to our soldiers when the authorities bombarded them with jam in South Africa. It was very difficult to provide something to my father's taste; there was no poultry and there were no eggs. It was at this time that Saby sold us a few rabbits, but, again, _toujours lapin_ was not satisfactory. People were now beginning to partake of sundry strange things. Bats were certainly eaten before the siege ended, though by no means in such quantities as some have asserted. However, there were already places where dogs and cats, skinned and prepared for cooking, were openly displayed for sale. Labouchere related, also, that on going one day into a restaurant and seeing _cochon de lait_, otherwise sucking-pig, mentioned in the menu, he summoned the waiter and cross-questioned him on the subject, as he greatly doubted whether there were any sucking-pigs in all Paris. "Is it sucking-pig?" he asked the waiter. "Yes, monsieur," the man replied. But Labby was not convinced. "Is it a little pig?" he inquired. "Yes, monsieur, quite a little one." "Is it a young pig?" pursued Labby, who was still dubious. The waiter hesitated, and at last replied, "Well, I cannot be sure, monsieur, if it is quite young." "But it must be young if it is little, as you say. Come, what is it, tell me?" "Monsieur, it is a guinea-pig!" Labby bounded from his chair, took his hat, and fled. He did not feel equal to guinea-pig, although he was very hungry. Perhaps, however, Labouchere's best story of those days was that of the old couple who, all other resources failing them, were at last compelled to sacrifice their little pet dog. It came up to table nicely roasted, and they both looked at it for a moment with a sigh. Then Monsieur summoned up his courage and helped Madame to the tender viand. She heaved another sigh, but, making a virtue of necessity, began to eat, and whilst she was doing so she every now and then deposited a little bone on the edge of her plate. There was quite a collection of little bones there by the time she had finished, and as she leant back in her chair and contemplated them she suddenly exclaimed: "Poor little Toto! If he had only been alive what a fine treat he would have had!" To return, however, to my father and myself, I must mention that there was a little English tavern and eating-house in the Rue de Miromesnil, kept by a man named Lark, with whom I had some acquaintance. We occasionally procured English ale from him, and one day, late in October, when I was passing his establishment, he said to me: "How is your father? He seems to be looking poorly. Aren't you going to leave with the others?" I inquired of Lark what he meant by his last question; whereupon he told me that if I went to the Embassy I should see a notice in the consular office respecting the departure of British subjects, arrangements having been made to enable all who desired to quit Paris to do so. I took the hint and read the notice, which ran as Lark had stated, with this addendum: "The Embassy _cannot_, however, charge itself with the expense of assisting British subjects to leave Paris." Forthwith I returned home and imparted the information I had obtained to my father. Beyond setting up that notice in the Consul's office, the Embassy took no steps to acquaint British subjects generally with the opportunity which was offered them to escape bombardment and famine. It is true that it was in touch with the British Charitable Fund and that the latter made the matter known to sundry applicants for assistance. But the British colony still numbered 1000 people, hundreds of whom would have availed themselves of this opportunity had it only come to their knowledge. My father speedily made up his mind to quit the city, and during the next few days arrangements were made with our artists and others so that the interests of the _Illustrated London News_ might in no degree suffer by his absence. Our system had long been perfected, and everything worked well after our departure. I may add here, because it will explain something which follows, that my father distributed all the money he could possibly spare among those whom he left behind, in such wise that on quitting Paris we had comparatively little, and--as the sequel showed--insufficient money with us. But it was thought that we should be able to secure whatever we might require on arriving at Versailles. VII FROM PARIS TO VERSAILLES I leave Paris with my Father--Jules Favre, Wodehouse, and Washburne-- Through Charenton to Créteil--At the Outposts--First Glimpses of the Germans--A Subscription to shoot the King of Prussia--The Road to Brie-Comte-Robert--Billets for the Night--Chats with German Soldiers--The Difficulty with the Poorer Refugees--Mr. Wodehouse and my Father--On the Way to Corbeil--A Franco-German Flirtation--Affairs at Corbeil--On the Road in the Rain--Longjumeau--A Snow-storm--The Peasant of Champlan-- Arrival at Versailles. Since Lord Lyons's departure from Paris, the Embassy had remained in the charge of the second Secretary, Mr. Wodehouse, and the Vice-Consul. In response to the notice set up in the latter's office, and circulated also among a tithe of the community by the British Charitable Fund, it was arranged that sixty or seventy persons should accompany the Secretary and Vice-Consul out of the city, the military attacheé, Colonel Claremont, alone remaining there. The provision which the Charitable Fund made for the poorer folk consisted of a donation of £4 to each person, together with some three pounds of biscuits and a few ounces of chocolate to munch on the way. No means of transport, however, were provided for these people, though it was known that we should have to proceed to Versailles--where the German headquarters were installed--by a very circuitous route, and that the railway lines were out. We were to have left on November 2, at the same time as a number of Americans, Russians, and others, and it had been arranged that everybody should meet at an early hour that morning at the Charenton gate on the south-east side of Paris. On arriving there, however, all the English who joined the gathering were ordered to turn back, as information had been received that permission to leave the city was refused them. This caused no little consternation among the party, but the order naturally had to be obeyed, and half angrily and half disconsolately many a disappointed Briton returned to his recent quarters. We afterwards learnt that Jules Favre, the Foreign Minister, had in the first instance absolutely refused to listen to the applications of Mr. Wodehouse, possibly because Great Britain had not recognized the French Republic; though if such were indeed the reason, it was difficult to understand why the Russians received very different treatment, as the Czar, like the Queen, had so far abstained from any official recognition of the National Defence. On the other hand, Favre may, perhaps, have shared the opinion of Bismarck, who about this time tersely expressed his opinion of ourselves in the words: "England no longer counts"--so low, to his thinking, had we fallen in the comity of nations under our Gladstone _cum_ Granville administration. Mr. Wodehouse, however, in his unpleasant predicament, sought the assistance of his colleague, Mr. Washburne, the United States Minister, and the latter, who possessed more influence in Paris than any other foreign representative, promptly put his foot down, declaring that he himself would leave the city if the British subjects were still refused permission to depart. Favre then ungraciously gave way; but no sooner had his assent been obtained than it was discovered that the British Foreign Office had neglected to apply to Bismarck for permission for the English leaving Paris to pass through the German lines. Thus delay ensued, and it was only on the morning of November 8 that the English departed at the same time as a number of Swiss citizens and Austrian subjects. The Charenton gate was again the appointed meeting-place. On our way thither, between six and seven o'clock in the morning, we passed many a long queue waiting outside butchers' shops for pittances of meat, and outside certain municipal dépôts where after prolonged waiting a few thimblesful of milk were doled out to those who could prove that they had young children. Near the Porte de Charenton a considerable detachment of the National Guard was drawn up as if to impart a kind of solemnity to the approaching exodus of foreigners. A couple of young staff-officers were also in attendance, with a mounted trumpeter and another trooper carrying the usual white flag on a lance. The better-circumstanced of our party were in vehicles purchased for the occasion, a few also being mounted on valuable horses, which it was desired to save from the fate which eventually overtook most of the animals that remained in Paris. Others were in hired cabs, which were not allowed, however, to proceed farther than the outposts; while a good many of the poorer members of the party were in specially engaged omnibuses, which also had to turn back before we were handed over to a German escort; the result being that their occupants were left to trudge a good many miles on foot before other means of transport were procured. In that respect the Swiss and the Austrians were far better cared-for than the English. Although the weather was bitterly cold, Mr. Wodehouse, my father, myself, a couple of Mr. Wodehouse's servants, and a young fellow who had been connected, I think, with a Paris banking-house, travelled in an open pair-horse break. The Vice-Consul and his wife, who were also accompanying us, occupied a small private omnibus. Before passing out of Paris we were all mustered and our _laisser-passers_ were examined. Those held by British subjects emanated invariably from the United States Embassy, being duly signed by Mr. Washburne, so that we quitted the city virtually as American citizens. At last the procession was formed, the English preceding the Swiss and the Austrians, whilst in the rear, strangely enough, came several ambulance vans flaunting the red cross of Geneva. Nobody could account for their presence with us, but as the Germans were accused of occasionally firing on flags of truce, they were sent, perhaps, so as to be of service in the event of any mishap occurring. All being ready, we crossed the massive drawbridge of the Porte de Charenton, and wound in and out of the covered way which an advanced redoubt protected. A small detachment of light cavalry then joined us, and we speedily crossed the devastated track known as the "military zone," where every tree had been felled at the moment of the investment. Immediately afterwards we found ourselves in the narrow winding streets of Charenton, which had been almost entirely deserted by their inhabitants, but were crowded with soldiers who stood at doors and windows, watching our curious caravan. The bridge across the Marne was mined, but still intact, and defended at the farther end by an entrenched and loopholed redoubt, faced by some very intricate and artistic chevaux-de-frise. Once across the river, we wound round to the left, through the village of Alfort, where all the villas and river-side restaurants had been turned into military posts; and on looking back we saw the huge Charenton madhouse surmounting a wooded height and flying a large black flag. At the outset of the siege it had been suggested that the more harmless inmates should be released rather than remain exposed to harm from chance German shells; but the director of the establishment declared that in many instances insanity intensified patriotic feeling, and that if his patients were set at liberty they would at least desire to become members of the Government. So they were suffered to remain in their exposed position. We went on, skirting the estate of Charentonneau, where the park wall had been blown down and many of the trees felled. On our right was the fort of Charenton, armed with big black naval guns. All the garden walls on our line of route had been razed or loopholed. The road was at times barricaded with trees, or intersected by trenches, and it was not without difficulty that we surmounted those impediments. At Petit Créteil we were astonished to see a number of market-gardeners working as unconcernedly as in times of peace. It is true that the village was covered by the fire of the Charenton fort, and that the Germans would have incurred great risk in making a serious attack on it. Nevertheless, small parties of them occasionally crept down and exchanged shots with the Mobiles who were stationed there, having their headquarters at a deserted inn, on reaching which we made our first halt. The hired vehicles were now sent back to Paris, and after a brief interval we went on again, passing through an aperture in a formidable-looking barricade. We then readied Créteil proper, and there the first serious traces of the havoc of war were offered to our view. The once pleasant village was lifeless. Every house had been broken into and plundered, every door and every window smashed. Smaller articles of furniture, and so forth, had been removed, larger ones reduced to fragments. An infernal spirit of destruction had swept through the place; and yet, mark this, we were still within the French lines. Our progress along the main street being suddenly checked by another huge barricade, we wound round to the right, and at last reached a house where less than a score of Mobiles were gathered, protected from sudden assault by a flimsy barrier of planks, casks, stools, and broken chairs. This was the most advanced French outpost in the direction we were following. We passed it, crossing some open fields where a solitary man was calmly digging potatoes, risking his life at every turn of his spade, but knowing that every pound of the precious tuber that he might succeed in taking into Paris would there fetch perhaps as much as ten francs. Again we halted, and the trumpeter and the trooper with the white flag rode on to the farther part of the somewhat scattered village. Suddenly the trumpet's call rang out through the sharp, frosty air, and then we again moved on, passing down another village street where several gaunt starving cats attempted to follow us, with desperate strides and piteous mews. Before long, we perceived, standing in the middle of the road before us, a couple of German soldiers in long great-coats and boots reaching to the shins. One of them was carrying a white flag. A brief conversation ensued with them, for they both spoke French, and one of them knew English also. Soon afterwards, from behind a stout barricade which we saw ahead, three or four of their officers arrived, and somewhat stiff and ceremonious salutes were exchanged between them and the French officers in charge of our party. Our arrival had probably been anticipated. At all events, a big and very welcome fire of logs and branches was blazing near by, and whilst one or two officers on either side, together with Colonel Claremont and some officials of the British Charitable Fund, were attending to the safe-conducts of her then Majesty's subjects, the other French and German officers engaged in conversation round the fire I have mentioned. The latter were probably Saxons; at all events, they belonged to the forces of the Crown Prince, afterwards King, of Saxony, who commanded this part of the investing lines, and with whom the principal English war-correspondent was Archibald Forbes, freshly arrived from the siege of Metz. The recent fall of that stronghold and the conduct of Marshal Bazaine supplied the chief subject of the conversation carried on at the Créteil outposts between the officers of the contending nations. Now and then, too, came a reference to Sedan and the overthrow of the Bonapartist Empire. The entire conversation was in French--I doubt, indeed, if our French custodians could speak German--and the greatest courtesy prevailed; though the French steadily declined the Hamburg cigars which their adversaries offered them. I listened awhile to the conversation, but when the safe-conduct for my father and myself had been examined, I crossed to the other side of the road in order to scan the expanse of fields lying in that direction. All at once I saw a German officer, mounted on a powerful-looking horse, galloping over the rough ground in our direction. He came straight towards me. He was a well-built, middle-aged man of some rank--possibly a colonel. Reining in his mount, he addressed me in French, asking several questions. When, however, I had told him who we were, he continued the conversation in English and inquired if I had brought any newspapers out of Paris. Now, we were all pledged not to give any information of value to the enemy, but I had in my pockets copies of two of the most violent prints then appearing in the city--that is to say, _La Patrie en Danger_, inspired by Blanqui, and _Le Combat_, edited by Felix Pyat. The first-named was all sound and fury, and the second contained a subscription list for a pecuniary reward and rifle of honour to be presented to the Frenchman who might fortunately succeed in killing the King of Prussia. As the German officer was so anxious to ascertain what the popular feeling in Paris might be, and whether it favoured further resistance, it occurred to me, in a spirit of devilment as it were, to present him with the aforesaid journals, for which he expressed his heartfelt thanks, and then galloped away. As I never met him again, I cannot say how he took the invectives and the "murder-subscription." Perhaps it was not quite right of me to foist on him, as examples of genuine Parisian opinion, two such papers as those I gave him; but, then, all is fair not merely in love but in war also, and in regard to the contentions of France and Germany, my sympathies were entirely on the side of France. We had not yet been transferred to the German escort which was waiting for us, when all at once we heard several shots fired from the bank of the Marne, whereupon a couple of German dragoons galloped off in that direction. The firing ceased as abruptly as it had begun, and then, everything being in readiness so far as we were concerned, Colonel Claremont, the Charitable Fund people, the French officers and cavalry, and the ambulance waggons retraced their way to Paris, whilst our caravan went on in the charge of a detachment of German dragoons. Not for long, however, for the instructions received respecting us were evidently imperfect. The reader will have noticed that we left Paris on its southeastern side, although our destination was Versailles, which lies south-west of the capital, being in that direction only some eleven miles distant. Further, on quitting Créteil, instead of taking a direct route to the city of Louis Quatorze, we made, as the reader will presently see, an immense _détour,_ so that our journey to Versailles lasted three full days. This occurred because the Germans wished to prevent us from seeing anything of the nearer lines of investment and the preparations which had already begun for the bombardment of Paris. On our departure from Créteil, however, our route was not yet positively fixed, so we presently halted, and an officer of our escort rode off to take further instructions, whilst we remained near a German outpost, where we could not help noticing how healthy-looking, stalwart, and well-clad the men were. Orders respecting our movements having arrived, we set out again at a walking pace, perhaps because so many of our party were on foot. Troops were posted near every side-road that we passed. Officers constantly cantered up, inquiring for news respecting the position of affairs in Paris, wishing to know, in particular, if the National Defence ministers were still prisoners of the populace, and whether there was now a Red Republic with Blanqui at its head. What astounded them most was to hear that, although Paris was taking more and more to horseflesh, it was, as yet, by no means starving, and that, so far as famine might be concerned, it would be able to continue resisting for some months longer. In point of fact, this was on November 8, and the city did not surrender until January 28. But the German officers would not believe what we said respecting the resources of the besieged; they repeated the same questions again and again, and still looked incredulous, as if, indeed, they thought that we were fooling them. At Boissy-Saint Léger we halted whilst the British, Austrian, and Swiss representatives interviewed the general in command there. He was installed in a trim little, château, in front of which was the quaintest sentry-box I have ever seen, for it was fashioned of planks, logs, and all sorts of scraps of furniture, whilst beside it lay a doll's perambulator and a little boy's toy-cart. But we again set out, encountering near Gros-Bois a long line of heavily-laden German provision-wagons; and presently, without addressing a word to any of us, the officer of our escort gave a command, his troopers wheeled round and galloped away, leaving us to ourselves. By this time evening was approaching, and the vehicles of our party drove on at a smart trot, leaving the unfortunate pedestrians a long way in the rear. Nobody seemed to know exactly where we were, but some passing peasants informed us that we were on the road to Basle, and that the nearest locality was Brie-Comte-Robert. The horses drawing the conveyances of the Swiss and Austrian representatives were superior to those harnessed to Mr. Wodehouse's break, so we were distanced on the road, and on reaching Brie found that all the accommodation of the two inns--I can scarcely call them hotels--had been allotted to the first arrivals. Mr. Wodehouse's party secured a lodging in a superior-looking private house, whilst my father, myself, and about thirty others repaired to the _mairie_ for billets. A striking scene met my eyes there. By this time night had fallen. In a room which was almost bare of furniture, the mayor was seated at a little table on which two candles were burning. On either side of him stood a German infantryman with rifle and fixed bayonet. Here and there, too, were several German hussars, together with ten or a dozen peasants of the locality. And the unfortunate mayor, in a state of semi-arrest, was striving to comply with the enemy's requisitions of food, forage, wine, horses, and vehicles, the peasants meanwhile protesting that they had already been despoiled of everything, and had nothing whatever left. "So you want me to be shot?" said the mayor to them, at last. "You know very well that the things must be found. Go and get them together. Do the best you can. We will see afterwards." When--acting as usual as my father's interpreter--I asked the mayor for billets, he raised his arms to the ceiling. "I have no beds," said he. "Every bit of available bedding, excepting at the inns, has been requisitioned for the Prussian ambulances. I might find some straw, and there are outhouses and empty rooms. But there are so many of you, and I do not know how I can accommodate you all." It was not, however, the duty of my father or myself to attend to the requirements of the whole party. That was the duty rather of the Embassy officials, so I again pressed the mayor to give me at least a couple of decent billets. He thought for a moment, then handed me a paper bearing a name and address, whereupon we, my father and myself, went off. But it was pitch-dark, and as we could not find the place indicated, we returned to the _mairie_, where, after no little trouble, a second paper was given me. By this time the poorer members of the party had been sent to sheds and so forth, where they found some straw to lie upon. The address on my second paper was that of a basket-maker, whose house was pointed out to us. We were very cordially received there, and taken to a room containing a bed provided with a _sommier élastique_. But there was no mattress, no sheet, no blanket, no bolster, no pillow--everything of that kind having been requisitioned for the German ambulances; and I recollect that two or three hours later, when my father and myself retired to rest in that icy chamber, the window of which was badly broken, we were glad to lay our heads on a couple of hard baskets, having left our bags in Mr. Wodehouse's charge. Before trying to sleep, however, we required food; for during the day we had consumed every particle of a cold rabbit and some siege-bread which we had brought out of Paris. The innkeepers proved to be extremely independent and irritable, and we could obtain very little from them. Fortunately, we discovered a butcher's, secured some meat from him, and prevailed on the wife of our host, the basket-maker, to cook it for us. We then went out again, and found some cafés and wine-shops which were crowded with German soldiery. Wine and black coffee were obtainable there, and whilst we refreshed ourselves, more than one German soldier, knowing either French or English, engaged us in conversation. My own German was at that time very limited, for I had not taken kindly to the study of the language, and had secured, moreover, but few opportunities to attempt to converse in it. However, I well remember some of the German soldiers declaring that they were heartily sick of the siege, and expressing a hope that the Parisians would speedily surrender, so that they, the Germans, might return to the Fatherland in ample time to get their Christmas trees ready. A good-looking and apparently very genial Uhlan also talked to me about the Parisian balloons, relating that, directly any ascent was observed, news of it was telegraphed along all the investing lines, that every man had orders to fire if the aerial craft came approximately within range, and that he and his comrades often tried to ride a balloon down. After a wretched night, we washed at the pump in the basket-maker's yard, and breakfasted off bread and _café noir_. Milk, by the way, was as scarce at Brie as in Paris itself, the Germans, it was said, having carried off all the cows that had previously supplied France with the far-famed Brie cheese. We now discovered that, in order to reach Versailles, we should have to proceed in the first instance to Corbeil, some fifteen miles distant, when we should be within thirty miles of the German headquarters. That was pleasant news, indeed! We had already made a journey of over twenty miles, and now another of some five-and-forty miles lay before us. And yet, had we only been allowed to take the proper route, we should have reached Versailles after travelling merely eleven miles beyond Paris! Under the circumstances, the position of the unfortunate pedestrians was a very unpleasant one, and my father undertook to speak on their behalf to Mr. Wodehouse, pointing out to him that it was unfair to let these unfortunate people trudge all the way to Versailles. "But what am I to do?" Mr. Wodehouse replied. "I am afraid that no vehicles can be obtained here." "The German authorities will perhaps help you in the matter," urged my father. "I doubt it. But please remember that everybody was warned before leaving Paris that he would do so at his own risk and peril, and that the Embassy could not charge itself with the expense." "That is exactly what surprised me," said my father. "I know that the Charitable Fund has done something, but I thought that the Embassy would have done more." "I had no instructions," replied Mr. Wodehouse. "But, surely, at such a time as this, a man initiates his own instructions." "Perhaps so; but I had no money." On hearing this, my father, for a moment, almost lost his temper. "Surely, Mr. Wodehouse," said he, "you need only have gone to Baron de Rothschild--he would have let you have whatever money you required." [I have reconstructed the above dialogue from my diary, which I posted up on reaching Versailles.] Mr. Wodehouse looked worried. He was certainly a most amiable man, but he was not, I think, quite the man for the situation. Moreover, like my father, he was in very poor health at this time. Still, he realized that he must try to effect something, and eventually, with the assistance of the mayor and the German authorities, a few farm-carts were procured for the accommodation of the poorer British subjects. During the long interval which had elapsed, however, a good many men had gone off of their own accord, tired of waiting, and resolving to try their luck in one and another direction. Thus our procession was a somewhat smaller one when we at last quitted Brie-Comte-Robert for Corbeil. We met many German soldiers on our way--at times large detachments of them--and we scarcely ever covered a mile of ground without being questioned respecting the state of affairs in Paris and the probable duration of its resistance, our replies invariably disappointing the questioners, so anxious were they to see the war come to an end. This was particularly the case with a young non-commissioned officer who jumped on the step of Mr. Wodehouse's break, and engaged us in conversation whilst we continued on our way. Before leaving us he remarked, I remember, that he would very much like to pay a visit to England; whereupon my father answered that he would be very much pleased to see him there, provided, however, that he would come by himself and not with half a million of armed comrades. While the German soldiers were numerous, the peasants whom we met on the road were few and far between. On reaching the little village of Lieusaint, however, a number of people rushed to the doors of their houses and gazed at us in bewilderment, for during the past two months the only strangers they had seen had been German soldiers, and they could not understand the meaning of our civilian caravan of carriages and carts. At last we entered Corbeil, and followed the main street towards the old stone bridge by which we hoped to cross the Seine, but we speedily discovered that it had been blown up, and that we could only get to the other side of the river by a pontoon-bridge lower down. This having been effected, we drove to the principal hotel, intending to put up there for the night, as it had become evident that we should be unable to reach Versailles at a reasonable hour. However, the entire hotel was in the possession of German officers, several of whom we found flirting with the landlady's good-looking daughter--who, as she wore a wedding ring, was, I presume, married. I well recollect that she made some reference to the ladies of Berlin, whereupon one of the lieutenants who were ogling her, gallantly replied that they were not half so charming as the ladies of Corbeil. The young woman appeared to appreciate the compliment, for, on the lieutenant rising to take leave of her, she graciously gave him her hand, and said to him with a smile: "Au plaisir de vous revoir, monsieur." But matters were very different with the old lady, her mother, who, directly the coast was clear, began to inveigh against the Germans in good set terms, describing them, I remember, as semi-savages who destroyed whatever they did not steal. She was particularly irate with them for not allowing M. Darblay, the wealthy magnate of the grain and flour trade, and at the same time mayor of Corbeil, to retain a single carriage or a single horse for his own use. Yet he had already surrendered four carriages and eight horses to them, and only wished to keep a little gig and a cob. We obtained a meal at the hotel, but found it impossible to secure a bed there, so we sallied forth into the town on an exploring expedition. On all sides we observed notices indicating the rate of exchange of French and German money, and the place seemed to be full of tobacconists' shops, which were invariably occupied by German Jews trading in Hamburg cigars. On inquiring at a café respecting accommodation, we were told that we should only obtain it with difficulty, as the town was full of troops, including more than a thousand sick and wounded, fifteen or twenty of whom died every day. At last we crossed the river again, and found quarters at an inferior hotel, the top-floor of which had been badly damaged by some falling blocks of stone at the time when the French blew up the town bridge. However, our beds were fairly comfortable, and we had a good night's rest. Black coffee was again the only available beverage in the morning. No milk was to be had, nor was there even a scrap of sugar. In these respects Corbeil was even worse off than Paris. The weather had now changed, and rain was falling steadily. We plainly had a nasty day before us. Nevertheless, another set of carts was obtained for the poorer folk of our party, on mustering which one man was found to be missing. He had fallen ill, we were told, and could not continue the journey. Presently, moreover, the case was discovered to be one of smallpox, which disease had lately broken out in Paris. Leaving the sufferer to be treated at the already crowded local hospital, we set out, and, on emerging from the town, passed a drove of a couple of hundred oxen, and some three hundred sheep, in the charge of German soldiers. We had scarcely journeyed another mile when, near Essonnes, noted for its paper-mills, one of our carts broke down, which was scarcely surprising, the country being hilly, the roads heavy, and the horses spavined. Again, the rain was now pouring in torrents, to the very great discomfort of the occupants of the carts, as well as that of Mr. Wodehouse's party in the break. But there was no help for it, and so on we drove mile after mile, until we were at last absolutely soaked. The rain had turned to sleet by the time we reached Longjumeau, famous for its handsome and amorous postilion. Two-thirds of the shops there were closed, and the inns were crowded with German soldiers, so we drove on in the direction of Palaiseau. But we had covered only about half the distance when a snow-storm overtook us, and we had to seek shelter at Champlan. A German officer there assisted in placing our vehicles under cover, but the few peasants whom we saw eyeing us inquisitively from the doors of their houses declared that the only thing they could let us have to eat was dry bread, there being no meat, no eggs, no butter, no cheese, in the whole village. Further, they averred that they had not even a pint of wine to place at our disposal. "The Germans have taken everything," they said; "we have 800 of them in and around the village, and there are not more than a dozen of us left here, all the rest having fled to Paris when the siege began." The outlook seemed bad, but Mr. Wodehouse's valet, a shrewd and energetic man of thirty or thereabouts, named Frost, said to me, "I don't believe all this. I dare say that if some money is produced we shall be able to get something." Accordingly we jointly tackled a disconsolate-looking fellow, who, if I remember rightly, was either the village wheelwright or blacksmith; and, momentarily leaving the question of food on one side, we asked him if he had not at least a fire in his house at which we might warm ourselves. Our party included a lady, the Vice-Consul's wife, and although she was making the journey in a closed private omnibus, she was suffering from the cold. This was explained to the man whom we addressed, and when he had satisfied himself that we were not Germans in disguise, he told us that we might come into his house and warm ourselves until the storm abated. Some nine or ten of us, including the lady I have mentioned, availed ourselves of this permission, and the man led us upstairs to a first-floor room, where a big wood-fire was blazing. Before it sat his wife and his daughter, both of them good specimens of French rustic beauty. With great good-nature, they at once made room for us, and added more fuel to the fire. Half the battle was won, and presently we were regaled with all that they could offer us in the way of food--that is, bread and baked pears, which proved very acceptable. Eventually, after looking out of the window in order to make quite sure that no Germans were loitering near the house, our host locked the door of the room, and turning towards a big pile of straw, fire-wood, and household utensils, proceeded to demolish it, until he disclosed to view a small cask--a half hogshead, I think--which, said he, in a whisper, contained wine. It was all that he had been able to secrete. On the arrival of the enemy in the district a party of officers had come to his house and ordered their men to remove the rest of his wine, together with nearly all his bedding, and every fowl and every pig that he possessed. "They have done the same all over the district," the man added, "and you should see some of the châteaux--they have been absolutely stripped of their contents." His face brightened when we told him that Paris seemed resolved on no surrender, and that, according to official reports, she would have a sufficiency of bread to continue resisting until the ensuing month of February. In common with most of his countrymen, our host of Champlan held that, whatever else might happen, the honour of the nation would at least be saved if the Germans could only be kept out of Paris; and thus he was right glad to hear that the city's defence would be prolonged. He was well remunerated for his hospitality, and on the weather slightly improving we resumed our journey to Versailles, following the main road by way of Palaiseau and Jouy-en-Josas, and urging the horses to their quickest pace whilst the light declined and the evening shadows gathered around us. VIII FROM VERSAILLES TO BRITTANY War-correspondents at Versailles--Dr. Russell--Lord Adare--David Dunglas Home and his Extraordinary Career--His _Séances_ at Versallies--An Amusing Interview with Colonel Beauchamp Walker--Parliament's Grant for British Refugees--Generals Duff and Hazen, U.S.A.--American Help--Glimpses of King William and Bismarck--Our Safe-Conducts--From Versailles to Saint Germain-en-Laye--Trouble at Mantes--The German Devil of Destructiveness-- From the German to the French Lines--A Train at Last--Through Normandy and Maine--Saint Servan and its English Colony--I resolve to go to the Front. It was dark when we at last entered Versailles by the Avenue de Choisy. We saw some sentries, but they did not challenge us, and we went on until we struck the Avenue de Paris, where we passed the Prefecture, every one of whose windows was a blaze of light. King, later Emperor, William had his quarters there; Bismarck, however, residing at a house in the Rue de Provence belonging to the French General de Jessé. Winding round the Place d'Armes, we noticed that one wing of Louis XIV's famous palace had its windows lighted, being appropriated to hospital purposes, and that four batteries of artillery were drawn up on the square, perhaps as a hint to the Versaillese to be on their best behaviour. However, we drove on, and a few moments later we pulled up outside the famous Hôtel des Réservoirs. There was no possibility of obtaining accommodation there. From its ground-floor to its garrets the hotel was packed with German princes, dukes, dukelets, and their suites, together with a certain number of English, American, and other war-correspondents. Close by, however-- indeed, if I remember rightly, on the other side of the way--there was a café, whither my father and myself directed our steps. We found it crowded with officers and newspaper men, and through one or other of the latter we succeeded in obtaining comfortable lodgings in a private house. The _Illustrated London News_ artist with the German staff was Landells, son of the engraver of that name, and we speedily discovered his whereabouts. He was sharing rooms with Hilary Skinner, the _Daily News_ representative at Versailles; and they both gave us a cordial greeting. The chief correspondent at the German headquarters was William Howard Russell of the _Times_, respecting whom--perhaps because he kept himself somewhat aloof from his colleagues--a variety of scarcely good-natured stories were related; mostly designed to show that he somewhat over-estimated his own importance. One yarn was to the effect that whenever the Doctor mounted his horse, it was customary for the Crown Prince of Prussia--afterwards the Emperor Frederick--to hold his stirrup leather for him. Personally, I can only say that, on my father calling with me on Russell, he received us very cordially indeed (he had previously met my father, and had well known my uncle Frank), and that when we quitted Versailles, as I shall presently relate, he placed his courier and his private omnibus at our disposal, in after years one of my cousins, the late Montague Vizetelly, accompanied Russell to South America. I still have some letters which the latter wrote me respecting Zola's novel "La Débâcle," in which he took a great interest. Another war-correspondent at Versailles was the present Earl of Dunraven, then not quite thirty years of age, and known by the courtesy title of Lord Adare. He had previously acted as the _Daily Telegraph's_ representative with Napier's expedition against Theodore of Abyssinia, and was now staying at Versailles, on behalf, I think, of the same journal. His rooms at the Hôtel des Réservoirs were shared by Daniel Dunglas Home, the medium, with whom my father and myself speedily became acquainted. Very tall and slim, with blue eyes and an abundance of yellowish hair, Home, at this time about thirty-seven years of age, came of the old stock of the Earls of Home, whose name figures so often in Scottish history. His father was an illegitimate son of the tenth earl, and his mother belonged to a family which claimed to possess the gift of "second sight." Home himself--according to his own account--began to see visions and receive mysterious warnings at the period of his mother's death, and as time elapsed his many visitations from the other world so greatly upset the aunt with whom he was living--a Mrs. McNeill Cook of Greeneville, Connecticut [He had been taken from Scotland to America when he was about nine years old.]--that she ended by turning him out-of-doors. Other people, however, took an unhealthy delight in seeing their furniture move about without human agency, and in receiving more or less ridiculous messages from spirit-land; and in folk of this description Home found some useful friends. He came to London in the spring of 1855, and on giving a _séance_ at Cox's Hotel, in Jermyn Street, he contrived to deceive Sir David Brewster (then seventy-four years old), but was less successful with another septuagenarian, Lord Brougham. Later, he captured the imaginative Sir Edward Bulwer (subsequently Lord Lytton), who as author of "Zanoni" was perhaps fated to believe in him, and he also impressed Mrs. Browning, but not Browning himself The latter, indeed, depicted Home as "Sludge, the Medium." Going to Italy for a time, the already notorious adventurer gave _séances_ in a haunted villa near Florence, but on becoming converted to the Catholic faith in 1856 he was received in private audience by that handsome, urbane, but by no means satisfactory pontiff, Pio Nono, who, however, eight years later caused him to be summarily expelled from Rome as a sorcerer in league with the Devil. Meantime, Home had ingratiated himself with a number of crowned heads-- Napoleon III and the Empress Eugénie, in whose presence he gave _séances_ at the Tuileries, Fontainebleau, and Biarritz; the King of Prussia, by whom he was received at Baden-Baden; and Queen Sophia of Holland, who gave him hospitality at the Hague. On marrying a Russian lady, the daughter of General Count de Kroll, he was favoured with presents by the Czar Alexander II, and after returning to England became one of the "attractions" of Milner-Gibson's drawing-room--Mrs. Gibson, a daughter of the Rev. Sir Thomas Gery Cullum, being one of the early English patronesses of so-called spiritualism, to a faith in which she was "converted" by Home, whom she first met whilst travelling on the Continent. I remember hearing no little talk about him in my younger days. Thackeray's friend, Robert Bell, wrote an article about him in _The Cornhill_, which was the subject of considerable discussion. Bell, I think, was also mixed up in the affair of the "Davenport Brothers," one of whose performances I remember witnessing. They were afterwards effectively shown up in Paris by Vicomte Alfred de Caston. Home, for his part, was scarcely taken seriously by the Parisians, and when, at a _séance_ given in presence of the Empress Eugénie, he blundered grossly and repeatedly about her father, the Count of Montijo, he received an intimation that his presence at Court could be dispensed with. He then consoled himself by going to Peterhof and exhibiting his powers to the Czar. Certain Scotch and English scientists, such as Dr. Lockhart Robertson, Dr. Robert Chambers, and Dr. James Manby Gully--the apostle of hydropathy, who came to grief in the notorious Bravo case--warmly supported Home. So did Samuel Carter Hall and his wife, William Howitt, and Gerald Massey; and he ended by establishing a so-called "Spiritual Athenaeum" in Sloane Street. A wealthy widow of advanced years, a Mrs. Jane Lyon, became a subscriber to that institution, and, growing infatuated with Home, made him a present of some £30,000, and settled on him a similar amount to be paid at her death. But after a year or two she repented of her infatuation, and took legal proceedings to recover her money. She failed to substantiate some of her charges, but Vice-Chancellor Giffard, who heard the case, decided it in her favour, in his judgment describing Home as a needy and designing man. Home, I should add, was at this time a widower and at loggerheads with his late wife's relations in Russia, in respect to her property. Among the arts ascribed to Home was that called levitation, in practising which he was raised in the air by an unseen and unknown force, and remained suspended there; this being, so to say, the first step towards human flying without the assistance of any biplane, monoplane, or other mechanical contrivance. The first occasion on which Home is said to have displayed this power was in the late fifties, when he was at a château near Bordeaux as the guest of the widow of Théodore Ducos, the nephew of Bonaparte's colleague in the Consulate. In the works put forward on Home's behalf--one of them, called "Incidents in my Life," was chiefly written, it appears, by his friend and solicitor, a Mr. W.M. Wilkinson--it is also asserted that his power of levitation was attested in later years by Lord Lindsay, subsequently Earl of Crawford and Balcarres, and by the present Earl of Dunraven. We are told, indeed, that on one occasion the last-named actually saw Home float out of a room by one window, and into it again by another one. I do not know whether Home also favoured Professor Crookes with any exhibition of this kind, but the latter certainly expressed an opinion that some of Home's feats were genuine. When my father and I first met him at Versailles he was constantly in the company of Lord Adare. He claimed to be acting as the correspondent of a Californian journal, but his chief occupation appeared to be the giving of _séances_ for the entertainment of all the German princes and princelets staying at the Hôtel des Réservoirs. Most of these highnesses and mightinesses formed part of what the Germans themselves sarcastically called their "Ornamental Staff," and as Moltke seldom allowed them any real share in the military operations, they doubtless found in Home's performances some relief from the _taedium vitae_ which overtook them during their long wait for the capitulation of Paris. Now that Metz had fallen, that was the chief question which occupied the minds of all the Germans assembled at Versailles, [Note] and Home was called upon to foretell when it would take place. On certain occasions, I believe, he evoked the spirits of Frederick the Great, Napoleon, Blücher, and others, in order to obtain from them an accurate forecast. At another time he endeavoured to peer into the future by means of crystal-gazing, in which he required the help of a little child. "My experiments have not succeeded," he said one day, while we were sitting with him at the café near the Hôtel des Réservoirs; "but that is not my fault. I need an absolutely pure-minded child, and can find none here, for this French race is corrupt from its very infancy." He was fasting at this time, taking apparently nothing but a little _eau sucrée_ for several days at a stretch. "The spirits will not move me unless I do this," he said. "To bring them to me, I have to contend against the material part of my nature." [Note: The Germans regarded it as the more urgent at the time of my arrival at Versailles, as only a few data previously (November 9), the new French Army of the Loire under D'Aurelle de Paladines had defeated the Bavarians at Coulmiers, and thereby again secured possession of Orleans.] A couple of years later, after another visit to St. Petersburg, where, it seems, he was again well received by the Czar and again married a lady of the Russian nobility, Home's health began to fail him, perhaps on account of the semi-starvation to which at intervals he subjected himself. I saw him occasionally during his last years, when, living at Auteuil, he was almost a neighbour of mine. He died there in 1886, being then about fifty-three years old. Personally, I never placed faith in him. I regarded him at the outset with great curiosity, but some time before the war I had read a good deal about Cagliostro, Saint Germain, Mesmer, and other charlatans, also attending a lecture about them at the Salle des Conferences; and all that, combined with the exposure of the Davenport Brothers and other spiritualists and illusionists, helped to prejudice me against such a man as Home. At the same time, this so-called "wizard of the nineteenth century" was certainly a curious personality, possessed, I presume, of considerable suggestive powers, which at times enabled him to make others believe as he desired. We ought to have had Charcot's opinion of his case. As it had taken my father and myself three days to reach Versailles from Paris, and we could not tell what other unpleasant experiences the future might hold in store for us, our pecuniary position gave rise to some concern. I mentioned previously that we quitted the capital with comparatively little money, and it now seemed as if our journey might become a long and somewhat costly affair, particularly as the German staff wished to send us off through Northern France and thence by way of Belgium. On consulting Landells, Skinner, and some other correspondents, it appeared that several days might elapse before we could obtain remittances from England. On the other hand, every correspondent clung to such money as he had in his possession, for living was very expensive at Versailles, and at any moment some emergency might arise necessitating an unexpected outlay. It was suggested, however, that we should apply to Colonel Beauchamp Walker, who was the official British representative with the German headquarters' staff, for, we were told, Parliament, in its generosity, had voted a sum of £4000 to assist any needy British subjects who might come out of Paris, and Colonel Walker had the handling of the money in question. Naturally enough, my father began by demurring to this suggestion, saying that he could not apply _in formâ pauperis_ for charity. But it was pointed out that he need do no such thing. "Go to Walker," it was said, "explain your difficulty, and offer him a note of hand or a draft on the _Illustrated_, and if desired half a dozen of us will back it." Some such plan having been decided on, we called upon Colonel Walker on the second or third day of our stay at Versailles. His full name was Charles Pyndar Beauchamp Walker. Born in 1817, he had seen no little service. He had acted as an _aide-de-camp_ to Lord Lucan in the Crimea, afterwards becoming Lieutenant-Colonel of the 2nd Dragoon Guards. He was in India during the final operations for the suppression of the Mutiny, and subsequently in China during the Franco-British expedition to that country. During the Austro-Prussian war of 1866 he was attached as British Commissioner to the forces of the Crown Prince of Prussia, and witnessed the battle of Königgratz. He served in the same capacity during the Franco-German War, when he was at Weissenburg, Wörth, and Sedan. In later years he became a major-general, a lieutenant-general, a K.C.B., and Colonel of the 2nd Dragoon Guards; and from 1878 until his retirement in 1884 he acted as Inspector General of military education. I have set out those facts because I have no desire to minimise Walker's services and abilities. But I cannot help smiling at a sentence which I found in the account of him given in the "Dictionary of National Biography." It refers to his duties during the Franco-German War, and runs as follows: "The irritation of the Germans against England, and the number of roving Englishmen, made his duty not an easy one, but he was well qualified for it by his tact and geniality, and his action met with the full approval of the Government." The Government in question would have approved anything. But let that pass. We called on the colonel at about half-past eleven in the morning, and were shown into a large and comfortably furnished room, where decanters and cigars were prominently displayed on a central table. In ten minutes' time the colonel appeared, arrayed in a beautiful figured dressing-gown with a tasselled girdle. I knew that the British officer was fond of discarding his uniform, and I was well aware that French officers also did so when on furlough in Paris, but it gave my young mind quite a shock to see her Majesty's military representative with King William arrayed in a gaudy dressing-gown in the middle of the day. He seated himself, and querulously inquired of my father what his business was. It was told him very briefly. He frowned, hummed, hawed, threw himself back in his armchair, and curtly exclaimed, "I am not a money-lender!" The fact that the _Illustrated London News_ was the world's premier journal of its class went for nothing. The offers of the other correspondents of the English Press to back my father's signature were dismissed with disdain. When the colonel was reminded that he held a considerable amount of money voted by Parliament, he retorted: "That is for necessitous persons! But you ask me to _lend_ you money!" "Quite so," my father replied; "I do not wish to be a charge on the Treasury. I simply want a loan, as I have a difficult and perhaps an expensive journey before me." "How much do you want?" snapped the colonel. "Well," said my father, "I should feel more comfortable if I had a thousand francs (£40) in my pocket." "Forty pounds!" cried Colonel Walker, as if lost in amazement. And getting up from his chair he went on, in the most theatrical manner possible: "Why, do you know, sir, that if I were to let you have forty pounds, I might find myself in the greatest possible difficulty. To-morrow--perhaps, even to-night--there might be hundreds of our suffering fellow-countrymen outside the gates of Versailles, and I unable to relieve them!" "But," said my father quietly, "you would still be holding £3960, Colonel Walker." The colonel glared, and my father, not caring to prolong such an interview, walked out of the room, followed by myself. A good many of the poorer people who quitted Paris with us never repaired to Versailles at all, but left us at Corbeil or elsewhere to make their way across France as best they could. Another party, about one hundred strong, was, however, subsequently sent out of the capital with the assistance of Mr. Washburne, and in their case Colonel Walker had to expend some money. But every grant was a very niggardly one, and it would not surprise me to learn that the bulk of the money voted by Parliament was ultimately returned to the Treasury--which circumstance would probably account for the "full approval" which the Government bestowed on the colonel's conduct at this period. He died early in 1894, and soon afterwards some of his correspondence was published in a volume entitled "Days of a Soldier's Life." On reading a review of that work in one of the leading literary journals, I was struck by a passage in which Walker was described as a disappointed and embittered man, who always felt that his merits were not sufficiently recognized, although he was given a knighthood and retired with the honorary rank of general. I presume that his ambition was at least a viscounty, if not an earldom, and a field-marshal's _bâton_. On leaving the gentleman whose "tact and geniality" are commemorated in the "Dictionary of National Biography," we repaired--my father and I--to the café where most of the English newspaper men met. Several were there, and my father was at once assailed with inquiries respecting his interview with Colonel Walker. His account of it led to some laughter and a variety of comments, which would scarcely have improved the colonel's temper. I remember, however, that Captain, afterwards Colonel Sir, Henry Hozier, the author of "The Seven Weeks' War," smiled quietly, but otherwise kept his own counsel. At last my father was asked what he intended to do under the circumstances, and he replied that he meant to communicate with England as speedily as possible, and remain in the interval at Versailles, although he particularly wished to get away. Now, it happened that among the customers at the café there were two American officers, one being Brigadier-General Duff, a brother of Andrew Halliday, the dramatic author and essayist, whose real patronymic was also Duff. My father knew Halliday through their mutual friends Henry Mayhew and the Broughs. The other American officer was Major-General William Babcook Hazen, whose name will be found occasionally mentioned in that popular record of President Garfield's career, "From Log Cabin to White House." During the Civil War in the United States he had commanded a division in Sherman's march to the sea. He also introduced the cold-wave signal system into the American army, and in 1870-71 he was following the operations of the Germans on behalf of his Government. I do not remember whether General Duff (who, I have been told, is still alive) was also at Versailles in an official capacity, but in the course of conversation he heard of my father's interview with Colonel Walker, and spoke to General Hazen on the subject. Hazen did not hesitate, but came to my father, had a brief chat with him, unbuttoned his uniform, produced a case containing bank-notes, and asked my father how much he wanted, telling him not to pinch himself. The whole transaction was completed in a few minutes. My father was unwilling to take quite as much as he had asked of Colonel Walker, but General Hazen handed him some £20 or £30 in notes, one or two of which were afterwards changed, for a handsome consideration, by one of the German Jews who then infested Versailles and profited by the scarcity of gold. We were indebted, then, on two occasions to the representatives of the United States. The _laisser-passer_ enabling us to leave Paris had been supplied by Mr. Washburne, and the means of continuing our journey in comfort were furnished by General Hazen. I raise my hat to the memory of both those gentlemen. During the few days that we remained at Versailles, we caught glimpses of King William and Bismarck, both of whom we had previously seen in Paris in 1867, when they were the guests of Napoleon III. I find in my diary a memorandum, dictated perhaps by my father: "Bismarck much fatter and bloated." We saw him one day leaving the Prefecture, where the King had his quarters. He stood for a moment outside, chatting and laughing noisily with some other German personages, then strode away with a companion. He was only fifty-five years old, and was full of vigour at that time, even though he might have put on flesh during recent years, and therefore have renounced dancing--his last partner in the waltz having been Mme. Carette, the Empress Eugénie's reader, whom he led out at one of the '67 balls at the Tuileries. Very hale and hearty, too, looked the King whom Bismarck was about to turn into an Emperor. Yet the victor of Sedan was already seventy-three years old. I only saw him on horseback during my stay at Versailles. My recollections of him, Bismarck, and Moltke, belong more particularly to the year 1872, when I was in Berlin in connexion with the famous meeting of the three Emperors. My father and myself had kept in touch with Mr. Wodehouse, from whom we learnt that we should have to apply to the German General commanding at Versailles with respect to any further safe-conducts. At first we were informed that there could be no departure from the plan of sending us out of France by way of Epernay, Reims, and Sedan, and this by no means coincided with the desires of most of the Englishmen who had come out of Paris, they wishing to proceed westward, and secure a passage across the Channel from Le Hâvre or Dieppe. My father and myself also wanted to go westward, but in order to make our way into Brittany, my stepmother and her children being at Saint Servan, near Saint Malo. At last the German authorities decided to give us the alternative routes of Mantes and Dreux, the first-named being the preferable one for those people who were bound for England. It was chosen also by my father, as the Dreux route would have led us into a region where hostilities were in progress, and where we might suddenly have found ourselves "held up." The entire party of British refugees was now limited to fifteen or sixteen persons, some, tired of waiting, having taken themselves off by the Sedan route, whilst a few others--such as coachmen and grooms--on securing employment from German princes and generals, resolved to stay at Versailles. Mr. Wodehouse also remained there for a short time. Previously in poor health, he had further contracted a chill during our three days' drive in an open vehicle. As most of those who were going on to England at once now found themselves almost insolvent, it was arranged to pay their expenses through the German lines, and to give each of them a sum of fifty shillings, so that they might make their way Channelwards when they had reached an uninvaded part of France. Colonel Walker, of course, parted with as little money as possible. At Versailles it was absolutely impossible to hire vehicles to take us as far as Mantes, but we were assured that conveyances might be procured at Saint Germain-en-Laye; and it was thus that Dr. Russell lent my father his little omnibus for the journey to the last-named town, at the same time sending his courier to assist in making further arrangements. I do not recollect that courier's nationality, but he spoke English, French, and German, and his services were extremely useful. We drove to Saint Germain by way of Rocquencourt, where we found a number of country-folk gathered by the roadside with little stalls, at which they sold wine and fruit to the German soldiers. This part of the environs of Paris seemed to have suffered less than the eastern and southern districts. So far, there had been only one sortie on this side--that made by Ducrot in the direction of La Malmaison. It had, however, momentarily alarmed the investing forces, and whilst we were at Versailles I learnt that, on the day in question, everything had been got ready for King William's removal to Saint Germain in the event of the French achieving a real success. But it proved to be a small affair, Ducrot's force being altogether incommensurate with the effort required of it. At Saint Germain, Dr. Russell's courier assisted in obtaining conveyances for the whole of our party, and we were soon rolling away in the direction of Mantes-la-Jolie, famous as the town where William the Conqueror, whilst bent on pillage and destruction, received the injuries which caused his death. Here we had to report ourselves to the German Commander, who, to the general consternation, began by refusing its permission to proceed. He did so because most of the safe-conducts delivered to us at Versailles, had, in the first instance, only stated that we were to travel by way of Sedan; the words "or Mantes or Dreux" being afterwards added between the lines. That interlineation was irregular, said the General at Mantes; it might even be a forgery; at all events, he could not recognize it, so we must go back whence we had come, and quickly, too--indeed, he gave us just half an hour to quit the town! But it fortunately happened that in a few of the safe-conducts there was no interlineation whatever, the words "Sedan or Mantes or Dreux" being duly set down in the body of the document, and on this being pointed out, the General came to the conclusion that we were not trying to impose on him. He thereupon cancelled his previous order, and decided that, as dusk was already falling, we might remain at Mantes that night, and resume our journey on the morrow at 5.45 a.m., in the charge of a cavalry escort. Having secured a couple of beds, and ordered some dinner at one of the inns, my father and I strolled about the town, which was full of Uhlans and Hussars. The old stone bridge across the Seine had been blown up by the French before their evacuation of the town, and a part of the railway line had also been destroyed by them. But the Germans were responsible for the awful appearance of the railway-station. Never since have I seen anything resembling it. A thousand panes of glass belonging to windows or roofing had been shivered to atoms. Every mirror in either waiting or refreshment-rooms had been pounded to pieces; every gilt frame broken into little bits. The clocks lay about in small fragments; account-books and printed forms had been torn to scraps; partitions, chairs, tables, benches, boxes, nests of drawers, had been hacked, split, broken, reduced to mere strips of wood. The large stoves were overturned and broken, and the marble refreshment counter--some thirty feet long, and previously one of the features of the station--now strewed the floor in particles, suggesting gravel. It was, indeed, an amazing sight, the more amazing as no such work of destruction could have been accomplished without extreme labour. When we returned to the inn for dinner, I asked some questions. "Who did it?" "The first German troops that came here," was the answer. "Why did they do it?--was it because your men had cut the telegraph wires and destroyed some of the permanent way?" "Oh no! They expected to find something to drink in the refreshment-room, and when they discovered that everything had been taken away, they set about breaking the fixtures!" Dear, nice, placid German soldiers, baulked, for a few minutes, of some of the wine of France! In the morning we left Mantes by moonlight at the appointed hour, unaccompanied, however, by any escort. Either the Commandant had forgotten the matter, or his men had overslept themselves. In the outskirts, we were stopped by a sentry, who carried our pass to a guard-house, where a noncommissioned officer inspected it by the light of a lantern. Then on we went again for another furlong or so, when we were once more challenged, this time by the German advanced-post. As we resumed our journey, we perceived, in the rear, a small party of Hussars, who did not follow us, but wheeled suddenly to the left, bent, no doubt, on some reconnoitering expedition. We were now beyond the German lines, and the dawn was breaking. Yonder was the Seine, with several islands lying on its bosom, and some wooded heights rising beyond it. Drawing nearer to the river, we passed through the village of Rolleboise, which gives its name to the chief tunnel on the Western Line, and drove across the debatable ground where French Francstireurs were constantly on the prowl for venturesome Uhlans. At last we got to Bonnières, a little place of some seven or eight hundred inhabitants, on the limits of Seine-et-Oise; and there we had to alight, for the vehicles, which had brought us from Saint Germain, could proceed no further. Fortunately, we secured others, and went on towards the village of Jeufosse, where the nearest French outposts were established. We were displaying the white flag, but the first French sentries we met, young fellows of the Mobile Guard, refused for a little while to let us pass. Eventually they referred the matter to an officer, who, on discovering that we were English and had come from Paris, began to chat with us in a very friendly manner, asking all the usual questions about the state of affairs in the capital, and expressing the usual satisfaction that the city could still hold out. When we took leave, he cordially wished us _bon voyage_, and on we hastened, still following the course of the Seine, to the little town of Vernon. Its inquisitive inhabitants at once surrounded us, eager to know who we were, whence we had come, and whither we were going. But we did not tarry many minutes, for we suddenly learnt that the railway communication with Rouen only began at Gaillon, several leagues further on, and that there was only one train a day. The question which immediately arose was--could we catch it? On we went, then, once more, this time up, over, and down a succession of steep hills, until at last we reached Gaillon station, and found to our delight that the train would not start for another twenty minutes. All our companions took tickets for Rouen, whence they intended to proceed to Dieppe or Le Hâvre. But my father and I branched off before reaching the Norman capital, and, after, arriving at Elbeuf, travelled through the departments of the Eure and the Orne, passing Alençon on our way to Le Mans. On two or three occasions we had to change from one train to another. The travelling was extremely slow, and there were innumerable stoppages. The lines were constantly encumbered with vans laden with military supplies, and the stations were full of troops going in one and another direction. In the waiting-rooms one found crowds of officers lying on the couches, the chairs, and the tables, and striving to snatch a few hours' sleep; whilst all over the floors and the platforms soldiers had stretched themselves for the same purpose. Very seldom could any food be obtained, but I luckily secured a loaf, some cheese, and a bottle of wine at Alençon. It must have been about one o'clock in the morning when we at last reached Le Mans, and found that there would be no train going to Rennes for another four or five hours. The big railway-station of Le Mans was full of reinforcements for the Army of the Loire. After strolling about for a few minutes, my father and I sat down on the platform with our backs against a wall, for not a bench or a stool was available. Every now and again some train prepared to start, men were hastily mustered, and then climbed into all sorts of carriages and vans. A belated general rushed along, accompanied by eager _aides-de-camp_. Now and again a rifle slipped from the hand of some Mobile Guard who had been imbibing too freely, and fell with a clatter on the platform. Then stores were bundled into trucks, whistles sounded, engines puffed, and meanwhile, although men were constantly departing, the station seemed to be as crowded as ever. When at last I got up to stretch myself, I noticed, affixed to the wall against which I had been leaning, a proclamation of Gambetta's respecting D'Aurelle de Paladines' victory over Von der Tann at Orleans. In another part of the station were lithographed notices emanating from the Prefect of the department, and reciting a variety of recent Government decrees and items of war news, skirmishes, reconnaissances, and so forth. At last, however, our train came in. It was composed almost entirely of third-class carriages with wooden seats, and we had to be content with that accommodation. Another long and wearisome journey then began. Again we travelled slowly, again there were innumerable stoppages, again we passed trains crowded with soldiers, or crammed full of military stores. At some place where we stopped there was a train conveying some scores of horses, mostly poor, miserable old creatures. I looked and wondered at the sight of them. "They have come from England," said a fellow-passenger; "every boat from Southampton to Saint Malo brings over quite a number." It was unpleasant to think that such sorry-looking beasts had been shipped by one's own countrymen. However, we reached Rennes at last, and were there able to get a good square meal, and also to send a telegram to my stepmother, notifying her of our early arrival. It was, however, at a late hour that we arrived at Saint Malo, whence we drove to La Petite Amelia at Saint Servan. The latter town then contained a considerable colony of English people, among whom the military element predominated. Quite a number of half-pay or retired officers had come to live there with their families, finding Jersey overcrowded and desiring to practise economy. The colony also included several Irish landlords in reduced circumstances, who had quitted the restless isle to escape assassination at the hands of "Rory of the Hills" and folk of his stamp. In addition, there were several maiden ladies of divers ages, but all of slender means; one or two courtesy lords of high descent, but burdened with numerous offspring; together with a riding-master who wrote novels, and an elderly clergyman appointed by the Bishop of Gibraltar. I dare say there may have been a few black sheep in the colony; but the picture which Mrs. Annie Edwardes gave of it in her novel, "Susan Fielding," was exaggerated, though there was truth in the incidents which she introduced into another of her works, "Ought We to Visit Her?" On the whole, the Saint Servan colony was a very respectable one, even if it was not possessed of any great means. Going there during my holidays, I met many young fellows of my own age or thereabouts, and mostly belonging to military families. There were also several charming girls, both English and Irish. With the young fellows I boated, with the young ladies I played croquet. Now, whilst my father and I had been shut up in Paris, we had frequently written to my stepmother by balloon-post, and on some of our letters being shown to the clergyman of the colony, he requested permission to read them to his congregation--which he frequently did, omitting, of course, the more private passages, but giving all the items of news and comments on the situation which the letters contained. As a matter of fact, this helped the reverend gentleman out of a difficulty. He was an excellent man, but, like many others of his cloth, he did not know how to preach. In fact, a year or two later, I myself wrote one or two sermons for him, working into them certain matters of interest to the colony. During the earlier part of the siege of Paris, however, the reading of my father's letters and my own from the pulpit at the close of the usual service saved the colony's pastor from the trouble of composing a bad sermon, or of picking out an indifferent one from some forgotten theological work. My father, on arriving at Saint Servan, secluded himself as far as possible, so as to rest awhile before proceeding to England; but I went about much as usual; and my letters read from the pulpit, and sundry other matters, having made me a kind of "public character," I was at once pounced upon in the streets, carried off to the club and to private houses, and there questioned and cross-questioned by a dozen or twenty Crimean and Indian veteran officers who were following the progress of the war with a passionate interest. A year or two previously, moreover, my stepmother had formed a close friendship with one of the chief French families of the town. The father, a retired officer of the French naval service, was to have commanded a local Marching Battalion, but he unfortunately sickened and died, leaving his wife with one daughter, a beautiful girl who was of about my own age. Now, this family had been joined by the wife's parents, an elderly couple, who, on the approach of the Germans to Paris, had quitted the suburb where they resided. I was often with these friends at Saint Servan, and on arriving there from Paris, our conversation naturally turned on the war. As the old gentleman's house in the environs of the capital was well within the French lines, he had not much reason to fear for its safety, and, moreover, he had taken the precaution to remove his valuables into the city. But he was sorely perturbed by all the conflicting news respecting the military operations in the provinces, the reported victories which turned out to be defeats, the adverse rumours concerning the condition of the French forces, the alleged scandal of the Camp of Conlie, where the more recent Breton levies were said to be dying off like rotten sheep, and many other matters besides. Every evening when I called on these friends the conversation was the same. The ladies, the grandmother, the daughter, and the granddaughter, sat there making garments for the soldiers or preparing lint for the wounded--those being the constant occupations of the women of Brittany during all the hours they could spare from their household duties--and meanwhile the old gentleman discussed with me both the true and the spurious news of the day. The result of those conversations was that, as soon as my father had betaken himself to England, I resolved to go to the front myself, ascertain as much of the truth as I could, and become, indeed, a war-correspondent on "my own." In forming that decision I was influenced, moreover, by one of those youthful dreams which life seldom, if ever, fulfils. IX THE WAR IN THE PROVINCES First Efforts of the National Defence Delegates--La Motte-Rouge and his Dyed Hair--The German Advance South of Paris--Moltke and King William-- Bourges, the German Objective--Characteristics of Beauce, Perche, and Sologne--French Evacuation of Orleans--Gambetta arrives at Tours--His Coadjutor, Charles Louis de Saulces de Freycinet--Total Forces of the National Defence on Gambetta's Arrival--D'Aurelle de Paladines supersedes La Motte-Rouge--The Affair of Châteaudun--Cambriels--Garibaldi--Jessie White Mario--Edward Vizetelly--Catholic Hatred of Garibaldi--The Germans at Dijon--The projected Relief of Paris--Trochu's Errors and Ducrot's Schemes--The French Victory of Coulmiers--Change of Plan in Paris--My Newspaper Work--My Brother Adrian Vizetelly--The General Position. When I reached Brittany, coming from Paris, early in the second fortnight of November, the Provincial Delegation of the Government of National Defence was able to meet the Germans with very considerable forces. But such had not been the case immediately after Sedan. As I pointed out previously--quite apart from the flower of the old Imperial Army, which was beleaguered around Metz--a force far too large for mere purposes of defence was confined within the lines with which the Germans invested Paris. In the provinces, the number of troops ready to take the field was very small indeed. Old Crémieux, the Minister of Justice, was sent out of Paris already on September 12, and took with him a certain General Lefort, who was to attend to matters of military organization in the provinces. But little or no confidence was placed in the resources there. The military members of the National Defence Government--General Trochu, its President, and General Le Flò, its Minister of War, had not the slightest idea that provincial France might be capable of a great effort. They relied chiefly on the imprisoned army of Paris, as is shown by all their despatches and subsequent apologies. However, Glais-Bizoin followed Crémieux to Tours, where it had been arranged that the Government Delegation should instal itself, and he was accompanied by Admiral Fourichon, the Minister of Marine. On reaching the Loire region, the new authorities found a few battalions of Mobile Guards, ill-armed and ill-equipped, a battalion of sharpshooters previously brought from Algeria, one or two batteries of artillery, and a cavalry division of four regiments commanded by General Reyau. This division had been gathered together in the final days of the Empire, and was to have been sent to Mezieres, to assist MacMahon in his effort to succour Bazaine; but on failing to get there, it had made just a few vain attempts to check the Germans in their advance on Paris, and had then fallen back to the south of the capital. General Lefort's first task was to collect the necessary elements for an additional army corps--the 15th--and he summoned to his assistance the veteran General de la Motte-Rouge, previously a very capable officer, but now almost a septuagenarian, whose particular fad it was to dye his hair, and thereby endeavour to make himself look no more than fifty. No doubt, hi the seventeenth century, the famous Prince de Condé with the eagle glance took a score of wigs with him when he started on a campaign; but even such a practice as that is not suited to modern conditions of warfare, though be it admitted that it takes less time to change one's wig than to have one's hair dyed. The latter practice may, of course, help a man to cut a fine figure on parade, but it is of no utility in the field. In a controversy which arose after the publication of Zola's novel "La Débâole," there was a conflict of evidence as to whether the cheeks of Napoleon III were or were not rouged in order to conceal his ghastly pallor on the fatal day of Sedan. That may always remain a moot point; but it is, I think, certain that during the last two years of his rule his moustache and "imperial" were dyed. But let me return to the National Defence. Paris, as I formerly mentioned, was invested on September 19. On the 22nd a Bavarian force occupied the village of Longjumeau, referred to in my account of my journey to Versailles. A couple of days later, the Fourth Division of German cavalry, commanded by Prince Albert (the elder) of Prussia, started southward through the departments of Eure-et-Loir and Loiret, going towards Artenay in the direction of Orleans. This division, which met at first with little opposition, belonged to a force which was detached from the main army of the Crown Prince of Prussia, and placed under the command of the Grand-Duke Frederick Francis of Mecklenburg-Schwerin. Near this "Armée-Abtheilung," as the Germans called it, was the first Bavarian army corps, which had fought at Bazeilles on the day of Sedan. It was commanded by General von und zu der Tann-Rathsamhausen, commonly called Von der Tann, _tout court_. As Prince Albert of Prussia, on drawing near to Artenay, found a good many French soldiers, both regulars and irregulars, that is Francs-tireurs, located in the district, he deemed it best to retire on Toury and Pithiviers. But his appearance so far south had sufficed to alarm the French commander at Orleans, General de Polhès, who at once, ordered his men to evacuate the city and retire, partly on Blois, and partly on La Motte-Beuvron. This pusillanimity incensed the Delegates of the National Defence, and Polhès was momentarily superseded by General Reyau, and later (October 5) by La Motte-Rouge. It is known, nowadays, that the Germans were at first perplexed as to the best course to pursue after they had completed the investment of Paris. Moltke had not anticipated a long siege of the French capital. He had imagined that the city would speedily surrender, and that the war would then come to an end. Fully acquainted with the tract of country lying between the Rhine and Paris, he had much less knowledge of other parts of France; and, moreover, although he had long known how many men could be placed in the field by the military organisation of the Empire, he undoubtedly underestimated the further resources of the French, and did not anticipate any vigorous provincial resistance. His sovereign, King William, formed a more correct estimate respecting the prolongation of the struggle, and, as was mentioned by me in my previous book--"Republican France"--he more than once rectified the mistakes which were made by the great German strategist. The invader's objective with respect to central France was Bourges, the old capital of Berry, renowned for its ordnance and ammunition works, and, in the days when the troops of our Henry V overran France, the scene of Charles VII's retirement, before he was inspirited either by Agnes Sorel or by Joan of Arc. To enable an army coming from the direction of Paris to seize Bourges, it is in the first instance necessary--as a reference to any map of France will show--to secure possession of Orleans, which is situated at the most northern point, the apex, so to say, of the course of the Loire, and is only about sixty-eight miles from Paris. At the same time it is advisable that any advance upon Orleans should be covered, westward, by a corresponding advance on Chartres, and thence on Châteaudun. This became the German plan, and whilst a force under General von Wittich marched on Chartres, Von der Tann's men approached Orleans through the Beauce region. From the forest of Dourdan on the north to the Loire on the south, and from the Chartres region on the west to the Gatinais on the east, this great grain-growing plateau (the scene of Zola's famous novel "La Terre") is almost level. Although its soil is very fertile there are few watercourses in Beauce, none of them, moreover, being of a nature to impede the march of an army. The roads are lined with stunted elms, and here and there a small copse, a straggling farm, a little village, may be seen, together with many a row of stacks, the whole forming in late autumn and in winter--when hurricanes, rain, and snow-storms sweep across the great expanse--as dreary a picture as the most melancholy-minded individual could desire. Whilst there is no natural obstacle to impede the advance of an invader, there is also no cover for purposes of defence. All the way from Chartres to Orleans the high-road is not once intersected by a river. Nearly all of the few streams which exist thereabouts run from south to north, and they supply no means of defence against an army coming from the direction of Paris. The region is one better suited for the employment of cavalry and artillery than for that of foot-soldiers. The Chartres country is better watered than Beaude. Westward, in both of the districts of Perche, going either towards Mortagne or towards Nogent-le-Rotrou, the country is more hilly and more wooded; and hedges, ditches, and dingle paths abound there. In such districts infantry can well be employed for defensive purposes. Beyond the Loir--not the Loire-- S.S.W. of Chartres, is the Pays Dunois, that is the district of Châteaudun, a little town protected on the north and the west by the Loir and the Conie, and by the hills between which those rivers flow, but open to any attack on the east, from which direction, indeed, the Germans naturally approached it. Beyond the Loire, to the south-east of Beauce and Orleans, lies the sheep-breeding region called Sologne, which the Germans would have had to cross had they prosecuted their intended march on Bourges. Here cavalry and artillery are of little use, the country abounding in streams, ponds, and marshes. Quite apart, however, from natural obstacles, no advance on Bourges could well be prosecuted so long as the French held Orleans; and even when that city had fallen into the hands of the Germans, the presence of large French forces on the west compelled the invaders to carry hostilities in that direction and abandon their projected march southward. Thus the campaign in which I became interested was carried on principally in the departments of Eure-et-Loir, Loiret, Loir-et-Cher, and Sarthe, to terminate, at last, in Mayenne. Great indiscipline prevailed among the troops whom La Motte-Rouge had under his orders. An attack by Von der Tann to the north of Orleans on October 10, led to the retreat of a part of the French forces. On the following day, when the French had from 12,000 to 13,000 men engaged, they were badly defeated, some 1800 of their men being put _hors de combat_, and as many being taken prisoners. This reverse, which was due partly to some mistakes made by La Motte-Rouge, and partly to the inferior quality of his troops, led to the immediate evacuation of Orleans. Now, it was precisely at this moment that Gambetta appeared upon the scene. He had left Paris, it will be remembered, on October 7; on the 8th he was at Rouen, on the 9th he joined the other Government delegates at Tours, and on the 10th--the eve of La Motte-Rouge's defeat--he became Minister of War as well as Minister of the Interior. Previously the portfolio for war had been held in the provinces by Admiral Fourichon, with General Lefort as his assistant; but Fourichon had resigned in connexion with a Communalist rising which had taken place at Lyons towards the end of September, when the Prefect, Challemel-Lacour, was momentarily made a prisoner by the insurgents, but was afterwards released by some loyal National Guards. [See my book, "The Anarchists: Their Faith and their Record," John Lane, 1911.] Complaining that General Mazure, commander of the garrison, had not done his duty on this occasion, Challemel-Lacour caused him to be arrested, and Fourichon, siding with the general, thereupon resigned the War Ministry, Crémieux taking it over until Gambetta's arrival. It may well be asked how one could expect the military affairs of France to prosper when they were subordinated to such wretched squabbles. Among the men whom Gambetta found at Tours, was an engineer, who, after the Revolution of September 4, had been appointed Prefect of Tarn-et-Garonne, but who, coming into conflict with the extremists of Montauban, much as Challemel-Lacour had come into conflict with those of Lyons, had promptly resigned his functions. His name was Charles Louis de Saulces de Freycinet, and, though he was born at Foix near the Pyrenees, he belonged to an ancient family of Dauphiné. At this period (October, 1870), Freycinet had nearly completed his forty-second year. After qualifying as an engineer at the Ecole Polytechnique, he had held various posts at Mont-de-Marsan, Chartres, and Bordeaux, before securing in 1864 the position of traffic-manager to the Chemin de Fer du Midi. Subsequently he was entrusted with various missions abroad, and in 1869 the Institute of France crowned a little work of his on the employment of women and children in English factories. Mining engineering was his speciality, but he was extremely versatile and resourceful, and immediately attracted the notice of Gambetta. Let it be said to the latter's credit that in that hour of crisis he cast all prejudices aside. He cared nothing for the antecedents of any man who was willing to cooperate in the defence of France; and thus, although Freycinet came of an ancient-aristocratic house, and had made his way under the Empire, which had created him first a chevalier and then an officer of the Legion of Honour, Gambetta at once selected him to act as his chef-de-cabinet, and delegate in military affairs. At this moment the National Defence had in or ready for the field only 40,000 regular infantry, a like number of Mobile Guards, from 5000 to 6000 cavalry, and about 100 guns, some of antiquated models and with very few men to serve them. There were certainly a good many men at various regimental dépôts, together with Mobile Guards and National Guards in all the uninvaded provinces of France; but all these had to be drilled, equipped, and armed. That was the first part of the great task which lay before Gambetta and Freycinet. Within a month, however--leaving aside what was done in other parts of the country--France had on the Loire alone an army of 100,000 men, who for a moment, at all events, turned the tide of war. At the same time I would add that, before Gambetta's arrival on the scene, the National Defence Delegates had begun to concentrate some small bodies of troops both in Normandy and in Picardy and Artois, the latter forming the first nucleus of the Army of the North which Faidherbe afterwards commanded. Further, in the east of France there was a force under General Cambriels, whose object was to cut the German communications in the Vosges. Von der Tann, having defeated La Motte-Rouge, occupied Orleans, whilst the French withdrew across the Loire to La Motte-Beuvron and Gien, south and south-east of their former position. Gambetta had to take action immediately. He did so by removing La Motte-Rouge from his command, which he gave to D'Aurelle de Paladines. The latter, a general on the reserve list, with a distinguished record, was in his sixty-sixth year, having been born at Languedoc in 1804. He had abilities as an organiser, and was known to be a disciplinarian, but he was growing old, and looked confidence both in himself and in his men. At the moment of D'Aurelle's appointment, Von der Tann wished to advance on Bourges, in accordance with Moltke's instructions, and, in doing so, he proposed to evacuate Orleans; but this was forbidden by King William and the Crown Prince, and in the result the Bavarian general suffered a repulse at Salbris, which checked his advance southward. Still covering Bourges and Vierzon, D'Aurelle soon had 60,000 men under his orders, thanks to the efforts of Gambetta and Freyeinet. But the enemy were now making progress to the west of Orleans, in which direction the tragic affair of Châteaudun occurred on October 18. The German column operating on that side under General von Wittich, consisted of 6000 infantry, four batteries, and a cavalry regiment, which advanced on Châteaudun from the east, and, on being resisted by the villagers of Varize and Civry, shot them down without mercy, and set all their houses (about 130 in number) on fire. Nevertheless, that punishment did not deter the National Guards of Châteaudun, and the Francs-tireurs who had joined them, from offering the most strenuous opposition to the invaders, though the latter's numerical superiority alone was as seven to one. The fierce fight was followed by terrible scenes. Most of the Francs-tireurs, who had not fallen in the engagement, effected a retreat, and on discovering this, the infuriated Germans, to whom the mere name of Franc-tireur was as a red rag to a bull, did not scruple to shoot down a number of non-combatants, including women and children. I remember the excitement which the news of the Châteaudun affair occasioned in besieged Paris; and when I left the capital a few weeks later I heard it constantly spoken of. In vain did the Germans strive to gloss over the truth. The proofs were too numerous and the reality was too dreadful. Two hundred and thirty-five of the devoted little town's houses were committed to the flames. For the first time in the whole course of the war women were deliberately assaulted, and a couple of German Princes disgraced their exalted station in a drunken and incendiary orgie. Meantime, in the east of France, Cambriels had failed in his attempt to cut the German communications, and had been compelled to beat a retreat. It must be said for him that his troops were a very sorry lot, who could not be depended upon. Not only were they badly disciplined and addicted to drunkenness, but they took to marauding and pillage, and were in no degree a match for the men whom the German General von Werder led against them. Garibaldi, the Italian Liberator, had offered his sword to France, soon after the fall of the Second Empire. On October 8--that is, a day before Gambetta--he arrived at Tours, to arrange for a command, like that of Cambriels, in the east of France. The little Army of the Vosges, which was eventually constituted under his orders, was made up of very heterogeneous elements. Italians, Switzers, Poles, Hungarians, Englishmen, as well as Frenchmen, were to be found in its ranks. The general could not be called a very old man, being indeed only sixty-three years of age, but he had led an eventful and arduous life; and, as will be remembered, ever since the affair of Aspromonte in 1862, he had been lame, and had gradually become more and more infirm. He had with him, however, two of his sons, Menotti and Ricoiotti (the second a more competent soldier than the first), and several, able men, such as his compatriot Lobbia, and the Pole, Bosak-Hauké. His chief of staff, Bordone, previously a navy doctor, was, however, a very fussy individual who imagined himself to be a military genius. Among the Englishmen with Garibaldi were Robert Middleton and my brother Edward Vizetelly; and there was an Englishwoman, Jessie White Mario, daughter of White the boat-builder of Cowes, and widow of Mario, Garibaldi's companion in arms in the glorious Liberation days. My brother often told me that Mme. Mario was equally at home in an ambulance or in a charge, for she was an excellent nurse and an admirable horsewoman as well as a good shot. She is one of the women of whom I think when I hear or read that the members of the completing sex cannot fight. But that of course is merely the opinion of some medical and newspaper men. Mme. Mario contributed a certain number of articles to the _Daily News_. So did my brother--it was indeed as _Daily News_ correspondent that he first joined Garibaldi's forces--but he speedily became an orderly to the general, and later a captain on the staff. He was at the battles of Dijon and Autun, and served under Lobbia in the relief of Langres. Some French historians of these later days have written so slightingly of the little Army of the Vosges, that I am sorry my brother did not leave any permanent record of his experiences. Garibaldi's task was no easy one. In the first instance, the National Defence hesitated to employ him; secondly, they wished to subordinate him to Cambriels, and he declined to take any such position; not that he objected to serve under any superior commander who would treat him fairly, but because he, Garibaldi, was a freethinker, and knew that he was bitterly detested by the fervently Catholic generals, such as Cambriels. As it happened, he secured an independent command. But in exercising it he had to co-operate with Cambriels in various ways, and in later years my brother told me how shamefully Cambriels acted more than once towards the Garibaldian force. It was indeed a repetition of what had occurred at the very outset of the war, when such intense jealousy had existed among certain marshals and generals that one had preferred to let another be defeated rather than march "at the sound of the guns" to his assistance. I also remember my brother telling me that when Langres (which is in the Haute Marne, west of the Aube and the Côte d'Or) was relieved by Lobbia's column, the commander of the garrison refused at first to let the Garibaldians enter the town. He was prepared to surrender to the Germans, if necessary; but the thought that he, a devout Catholic, should owe any assistance to such a band of unbelieving brigands as the Garibaldian enemies of the Pope was absolutely odious to him. Fortunately, this kind of feeling did not show itself in western France. There was, at one moment, some little difficulty respecting the position of Cathélineau, the descendant of the famous Vendéen leader, but, on the whole, Catholics, Royalists, and Republicans loyally supported one another, fired by a common patriotism. The failure of Cambriel's attempts to cut the German communications, and the relatively small importance of the Garibaldian force, inspired Gambetta with the idea of forming a large Army of the East which, with Langres, Belfort, and Besançon as its bases, would vigorously assume the offensive in that part of France. Moltke, however, had already sent General von Werder orders to pursue the retreating Cambriels. Various engagements, late in October, were followed by a German march on Dijon. There were at this time 12,000 or 13,000 Mobile Guards in the Côte d'Or, but no general in command of them. Authority was exercised by a civilian, Dr. Lavalle. The forces assembled at Dijon and Beaune amounted, inclusive of regulars and National Guards, to about 20,000 men, but they were very badly equipped and armed, and their officers were few in number and of very indifferent ability. Werder came down on Dijon in a somewhat hesitating way, like a man who is not sure of his ground or of the strength of the enemy in front of him. But the French were alarmed by his approach, and on October 30 Dijon was evacuated, and soon afterwards occupied by Werder with two brigades. Three days previously Metz had surrendered, and France was reeling under the unexpected blow in spite of all the ardent proclamations with which Gambetta strove to impart hope and stimulate patriotism. Bazaine's capitulation naturally implied the release of the forces under Prince Frederick Charles, by which he had been invested, and their transfer to other parts of France for a more vigorous prosecution of the invasion. Werder, after occupying Dijon, was to have gone westward through the Nivernais in order to assist other forces in the designs on Bourges. But some days before Metz actually fell, Moltke sent him different instructions, setting forth that he was to take no further account of Bourges, but to hold Dijon, and concentrate at Vesoul, keeping a watch on Langres and Besançon. For a moment, however, 3600 French under an officer named Fauconnet suddenly recaptured Dijon, though there were more than 10,000 Badeners installed there under General von Beyer. Unfortunately Fauconnet was killed in the affair, a fresh evacuation of the Burgundian capital ensued, and the Germans then remained in possession of the city for more than a couple of months. In the west the army of the Loire was being steadily increased and consolidated, thanks to the untiring efforts of Gambetta, Freycinet, and D'Aurelle, the last of whom certainly contributed largely to the organization of the force, though he was little inclined to quit his lines and assume the offensive. It was undoubtedly on this army that Gambetta based his principal hopes. The task assigned to it was greater than those allotted to any of the other armies which were gradually assuming shape--being, indeed, the relief of beleaguered Paris. Trochu's own memoirs show that at the outset of the siege his one thought was to remain on the defensive. In this connexion it is held, nowadays, that he misjudged the German temperament, that remembering the vigorous attempts of the Allies on Sebastopol--he was, as we know, in the Crimea, at the time--he imagined that the Germans would make similarly vigorous attempts on Paris. He did not expect a long and so to say passive siege, a mere blockade during which the investing army would simply content itself with repulsing the efforts of the besieged to break through its lines. He knew that the Germans had behaved differently in the case of Strasbourg and some other eastern strongholds, and anticipated a similar line of action with respect to the French capital. But the Germans preferred to follow a waiting policy towards both Metz and Paris. It has been said that this was less the idea of Moltke than that of Bismarck, whose famous phrase about letting the Parisians stew in their own juice will be remembered. But one should also recollect that both Metz and Paris were defended by great forces, and that there was little likelihood of any _coup de main_ succeeding; whilst, as for bombardment, though it might have some moral, it would probably have very little material effect. Metz was not really bombarded, and the attempt to bombard Paris was deferred for several months. When it at last took place a certain number of buildings were damaged, 100 persons were killed and 200 persons wounded--a material effect which can only be described as absolutely trivial in the case of so great and so populous a city. Trochu's idea to remain merely on the defensive did not appeal to his coadjutor General Ducrot. The latter had wished to break through the German lines on the day of Sedan, and he now wished to break through them round Paris. Various schemes occurred to him. One was to make a sortie in the direction of Le Bourget and the plain of Saint Denis, but it seemed useless to attempt to break out on the north, as the Germans held Laon, Soissons, La Fère, and Amiens. There was also an idea of making an attempt on the south, in the direction of Villejuif, but everything seemed to indicate that the Germans were extremely strong on this side of the city and occupied no little of the surrounding country. The question of a sortie on the east, across the Marne, was also mooted and dismissed for various reasons; the idea finally adopted being to break out by way of the Gennevilliers peninsula formed by the course of the Seine on the north-west, and then (the heights of Cormeil having been secured) to cross the Oise, and afterwards march on Rouen, where it would be possible to victual the army. Moreover, instructions were to be sent into the provinces in order that both the forces on the Loire and those in the north might bear towards Normandy, and there join the army from Paris, in such wise that there would be a quarter of a million men between Dieppe, Rouen, and Caen. Trochu ended by agreeing to this scheme, and even entertained a hope that he might be able to revictual Paris by way of the Seine, for which purpose a flotilla of boats was prepared. Ducrot and he expected to be ready by November 15 or 20, but it is said that they were hampered in their preparations by the objections raised by Guiod and Chabaud-Latour, the former an engineer, and the latter an artillery general. Moreover, the course of events in the provinces suddenly caused a complete reversal of Ducrot's plans. On November 9, D'Aurelle de Paladines defeated Von der Tann at Coulmiers, west of Orleans. The young French troops behaved extremely well, but the victory not being followed up with sufficient vigour by D'Aurelle, remained somewhat incomplete, though it constrained the Germans to evacuate Orleans. On the whole this was the first considerable success achieved by the French since the beginning of the war, and it did much to revive the spirits which had been drooping since the fall of Metz. Another of its results was to change Ducrot's plans respecting the Paris sortie. He and Trochu had hitherto taken little account of the provincial armies, and the success of Coulmiers came to them as a surprise and a revelation. There really was an army of the Loire, then, and it was advancing on Paris from Orleans. The Parisian forces must therefore break out on the south-east and join hands with this army of relief in or near the forest of Fontainebleau. Thus, all the preparations for a sortie by way of Gennevilliers were abandoned, and followed by others for an attempt in the direction of Champigny. Such was roughly the position at the time when I reached Brittany and conceived the idea of joining the French forces on the Loire and forwarding some account of their operations to England. During my stay in Paris with my father I had assisted him in preparing several articles, and had written others on my own account. My eldest brother, Adrian Vizetelly, was at this time assistant-secretary at the Institution of Naval Architects. He had been a student at the Royal School of Naval Architecture with the Whites, Elgars, Yarrows, Turnbulls, and other famous shipbuilders, and on quitting it had taken the assistant-secretaryship in question as an occupation pending some suitable vacancy in the Government service or some large private yard. The famous naval constructor, E. J. Reed, had started in life in precisely the same post, and it was, indeed, at his personal suggestion that my brother took it. A year or two later he and his friend Dr. Francis Elgar, subsequently Director of Dockyards and one of the heads of the Fairfield Shipbuilding Company, were assisting Reed to run his review _Naval Science_. At the time of the Franco-German war, however, my brother, then in his twenty-sixth year, was writing on naval subjects for the _Daily News_ and the _Pall Mall Gazette,_ edited respectively by John Robinson and Frederick Greenwood. A few articles written by me during my siege days were sent direct to the latter by balloon-post, but I knew not what their fate might be. The _Pall Mall_ might be unable to use them, and there was no possibility of their being returned to me in Paris. My father, whom I assisted in preparing a variety of articles, suggested that everything of this kind--that is, work not intended for the _Illustrated London News_--should be sent to my brother for him to deal with as opportunity offered. He placed a few articles with _The Times_--notably some rather long ones on the fortifications and armament of Paris, whilst others went to the _Daily News_ and the _Pall Mall_. When, after coming out of Paris, I arrived in Brittany, I heard that virtually everything sent from the capital by my father or myself had been used in one or another paper, and was not a little pleased to receive a draft on a Saint Malo banking-house for my share of the proceeds. This money enabled me to proceed, in the first instance, in the direction of Le Mans, which the Germans were already threatening. Before referring, however, to my own experiences I must say something further respecting the general position. The battle of Coulmiers (November 9) was followed by a period of inaction on the part of the Loire Army. Had D'Aurelle pursued Von der Tann he might have turned his barren victory to good account. But he had not much confidence in his troops, and the weather was bad--sleet and snow falling continually. Moreover, the French commander believed that the Bavarian retreat concealed a trap. At a conference held between him, Gambetta, Freyoinet, and the generals at the head of the various army corps, only one of the latter---Chanzy--favoured an immediate march on Paris. Borel, who was chief of D'Aurelle's staff, proposed to confine operations to an advance on Chartres, which would certainly have been a good position to occupy, for it would have brought the army nearer to the capital, giving it two railway lines, those of Le Mans and Granville, for revictualling purposes, and enabling it to retreat on Brittany in the event of any serious reverse. But no advance at all was made. The Germans were allowed all necessary time to increase their forces, the French remaining inactive within D'Aurelle's lines, and their _morale_ steadily declining by reason of the hardships to which they were subjected. The general-in-chief refused to billet them in the villages--for fear, said he, of indiscipline--and compelled them to bivouack, under canvas, in the mud; seldom, moreover, allowing any fires to be kindled. For a score of days did this state of affairs continue, and the effect of it was seen at the battle of Beaune-la-Rolande. The responsibility for the treatment of the troops rests on D'Aurelle's memory and that of some of his fellow-generals. Meantime, Gambetta and Freycinet were exerting themselves to improve the situation generally. They realized that the release of Prince Frederick Charles's forces from the investment of Metz necessitated the reinforcement of the Army of the Loire, and they took steps accordingly. Cambriels had now been replaced in eastern France by a certain General Michel, who lost his head and was superseded by his comrade Crouzat. The last-named had with him 30,000 men and 40 guns to contend against the 21,000 men and the 70 guns of Werder's army. In order to strengthen the Loire forces, however, half of Crouzat's men and he himself received orders to approach Orleans by way of Nevers and Gien, the remainder of his army being instructed to retire on Lyons, in order to quiet the agitation prevailing in that city, which regarded itself as defenceless and complained bitterly thereof, although there was no likelihood at all of a German attack for at least some time to come. The new arrangements left Garibaldi chief commander in eastern France, though the forces directly under his orders did not at this time exceed 5000 men, and included, moreover, no fewer than sixty petty free-corps, who cared little for discipline. [There were women in several of these companies, one of the latter including no fewer than eighteen amazons.] A month or two previously the advent of from twenty to thirty thousand Italian volunteers had been confidently prophesied, but very few of these came forward. Nevertheless, Ricciotti Garibaldi (with whom was my brother Edward) defeated a German force in a sharp engagement at Chatillon-sur- Seine (November 19), and a week later the Garibaldians made a gallant attempt to recapture the city of Dijon. Five thousand men, however, were of no avail against an army corps; and thus, even if the Garibaldian attack had momentarily succeeded, it would have been impossible to hold Dijon against Werder's troops. The attempt having failed, the German commander resolved to crush the Army of the Vosges, which fled and scattered, swiftly pursued by a brigade under General von Keller. Great jealousy prevailed at this moment among the French generals in command of various corps which might have helped the Garibaldians. Bressolles, Crevisier, and Cremer were at loggerheads. On November 30 the last-named fought an indecisive action at Nuits, followed nearly three weeks later by another in which he claimed the victory. Meantime, Crouzat's force, now known as the 20th Army Corps, had been moving on Nevers. To assist the Loire Army yet further, General Bourbaki had been summoned from the north-west of France. At the fall of the Empire the defence in that part of the country had been entrusted to Fririon, whom Espinet de la Villeboisnet succeeded. The resources at the disposal of both those generals were very limited, confined, indeed, to men of the regimental dépôts and some Mobile Guards. There was a deficiency both of officers and of weapons, and in the early skirmishes which took place with the enemy, the principal combatants were armed peasants, rural firemen, and the National Guards of various towns. It is true that for a while the German force consisted only of a battalion of infantry and some Saxon cavalry. Under Anatole de la Forge, Prefect of the Aisne, the open town of Saint Quentin offered a gallant resistance to the invader, but although this had some moral effect, its importance was not great. Bourbaki, who succeeded La Villeboisnet in command of the region, was as diffident respecting the value of his troops as was D'Aurelle on the Loire. He had previously commanded the very pick of the French army, that is the Imperial Guard, and the men now placed under his orders were by no means of the same class. Bourbaki was at this time only fifty-four years of age, and when, after being sent out of Metz on a mission to the Empress Eugénie at Hastings, he had offered his services to the National Defence, the latter had given him the best possible welcome. But he became one of the great military failures of the period. After the fall of Metz the Germans despatched larger forces under Manteuffel into north-west France. Altogether there were 35,000 infantry and 4000 cavalry, with 174 guns, against a French force of 22,000 men who were distributed with 60 guns over a front of some thirty miles, their object being to protect both Amiens and Rouen. When Bourbaki was summoned to the Loire, he left Farre as chief commander in the north, with Faidherbe and Lecointe as his principal lieutenants. There was bad strategy on both sides, but La Fère capitulated to the Germans on November 26, and Amiens on the 29th. Meantime, the position in beleaguered Paris was becoming very bad. Some ten thousand men, either of the regular or the auxiliary forces, were laid up in hospital, less on account of wounds than of disease. Charcoal--for cooking purposes according to the orthodox French system--was being strictly rationed, On November 20 only a certain number of milch cows and a few hundred oxen, reserved for hospital and ambulance patients, remained of all the bovine live stock collected together before the siege. At the end of November, 500 horses were being slaughtered every day. On the other hand, the bread allowance had been raised from 750 grammes to a kilogramme per diem, and a great deal of bread was given to the horses as food. Somewhat uncertain communications had been opened with the provinces by means of pigeon-post, the first pigeon to bring despatches into the city arriving there on November 15. The despatches, photographed on the smallest possible scale, were usually enclosed in quills fastened under one or another of the birds' wings. Each balloon that left the city now took with it a certain number of carrier-pigeons for this service. Owing, however, to the bitter cold which prevailed that winter, many of the birds perished on the return journey, and thus the despatches they carried did not reach Paris. Whenever any such communications arrived there, they had to be enlarged by means of a magic-lantern contrivance, in order that they might be deciphered. Meantime, the aeronauts leaving the city conveyed Government despatches as well as private correspondence, and in this wise Trochu was able to inform Gambetta that the army of Paris intended to make a great effort on November 29. X WITH THE "ARMY OF BRITTANY" The German Advance Westward--Gambetta at Le Mans--The "Army of Brittany" and Count de Kératry--The Camp of Conlie--The Breton Marching Division-- Kératry resigns--The Champigny Sortie from Paris--The dilatory D'Aurelle-- The pitiable 20th Army Corps--Battles of Beaune-la-Rolande and Loigny-- Loss of Orleans--D'Aurelle superseded by Chanzy--Chanzy's Slow Retreat-- The 21st Corps summoned to the Front--I march with the Breton Division-- Marchenoir and Fréteval--Our Retreat--Our Rearguard Action at Droué-- Behaviour of the Inhabitants--We fight our Way from Fontenelle to Saint Agil--Guns and Quagmires--Our Return to Le Mans--I proceed to Bennes and Saint Malo. After the Châteaudun affair the Germans secured possession of Chartres, whence they proceeded to raid the department of the Eure. Going by way of Nogent-le-Roi and Châteauneuf-en-Thimerais, they seized the old ecclesiastical town of Evreux on November 19, whereupon the French hastily retreated into the Orne. Some minor engagements followed, all to the advantage of the Germans, who on the 22nd attacked and occupied the ancient and strategically important town of Nogent-le-Rotrou--the lordship of which, just prior to the great Revolution, belonged to the family of the famous Count D'Orsay, the lover of Lady Blessington and the friend of Napoleon III. The occupation of Nogent brought the Germans to a favourable point on the direct railway-line between Paris and Le Mans, the capital of Maine. The region had been occupied by a somewhat skeleton French army corps--the 21st--commanded by a certain General Fiereck. On the loss of Nogent, Gambetta immediately replaced him by one of the many naval officers who were now with the French armies, that is Post-Captain (later Admiral) Constant Jaurès, uncle of the famous Socialist leader of more recent times. Jaurès at once decided to retreat on Le Mans, a distance of rather more than a hundred miles, and this was effected within two days, but under lamentable circumstances. Thousands of starving men deserted, and others were only kept with the columns by the employment of cavalry and the threat of turning the artillery upon them. Directly Gambetta heard of the state of affairs, he hastened to Le Mans to provide for the defence of that extremely important point, where no fewer than five great railway lines converged, those of Paris, Alençon, Rennes, Angers, and Tours. The troops commanded by Jaurès were in a very deplorable condition, and it was absolutely necessary to strengthen them. It so happened that a large body of men was assembled at Conlie, sixteen or seventeen miles away. They formed what was called the "Army of Brittany," and were commanded by Count Emile de Kératry, the son of a distinguished politician and literary man who escaped the guillotine during the Reign of Terror. The Count himself had sat in the Legislative Body of the Second Empire, but had begun life as a soldier, serving both in the Crimea and in Mexico, in which latter country he had acted as one of Bazaine's orderly officers. At the Revolution Kératry was appointed Prefect of Police, but on October 14 he left Paris by balloon, being entrusted by Trochu and Jules Favre with a mission to Prim, in the hope that he might secure Spanish support for France. Prim and his colleagues refused to intervene, however, and Kératry then hastened to Tours, where he placed himself at the disposal of Gambetta, with whom he was on terms of close friendship. It was arranged between them that Kératry should gather together all the available men who were left in Brittany, and train and organize them, for which purposes a camp was established at Conlie, north-west of Le Mans. Conlie was the first place which I decided to visit on quitting Saint Servan. The most appalling rumours were current throughout Brittany respecting the new camp. It was said to be grossly mismanaged and to be a hotbed of disease. I visited it, collected a quantity of information, and prepared an article which was printed by the _Daily News_ and attracted considerable attention, being quoted by several other London papers and taken in two instances as the text for leading articles. So far as the camp's defences and the arming of the men assembled within it were concerned, my strictures were fully justified, but certain official documents, subsequently published, indicate that I was in error on some points. The whole question having given rise to a good deal of controversy among writers on the Franco-German War--some of them regarding Conlie as a flagrant proof of Gambetta's mismanagement of military affairs--I will here set down what I believe to be strictly the truth respecting it. The camp was established near the site of an old Roman one, located between Conlie and Domfront, the principal part occupying some rising ground in the centre of an extensive valley. It was intended to be a training camp rather than an entrenched and fortified one, though a redoubt was erected on the south, and some works were begun on the northern and the north-eastern sides. When the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg reached Conlie after the battle of Le Mans, he expressed his surprise that the French had not fortified so good a position more seriously, and defended it with vigour. Both the railway line and the high-road between Laval and Le Mans were near at hand, and only a few miles away there was the old town of Sillé-le-Guillaume, one of the chief grain and cattle markets of the region. There was considerable forest-land in the vicinity, and wood was abundant. But there was no watercourse, and the wells of the various adjacent little farms yielded but a very inadequate supply of water for a camp in which at one moment some 40,000 men were assembled. Thus, at the outset, the camp lacked one great essential, and such was the case when I visited it in November. But I am bound to add that a source was soon afterwards found in the very centre of the camp, and tapped so successfully by means of a steam-pumping arrangement that it ended by yielding over 300,000 litres of water per diem. The critics of the camp have said that the spot was very damp and muddy, and therefore necessarily unhealthy, and there is truth in that assertion; but the same might be remarked of all the camps of the period, notably that of D'Aurelle de Paladines in front of Orleans. Moreover, when a week's snow was followed by a fortnight's thaw, matters could scarcely be different. [From first to last (November 12 to January 7) 1942 cases of illness were treated in the five ambulances of the camp. Among them were 264 cases of small-pox. There were a great many instances of bronchitis and kindred affections, but not many of dysentery. Among the small-pox cases 88 proved fatal.] I find on referring to documents of the period that on November 23, the day before Gambetta visited the camp, as I shall presently relate, the total effective was 665 officers with 23,881 men. By December 5 (although a marching division of about 12,000 men had then left for the front) the effective had risen to 1241 officers with about 40,000 men. [The rationing of the men cost on an average about 7_d._ per diem.] There were 40 guns for the defence of the camp, and some 50 field-pieces of various types, often, however, without carriages and almost invariably without teams. At no time, I find, were there more than 360 horses and fifty mules in the camp. There was also a great scarcity of ammunition for the guns. On November 23, the 24,000 men assembled in the camp had between them the following firearms and ammunition:-- _Weapons_ _Cartridges_ Spencers (without bayonets) .. 5,000 912,080 Chassepots .. .. .. .. 2,080 100,000 Remingtons .. .. .. .. 2,000 218,000 Snyders .. .. .. .. 1,866 170,000 Muskets of various types .. .. 9,684 _Insufficient_ Revolvers .. .. .. .. 500 _Sufficient_ ______ 21,130 Such things as guns, gun-carriages, firearms, cartridges, bayonets, and so forth formed the subject of innumerable telegrams and letters exchanged between Kératry and the National Defence Delegation at Tours. The former was constantly receiving promises from Gambetta, which were seldom kept, supplies at first intended for him being at the last moment sent in other directions, according to the more pressing requirements of the hour. Moreover, a good many of the weapons which Kératry actually received were defective. In the early days of the camp, many of the men were given staves--broom-sticks in some instances--for use at drill. When Gambetta arrived at Le Mans after Jaurès had retreated thither, he learnt that action had become the more urgent as the Germans were steadily prosecuting their advance. By orders of the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg, to whose army these forces belonged, the French were followed to La Ferté-Bernard; and whilst one German column then went west towards Saint Cosme, another advanced southward to Vibraye, thus seriously threatening Le Mans. Such was the position on November 23. Fortunately, Freycinet was able to send Jaurès reinforcements which brought his effective to about 35,000 men, and at the same time Gambetta urged Kératry to prepare a marching division of the men at Conlie. Early on the 24th, Gambetta (who, by the way, had travelled from Tours to Le Mans at full speed on a railway engine) visited the camp, and expressed his approval of all he saw there. I caught a glimpse of him, muffled in his fur coat, and looking, as well he might, intensely cold. His orders to Kératry were to proceed to Saint Calais, and thence to the forest of Vibraye, so as to cover Le Mans on the east. It took fourteen hours and twenty-one trains to convey the marching division to Yvré l'Evêque on the Huisne, just beyond Le Mans. The effective of the division was roughly 12,000 men, nearly all of them being Breton Mobilisés. The artillery consisted of one battery of 12's, and one of 4's, with the necessary horses, two batteries of 4's dragged by naval volunteers, and several Gatling guns, which had only just been delivered. These Gatlings, which at that time were absolutely unknown in France, were not mounted, but packed in sections in sealed zinc cases, which were opened in the railway vans on the journey, the guns being there put together by a young naval officer and a couple of civilian engineers. A little later the artillery of the force was augmented. After these troops had taken up position at Yvré, in order to prevent the enemy from crossing the Huisne, various conferences were held between Gambetta, Jaurès, and Kératry. General Le Bouëdec had been left in command at Conlie, and General Trinité had been selected to command the marching division of the Bretons. From the very outset, however, Kératry objected to the plans of Gambetta and Jaurès, and, for the moment, the duties of the Bretons were limited to participating in a reconnaissance on a somewhat large scale--two columns of Jaurès' forces, under Generals Colin and Rousseau, joining in this movement, which was directed chiefly on Bouloire, midway between Le Mans and Saint Calais on the east. When Bouloire was reached, however, the Germans who had momentarily occupied it had retired, and the French thereupon withdrew to their former positions near Le Mans. Then came trouble. Gambetta placed Kératry under the orders of Jaurès, and Kératry would not accept the position. Great jealousy prevailed between these two men; Kératry, who had served ten years in the French Army, claiming that he knew a good deal more about military matters than Jaurès, who, as I previously mentioned, had hitherto been a naval officer. In the end Kératry threw up his command. Le Bouëdec succeeded him at Conlie, and Frigate-Captain Gougeard (afterwards Minister of Marine in Gambetta's Great Ministry) took charge of the Bretons at Yvré, where he exerted himself to bring them to a higher state of efficiency. I must now refer to some other matters. Trochu had informed Gambetta of his intention to make a sortie on the south-eastern side of Paris. The plans adopted were mainly those of Ducrot, who took chief command. A diversion made by Vinoy to the south of the city on November 29 gave the Germans an inkling of what was intended, and proved a fruitless venture which cost the French 1000 men. Another diversion attempted by General Susbielle on November 30 led to a similar result, with a loss of 1200 men. Ducrot, however, crossed the Marne, and very desperate fighting ensued at Champigny and neighbouring localities. But Ducrot's force (less than 100,000 men) was insufficient for his purpose. The weather, moreover, was extremely cold, the men had brought with them neither tents nor blankets, and had to bivouac without fires. According to Trochu's memoirs there was also an insufficiency of ammunition. Thus the Champigny sortie failed, and the French retired to their former lines. [From November 30 to December 3 the French lost 9482 men; and the Germans 5288 men.] At the very moment when the Army of Paris was in full retreat, the second battle of Orleans was beginning. Gambetta and Freyoinet wished D'Aurelle to advance with the Loire Army in order to meet the Parisians, who, if victorious, were expected to march on Fontainebleau by way of Melun. In the latter days of November D'Aurelle was still covering Orleans on the north with the 15th and 16th army corps (Generals Martin des Pallieres and Chanzy). On his left was the 17th under Durrieu, who, a few days later, was succeeded by a dashing cavalry officer, General de Sonis. Near at hand, also, there was the 18th army corps, to command which Bourbaki had been summoned from northern France, his place being taken temporarily by young General Billot, who was appointed to be his chief of staff. The former Army of the East under Crouzat [This had now become the 20th Army Corps.] was on the southern side of the Loire, somewhere between Gien and Nevers, and it was in a very deplorable condition. Boots were wanted for 10,000 men, tents for a like number, and knapsacks for 20,000. In some battalions there were only sufficient knapsacks for a quarter of the men, the others carrying their clothes, provisions, and cartridges all higgledy-piggledy in canvas bags. I once heard an eyewitness relate that many of Crouzat's soldiers marched with their biscuits (four days' supply) strung together like chaplets, which hung from their necks or shoulders. The Germans had heard of the removal of Crouzat's force to the Loire country, and by way of creating a diversion the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg was ordered to march on Beaugenoy, southwest of Orleans. Meantime, Gambetta and Freyoinet were vainly imploring D'Aurelle to advance. He made all sorts of excuses. At one moment he offered to consider their plans-- not to comply with them; at another he wished to wait for decisive news from Trochu and Ducrot. Finally, instead of the five army corps resolutely advancing in the direction of Paris, it was resolved just to open the way with the 18th (Billot), the 20th (Crouzat), and some detachments of the 15th (Martin des Pallieres). The result was the sharp battle and serious defeat of Beaune-la-Rolande (November 28), when the 18th corps behaved extremely well, whilst the 20th, to whose deplorable condition I have just referred, retreated after a little fighting; the men of the 15th on their side doing little or nothing at all. In this engagement the French, whose forces ought to have been more concentrated, lost 4000 men in killed and wounded, and 1800 who were taken prisoners; the German loss not exceeding 1000 men. Four days later (December 2) came the very serious repulse of Loigny-Poupry, in which the 15th, 16th, and 17th army corps were engaged. The French then lost from 6000 to 7000 men (2500 of them being taken prisoners), and though the German losses exceeded 4000, the engagement ended by quite demoralising D'Aurelle's army. Under those conditions came the battle of Orleans on December 3 and 4--the Germans now being under the chief command of that able soldier, Prince Frederick Charles of Prussia, father of the Duchess of Connaught. On this occasion D'Aurelle ordered the corps engaged at Loigny to retreat on his entrenched camp. The 18th and 20th could not cooperate in this movement, however; and on the three others being driven back, D'Aurelle instructed Chanzy to retire on Beaugency and Marchenoir, but sent no orders to Bourbaki, who was now on the scene of action. Finally, the commander-in- chief decided to abandon his entrenched camp, the troops disbanded and scattered, and Orleans was evacuated, the flight being so precipitate that two of the five bridges across the Loire were left intact, at the enemy's disposal. Moreover, the French Army was now dislocated, Bourbaki, with the 18th, and Des Pallières, with the 15th corps, being on the south of the river, whilst the other three corps were on the northern side. The former retired in the direction of Bourges and Nevers, whilst Chanzy, who was now placed in chief command of the others, D'Aurelle being removed from his post, withdrew gradually towards the forest of Marchenoir. In that second battle of Orleans the French lost 20,000 men, but 18,000 of them were taken prisoners. On their side, the Germans (who captured 74 guns) lost fewer than 1800 men. For three days (December 8 to 10) Chanzy contested the German advance at Villorceau, but on December 12 Blois had to be evacuated, and the army withdrew to the line of the Loir in the neighbourhood of Vendôme. Meantime, at the very moment when the fate of Orleans was being sealed, orders reached Jaurès at Le Mans to advance to the support of the Loire Army. I was lodging at an inn in the town, my means being too slender to enable me to patronize any of the big hotels on the Place des Halles, which, moreover, were crowded with officers, functionaries, and so forth. I had become acquainted with some of the officers of the Breton division under Gougeard, and on hearing that they were going to the front, I managed to obtain from Colonel Bernard, Gougeard's chief of staff, permission to accompany the column with one of the ambulance parties. Now and again during the advance I rode in one of the vans, but for the most part I marched with the men, this, moreover, being the preferable course, as the weather was extremely cold. Even had I possessed the means (and at most I had about £10 in my pocket), I could not have bought a horse at Le Mans. I was stoutly clad, having a very warm overcoat of grey Irish frieze, with good boots, and a pair of gaiters made for me by Nicholas, the Saint Malo bootmaker, younger brother (so he himself asserted) of Niccolini the tenor, sometime husband of Mme. Patti. There were from 10,000 to 12,000 men in our force, which now ranked as the fourth division of the 21st army corps. Nearly all the men of both brigades were Breton Mobilisés, adjoined to whom, however, perhaps for the purpose of steadying them, were three or four very small detachments of former regiments of the line. There was also a small contingent of the French Foreign Legion, which had been brought from Algeria. Starting from Yvré l'Evêque towards, noon on December 4, we marched to Ardenay, where we spent the night. The weather was fine and dry, but intensely cold. On the 5th we camped on some hills near the town of Saint Calais, moved only a mile or two farther on the 6th--there being a delay in the receipt of certain orders--then, at seven o'clock on the 7th, started in the direction of Vendôme, marching for about twelve hours with only the briefest halts. We passed from the department of the Sarthe into that of Loir-et-Cher, going on until we reached a little place called Ville-aux-Cleros, where we spent the night under uncomfortable conditions, for it snowed. Early the following day we set out again, and, leaving Vendôme a couple of miles or so away on our right, we passed Fréteval and camped on the outskirts of the forest of Marchenoir. The night proved bitterly cold, the temperature being some fourteen degrees (centigrade) below freezing-point. I slept huddled up in a van, but the men generally were under canvas, and there was very little straw for them to lie upon, in such wise that in the morning some of them actually found their garments frost-bound to the ground! Throughout the night of the 10th we heard guns booming in the distance. On the 11th, the 12th, and the 13th December we were continually marching, always going in the direction of the guns. We went from Ecoman to Morée, to Saint Hilaire-la-Gravelle, and thence to the Chateau de Rougemont near Fréteval, a spot famous as the scene of a victory gained by our Richard Coeur-de-Lion over Philip Augustus. The more or less distant artillery fire was incessant both by day and by night; but we were only supporting other divisions of the corps, and did not find ourselves actually engaged. On the 15th, however, there was very sharp fighting both at Fréteval and Morée, and on the morning of the 16th our Gatlings went forward to support the second division of our army corps, which was being hard pressed by the Germans. All at once, however, orders for a general retreat arrived, Chanzy having at last decided to fall back on Le Mans. There was considerable confusion, but at last our men set out, taking a north-westerly direction. Fairly good order prevailed on the road, and the wiry little Bretons at least proved that their marching powers were unimpaired. We went on incessantly though slowly during the night, and did not make a real halt until about seven o'clock on the following morning, when, almost dead-beat, we reached a little town called Droué. Jaurès, I should mention, had received the order to retreat at about four o'clock on the afternoon of December 16, and had speedily selected three different routes for the withdrawal of the 21st army corps. Our division, however, was the last to quit its positions, it being about eight o'clock at night when we set out. Thus our march lasted nine hours. The country was a succession of sinuous valleys and stiff slopes, and banks often overlooked the roads, which were edged with oaks and bushes. There were several streams, a few woods, and a good many little copses. Farms often lay close together, and now and again attempts were made to buy food and drink of the peasantry, who, upon hearing our approach, came at times with lights to their thresholds. But they were a close-fisted breed, and demanded exorbitant prices. Half a franc was the lowest charge for a piece of bread. Considering how bad the men's boots were, the marching was very good, but a number of men deserted under cover of the night. Generally speaking, though there was a slight skirmish at Cloyes and an engagement at Droué, as I shall presently relate, the retreat was not greatly hampered by the enemy. In point of fact, as the revelations of more recent years have shown, Moltke was more anxious about the forces of Bourbaki than about those of Chanzy, and both Prince Frederick Charles and the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg had instructions to keep a strict watch on the movements of Bourbaki's corps. Nevertheless, some of the Grand Duke's troops--notably a body of cavalry--attempted to cut off our retreat. When, however, late on the 16th, some of our men came in contact with a detachment of the enemy near Cloyes, they momentarily checked its progress, and, as I have indicated, we succeeded in reaching Droué without loss. That morning, the 17th, the weather was again very cold, a fog following the rain and sleet of the previous days. Somewhat later, however, snow began to fall. At Droué--a little place of about a thousand inhabitants, with a ruined castle and an ancient church--we breakfasted as best we could. About nine o'clock came marching orders, and an hour later, when a large number of our men were already on their way towards Saint Agil, our next halting-place, General Gougeard mounted and prepared to go off with his staff, immediately in advance of our rear-guard. At that precise moment, however, we were attacked by the Germans, whose presence near us we had not suspected. It was, however, certainly known to some of the inhabitants of Droué, who, terrified by all that they had heard of the harshness shown by the Germans towards the localities where they encountered any resistance, shrank from informing either Gougeard or any of his officers that the enemy was at hand. The artillery with which our rear was to be protected was at this moment on the little square of Droué. It consisted of a mountain battery under Sub-Lieutenant Gouesse of the artillery, and three Gatlings under Sub-Lieutenant De la Forte of the navy, with naval lieutenant Rodellec du Porzic in chief command. Whilst it was being brought into position, Colonel Bernard, Gougeard's chief of staff, galloped off to stop the retreat of the other part of our column. The enemy's force consisted of detachments of cavalry, artillery, and Landwehr infantry. Before our little guns could be trained on them, the Landwehr men had already seized several outlying houses, barns, and sheds, whence they strove to pick off our gutiners. For a moment our Mobilisés hesitated to go forward, but Gougeard dashed amongst them, appealed to their courage, and then led them against the enemy. Not more than three hundred yards separated the bulk of the contending forces, indeed there were some Germans in the houses less than two hundred yards away. Our men at last forced these fellows to decamp, killing and wounding several of them; whilst, thanks to Colonel Bernard's prompt intervention, a battalion of the 19th line regiment and two companies of the Foreign Legion, whose retreat was hastily stopped, threatened the enemy's right flank. A squadron of the Second Lancers under a young lieutenant also came to our help, dismounting and supporting Gougeard's Mobilises with the carbines they carried. Realizing that we were in force, the enemy ended by retreating, but not until there had been a good deal of fighting in and around the outlying houses of Droué. Such, briefly, was the first action I ever witnessed. Like others, I was under fire for some time, being near the guns and helping to carry away the gunners whom the Germans shot from the windows of the houses in which they had installed themselves. We lost four or five artillerymen in that manner, including the chief officer, M. de Rodelleo du Porzic, whom a bullet struck in the chest. He passed away in a little café whither we carried him. He was, I believe, the last of his family, two of his brothers having previously been killed in action. We lost four or five other officers in this same engagement, as well as a Breton chaplain of the Mobilisés. Our total losses were certainly larger than Gougeard subsequently stated in his official report, amounting in killed and wounded, I think, to from 120 to 150 men. Though the officers as a rule behaved extremely well--some of them, indeed, splendidly--there were a few lamentable instances of cowardice. By Gougeard's orders, four were placed under arrest and court-martialled at the end of the retreat. Of these, two were acquitted, whilst a third was shot, and a fourth sentenced to two years' imprisonment in a fortress. [From the formation of the "Army of Brittany" until the armistice the total number of executions was eleven. They included one officer (mentioned above) for cowardice in presence of the enemy; five men of the Foreign Legion for murdering peasants; one Franc-titeur for armed robbery, and four men (Line and Mobile Guards) for desertion in presence of the enemy. The number would have been larger had it been possible to identify and punish those who were most guilty in the stampede of La Tuilerie during the battle of Le Mans.] The enemy's pursuit having been checked, we eventually quitted Droué, but when we had gone another three miles or so and reached a village called Fontenelle, the Germans came on again. It was then about two o'clock in the afternoon, and for a couple of hours or so, whilst we continued our retreat, the enemy kept up a running cannonade, repeatedly endeavouring to harass our rear. We constantly replied to their fire, however, and steadily kept them off, losing only a few men before the dusk fell, when the pursuit ceased. We afterwards plodded on slowly--the roads being in a terrible condition--until at about half-past six o'clock we reached the village of Saint Agil, where the staff installed itself at Count de Saint-Maixent's stately renaissance château. The weather was better on December 18, for, though it was extremely cold, the snow ceased falling. But we still had a formidable task before us. The roads, as I have said, were wretched, and at Saint Agil we had to contend with some terrible quagmires, across which we found it at first impossible to get our guns, ammunition-vans, and baggage train. It became necessary to lop and fell trees, and form with them a kind of bed over which our impedimenta might travel. Hour after hour went by amidst incessant labour. An ammunition waggon containing only half its proper load required the efforts of a dozen horses to pull it over that morass, whilst, as for the guns, each of the 12's required even more horses. It was three o'clock on the afternoon of the 18th when the last gun was got across. Three gun-carriages were broken during those efforts, but our men managed to save the pieces. Late in the operations the Germans again put in an appearance, but were held in respect by our Gatlings and mountain-guns. Half an hour, however, after our departure from Saint Agil, they entered the village. In a very wretched condition, half-famished and footsore, we went on, through the sudden thaw which had set in, towards Vibraye, whose forest, full in those days of wild boars and deer, stretched away on our left. We were now in the department of the Sarthe, and, cutting across country in the direction of the Huisne, we at last reached the ancient little _bourg_ of Connerré, on the high-road running (left of the river) towards Le Mans. There I took leave of our column, and, after buying a shirt and some socks, hastened to the railway station--a mile and a half distant-- hoping, from what was told me, that there might be some means of getting to Le Mans by train, instead of accompanying our men along the highway. At Connerré station I found a very good inn, where I at once partook of the best meal that I had eaten since leaving Le Mans, sixteen days previously. I then washed, put on my new shirt and socks, and went to interview the station-master. After a great deal of trouble, as I had a permit signed by Colonel Bernard, and wore an ambulance armlet, I was allowed to travel to Le Mans in a railway van. There was no regular service of trains, the only ones now running so far north being used for military purposes. I got to Le Mans a few hours before our column reached Yvré l'Evêque on the night of December 20, and at once sought a train which would convey me to Rennes, if not as far as Saint Malo. Then came another long, slow, dreary journey in a villainous wooden-seated third-class carriage. It was between ten and eleven o'clock in the morning when we reached Rennes. I still had about five-and-twenty francs in my pocket, and knowing that it would not cost me more than a quarter of that amount to get to Saint Malo, I resolved to indulge in a good _dejeuner_ at the Hôtel de France. There was nobody excepting a few waiters in the long dining-room, but the tables were already laid there. When, however, I seated myself at one of them, the head-waiter came up declaring that I could not be accommodated, as the tables were reserved for _ces messieurs_. I was inquiring who _ces messieurs_ might be, when some of them entered the room in a very swaggering manner. All were arrayed in stylish and brand-new uniforms, with beautiful boots, and looked in the pink of condition. They belonged, I found, to a free corps called the "Eclaireurs d'Ille-et-Vilaine," and their principal occupations were to mess together copiously and then stroll about the town, ogling all the good-looking girls they met. The corps never went to the front. Three or four weeks afterwards, when I again passed through Rennes--this second time with my father--Messieurs les Eclaireurs were still displaying their immaculate uniforms and highly polished boots amidst all the misery exhibited by the remnants of one of Chanzy's _corps d'armée_. Though I was little more than a boy, my blood fairly boiled when I was requested to give up my seat at table for these arrogant young fops. I went to complain at the hotel _bureau_, but, being confronted there by the landlady instead of by the landlord, I did not express my feelings so strongly as I might have done. "Madame" sweetly informed me that the first _déjeuner_ was entirely reserved for Messieurs les Eclaireurs, but that, if I would wait till the second _déjeuner_ at noon, I should find ample accommodation. However, I was not inclined to do any such thing. I thought of all the poor, famished, shivering men whom I had left less than twenty-four hours previously, and some of whom I had more than once helped to buy bread and cheese and wine during our long and painful marches. They, at all events, had done their duty as best they could, and I felt highly indignant with the swaggering young bloods of Rennes, who were content to remain in their native town displaying their uniforms and enjoying themselves. Fortunately, such instances were very rare. Returning to the railway station, I obtained something to eat at the refreshment-room, where I presently heard somebody trying to make a waiter understand an order given in broken French. Recognizing a fellow-countryman, I intervened and procured what he desired. I found that he was going to Saint Malo like myself, so we made the journey together. He told me that, although he spoke very little French, he had come to France on behalf of an English boot-making firm in order to get a contract from some of the military authorities. Many such people were to be found in Brittany, at Le Mans, at Tours, and elsewhere, during the latter period of the war. An uncle of mine, Frederick Vizetelly, came over, I remember, and interviewed Freyeinet and others on behalf of an English small-arm firm. I forget whether he secured a contract or not; but it is a lamentable and uncontrovertible fact that many of the weapons and many of the boots sold by English makers to the National Defence were extremely defective. Some of the American weapons were even worse than ours. As for the boots, they often had mere "composition soles," which were soon worn out. I saw, notably after the battle of Le Mans, hundreds--I believe I might say, without, exaggeration, thousands--of men whose boots were mere remnants. Some hobbled through the snow with only rags wrapped round their bleeding feet. On the other hand, a few of our firms undoubtedly supplied satisfactory boots, and it may have been so in the case of the traveller whom I met at Rennes. A few days after my return to Saint Malo, my cousin, Montague Vizetelly, arrived there with a commission from the _Daily News_ to join Chanzy's forces at Le Mans. Mr. Robinson, I was afterwards told, had put some questions about me to my brother Adrian, and, on hearing how young I was, had thought that I might not be equal to the occasion if a decisive battle between Prince Frederick Charles and Chanzy should be fought. My cousin-- then four-and-twenty years of age--was accordingly sent over. From that time nearly all my war letters were forwarded to the _Pall Mall Gazette_, and, as it happened, one of them was the first account of the great battle of Le Mans, from the French side, to appear in an English paper. XI BEFORE LE MANS The War in various Regions of France--General Faidherbe--Battle of Pont-Noyelles--Unreliability of French Official News--Engagement of Nuits--Le Bourget Sortie--Battles of Bapaume and Villersexel--Chanzy's Plan of Operations--The Affair of Saint Calais--Wretched State of some of Chanzy's Soldiers--Le Mans and its Historical Associations--The Surrounding Country--Chanzy's Career--Positions of his Forces--Advance of Prince Frederick Charles--The first Fighting before Le Mans and its Result. Whilst Chanzy was retreating on Le Mans, and there reorganizing and reinforcing his army, a variety of operations went on in other parts of France. After the German occupation of Amiens, Moltke instructed Manteuffel to advance on Rouen, which he did, afterwards despatching a column to Dieppe; the result being that on December 9 the Germans, for the first time, reached the sea-coast. Since December 3 Faidherbe had taken the chief command of the Army of the North at Lille. He was distinctly a clever general, and was at that time only fifty-two years of age. But he had spent eleven years in Senegal, organizing and developing that colony, and his health had been impaired by the tropical West African climate. Nevertheless, he evinced no little energy, and never despaired, however slender might be the forces under him, and however cramped his position. As soon as he had reorganized the army entrusted to his charge, he moved towards Amiens, and on December 23 and 24 a battle was fought at Pont-Noyelles, in the vicinity of that town. In some respects Faidherbe gained the advantage, but his success was a barren one, and his losses were far greater than those of the Germans, amounting, indeed, to 2300 men (apart from many deserters), whereas the enemy's were not more than a thousand. Gambetta, however, telegraphed to the Prefects that a great victory had been gained; and I remember that when a notice to that effect was posted at the town-hall of Saint Servan, everybody there became jubilant. Most of our war-news, or, at least, the earliest intelligence of any important engagement, came to us in the fashion I have indicated, townsfolk constantly assembling outside the prefectures, subprefectures, and municipal buildings in order to read the day's news. At times it was entirely false, at others some slight success of the French arms was magnified into a victory, and a petty engagement became a pitched battle. The news in the French newspapers was usually very belated and often quite unreliable, though now and again telegrams from London were published, giving information which was as near to the truth as the many English war correspondents on both sides could ascertain. After the war, both Frenchmen and Germans admitted to me that of all the newspaper intelligence of the period there was nothing approaching in accuracy that which was imparted by our British correspondents. I am convinced, from all I heard in Paris, in Berlin, in Vienna, and elsewhere, during the two or three years which followed the war, that the reputation of the British Press was greatly enhanced on the Continent by the news it gave during the Franco-German campaign. Many a time in the course of the next few years did I hear foreigners inquire: "What do the London papers say?" or remark: "If an English paper says it, it must be true." I do not wish to blow the trumpet too loudly on behalf of the profession to which I belonged for many years, but what I have here mentioned is strictly true; and now that my days of travel are over, I should be glad to know that foreigners still hold the British Press in the same high esteem. But, to return to my narrative, whilst the events I have mentioned were taking place in Normandy and Northern France, Gambetta was vainly trying to persuade Bourbaki to advance in the direction of Montargis. He also wished to reinforce Garibaldi; but the enmity of many French officers towards the Italian Liberator was so great that they would not serve with him. General von Werder was at this time covering the siege of Belfort and watching Langres. On December 18 there was an engagement at Nuits between some of his forces and those led by the French commander Cremer, who claimed the victory, but afterwards retreated towards Beaune. The French, however, were now able to re-occupy Dijon. On the 21st another sortie was made from Paris, this time on the north, in the direction of Le Bourget and Ville-Evrard. Ducrot was again in command, and 200,000 men were got together, but only 5000 were brought into action. There were a great many desertions, and no fewer than six officers of one brigade alone were court-martialled and punished for lack of courage. The affair appears to have been arranged in order to quiet the more reckless elements in Paris, who were for ever demanding "a great, a torrential sortie." In this instance, however, there was merely "much ado about nothing." The truth is, that ever since the Champigny affair both Trochu and Ducrot had lost all confidence. On January 2 and 3, the French under Faidherbe, and the Germans under Goeben, fought a battle at Bapaume, south of Arras. The former were by far the more numerous force, being, indeed, as three to one, and Faidherbe is credited with having gained a victory. But, again, it was only a barren one, for although the Germans fell back, the French found it quite as necessary to do the same. About a week previously the 16th French Army Corps, with which Bourbaki had done little or nothing on the Loire, had been removed from Vierzon and Bourges to join the Army of the East, of which Bourbaki now assumed the chief command. The transport of the troops proved a very difficult affair, and there was great disorder and, again, many desertions. Nevertheless, on January 9, Bourbaki fought Werder at Villersexel, in the vicinity of Vesoul, Montbéliard, and Belfort. In this engagement there appear to have been serious mistakes on both sides, and though Bourbaki claimed a success, his losses were numerically double those of the Germans. Meantime Chanzy, at Le Mans, was urging all sorts of plans on Gambetta and Freyeinet. In the first place he desired to recruit and strengthen his forces, so sorely tried by their difficult retreat; and in order that he might have time to do so, he wished Bourbaki to execute a powerful diversion by marching in the direction of Troyes. But Gambetta and Freyeinet had decided otherwise. Bourbaki's advance was to be towards the Vosges, after which he was to turn westward and march on Paris with 150,000 men. Chanzy was informed of this decision on and about January 5 (1871), and on the 6th he made a last attempt to modify the Government plan in order that Bourbaki's march might be directed on a point nearer to Paris. In reply, he was informed that it was too late to modify the arrangements. With regard to his own operations, Chanzy's idea was to march towards the capital when his forces were reorganized. His bases were to be the river Sarthe, the town of Le Mans, and the railway-line running northward to Alençon. Thence he proposed to advance to some point on the river Eure between Dreux and Chartres, going afterwards towards Paris by such a route as circumstances might allow. He had 130,000 men near Le Mans, and proposed to take 120,000 with 350 field-pieces or machine-guns, and calculated that he might require a week, or to be precise eight days, to carry this force from Le Mans to Chartres, allowing for fighting on the way. Further, to assist his movements he wished Faidherbe, as well as Bourbaki, to assume the offensive vigorously as soon as he was ready. The carrying out of the scheme was frustrated, however, in part by the movements which the Government ordered Bourbaki to execute, and in part by what may be called the sudden awakening of Prince Frederick Charles, who, feeling more apprehensive respecting Bourbaki's movements, had hitherto, in a measure, neglected Chanzy's doings. On December 22 Captain, afterwards General, de Boisdeffre [He was Chief of the French Staff during the famous Dreyfus Case, in which his name was frequently mentioned.] reached Le Mans, after quitting Paris in one of the balloons, and gave Chanzy certain messages with which Trochu had entrusted him. He brought nothing in writing, as what he had to communicate was considered too serious to be committed to paper. Yet both my father and myself could have imparted virtually the same information, which was but a _secret de Polichinelle_. It concerned the date when the fall of Paris would become inevitable. We--my father and myself--had said repeatedly at Versailles and elsewhere that the capital's supply of food would last until the latter days of January, and that the city (unless in the meanwhile it were relieved) must then surrender. Authentic information to that effect was available in Paris before we quitted it in November. Of course Trochu's message to Chanzy was official, and carried greater weight than the assertions of journalists. It was to the effect that it would be necessary to negotiate a capitulation on January 20, in order to give time for the revictualling of the city's two million inhabitants. As it happened, the resistance was prolonged for another week or so. However, Boisdeffre's information was sufficiently explicit to show Chanzy that no time must be lost if Paris was to be saved. Some German cavalry--probably the same men who had pursued Gougeard's column--showed themselves at Saint Calais, which is only some thirty miles north-east of Le Mans, as early as December 18, but soon retired, and no further advance of the enemy in that direction took place for several days. Chanzy formed two flying columns, one a division under General Jouffroy, and one a body of 4000 men under General Rousseau, for the purpose of worrying the enemy and keeping him at a distance. These troops, particularly those of Jouffroy, who moved towards Montoire and Vendôme, had several small but none the less important engagements with the Germans. Prince Frederick Charles, indeed, realised that Jouffroy's operations were designed to ensure the security of Chanzy's main army whilst it was being recruited and reorganized, and thereupon decided to march on Le Mans and attack Chanzy before the latter had attained his object. On Christmas Day a force of German cavalry, artillery, and infantry descended upon Saint Calais (then a town of about 3500 inhabitants), levied a sum of 17,000 francs, pillaged several of the houses, and ill-treated a number of the townsfolk. When some of the latter ventured to protest, pointing out, among other things, that after various little engagements in the vicinity several wounded Germans had been brought into the town and well cared for there, the enemy's commanding officer called them a pack of cowards, and flung them 2000 francs of his recent levy, to pay them, he said, for their so-called services. The affair was reported to Chanzy, who thereupon wrote an indignant letter to the German general commanding at Vendôme. It was carried thither by a certain M. de Vézian, a civil engineer attached to Chanzy's staff, who brought back the following reply: "Reçu une lettre du Général Chanzy. Un général prussien ne sachant pas écrire une lettre de tel genre, ne saurait y faire une réponse par écrit. "Au quartier-général à Vendôme, 28 Décembre 1870." Signature (_illegible_). It was, perhaps, a pity that Chanzy ever wrote his letter of protest. French generals were too much given to expressing their feelings in writing daring that war. Deeds and not words were wanted. Meantime, the army was being slowly recruited. On December 13, Gambetta had issued--none too soon--a decree authorising the billeting of the men "during the winter campaign." Nevertheless, when Gougeard's troops returned to Yvreé l'Evêque, they were ordered to sleep under canvas, like many other divisions of the army. It was a great mistake. In that severe weather--the winter was one of the coldest of the nineteenth century--the men's sufferings were very great. They were in need, too, of many things, new shoes, linen, great-coats, and other garments, and there was much delay in providing for their more urgent requirements. Thus the number of desertions was not to be wondered at. The commander-in-chief did his best to ensure discipline among his dispirited troops. Several men were shot by way of example. When, shortly before the battle of Le Mans, the 21st Army Corps crossed the Huisne to take up positions near Montfort, several officers were severely punished for riding in ambulance and baggage waggons instead of marching with their men. Le Mans is not easily defended from an enemy advancing upon it from eastern, north-eastern, and south-eastern directions. A close defence is impossible by reason of the character of the country. At the time of which I write, the town was one of about 37,000 inhabitants. Very ancient, already in existence at the time of the Romans, it became the capital of Maine. William the Conqueror seized it, but it was snatched from his son, Robert, by Hélie de La Flêche. Later, Geoffrey, the First of the Plantagenets, was buried there, it being, moreover, the birthplace of his son, our Henry II. In after years it was taken from Richard Coeur-de-Lion by Philip-Augustus, who assigned it, however, to Richard's widow, Queen Berengaria. A house in the town is wrongly said to have been her residence, but she undoubtedly founded the Abbaye de l'Epau, near Yvré l'Evêque, and was buried there. It was at Le Mans that King John of France, who surrendered to the Black Prince at Poitiers, was born; and in the neighbouring forest, John's grandson, Charles VI, first gave signs of insanity. Five times during the Anglo-French wars of the days of Henry V and Henry VI, Le Mans was besieged by one or another of the contending parties. The town again suffered during the Huguenot wars, and yet again during the Revolution, when the Vendéens seized it, but were expelled by Marceau, some 5000 of them being bayoneted on the Place de l'Epéron. Rich in associations with the history of England as well as that of France, Le Mans, in spite of its accessibility--for railway lines coming from five different directions meet there--is seldom visited by our tourists. Its glory is its cathedral, strangely neglected by the numerous English writers on the cathedrals of France. Here are exemplified the architectural styles of five successive centuries, and, as Mérimée once wrote, in passing from one part of the edifice to another, it is as if you passed from one to another religion. But the supreme features of the cathedral are its stained-glass windows, which include some of the very oldest in the world. Many years ago, when they were in a more perfect condition than they are now, Hucher gave reproductions of them in a rare folio volume. Here, too, is the tomb of Queen Berengaria of England, removed from the Abbaye de l'Epau; here, also, was formerly that of her husband's grandfather, Geoffrey Plantagenet. But this was destroyed by the Huguenots, and you must go to the museum to see all that remains of it--that is, the priceless enamel _plaque_ by which it was formerly surmounted, and which represents Geoffrey grasping his sword and his azure shield, the latter bearing a cross and lions rampant--not the leoparded lions passant of his English descendants. Much ink has flowed respecting that shield during squabbles among heraldists. Judging by recent plans of Le Mans, a good many changes have taken place there since the time of the Franco-German War. Various new, broad, straight streets have been substituted for some of the quaint old winding ones. The Pont Napoléon now appears to have become the Pont Gambetta, and the Place, des Minimes is called the Place de la République. I notice also a Rue Thiers which did not exist in the days when Le Mans was familiar to me as an old-world town. In this narrative I must, of course, take it as it was then, not as it is now. The Sarthe, flowing from north to south, where it is joined by its tributary the Huisne, coming from the north-east, still divides the town into two unequal sections; the larger one, on the most elevated part of which stands the cathedral, being that on the river's left bank. At the time I write of, the Sarthe was spanned by three stone bridges, a suspension bridge, and a granite and marble railway viaduct, some 560 feet in length. The German advance was bound to come from the east and the south. On the east is a series of heights, below which flow the waters of the Huisne. The views range over an expanse of varying elevation, steep hills and deep valleys being frequent. There are numerous watercourses. The Huisne, which helps to feed the Sarthe, is itself fed by a number of little tributaries. The lowest ground, at the time I have in mind, was generally meadow-land, intersected here and there with rows of poplars, whilst the higher ground was employed for the cultivation of crops. Every little field was circumscribed by ditches, banks, and thick hedges. The loftiest point of the eastern heights is at Yvré l'Evêque, which was once crowned by a renaissance chateau, where Henry of Navarre resided when he reduced Le Mans to submission. Northward from Yvré, in the direction of Savigné, stretches the high plateau of Sargé, which on the west slopes down towards the river Sarthe, and forms one of the most important of the natural defences of Le Mans. Eastward, from Yvré, you overlook first the Huisne, spanned at various neighbouring points by four bridges, but having much of the meadow-land in its valley cut up by little water-channels for purposes of irrigation--these making the ground additionally difficult for an attacking force to traverse. Secondly, you see a long plateau called Auvours, the possession of which must necessarily facilitate an enemy's operations. Following the course of the railway-line coming from the direction of Paris, you notice several pine woods, planted on former heaths. Still looking eastward, is the village of Champagné, where the slopes are studded with vines, whilst the plain is arable land, dotted over with clumps of chestnut trees. North-east of Champagné is Montfort, where Chanzy at first stationed the bulk of the 21st Army Corps under Jaurès, this (leaving his flying columns on one side) being the most eastern position of his forces at the time when the German advance began. The right of the 21st Corps here rested on the Huisne. Its extreme left extended northward towards the Sarthe, but a division of the 17th Corps under General de Colomb guarded the Alençon (N.) and Conlie (N.W.) railway lines. Confronted by the Huisne, the heights of Yvré and the plateaux of Sargé and Auvours, having, for the most part, to keep to the high-roads--for, bad as their state might be at that season, it was nothing compared with the condition of the many narrow and often deep lanes, whose high banks and hedges, moreover, offered opportunities for ambush--the Germans, it was obvious, would have a difficult task before them on the eastern side of Le Mans, even should they drive the 21st Corps from Montfort. The approach to the town is easier, however, on the south-east and the south, Here are numerous pine woods, but on going towards Le Mans, after passing Parigné-l'Evêque (S.E.) and Mulsanne (S.), the ground is generally much less hilly than on the east. There are, however, certain positions favourable for defence. There is high ground at Changé, midway between the road from Saint Calais to Le Mans, _viâ_ Yvré, and the road from Grand Lucé to Le Mans _viâ_ Parigné. Over a distance of eight miles, moreover, there extends--or extended at the time I refer to--a track called the Chemin des Boeufs, suitable for defensive purposes, with high ground at at least two points--Le Tertre Rouge, south-east of Le Mans, and La Tuilerie, south of the town. The line of the Chemin des Boeufs and the position of Changé was at first entrusted by Chanzy to the 16th Corps, whose commander, Jauréguiberry, had his headquarters at the southern suburb of Pontlieue, an important point affording direct access to Le Mans by a stone bridge over the Huisne. When I returned to Le Mans from Saint Servan in the very first days of January, Chanzy's forces numbered altogether about 130,000 men, but a very large proportion of them were dispersed in different directions, forming detached columns under Generals Barry, Curten, Rousseau, and Jouffroy. The troops of the two first-named officers had been taken from the 16th Corps (Jauréguiberry), those of Rousseau were really the first division of the 21st Corps (Jaurès), and those of Jouffroy belonged to the 17th, commanded by General de Colomb. [The 16th and 17th comprised three divisions each, the 21st including four. The German Corps were generally of only two divisions, with, however, far stronger forces of cavalry than Chanzy disposed of.] It is a curious circumstance that, among the German troops which opposed the latter's forces at this stage of the war, there was a division commanded by a General von Colomb. Both these officers had sprung from the same ancient French family, but Von Colomb came from a Huguenot branch which had quitted France when the Edict of Nantes was revoked. Chanzy's other chief coadjutors at Le Mans were Jaurès, of whom I have already spoken, and Rear-Admiral Jauréguiberry, who, after the general-in- chief, was perhaps the most able of all the commanders. Of Basque origin and born in 1815, he had distinguished himself as a naval officer in the Crimean, Chinese, and Cochin China expeditions; and on taking service in the army under the National Defence, he had contributed powerfully to D'Aurelle's victory at Coulmiers. He became known among the Loire forces as the man who was always the first to attack and the last to retreat. [He looked somewhat older than his years warranted, being very bald, with just a fringe of white hair round the cranium. His upper lip and chin were shaven, but he wore white whiskers of the "mutton-chop" variety. Slim and fairly tall, he was possessed of no little nervous strength and energy. In later years he became Minister of Marine in the Waddington, the second Freycinet, and the Duclerc cabinets.] Having referred to Chanzy's principal subordinates, it is fitting that I should give a brief account of Chanzy himself. The son of an officer of the First Empire, he was born at Nouart in the Argonne, and from his personal knowledge of that region it is certain that his services would have proved valuable during the disastrous march on Sedan, when, as Zola has rightly pointed out in "La Débâcle," so many French commanding officers were altogether ignorant of the nature and possibilities of the country through which they advanced. Chanzy, however, like many others who figured among the Loire forces, had begun life in the navy, enlisting in that service when sixteen years of age. But, after very brief experience afloat, he went to the military school of St. Cyr, passed out of it as a sub-lieutenant in 1843, when he was in his twenty-first year, was appointed to a regiment of Zouaves, and sent to Algeria. He served, however, in the Italian campaign of 1859, became lieutenant-colonel of a line regiment, and as such took part in the Syrian expedition of 1860-61. Later, he was with the French forces garrisoning Rome, acquired a colonelcy in 1864, returned to Algeria, and in 1868 was promoted to the rank of general of brigade. At the outset of the Franco-German War, he applied for active service, but the imperial authorities would not employ him in France. In spite of the associations of his family with the first Empire, he was, like Trochu, accounted an Orleanist, and it was not desired that any Orleanist general should have an opportunity to distinguish himself in the contemplated "march on Berlin." Marshal MacMahon, however, as Governor of Algeria, had formed a high opinion of Chanzy's merits, and after Sedan, anxious as he was for his country in her predicament, the Marshal, then a prisoner of war, found a means of advising the National Defence to make use of Chanzy's services. That patriotic intervention, which did infinite credit to MacMahon, procured for Chanzy an appointment at the head of the 16th Army Corps, and later the chief command of the Second Loire Army. When I first saw him in the latter days of 1870, he was in his fifty-eighth year, well built, and taller than the majority of French officers. His fair hair and fair moustache had become grey; but his blue eyes had remained bright, and there was an expression of quiet resolution on his handsome, well-cut face, with its aquiline nose and energetic jaw. Such, physically, was the general whom Moltke subsequently declared to have been the best that France opposed to the Germans throughout the war. I never once saw Chanzy excited, in which respect he greatly contrasted with many of the subordinate commanders. Jauréguiberry was sometimes carried away by his Basque, and Gougeard by his Celtic, blood. So it was with Jaurès, who, though born in Paris, had, like his nephew the Socialist leader, the blood of the Midi in his veins. Chanzy, however, belonged to a calmer, a more quietly resolute northern race. He was inclined to religion, and I remember that, in addition to the chaplains accompanying the Breton battalions, there was a chief chaplain attached to the general staff. This was Abbé de Beuvron, a member of an old noble family of central France. The Chief of the Staff was Major-General Vuillemot; the Provost-General was Colonel Mora, and the principal aides-de-camp were Captains Marois and de Boisdeffre. Specially attached to the headquarters service there was a rather numerous picked force under General Bourdillon. It comprised a regiment of horse gendarmes and one of foot gendarmes, four squadrons of Chasseurs d'Afrique, some artillery provided chiefly with mountain-guns, an aeronautical company under the brothers Tissandier, and three squadrons of Algerian light cavalry, of the Spahi type, who, with their flowing burnouses and their swift little Arab horses, often figured conspicuously in Chanzy's escort. A year or two after the war, I engaged one of these very men--he was called Saad--as a servant, and he proved most devoted and attentive; but he had contracted the germs of pulmonary disease during that cruel winter of 1870-71, and at the end of a few months I had to take him to the Val-de-Grâce military hospital in Paris, where he died of galloping consumption. The German forces opposed to Chanzy consisted of a part of the so-called "Armée-Abtheilung" under the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg, and the "Second Army" under Prince Frederick Charles of Prussia, the latter including the 3rd, 9th, 10th, and 13th Army Corps, and disposing of numerous cavalry and nearly four hundred guns. The Prince ascertained that the French forces were, in part, extremely dispersed, and therefore resolved to act before they could be concentrated. At the outset the Germans came down on Nogent-le-Rotrou, where Rousseau's column was stationed, inflicted a reverse on him, and compelled him (January 7) to fall back on Connerré--a distance of thirty miles from Nogent, and of less than sixteen from Le Mans. On the same day, sections of Jouffroy's forces were defeated at Epuisay and Poirier (mid-way between Le Mans and Vendôme), and also forced to retreat. The French detachments (under Jouffroy, Curten, and Barry) which were stationed along the line from Saint Calais to Montoire, and thence to Saint Amand and Château-Renault--a stretch of some five-and-twenty miles--were not strong enough to oppose the German advance, and some of them ran the risk of having their retreat cut off. Chanzy realized the danger, and on the morning of January 8 he despatched Jauréguiberry to take command of all the troops distributed from the south to the south-east, between Château-du-Loir and Château-Renault, and bring them to Le Mans. But the 10th German Corps was advancing in these directions, and, after an engagement with Barry's troops at Ruillé, secured positions round La Chartre. This seriously threatened the retreat of the column under General Curten, which was still at Saint Amand, and, moreover, it was a further menace to Barry himself, as his division was distributed over a front of fourteen miles near Château-du-Loir. Jauréguiberry, however, entreated Barry to continue guarding the river Loir, in the hope of Curten being able to retreat to that point. Whilst, however, these defensive attempts were being made to the south of Le Mans, the Germans were pressing forward on the north-east and the east, Prince Frederick Charles being eager to come in touch with Chanzy's main forces, regardless of what might happen on the Loir and at Saint Amand. On the north-east the enemy advanced to La Ferté Bernard; on the east, at Vancé, a brigade of German cavalry drove back the French cuirassiers and Algerians, and Prince Frederick Charles then proceeded as far as Saint Calais, where he prepared for decisive action. One army corps was sent down the line of the Huisne, another had orders to advance on Ardenay, a third on Bouloire, whilst the fourth, leaving Barry on its left flank, was to march on Parigné-l'Evêque. Thus, excepting a brigade of infantry and one of cavalry, detached to observe the isolated Curten, and hold him in check, virtually the whole of the German Second Army marched against Chanzy's main forces. Chanzy, on his side, now ordered Jaurès (21st Corps) to occupy the positions of Yvré, Auvours, and Sargé strongly; whilst Colomb (17th Corps) was instructed to send General Pâris's division forward to Ardenay, thus reducing Colomb's actual command to one division, as Jouffroy's column had previously been detached from it. On both sides every operation was attended by great difficulties on account of the very severe weather. A momentary thaw had been followed by another sudden frost, in such wise that the roads had a coating of ice, which rendered them extremely slippery. On January 9 violent snowstorms set in, almost blinding one, and yet the rival hosts did not for an hour desist from their respective efforts. At times, when I recall those days, I wonder whether many who have read of Napoleon's retreat from Moscow have fully realized what that meant. Amidst the snowstorms of the 9th a force of German cavalry attacked our extreme left and compelled it to retreat towards the Alençon line. Rousseau's column being in a dangerous position at Connerré, Colin's division of the 21st Corps was sent forward to support it in the direction of Montfort, Gougeard with his Bretons also advancing to support Colin. But the 13th German Corps attacked Rousseau, who after two engagements was driven from Connerré and forced to retreat on Montfort and Pont-de-Gennes across the Huisne, after losing in killed, wounded, and missing, some 800 of his men, whereas the enemy lost barely a hundred. At the same time Gougeard was attacked, and compelled to fall back on Saint-Mars-la-Bruyére. But the principal event of the day was the defeat of General Paris's force at Ardenay by a part of the 3rd German Corps. The latter had a superiority in numbers, but the French in their demoralised condition scarcely put up a fight at all, in such wise that the Germans took about 1000 prisoners. The worst, however, was that, by seizing Ardenay, the enemy drove as it were a wedge between the French forces, hampering their concentration. Meantime, the 9th German Corps marched to Bouloire, which became Prince Frederick Charles's headquarters. The 10th Corps, however, had not yet been able to advance to Parigné l'Evêque in accordance with the Prince's orders, though it had driven Barry back on Jupilles and Grand Lucé. The sole advantage secured by the French that day was that Curten managed to retreat from Château-Renault; but it was only on the night of the 10th, when he could be of little or no use to Chanzy, that he was able to reach Château-du-Loir, where, in response to Chanzy's urgent appeals, Jauréguiberry had succeeded in collecting a few thousand men to reinforce the troops defending Le Mans. For four days there had been fighting on one and another point, from the north-east to the south of the town, the result being unfavourable to the French. Chanzy, it is true, was at this critical moment in bad health. According to one account which I heard at the time, he had had an attack of dysentery; according to another, he was suffering from some throat complaint, combined with violent neuralgic pains in the head. I do not think, however, that his ill-health particularly affected the issue, which depended so largely on the manner in which his plans and instructions were carried out. The strategy adopted by the Germans at Sedan and in the battles around Metz had greatly impressed the generals who commanded the French armies during the second period of the war. One might really say that they lived in perpetual dread of being surrounded by the enemy. If there was a lack of concentration on Chanzy's part, if he sent out one and another flying column, and distributed a considerable portion of his army over a wide area, it was precisely because he feared some turning movement on the part of the Germans, which might result in bottling him up at Le Mans. The earlier instructions which Prince Frederick Charles forwarded to his subordinates certainly seem to indicate that a turning movement was projected. But after the fighting on January 9, when, as I have indicated, the 3rd German Army Corps penetrated wedge-like into the French lines, the Prince renounced any idea of surrounding Chanzy's forces, and resolved to make a vigorous frontal attack before they could be reinforced by any of the still outlying columns. In coming to this decision, the Prince may well have been influenced by the result of the recent fighting, which had sufficiently demonstrated the superiority of the German troops to show that, under the circumstances, a frontal attack would be attended with far less risk than if he had found himself faced by a really vigorous antagonist. Captain Hozier, whom I had previously seen at Versailles, was at this time acting as _Times_ correspondent with the Prince's army, and, in subsequently reviewing the fighting, he expressed the opinion that the issue of the Prince's operations was never for a moment doubtful. Still, on all points but one, the French put up a fairly good defence, as I will now show. XII LE MANS AND AFTER The real Battle of Le Mans begins (January 10)--Jouffroy and Pâris are driven back--Gougeard's Fight at Champagné--The Breton Mobilisés from Conlie--Chanzy's Determination--His Orders for January 11--He inspects the Lines--Pâris driven from the Plateau of Auvours--Gougeard's gallant re-capture of the Plateau--My Return to Le Mans--The Panic at La Tuilerie--Retreat inevitable--Withdrawal of the French--Entry of the Germans--Street Fighting--German Exactions--My Escape from Le Mans--The French Retreat--Rear-Guard Engagements--Laval--My Arrest as a Spy--A Dramatic Adventure. Some more snow fell on the morning of January 10, when the decisive fighting in front of Le Mans really began. On the evening of the 9th the French headquarters was still without news of Generals Curten, Barry, and Jouffroy, and even the communications with Jauréguiberry were of an intermittent character. Nevertheless, Chanzy had made up his mind to give battle, and had sent orders to Jauréguiberry to send Jouffroy towards Parigné-l'Evêque (S.E.) and Barry towards Ecommoy (S. of Le Mans). But the roads were in so bad a condition, and the French troops had been so severely tried, and were so ill-provided for, that several of the commander-in-chief's instructions could not be carried out. Jouffroy at least did his best, and after a hard and tiring march from Grand Lucé, a part of his division reached Parigné in time to join in the action fought there. But it ended disastrously for the French, one of their brigades losing as many as 1400 men, and the Germans taking altogether some 2000 prisoners. Jouffroy's troops then fell back to Pontlieue, the southern suburb of Le Mans, in a lamentable condition, and took care to place the Huisne between themselves and the Germans. In the same direction Paris's demoralised, division, already worsted at Ardenay on the previous day, was driven from Changé by the 3rd German Corps, which took no fewer than 5000 prisoners. It had now almost cut the French eastern and southern lines apart, threatening all direct communication between the 21st and the 16th French Corps. Nevertheless, it was in a dangerous position, having both of its flanks exposed to attack, one from Yvré and Auvours, and the other from Pontlieue and the Chemin des Boeufs, which last line was held by the 16th French Corps. Meantime, Gougeard's Bretons had been engaged at Champagné, quite a close encounter taking place in the fields and on the vineyard slopes, followed by a house-to-house fight in the village streets. The French were at last driven back; but somewhat later, on the Germans retiring from Champagné, they reoccupied the place. The result of the day was that, apart from the somewhat hazardous success achieved by the 3rd German Corps, the enemy had gained no great advantage. His 13th Corps had made but little progress, his 9th had not been brought into action, and his 10th was as yet no nearer than Grand Lucé. On the French side, Barry had at last reached Mulsanne, thus covering the direct southern road to Le Mans, Jauréguiberry being lower down at Ecommoy with some 9000 men of various arms and regiments, whom he had managed to get together. As for Curten's division, as it could not possibly reach the immediate neighbourhood of Le Mans in time for the fighting on the 11th, it received orders to march on La Suze, south-west of the imperilled town. During the 10th, moreover, Chanzy was strengthened by the welcome arrival of several additional field-pieces and a large number of horses. He had given orders to raise the Camp of Conlie, but instead of the forty or fifty thousand men, which at an earlier period it was thought that camp would be able to provide, he now only derived from it some 9000 ill-equipped, badly armed, and almost undrilled Breton Mobilisés. [On the other hand, as I previously related, the camp had already provided the bulk of the men belonging to Gougeard's division.] They were divided into six battalions--one of which came from Saint Malo, the others from Rennes and Redon--and were commanded by a general named Lalande. They proved to be no accession of strength; they became, on the contrary, a source of weakness, and disaster, for it was their behaviour which eventually sealed the fate of the Second Loire Army. But Chanzy, whatever his ailments might be, was personally full of energy and determination. He knew, moreover, that two new army corps (the 19th and the 25th) were being got ready to reinforce him, and he was still resolved to give battle and hold on for another four or five days, when he relied on compelling Prince Frederick Charles to retreat. Then, with his reinforced army, he hoped to march once more in the direction of Paris. Curiously enough, it was precisely on that critical day, January 10, that Gambetta sent Trochu a despatch by pigeon-post, telling him that on the 20th, at the latest, both Chanzy and Bourbaki would be moving on the capital, having between them over 400,000 men. But if Chanzy's spirits did not fail him, those of his men were at a very low ebb indeed. He was repeatedly told so by subordinate commanders; nevertheless (there was something Napoleonic in his character), he would not desist from his design, but issued instructions that there was to be a resolute defence of the lines on the 11th, together with a determined effort to regain all lost positions. At the same time, the statements of the divisional generals respecting the low _morale_ of some of the troops were not left unheeded, for a very significant order went forth, namely, that cavalry should be drawn up in the rear of the infantry wherever this might appear advisable. The inference was obvious. Three divisions and Lalande's Breton Mobilisés were to hold the south-eastern lines from Arnage along the track known as the Chemin des Boeufs, and to link up, as well as possible, with Pâris's and Gougeard's divisions, to which fell the duty of guarding the plateau of Auvours and the banks of the Huisne. The rest of the 21st Corps (to which Gougeard's division belonged) was to defend the space between the Huisne and the Sarthe. Colomb's fragmentary force, apart from Pâris's division, was still to cover Le Mans towards the north-east. Barry's men, on their expected arrival, were to serve as reserves around Pontlieue. The morning of January 11 was bright. The snow had ceased falling, but lay some inches thick upon the ground. In order to facilitate the passage of troops, and particularly of military waggons, through the town, the Mayor of Le Mans ordered the inhabitants to clear away as much of this snow as possible; but it naturally remained undisturbed all over the countryside. Little had been seen of Chanzy on the two previous days, but that morning he mounted horse and rode along the lines from the elevated position known as Le Tertre Rouge to the equally elevated position of Yvré. I saw him there, wrapped in a long loose cloak, the hood of which was drawn over his képi. Near him was his picturesque escort of Algerian Spahis, and while he was conversing with some officers I pulled out a little sketch-book which I carried, and tried to outline the group. An aide-de-camp who noticed me at once came up to inquire what I was doing, and I therefore had to produce the permit which, on returning to the front, I had obtained from the Chief of the Staff. It was found to be quite in order, and I went on with my work. But a few minutes later the general, having given his orders, gathered up his reins to ride away. As he slowly passed me, he gave me just one little sharp glance, and with a faint suspicion of a smile remarked, "I will look at that another time." The aide-de-camp had previously told him what my purpose was. That day the 3rd German Corps again resumed the offensive, and once more drove Gougeard out of Champagné. Then the enemy's 9th Corps, which on January 10 had done little or nothing, and was therefore quite fresh, was brought into action, and made a resolute attack on the plateau of Auvours. There was a fairly long fight, which could be seen from Yvré. But the Germans were too strong for Pâris's men, who at last disbanded, and came, helter-skelter, towards the bridge of Yvré in terrible confusion. Flight is often contagious, and Gougeard, who had fallen back from Champagné in fairly good order, feared lest his men should imitate their comrades. He therefore pointed two field-pieces on the runaways, and by that means checked their stampede. Having established themselves at the farther end of the plateau, the Germans advanced very cautiously, constantly seeking cover behind the various hedges. General de Colomb, to whose command Pâris's runaway division belonged, insisted, however, that the position must be retaken. Gougeard thereupon collected a very miscellaneous force, which included regular infantry, mobiles, mobilisés, and some of Charette's Volontaires de l'Ouest--previously known in Borne as the Pontifical Zouaves. Placing himself at the head of these men, he made a vigorous effort to carry out Colomb's orders. The French went forward almost at the charge, the Germans waiting for them from behind the hedges, whence poured a hail of lead. Gougeard's horse was shot under him, a couple of bullets went through his coat, and another--or, as some said, a splinter of a shell--knocked off his képi. Still, he continued leading his men, and in the fast failing light the Germans, after repeated encounters, were driven back to the verge of the plateau. That was told me afterwards, for at the moment I was already on my way back to Le Mans, which I wished to reach before it was absolutely night. On coming from the town early in the morning, I had brought a few eatables in my pockets, but they had soon been consumed, and I had found it impossible to obtain any food whatever at Yvré, though some of the very indifferent local wine was procurable. Thus I was feeling very hungry as I retraced my steps through the snow towards the little hostelry in the Rue du Gué de Maulny, where I had secured accommodation. It was a walk of some four or five miles, but the cold urged me on, and, in spite of the snow, I made the journey fairly rapidly, in such wise that little more than an hour later I was seated in a warm room in front of some steaming soup, answering all sorts of questions as to what I had seen during the day, and particularly whether _les nôtres_ had gained a victory. I could only answer that the "Prussians" had taken Auvours, but that fighting was still going on, as Gougeard had gone to recapture the position. At the moment, indeed, that was the extent of my information. The landlord looked rather glum and his daughter somewhat anxious, and the former, shaking his head, exclaimed: "Voyez-vous, Monsieur l'Anglais, nous n'avons pas de chance-- pas de chance du tout! Je ne sais pas à quoi ca tient, mais c'est comme ca. Et, tenez, cela ne me surprendrait pas de voir ces sales Prussiens dans la ville d'ici à demain!" ["We have no luck, no luck at all. I don't know why, but there it is. And, do you know, it would not surprise me to see those dirty Prussians in the town between now and to-morrow."] Unfortunately for Le Mans and for France also, his forebodings were accurate. At that very moment, indeed, a great disaster was occurring. Jauréguiberry had reached the southern suburb of Pontlieue at about nine o'clock that morning after a night march from Ecommoy. He had divided his miscellaneous force of 9000 men into three brigades. As they did not seem fit for immediate action, they were drafted into the reserves, so that their arrival was of no particular help that day. About eleven o'clock the 3rd German Corps, coming from the direction of Changé, attacked Jouffroy's lines along the more northern part of the so-called Chemin des Boeufs, and, though Jouffroy's men fought fairly well, they could not prevent their foes from capturing the position of the Tertre Rouge. Still, the enemy gained no decisive success in this direction; nor was any marked result attained by the 13th German Corps which formed the extreme right of the attacking forces. But Prince Frederick Charles had sent orders to Voigts Rhetz, who was at Grand Lucé, [A brigade of cavalry kept up communications between him and the 3rd Army Corps.] advance with the 10th Corps on Mulsanne, which the French had evacuated; and on reaching Mulsanne, the same general received instructions to come to the support of the 3rd Corps, which was engaged with Jouffroy's force. Voigts Rhetz's men were extremely fatigued; nevertheless, the 20th Division of Infantry, commanded by General Kraatz-Koschlau, went on towards the Chemin des Boeufs, following the direct road from Tours to Le Mans. Here there was an elevated position known as La Tuilerie--otherwise the tile-works--which had been fortified expressly to prevent the Germans from bursting upon Le Mans from the direct south. Earth-works for guns had been thrown up, trenches had been dug, the pine trees, so abundant on the southern side of Le Mans, had been utilised for other shielding works, as well as for shelter-places for the defending force. Unfortunately, at the moment of the German advance, that defending force consisted of the ill-equipped, badly armed, and almost untrained Breton Mobilisés, [There were just a few old soldiers among them.] who, as I have already related, had arrived the previous day from the camp of Conlie under the command of General Lalande. It is true that near these men was stationed an infantry brigade of the 6th Corps d'Armée, whose duty it was to support and steady them. They undoubtedly needed to be helped, for the great majority had never been in action before. Moreover, in addition to the infantry brigade, there were two batteries of artillery; but I fear that for the most part the gunners were little better than recruits. Exaggerated statements have been made respecting the quality of the firearms with which the Mobilisés were provided. Many of the weapons were afterwards found to be very dirty, even rusty, but that was the result of neglect, which their officers should have remedied. It is true, however, that these weapons were for the most part merely percussion guns. Again, it has been said that the men had no ammunition, but that statement was certainly inaccurate. On the other hand, these Mobilisés were undoubtedly very cold and very hungry--even as I myself was that day--no rations having been served to them until late in the afternoon, that is, shortly before they were attacked, at which moment, indeed, they were actually preparing the meal for which they had so long been waiting. The wintry night was gathering round when Kraatz-Kosohlau found himself with his division before the position of La Tuilerie. He could see that it was fortified, and before attempting any further advance he fired a few shells. The Mobilisés were immediately panic-stricken. They made no attempt at defence; hungry though they were, they abandoned even their pots and pans, and fled in the direction of Pontlieue, which formed, as it were, a long avenue, fringed with factories, textile mills, bleaching works, and so forth. In vain did their officers try to stop the fugitives, even striking them with the flats of their swords, in vain did Lalande and his staff seek to intercept them at the Rond Point de Pontlieue. Nothing could induce them to stop. They threw away their weapons in order to run the faster. At La Tuilerie not a gun was fired at the Germans. Even the infantry brigade fell back, without attempting to fight. All this occurred at a moment when everybody thought that the day's fighting was over. But Jauréguiberry appeared upon the scene, and ordered one of his subordinates, General Lebouëdeo, to retake the lost position. Lebouëdeo tried to do so with 1000 tired men, who had been in action during the day, and failed. A second attempt proved equally futile. No effort apparently was made to secure help from Barry, who was at Arnage with 5000 infantry and two brigades of cavalry, and who might have fallen on the left flank of the German Corps. La Tuilerie was lost, and with it Le Mans was lost also. I was quietly sipping some coffee and reading the local newspapers--three or four were published at Le Mans in those days--when I heard of that disastrous stampede. Some of the men had reached the town, spreading the contagion of fear as they came. Tired though I was, I at once went towards the Avenue de Fontlieue, where the excitement was general. Gendarmes were hurrying hither and thither, often arresting the runaways, and at other times picking up weapons and cartridge-cases which had been flung away. So numerous were the abandoned weapons and equipments that cartloads of them were collected. Every now and then an estafette galloped to or from the town. The civilians whom one met wore looks of consternation. It was evident, indeed, to everybody who knew how important was the position of La Tuilerie, that its capture by the Germans placed Le Mans in jeopardy. When the two attempts to retake it had failed, Jauréguiberry urged immediate retreat. This was rendered the more imperative by other events of the night and the early morning, for, inspirited by their capture of La Tuilerie, the Germans made fresh efforts in other directions, so that Barry had to quit Arnage, whilst Jouffroy lost most of his positions near the Chemin des Boeufs, and the plateau d'Auvours had again to be evacuated. At 8 a.m. on January 12, Chanzy, after suggesting a fresh attempt to recover La Tuilerie, which was prevented by the demoralisation of the troops, was compelled to give a reluctant assent to Jauréguiberry's proposals of retreat. At the same time, he wished the retreat to be carried out slowly and methodically, and informed Gambetta that he intended to withdraw in the direction of Aleneon (Orne) and Pré-en-Pail (Mayenne). This meant moving into Normandy, and Gambetta pointed out that such a course would leave all Brittany open to the enemy, and enable him to descend without opposition even to the mouth of the Loire. Chanzy was therefore instructed to retreat on Laval, and did so; but as he had already issued orders for the other route, great confusion ensued, the new orders only reaching the subordinate commanders on the evening of the 12th. From January 6 to 12 the French had lost 6000 men in killed and wounded. The Germans had taken 20,000 prisoners, and captured seventeen guns and a large quantity of army materiel. Further, there was an incalculable number of disbanded Mobiles and Mobilisés. If Prince Frederick Charles had known at the time to what a deplorable condition Chanzy's army had been reduced, he would probably have acted more vigorously than he did. It is true that his own men (as Von Hoenig has admitted) were, generally speaking, in a state of great fatigue after the six days' fighting, and also often badly circumstanced in regard to clothing, boots, and equipments. [Even when the armistice arrived I saw many German soldiers wearing French sabots.] Such things cannot last for ever, and there had been little or no opportunity to renew anything since the second battle of Orleans early in December. In the fighting before Le Mans, however, the German loss in killed and wounded was only 3400--200 of the number being officers, whom the French picked off as often as possible. On the morning of the 12th all was confusion at Pontlieue. Guns, waggons, horsemen, infantrymen, were congregated there, half blocking up the bridge which connects this suburb with Le Mans. A small force under General de Roquebrune was gallantly striving to check the Germans at one part of the Chemin des Boeufs, in order to cover the retreat. A cordon of gendarmes had been drawn up at the railway-station to prevent it from being invaded by all the runaways. Some hundreds of wounded men were allowed access, however, in order that they might, if possible, get away in one of the many trains which were being sent off as rapidly as possible. This service was in charge of an official named Piquet, who acted with the greatest energy and acumen. Of the five railway-lines meeting at Le Mans only two were available, that running to Rennes _viâ_ Laval, and that running to Angers. I find from a report drawn up by M. Piquet a little later, that he managed to send off twenty-five trains, some of them drawn by two and three engines. They included about 1000 vans, trucks, and coaches; that is 558 vans laden with provisions (in part for the relief of Paris); 134 vans and trucks laden with artillery _matériel_ and stores, 70 vans of ammunition, 150 empty vans and trucks, and 176 passenger carriages. On securing possession of the station, however, the Germans still found there about 200 vans and carriages, and at least a dozen locomotive engines. The last train left at 2.45 p.m. I myself got away (as I shall presently relate) shortly after two o'clock, when the station was already being bombarded. General de Roquebrune having, at last, been compelled to withdraw from the vicinity of the Chemin des Boeufs, the Germans came on to the long avenue of Pontlieue. Here they were met by most of the corps of gendarmes, which, as I previously related, was attached to the headquarters-staff under General Bourdillon. These men, who had two Gatlings with them, behaved with desperate bravery in order to delay the German entry into the town. About a hundred of them, including a couple of officers, were killed during that courageous defence. It was found impossible, however, to blow up the bridge. The operation had been delayed as long as possible in order to facilitate the French retreat, and when the gendarmes themselves withdrew, there no longer remained sufficient time to put it into execution. The first Germans to enter the town belonged to the 38th Brigade of Infantry, and to part of a cavalry force under General von Schmidt. After crossing the bridge of Pontlieue, they divided into three columns. One of them proceeded up the Rue du Quartier de Cavalerie in the direction of the Place des Jacobins and the cathedral. The second also went towards the upper town, marching, however, by way of the Rue Basse, which conducted to the Place des Halles, where the chief hotels and cafés were situated. Meantime, the third column turned to the left, and hastened towards the railway station. But, to their great amazement, their advance was repeatedly checked. There were still a number of French soldiers in the town, among them being Mobile Guards, Gendarmes, Franc-tireurs, and a party of Marine Fusiliers. The German column which began to ascend the Rue Basse was repeatedly fired at, whereupon its commanding officer halted his men, and by way of punishment had seven houses set on fire, before attempting to proceed farther. Nevertheless, the resistance was prolonged at various points, on the Place des Jacobins, for instance, and again on the Place des Halles. Near the latter square is--or was--a little street called the Rue Dumas, from which the French picked off a dozen or twenty Germans, so infuriating their commander that he sent for a couple of field-pieces, and threatened to sweep the whole town with projectiles. Meantime, a number of the French who had lingered at Le Mans were gradually effecting their escape. Many artillery and commissariat waggons managed to get away, and a local notability, M. Eugène Caillaux--father of M. Joseph Caillaux who was French Prime Minister during the latter half of 1911, and who is now (Dec., 1913) Minister of Finances--succeeded in sending out of the town several carts full of rifles, which some of the French troops had flung away. However, the street-fighting could not be indefinitely prolonged. It ceased when about a hundred Germans and a larger number of French, both soldiers and civilians, had been killed. The Germans avenged themselves by pillaging the houses in the Rue Dumas, and several on the Place des Halles, though they spared the Hôtel de France there, as their commander, Voigts Rhetz, reserved it for his own accommodation. Whilst the bombardment of a part of the lower town continued--the railway station and the barracks called the Caserne de la Mission being particularly affected--raids were made on the French ambulances, in one of which, on the Boulevard Négrier, a patient was barbarously bayoneted in his bed, on the pretext that he was a Franc-tireur, whereas he really belonged to the Mobile Guard. At the ambulance of the École Normale, the sisters and clergy were, according to their sworn statements, grossly ill-treated. Patients, some of whom were suffering from smallpox, were turned out of their beds--which were required, it was said, for the German wounded. All the wine that could be found was drunk, money was stolen, and there was vindictive destruction on all sides. The Mayor [The Prefect, M. Le Chevalier, had followed the army in its retreat, considering it his duty to watch over the uninvaded part of the department of the Sartha.] of Le Mans, M. Richard, and his two _adjoints_, or deputies, went down through the town carrying a towel as a flag of truce, and on the Place de la Mission they at last found Voigts Rhetz surrounded by his staff. The General at once informed the Mayor that, in consequence of the resistance of the town, it would have to pay a war-levy of four millions of francs (£160,000) within twenty-four hours, and that the inhabitants would have to lodge and feed the German forces as long as they remained there. All the appeals made against these hard conditions were disregarded during nearly a fortnight. When both the Mayor and the Bishop of Le Mans solicited audiences of Prince Frederick Charles, they were told by the famous Count Harry von Arnim--who, curiously enough, subsequently became German Ambassador to France, but embroiled himself with Bismarck and died in exile--that if they only wished to tender their humble duty to the Prince he would graciously receive them, but that he refused to listen to any representations on behalf of the town. A first sum of £20,000 and some smaller ones were at last got together in this town of 37,000 inhabitants, and finally, on January 23, the total levy was reduced, as a special favour, to £80,000. Certain German requisitions were also to be set off against £20,000 of that amount; but they really represented about double the figure. A public loan had to be raised in the midst of continual exactions, which lasted even after the preliminaries of peace had been signed, the Germans regarding Le Mans as a milch cow from which too much could not be extracted. The anxieties of the time might well have sufficed to make the Mayor ill, but, as a matter of fact, he caught small-pox, and his place had to be taken by a deputy, who with the municipal council, to which several local notabilities were adjoined, did all that was possible to satisfy the greed of the Germans. Small-pox, I may mention, was very prevalent at Le Mans, and some of the ambulances were specially reserved for soldiers who had contracted that disease. Altogether, about 21,000 men (both French and Germans), suffering from wounds or diseases of various kinds, were treated in the town's ambulances from November 1 to April 15. Some thousands of Germans were billeted on the inhabitants, whom they frequently robbed with impunity, all complaints addressed to the German Governor, an officer named Von Heiduck, being disregarded. This individual ordered all the inhabitants to give up any weapons which they possessed, under penalty of death. Another proclamation ordained the same punishment for anybody who might give the slightest help to the French army, or attempt to hamper the German forces. Moreover, the editors, printers, and managers of three local newspapers were summarily arrested and kept in durance on account of articles against the Germans which they had written, printed, or published _before_ Chanzy's defeat. On January 13, which chanced to be a Friday, Prince Frederick Charles made his triumphal entry into Le Mans, the bands of the German regiments playing all their more popular patriotic airs along the route which his Royal Highness took in order to reach the Prefecture--a former eighteenth-century convent--where he intended to install himself. On the following day the Mayor received the following letter: "Mr. Mayor, "I request you to send to the Prefecture by half-past five o'clock this afternoon 24 spoons, 24 forks, and 36 knives, as only just sufficient for the number of people at table have been sent, and there is no means of changing the covers. For dinner you will provide 20 bottles of Bordeaux, 30 bottles of Champagne, two bottles of Madeira, and 2 bottles of liqueurs, which must be at the Prefecture at six o'clock precisely. The wine previously sent not being good, neither the Bordeaux nor the Champagne, you must send better kinds, otherwise I shall have to inflict a fine upon the town. (Signed) "Von Kanitz." This communication was followed almost immediately afterwards by another, emanating from the same officer, who was one of the Prince's aides-de-camp. He therein stated (invariably employing, be it said, execrable French) that the _café-au-lait_ was to be served at the Prefecture at 8 a.m.; the _déjeuner_ at noon; and the dinner at 7.30 p.m. At ten o'clock every morning, the Mayor was to send 40 bottles of Bordeaux, 40 bottles of Champagne, 6 bottles of Madeira, and 3 bottles of liqueurs. He was also to provide waiters to serve at table, and kitchen- and scullery-maids. And Kanitz concluded by saying: "If the least thing fails, a remarkable (_sic_) fine will be inflicted on the town." On January 15 an order was sent to the Mayor to supply at once, for the Prince's requirements, 25 kilogrammes of ham; 13 kilos. of sausages; 13 kilos. of tongues; 5 dozen eggs; vegetables of all sorts, particularly onions; 15 kilos. of Gruyère cheese; 5 kilos. of Parmesan; 15 kilos. of best veal; 20 fowls; 6 turkeys; 12 ducks; 5 kilos. of powdered sugar. [All the German orders and requisitions are preserved in the municipal archives of Le Mans.] No wine was ever good enough for Prince Frederick Charles and his staff. The complaints sent to the town-hall were incessant. Moreover, the supply of Champagne, by no means large in such a place as Le Mans, gave out, and then came all sorts of threats. The municipal councillors had to trot about trying to discover a few bottles here and there in private houses, in order to supply the requirements of the Princely Staff. There was also a scarcity of vegetables, and yet there were incessant demands for spinach, cauliflowers, and artichokes, and even fruit for the Prince's tarts. One day Kanitz went to the house where the unfortunate Mayor was lying in bed, and told him that he must get up and provide vegetables, as none had been sent for the Prince's table. The Mayor protested that the whole countryside was covered with snow, and that it was virtually impossible to satisfy such incessant demands; but, as he afterwards related, ill and worried though he was, he could not refrain from laughing when he was required to supply several pounds of truffles. Truffles at Le Mans, indeed! In those days, too! The idea was quite ridiculous. Not only had the demands of Prince Frederick Charles's staff to be satisfied, but there were those of Voigts Rhetz, and of all the officers lodging at the Hôtel de France, the Hôtel du Dauphin, the Hôtel de la Boule d'Or and other hostelries. These gentlemen were very fond of giving dinners, and "mine host" was constantly being called upon to provide all sorts of delicacies at short notice. The cellars of the Hôtel de France were drunk dry. The common soldiers also demanded the best of everything at the houses where they were billeted; and sometimes they played extraordinary pranks there. Half a dozen of them, who were lodged at a wine-shop in, I think, the Rue Dumas, broached a cask of brandy, poured the contents into a tub, and washed their feet in the spirituous liquor. It may be that a "brandy bath" is a good thing for sore feet; and that might explain the incident. However, when I think of it, I am always reminded of how, in the days of the Second Empire, the spendthrift Due de Gramont-Caderousse entered the. Café Anglais in Paris, one afternoon, called for a silver soup-tureen, had two or three bottles of champagne poured into it, and then made an unrepentant Magdalen of the Boulevards, whom he had brought with him, wash his feet in the sparkling wine. From that afternoon until the Café Anglais passed out of existence no silver soup-tureens were ever used there. I have given the foregoing particulars respecting the German occupation of Le Mans--they are principally derived from official documents--just to show the reader what one might expect if, for instance, a German force should land at Hull or Grimsby and fight its way successfully to--let us say--York or Leeds or Nottingham. The incidents which occurred at Le Mans were by no means peculiar to that town. Many similar instances occurred throughout the invaded regions of France. I certainly do not wish to impute gluttony to Prince Frederick Charles personally. But during the years which followed the Franco-German War I made three fairly long stays at Berlin, putting up at good hotels, where officers--sometimes generals--often lunched and dined. And their appetites frequently amazed me, whilst their manners at table were repulsive. In those days most German officers were bearded, and I noticed that between the courses at luncheon and at dinner it was a common practice of theirs to produce pocket-glasses and pocket-combs, and comb their beards--as well as the hair on their heads--over the table. As for their manner of eating and the noise they made in doing so, the less said the better. In regard to manners, I have always felt that the French of 1870-71 were in some respects quite entitled to call their enemies "barbarians"; but that was forty-three years ago, and as time works wonders, the manners of the German military element may have improved. In saying something about the general appearance of Le Mans, I pointed out that the town now has a Place de la République, a Gambetta Bridge, a Rue Thiers, and a statue of Chanzy; but at the period of the war and for a long time afterwards it detested the Republic (invariably returning Bonapartist or Orleanist deputies), sneered at Gambetta, and hotly denounced the commander of the Loire Army. Its grievance against Chanzy was that he had made it his headquarters and given battle in its immediate vicinity. The conflict having ended disastrously for the French arms, the townsfolk lamented that it had ever taken place. Why had Chanzy brought his army there? they indignantly inquired. He might very well have gone elsewhere. So strong was this Manceau feeling against the general--a feeling inspired by the sufferings which the inhabitants experienced at the time, notably in consequence of the German exactions--that fifteen years later, when the general's statue (for which there had been a national subscription) was set up in the town, the displeasure there was very great, and the monument was subjected to the most shameful indignities. [At Nouart, his native place, there is another statue of Chanzy, which shows him pointing towards the east. On the pedestal is the inscription; "The generals who wish to obtain the bâton of Marshal of France must seek it across the Rhine"--words spoken by him in one of his speeches subsequent to the war.] But all that has passed. Nowadays, both at Auvours and at Pontlieue, there are monuments to those who fell fighting for France around Le Mans, and doubtless the town, in becoming more Republican, has become more patriotic also. Before relating how I escaped from Le Mans on the day when the retreat was ordered, there are a few other points with which I should like to deal briefly. It is tolerably well known that I made the English translation of Emile Zola's great novel, "La Débâcle," and a good many of my present readers may have read that work either in the original French or in the version prepared by me. Now, I have always thought that some of the characters introduced by Zola into his narrative were somewhat exceptional. I doubt if there were many such absolutely neurotic degenerates as "Maurice" in the French Army at any period of the war. I certainly never came across such a character. Again, the psychology of Stephen Crane's "Red Badge of Courage," published a few years after "La Débâcle," and received with acclamations by critics most of whom had never in their lives been under fire, also seems to me to be of an exceptional character. I much prefer the psychology of the Waterloo episode in Stendhal's "Chartreuse de Parme," because it is of more general application. "The Red Badge of Courage," so the critics told us, showed what a soldier exactly felt and thought in the midst of warfare. Unlike Stendhal, however, its author had never "served." No more had Zola; and I feel that many of the pictures which novelists have given us of a soldier's emotions when in action apply only to exceptional cases, and are even then somewhat exaggerated. In action there is no time for thought. The most trying hours for a man who is in any degree of a sensitive nature are those spent in night-duty as a sentry or as one of a small party at some lonely outpost. Then thoughts of home and happiness, and of those one loves, may well arise. There is one little point in connexion with this subject which I must mention. Whenever letters were found on the bodies of men who fell during the Franco-German War, they were, if this man was a Frenchman, more usually letters from his mother, and, if he was a German, more usually letters from his sweetheart. Many such letters found their way into print during the course of the war. It is a well-known fact that a Frenchman's cult for his mother is a trait of the national character, and that a Frenchwoman almost always places her child before her husband. But what struck me particularly during the Franco-German War was that the anxieties and mental sufferings of the French officers were much keener than those of the men. Many of those officers were married, some had young children, and in the silent hours of a lonely night-watch their thoughts often travelled to their dear ones. I well remember how an officer virtually unbosomed himself to me on this subject one night near Yvré-l'Evêque. The reason of it all is obvious. The higher a man's intelligence, the greater is his sense of responsibility and the force of his attachments. But in action the latter are set aside; they only obtrude at such times as I have said or else at the moment of death. Of actual cowardice there were undoubtedly numerous instances during the war, but a great deal might be said in defence of many of the men who here and there abandoned their positions. During the last months their sufferings were frequently terrible. At best they were often only partially trained. There was little cohesion in many battalions. There was a great lack of efficient non-commissioned officers. Instead of drafting regular soldiers from the _dépôts_ into special regiments, as was often done, it might have been better to have distributed them among the Mobiles and Mobilisés, whom they would have steadied. Judging by all that I witnessed at that period, I consider it essential that any territorial force should always contain a certain number of trained soldiers who have previously been in action. And any such force should always have the support of regulars and of efficient artillery. I have related how certain Breton Mobilisés abandoned La Tuilerie. They fled before the regulars or the artillery could support them; but they were, perhaps, the very rawest levies in all Chanzy's forces. Other Breton Mobilisés, on other points, fought very well for men of their class. For instance, no reproach could be addressed to the battalions of St. Brieuo, Brest, Quimper, Lorient, and Nantes. They were better trained than were the men stationed at La Tuilerie, and it requires some time to train a Breton properly. That effected, he makes a good soldier. Respecting my own feelings during that war, I may say that the paramount one was curiosity. To be a journalist, a man must be inquisitive. It is a _sine quâ non_ of his profession. Moreover, I was very young; I had no responsibilities; I may have been in love, or have thought I was, but I was on my own, and my chief desire was to see as much as I could. I willingly admit that, when Gougeard's column was abruptly attacked at Droué, I experienced some trepidation at finding myself under fire; but firmness may prove as contagious as fear, and when Gougeard rallied his men and went forward to repel the Germans, interest and a kind of excitement took possession of me. Moreover, as I was, at least nominally, attached to the ambulance service, there was duty to be done, and that left no opportunity for thought. The pictures of the ambulances in or near Sedan are among the most striking ones contained in "La Débâcle," and, judging by what I saw elsewhere, Zola exaggerated nothing. The ambulance is the truly horrible side of warfare. To see men lying dead on the ground is, so to say, nothing. One gets used to it. But to see them amputated, and to see them lying in bed suffering, often acutely, from dreadful wounds, or horrible diseases--dysentery, typhus, small-pox--that is the thing which tries the nerves of all but the doctors and the trained nurses. On several occasions I helped to carry wounded men, and felt no emotion in doing so; but more than once I was almost overcome by the sight of all the suffering in some ambulance. When, on the morning of January 12, I heard that a general retreat had been ordered, I hesitated as to what course I should pursue. I did not then anticipate the street-fighting, and the consequent violence of the Germans. But journalistic instinct told me that if I remained in the town until after the German entry I might then find it very difficult to get away and communicate with my people. At the same time, I did not think the German entry so imminent as proved to be the case; and I spent a considerable time in the streets watching all the tumult which prevailed there. Now and again a sadly diminished battalion went by in fairly good order. But numbers of disbanded men hurried hither and thither in confusion. Here and there a street was blocked with army vans and waggons, whose drivers were awaiting orders, not knowing which direction to take. Officers and estafettes galloped about on all sides. Then a number of wounded men were carried in carts, on stretchers, and on trucks towards the railway-station. Others, with their heads bandaged or their arms in slings, walked painfully in the same direction. Outside the station there was a strong cordon of Gendarmes striving to resist all the pressure of a great mob of disbanded men who wished to enter and get away in the trains. At one moment, when, after quite a struggle, some of the wounded were conveyed through the mob and the cordon, the disbanded soldiers followed, and many of them fought their way into the station in spite of all the efforts of the Gendarmes. The _mêlée_ was so desperate that I did not attempt to follow, but, after watching it for some time, retraced my steps towards my lodging. All was hubbub and confusion at the little inn, and only with difficulty could I get anything to eat there. A little later, however, I managed to tell the landlord--his name was Dubuisson--that I meant to follow the army, and, if possible, secure a place in one of the trains which were frequently departing. After stowing a few necessaries away in my pockets, I begged him to take charge of my bag until some future day, and the worthy old man then gave me some tips as to how I might make my way into the station, by going a little beyond it, and climbing a palisade. We condoled with one another and shook hands. I then went out. The cannonade, which had been going on for several hours, had now become more violent. Several shells had fallen on or near the Caserne de la Mission during the morning. Now others were falling near the railway-station. I went my way, however, turned to the right on quitting the Rue du Gué-de-Maulny, reached some palings, and got on to the railway-line. Skirting it, I turned to the left, going back towards the station. I passed one or two trains, which were waiting. But they were composed of trucks and closed vans. I might perhaps have climbed on to one of the former, but it was a bitterly cold day; and as for the latter, of course I could not hope to enter one of them. So I kept on towards the station, and presently, without let or hindrance, I reached one of the platforms. Le Mans being an important junction, its station was very large, in some respects quite monumental. The principal part was roofed with glass and suggested Charing Cross. I do not remember exactly the number of lines of metals running through it, but I think there must have been four or five. There were two trains waiting there, one of them, which was largely composed of passenger carriages, being crammed with soldiers. I tried to get into one carriage, but was fiercely repulsed. So, going to the rear of this train, I crossed to another platform, where the second train was. This was made up of passenger coaches and vans. I scrambled into one of the latter, which was open. There were a number of packing-cases inside it, but there was at least standing room for several persons. Two railway men and two or three soldiers were already there. One of the former helped me to get in. I had, be it said, a semi-military appearance, for my grey frieze coat was frogged, and besides, what was more important, I wore the red-cross armlet given me at the time when I followed Gougeard's column. Almost immediately afterwards the train full of soldiers got away. The cannonade was now very loud, and the glass roof above us constantly vibrated. Some minutes elapsed whilst we exchanged impressions. Then, all at once, a railway official--it may have been M. Piquet himself--rushed along the platform in the direction of the engine, shouting as he went: "Dépêchez! Dépêchez! Sauvez-vous!" At the same moment a stray artilleryman was seen hastening towards us; but suddenly there came a terrific crash of glass, a shell burst through the roof and exploded, and the unlucky artilleryman fell on the platform, evidently severely wounded. We were already in motion, however, and the line being dear, we got fairly swiftly across the viaduct spanning the Sarthe. This placed us beyond the reach of the enemy, and we then slowed down. One or two more trains were got away after ours, the last one, I believe, being vainly assailed by some Uhlans before it had crossed the viaduct. The latter ought then to have been blown up, but an attempt to do so proved ineffectual. We went on very slowly on account of the many trains in front of us. Every now and again, too, there came a wearisome stop. It was bitterly cold, and it was in vain that we beat the tattoo with our feet in the hope of thereby warming them. The men with me were also desperately hungry, and complained of it so bitterly and so frequently, that, at last, I could not refrain from producing a little bread and meat which I had secured at Le Mans and sharing it with them. But it merely meant a bite for each of us. However, on stopping at last at Conlie station--some sixteen or seventeen miles from Le Mans--we all hastily scrambled out of the train, rushed into a little inn, and almost fought like wild beasts for scraps of food. Then on we went once more, still very slowly, still stopping again and again, sometimes for an hour at a stretch, until, half numbed by the cold, weary of stamping our feet, and still ravenous, we reached the little town of Sillé-le-Guillaume, which is not more than eight or nine miles from Conlie. At Sillé I secured a tiny garret-like room at the crowded Hôtel de la Croix d'Or, a third-rate hostelry, which was already invaded by officers, soldiers, railway officials, and others who had quitted Le Mans before I had managed to do so. My comparatively youthful appearance won for me, however, the good favour of the buxom landlady, who, after repeatedly declaring to other applicants that she had not a corner left in the whole house, took me aside and said in an undertone: "listen, I will put you in a little _cabinet_ upstairs. I will show you the way by and by. But don't tell anybody." And she added compassionately: "_Mon pauvre garçon_, you look frozen. Go into the kitchen. There is a good fire there, and you will get something to eat." Truth to tell, the larder was nearly empty, but I secured a little cheese and some bread and some very indifferent wine, which, however, in my then condition, seemed to me to be nectar. I helped myself to a bowl, I remember, and poured about a pint of wine into it, so as to soak my bread, which was stale and hard. Toasting my feet at the fire whilst I regaled myself with that improvised _soupe-au-vin_, I soon felt warm and inspirited once more. Hardship sits on one but lightly when one is only seventeen years of age and stirred by early ambition. All the world then lay before me, like mine oyster, to be opened by either sword or pen. At a later hour, by the light of a solitary guttering candle, in the little _cabinet_ upstairs, I wrote, as best I could, an account of the recent fighting and the loss of Le Mans; and early on the following morning I prevailed on a railway-man who was going to Rennes to post my packet there, in order that it might be forwarded to England _viâ_ Saint Malo. The article appeared in the _Pall Mall Gazette_, filling a page of that journal, and whatever its imperfections may have been, it was undoubtedly the first detailed account of the battle of Le Mans, from the French side, to appear in the English Press. It so happened, indeed, that the other correspondents with the French forces, including my cousin Montague Vizetelly of _The Daily News_, lingered at Le Mans until it was too late for them to leave the town, the Germans having effected their entry. German detachments soon started in pursuit of the retreating Army of the Loire. Chanzy, as previously mentioned, modified his plans, in accordance with Gambetta's views, on the evening of January 12. The new orders were that the 16th Army Corps should retreat on Laval by way of Chassillé and Saint Jean-sur-Erve, that the 17th, after passing Conlie, should come down to Sainte Suzanne, and that the 21st should proceed from Conlie to Sillé-le-Guillaume. There were several rear-guard engagements during, the retreat. Already on the 13th, before the 21st Corps could modify its original line of march, it had to fight at Ballon, north of Le Mans. On the next day one of its detachments, composed of 9000 Mobilisés of the Mayenne, was attacked at Beaumont-sur-Sarthe, and hastily fell back, leaving 1400 men in the hands of the Germans, who on their side lost only _nine_! Those French soldiers who retreated by way of Conlie partially pillaged the abandoned stores there. A battalion of Mobiles, on passing that way, provided themselves with new trousers, coats, boots, and blankets, besides carrying off a quantity of bread, salt-pork, sugar, and other provisions. These things were at least saved from the Germans, who on reaching the abandoned camp found there a quantity of military _matériel_, five million cartridges, 1500 cases of biscuits and extract of meat, 180 barrels of salt-pork, a score of sacks of rice, and 140 puncheons of brandy. On January 14 the 21st Corps under Jaurès reached Sillé-le-Guillaume, and was there attacked by the advanced guard of the 13th German Corps under the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg. The French offered a good resistance, however, and the Germans retreated on Conlie. I myself had managed to leave Sillé the previous afternoon, but such was the block on the line that our train could get no farther than Voutré, a village of about a thousand souls. Railway travelling seeming an impossibility, I prevailed on a farmer to give me a lift as far as Sainte Suzanne, whence I hoped to cut across country in the direction of Laval. Sainte Suzanne is an ancient and picturesque little town which in those days still had a rampart and the ruins of an early feudal castle. I supped and slept at an inn there, and was told in the morning (January 14) that it would be best for me to go southward towards Saint Jean-sur-Erve, where I should strike the direct highway to Laval, and might also be able to procure a conveyance. I did not then know the exact retreating orders. I hoped to get out of the way of all the troops and waggons encumbering the roads, but in this I was doomed to disappointment, for at Saint Jean I fell in with them again. That day a part of the rear-guard of the 16th Corps (Jauréguiberry)--that is, a detachment of 1100 men with a squadron of cavalry under General Le Bouëdec--had been driven out of Chassillé by the German cavalry under General von Schmidt. This had accelerated the French retreat, which continued in the greatest confusion, all the men hastening precipitately towards Saint Jean, where, after getting the bulk of his force on to the heights across the river Erve, which here intersects the highway, Jauréguiberry resolved on attempting to check the enemy's pursuit. Though the condition of most of the men was lamentable, vigorous defensive preparations were made on the night of the 14th and the early morning of the following day. On the low ground, near the village and the river, trees were felled and roads were barricaded; while on the slopes batteries were disposed behind hedges, in which embrasures were cut. The enemy's force was, I believe, chiefly composed of cavalry and artillery. The latter was already firing at us when Jauréguiberry rode along our lines. A shell exploded near him, and some splinters of the projectile struck his horse in the neck, inflicting a ghastly, gaping wound. The poor beast, however, did not fall immediately, but galloped on frantically for more than a score of yards, then suddenly reared, and after doing so came down, all of a heap, upon the snow. However, the Admiral, who was a good horseman, speedily disengaged himself, and turned to secure another mount--when he perceived that Colonel Beraud, his chief of staff, who had been riding behind him, had been wounded by the same shell, and had fallen from his horse. I saw the Colonel being carried to a neighbouring farmhouse, and was afterwards told that he had died there. The engagement had no very decisive result, but Schmidt fell back to the road connecting Sainte Suzanne with Thorigné-en-Charnie, whilst we withdrew towards Soulge-le-Bruant, about halfway between Saint Jean and Laval. During the fight, however, whilst the artillery duel was in progress, quite half of Jauréguiberry's men had taken themselves off without waiting for orders. I believe that on the night of January 15 he could not have mustered more than 7000 men for action. Yet only two days previously he had had nearly three times that number with him. Nevertheless, much might be pleaded for the men. The weather was still bitterly cold, snow lay everywhere, little or no food could be obtained, the commissariat refraining from requisitioning cattle at the farms, for all through the departments for Mayenne and Ille-et-Vilaine cattle-plague was raging. Hungry, emaciated, faint, coughing incessantly, at times affected with small-pox, the men limped or trudged on despairingly. Their boots were often in a most wretched condition; some wore sabots, others, as I said once before, merely had rags around their poor frost-bitten feet. And the roads were obstructed by guns, vans, waggons, vehicles of all kinds. Sometimes an axle had broken, sometimes a horse had fallen dead on the snow, in any case one or another conveyance had come to a standstill, and prevented others from pursuing their route. I recollect seeing hungry men cutting steaks from the flanks of the dead beasts, sometimes devouring the horseflesh raw, at others taking it to some cottage, where the avaricious peasants, who refused to part with a scrap of food, at least had to let these cold and hungry men warm themselves at a fire, and toast their horseflesh before it. At one halt three soldiers knocked a peasant down because he vowed that he could not even give them a pinch of salt. That done, they rifled his cupboards and ate all they could find. Experience had taught me a lesson. I had filled my pockets with ham, bread, hard-boiled eggs, and other things, before leaving Sainte Suzanne. I had also obtained a meal at Saint Jean, and secured some brandy there, and I ate and drank sparingly and surreptitiously whilst I went on, overtaking one after another batch of weary soldiers. However, the distance between Saint Jean and Laval is not very great. Judging by the map, it is a matter of some twenty-five miles at the utmost. Moreover, I walked only half the distance. The troops moved so slowly that I reached Soulge-le-Bruant long before them, and there induced a man to drive me to Laval. I was there on the afternoon of January 16, and as from this point trains were still running westward, I reached Saint Servan on the following day. Thus I slipped through to my goal, thereby justifying the nickname of L'Anguille--the Eel--which some of my young French friends had bestowed on me. A day or two previously my father had returned from England, and I found him with my stepmother. He became very much interested in my story, and talked of going to Laval himself. Further important developments might soon occur, the Germans might push on to Chanzy's new base, and I felt that I also ought to go back. The life I had been leading either makes or mars a man physically. Personally, I believe that it did me a world of good. At all events, it was settled that my father and myself should go to Laval together. We started a couple of days later, and managed to travel by rail as far as Rennes. But from that point to Laval the line was now very badly blocked, and so we hired a closed vehicle, a ramshackle affair, drawn by two scraggy Breton nags. The main roads, being still crowded with troops, artillery, and baggage waggons, and other impedimenta, were often impassable, and so we proceeded by devious ways, amidst which our driver lost himself, in such wise that at night we had to seek a shelter at the famous Chateau des Bochers, immortalized by Mme. de Sévigné, and replete with precious portraits of herself, her own and her husband's families, in addition to a quantity of beautiful furniture dating from her time. It took us, I think, altogether two days to reach Laval, where, after securing accommodation at one of the hotels, we went out in search of news, having heard none since we had started on our journey. Perceiving a newspaper shop, we entered it, and my father insisted on purchasing a copy of virtually every journal which was on sale there. Unfortunately for us, this seemed highly suspicious to a local National Guard who was in the shop, and when we left it he followed us. My father had just then begun to speak to me in English, and at the sound of a foreign tongue the man's suspicions increased. So he drew nearer, and demanded to know who and what we were. I replied that we were English and that I had previously been authorised to accompany the army as a newspaper correspondent. My statements, however, were received with incredulity by this suspicious individual, who, after one or two further inquiries, requested us to accompany him to a guard-house standing near one of the bridges thrown over the river Mayenne. Thither we went, followed by several people who had assembled during our parley, and found ourselves before a Lieutenant of Gendarmes, on the charge of being German spies. Our denouncer was most positive on the point. Had we not bought at least a dozen newspapers? Why a dozen, when sensible people would have been satisfied with one? Such extensive purchases must surely have been prompted by some sinister motive. Besides, he had heard us conversing in German. English, indeed! No, no! He was certain that we had spoken German, and was equally certain of our guilt. The Lieutenant looked grave, and my explanations did not quite satisfy him. The predicament was the more awkward as, although my father was provided with a British passport, I had somehow left my precious military permit at Saint Servan, Further, my father carried with him some documents which might have been deemed incriminating, They were, indeed, safe-conducts signed by various German generals, which had been used by us conjointly while passing, through the German lines after making our way out of Paris in November. As for my correspondent's permit, signed some time previously by the Chief of the Staff, I had been unable to find it when examining my papers on our way to Laval, but had consoled myself with the thought that I might get it replaced at headquarters. [The red-cross armlet which had repeatedly proved so useful to me, enabling me to come and go without much interference, was at our hotel, in a bag we had brought with us.] Could I have shown it to the Lieutenant, he might have ordered our release. As it happened, he decided to send us to the Provost Marshal. I was not greatly put out by that command, for I remembered the officer in question, or thought I did, and felt convinced that everything would speedily be set right. We started off in the charge of a brigadier-otherwise a corporal--of Gendarmes, and four men, our denouncer following closely at our heels. My father at once pointed out to me that the brigadier and one of the men wore silver medals bearing the effigy of Queen Victoria, so I said to the former, "You were in the Crimea. You are wearing our Queen's medal." "Yes," he replied, "I gained that at the Alma." "And your comrade?" "He won his at the Tohernaya." "I dare say you would have been glad if French and English had fought side by side in this war?" I added. "Perhaps they ought to have done so." "_Parbleu!_ The English certainly owed us a _bon coup de main_, instead of which they have only sold us broken-down horses and bad boots." I agreed that there had been some instances of the kind. A few more words passed, and I believe that the brigadier became convinced of our English nationality. But as his orders were to take us to the Provost's, thither we were bound to go. An ever increasing crowd followed. Shopkeepers and other folk came to their doors and windows, and the words, "They are spies, German spies!" rang out repeatedly, exciting the crowd and rendering it more and more hostile. For a while we followed a quay with granite parapets, below which flowed the Mayenne, laden with drifting ice. All at once, however, I perceived on our left a large square, where about a hundred men of the Laval National Guard were being exercised. They saw us appear with our escort, they saw the crowd which followed us, and they heard the cries, "Spies! German spies!" Forthwith, with that disregard for discipline which among the French was so characteristic of the period, they broke their ranks and ran towards us. We were only able to take a few more steps. In vain did the Gendarmes try to force a way through the excited mob. We were surrounded by angry, scowling, vociferating men. Imprecations burst forth, fists were clenched, arms were waved, rifles were shaken, the unruly National Guards being the most eager of all to denounce and threaten us. "Down with the spies!" they shouted. "Down with the German pigs! Give them to us! Let us shoot them!" A very threatening rush ensued, and I was almost carried off my feet. But in another moment I found myself against the parapet of the quay, with my father beside me, and the icy river in the rear. In front of us stood the brigadier and his four men guarding us from the angry citizens of Laval. "Hand them over to us! We will settle their affair," shouted an excited National Guard. "You know that they are spies, brigadier." "I know that I have my orders," growled the veteran. "I am taking them to the Provost. It is for him to decide." "That is too much ceremony," was the retort. "Let us shoot them!" "But they are not worth a cartridge!" shouted another man. "Throw them into the river!" That ominous cry was taken up. "Yes, yes, to the river with them!" Then came another rush, one so extremely violent that our case seemed desperate. But the brigadier and his men had managed to fix bayonets during the brief parley, and on the mob being confronted by five blades of glistening steel, its savage eagerness abated. Moreover, the old brigadier behaved magnificently. "Keep back!" cried he. "I have my orders. You will have to settle me before you take my prisoners!" Just then I caught the eye of one of the National Guards, who was shaking his fist at us, and I said to him, "You are quite mistaken. We are not Germans, but English!" "Yes, yes, _Anglais, Anglais_!" my father exclaimed. While some of the men in the crowd were more or less incredulously repeating that statement, a black-bearded individual--whom I can, at this very moment, still picture with my mind's eye, so vividly did the affair impress me--climbed on to the parapet near us, and called out, "You say you are English? Do you know London? Do you know Regent Street? Do you know the Soho?" "Yes, yes!" we answered quickly. "You know the Lei-ces-terre Square? What name is the music-hall there?" "Why, the Alhambra!" The "Empire," let me add, did not exist in those days. The man seemed satisfied. "I think they are English," he said to his friends. But somebody else exclaimed, "I don't believe it. One of them is wearing a German hat." Now, it happened that my father had returned from London wearing a felt hat of a shape which was then somewhat fashionable there, and which, curiously enough, was called the "Crown Prince," after the heir to the Prussian throne--that is, our Princess Royal's husband, subsequently the Emperor Frederick. The National Guard, who spoke a little English, wished to inspect this incriminating hat, so my father took it off, and one of the Gendarmes, having placed it on his bayonet, passed it to the man on the parapet. When the latter had read "Christy, London," on the lining, he once more testified in our favour. But other fellows also wished to examine the suspicious headgear, and it passed from hand to hand before it was returned to my father in a more or less damaged condition, Even then a good many men were not satisfied respecting our nationality, but during that incident of the hat--a laughable one to me nowadays, though everything looked very ugly when it occurred--there had been time for the men's angry passions to cool, to a considerable extent at all events; and after that serio-comical interlude, they were much less eager to inflict on us the summary law of Lynch. A further parley ensued, and eventually the Gendarmes, who still stood with bayonets crossed in front of us, were authorized, by decision of the Sovereign People, to take us to the Provost's. Thither we went, then, amidst a perfect procession of watchful guards and civilians. Directly we appeared before the Provost, I realized that our troubles were not yet over. Some changes had taken place during the retreat, and either the officer whom I remembered having seen at Le Mans (that is, Colonel Mora) had been replaced by another, or else the one before whom we now appeared was not the Provost-General, but only the Provost of the 18th Corps. At all events, he was a complete stranger to me. After hearing, first, the statements of the brigadier and the National Guard who had denounced us, and who had kept close to us all the time, and, secondly, the explanations supplied by my father and myself, he said to me, "If you had a staff permit to follow the army, somebody at headquarters must be able to identify you." "I think that might be done," I answered, "by Major-General Feilding, who--as you must know--accompanies the army on behalf of the British Government. Personally, I am known to several officers of the 21st Corps-- General Gougeard and his Chief of Staff, for instance--and also to some of the aides-de-camp at headquarters." "Well, get yourselves identified, and obtain a proper safe-conduct," said the Provost. "Brigadier, you are to take these men to headquarters. If they are identified there, you will let them go. If not, take them to the château (the prison), and report to me." Again we all set out, this time climbing the hilly ill-paved streets of old Laval, above which the town's great feudal castle reared its dark, round keep; and presently we came to the local college, formerly an Ursuline convent, where Chanzy had fixed his headquarters. In one of the large class-rooms were several officers, one of whom immediately recognized me. He laughed when he heard our story. "I was arrested myself, the other day," he said, "because I was heard speaking in English to your General Feilding. And yet I was in uniform, as I am now." The Gendarmes were promptly dismissed, though not before my father had slipped something into the hand of the old brigadier for himself and his comrades. Their firmness had saved us, for when a mob's passions are inflamed by patriotic zeal, the worst may happen to the objects of its wrath. A proper safe-conduct (which I still possess) was prepared by an aide-de-camp on duty, and whilst he was drafting it, an elderly but bright-eyed officer entered, and went up to a large circular stove to warm himself. Three small stars still glittered faintly on his faded cap, and six rows of narrow tarnished gold braid ornamented the sleeves of his somewhat shabby dolman. It was Chanzy himself. He noticed our presence, and our case was explained to him. Looking at me keenly, he said, "I think I have seen you before. You are the young English correspondent who was allowed to make some sketches at Yvré-l'Evêque, are you not?" "Yes, _mon genéral_," I answered, saluting. "You gave me permission through, I think, Monsieur le Commandant de Boisdeffre." He nodded pleasantly as we withdrew, then lapsed into a thoughtful attitude. Out we went, down through old Laval and towards the new town, my father carrying the safe-conduct in his hand. The Gendarmes must have already told people that we were "all right," for we now encountered only pleasant faces. Nevertheless, we handed the safe-conduct to one party of National Guards for their inspection, in order that their minds might be quite at rest. That occurred outside the hospital, where at that moment I little imagined that a young Englishman--a volunteer in the Sixth Battalion of the Côtes-du-Nord Mobile Guards (21st Army Corps)--was lying invalided by a chill, which he had caught during an ascent in our army balloon with Gaston Tissandier. Since then that young Englishman has become famous as Field-Marshal Viscount Kitchener of Khartoum. But the National Guards insisted on carrying my father and myself to the chief café of Laval. They would take no refusal. In genuine French fashion, they were all anxiety to offer some amends for their misplaced patriotic impulsiveness that afternoon, when they had threatened, first, to shoot, and, next, to drown us. In lieu thereof they now deluged us with punch _à la française_, and as the café soon became crowded with other folk who all joined our party, there ensued a scene which almost suggested that some glorious victory had been gained at last by invaded and unfortunate France. XIII THE BITTER END Battues for Deserters--End of the Operations against Chanzy--Faidherbe's Battles--Bourbaki's alleged Victories and Retreat--The Position in Paris-- The terrible Death Rate--State of the Paris Army--The Sanguinary Buzenval Sortie--Towards Capitulation--The German Conditions--The Armistice Provisions--Bourbaki's Disaster--Could the War have been prolonged?--The Resources of France--The general Weariness--I return to Paris--The Elections for a National Assembly--The Negotiations--The State of Paris-- The Preliminaries of Peace--The Triumphal Entry of the Germans--The War's Aftermath. We remained for a few days longer at Laval, and were not again interfered with there. A painful interest attached to one sight which we witnessed more than once. It was that of the many processions of deserters whom the horse Gendarmerie of the headquarters staff frequently brought into the town. The whole region was scoured for runaways, many of whom were found in the villages and at lonely farms. They had generally cast off their uniform and put on blouses, but the peasantry frequently betrayed them, particularly as they seldom, if ever, had any money to spend in bribes. Apart from those _battues_ and the measures of all kinds which Chanzy took to reorganise his army, little of immediate import occurred at Laval. Gambetta had been there, and had then departed for Lille in order to ascertain the condition of Faidherbe's Army of the North. The German pursuit of Chanzy's forces ceased virtually at Saint Jean-sur-Erve. There was just another little skirmish at Sainte Mélaine, but that was all. [I should add that on January 17 the Germans under Mecklenburg secured possession of Alengon (Chanty's original objective) alter an ineffectual resistance offered by the troops under Commandant Lipowski, who was seconded in his endeavours by young M. Antonin Dubost, then Prefect of the Orne, and recently President of the French Senate.] Accordingly my father and I returned to Saint Servan, and, having conjointly prepared some articles on Chanzy's retreat and present circumstances, forwarded them to London for the _Pall Mall Gazette_. The war was now fast drawing to an end. I have hitherto left several important occurrences unmentioned, being unwilling to interrupt my narrative of the fighting at Le Mans and the subsequent retreat. I feel, however, that I now ought to glance at the state of affairs in other parts of France. I have just mentioned that after visiting Chanzy at Laval (January 19), Gambetta repaired to Lille to confer with Faidherbe. Let us see, then, what the latter general had been doing. He was no longer opposed by Manteuffel, who had been sent to the east of France in the hope that he would deal more effectually than Werder with Bourbaki's army, which was still in the field there. Manteuffel's successor in the north was General von Goeben, with whom, on January 18, Faidherbe fought an engagement at Vermand, followed on the morrow by the battle of Saint Quentin, which was waged for seven hours amidst thaw and fog. Though it was claimed as a French victory, it was not one. The Germans, it is true, lost 2500 men, but the French killed and wounded amounted to 3500, and there were thousands of men missing, the Germans taking some 5000 prisoners, whilst other troops disbanded much as Chanzy's men disbanded during his retreat. From a strategical point of view the action at Saint Quentin was indecisive. Turning to eastern France, Bourbaki fought two indecisive engagements near Villersexel, south-east of Vesoul, on January 9 and 10, and claimed the victory on these occasions. On January 13 came another engagement at Arcey, which he also claimed as a success, being congratulated upon it by Gambetta. The weather was most severe in the region of his operations, and the sufferings of his men were quite as great as--if not greater than-- those of Chanzy's troops. There were nights when men lay down to sleep, and never awoke again. On January 15,16, and 17 there was a succession of engagements on the Lisaine, known collectively as the battle of Héricourt. These actions resulted in Bourbaki's retreat southward towards Besançon, where for the moment we will leave him, in order to consider the position of Paris at this juncture. Since the beginning of the year, the day of the capital's surrender had been fast approaching. Paris actually fell because its supply of food was virtually exhausted. On January 18 it became necessary to ration the bread, now a dark, sticky compound, which included such ingredients as bran, starch, rice, barley, vermicelli, and pea-flour. About ten ounces was allotted per diem to each adult, children under five years of age receiving half that quantity. But the health-bill of the city was also a contributory cause of the capitulation. In November there were 7444 deaths among the non-combatant population, against 3863 in November, 1869. The death-roll of December rose to 10,665, against 4214 in December the previous year. In January, between sixty and seventy persons died from small-pox every day. Bronchitis and pneumonia made an ever-increasing number of victims. From January 14 to January 21 the mortality rose to no less than 4465; from the latter date until January 28, the day of the capitulation, the figures were 4671, whereas in normal times they had never been more than 1000 in any week. Among the troops the position was going from bad to worse. Thousands of men were in the hospitals, and thousands contrived to desert and hide themselves in the city. Out of 100,705 linesmen, there were, on January 1, no fewer than 23,938 absentees; while 23,565 units were absent from the Mobile Guard, which, on paper, numbered 111,999. Briefly, one man out of every five was either a patient or a deserter. As for the German bombardment, this had some moral but very little material effect. Apart from the damage done to buildings, it killed (as I previously said) about one hundred and wounded about two hundred persons. The Government now had little if any confidence in the utility of any further sorties. Nevertheless, as the extremist newspapers still clamoured for one, it was eventually decided to attack the German positions across the Seine, on the west of the city. This sortie, commonly called that of Buzenval, took place on January 10, the day after King William of Prussia had been proclaimed German Emperor in Louis XIV's "Hall of Mirrors" at Versailles. [The decision to raise the King to the imperial dignity had been arrived at on January 1.] Without doubt, the Buzenval sortie was devised chiefly in order to give the National Guard the constantly demanded opportunity and satisfaction of being led against the Germans. Trochu, who assumed chief command, establishing himself at the fort of Mont Valérien, divided his forces into three columns, led by Generals Vinoy, Bellemare, and Ducrot. The first (the left wing) comprised 22,000 men, including 8000 National Guards; the second (the central column) 34,500 men, including 16,000 Guards; and the third (the right wing) 33,500 men, among whom were no fewer than 18,000 Guards. Thus the total force was about 90,000, the National Guards representing about a third of that number. Each column had with it ten batteries, representing for the entire force 180 guns. The French front, however, extended over a distance of nearly four miles, and the army's real strength was thereby diminished. There was some fairly desperate fighting at Saint Cloud, Montretout, and Longboyau, but the French were driven back after losing 4000 men, mostly National Guards, whereas the German losses were only about six hundred. The affair caused consternation in Paris, particularly as several prominent men had fallen in the ranks of the National Guard. On the night of January 21, some extremists forced their way into the prison of Mazas and delivered some of their friends who had been shut up there since the rising of October 31. On the morrow, January 22, there was a demonstration and an affray on the Place de l'Hôtel de Ville, shots being exchanged with the result that people were killed and wounded. The Government gained the day, however, and retaliated by closing the revolutionary clubs and suppressing some extremist newspapers. But four hours later Trochu resigned his position as Military Governor of Paris (in which he was replaced by General Vinoy), only retaining the Presidency of the Government. Another important incident had occurred on the very evening after the insurrection: Jules Favre, the Foreign Minister, had then forwarded a letter to Prince Bismarck. The Government's first idea had been merely to surrender--that is to open the city-gates and let the Germans enter at their peril. It did not wish to negotiate or sign any capitulation. Jules Favre indicated as much when, writing to Bismarck, and certainly the proposed course might have placed the Germans--with the eyes of the world fixed upon them--in a difficult position. But Favre was no match for the great Prussian statesman. Formal negotiations were soon opened, and Bismarck so contrived affairs that, as Gambetta subsequently and rightly complained, the convention which Favre signed applied far more to France as a whole than to Paris itself. In regard to the city, the chief conditions were that a war indemnity of £8,000,000 should be paid; that the forts round the city should be occupied by the Germans; that the garrison--Line, Mobile Guard, and Naval Contingent (altogether about 180,000 men)--should become prisoners of war; and that the armament (1500 fortress guns and 400 field pieces) should be surrendered, as well as the large stores of ammunition. On the other hand, a force of 12,000 men was left to the French Government for "police duty" in the city, and the National Guards were, at Favre's urgent but foolish request, allowed to retain their arms. Further, the city was to be provisioned. In regard to France generally, arrangements were made for an armistice of twenty-one days' duration, in order to allow of the election of a National Assembly to treat for peace. In these arrangements Favre and Vinoy (the new Governor of Paris) were out-jockeyed by Bismarck and Moltke. They were largely ignorant of the real position in the provinces, and consented to very disadvantageous terms in regard to the lines which the Germans and the French should respectively occupy during the armistice period. Moreover, although it was agreed that hostilities should cease on most points, no such stipulation was made respecting the east of France, where both Bourbaki and Garibaldi were in the field. The latter had achieved some slight successes near Dijon on January 21 and 23, but on February 1--that is, two days after the signing of the armistice--the Garibaldians were once more driven out of the Burgundian capital. That, however, was as nothing in comparison with what befell Bourbaki's unfortunate army. Manteuffel having compelled it to retreat from Besançon to Pontarlier, it was next forced to withdraw into Switzerland [Before this happened, Bourbaki attempted his life.] (neutral territory, where it was necessarily disarmed by the Swiss authorities) in order to escape either capture or annihilation by the Germans. The latter took some 6000 prisoners, before the other men (about 80,000 in number) succeeded in crossing the Swiss frontier. A portion of the army was saved, however, by General Billot. With regard to the position elsewhere, Longwy, I should mention, surrendered three days before the capitulation of Paris; but Belfort prolonged its resistance until February 13, when all other hostilities had ceased. Its garrison, so gallantly commanded by Colonel Denfert-Bochereau, was accorded the honours of war. As I wrote in my book, "Republican France," the country generally was weary of the long struggle; and only Gambetta, Freycinet, and a few military men, such as Chanzy and Faidherbe, were in favour of prolonging it. From the declaration of war on July 15 to the capitulation of Paris and the armistice on January 28, the contest had lasted twenty-eight weeks. Seven of those weeks had sufficed to overthrow the Second Empire; but only after another one-and-twenty weeks had the Third Republic laid down her arms. Whatever may have been the blunders of the National Defence, it at least saved the honour of France, It may well be doubted whether the position could have been retrieved had the war been prolonged, though undoubtedly the country was still possessed of many resources. In "Republican France," I gave a number of figures which showed that over 600,000 men could have been brought into action almost immediately, and that another 260,000 could afterwards have been provided. On February 8, when Chanzy had largely reorganized his army, he, alone, had under his orders 4952 officers and 227,361 men, with 430 guns. That careful and distinguished French military historian, M. Pierre Lehautcourt, places, however, the other resources of France at even a higher figure than I did. He also points out, rightly enough, that although so large a part of France was invaded, the uninvaded territory was of greater extent, and inhabited by twenty-five millions of people. He estimates the total available artillery on the French side at 1232 guns, each with an average allowance of 242 projectiles. In addition, there were 443 guns awaiting projectiles. He tells us that the French ordnance factories were at this period turning out on an average 25,000 chassepots every month, and delivering two million cartridges every day; whilst other large supplies of weapons and ammunition were constantly arriving from abroad. On the other hand, there was certainly a scarcity of horses, the mortality of which in this war, as in all others, was very great. Chanzy only disposed of 20,000, and the remount service could only supply another 12,000. However, additional animals might doubtless have been found in various parts of France, or procured from abroad. But material resources, however great they may be, are of little avail when a nation has practically lost heart. In spite, moreover, of all the efforts of commanding officers, insubordination was rampant among the troops in the field. There had been so many defeats, so many retreats, that they had lost all confidence in their generals. During the period of the armistice, desertions were still numerous. I may add, that if at the expiration of the armistice the struggle had been renewed, Chanzy's plan-- which received approval at a secret military and Government council held in Paris, whither he repaired early in February--was to place General de Colomb at the head of a strong force for the defence of Brittany, whilst he, Chanzy, would, with his own army, cross the Loire and defend southern France. Directly news arrived that an armistice had been signed, and that Paris was once more open, my father arranged to return there, accompanied by myself and my younger brother, Arthur Vizetelly. We took with us, I remember, a plentiful supply of poultry and other edibles for distribution among the friends who had been suffering from the scarcity of provisions during the latter days of the siege. The elections for the new National Assembly were just over, nearly all of the forty-three deputies returned for Paris being Republicans, though throughout the rest of France Legitimist and Orleanist candidates were generally successful. I remember that just before I left Saint Servan one of our tradesmen, an enthusiastic Royalist, said to me, "We shall have a King on the throne by the time you come back to see us in the summer." At that moment it certainly seemed as if such would be the case. As for the Empire, one could only regard it as dead. There were, I think, merely five recognized Bonapartist members in the whole of the new National Assembly, and most of them came from Corsica. Thus, it was by an almost unanimous vote that the Assembly declared Napoleon III and his dynasty to be responsible for the "invasion, ruin, and dismemberment of France." The Assembly having called Thiers to the position of "Chief of the Executive Power," peace negotiations ensued between him and Bismarck. They began on February 22, Thiers being assisted by Jules Favre, who retained the position of Minister of Foreign Affairs, mainly because nobody else would take it and append his signature to a treaty which was bound to be disastrous for the country. The chief conditions of that treaty will be remembered. Germany was to annex Alsace-Lorraine, to receive a war indemnity of two hundred million pounds sterling (with interest in addition), and secure commercially "most favoured nation" treatment from France. The preliminaries were signed on February 26, and accepted by the National Assembly on March 1, but the actual treaty of Frankfort was not signed and ratified until the ensuing month of May. Paris presented a sorry spectacle during the weeks which followed the armistice. There was no work for the thousands of artisans who had become National Guards during the siege. Their allowance as such was prolonged in order that they might at least have some means of subsistence. But the unrest was general. By the side of the universal hatred of the Germans, which was displayed on all sides, even finding vent in the notices set up in the shop-windows to the effect that no Germans need apply there, one observed a very bitter feeling towards the new Government. Thiers had been an Orleanist all his life, and among the Paris working-classes there was a general feeling that the National Assembly would give France a king. This feeling tended to bring about the subsequent bloody Insurrection of the Commune; but, as I wrote in "Republican France," it was precisely the Commune which gave the French Royalists a chance. It placed a weapon in their hands and enabled them to say, "You see, by that insurrection, by all those terrible excesses, what a Republic implies. Order, quietude, fruitful work, are only possible under a monarchy." As we know, however, the efforts of the Royalists were defeated, in part by the obstinacy of their candidate, the Comte de Chambord, and in part by the good behaviour of the Republicans generally, as counselled both by Thiers and by Gambetta. On March 1, the very day when the National Assembly ratified the preliminaries of peace at Bordeaux, the Germans made their triumphal entry into Paris. Four or five days previously my father had sent me on a special mission to Bordeaux, and it was then that after long years I again set eyes on Garibaldi, who had been elected as a French deputy, but who resigned his seat in consequence of the onerous terms of peace. Others, notably Gambetta, did precisely the same, by way of protesting against the so-called "Devil's Treaty." However, I was back in Paris in time to witness the German entry into the city. My father, my brother Arthur, and myself were together in the Champs Elysées on that historical occasion. I have related elsewhere [In "Republican France."] how a number of women of the Paris Boulevards were whipped in the Champs Elysées shrubberies by young roughs, who, not unnaturally, resented the shameless overtures made by these women to the German soldiery. There were, however, some unfortunate mistakes that day, as, for instance, when an attempt was made to ill-treat an elderly lady who merely spoke to the Germans in the hope of obtaining some information respecting her son, then still a prisoner of war. I remember also that Archibald Forbes was knocked down and kicked for returning the salute of the Crown Prince of Saxony. Some of the English correspondents who hurried to the scene removed Forbes to a little hotel in the Faubourg St. Honoré, for he had really been hurt by that savage assault, though it did not prevent him from penning a graphic account of what he witnessed on that momentous day. The German entry was, on the whole, fairly imposing as a military display; but the stage-management was very bad, and one could not imagine that Napoleon's entry into Berlin had in any way resembled it. Nor could it be said to have equalled the entry of the Allied Sovereigns into Paris in 1814. German princelings in basket-carriages drawn by ponies did not add to the dignity of the spectacle. Moreover, both the Crown Prince of Saxony and the Crown Prince of Germany (Emperor Frederick) attended it in virtually an _incognito_ manner. As for the Emperor William, his councillors dissuaded him from entering the city for fear lest there should be trouble there. I believe also that neither Bismarck nor Moltke attended, though, like the Emperor, they both witnessed the preliminary review of troops in the Bois de Boulogne. The German occupation was limited to the Champs Elysées quarter, and on the first day the Parisians generally abstained from going there; but on the morrow--when news that the preliminaries of peace had been accepted at Bordeaux had reached the capital--they flocked to gaze upon _nos amis les ennemis_, and greatly enjoyed, I believe, the lively music played by the German regimental bands. "Music hath charms," as we are all aware. The departure of the German troops on the ensuing evening was of a much more spectacular character than their entry had been. As with their bands playing, whilst they themselves sang the "Wacht am Rhein" in chorus, they marched up the Champs Elysées on their way back to Versailles, those of their comrades who were still billeted in the houses came to the balconies with as many lighted candles as they could carry. Bivouac fires, moreover, were burning brightly here and there, and the whole animated scene, with its play of light and shade under the dark March sky, was one to be long remembered. The Franco-German War was over, and a new era had begun for Europe. The balance of power was largely transferred. France had again ceased to be the predominant continental state. She had attained to that position for a time under Louis XIV, and later, more conspicuously, under Napoleon I. But in both of those instances vaulting ambition had o'er-leapt itself. The purposes of Napoleon III were less far-reaching. Such ideas of aggrandisement as he entertained were largely subordinated to his desire to consolidate the _régime_ he had revived, and to ensure the continuity of his dynasty. But the very principle of nationality which he more than once expounded, and which he championed in the case of Italy, brought about his ruin. He gave Italy Venetia, but refused her Rome, and thereby alienated her. Further, the consolidation of Germany--from his own nationalist point of view--became a threat to French interests. Thus he was hoist chiefly by his own _pétard_, and France paid the penalty for his errors. The Franco-German War was over, I have said, but there came a terrible aftermath--that is, the rising of the Commune, some of the introductory features of which were described by me in "Republican France." There is only one fairly good history of that formidable insurrection in the English language--one written some years ago by Mr. Thomas March. It is, however, a history from the official standpoint, and is consequently one-sided as well as inaccurate in certain respects. Again, the English version of the History of the Commune put together by one of its partisans, Lissagaray, sins in the other direction. An impartial account of the rising remains to be written. If I am spared I may, perhaps, be privileged to contribute to it by preparing a work on much the same lines as those of this present volume. Not only do I possess the greater part of the literature on the subject, including many of the newspapers of the time, but throughout the insurrection I was in Paris or its suburbs. I sketched the dead bodies of Generals Clément Thomas and Lecomte only a few hours after their assassination. I saw the Vendôme column fall while American visitors to Paris were singing, "Hail, Columbia!" in the hotels of the Rue de la Paix. I was under fire in the same street when a demonstration was made there. Provided with passports by both sides, I went in and out of the city and witnessed the fighting at Asnières and elsewhere. I attended the clubs held in the churches, when women often perorated from the pulpits. I saw Thiers's house being demolished; and when the end came and the Versailles troops made their entry into the city, I was repeatedly in the street-fighting with my good friend, Captain Bingham. I recollect sketching the attack on the Elysée Palace from a balcony of our house, and finding that balcony on the pavement a few hours later when it had been carried away by a shell from a Communard battery at Montmartre. Finally, I saw Paris burning. I gazed on the sheaves of flames rising above the Tuileries. I saw the whole front of the Ministry of Finances fall into the Rue de Rivoli. I saw the now vanished Carrefour de la Croix Rouge one blaze of fire. I helped to carry water to put out the conflagration at the Palais de Justice. I was prodded with a bayonet when, after working in that manner for some hours, I attempted to shirk duty at another fire which I came upon in the course of my expeditions. All that period of my life flashes on my mind as vividly as Paris herself flashed under the wondering stars of those balmy nights in May. My father and my brother Arthur also had some remarkable adventures. There was one occasion when they persuaded a venturesome Paris cabman to drive them from conflagration to conflagration, and this whilst the street-fighting was still in progress. Every now and then, as they drove on, men and women ran eagerly out of houses into which wounded combatants had been taken, imagining that they must belong to the medical profession, as nobody else was likely to go about Paris in such a fashion at such a moment. Those good folk forgot the journalists. The service of the Press carries with it obligations which must not be shirked. Journalism has become, not merely the chronicle of the day, but the foundation of history. And now I know not if I should say farewell or _au revoir_ to my readers. Whether I ever attempt a detailed account of the Commune of Paris must depend on a variety of circumstances. After three-and-forty years "at the mill," I am inclined to feel tired, and with me health is not what it has been. Nevertheless, my plans must depend chiefly on the reception given to this present volume. INDEX Adam, Edmond Adare, Lord Albert, Archduke Albert, Prince (the elder), of Prussia Alencon taken Alexander II of Russia Alexandra, Queen Allix, Jules Amazons of Paris Ambert, General Ambulances, Anglo-American at Conlie at Le Mans author's impression of Amiens Arabs with Chanzy Arago, Emmanuel Etienne Ardenay, Armistice, conditions for an concluded Army, French, under the Empire of Paris, _see also_ Paris of Brittany at the outset of National Defence of the Vosges, _see also_ Garibaldi of the East, _see also_ Bourbaki of the Loire, _see also_ D'Aurelle, Goulmiers, Chanzy, Le Mans, etc. of the North, _see_ Faidheibe at the end of war _for German army see_ German _and names of commanders_ Arnim, Count von Artists, French newspaper Assembly, _see_ National Aurelle, _see_ D'Aurelle Auvours plateau (Le Mans) Balloon service from Paris Bapauine, battle of Barry, General Battues for deserters Bazaine, Marshal Beauce country Beaumont, fight at Beaune-la-Rolande, battle of Belfort, siege of Bellemare, General Carré de Bellenger, Marguerite Belly, Félix Beraud, Colonel Bernard, Colonel Berezowski Beuvron, Abbé de Billot, General Bingham, Captain Hon. D.A. Bismarck, Prince Blano, Louis Blanchard, P. Blanqui, Augusta, Blewitt, Dr. Byron Boisdeffre, Captain, later General de Bonaparte, Lycée, _see_ Lycée Bonaparte, Prince Pierre, _See also_ Napoleon Bonnemains, General de Boots, army Bordone, General Borel, General Boulanger, General, his mistress Bourbaki, General Charles Bourbon, Palais, _see_ Legislative Body Bourdillon, General Bourges, Bourget, Le, Bower, Mr., Bowles, T. Gibson, Brie-Comte-Robert, Brownings, the, Bulwer, Sir E., Caillaux, E. and J., Cambriels, General, Canrobert, Marshal, Capitulations, see Amiens, Belfort, Longwy, Metz, Paris, Sedan, Strasbourg, Toul, etc. Capoul, Victor, Caricatures of the period, Casimir-Perler, J.P., Cathelineau, Colonel, Chabaud-Latour, General, Challemel-Lacour, Cham (M. de Noé), Chambord, Comte de, Champagné, fighting at, Champigny, sortie of, Changé, fighting at, Chanzy, General Alfred, his early career and appearance, his orders and operations with the Loire forces, Charette, General Baron, Chartres, "Chartreuse de Parme, La", Chassillé, fight at, Chateaubriand, Count and Countess de Châteaudun, fight at, Châtillon, fight at, Chemin des Boeufs (Le Mans), "Claque," the, Claremont, Colonel, Clocks, German love of, Clubs, Paris, social revolutionary Colin, General, Collins, Mortimer, Colomb, General de, Colomb, General von, Commune of Paris, attempts to set up a rising of the Condé, Prince de, Conlie, camp of, Connerré, Corbeil, Germans at, Correspondents, English, in Paris, Coulmiers, battle of, Couriers from Paris, Cousin-Montauban, see Palikao. Cowardice and panic, cases of, Crane, Stephen, Cremer, General, Crémieux, Adolphe, Crouzat, General, Crown Prince of Prussia (Emperor Frederick), Curten, General, Daily News, Daily Telegraph, Daumier, Honoré, D'Aurelle de Paladines, General, Davenport brothers, "Débâcle, La," Zola's, Dejean, General, Delescluze, Charles, Denfert-Rochereau, Colonel, Des Pallières, General Martin, Devonshire, late Duke of, Dieppe, Germans reach, Dijon, fighting at, Doré, Gustave, Dorian, Frédéric, D'Orsay, Count, Douay, General Abel; General Félix, "Downfall, the," see Débâcle. Droué, fight at, Dubost, Antonin, Ducrot, General, Duff, Brigadier-General (U.S.A.), Dumas, Alexandre, Dunraven, Lord, see Adare. Duvernois, Clément, "Echoes of the Clubs" Edwardes, Mrs. Annie Elgar, Dr. Francis Elysée Palace Emotions in war Empress, _see_ Eugénie. English attempts to leave Paris exodus from Eugénie, Empress Faidherbe, General Failly, General de Fashions, Paris Favre, Jules Feilding, Major-General Fennell family Ferry, Jules Fitz-James, Duc de Flourens, Gustave Forbach, battle of Forbes, Archibald Forge, Anatole de la Fourichon, Admiral Franco-German War cause and origin of preparations for outbreak of first French armies departure of Napoleon III for Germans enter France first engagements news of Sedan troops gathered in Paris German advance on Paris Châtillon affair investment of Paris French provincial armies the fighting near Le Mans the retreat to Laval armistice and peace negotiations _See also Paris, and names of battles and commanders_. Frederick, Emperor, _see_ Crown Prince, Frederick Charles, Prince, of Prussia Freyoinet, Charles de Saulces de, Frossard, General Galliffet, Mme. de Gambetta, Léon Garde, _see_ Imperial, Mobile, _and_ National. Garibaldi, General Garibaldi, Riciotti Garnier-Pagès Germans early victories alleged overthrow at Jaumont Sedan advance on Paris expelled from Paris love of clocks Princes strategy exactions at Le Mans officers' manners entry into Paris Glais-Bizoin Godard brothers Goeben, General von Gougeard, General Gramont, Duc Agénor de Gramont-Cadèrousse, Duc de Greenwood, Frederick Guard, _see_ Imperial, Mobile, National. Halliday, Andrew Hazen, General W. B. (U.S.A.) Heiduck, General von Héricourt, battle of Home, David Dunglass Horses in the War Hozier, Captain, later Colonel, Sir H. Hugo, Victor _Illustrated London News_ _Illustrated Times_ Imperial Guard Imperial Prince Jarras, General Jaumont quarries Jaurégulberry, Admiral Jaurès, Admiral Jerrold, Blanchard Johnson, Captain Jouffroy, General Jung, Captain Kanitz, Colonel von Kean, Edmund Kératry, Comte de Kitchener, Lord Kraatz-Koschlau, General von Laboughere, Henry, Ladmirault, General de La Ferté-Bernard Lalande, General La Malmaison sortie La Motte-Rouge, General de Landells Langres Laon, capitulation of Laval, retreat on adventure at Leboeuf, Marshal Lebouëdec, General Lebrun, General Lecomte, General Ledru-Rollin Le Flô, General Lefort, General Legislative Body, French (Palais Bourbon) Le Mans Chanzy at town described country around fighting near decisive fighting begins retreat from battle losses at street fighting at Germans at their exactions Chanzy's statue at Lermina, Jules Lewal, Colonel Lipowski, Commandant Lobbia, Colonel Loigny-Poupry, battle Longwy, capitulation Lycée Bonaparte, now Condorcet Lyons, Lord MacMahon, Marshal Mme. de Magnin, M. Maine country Malmaison, _see_ La Malmaison Mans, _see_ Le Mans Mantes, Germans at Manteuffel, General von Marchenoir forest Mario, Jessie White Marseillaise, the Mayhew, brothers Mazure, General Mecklenburg-Schwerin, Frederick Francis, Grand Duke of Metz Michel, General Millaud, A., his verses Middleton, Robert Mobile Guard, in Paris Moltke, Marshal von Monson, Sir Edmund Montbard, artist Mora, Colonel Morny, Duc de Motte Rouge, _see_ La Motte-Rouge Moulin, artist Nadar, Jules Tournachon, called Napoleon I Napoleon III, Napoleon (Jérôme), Prince National Assembly elected National Defence Government confirmed by a plebiscitum in the provinces National Guard (Paris) of Châteaudun of Laval _New York Times_ Niel, Marshal Noé, Vicomte de, _see_ Cham. Nogent-le-Rotrou Noir, Victor, assassinated Nuits, fighting at Ollivier, Emile; Madame Orleans; battle of Paladines, see D'Aurelle Palikao, General de _Pall Mall Gazette_ Parigné l'Eveque Paris, cafés in; riots in; elections in; early in the war; defensive preparations; fugitives and refugees; wounded soldiers in; Anglo-American ambulance in; army and armament of; Hugo's return to; German advance on; last day of liberty in; live-stock in; customary meat supply of; clubs in; defence of Châtillon; siege begins; attempts to leave; first couriers from; balloon and pigeon post; siege jests; spyophobia and signal craze in; amazons of; reconnaissances and sorties from; news of Metz in; demonstrations and riots in; plebiscitum in; food and rations in; English people leave; state of environs of; steps to relieve; bombardment of; health of; deserters in; affray in; capitulation of; author returns to; aspect after the armistice; Germans enter; rising of the Commune, _See also_ Revolution. Paris, General "Partant pour la Syrie" Peace conditions "Pekin, Siege of" Pelcoq, Jules, artist Pelletan, Eugène Picard, Ernest Pietri, Prefect Pigeon-Post Piquet, M. Pius IX Pollard family Pontifical Zouaves Pontlieue (Le Mans) Pont-Noyelles, battle of Postal-services, _see_ Balloon, Courier, Pigeon. Prim, General Prussians, not Germans Pyat, Félix Quatrefages de Bréau Quinet, Edgar Rampont, Dr. "Red Badge of Courage" Red Cross Society, French Reed, Sir E. J. Rennes Retreat, Chanzy's, on Marchenoir forest; on Le Mans; on Laval; Revolution of September 4. Reyau, General Richard, Mayor of Le Mans Robinson, Sir John Rochefort, Henri Rochers, Château des Rodellee du Ponzic, Lieutenant Roquebrune, General de Rothschild, Baron Alphonse de Rouen, Germans reach Rouher, Eugène Rousseau, General Russell, Sir William Howard Ryan, Dr. C. E. Saint Agil Saint Calais Saint Cloud château destroyed Saint Jean-sur-Erve Saint Malo Saint Quentin, defence of; battle of Saint Servan Sainte Suzanne Sala, G.A. Sardou, Victorien Sass, Marie Saxe-Meiningen, Prince of Saxony, Crown Prince of Schmidt, General von Sedan, news of Napoleon at Senate, Imperial Shackle Sieges, _see_ Paris _and other places_ Signal craze in Paris Sillé-le-Guillaume Simon, Jules Skinner, Hilary Sologne region Songs, some Victorian Sophia, Queen of Holland Spuller, Eugène Spyophobia in Paris at Laval Stendhal Stoffel, Colonel Strasbourg, siege of Susbielle, General Tann, General von der Tertre Rouge position (Le Mans) Thackeray, W.M. Thiers, Adolphe Thomas, General Clément Tibaldi _Times_, the Tissandier brothers Toul capitulates Treaty, _see_ Peace Trochu, General Troppmann Tuilerie position (Le Mans) Tuileries palace Uhrich, General Vaillant, Marshal Valentin, Edmond Vendôme column Versailles during Paris siege Villemessant, H. de Villersexel, battle of Villorceau, fighting at Vimercati, Count Vinoy, General Vizetelly family Vizetelly, Adrian ------, Arthur ------, Edward Henry ------, Elizabeth Anne ------, Ellen Elizabeth ------, Ernest Alfred, parentage men he saw in childhood his passionate temper at school at Eastbourne at London sights sees Garibaldi and Nadar goes to France at the Lycée Bonaparte his tutor Brassard sees an attempt on Alexander H. assists his father his first article sees famous Frenchmen visits the Tuileries goes to Compiègne is addressed by Napoleon III sees Paris riots visits Prince Pierre's house is befriended by Captain Bingham dreams of seeing a war has a glimpse of its seamy side sees Napoleon III set out for the war hears Capoul sing the "Marseillaise" sees a demonstration meets English newspaper correspondents is called a little spy by Gambetta with the Anglo-American ambulance witnesses the Revolution takes a letter to Trochu sees Victor Hugo's return to Paris witnesses a great review describes Parish last day of liberty sees Captain Johnson arrive visits balloon factories ascends in Nadar's captive balloon sees Gambetta leave in a balloon learns fencing goes to a women's club interviews the Paris Amazons witnesses the demonstration of October 21 and that of October 31 food arrangements of his father and himself leaves Paris at Brie Comte-Robert at Corbeil at Champlan at Versailles visits Colonel Walker with his father leaves Versailles at Mantes reaches Saint Servan visits the Camp of Conlie accompanies Gougeard's division to the front in the retreat on Le Mans receives the baptism of fire has an amusing experience at Rennes returns to Le Mans sees and sketches Chanzy witnesses part of the battle of Le Mans sees the stampede from the tile-works and the confusion at Le Mans his views on German officers on a soldier's emotions on ambulances escapes from Le Mans at Sillé-le-Guillaume at the fight of Saint Jean-sur-Erve follows the retreat returns to Laval has a dramatic adventure there returns to Paris sees the Germans enter Paris some of his experiences during the Commune Vizetelly, Frank ----, Francis (Frank) Horace ----, Frederick Whitehead ----, Henry ----, Henry Richard (author's father) ----, James Thomas George ----, James Henry ----, Montague Voigts Rhetz, General von Vosges, _see_ Army of the Voules, Horace Walker, Colonel Beauchamp War, emotions in war-news in 1870 _See also_ Franco-German War Washburne, Mr. Werder, General von Whitehurst, Felix William, King of Prussia, later Emperor Wimpfen, General de Wittich, General von Wodehouse, Hon. Mr. Wolseley, Field-Marshal Lord Yvré-l'Evéque Zola, Emile, his "La Débâcle" THE END 
19263	----	Online Distributed Proofreaders Europe at http://dp.rastko.net DIARY OF THE BESIEGED RESIDENT IN PARIS. DIARY OF THE BESIEGED RESIDENT IN PARIS. REPRINTED FROM "THE DAILY NEWS," WITH SEVERAL NEW LETTERS AND PREFACE. IN ONE VOLUME. Second Edition, Revised. LONDON: HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1871. _The Right of Translation is Reserved_. LONDON: BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. +-------------------------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's note: In this book there are inconsistencies in| |accentation and capitalisation; these have been left as in | |the original. This book contains two chapters labeled XVII. | +-------------------------------------------------------------+ PREFACE. The publishers of these letters have requested me to write a preface. In vain I have told them, that if prefaces have not gone out of date, the sooner they do, the better it will be for the public; in vain I have despairingly suggested that there must be something which would serve their purpose, kept in type at their printers, commencing, "At the request of--perhaps too partial--friends, I have been induced, against my own judgment, to publish, &c., &c., &c.;" they say that they have advertised the book with a preface, and a preface from me they must and will have. Unfortunately I have, from my earliest childhood, religiously skipped all introductions, prefaces, and other such obstructions, so that I really do not precisely know how one ought to be written; I can only, therefore, say that-- These letters are published for the very excellent reason that a confiding publisher has offered me a sum of money for them, which I was not such a fool as to refuse. They were written in Paris to the _Daily News_ during the siege. I was residing there when the war broke out; after a short absence, I returned just before the capitulation of Sedan--intending only to remain one night. The situation, however, was so interesting that I stayed on from day to day, until I found the German armies drawing their lines of investment round the city. Had I supposed that I should have been their prisoner for nearly five months, I confess I should have made an effort to escape, but I shared the general illusion that--one way or the other--the siege would not last a month. Although I forwarded my letters by balloon, or sent them by messengers who promised to "run the blockade," I had no notion, until the armistice restored us to communications with the outer world, that one in twenty had reached its destination. This mode of writing, as Dr. William Russell wittily observed to me the other day at Versailles, was much like smoking in the dark--and it must be my excuse for any inaccuracies or repetitions. Many of my letters have been lost _en route_--some of them, which reached the _Daily News_ Office too late for insertion, are now published for the first time. The reader will perceive that I pretend to no technical knowledge of military matters; I have only sought to convey a general notion of how the warlike operations round Paris appeared to a civilian spectator, and to give a fair and impartial account of the inner life of Paris, during its isolation from the rest of Europe. My bias--if I had any--was in favour of the Parisians, and I should have been heartily glad had they been successful in their resistance. There is, however, no getting over facts, and I could not long close my eyes to the most palpable fact--however I might wish it otherwise--that their leaders were men of little energy and small resource, and that they themselves seemed rather to depend for deliverance upon extraneous succour, than upon their own exertions. The women and the children undoubtedly suffered great hardships, which they bore with praiseworthy resignation. The sailors, the soldiers of the line, and levies of peasants which formed the Mobiles, fought with decent courage. But the male population of Paris, although they boasted greatly of their "sublimity," their "endurance," and their "valour," hardly appeared to me to come up to their own estimation of themselves, while many of them seemed to consider that heroism was a necessary consequence of the enunciation of advanced political opinions. My object in writing was to present a practical rather than a sentimental view of events, and to recount things as they were, not as I wished them to be, or as the Parisians, with perhaps excusable patriotism, wished them to appear. For the sake of my publishers, I trust that the book will find favour with the public. For the last three hours I have been correcting the proofs of my prose, and it struck me that letters written to be inserted in separate numbers of a daily paper, when published in a collected form, are somewhat heavy reading. I feel, indeed, just at present, much like a person who has obtained money under false pretences, but whose remorse is not sufficiently strong to induce him to return it. DIARY OF THE BESIEGED RESIDENT IN PARIS. CHAPTER I. PARIS, _September 18th._ No one walking on the Champs Elysées or on the Boulevards to-day would suppose that 300,000 Prussians are within a few miles of the city, and intend to besiege it. Happy, said Laurence Sterne, in his "Sentimental Journey," the nation which can once a week forget its cares. The French have not changed since then. To-day is a fête day, and as a fête day it must be kept. Every one seems to have forgotten the existence of the Prussians. The Cafés are crowded by a gay crowd. On the Boulevard, Monsieur and Madame walk quietly along with their children. In the Champs Elysées honest mechanics and bourgeois are basking in the sun, and nurserymaids are flirting with soldiers. There is even a lull in the universal drilling. The regiments of Nationaux and Mobiles carry large branches of trees stuck into the ends of their muskets. Round the statue of Strasburg there is the usual crowd, and speculators are driving a brisk trade in portraits of General Uhrich. "Here, citizens," cries one, "is the portrait of the heroic defender of Strasburg, only one sou--it cost me two--I only wish that I were rich enough to give it away." "Listen, citizens," cries another, "whilst I declaim the poem of a lady who has escaped from Strasburg. To those who, after hearing it, may wish to read it to their families, I will give it as a favour for two sous." I only saw one disturbance. As I passed by the Rond Point, a very tall woman was mobbed, because it was thought that she might be a Uhlan in disguise. But it was regarded more as a joke than anything serious. So bent on being happy was every one that I really believe that a Uhlan in the midst of them would not have disturbed their equanimity. "Come what may, to-day we will be merry," seemed to be the feeling; "let us leave care to the morrow, and make the most of what may be our last fête day." Mr. Malet, the English secretary, who returned yesterday from Meaux, had no small difficulty in getting through the Prussian lines. He started on Thursday evening for Creil in a train with a French officer. When they got to Creil, they knocked up the Mayor, and begged him to procure them a horse. He gave them an order for the only one in the town. Its proprietor was in bed, and when they knocked at his door his wife cried out from the window, "My husband is a coward and won't open." A voice from within was heard saying, "I go out at night for no one." So they laid hands on the horse and harnessed it to a gig. All night long they drove in what they supposed was the direction of the Prussian outposts, trumpeting occasionally like elephants in a jungle. In the morning they found themselves in a desert, not a living soul to be seen, so they turned back towards Paris, got close in to the forts, and started in another direction. Occasionally they discerned a distant Uhlan, who rode off when he saw them. On Friday night they slept among the Francs-tireurs, and on the following morning they pushed forward again with an escort. Soon they saw a Prussian outpost, and after waving for some time a white flag, an officer came forward. After a parley Mr. Malet and his friend were allowed to pass. At three o'clock they arrived at Meaux. Count Bismarck was just driving into the town; he at once recognised Mr. Malet, whom he had known in Germany, and begged him to call upon him at nine o'clock. From Mr. Malet I know nothing more. I tried to "interview" him with respect to his conversation with Count Bismarck, but it takes two to make a bargain, and in this bargain he declined to be the number two. About half an hour afterwards, however, I met a foreign diplomatist of my acquaintance who had just come from the British Embassy. He had heard Mr. Malet's story, which, of course, had been communicated to the Corps Diplomatique, and being slightly demoralised, without well thinking what he was doing, he confided it to my sympathising ear. Mr. Malet, at nine o'clock, found Count Bismarck seated before a table with wine and cigars. He was in high spirits and very sociable. This I can well believe, for I used to know him, and, to give the devil his due, he is one of the few Prussians of a sociable disposition. The interview lasted for more than two hours. Count Bismarck told Mr. Malet that the Prussians meant to have Metz and Strasburg, and should remain in France until they were obtained. The Prussians did not intend to dismantle them, but to make them stronger than they at present are. "The French," he said, "will hate us with an undying hate, and we must take care to render this hate powerless." As for Paris, the German armies would surround it, and with their several corps d'armée, and their 70,000 cavalry, would isolate it from the rest of the world, and leave its inhabitants to "seethe in their own milk." If the Parisians continued after this to hold out, Paris would be bombarded, and, if necessary, burned. My own impression is that Count Bismarck was not such a fool as to say precisely what he intended to do, and that he will attack at once; but the event will prove. He added that Germany was not in want of money, and therefore did not ask for a heavy pecuniary indemnity. Speaking of the French, Count Bismarck observed that there were 200,000 men round Metz, and he believed that Bazaine would have to capitulate within a week. He rendered full justice to the courage with which the army under Bazaine had fought, but he did not seem to have a very high opinion of the French army of Sedan. He questioned Mr. Malet about the state of Paris, and did not seem gratified to hear that there had been no tumults. The declaration of the Republic and its peaceful recognition by Paris and the whole of France appeared by no means to please him. He admitted that if it proved to be a moderate and virtuous Government, it might prove a source of danger to the monarchical principle in Germany. I do trust that Englishmen will well weigh these utterances. Surely they will at last be of opinion that the English Government should use all its moral influence to prevent a city containing nearly two million inhabitants being burnt to the ground in order that one million Frenchmen should against their will be converted into Germans. It is our policy to make an effort to prevent the dismemberment of France, but the question is not now so much one of policy as of common humanity. No one asks England to go to war for France; all that is asked is that she should recognise the _de facto_ Government of the country, and should urge Prussia to make peace on terms which a French nation can honourably accept. General Vinoy, out reconnoitering with 15,000 men, came to-day upon a Prussian force of 40,000 near Vincennes. After an artillery combat, he withdrew within the lines of the forts. There have been unimportant skirmishes with the enemy at several points. The American, the Belgian, the Swiss, and the Danish Ministers are still here. Mr. Wodehouse has remained to look after our interests. All the secretaries were anxious to stay. I should be glad to know why Mr. Falconer Atlee, the British Consul at Paris, is not like other consuls, at his post. He withdrew to Dieppe about three weeks ago. His place is here. Neither a consul, nor a soldier, should leave his post as soon as it becomes dangerous. Victor Hugo has published an address to the nation. You may judge of its essentially practical spirit by the following specimen:--"Rouen, draw thy sword! Lille, take up thy musket! Bordeaux, take up thy gun! Marseilles, sing thy song and be terrible!" I suspect Marseilles may sing her song a long time before the effect of her vocal efforts will in any way prevent the Prussians from carrying out their plans. "A child," say the evening papers, "deposited her doll this afternoon in the arms of the statue of Strasburg. All who saw the youthful patriot perform this touching act were deeply affected." _September 19th._ I don't know whether my letter of yesterday went off or not. As my messenger to the post-office could get no authentic intelligence about what was passing, I went there myself. Everybody was in military uniform, everybody was shrugging his shoulders, and everybody was in the condition of a London policeman were he to see himself marched off to the station by a street-sweeper. That the Prussian should have taken the Emperor prisoner, and have vanquished the French armies, had, of course, astonished these worthy bureaucrats, but that they should have ventured to interfere with postmen had perfectly dumbfounded them. "Put your letter in that box," said a venerable employé on a high stool. "Will it ever be taken out?" I asked. "Qui sait?" he replied. "Shall you send off a train to-morrow morning?" I asked. There was a chorus of "Qui sait?" and the heads disappeared still further with the respective shoulders to which they belonged. "What do you think of a man on horseback?" I suggested. An indignant "Impossible" was the answer. "Why not?" I asked. The look of contempt with which the clerks gazed on me was expressive. It meant, "Do you really imagine that a functionary--a postman--is going to forward your letters in an irregular manner?" At this moment a sort of young French Jefferson Brick came in. Evidently he was a Republican recently set in authority. To him I turned. "Citizen, I want my letter to go to London. It is a press letter. These bureaucrats say that they dare not send it by a horse express; I appeal to you, as I am sure you are a man of expedients." "These people," he replied, scowling at the clerks, "are demoralised. They are the ancient valets of a corrupt Court; give me your letter; if possible it shall go, 'foi de citoyen.'" I handed my letter to Jefferson, but whether it is on its way to England, or still in his patriotic hands, I do not know. As I passed out through the courtyard I saw postmen seated on the boxes of carts, with no horses before them. It was their hour to carry out the letters, and thus mechanically they fulfilled their duty. English Government officials have before now been jeered at as men of routine, but the most ancient clerk in Somerset House is a man of wild impulse and boundless expedient compared with the average of functionaries great and small here. The want of "shiftiness" is a national characteristic. The French are like a flock of sheep without shepherds or sheep-dogs. Soldiers and civilians have no idea of anything except doing what they are ordered to do by some functionary. Let one wheel in an administration get out of order, and everything goes wrong. After my visit to the post-office I went to the central telegraph office, and sent you a telegram. The clerk was very surly at first, but he said that he thought a press telegram would pass the wires. When I paid him he became friendly. My own impression is that my twelve francs, whoever they may benefit, will not benefit the British public. From the telegraph-office I directed my steps to a club where I was engaged to dine. I found half-a-dozen whist tables in full swing. The conversation about the war soon, however, became general. "This is our situation," said, as he dealt a hand, a knowing old man of the world, a sort of French James Clay: "generally if one has no trumps in one's hand, one has at least some good court cards in the other suits; we've got neither trumps nor court cards." "Et le General Trochu?" some one suggested. "My opinion of General Trochu," said a General, who was sitting reading a newspaper, "is that he is a man of theory, but unpractical. I know him well; he has utterly failed to organise the forces which he has under his command." The general opinion about Trochu seemed to be that he is a kind of M'Clellan. "Will the Garde Nationale fight?" some one asked. A Garde National replied, "Of course there are brave men amongst us, but the mass will give in rather than see Paris destroyed. They have their families and their shops." "And the Mobiles?" "The Mobiles are the stuff out of which soldiers are made, but they are still peasants, and not soldiers yet." On the whole, I found the tone in "fashionable circles" desponding. "Can any one tell me where Jules Favre has gone?" I asked. Nobody could, though everybody seemed to think that he had gone to the Prussian headquarters. After playing a few rubbers, I went home to bed at about one o'clock. The streets were absolutely deserted. All the cafés were shut. Nothing in the papers this morning. In the _Figaro_ an article from that old humbug Villemessant. He calls upon his fellow-citizens in Paris to resist to the death. "One thing Frenchmen never forgive," he says,--"cowardice." The _Gaulois_ contains the most news. It represents the Prussians to be all round Paris. At Versailles they have converted the Palais into a barrack. Their camp fires were seen last night in the forest of Bondy. Uhlans have made their appearance at St. Cloud. "Fritz" has taken up his quarters at Ferrières, the château of Baron Rothschild. "William"--we are very familiar when we speak of the Prussian Royal family--is still at Meaux. "No thunderbolt," adds the correspondent, "has yet fallen on him." The Prussian outposts are at the distance of three kilometres from St. Denis. Near Vitry shots have been heard. In the environs of Vincennes there has been fighting. It appears General Ambert was arrested yesterday. He was reviewing some regiments of Nationaux, and when they cried, "Vive la République" he told them that the Republic did not exist. The men immediately surrounded him, and carried him to the Ministry of the Interior, where I presume he still is. The _Rappel_ finds faults with Jules Favre's circular. Its tone, it says, is too humble. The _Rappel_ gives a list of "valets of Bonaparte, _ce coquin sinistre_," who still occupy official positions, and demands that they shall at once be relieved from their functions. The _Rappel_ also informs its readers that letters have been discovered (where?) proving that Queen Victoria had promised before the war to do her best to aid Germany. Butler of a friend of mine, whose house is close by the fortifications, and who has left it in his charge, has just been to see me. The house is a "poste" of the National Guard. Butler says the men do not sleep on the ramparts, but in the neighbouring houses. They are changed every twenty-four hours. He had rather a hard time of it last night with a company from the Faubourg St. Antoine. As a rule, however, he says they are decent, orderly men. They complain very much that their business is going to rack and ruin; when they are away from their shops, they say, impecunious patriots come in to purchase goods of their wives, and promise to call another day to pay for them. On Saturday night the butler reports 300 National Guards were drawn up before his master's house, and twenty-five volunteers were demanded for a service of danger. After some time the twenty-five stepped forward, but having heard for what they were wanted, eighteen declined to go. A British coachman just turned up offers to carry letters through--seems a sharp plucky fellow. I shall employ him as soon as the Post-office is definitely closed. British coachman does not think much of the citizen soldiers in Paris. "Lor' bless you, sir, I'd rather have 10,000 Englishmen than the lot of them. In my stable I make my men obey me, but these chaps they don't seem to care what their officers says to them. I seed them drill this morning; a pretty green lot they was. Why, sir, giving them fellow Chassepots is much like giving watches to naked savages." The Breton Mobiles are making pilgrimages to the churches. I hope it may do them good. I hear the curés of Paris have divided the ramparts between them, and are on the fortifications--bravo! curés. By-the-bye, that fire-eater, Paul de Cassagnac, has not followed the example of his brother Imperial journalists. He enlisted as a Zouave, fought well, and was taken prisoner at Sedan. He is now employed by his captors in making bread. I hope his bread will be better than his articles. 1.30 P.M. Been sitting with a friend who commands a company of National Guards. The company is now outside the fortifications. Friend tells me that the men in his company are mostly small shopkeepers. At first it was difficult to get them to come to drill, but within the last few days they have been drilling hard, and he is convinced that they will fight well. Friend tells me that a large number of National Guards have run away from Paris, and that those who remain are very indignant with them. He requests me to beg my countrymen, if they see a sturdy Monsieur swelling it down Regent Street, to kick him, as he ought to be defending his country. I fulfil his request with the greatest pleasure and endorse it. I have just seen a Prussian spy taken to prison. I was seated before a café on the Boulevard des Capucines. Suddenly there was a shout of "un Prussien;" every one rushed towards the Place de l'Opéra, and from the Boulevard Haussmann came a crowd with a soldier, dressed as an artilleryman, on a horse. He was preceded and followed by about one hundred Mobiles. By his side rode a woman. No one touched them. Whether he and his "lady friend" were Germans I do not know; but they certainly looked Germans, and extremely uncomfortable. 3 P.M. Been to Embassy. Messenger Johnson arrived this morning at 12 o'clock. He had driven to Rouen. At each post station he was arrested. He drove up to the Embassy, followed by a howling mob. As he wore an unknown uniform they took him for a Prussian. Messenger Johnson, being an old soldier, was belligerently inclined. "The first man who approaches," &c. The porter of the Embassy, however, dragged him inside, and explained to the mob who he was. He had great difficulty in calming them. One man sensibly observed that in these times no one should drive through Paris in a foreign uniform, as the mass of the people knew nothing of Queen's messengers and their uniforms. Messenger Johnson having by this time got within the Embassy gates, the mob turned on his postilion and led him off. What his fate has been no one has had time to ask. When I went upstairs I found Wodehouse sitting like patience on a stool, with a number of Britons round him, who wanted to get off out of Paris. Wodehouse very justly told them that Lord Lyons had given them due notice to leave, and that they had chosen at their own risk to remain. The Britons seemed to imagine that their Embassy was bound to find them a road by which they might safely withdraw from the town. One very important Briton was most indignant--"I am a man of wealth and position. I am not accustomed to be treated in this manner. What is the use of you, sir, if you cannot ensure my safe passage to England? If I am killed the world shall ring with it. I shall myself make a formal complaint to Lord Granville," said this incoherent and pompous donkey. Exit man of position fuming; enter unprotected female. Of course she was a widow, of course she had lost half-a-dozen sons, of course she kept lodgings, and of course she wanted her "hambassader" generally to take her under his wing. I left Wodehouse explaining to her that if she went out of Paris even with a pass, she might or might not be shot according to circumstances. I will say for him that I should not be as patient as he is, were I worried and badgered by the hour by a crowd of shrieking women and silly men. 4 P.M. Fighting is going on all round Paris. There are crowds on the Boulevard; every one is asking his neighbour for news. I went to one of the Mairies to hear the bulletins read. The street was almost impassable. At last I got near enough to hear an official read out a despatch--nothing important. The commanders at Montrouge and Vincennes announce that the Prussians are being driven back. "Et Clamart?" some one cries. "A bas les alarmistes," is the reply. Every one is despondent. Soldiers have come back from Meudon demoralised. We have lost a position, it is whispered. I find a friend, upon whose testimony I can rely, who was near Meudon until twelve o'clock. He tells me that the troops of the line behaved badly. They threw away their muskets without firing a shot, and there was a regular _sauve qui peut_. The Mobiles, on the other hand, fought splendidly, and were holding the position when he left. I am writing this in a café. It is full of Gardes Nationaux. They are saying that if the troops of the line are not trustworthy, resistance is hopeless. A Garde National gives the following explanation of the demoralisation of the army. He says that the Imperial Government only troubled itself about the corps d'élite; that the object in the line regiments was to get substitutes as cheaply as possible; consequently, they are filled with men physically and morally the scum of the nation. Semaphore telegraphs have been put up on all the high public buildings. There are also semaphores on the forts. I see that one opposite me is exchanging signals. The crowd watch them as though by looking they would discover what they mean. "A first success," says a National next to me, "was absolutely necessary for us, in order to give us confidence." "But this success we do not seem likely to have," says another. The attempt to burn down the forests seems only partially to have succeeded. The Prussians appear to be using them, and the French to the last carrying on war without scouts. 6 P.M. Evening papers just out. Not a word about Clamart. The _Liberté_ says the Minister of the Interior refers journalists to General Trochu, who claims the right to suppress what he pleases. When will French Governments understand that it is far more productive of demoralisation to allow no official news to be published than to publish the worst? Rochefort has been appointed President of a Committee of Barricades, to organise a second line of defence within the ramparts. 7 P.M. The cannon can be distinctly heard. The reports come from different quarters. Jules Favre, I hear from a sure source, is at the Prussian headquarters. 7.30 P.M. I live _au quatrième_ with a balcony before my room. I can see the flashes of cannon in the direction of Vincennes. There appears to be a great fire somewhere. 12 P.M. Have driven to the Barrière de l'Enfer. Nothing there. On the Champ de Mars I found troops returned from Clamart. They complain that they never saw their officers during the engagement, that there were no scouts in the Bois de Clamart, and that the Prussians succeeded by their old game of sticking to the cover. At first they fell back--the French troops pressed on, when they were exposed to a concentric fire. From the Champs Elysées I drove to the Buttes de Montmartre. Thousands of people clustered everywhere except where they were kept off by the Nationaux, who were guarding the batteries. The northern sky was bright from the reflection of a conflagration--as the forest of St. Germain was burning. It was almost light. We could see every shot and shell fired from the forts round St. Denis. At ten o'clock I got back to the Boulevard des Italiens. Every café was closed. It appears that at about nine o'clock the Café Riche was full of Gardes Mobiles, officers, and _lorettes_. They made so much noise that the public outside became indignant, and insisted on their giving up their orgie. The National Guard joined in this protest, and an order was sent at once to close every café. Before the Maison Dorée I saw a few _viveurs_, gazing at its closed windows as though the end of the world had come. This café has been opened day and night for the last twenty years. From my balcony I can no longer hear the cannon; the sky, however, is even brighter from the conflagration than it was. _September 20th._ The firing has recommenced. We can hear it distinctly. General Ambert has been cashiered. _Figaro_ announces that Villemessant has returned. We are given a dozen paragraphs about this humbug of humbugs, his uniform, &c., &c. I do not think that he will be either killed or wounded. The latest telegram from the outer world announces that "Sir Campbell"--médecin Anglais--has arrived at Dieppe with despatches to the Ministers of Foreign Affairs and of Marine. 11 A.M. Paris very quiet and very despondent. Few soldiers about. The Line is reviled, the Mobile extolled. From all accounts the latter seem to have behaved well--a little excited at first, but full of pluck. Let the siege only last a week and they will be capital soldiers, and then we shall no longer be called upon, to believe the assertions of military men, that it takes years of drill and idling in a barrack to make a soldier. My own impression always has been that Malet brought back a written answer from Bismarck offering to see Jules Favre. Can it be that, after all, the Parisians, at the mere sound of cannon, are going to cave in, and give up Alsace and Lorraine? If they do, I give them up. If my friends in Belleville descend into the streets to prevent this ignominy, I descend with them. 4 P.M. I got, about an hour ago, some way on the road to Charenton, when I was turned back, and a couple of soldiers took possession of me, and did not leave me until I was within the city gate. I could see no traces of any Prussians or of any fighting. Two English correspondents got as far as St. Denis this morning. After having been arrested half-a-dozen times and then released, they were impressed, and obliged to carry stones to make a barricade. They saw no Prussians. I hear that a general of artillery was arrested last night by his men. There is a report, also, that the Government mean to decimate the cowards who ran away yesterday, _pour encourager les autres_. The guns of the Prussians which they have posted on the heights they took yesterday it is said will carry as far as the Arc de Triomphe. There have been two deputations to the Hôtel de Ville to interview the Government with respect to the armistice. One consisted of about 100 officers of the National Guard, most of them from the Faubourgs of St. Antoine and the Temple. They were of course accompanied by a large crowd. Having been admitted into the Salle du Trône, they were received by the Mayor of Paris and M. Jules Ferry. The reply of the latter is not very clear. He certainly said that no shameful peace should be concluded; but whether, as some assert, he assured the officers that no portion of French soil should be ceded is not equally certain. Shortly after this deputation had left, another arrived from the Republican clubs. It is stated that M. Jules Ferry's answer was considered satisfactory. The walls have been placarded with a proclamation of Trochu to the armed force. He tells them that some regiments behaved badly at Clamart; but the assertion that they had no cartridges is false. He recommends all citizens to arrest soldiers who are drunk or who propagate false news, and threatens them with the vigorous application of the Articles of War. Another proclamation from Kératry warns every one against treating soldiers or selling them liquor when they already have had too much. I went to dine this evening in an estaminet in the Faubourg St. Antoine. It was full of men of the people, and from the tone of their observations I am certain that if M. Jules Favre concludes an armistice involving any cession of territory, there will be a rising at once. The cafés are closed now at 10 o'clock. At about 11 I walked home. One would have supposed oneself in some dull great provincial town at 3 in the morning. Everything was closed. No one, except here and there a citizen on his way home, or a patrol of the National Guard, was to be seen. _September 21st._ I suppose that you in England know a good deal more of what is passing at the Prussian headquarters than we do here. M. Jules Favre's departure was kept so close a secret, that it did not ooze out until yesterday. The "ultras" in the Government were, I understand on good authority, opposed to it, but M. Jules Favre was supported by Picard, Gambetta, and Kératry, who, as everything is comparative, represent the moderate section of our rulers. We are as belligerent and cheery to-day as we were despondent on Monday evening. When any disaster occurs it takes a Frenchman about twenty-four hours to accustom himself to it. During this time he is capable of any act of folly or despair. Then follows the reaction, and he becomes again a brave man. When it was heard that the heights at Meudon had been taken, we immediately entered into a phase of despair. It is over now, and we crow as lustily as ever. We shall have another phase of despondency when the first fort is taken, and another when the first shells fall into the town; but if we get through them, I really have hopes that Paris will not disgrace herself. Nothing of any importance appears to have taken place at the front yesterday. The commanders of several forts sent to Trochu to say that they have fired on the Prussians, and that there have been small outpost engagements. During the day the bridges of St. Cloud, Sèvres, and Billancourt were blown up. I attempted this morning to obtain a pass from General Trochu. Announcing myself as a "Journaliste Anglais," I got, after some difficulty, into a room in which several of his staff were seated. But there my progress was stopped. I was told that aides-de-camp had been fired on, and that General Trochu had himself been arrested, and had been within an inch of being shot because he had had the impudence to say that he was the Governor of Paris. I suggested that he might take me with him the next time he went out, and pointed out that correspondents rode with the Prussian staffs, but it was of no use. From Trochu I went to make a few calls. I found every one engaged in measuring the distance from the Prussian batteries to his particular house. One friend I found seated in a cellar with a quantity of mattresses over it, to make it bomb-proof. He emerged from his subterraneous Patmos to talk to me, ordered his servant to pile on a few more mattresses, and then retreated. Anything so dull as existence here it is difficult to imagine. Before the day is out one gets sick and tired of the one single topic of conversation. We are like the people at Cremorne waiting for the fireworks to begin; and I really do believe that if this continues much longer, the most cowardly will welcome the bombs as a relief from the oppressive ennui. Few regiments are seen now during the day marching through the streets--they are most of them either on the ramparts or outside them. From 8 to 9 in the morning there is a military movement, as regiments come and go, on and off duty. In the courtyard of the Louvre several regiments of Mobiles are kept under arms all night, ready to march to any point which may be seriously attacked. A good many troops went at an early hour this morning in the direction of St. Cloud. The weather is beautiful--a lovely autumn morning. They say that Rochefort and his friends are busily employed at Grenelle. 1.30 _o'clock_. The cannonade has been audible for the last half-hour. It is getting every moment louder. The people are saying that Mont Valérien _donne_. I am going up to the Avenue de l'Impératrice, where I shall be able to see what is going on. 2.30 _o'clock_. Come back; heavy firing--but I could not make out whether it came from Mont Valérien. Jules Favre has returned. They say the Prussians will only treat in Paris. Just seen an American who tried to get with a letter to General Sheridan. He got into the Prussian lines, but could not reach headquarters. On his return he was nearly murdered by the Mobiles; passed last night in a cell with two drunkards, and has just been let out, as all his papers were found _en règle_. CHAPTER II. _September 22nd._ I sent off a letter yesterday in a balloon; whether it reaches its destination, or is somewhere in the clouds, you will know before I do. The difficulties of getting through the lines are very great, and will become greater every day. The Post-office says that it tries to send letters through, but I understand that the authorities have little hope of succeeding. Just now I saw drawn up in the courtyard of the Grand Hotel a travelling carriage, with hampers of provisions, luggage, and an English flag flying. Into it stepped four Britons. Their passports were viséd, they said, by their Embassy, and they were starting for England _viâ_ Rouen. Neither French nor Prussians would, they were convinced, stop them. I did not even confide a letter to their hands, as they are certain, even if they get through the French outposts, to be arrested by the Prussians and turned back. Yesterday on the return of Jules Favre he announced that the King of Prussia required as a condition of Peace the cession of Alsace and Lorraine, and as the condition of an armistice immediate possession of Metz, Strasburg, and Mont Valérien. The Government immediately met, and a proclamation was at once posted on the walls signed by all the members. After stating it had been reported that the Government was inclined to abandon the policy to which it owed its existence, it goes on in the following words:--"Our policy is this. Neither an inch of our territory nor a stone of our fortresses. The Government will maintain this until the end." Yesterday afternoon we "manifested" against peace. We "manifest" by going, if we are in the National Guard, with bouquets at the ends of our muskets to deposit a crown of _immortelles_ before the statue of Strasburg. If we are unarmed, we walk behind a drum to the statue and sing the "Marseillaise." At the statue there is generally some orator on a stool holding forth. We occasionally applaud him, but we never listen to him. After this we go to the Place before the Hôtel de Ville, and we shout "Point de Paix." We then march down the Boulevards, and we go home satisfied that we have deserved well of our country. As yesterday was the anniversary of the proclamation of the First Republic, we were in a very manifesting mood. M. Gambetta issued proclamations every half hour, calling upon us, in more or less flowery language, to die for our country. M. Arago, the Mayor, followed suit, heading his manifestoes with the old, rallying cry, "Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité." I suppose the French are so constituted that they really cannot exist without processions, bouquets to statues, and grand phrases. Notwithstanding all this humbug, a large portion of them mean, I am sure, to fight it out. They have taken it into their heads that Paris can be successfully defended, and if it is not, they are determined that it shall not be their fault. It is intended, I understand, to keep well beneath the cover of the forts, not to risk engagements more than is necessary--gradually to convert the splendid raw material of the Mobiles into good soldiers, by accustoming them to be under fire, and then, if things go well, to fall on one or other of the Prussian armies. It is hoped, too, that the Prussian communications will be menaced. Such is the plan, and every one pretends to believe that it will succeed; whether they are right or wrong time will show. The Government, an ex-diplomatist, who has been talking to several of its members this morning, tells me, is a "unit." There was a party ready to accept the dismantling of Metz and Strasburg, but as this concession will not disarm the Prussians, they have rallied to the "not a stone of one fortress" declaration. Of course I cannot be expected to give aid and comfort to our besiegers by telling them, if they seize this letter, what is being done inside to keep them out. But this I think it will do them no harm to know. The National Guard man the ramparts. In the angles of the bastions there are Mobiles. At points close by the ramparts there are reserves of Mobiles and National Guards, ready at a moment's notice both by day and night to reinforce them. In the centre of the town there are reserves under arms. Outside the gates, between the forts and the ramparts, troops are massed with artillery, and the forts are well garrisoned. A gentleman who has lately been under a cloud, as he was the inventor of the Orsini bombs, has several thousand men at work on infernal machines. This magician assures me that within a week he will destroy the German armies as completely as were the Assyrians who besieged Samaria under Sennacherib. He is an enthusiast, but an excellent chemist, and I really have hopes that he will before long astonish our friends outside. He promises me that I shall witness his experiments in German corpore vili; and though I have in mind a quotation about being hoisted with one's own petard, I shall certainly keep him to his word. On the whole the King of Prussia, to use Mr. Lincoln's phrase, will find it a big job to take Paris if the Parisians keep to their present mood. Mr. Washburne told me yesterday that he does not think he shall leave. There is to be a consultation of the Corps Diplomatique to-morrow, under the presidency of the Nuncio, to settle joint action. I admire the common sense of Mr. Washburne. He called two days ago upon the Government to express his sympathy with them. Not being a man of forms and red tape, instead of going to the Foreign-office, he went to the Hôtel de Ville, found a Council sitting, shook hands all round, and then withdrew. I have serious thoughts of taking up my quarters at the English Embassy. It belongs to me as one of the nation, and I see no reason why I should not turn my property to some account. Yesterday's papers contained an official announcement that a company of mutual assurance against the consequences of the bombardment has been formed. Paris is divided into three zones, and according to the danger proprietors of houses situated in each of them are to be admitted into the company on payment of one, two, or three per cent. It comforts me, comparatively, to find that I am in the one per cent. zone, and, unless my funds give way, I shall remain there. Spies are being arrested every half hour. Many mistakes are made from over zeal, but there is no doubt that a good many Germans are in the town disguised in French uniforms. The newspapers ask what becomes of them all, and suggest that they should be publicly shot. It is beautiful weather, and as I sit writing this at my open window I have great difficulty in believing that we are cut off from the rest of the world by a number of victorious armies, who mean to burn or starve us out. M. John Lemoinne in the _Journal des Débats_ this morning has a very sensible article upon the position of the Government. He says that between the first and the second of these two ultimatums there is a vast difference, and he exhorts the Government to stand by the first, but not to refuse peace if it can be obtained by the dismantling of Metz and Strasburg. The _Temps_ of this evening takes the same view of the proclamation. The ultra Republican journals, on the other hand, support the policy of the Government. M. Felix Pyat, in his organ, _Le Combat_, urges war to the death, and proposes that we should at once have Spartan banquets, at which rich and poor should fare alike. A proposal has been made to start a national subscription for a musket of honour to be given to the man who shoots the King of Prussia. There are already 2,000 subscribers of one sou each to the testimonial. The latest proclamation I have seen on the walls is one from the Mayor of Paris, informing the public that the coachmen of Paris are not to be ill-treated by their fares because they are not on the ramparts. As the coachmen of Paris are usually excessively insolent, I shall not be sorry to hear that they have at length met with their deserts. A coachman who was driving me yesterday told me in the strictest confidence that he was a man who never meddled in politics, and, consequently, it was a matter of absolute indifference to him whether Napoleon or a "General Prussien" lived in the Tuileries; and this, I suspect, is the view that many here take, if they only dared say it. It is amusing to observe how every one has entered into the conspiracy to persuade the world that the French nation never desired war--to hear them, one would suppose that the Rhine had never been called the national frontier of France, and that the war had been entered into by Badinguet, as they style the late Emperor, against the wishes of the army, the peasantry, and the bourgeoisie. Poor old Badinguet has enough to answer for already, but even sensible Frenchmen have persuaded themselves that he, and he alone, is responsible for the war. He is absolutely loathed here. I sometimes suggest to some Gaul that he may possibly be back again some day; the Gaul immediately rolls his eyes, clenches his fists, and swears that if ever Badinguet returns to Paris he (the Gaul) will himself shoot him. An American, who took an active part in the Confederate defence of Richmond, has just been in to see me. He does not believe that the town will hold out long, and scoffs at the mode in which it is being defended. I reserve my opinion until I have seen it under fire. Certainly they "do protest too much." The papers contain lists of citizens who have sworn to die rather than surrender. The bourgeois, when he goes off to the ramparts, embraces his wife in public, and assumes a martial strut as though he were a very Curtius on the way to the pit. Jules is perpetually hugging Jacques, and talking about the altar of his country on which he means to mount. I verily believe that the people walking on the Boulevards, and the assistants of the shops who deal out their wares, in uniform, are under the impression that they are heroes already, perilling life and limb for their country. Every girl who trips along thinks that she is a Maid of Saragossa. It is almost impossible for an Englishman to realise the intense delight which a Frenchman has in donning a uniform, strutting about with a martial swagger, and listening to a distant cannonade. As yet the only real hardships we have suffered have been that our fish is a little stale, and that we are put on short allowance of milk. The National Guards on the ramparts, I hear, grumble very much at having to spend the night in the open air. The only men I think I can answer for are the working men of the outer faubourgs and a portion of the Provincial Gardes Mobiles. They do mean to fight. Some of the battalions of the National Guards will fight too, but I should be afraid to trust the greater portion of them, even behind earthworks. "Remember," says the _Figaro_ to them to-day, "that you have wives and children; do not be too venturesome." This advice, I think, was hardly needed. As for the regular troops, they are not to be trusted, and I am not sorry to think that there are 10,000 sailors in the forts to man the guns. We have been manifesting again to-day. I was in hopes that this nonsense was over. On the Place de la Concorde there was a crowd all the afternoon, applauding orators, and companies of National Guards were bringing bouquets to the statue of Strasburg. At the Hôtel de Ville a deputation of officers of the National Guards came to urge the Government to put off the elections. After a short parley this was promised. Another demonstration took place to urge the Government not to make peace, to accept as their colleagues some "friends of the people," and to promise not to re-establish in any form a police force. An evasive answer was given to these demonstrators. It seems to me that the Government, in its endeavours to prevent a collision between the moderates and the ultras, yield invariably to the latter. What is really wanted is a man of energy and determined will. I doubt if Trochu has either. The bold Britons who tried to run the blockade have returned. They managed to get over the bridge of Neuilly, but were arrested a few yards beyond it and brought back to General Ducrot. One of them was taken in with the passports of the five. "I cannot understand you English," the General said; "if you want to get shot we will shoot you ourselves to save you trouble." After some parley, General Ducrot gave them a pass to go through the French lines, but then he withdrew it, and said he must consult General Trochu. When the spokesman emerged, he found his friends being led off by a fresh batch of patriots for having no passports, but they at length got safely back to the Grand Hotel. Their leader, who is an intelligent man in his way, gives a very discouraging account of what he saw outside. The Mobiles were lying about on the roads, and everyone appeared to be doing much what he pleased. This afternoon I went up to the Trocadero to look at the heights on which they say that there are already Prussian guns. They appear most uncomfortably near. Those who had telescopes declared that they could see both guns and Prussians. We were always told until within a few days that Mont Valérien would protect all that side of Paris. How can the engineers have made such a mistake? This evening I went to call upon one of the chiefs of '48, and had an interesting conversation with him. He says that many think that he and his friends ought to be in the Government, and that eventually they all will be; he added "the Reds are determined to fight, and so long as the Government does not make a humiliating peace they will support it." I tried to get out what he considered a humiliating peace, but he rather fenced with the question. He tells me that at the Folies Bergères, the headquarters of the ultras, great dissatisfaction is felt with the Committees of the "Clubs" for having gone yesterday to the Hôtel de Ville, and endeavoured to force the Government to declare that it would not treat with the Prussians whilst they were on French soil, and to allow them to establish a "Commune" as an _imperium in imperio_. "The army of the Loire," said my friend, "will soon fall on the rear of the Prussians; we have only to hold out for a few weeks, and this, depend upon it, we shall do." Now, to the best of my belief, the army of the Loire only exists on paper, but here was a sensible man talking of it as though it consisted of some 200,000 seasoned troops; and what is more strange, he is by no means singular in his belief. A fortnight ago it was the army of Lyons, now it is the army of the Loire. How reasonable men can allow themselves to put their faith in these men of buckram, I cannot imagine. _September 23rd._ Firing has been going on since three o'clock this morning. The newspapers contain accounts more or less veracious respecting fights outside the forts, in which great numbers of Prussians have been killed. M. Jules Favre publishes an account of his interview with Count Bismarck in the _Journal Officiel_. M. Villemessant in the _Figaro_ informs the world that he has left his wife outside, and would willingly allow one of his veins to be opened in exchange for a letter from her. We are still engaged in our old occupation--vowing to die for our country. I hear that there has been serious fighting in the neighbourhood of St. Denis. This morning I saw another of the '48 Republicans--he seemed inclined to upset the Government more on the ground that they are incapable than because he differs with them in politics. I give this letter to a friend who will get it into the balloon, and go off to the Trocadero, to see how things are getting on. The Solferino Tower on the Buttes Montmartre has been pulled down. No one is to be allowed to hoist the Geneva flag unless the house contains at least six beds for wounded. We have now a bread as well as a meat maximum. _September 24th._ We are as despondent to-day as we were jubilant yesterday. The success at the front seems to have dwindled down to an insignificant artillery combat. The _Electeur Libre_ gives the following account of it. On the previous evening 8,000 Prussians had taken the redoubt of _Villejuif_. At one in the morning some regiments advanced from there towards Vitry, and occupied the mill of Saqui, while on the left about 5,000 established themselves on the plateau of Hautes-Bruyères. The division of General Maud'huy re-took these positions. At five o'clock in the morning the Prussians tried to occupy them a second time, but failed, and at half-past seven o'clock they fell back. At nine they attacked again, when a column of our troops, issuing from the Porte d'Italie, arrived. The fray went on until ten o'clock, when the Prussians retreated towards Sceaux. This tallies to a great extent with what I was told by an officer this morning who had taken part in the engagement. The _Gazette Officielle_ contains a decree cashiering M. Devienne, President of the Cour de Cassation, and sending him to be judged by his own court, for having been the intermediary between Badinguet and his mistress, Marguerite Bellanger. Two letters are published which seem to leave no doubt that this worthy judge acted as the go-between of the two lovers. Mr. George Sanders, whilom United States Consul in London, and one of the leaders of the ex-Confederacy, is here; he is preparing plans for a system of rifle pits and zigzags outside the fortifications, at the request of General Trochu. Mr. Sanders, who took an active part in the defence of Richmond, declares that Paris is impregnable, if it be only well defended. He complains, however, that the French will not use the spade. 4 _o'clock_ P.M. We have been in a state of wild enthusiasm all this afternoon. At about 1 o'clock it was rumoured that 20,000 Prussians and 40 cannon had been taken. There had been a heavy firing, it was said, this morning, and a Prussian force had approached near the forts of Ivry and Bicêtre. General Vinoy had issued forth from Vincennes, and, getting behind them, had forced them under the guns of the forts, where they were taken prisoners. The Boulevards immediately were crowded; here a person announcing that he had a despatch from the front, here another vowing he had been there himself. Wherever a drum was heard there was a cry of "Here come the prisoners!" Tired of this, at about 4 o'clock I drove to Montrouge. It is a sort of Parisian Southwark. I found all the inhabitants lining the streets, waiting, too, for news. A regiment marched in, and there was a cry that it had come from the front; then artillery filed by out of the city gate. I tried myself to pass, and had got half-way through before I was stopped, then I was turned back. The prisoners here, close by the scene of action, had dwindled down to 5,000. Imagine Southwark, with every man armed in it, and a battle going on at Greenwich, and you will have an idea of the excitement of Montrouge. 6 _o'clock_ P.M. The Boulevards almost impassable; the streets before the Mairies absolutely impassable; no official confirmation of the victory. Everyone who is not inventing news is waiting for it. A proclamation has been issued by General Trochu conceived in a very sensible spirit, telling the National Guard that the moment is ill chosen for pacific demonstrations, with crowns and bouquets. I hear that some of the soldiers who ran away at Clamart have been shot. Some of the papers discovered in the Tuileries are published. There is a letter from Jecker to Conti, in which he says that De Morny had promised him to get the Mexican Government to pay his claims on condition of receiving 30 per cent. of profits. A letter signed Persigny complains that an _employé_ in the Cabinet Noir is in want, and ought to be given money to prevent his letting out secrets. A letter from the Queen of Holland tells Napoleon that if he does not interfere in Germany his own dynasty will suffer. A note of the Emperor, without date, says, "If France boldly places itself on the terrain of the nationalities, it is necessary to prove that the Belgian nationality does not exist. The Cabinet of Berlin seeming ready to enter into negotiations, it would be well to negotiate a secret _acte_, which would pledge both parties. This act would have the double advantage of compromising Prussia and of being for her a pledge of the sincerity of the Emperor." The note then goes on to say that it is necessary to dissipate the apprehensions of Prussia. "An _acte_ is wanted," it continues; "and one which would consist of a regulation of the ulterior fate of Belgium in concert with Prussia would, by proving at Berlin that the Emperor desires the extension which is necessary to France since the events which have taken place in Germany, be at least a relative certainty that the Prussian Government would not object to our aggrandisement towards the North." I drove this morning through the fighting faubourgs with a member of the Barricade Committee. Barricades are being erected everywhere, and they are even stronger than the outer fortifications. There are, too, some agreeable little chemical surprises for the Prussians if ever they get into the town. In reply to some suggestions which I made, my friend said, "Leave these people to form their own plans. They understand street fighting better than any one in the world." At La Villette, Crenelle, and other faubourgs inhabited by the blouses, there is no lack of patriotism, and they will blow themselves and their homes up rather than yield. The bold Britons started again in their Derby turn-out yesterday. Nothing has been heard of them since. We do not know whether they have been imprisoned or what has become of them. I have already entrusted my letters to balloons, boatmen, peasants, and Americans, but I do not know whether they have reached you or not. The last balloon was pursued by a Prussian one, the newspapers say! Yesterday the Nuncio called together all the diplomatists still here, and they determined to try to communicate with Bismarck. They seem to imagine that a twenty-four hours' notice will be given before a bombardment commences, when they will have time to get out. I send this letter by a Government balloon. I shall send a copy to-morrow by a private balloon, if it really does start as announced. The _Gazette Officielle_ "unites with many citizens in asking Louis Blanc to go to England, to obtain the sympathies of the English nation for the Republic." This is all very well, but how is he to get there? _September 25th._ No news of any importance from the front. It is a fête day, but there are few holiday makers. The presence of the Prussians at the gates, and the sound of the cannon, have at last sobered this frivolous people. Frenchmen, indeed, cannot live without exaggeration, and for the last twenty-four hours they have taken to walking about as if they were guests at their own funerals. It is hardly in their line to play the _justum et tenacem_ of Horace. Always acting, they are now acting the part of Spartans. It is somewhat amusing to see the stern gloom on the face of patriots one meets, who were singing and shouting a few days ago--more particularly as it is by no means difficult to distinguish beneath this outward gloom a certain keen relish, founded upon the feeling that the part is well played. One thing, however, is certain, order has at length been evolved from disorder. Except in the morning, hardly any armed men are to be seen in the streets, and even in the central Boulevards, except when there is a report of some success or during an hour in the evening, there are no crowds. In the fighting faubourgs there is a real genuine determination to fight it out to the last. The men there have arms, and they have not cared to put on uniforms. Men, women, and children are all of one mind in the quarters of the working men. I have been much struck with the difference between one of these poor fellows who is prepared to die for the honour of his country, between his quiet, calm demeanour, and the absurd airs, and noisy brawls, and the dapper uniforms of the young fellows one meets with in the fashionable quarters. It is the difference between reality and sham, bravery and bombast. The newspapers are beginning to complain of the number of Chevaliers of the Red Cross, who are daily becoming more numerous. Strong men, they say, should not enrol themselves in a corps of non-combatants. It is said, also, that at Clamart these chevaliers declined to go under fire and pick up the wounded, and that the ambulances themselves made a strategic movement to the rear at the commencement of the combat. The flag of the Convention of Geneva is on far too many houses. From my window I can count fifteen houses with this flag floating over them. We have most wonderful stories about the Prussians, which, although they are generally credited, I take leave to doubt. Villagers who have slipped through the lines, and who play the part of the intelligent contraband of the American Civil War, are our informants. They represent the Prussian army without food, almost without clothing, bitterly repenting their advance into France, demoralised by the conviction that few of their number will be again in their homes. We are treated every day, too, to the details of deeds of heroism on the part of Mobiles and Nationaux, which would make Achilles himself jealous. There is, we are told, a wonderful artilleryman in the fort before St. Denis, the perfection of whose aim carries death and destruction into the Prussian ranks. I am not sorry to learn that the sale of the ultra papers is not large. M. Blanqui's office was yesterday broken into by some National Guards, who made it clear to this worthy that he had ill chosen his moment to attack the Government. I have not myself the slightest dread of a general pillage. The majority of the working men no doubt entertain extreme Socialist ideas, but any one of them who declined to make any distinction between his property and that of his richer neighbours would be very roughly handled. So long as the Government sticks to its policy of no surrender, it will be supported by the faubourgs; if, however, it attempts to capitulate upon humiliating terms, it will be ejected from the Hôtel de Ville. A sharp bombardment may, perhaps, make a change in public opinion, but I can only speak of the opinion of to-day. The Government declares that it can never run short of ammunition; but it seems to me that we cannot fire off powder and projectiles eternally, and that one of these mornings we shall be told that we must capitulate, as there is no more ammunition. Americans who are here, complain very much of the Parisians for not using the spade more than they do. Earthworks, which played so large a part in the defence both of Sebastopol and Richmond, are unknown at Paris. Barricades made of paving stones in the streets, and forts of solid masonry outside, are considered the _ne plus ultra_ of defensive works. For one man who will go to work to shovel earth, you may find a thousand who will shoulder a musket. "Paris may be able to defend itself," the Americans say, "but it is not defending itself after what our generals would consider the most approved method." We have no intelligence of what is passing in France beyond our lines. We presume that a great army is forming beyond the Loire; but yesterday a friend of mine, who received this assurance from M. Gambetta, could not discover that he had any reason to believe it, except the hope that it was true. It is a somewhat singular thing that Rochefort, who was regarded even by his friends as a vain, mad-brained demagogue, has proved himself one of the most sensible and practical members of the Government. He has entirely subordinated his own particular views to the exigencies of the defence of the capital; and it is owing to his good sense that the ultras have not indulged in any revolutionary excesses. I have already endeavoured to forward to you, by land, water, and air, copies of the Tuileries papers which have been published. That poor old pantaloon, Villemessant, the proprietor and editor of the _Figaro_, who is somewhat roughly handled by them, attempts to defend himself in his paper this morning, but utterly fails to do so. His interested connection with the Imperial Government is proved without the shadow of a doubt, and I trust that it will also prove the death of his newspaper, which has long been a disgrace to the press of France. I went to look after the proprietor of another paper yesterday, as he had promised me that, come what may, he would get his own and my letters through the Prussian lines. My friend, I found, had taken himself off to safe quarters before the last road was closed. For my part I despise any Parisian who has not remained here to defend his native city, whether he be Imperialist or Republican, noble or merchant. _Evening (Sunday)._ They could stand it no longer; the afternoon was too fine. Stern patriotism unbent, and tragic severity of demeanour was forgotten. The Champs Elysées and the Avenue de la Grande Armée were full of people. Monsieur shone by his absence; he was at the ramparts, or was supposed to be there; but his wife, his children, his _bonne_, and his kitchen wench issued forth, oblivious alike of dull care and of bombarding Prussians, to enjoy themselves after their wont by gossiping and lolling in the sun. The Strasburg fetish had its usual crowd of admirers. Every bench in the Champs Elysées was occupied. Guitars twanged, organs were ground, merry-go-rounds were in full swing, and had it not been that here and there some regiment was drilling, one would have supposed oneself in some country fair. There were but few men; no fine toilets, no private carriages. It was a sort of Greenwich-park. At the Arc de Triomphe was a crowd trying to discover what was going on upon the heights above Argenteuil. Some declared they saw Prussians, while others with opera glasses declared that the supposed Prussians were only trees. In the Avenue de l'Impératrice was a large crowd gazing upon the Fort of Mont Valérien. This fort, because I presume it is the strongest for defence, is the favourite of the Parisians. They love it as a sailor loves his ship. "If I were near enough," said a girl near me, "I would kiss it." "Let me carry your kiss to it," replied a Mobile, and the pair embraced, amid the cheers of the people round them. At Auteuil there were _fiacres_ full of sightseers, come to watch the Prussian batteries at Meudon, which could be distinctly seen. Occasionally, too, there came a puff of smoke from one of the gunboats. _September 26th._ Do the Prussians really mean to starve us out? The Government gave out a fortnight ago that there was food then within the city for two months' consumption for a population of two millions. It is calculated that, including the Mobiles, there are not above 1,500,000 mouths at present to feed, so that with proper care the supplies may be made to last for three months. Prices are, however, already rising. We have a bread and a meat maximum, but to force a butcher to sell you a cutlet at the tariff price, one has to go with a corporal's guard, which cannot always be procured. The _Gazette Officielle_ contains a decree regulating the sale of horse-flesh. I presume if the siege lasts long enough, dogs, rats, and cats will be tariffed. I have got 1000 francs with me. It is impossible to draw upon England; consequently, I see a moment coming when, unless rats are reasonable, I shall not be able to afford myself the luxury of one oftener than once a week. When I am at the end of my 1000 francs, I shall become an advocate for Felix Pyat's public tables, at which, as far as I understand his plan, those who have money pay, and those who have not, eat. Yesterday was a quiet day. The forts occasionally fired to "sound the enemy's lines," but that was all. But how is it all to end? In a given time the Parisians will eat themselves out and fire themselves out. The credulity of the public is as great as ever. We are told that "France is rising, and that in a few weeks three armies will throw themselves on the Prussians, who are already utterly disorganised." In vain I ask, "But what if these three armies do not make their appearance?" I am regarded as an idiot for venturing to discredit a notorious fact. If I dared, I would venture to suggest to some of my warlike friends that a town which simply defends itself by shutting its gates, firing into space, and waiting for apocryphal armies, is not acting a very heroic part. M.F. Pyat announces in the _Combat_ that the musket of honour which is to be given to the man who shoots the King of Prussia is to have inscribed upon it the word "Peacemaker." We have taken it into our heads that the German army, Count Bismarck, the Crown Prince, and all the Generals of the Corps d'Armée are in favour of peace, and the only obstacle to its being at once concluded lies in the obstinacy of the Monarch, whom we usually term "that mystic drunkard." The _Rappel_ contains the report of a meeting which was held last night of all the Republican Committees. Resolutions were adopted blaming the Government for putting off the municipal elections. The adjournment, however, of these elections is, I am convinced, regarded as a salutary measure by a majority even of the ultras. I dropped into the English Embassy this morning to see what was doing there. Mr. Wodehouse, I understand, intends to leave before the bombardment commences. He is a civilian, and cannot be blamed for this precautionary measure. I cannot, however, but suppose that the military attaché, who is a colonel in the army, will remain. There is a notion among the members of the Corps Diplomatique that the Prussians before they bombard the town will summon it to surrender. But it seems to me very doubtful whether they will do so. Indeed, I for one shall not believe in a general bombardment before I see it. To starve us out seems to me their safest game. Were they to fire on the town, the public opinion of the civilised world would pronounce against them. The Mobiles, who receive 1 franc 50 centimes a day, complain that they are unable to support themselves on this pittance. The conduct of these peasants is above all praise. Physically and morally they are greatly the superiors of the ordinary run of Parisians. They are quiet, orderly, and, as a rule, even devout. Yesterday I went into the Madeleine, where some service was going on. It was full of Mobiles listening to the prayers of the priest. The Breton regiments are accompanied by their priests, who bless them before they go on duty. If the Parisians were not so thoroughly conceited, one might hope that the presence of these villagers would have a beneficial effect upon them, and show them that the Frenchmen out of Paris are worth more than those within it. The generation of Parisians which has arrived at manhood during the existence of the Empire is, perhaps, the most contemptible that the world has ever seen. If one of these worthies is rich enough, his dream has been to keep a mistress in splendour; if this has been above his means, he has attempted to hang on to some wealthy _vaurien_. The number of persons without available means who somehow managed to live on the fat of the land without ever doing a single day's honest work had become enormous. Most of them have, on some pretext or other, sneaked out of Paris. One sees now very few ribbons of the Legion of Honour, notwithstanding the reckless profusion with which this order was lavished. The Emperor's flock, marked with the red streak, have disappeared. We have received news through a carrier pigeon that one of the postal balloons has reached Tours. I trust that it will have carried my letter to you. I intend henceforward to confide my letter to the post every second day, and as I have got a copying machine, to send copy by any messenger who is attempting to run the blockade. We are told that balloons are to leave every evening; but as the same announcement informs us that they will not only take letters but officials appointed to functions in the provinces, I am afraid that there is almost too much promised to render it likely that the programme will be carried out. _Afternoon._ I have just made an attempt to see what is going on between the forts and the ramparts, which has been a failure. I had obtained an order to circulate for the necessities of the defence from a member of the Government, and with this in my pocket I presented myself at several of the gates. In vain I showed my pass, in vain I insisted upon the serious consequences to Paris in general, and to the officer whom I was addressing in particular, if I were not allowed to fulfil my circulating mission. I had to give it up at last, and to content myself with circulating inside the ramparts. On them, however, I managed to get, thanks to a tradesman with whom I had often dealt, who was in command. I was told that a member of the Government, his name no one seemed to know, had addressed the "poste" yesterday, and urged the men to resist until one or other of the armies which were forming in the provinces could arrive and crush the enemy. Everything appeared, where I was, ready for an attack. The sentinels were posted at short intervals, the artillerymen were lying about near their guns, and in the Rue des Remparts there were several hundred National Guards. They seemed to be taking things easily, complained that the nights were a little chilly and that business at home was at a standstill. In the course of my walk I saw a great many barricades in process of formation. Eventually, I presume, we shall have a second line of defences within the outer walls. This second line has already been divided, like the ramparts, into nine sections, each with a separate commander. I met at least a dozen _soi-disant_ Prussian spies being conducted to prison. Each of them was surrounded by twelve men, with bayonets fixed. Coming home I saw nine French soldiers with placards bearing the inscription, "Miserable cowards." Of course, the usual crowd accompanied them. I heard that they were on their way to be shot. The newspapers of this afternoon make a good deal of noise about the exploits of the gunboat in the bend of the Seine between Point du Jour and Boulogne. They claim that its gun has dismounted the Prussian batteries on the terrace of Meudon, and that it successfully engaged several field batteries which fired upon it from the Park of St. Cloud. This may or may not be true. We are also called upon to believe that five shots from Fort Ivry destroyed the Prussian batteries at Choisy le Roi. The latest proclamation issued is one from General Trochu, in which he says that it was the fault of no one that the redoubts which were in course of construction when the Prussians arrived before the town were not finished, and that they were abandoned for strategical reasons. The latest Ultra paper publishes the account of a meeting which was remarkable, it observes, for the "excellent spirit which animated it, and the serious character of the speeches which were delivered at it." This is one of these serious orations--"The Citizen Arthur de Fonvielle recommends all citizens to exercise the greatest vigilance as regards the manoeuvres of the police, and more especially those of the Préfet of the Police. This Ministry has passed from the hands of a Corsican into those of one of the assassins of the Mexican Republic." I derive considerable amusement from the perusal of the articles which are daily published reviling the world in general for not coming to the aid of Paris. I translate the opening paragraphs of one of them which I have just read:--"In the midst of events which are overwhelming us, there is something still more melancholy than our defeat: it is our isolation. For a month the world has looked on with an impassibility, mingled with shame and cynicism, at the ruin of a capital which possesses the most exquisite gifts of sociability, the principal jewel of Europe, and the eternal ornament of civilisation." Nothing like having a good opinion of oneself. _Evening._ I hear of some one going to try to-morrow to get through the lines, so I give him a copy of this letter. My last letter went off--or rather did not go off--by a private balloon. The speculator rushed in, just as I expected him to be off, and said, "Celestine has burst." To my horror I discovered that he was speaking of the balloon. He then added, "Ernestine remains to us," and to Ernestine I confided my letter. I have not seen the speculator since; it may be that Ernestine has burst too. The latest _canard_ is that 10,000 Prussians are in a wood near Villejuif, where they have been driven by the French. As they in the most cowardly manner decline to come out of it, the wily Parisian braves are rubbing the outer circle of trees over with petroleum, as a preparatory step to burn them out. This veracious tale is believed by two-thirds of Paris. CHAPTER III. _September 27th,_ 8 A.M. I have sent you numerous letters, but I am not aware whether you have received them. As very probably they are now either in the clouds or in the moon, I write a short resume of what has passed since we have been cut off from the outer world, as I believe that I have a very good chance this morning to communicate with you. When the town was first invested the greatest disorder existed. For a few days officers, even generals, were shot at by regiments outside the fortifications; the National Guards performed their service on the ramparts very reluctantly, and, when possible, shirked it. The Mobiles were little better than an armed mob of peasants. The troops of the line were utterly demoralised. The streets were filled with troopers staggering about half drunk, and groups of armed Mobiles wandering in ignorance of the whereabouts of their quarters and of their regiments. The Government was divided into two parties--one supported by the Moderates, and anxious to make peace on reasonable terms; the other supported by the Ultras, and determined to continue the contest at all hazards. The Ministers were almost in despair at finding the utter disorder in which everything had been left by their predecessors. Little by little this condition of things has mended for the better. Since the failure of the mission of M. Jules Favre, and the exorbitant demands which were then put forward by Count Bismarck, both Moderates and Ultras have supported the men who are in power. It is felt by all that if Paris is to be defended with any prospect of success, there must be absolute union among its defenders. The Deputies of Paris are not thought, perhaps, to be endowed with any very great administrative ability, but Mr. Lincoln's proverb respecting the difficulty of a person changing his horse whilst he is crossing a stream is acted on, and so long as they neither commit any signal act of folly, nor attempt to treat with Prussia either for peace or a capitulation, I think that no effort will be made to oust them. They are, I believe, doing their best to organise the defence of this city, and if they waste a little time in altering the names of the streets, and publishing manifestoes couched in grand and bombastic phrases, it must be remembered that they have to govern Frenchmen who are fond of this species of nonsense. With respect to the military situation, the soldiers of all sorts are kept well together, and appear to be under the command of their officers. The National Guard, although it still grumbles a little, does its duty on the ramparts. The soldiers of the line are kept outside the town. The Mobiles have passed many hours in drill during the last ten days; they are orderly and well conducted, and if not soldiers already, are a far more formidable force than they were at the commencement of the siege. Whether they will ever become available for operations in the open field is, perhaps, questionable, for their regiments would probably be thrown into confusion if called upon to act together. Within the line of the forts, however, there is no reason to suppose that they will not fight well. The forts are manned by sailors, who are excellent artillerists, and the guns are formidable ones. On the Seine there is a flotilla of gunboats. The city has food and ammunition for two months. Paris, therefore, ought to be able to hold out for these two months. She has her own population, a large portion of which consists of the working men, who have never been backward in fighting. The provinces have been drained of their best blood, which has been brought up to the capital. All that remains of the French army is here. At the lowest average the armed force in Paris amounts to 450,000 men, and there are about 500,000 more from which this force can recruit itself. If, then, the capital does not hold out for two months, she will deserve the contempt of the world--if she does hold out for this period, she will at least have saved her honour, and, to a certain extent, the military reputation of France. The newspapers are still pursuing the very questionable policy of exaggerating every little affair of the outposts into a victory, and assuring those who read their lucubrations that powerful armies are on the march to raise the siege. The only real military event of any consequence which has taken place has resulted in a Prussian success. The French were driven back from some half-finished redoubts at Chatillon, and the Prussians now occupy the heights between Sèvres and Meudon, from whence, if they establish batteries, they will be able to shell a portion of the town. In the second affair which took place, absurd stories have been repeated respecting the advantages gained by the French; but they are, to say the least, extremely apocryphal, and even were they true they are of small importance. For the last few days the forts have fired upon any Prussian troops that either were or were supposed to be within shot; and the gunboats have attempted to prevent the erection of batteries on the Sèvres-Meudon plateau. In point of fact, the siege has not really commenced; and until it is seen how this vast population bears its hardships, how the forts resist the guns which may be brought to bear upon them, and how the armed force conducts itself under fire, it is impossible to speculate upon results. Considering the utter stagnation in trade, the number of working men out of employment, and the irritation caused by defeat, it must be admitted that the Parisians of all classes are behaving themselves well. The rich residents have fled, and left to their poorer neighbours the task of defending their native city. There have been no tumults or disorders, except those caused by the foolish mania of supposing every one who is not known must necessarily be a spy. Political manifestations have taken place before the Hôtel de Ville, but the conciliatory policy adopted by the Government has prevented their degenerating into excesses. Public opinion, too, has pronounced against them. From what I have heard and observed, I am inclined to think that the majority of the bourgeoisie are in favour of a capitulation, but that they do not venture to say so; and that the majority of the working men are opposed to peace on any terms. They do not precisely know themselves what would be the result of holding out, but they vaguely trust to time, and to the chapter of accidents. In the middle and upper classes there are also many who take the same view of the situation. "Let us," they say, "hold out for two months, and the condition of things will in all probability be altered, and if so, as we cannot be worse off, any change must be to our advantage." Shut up with the Parisians in Paris, I cannot help feeling a good deal of sympathy for them, notwithstanding their childish vanity, their mendacity, and their frivolity. I sincerely trust, therefore, if they do seriously resist their besiegers, that the assurances of the Government that there are ample supplies of food and of ammunition, are not part of the system of official lying which was pursued by their predecessors; and I hope that the grandiloquent boasts and brave words that one hears from morning to night will be followed by brave deeds. This morning Messenger Johnson was sent off with despatches to England from the British Embassy. He was provided with a safe-conduct, signed by General Trochu, and a letter to the Commandant of the Fort of Vanves, enjoining him to forward Mr. Johnson under a flag of truce to the Prussian lines. At half-past nine Messenger Johnson, arrayed in a pair of high boots with clanking spurs, the belongings, I presume, of a Queen's messenger, stepped into his carriage, with that "I should like to see any one touch me" air which is the badge of his tribe. His coachman being already drunk, he was accompanied by a second man, who undertook to drive until Jehu had got over the effect of his potations. I myself have always regarded Queen's messengers as superior beings, to be addressed with awe, and whose progress no one would venture to arrest. Such, however, was not the opinion of the National Guards who were on duty at the gate through which Messenger Johnson sought to leave this beleagured town. In vain Messenger Johnson showed his pass; in vain he stated that he was a free-born Briton and a Queen's messenger. These suspicious patriots ignored the pass, and scoffed at the _Civis Romanus_. In fact, I tremble as I write it, several of them said they felt somewhat inclined to shoot any Briton, and more particularly a Queen's Messenger, whilst others proposed to prod Messenger Johnson with their bayonets in his tenderest parts. Exit under these circumstances was impossible. For some time Messenger Johnson sat calm, dignified, and imperturbable in the midst of this uproar, and then made a strategical retreat to the Ministry of War. He was there given an officer to accompany him; he again set forth, and this time he was more fortunate, for he got through the gate, and vanished from our horizon. I called at the Embassy this afternoon, and found our representative, Mr. Wodehouse, confident that Messenger Johnson would arrive at his destination. Mr. Wodehouse when I left him was engaged in pacifying a lunatic, who had forced his way into the Embassy, and who insisted that he was the British Ambassador. I was surprised to learn that there are still at least 3000 of our countrymen and women in Paris. Most of them are in a state of absolute destitution, some because they have no means, others because they are unable to draw upon the funds in England. Mr. Herbert has established a species of soup kitchen, so they will not starve until we all do. Mr. Wallace, the heir of Lord Hertford, who had already given the munificent donation of 12,000l. to the Ambulance fund, has also provided funds for their most pressing wants. In to-day's _Journal des Débats_ M. John Lemoinne points out to his readers that M. Bismarck, in his remarks to M. Jules Favre, expressed the opinion of Germany, and that the expression of his views respecting the necessity of Germany annexing Alsace and Lorraine is not necessarily an insult to France. The war, says M. Lemoinne, never was a war of monarchs, but a war of nations. France as well as the Emperor is responsible for it. It must continue to be, he continues, a war _à outrance_ between two races. The terms of peace proposed by M. Bismarck cannot be accepted by France. The moderate tone and dignified melancholy of this article contrast favourably with that of almost all the leaders in the other papers, and more particularly in those of the ultra-Republican press. In _La France_, a moderate and well-conducted journal, I find the following remarks:--"Paris is the capital of France and of the world. Paris besieged is a beautiful, a surprising spectacle. The sky is blue, the atmosphere is pure, this is a happy augury, fifteen days of patience on the part of the Parisians, fifteen days to arm in the provinces, and the German army will be irreparably compromised. It will then be unable to cut its way out of the circle of fire which will surround it." When journals of the standing of _La France_ deal in this sort of nonsense it is not surprising that the ex-Imperialist organs, which are endeavouring to curry favour with the mob, are still more absurd. The _Figaro_ concludes two columns of bombast with the following flight:--"But thou, O country, never diest. Bled in all thy veins by the butchers of the North, thy divine head mutilated by the heels of brutes, the Christ of nations, for two months nailed on the cross, never hast thou appeared so great and so beautiful, Thou neededst this martyrdom, O our mother, to know how we love thee. In order that Paris, in which there is a genius which has given her the empire of the world, should fall into the hands of the barbarians, there must cease to be a God in heaven. As God she exists, and as God she is immortal. Paris will never surrender." When it is remembered that this ignorant, vain, foolish population has for nearly twenty years been fed with this sort of stuff, it is not surprising that even to this hour it cannot realise the fact that Paris is in any danger of being captured. The ultra-Republican press is becoming every day more virulent. M. Blanqui, in his organ, _La Patrie en Danger_, after praising the act of a person of the name of Malet, who last February shot an officer who refused to shout "Vive la République," thus continues:--"I was reminded of this when the other day I saw defile on the boulevards a regiment of rustic peasants. I raised my hat to salute these soldiers of liberty, but there was no response from them. Malet would have raised the kepi of one of the captains with a bullet, and he would have done well. Let us be without pity. Vive Marat! We will do justice ourselves...." The ultra-Republicans, of the stamp of M. Blanqui and M. Felix Pyat, seem to be under the impression that it is far more important to establish a Republican form of Government in France than to resist the Prussians. In the meetings which they hold every evening they clamour for the election at once of a municipality, because they hope to become themselves members of it, and then to absorb all the power which is now wielded by the Provisional Government. Beyond discrediting themselves by these attempts to disturb the harmony within the walls, which is of such vital importance at the present moment, I do not think that they will do much. I have talked to many working men, and whatever may be their political opinions, they are far too sensible to play the game of the Prussians by weakening the existing Government. After the Prussians perhaps the deluge; but as long as they are before Paris, and the Provisional Government does not capitulate, I do not dread any political disorders. What we may come to, are bread riots. There is already an immense deal of misery, and, as the siege continues and provisions rise in price, it will of course increase. I was talking this morning to a gentleman who used at one time to play a very important part in public life, who is well acquainted with most of the members of the Government, and who is a man of calm judgment. I was anxious to obtain his opinion upon the situation, and this is a _résumé_ of what he told me. "When Jules Favre," he said, "went to Bismarck, he was prepared to agree to the dismantlement of the fortresses of Alsace and Lorraine, the cession of half the fleet, the payment of an indemnity of eighty millions of pounds, and an agreement for a term of years not to have a standing army of more than 200,000 men. A Constituent Assembly would have ratified these terms. The cession of a portion of the fleet is but tantamount to the payment of money. The conscription is so unpopular that a majority of the nation would have been glad to know that the standing army would henceforward be a small one. As for the fortresses, they have not been taken, and yet they have not arrested the Prussian advance on Paris; consequently their destruction would not seriously weaken the defences of the country." I asked whether Paris would now consent to these terms. "No," he said, "if the Government offered them there would be a revolution. Paris, rightly or wrongly, believes that she will be able to hold out for two months, and that during this time there will be a _levée en masse_." "And do you share this opinion?" I asked. "I am not of a very sanguine character" he replied; "but I really am now inclined to believe that the Prussians will never enter Paris unless they starve us into a surrender." "Then," I said, "I suppose they will starve us out." "I am an old man," he said, "and I always remember Philip's saying, 'Time and I are two,' In two months many things may happen. Winter is coming on. The Prussian army is composed of men engaged in business at home and anxious to return; the North does not love the South, and divisions may arise. The King of Prussia is an old man, and he may die. Without absolutely counting upon a French army raising the siege, there are _levées_ forming in Lyons and elsewhere, and the Germans will find their communications seriously menaced. Russia, too, and Austria may interfere, so I think that we are wise to resist as long as we can." "But if you have to capitulate, what will happen?" I asked. "If we do capitulate, our disaster will be complete," he answered. "I do not anticipate disorders; the population of Paris is an intelligent one, it wishes the Government to resist as long as it can, but not to prolong an impossible situation. Paris must do her part in defending the country, she can do no more." "Well," I said, "supposing that the Prussians were to withdraw, and peace were to be concluded on reasonable terms, what do you think would take place?" "Gambetta, Jules Favre, and the majority of the Parisian Deputies would call a Constituent Assembly as soon as possible, and resign power into its hands. They are moderate Republicans, but between a Red Republic and a Constitutional Monarchy they would prefer the latter. As practical men, from what I know of them, I am inclined to think that they would be in favour of the Orleanist family--either the Comte de Paris or the Duc d'Aumale." "And would the majority of the Constituent Assembly go with them?" I asked. "I think it would" he replied. "The Orleanist family would mean peace. Of late years Frenchmen have cared very little for military glory; their dream has been to save money. One advantage of our disasters is that it has limited the number of pretenders to the Throne, for after the capitulation of Sedan, neither the army nor the peasants will support a Bonaparte. There will be two parties--the ultra-Republicans, and the advocates of a Constitutional Monarchy under a Prince of the House of Orleans. Unless the friends of the Orleans Princes commit some great fault, they are masters of the situation." I went down this morning to the Halles Centrales. There was very little going on. _Bonnes_ were coming to market, but most of the booths were untenanted, and the price of vegetables, eggs, and butter was exorbitant. "Why do you complain of me?" said a dealer to a customer--"is it my fault? Curse Badinguet and that wretch of a Bismarck; they choose to fight, so you must pay double for these carrots" The butchers yesterday published an appeal against the maximum; they said that the cost of animals is so great that they positively are losing upon every joint which they sell. A new proclamation of the Mayor has just been issued, announcing that 500 oxen and 4,000 sheep will daily be slaughtered and sold to the butchers at a price to enable them to gain 20 per cent, by retailing meat at the official tariff. I find that, come what may, we have coffee and sugar enough to last many months, so that provided the bread does not fail, we shall take some time to starve out. This afternoon a dense column of smoke was seen rising in the air in the direction of La Villette, and it gradually covered the town with a dark cloud. The pessimists among the Boulevard quidnuncs insisted that the town had been set on fire by the Prussians; the optimists were convinced that the 10,000, who for some reason or other are supposed to be in a wood, patiently waiting to be roasted, were being burnt. It turns out that some petroleum in the Buttes de Chaumont caught fire. After burning about two hours, the fire was put out by heaping dirt on it. The Prussians still occupy the plateau of Meudon, and despatches from the forts say that troops are supposed to be concentrating between Meudon and Sèvres. We have come to the conclusion that as the Prussians do not fire upon Grenello and Auteuil, they have neither Krupp nor siege guns. I trust this may prove true. News has been received from Tours; it was brought by an officer who ran the blockade. We are much elated to learn that the result of M. Jules Favre's interview has been posted up throughout France. We believe that the effect of this measure "will be equal to an army." The Post Office informs the public that a regular system of balloons has been organised, and that letters will be received and forwarded to the provinces and abroad, provided they do not weigh above four grammes. A deputation of English and American correspondents waited to-day on M. Jules Favre, to ask him to give them facilities to send their letters by the balloons. This he promised to do. He also half promised to let all correspondents have a pass, on stating who they are. The worst of a pass is, that it is no protection against arrest, for, say your captors, "Prussian spies are so cunning that they would be precisely the persons to have papers, either forged or stolen." Another trouble is, that if you are arrested, you are generally shut up, with half-a-dozen thieves and drunkards, for about twenty-four hours, before a Commissary condescends to inquire into your case. No one as yet has ever troubled me; but the spy mania certainly does not add to the charm of the residence of a stranger in Paris just now. I would rather run the chance of being hit during a bombardment, than affront the certainty of twenty-four hours in a filthy police cell. Suspicion is, no doubt, carried to a ridiculous excess; but it is equally true that unquestionable spies are arrested every day under every sort of disguise. Mr. Washburne told me yesterday that he saw a _soi-disant_ "Invalide" arrested, who turned out to be a regular "spectacled Dutchman." _September 28th._ Nothing new at the front. We suppose that the enemy are concentrating troops on the Sèvres-Meudon plateau, and that they intend to attack on that side. We are confident that the guns of Mont Valérien will prevent the success of this attack. On the opposite side of Paris they are endeavouring to erect batteries; but they are unable to do so on account of the fire of Fort Nogent. It seems to me that we are shouting before we are quite out of the wood; but we are already congratulating ourselves upon having sustained a siege which throws those of Saragossa and Richmond into the shade. If we have not yet been bombarded, we have assumed "an heroic attitude of expectation;" and if the Prussians have not yet stormed the walls, we have shown that we were ready to repel them if they had. Deprived of our shepherd and our sheep-dogs, we civic sheep have set up so loud a ba-ba, that we have terrified the wolves who wished to devour us. In the impossible event of an ultimate capitulation we shall hang our swords and our muskets over our fire-places, and say to our grandchildren, "I, too, was one of the defenders of Paris." In the meantime, soldiers who have run away when attacked are paraded through the streets with a placard on their breasts, requesting all good citizens to spit upon them. Two courts-martial have been established to judge spies and marauders, and in each of the nine sections there is a court-martial to sit upon peccant National Guards. "The sentence," says the decree, "will at once be executed by the detachment on duty." We are preparing for the worst; in the Place of the Panthéon, and other squares, it is proposed to take up the paving stones, because they will, if left, explode shells which may strike them. The windows of the Louvre and other public edifices are being filled with sand bags. This morning I was walking along the Rue Lafayette, when I heard a cry "A bas les cigares!" and I found that if I continued to smoke, it was thought that I should set light to some ammunition waggons which were passing. Yesterday evening there was a report, which was almost universally credited, that a revolution had broken out in London, because the English Government had refused to aid Paris in driving back the Prussians. The Parisians find it impossible to understand that the world at large can see little distinction between a French army entering Berlin and a Prussian army entering Paris. Their capital is to them a holy city, and they imagine that the Christian world regards the Prussian attack upon it much as the Mahometan world would regard a bombardment of Mecca. No doubt it will be a shocking thing to bombard a city such as this, filled with women and children; still, being an Englishman, I cannot see that it would be worse than to bombard London. The newspapers of this morning contain a _précis_ of a letter from "our Fritz" to William "the mystic drunkard." Our Fritz writes to his papa to say that he ought to have accepted peace when it was proffered by Jules Favre. How the contents of the letter are known in Paris is not stated. But here we know everything. We know that at a council of war held two days ago at Versailles a majority declared that it was impossible to take Paris. We know that the German soldiers are dying of starvation and clothed in rags. We know that they are forced by their officers, against their will, to attack their French brothers. Did not yesterday a National Guard himself take five Prussian prisoners? They were starving, and thankfully accepted a piece of bread. They had a wounded companion in a wheelbarrow, who continually shook his fist in the direction of the "mystic drunkard," and plaintively moaned forth the only French word he knew, "Misérable, misérable!" Did not another National Guard go into a house recently occupied by "Bavarians," and find the following words written on a shutter--"Poor Frenchmen, we love you: they force us to fight against you?" I believe all this, and many other strange facts, because I see them in print in the newspapers. Can it possibly be that I am over-credulous? Am I wrong, too, in believing that France is rising _en masse_, that Moltke did not understand his business in advancing on Paris, and that he will be crushed by the armies of the Loire and a dozen other places--if, indeed, our gallant heroes congregated in Paris give their brethren outside time to share in the triumph of defeating him? _En attendant_, we eat, drink, and are reasonably merry; our defenders mount guard, and drill when they are off guard. Our wary Mobiles outside not only refuse to allow Prussians to pass, but such is their vigilance, they generally arrest officers of any regiment except their own who come within their ken. These worthy fellows will, I believe, fight with bravery. The working men, too, are engaged in heaping up barricades, and are ready to allow themselves to be killed and their landlords' houses to be blown up rather than surrender. The sailors in the forts are prepared to hold them like ships against all comers. The "infantry of the marine" is commanded by an old tar who stands no nonsense. A few days ago he published an order complaining that the marines "undulated under fire." Some of his officers went to him as a deputation to protest against this slur on them and their men; but he cut their remonstrances short by immediately cashiering the spokesman. To-day he announces that if his men are supplied with drink within the limits of his command he will burn down all the pothouses. It is greatly to be deplored that the determined spirit of this Admiral does not animate all his brother commanders; they are perpetually engaged in discussing with those who are under their orders, and appear to be afraid to put down insubordination with a high hand. If ever they venture upon any act of rigour, they are called upon by the Ultra press to justify it, and they generally do so in a lengthy letter. I have been, as the Americans say, much exercised of late respecting certain persons whom I have seen strolling about the streets, avoiding as much as possible their species. Whenever anyone looked at them they sneaked away with deprecating glances. They are dressed in a sort of pea-jacket, with hoods, black trousers, and black caps, and their general appearance was a cross between a sailor and a monk. I have at length discovered with surprise that these retiring innocents are the new sergents-de-ville of M. Kératry, who are daily denounced by the Ultras as ferocious wolves eager to rend and devour all honest citizens. If this be true, I can only say that they are well disguised in sheep's clothing. Letters from Paris, if ever they do get to London, must necessarily be so dull, that they can hardly repay the trouble of reading them. Life here is about as lively as life on board a ship. The two main subjects of conversation, the military preparations within the town, and the amount of food, are in honour tabooed to correspondents. With respect to the former I will only say, that if the Prussians do carry the forts and the enceinte, they will not have taken Paris; with regard to the latter, I can state that we shall not be starved out for some time. Besides the cattle which have been accumulated, we have 90,000 horses; and although a cab horse may not taste as good as Southdown mutton, I have no doubt that Parisian cooking will make it a very palatable dish for hungry men; there are, too, a great many dogs, and the rats have not yet left the sinking ship. As for coffee and sugar we have enough to last for six months; and, unless the statistics of the Government are utterly worthless, come what may we shall not lack bread for many a day. The Rump of the Corps Diplomatique has held a second meeting, and a messenger has been sent to Bismarck to know--1st, whether he means to bombard the city; 2nd, whether, if he does, he intends to give the usual twenty-four hours' notice. Diplomates are little better than old women when they have to act on an emergency. Were it not for Mr. Washburne, who was brought up in the rough-and-ready life of the Far West, instead of serving an apprenticeship in Courts and Government offices, those who are still here would be perfectly helpless. They come to him at all moments, and although he cannot speak French, for all practical purposes he is worth more than all his colleagues put together. Lord Lyons would, I believe, have remained, had he not been over persuaded by timid colleagues, who were ordered to do as he did. It is a great pity that he did not act according to his own judgment; but Republics, we know, are not in good odour with courtiers. As for that poor creature Metternich, he was utterly demoralized. He was more of a Chamberlain of Badinguet than an Ambassador, and, of course, when his friend disappeared, he took the earliest opportunity to follow his example. _September 29th._ We still are cut off from the outer world, but neither "the world forgetting," nor, we imagine, "by the world forgot." The inhabitants of the "Mecca of civilization" are still, like Sister Anne, looking out for some one to come to their assistance. I am utterly sick and tired of the eternal brag and bombast around me. Let the Parisians gain some success, and then celebrate it as loudly as they please: but why, in the name of common sense, will they rejoice over victories yet to come? "We are preserving," they say, "a dignified expectative attitude." Mr. Micawber put the thing in more simple vernacular when, he said that he was waiting for something to turn up. "First catch your hare" is a piece of advice which our patriots here would scoff at. They have not yet caught the Prussians, but they have already, by a flight of imagination, cooked and eaten them. Count Moltke may as well--if I am to believe one quarter of what I hear--like the American coon, come down. In a question of military strategy between the grocers of Paris and the Prussian generals I should have thought that the odds were considerably in favour of the latter, but I am told that this is not so, and that in laying siege to Paris they are committing a mistake for which a schoolboy would be deservedly whipped. If you eliminate the working-class element, which has not been corrupted by the Imperial system, the population of this town is much what I imagine that of Constantinople to have been when it was taken by the Turks. They are Greeks of the lower empire. Monsieur sticks his kepi on one side of his head, and struts and swaggers along the Boulevard as though he were a bantam cock. We have lost the _petits crevés_ who formed so agreeable an element in society, but they have been replaced by the military dandy, a being, if possible, still more offensive. This creature mounts some sorry screw and parades the Boulevard and the Champs Elysées, frowning dismally upon the world in general, and twirling his moustache with the one hand, whilst he holds on to the saddle with the other. His sword is of the longest, his waist is of the tightest, and his boots are of the brightest. His like is only to be seen in England when the _Battle of Waterloo_ is played at Astley's, but his seat is not as good as that of the equestrian warriors of that establishment. As he slowly paces along he gazes slyly to see how many people are looking at him, and it must be owned that those who do see him, vastly admire him. What manner of beings these admirers are may be imagined from their idol. No contrast can be greater than that which exists between the Parisian Bobadils and the Provincial Mobiles. The latter are quiet and orderly, eager to drill and without a vestige of bluster--these poor peasants are of a very different stuff from the emasculated, conceited scum which has palmed itself off on Europe as representative Frenchmen. The families with whom they lodge speak with wonder of their sobriety, their decency, and their simple ways, and in their hearts almost despise them because they do not ravish their daughters or pillage their cellars; and neither swear every half-hour to die for their country, nor yell the "Marseillaise." If Paris be saved, it will be thanks to them and to the working men of the capital. But it will be the old _sic vos non vobis_ story; their brave deeds and undemonstrative heroism will be forgotten, and Jules and Alphonse, the dandies and braggarts of the Boulevard, will swear to their own heroism. I trust that the Prussians will fail to take Paris, because I think that the French are right to fight on rather than submit to the dismemberment of their country; and because I prefer a Republic to a Monarchy where a King reigns by right divine. But when I read the bombastic articles in the newspapers--when I see the insane conceit and the utter ignorance of those with whom I am thrown--when I find them really believing that they are heroes because they are going, they say, to win battles, it is difficult to entertain any great sympathy for them. How utterly must poor old Badinguet, before whom they cringed for years--who used them, bought them, and made his market out of their vanity, their ignorance, and their love of theatrical claptrap, despise them, as he dreams again through life's dream in the gardens of his German prison. They call him now a "sinister scoundrel" and a "lugubrious stage player." But he was their master for many a long year, and they owe their emancipation from his yoke to Prussian arms and not to themselves. A committee of "subsistence" has been established. The feud between the butchers and the public still continues, and most of the meat stalls are closed. The grocers, too, are charging absurd prices for their goods. _La Liberté_ suggests that their clients should do themselves justice, and one of these mornings, unless these gentry abate their prices, some grocer will be found hanging before his door. Although provisions are plentiful, the misery is very great. Beggars increase in number every day--they are like one of the plagues of Egypt. I was taking a cup of coffee this morning before a café, and I counted twenty-three beggars who asked me for money whilst I was sitting there. We still derive much comfort from caricaturing Badinguet, William, and Bismarck. The latest effort represents Badinguet and William as Robert Macaire and Bertrand. Another represents Badinguet eating an eagle. "Coquin," says William, "what are you doing with your eagle?" "Eating it," replies Badinguet; "what else can I do with it?" Little statuettes, too, of the "two friends," Badinguet and William, are in great request. William, with an immense moustache, scowls at Badinguet, who humbly kneels before him. M. Jules Favre, in reply to the English press deputation, sent last night to say that each correspondent must make a personal application to General Trochu. I know what that means already. All I ask is that my letters should be put up in a balloon. As for passes, I have one already, and it has not been of the slightest service to me. _Les Nouvelles_ heads an article "English Spies," and proposes that to simplify the question of whether they are spies or not, all English in Paris should at once be shot. I cannot say that I personally have found any ill-feeling to exist against me because I am an Englishman. Yesterday afternoon I was in a crowd, and some one suggested that I was a spy; I immediately mounted on a chair and explained that I was a "journaliste Anglais," and pointed out to my friends that they ought to be obliged to me for remaining here. "If any one doubts me," I added, "let us go to the nearest commissary." No one did doubt me, and fifty patriots immediately shook hands with me. The French people are apt to form hasty judgments sometimes, and to act on them still more hastily, but if one can get them to listen for a moment, they are reasonable, and soon their natural good nature asserts itself. The zealous but well-intended Mobiles are the most dangerous, for they shoot you first and then apologise to your corpse. An order is placarded to-day of Governor Trochu's, announcing that anyone trying to pass the lines will be sent before the Courts Martial, or if he or she runs away when ordered to stop, will be shot on the spot. This latter clause allows a very great latitude for zeal, more particularly as the "lines" just now are little more than a geographical expression. Their Emperor is a prisoner, the enemy is thundering at their gates, they are shut up here like rats in a hole; they have been vanquished in the only engagement they have had with their besiegers, and yet the Parisians believe that, compared with them, the Germans are an inferior race, and, like the slave before Marius, will shrink abashed before the majesty of Paris. "If we," say their newspapers, "the wisest, the best, the noblest of human beings, have to succumb to this horde of barbarians that environ us, we shall cease to believe in the existence of a Providence." The movement on the part of the "Ultras" to elect at once a municipality is gaining strength. Yesterday several chiefs of the faubourg battalions of the National Guard interviewed Jules Ferry on the subject. Ledru Rollin has declared himself in favour of it, and this morning there are evidences that the Government is inclined to give way to the pressure, for a decree is published in the _Journal Officiel_ ordering a registration of voters. The worst of Frenchmen is that, no matter how patriotic each one may be, he is convinced that the interests of his country require that he should be one of its rulers. The men of '48 who have returned from exile are surprised that they are almost forgotten by the present generation, which regards them as interesting historical relics, and puts its faith in new gods. At the clubs every evening the Government is denounced for refusing to admit into its ranks this or that patriot, or adjourning the municipal elections, and for not sending revolutionary agents into the provinces. A newspaper this morning makes the excellent suggestion that M. Blanqui, M.F. Pyat, and their principal adherents should be invited to proceed at once to the provinces in a balloon, invested with the rank of Government agents. "They cannot," it adds, "do so much harm there as they are doing here; and then, too, the balloon may burst." Personally, I should be glad to see a moderate Republic established here, for I regard a Court as a waste of public money; but it seems to me that Republicans should remember that it is for the nation, and not for them, to decide what shall henceforward be the form of government. CHAPTER IV _September 30th._ We are still beating our tom-toms like the Chinese, to frighten away the enemy, and our braves still fire off powder at invisible Uhlans. The Prussians, to our intense disgust, will not condescend even to notice us. We jeer at them, we revile them, and yet they will not attack us. What they are doing we cannot understand. They appear to have withdrawn from the advanced positions which they held. We know that they are in the habit of making war in a thoroughly ungentlemanly manner, and we cannot make up our minds whether our "attitude" is causing them to hesitate, or whether they are not devising some new trick to take us by surprise. That they are starving, that their communications with Germany are cut off, that their leaders are at loggerheads, that the Army of the Loire will soon be here to help us to demolish them, we have not the slightest doubt. The question is no longer whether Paris will be taken--that we have solved already--it is whether the Prussians will be able to get back to the Rhine. We are thankful that Bismarck did not accept Jules Favre's offer of a money indemnity. We would not give a hundred francs now to ensure peace or an armistice. I went this morning into a shop, the proprietor of which, a bootmaker, I have long known, and I listened with interest to the conversation of this worthy man with some of his neighbours who had dropped in to have a gossip, and to congratulate him on his martial achievements, as he had been on guard in a bastion. We first discussed why the Army of the Loire had not arrived, and we came to the conclusion that it was engaged in rallying Bazaine. "I should like to read your English newspapers now," said one; "your _Tims_ told us we ought to cede Alsace and Lorraine, but its editor must now acknowledge that Paris is invincible." I told him that I felt convinced that he did so regularly every morning. "No peace," shouted a little tailor, who had been prancing about on an imaginary steed, killing imaginary Prussians, "we have made a pact with death; the world knows now what are the consequences of attacking us." The all-absorbing question of subsistence then came up, and some one remarked that beef would give out sooner than mutton. "We must learn," observed a jolly-looking grocer, "to vanquish the prejudices of our stomachs. Even those who do not like mutton must make the sacrifice of their taste to their country." I mildly suggested that perhaps in a few weeks the stomachs which had a prejudice against rats would have to overcome it. At this the countenance of the gossips fell considerably, when the bootmaker, after mysteriously closing the door, whispered, "A secret was confided to me this morning by an intimate friend of General Trochu. There is a tunnel which connects Paris with the provinces, and through it flocks and herds are entering the town." This news cheered us up amazingly. My bootmaker's wife came in to help him off with his military accoutrements; so, with a compliment about Venus disarming Mars, I withdrew in company with an American, who had gone into the shop with me. This American is a sort of transatlantic Bunsby. He talks little, but thinks much. His sole observation to me as we walked away was this, "They will squat, sir, mark my words, they will squat." I received this oracular utterance with respect, and I leave it to others to solve its meaning, I am myself a person of singular credulity, but even I sometimes ask myself whether all I hear and read can be true. Was there really, as all the newspapers this morning inform me, a meeting last Sunday at London of 400,000 persons, who were addressed by eminent M.P's, and by the principal merchants and owners of manufactories in England, at which resolutions were adopted denouncing the Queen, and calling upon Mr. Gladstone either to retire from office, or to declare war against Prussia? The Tuileries correspondence, of which I gave a short summary yesterday, reveals the fact that both M. de Cassagnac and Baron Jerome David were regular pensioners on the Civil List. The cost of the Prince Imperial's baptism amounted to 898,000fr. The cousins, male and female, of the Emperor, received 1,310,975fr. per annum; the Duc de Persigny received in two months, 60,000fr.; Prince Jablonowyski, Countess Gajan, Madame Claude Vignon, Le General Morris, and many other ladies and gentlemen who never did the State any service, are down for various sums. Among other items is one of 1,200fr. to General de Failly for sugar plums. The Duchess of Mouchy, whose name continually appears, received 2,000,000fr. as a marriage portion. The son of the American Bonaparte had a pension of 30,000fr.; Madame Ratazzi of 24,000fr.; her sister, Madame Turr, the same; Marquis Pepoli, 25,000fr. But the poor relations do not appear to have been contented with their pensions, for on some pretext or other they were always getting extra allowances out of their rich cousin. As for Prince Achille Murat, the Emperor paid his debts a dozen times. Whatever he may have been to the outer world, poor old Badinguet seems to have been a Providence to his forty-two cousins and to his personal friends. He carried out Sidney Smith's notion of charity--put his hand into someone else's pocket, and gave away what he stole liberally. _Figaro_, with its usual good taste, recommends the battalions of the National Guard to choose celebrities of the _demi-monde_ for their vivandières. From what I hear every day, I imagine that the battalions will be far more likely to hang the editor of this facetious paper than to take his advice. I am told by the kiosque women that its sale is falling off daily. The clubs and their organs have announced that the municipal elections are to take place, with or without the consent of the Government, on October 2, and that not only the inhabitants of Paris, but the Gardes Mobiles and the peasants who have taken refuge within the walls of the city are to vote. In the working men's quarters there is undoubtedly a strong feeling in favour of these elections being held at once. But the working men do not attend the clubs. I have dropped into several of them, and the audience appeared to me principally to be composed of strongminded women and demagogues, who never did an honest day's work in their lives. The Government has, however, been "interviewed" on the subject of the municipal elections by the chiefs of the battalions of the National Guards of the Faubourgs, and, if only some men of position can be found to put themselves at the head of the movement, it will cause trouble. As yet, Ledru-Rollin is the only known politician who avowedly favours it. The Government is, I believe, divided upon the expediency of holding the elections at once, or rather I should say, upon the possibility of putting them off without provoking disturbances. I am inclined to think that, as is usually the case, the Moderates will yield on this point to their Ultra colleagues. Very possibly they may think that, if ever a capitulation becomes necessary, it will be as well to make the nominees of the Faubourgs share in the responsibility. As Jules Favre said of Rochefort, they are perhaps safer in the Government than outside of it. The column of the Place Vendôme is daily bombarded by indignant patriots, who demand that it should be razed to the ground, and the metal of which it is composed be melted down into cannon. The statue of Napoleon I., in the cocked hat and great-coat, which used to be on its summit, was removed a few years ago to a pedestal at the end of the Avenue de la Grande Armée. It has been concealed to preserve it from the iconoclasts. There has been a lull of late in M. Gambetta's proclamations. Within the last twenty-four hours, not above two fresh ones have appeared. The newspapers are beginning to clamour for a sortie. Why, they ask, are we to allow ourselves to be besieged by an army which does not equal in numbers our own? Why are we to allow them quietly to establish their batteries? There is a certain amount of sense in these complaints, though the vital question of how regiments, which have never had an opportunity of being brigaded together, will be able to vanquish in the open field the disciplined troops of Germany, is the unknown [Greek: x] in the problem which has yet to be solved. It is evident, however, that the question must be tested, unless we are to remain within the fortifications until we have digested our last omnibus horse. If the enemy attacks, there is fair ground to suppose that he will be repelled; but then, perhaps he will leave us to make the first move. Without entering into details, I may say that considerable engineering skill has been shown of late in strengthening the defences, that the Mobiles and the National Guard, if their words mean anything, which has yet to be proved, are full of fighting, and that the armed force at our disposal has at length been knocked into some sort of shape. Every day that the Prussian attack is delayed diminishes its chance of success. "If they do carry the town by assault," said a general to me yesterday, "it will be our fault, for, from a military point of view, it is now impregnable." What the effect of a bombardment may be upon the morale of the inhabitants we have yet to see. In any case, however, until several of those hard nuts, the forts, have been cracked, a bombardment can only be partial. There was heavy firing last night, and it increased in intensity this morning. At about one o'clock I saw above 100 wounded being brought to the Palais de l'Industrie, and on going to Montrouge I found the church near the fortifications full of them. The following is the official account of what has happened: Our troops in a vigorous sortie, successively occupied Chevilly and l'Hay, and advanced as far as Thiais and Choisy-le-Roi. All these positions were solidly occupied, the latter with cannon. After a sharp artillery and musketry engagement our troops fell back on their positions with a remarkable order and _aplomb_. The Garde Mobile were very firm. _En somme journée très honorable_. Our losses have been considerable. Those of the enemy probably as considerable. TROCHU. I need not add that as usual we have had rumours all day of a great victory and a junction with the Army of the Loire. General Trochu's despatch, dated 10-30, Bicêtre, reduces matters to their real dimensions. _October 1st._ Although the Government statistics respecting the amount of food in Paris have been published, and are consequently, in all probability, in the hands of the Prussians, I do not like to give them myself. It can, however, do no harm to explain the system which is being adopted by the authorities to make our stores hold out as long as possible. Every butcher receives each morning a certain amount of meat, calculated upon his average sales. Against this meat he issues tickets in the evening to his customers, who, upon presentation of the ticket the next morning, receive the amount for which they have inscribed themselves at the price fixed by the tariff of the week. When tickets have been issued by the butcher equivalent to the meat which he is to receive, he issues no more. Yesterday a decree was promulgated, ordering all persons having flour on sale to give it up to the Government at the current price. It will, I presume, be distributed to the bakers, like the meat to the butchers. As regards meat, the supply does not equal the demand--many persons are unable to obtain tickets, and consequently have to go without it. Restaurants cannot get enough for their customers. This evening, for instance, at seven o'clock, on going into a restaurant, I found almost everything already eaten up. I was obliged to "vanquish the prejudices of my stomach," and make a dinner on sheeps' trotters, pickled cauliflower, and peaches. My stomach is still engaged in "vanquishing its prejudice" to this repast, and I am yet in the agonies of indigestion. In connection, however, with this question of food, there is another important consideration. Work is at a standstill. Mobiles and Nationaux who apply _formâ pauperis_ receive one franc and a half per diem. Now, at present prices, it is materially impossible for a single man to buy sufficient food to stave off hunger for this sum, how then those who depend upon it for their sustenance, and have wives and families to support out of it, are able to live, it is difficult to understand. Sooner or later the population will have to be rationed like soldiers, and, if the siege goes on, useless mouths will have to be turned out. It was supposed that the peasants in the neighbourhood of Paris, who were invited to take refuge within its walls, would bring more than enough food with them for themselves and their families, but they preferred to bring their old beds and their furniture. Besides our stores of flour, of sheep, and of oxen, we have twenty-two million pounds of horse-flesh to fall back upon, so that I do not think that we shall be starved out for some time; still the misery among those who have no money to buy food will, unless Government boldly faces the question, be very great. Everything, except beef, mutton, and bread, is already at a fancy price. Ham costs 7fr. the kilo.; cauliflowers, 1.50fr. a head; salt butter 9fr. the kilo, (a kilo, is about two pounds); a fat chicken 10fr.; a thin one, 5fr.; a rabbit, 11fr.; a duck, 9fr.; a fat goose, 20fr. Rents, too, are as vexed a question as they are in Ireland. In a few days the October term comes due. Few can pay it; it is proposed, therefore, to allow no landlord to levy it either before the close of the siege or before December. General Trochu, in his Rapport Militaire of yesterday's proceedings, expands his despatch of yesterday evening. The object, he says, was, by a combined action on both banks of the Seine, to discover precisely in what force the enemy was in the villages of Choisy-le-Roi and Chevilly. Whilst the brigade of General Giulham drove the enemy out of Chevilly, the head of the column of General Blaise entered the village of Thiais, and seized a battery of cannon, which, however, could not be moved for want of horses. At this moment the Prussians were reinforced, and a retreat took place in good order. General Giulham was killed. General d'Exea, while this combat was going on, marched with a brigade on Creteil, and inflicted a severe loss with his mitrailleuses on the enemy. This report contrasts favourably with the florid, exaggerated accounts of the engagement which are published in this morning's papers. I am glad to find that France possesses at least one man who tells the truth, and who can address his fellow-citizens in plain language. The credulity of the Parisians, and their love of high-flown bombast, amount to a disease, which, if this city is not to sink into a species of Baden Baden, must be stamped out. Mr. O'Sullivan recently published an account of his expedition to the Prussian headquarters in the _Electeur Libre_. Because he said that the Prussians were conducting themselves well in the villages they occupied, the editor of the paper has been overwhelmed with letters reviling him for publishing such audacious lies. Most Frenchmen consider anyone who differs from them to be either a knave or a fool, and they fabricate facts to prove their theories. An "intelligent young man" published a letter this morning saying that he had escaped from Versailles, and that already 700 girls have been ravished there by the Prussians. This intelligent young man's tale will be credited, and Mr. O'Sullivan will be disbelieved by nine-tenths of this population. They believe only what they wish to believe. M. Rochefort has issued a "poster" begging citizens not to construct private barricades. There must, he justly observes, be "unity in the system of interior defences." The _Réveil_ announces that the Ultras do not intend to proceed to revolutionary elections of a municipality to-morrow, because they have hopes that the Government intend to yield on this question. The Prefect of the Police is actively engaged in an attempt to throw light upon Pietri's connection with the plots which periodically came to a head against the Empire. Documents have been discovered which will show that most of these plots were got up by the Imperial police. Pietri, Lagrange, and Barnier, a _juge d'instruction_, were the prime movers. A certain Bablot received 20,000fr. for his services as a conspirator. The complaints of the newspapers against the number of young men who avoid military duty by hooking themselves on in some capacity or other to an ambulance are becoming louder every day. For my part I confess that I look with contempt upon any young Frenchman I meet with the red cross on his arm, unless he be a surgeon. I had some thoughts of making myself useful as a neutral in joining one of these ambulances, but I was deterred by what happened to a fellow-countryman of mine who offered his services. He was told that thousands of applicants were turned away every day, and that there already were far more persons attached to every ambulance than were necessary. Dr. Evans, the leading spirit of the American ambulance, the man whose speciality it was to have drawn more royal teeth, and to have received more royal decorations than any other human being, has left Paris. Mr. Washburne informs me that there are still about 250 Americans here, of whom about forty are women. Some of them remain to look after their homes, others out of curiosity. "I regard," said an American lady to me to-day, who had been in a southern city (Vicksburg, if I remember rightly), when it was under fire, "a bombardment as the finest and most interesting effort of pyrotechnical skill, and I want to see if you Europeans have developed this art as fully as we have, which I doubt." _October 2nd._ I wrote to General Trochu yesterday to ask him to allow me to accompany him outside the walls to witness military operations. His secretary has sent me a reply to-day regretting that the General cannot comply with my request. The correspondent of the _Morning Post_ interviewed the secretary yesterday on the same subject, but was informed that as no _laisser passer_ was recognised by the Mobiles, and as General Trochu had himself been arrested, the Government would not take upon itself the responsibility of granting them. This is absurd, for I hear that neither the General nor any of his staff have been fired upon or arrested during the last week. The French military mind is unable to understand that the world will rather credit the testimony of impartial neutrals than official bulletins. As far as correspondents are concerned, they are worse off under the Republic than even under the Empire. M. Louis Blanc's appeal to the people of England is declamatory and rhetorical in tone, and I am inclined to think that the people of England are but a Richard Doe, and that in reality it is addressed to the Parisians. M. Blanc asks the English in Paris to bear witness that the windows of the Louvre are being stuffed with sandbags to preserve the treasures within from the risks of a bombardment. I do so with pleasure. I cannot, however, bear him out in his assertions respecting the menacing calm of Paris, and the indomitable attitude of its National Guards. M. Blanc, like most of his countrymen, mistakes the wish for the will, words for deeds, promises for performance. What has happened here, and what is happening? The forts are manned with sailors, who conscientiously fire off their cannon. A position has been lost. Two sorties consisting of troops and armed peasants have been driven back. The National Guards do duty on the ramparts, drill in the streets, offer crowns to the statue of Strasburg, wear uniforms, and announce that they have made a pact with death. I sincerely trust that they may distinguish themselves, but they have not had an opportunity to do so. Not one of them has as yet honoured his draft on death. Behind their forts, their troops, their crowd of peasants, and their ramparts, they boast of what they will do. If they do really bury themselves beneath the ruins of their capital they will be entitled to the admiration of history, but as yet they are civilians of the present and heroes of the future. Noisy blusterers may be brave men. I have no doubt there are many in Paris ready to die for their country. I can, however, only deal with facts, and I find that the Parisians appear to rely for safety upon everything except their own valour. One day it is the Army of the Loire; another day it is some mechanical machine; another day dissensions among the Prussian generals; another day the intervention of Russia or Austria. In the meantime, clubs denounce the Government; club orators make absurd and impracticable speeches, the Mayor changes the names of streets, and inscribes Liberté, Egalité, and Fraternité on the public buildings. The journals of all colours, with only one or two exceptions, are filled with lies and bombast, and the people believe the one and admire the other. The Minister of the Interior placards the walls with idle proclamations, and arrests Bonapartists. Innocent neutrals are mobbed as Prussian spies, and the only prisoners that we see are French soldiers on their way to be shot for cowardice. Nothing is really done to force the Prussians to raise the siege, although the defenders exceed in number the besiegers. How can all this end? In a given time provisions and ammunition will be exhausted, and a capitulation must ensue. I wish with all my heart that the hosts of Germany may meet with the same fate as befell the army of Sennacherib; but they are not likely to be killed or forced to retreat by speeches, pacts with death, sentimental appeals, and exaggerated abuse. The _Temps_ calculates that our loss on Friday amounted to about 500 wounded and 400 killed. The object of the sortie was to blow up a bridge over the Seine, and to rouse the courage of the Parisians by obtaining a marked success at a point where the Prussians were not supposed to be in force. Neither end was attained, and consequently we are greatly depressed. Count Bismarck has not condescended to send a reply to the Corps Diplomatique, requesting to be allowed to establish postal communication with their Governments, much to the disgust of that estimable body. The result of the pryings of the Government into the papers of their predecessors has as yet only disclosed the facts, that most of the conspiracies against the Empire were got up by the police, and that the Emperor bribed porters and postmen to open letters. His main object seems to have been to get hold of the letters of his Ministers to their mistresses. The fourth livraison of the Tuileries papers contains the report of a spy on the doings of the Russian Military Attaché. This gentleman lost some document, and observes that it can only be his Prussian colleague who took it from him. Such is diplomacy. The weather is beautiful. Women and children are making holiday in the streets. The inner line of barricades is nearly finished. _Evening._ The news of the fall of Strasburg and Toul was received by the Government here this morning, and has just been made public. "In falling," says M. Gambetta, "they cast a glance towards Paris to affirm once more the unity and indivisibility of the Republic; and they leave us as a legacy the duty to deliver them, the honour to revenge them." The Boulevards were crowded, and everyone seemed as much astonished as if they had never believed this double disaster to be possible. Many refused to credit the news. _L'Electeur Libre_ proposes to meet the emergency by sending "virile missionaries into the provinces to organise a _levée en masse_, to drive from our territory the impious hordes which are overrunning it." These missionaries would, I presume, go to their posts in balloons. It never seems to occur to anyone here that the authority of a Parisian dropping down from the clouds in a parachute in any province would be contested. The right of Paris to rule France is a dictum so unquestioned in the minds of the Parisians, that their newspapers are now urging the Government to send new men to Tours to oust those who were sent there before the commencement of the siege. It strikes no one that the thirty-eight million of Frenchmen outside Paris may be of opinion that the centralization of all power in the hands of the most corrupt and frivolous capital in the universe has had its share in reducing France to her present desperate condition, and may be resolved to assert their claim to have a voice in the conduct of public affairs. The Parisians regard all provincials as helots, whose sole business it is to hear and to obey. If the result to France of her disasters could be to free her at once from the domination of the Emperor and of Paris, she would in the end be the gainer by them. I hear that General Vinoy expresses himself very satisfied with the soldierly bearing of the Mobiles who were under fire on Friday. It was far better, he says, than he expected. He ascribes the failure of his sortie to the forts having forewarned the Prussians by their heavy firing between three and four o'clock in the morning. M. de Rohan, "delegate of the democracy of England," has written a long letter to M. Jules Favre informing him that a friend who has arrived from London (!) has brought news of an immense meeting which has been held in favour of France, and that this meeting represents the opinion of the whole of England. M. Jules Favre, in his reply, expresses his sincere thanks "for the sentiments which have been so nobly expressed in the name of the English nation." The correspondence occupies two columns in the _Journal Officiel_. M. de Rohan's residence in England is, I should imagine, in the vicinity of Tooley-street. _October 3rd._ The _Journal Officiel_ contains a decree ordering the statue of Strasburg, on the Place de la Concorde, to be replaced by one in bronze. No war news. CHAPTER V. _October 5th._ From a military, or rather an engineering point of view, Paris is stronger to-day than it was two weeks ago. The defences have been strengthened. With respect, however, to its defenders, they are much what they were. The soldiers of the line and the marines are soldiers; the Mobiles and the Nationaux, with some few exceptions, remain armed citizens. Each battalion is an _imperium in imperio_. The men ignore every one except their own officers, and these officers exercise but little influence except when they consent to act in strict accordance with the feelings of those whom they are supposed to command. Some of the battalions appear to be anxious to fight, but it unfortunately happens that these are the very ones which are most undisciplined. The battalions of the _bourgeois_ quarters obey orders, but there is no go in them. The battalions of the artizan Faubourgs have plenty of go, but they do not obey orders. General Trochu either cannot, or does not, desire to enforce military discipline. Outside the enceinte, the hands of the Mobiles are against every man, but no notice is taken when they fire at or arrest officers of other corps. The Courts-martial which sit are a mere farce. I see that yesterday a Franc-tireur was tried for breaking his musket when ordered to march. He was acquitted because the court came to the conclusion that he was "un brave garçon." The application of military law to the Nationaux is regarded by these citizens as an act of arbitrary power. Yesterday several battalions passed the following resolution:--"In order to preserve at once necessary discipline and the rights of citizens, no man shall henceforward be brought before a council of war, or be awarded a punishment, except with the consent of the family council of his company." I am not a military man, but it certainly does appear to me strange that the Prussians are allowed quietly to entrench themselves round the city, and that they are not disturbed by feints and real sorties. We can act on the inner lines, we have got a circular railroad, and we have armed men in numbers. General Trochu has announced that he has a plan, the success of which he guarantees; he declines to confide to a soul any of its details, but he announces that he has deposited it with his notary, Maître Duclos, in order that it may not be lost to the world in the event of his being killed. As yet no one has fathomed this mysterious plan; it appears to contemplate defensive rather than offensive operations. Mont Valérien now fires daily. Its commander has been changed; its former one has been removed because the protests against the silence of this fort were so loud and strong. His successor, with the fate of his predecessor before him, bangs away at every Uhlan within sight. For the commanders of forts to be forced to keep up a continual fire in order to satisfy public opinion, is not an encouraging state of things. The assertion of the Government, that no reports of what is going on in France have been received from Tours, is discredited. They have got themselves in a mess by their former declarations that communications with the exterior were kept up; for if they know nothing, it is asked what can these communications have been worth. Our last news from outside is derived from a Rouen newspaper of the 29th ult., which is published to-day. A few days ago it was announced that all pledges below the value of 20fr. would be returned by the Mont-de-Piété without payment. Since then everyone has been pledging articles for sums below this amount, as a second decree of the same nature is expected. It is not a bad plan to give relief in this manner to those in want. As yet, however, there is no absolute destitution, and as long as the provisions last I do not think that there will be. So long as flour and meat last, everyone with more or less trouble will get his share. As the amount of both these articles is, however, finite, one of these days we shall hear that they are exhausted. The proprietors have been deprived of their power to sue for rents, consequently a family requires but little ready money to rub on from hand to mouth. My landlord every week presents me with my bill. The ceremony seems to please him, and does me no harm. I have pasted upon my mantlepiece the decree of the Government adjourning payment of rent, and the right to read and re-read this document is all that he will get from me until the end of the siege. Yesterday I ordered myself a warm suit of clothes; I chose a tailor with a German name, so I feel convinced that he will not venture to ask for payment under the present circumstances, and if he does he will not get it. If my funds run out before the siege is over I shall have at least the pleasure to think that this has not been caused by improvidence. Some acquaintances of mine managed in the course of yesterday to get out to Villejuif without being arrested. I have not been so fortunate. I have charged the _barrières_ three times, and each time have had to retire discomfited. My friends describe the soldiers of the line in the front as utterly despising their allies the Mobiles. They camp out without tents, in order to be ready at any moment to resist an attack. _October 7th._ Paris would hardly be recognised under its present aspect by those citizens of the Far West who are in the habit of regarding it as a place where good Americans go when they die. In the garden of the Tuileries, where _bonnes_ used to flirt with guardsmen, there is an artillery camp. The guns, the pickets of horses, the tents, the camp-fires, and the soldiers in their shirt-sleeves, have a picturesque effect under the great trees. On the Place de la Concorde from morning to evening there is a mob discussing things in general, and watching the regiments as they defile with their crowns before the statue of Strasburg. In the morning the guns of the forts can be heard heavily booming; but the sound has now lost its novelty, and no one pays more attention to it than the miller to the wheel of his mill. In the Champs Elysées there are no private carriages, and few persons sitting on the chairs. The Palais de l'Industrie is the central ambulance; the Cirque de l'Impératrice a barrack. All the cafés chantants are closed. Some few youthful votaries of pleasure still patronise the merry-go-rounds; but the business cannot be a lucrative one. Along the quays by the river side there are cavalry and infantry regiments under tentes d'abri. The Champ de Mars is a camp. In most of the squares there are sheep and oxen. On the outer Boulevards lines of huts have been built for the Mobiles, and similar huts are being erected along the Rue des Remparts for the Nationaux on duty. Everywhere there are squads of Nationaux, some learning the goose-step, others practising skirmishing between the carts and fiacres, others levelling their guns and snapping them off at imaginary Prussians. The omnibuses are crowded; and I fear greatly that their horses will be far from tender when we eat them. The cabbies, once so haughty and insolent, are humble and conciliatory, for Brutus and Scævola have taught them manners, and usually pay their fares in patriotic speeches. At the Arc de Triomphe, at the Trocadero, and at Passy, near the Point du Jour, there are always crowds trying to see the Prussians on the distant hills, and in the Avenue de l'Impératrice (now the Avenue Uhrich), there are always numerous admirers of Mont Valérien gazing silently upon the object of their worship. In the Faubourg St. Antoine workmen are lounging about doing nothing, and watching others drilling. In the outer faubourgs much the same thing goes on, except where barricades are being built. Round each of these there is always a crowd of men and women, apparently expecting the enemy to assault them every moment. At the different gates of the town there are companies of Mobiles and National Guards, who sternly repel every civilian who seeks to get through them. On an average of every ten minutes, no matter where one is, one meets either a battalion of Nationaux or Mobiles, marching somewhere. The asphalt of the boulevards, that sacred ground of dandies and smart dresses, is deserted during the daytime. In the evening for about two hours it is thronged by Nationaux with their wives; Mobiles who ramble along, grinning vaguely, hand in hand, as though they were in their native villages; and loafers. There, and in the principal streets, speculators have taken advantage of the rights of man to stop up the side walks with tables on which their wares are displayed. On some of them there are kepis, on others ointment for corns, on others statuettes of the two inseparables of Berlin, William and his little Bismarck, on others General Trochu and the members of the Government in gilt gingerbread. The street-hawkers are enjoying a perfect carnival--the last editions of the papers--the Tuileries' papers--the caricatures of Badinguet--portraits of the heroic Uhrich, and infallible cures for the small-pox or for worms, are offered for sale by stentorian lungs. Citizens, too, equally bankrupt alike in voice and in purse, place four lighted candles on the pavement, and from the midst of this circle of light dismally croak the "Marseillaise" and other patriotic songs. As for beggars, their name is legion; but as every one who wants food can get it at the public cantines, their piteous whines are disregarded. Lodgings are to be hired in the best streets for about one-tenth part of what was asked for them two months ago, and even that need not be paid. Few shops are shut; but their proprietors sit, hoping against hope, for some customer to appear. The grocers, the butchers, and the bakers, and the military tailors, still make money; but they are denounced for doing so at the clubs as bad patriots. As for the hotels, almost all of them are closed. At the Grand Hotel, there are not twenty persons. Business of every kind is at a standstill. Those who have money, live on it; those who have not, live on the State: the former shrug their shoulders and say, "Provided it does not last;" the latter do not mind how long it lasts. All are comparatively happy in the thought that the eyes of Europe are on them, and that they have already thrown Leonidas and his Spartans into the shade. The Government has placarded to-day a despatch from Tours. Two armies are already formed, we are told--one at Lyons, and the other at----. The situation of Bazaine is excellent. The provinces are ready. The departments are organising to the cry of "Guerre à outrance, ni un pouce de terrain, ni une pierre de nos forteresses!" I trust that the news is true; but I have an ineradicable distrust of all French official utterances. A partial attempt is being made to relieve the population. At the Mairies of the arrondissements, tickets are delivered to heads of families, giving them the right to a certain portion of meat per diem until January. The restaurants are still fairly supplied; so that the system of rationing is not yet carried out in its integrity. I am not entirely without hopes that the trial through which France is passing will in the end benefit it. Although we still brag a good deal, there is within the last few days a slight diminution of bluster. Cooped up here, week after week, the population must in the end realise the fact that the world can move on without them, and that twenty years of despotism has enervated them and made other nations their equals, if not their superiors. As Sydney Smith said of Macaulay, they have occasional flashes of silence. They sit, now and then, silent and gloomy, and mourn for the "Pauvre France." "Nous sommes bien tombés." This is a good sign, but will it outlive a single gleam of success? Shall we not in that case have the Gallic cock crowing as lustily as ever? The French have many amiable and engaging qualities, and if adversity would only teach them wisdom, the country is rich enough to rise from the ruin which has overtaken it. M. Jules Simon has published a plan of education which he says in twenty years will produce a race of virile citizens; but this is a little long to wait for a social regeneration. At present they are schoolboys, accustomed to depend on their masters for everything, and the defence of Paris is little more than the "barring out" of a girls' school. They cannot, like Anglo-Saxons, organise themselves, and they have no man at their head of sufficient force of character to impose his will upon them. The existing Government has, it is true, to a certain extent produced administrative order, but they have not succeeded in inspiring confidence in themselves, or in raising the spirit of the Parisians to the level of the situation. The Ultras say justly, that this negative system cannot last, and that prompt action is as much a political as it is a military necessity. The sixth livraison of the Tuileries papers has just appeared. Its contents are unimportant. There is a receipt from Miss Howard, the Emperor's former mistress, showing that between 1850 and 1855 she received above five million francs. This sum was not, however, a sufficient remuneration in her opinion, for her services, as in July, 1855, she writes for more, and says "the Emperor is too good to leave a woman whom he has tenderly loved in a false position." This and several other of her letters are addressed to the Emperor's Secretary, whose functions seem to have been of a peculiarly domestic character. Indeed, the person who fulfilled them would everywhere, except at a Court, have been called something less euphonious than "secretary." A report from M. Duvergier, ex-Secretary-General of the Police, is published respecting the _Cabinet Noir_. It is addressed to the then Minister of the Interior. It is lengthy, and very detailed. It appears that occasionally the Emperor's own letters were opened. I went to the Hôtel de Ville this afternoon, to see whether anything was going on there. Several battalions passed by, but they did not demonstrate _en passant_. The place was full of groups of what in England would be called the "dangerous classes." They were patiently listening to various orators who were denouncing everything in general, and the Government in particular. The principal question seemed to be that of arms. Frenchmen are so accustomed to expect their Governments to do everything for them, that they cannot understand why, although there were but few Chassepots in the city, every citizen should not be given one. It is indeed necessary to live here and to mix with all classes to realise the fact that the Parisians have until now lived in an ideal world of their own creation. Their orators, their statesmen, and their journalists, have traded upon the traditions of the First Empire, and persuaded them that they are a superior race, and that their superiority is universally recognised. Utterly ignorant of foreign languages and of foreign countries, they believe that their literature is the only one in the world, and that a Frenchman abroad is adored as something little less than a divinity. They regard the Prussians round their city much as the citizens of Sparta would have regarded Helots, and they are so astonished at their reverses, that they are utterly unable to realise what is going on. As for trying to make them comprehend that Paris ought to enjoy no immunity from attack which Berlin or London might not equally claim, it is labour lost. "The neutrals," I heard a member of the late Assembly shouting in a café, "are traitors to civilisation in not coming to the aid of the Queen of Europe." They did their very best, they declare, to prevent Napoleon from making war. Yet one has only to talk with one of them for half an hour to find that he still hankers after the Rhine, and thinks that France wishes to be supreme in Europe. _October 8th._ Yesterday I happened to be calling at the Embassy, when a young English gentleman made his appearance, and quietly asked whether he could take any letters to England. He is to start to-day in a balloon, and has paid 5,000f. for his place. I gave him a letter, and a copy of one which I had confided on Wednesday to an Irishman who is trying to get through the lines. I hear that to-morrow the Columbian Minister is going to the Prussian Headquarters, and a friend of mine assures me that he thinks if I give him a letter by one o'clock to-day this diplomatist will take it. The Corps Diplomatique are excessively indignant with the reply they have received from Count Bismarck, declining to allow any but open despatches through the Prussian lines. They have held an indignation meeting. M. Kern, the Swiss Minister, has drawn up a protest, which has been signed by himself and all his colleagues. The Columbian Minister is to be the bearer of it. It bombards Bismarck with copious extracts from Puffendorf and Grotius, and cites a case in point from the siege of Vienna in the 15th century. It will be remembered that Messenger Johnson, at the risk of his life and at a very great expense to the country, brought despatches to the Parisian Embassy on the second day of the siege. I recommend Mr. Rylands, or some other M.P. of independent character, to insist upon Parliament being informed what these important despatches were. The revelation will be a curious one. Yesterday afternoon I made an excursion into the Bois de Boulogne under the convoy of a friend in power. We went out by the Porte de Neuilly. Anything like the scene of artificial desolation and ruin outside this gate it is impossible to imagine. The houses are blown up--in some places the bare walls are still standing, in others even these have been thrown down. The Bois itself, from being the most beautiful park in the world, has become a jungle of underwood. In the roads there are large barricades formed of the trees which used to line them, which have been cut down. Between the ramparts and the lake the wood is swept clean away, and the stumps of the trees have been sharpened to a point. About 8,000 soldiers are encamped in the open air on the race-course and in the Bois. Near Suresnes there is a redoubt which throws shell and shot into St. Cloud. We are under the impression that the firing from this redoubt, from Valérien, Issy, and the gunboat Farcy, which took place on Thursday morning, between 2 a.m. and 8 a.m., has destroyed the batteries and earthworks which the Prussians were erecting on the heights of St. Cloud and Meudon-Clamart. You, however, are better informed respecting the damage which was done than we are. When I was in the Bois the redoubt was not firing, and the sailors who man it were lounging about, exactly as though they had been on board ship. Occasionally Mont-Valérien fired a shot, but it was only a sort of visiting card to the Prussians, for with the best glasses we could see nothing of them. Indeed, the way they keep under cover is something wonderful. "I have been for three weeks in a fort," said the aide-de-camp of one of the commanders of a southern fort, "every day we have made reconnaissances, and I have not seen one single Prussian." From what I learn, on good authority, the political situation is this. The Government consists mainly of Orleanists. When they assumed the direction of public affairs, they hoped to interest either Austria or Russia in the cause of France. They were, therefore, very careful to avoid as much as possible any Republican propagandism either at home or abroad. Little by little they have discovered that if France is to be saved it must be by herself. Some of them, however, still hanker after a Russian intervention, and do not wish to weaken M. Thiers' prospects of success at St. Petersburg. They have, however, been obliged to yield to the Republicanism of the Parisian "men of action," and they have gradually drifted into a Government charged not only with the defence of the country, but also with the establishment of a Republic. As is usual in all councils, the extreme party has gained the ascendancy. But the programme of the Ultras of the "ins" falls far short of that of the Ultras of the "outs." The latter are continually referring to '93, and as the Committee of Public Safety then saved France, they are unable to understand why the same organisation should not save it now. Their leaders demand a Commune, because they hope to be among its members. The masses support them, because they sincerely believe that in the election of a Commune Paris will find her safety. The Government is accused of a want of energy. "Are we to remain cooped up here until we are starved out?" ask the Ultras. "As a military man, I decline to make a sortie," replies General Trochu. "We are not in '93. War is waged in a more scientific manner," whispers Ernest Picard. The plan of the Government, if plan it has, appears to be to wear out the endurance of the besiegers by a defensive attitude, until either an army from the provinces cuts off their communications, or the public opinion of Europe forces them to raise the siege. The plan of the Ultras is to save Paris by Paris; to make continual sorties, and, every now and then, one in such force that it will be a battle. I am inclined to think that theoretically the Government plan is the best, but it ignores the material it has to do with, and it will find itself obliged either to adopt the policy of the Ultras, or to allow them to elect a "Commune," which would soon absorb all power. The position appears to me to be a false one, owing to the attempt to rule France from Paris through an occasional despatch by balloon. What ought to have been done was to remove the seat of Government to another town before the siege commenced, and to have left either Trochu or some other military man here to defend Paris, as Uhrich defended Strasburg. But the Government consisted of the deputies of Paris; and had they moved the seat of Government, they would have lost their _locus standi_. Everyone here sees the absurdity of Palikao's declaration, that Bazaine was commander-in-chief when he was invested in Metz, but no one seems to see the still greater absurdity of the supreme civil and military Government of the whole country remaining in Paris whilst it is invested by the German armies. Yesterday, for instance, a decree was issued allowing the town of Roubaix to borrow, I forget how much. Can anything be more absurd than for a provincial town to be forced to wait for such an authorisation until it receives it from Paris? It is true that there is a delegation at Tours, but, so long as it is nothing but a delegation, it will be hindered in its operations by the dread of doing anything which may conflict with the views of its superiors here. Paris at present is as great an incubus to France as the Emperor was. Yesterday M. Gambetta started in a balloon for Tours, and in the interests of France I shall be glad to see his colleagues one and all follow him. The day before a balloon had been prepared for him, but his nerves failed him at the last moment, and he deferred his departure for twenty-four hours. M. Rochefort was "interviewed" yesterday by a deputation of women, who asked to be employed in the hospitals instead, of the men who are now there. He promised to take their request into consideration. I was down yesterday at the headquarters of the Ambulance Internationale, and I cannot say that I think that the accusations of the Ultra-press respecting the number of young Frenchmen there, is borne out by facts. There have been, however, a vast number of _petits crevés_ and others who have shirked military service by forming themselves into amateur ambulances. The "sergents de ville" have received orders to arrest anyone wearing the Red Cross who is unable to produce his certificate as an _infirmier_. This has thrown the _petits crevés_--the pets of priests and old ladies--those youths who are best described by the English expression, "nice young men for a small tea-party"--into consternation. I saw yesterday one of these emasculated specimens of humanity arrayed in a suit of velvet knickerbockers, with a red cross on his arm, borne off to prison, notwithstanding his whining protests. Another abuse which has been put an end to is that of ladies going about begging for money for the "wounded." They are no longer allowed to do so unless they have an authorisation. I have a lively recollection of an old grandaunt of mine, who used to dun every one she met for a shilling for the benefit of the souls of the natives of Southern Africa, and as I know that the shillings never went beyond ministering to the wants of this aged relative, warned by precocious experience, I have not allowed myself to be caught by the "ladies." A singular remonstrance has been received at the British Embassy. In the Rue de Chaillot resides a celebrated English courtezan, called Cora Pearl, and above her house floats the English flag. The inhabitants of the street request the "Ambassador of England, a country the purity and the decency of whose manners is well known," to cause this bit of bunting, which is a scandal in their eyes, to be hauled down. I left Mr. Wodehouse consulting the text writers upon international law, in order to discover a precedent for the case. Colonel Claremont is doing his best to look after the interests of his fellow-countrymen. I had a prejudice against this gentleman, because I was unable to believe that any one hailing from the Horse Guards could under any circumstances make himself a useful member of society. I find, however, that he is a man of energy and good common sense, with very little of the pipeclay about him. From Monday next a new system of the distribution of meat is to come into force. Between 450 and 500 oxen and 3,500 sheep are to be daily slaughtered. This meat is to be divided into twenty lots, one for each arrondissement, the size of each lot to be determined by the number of the inhabitants of the particular arrondissement. The lot will then be divided between the butchers in the arrondissement, at twenty centimes per kilogramme below the retail price. Each arrondissement may, however, adopt a system of rations. I suspect most of the beef I have eaten of late is horse; anyhow, it does not taste like ordinary beef. To obtain a joint at home is almost impossible. In the first place, it is difficult to purchase it; in the second place, if, when bought, it is spotted by patriots going through the street, it is seized upon on the ground that any one who can obtain a joint for love or money must be an aristocrat who is getting more than his share. I met a lady early this morning, who used to be most fashionable. She was walking along with a parcel under her shawl, and six dogs were following her. She asked me to drive them away, but they declined to go. I could not understand their sudden affection for my fair friend, until she confided to me that she had two pounds of mutton in her parcel. A tariff for horse-flesh is published to-day; it costs--the choice parts, whichever they may be--1f 40c. the kilo.; the rest, 80c. the kilo. _Figaro_ yesterday published a "correspondence from Orleans." The _Official Gazette_ of this morning publishes an official note from the Prefect of Police stating that this correspondence is "a lie, such as those which the _Figaro_ invents every day." _Afternoon._ I have just returned from the Place de l'Hôtel de Ville. When I got there at about two o'clock six or seven thousand manifesters had already congregated there. They were all, as is the nature of Frenchmen in a crowd, shouting their political opinions into their neighbours' ears. Almost all of them were Nationaux from the Faubourgs, and although they were not armed, they wore a kepi, or some other distinctive military badge. As well as I could judge, nine out of ten were working men. Their object, as a sharp, wiry artizan bellowed into my ear, was to force the Government to consent to the election of a Commune, in order that the Chassepots may be more fairly distributed between the bourgeois and the ouvriers, and that Paris shall no longer render itself ridiculous by waiting within its walls until its provisions are exhausted and it is forced to capitulate. There appeared to be no disposition to pillage; rightly or wrongly, these men consider that the Government is wanting in energy, and that it is the representative of the bourgeoisie and not of the entire population. Every now and then, some one shouted out "Vive la Commune!" and all waved their caps and took up the cry. After these somewhat monotonous proceedings had continued about half an hour, several bourgeois battalions of National Guards came along the quay, and drew up in line, four deep, before the Hôtel de Ville. They were not molested except with words. The leading ranks of the manifesters endeavoured by their eloquence to convince them that they ought not to prevent citizens peacefully expressing their opinions; but the grocers stood stolidly to their arms, and vouchsafed no reply. At three o'clock General Trochu with his staff rode along inside the line, and then withdrew. General Tamisier then made a speech, which of course no one could hear. Shortly afterwards there was a cry of "Voilà Flourens--Voilà nos amis," and an ouvrier battalion with its band playing the Marseillaise marched by. They did not halt, notwithstanding the entreaties of the manifesters, for they were bound, their officers explained, on a sacred mission, to deposit a crown before the statue of Strasburg. When I left the Place the crowd was, I think, increasing, and as I drove along the Rue Rivoli I met several bourgeois battalions marching towards the Hôtel de Ville. I presume, therefore, that General Trochu had thought it expedient to send reinforcements. "We will come back again with arms," was the general cry among the ouvriers, and unless things mend for the better I imagine that they will keep their word. The line of demarcation between the bourgeois and the ouvrier battalions is clearly marked, and they differ as much in their opinions as in their appearance. The sleek, well-fed shopkeeper of the Rue Vivienne, although patriotic, dreads disorder, and does not absolutely contemplate with pleasure an encounter with the Prussians. The wild, impulsive working man from Belleville or La Villette dreads neither Prussians without, nor anarchy within. If he could only find a leader he would blow up himself and half Paris rather than submit to the humiliation of a capitulation. Anything he thinks is better than this "masterly inactivity." Above the din of the crowd the cannon could be heard sullenly firing from the forts; but even this warning of how near the foe is, seemed to convey no lesson to avoid civil strife. Unless General Trochu is a man of more energy than I take him to be, if ever the Prussians do get into the town they will find us in the condition of the Kilkenny cats. _October 9th._ The representative of the Republic of Columbia, to whom I had given my letter of yesterday, has returned it to me, as he was afraid to cross the lines with it. The Briton who has paid for a place in a balloon is still here, and he imagines that he will start to-morrow, so I shall give him my Columbian letter and this one. I understand that any one who is ready to give assurances that he will praise everything and every one belonging to the Government, is afforded facilities for sending out letters by the Post-office balloons, but I am not prepared to give any other pledge except that I shall tell the truth without fear or favour. The _Journal Officiel_ of this morning, and the Moderate papers, boast that the Ultra manifestation of yesterday was a complete failure. As usual, they cry before they are out of the wood. After I left the Place it appears that there was a counter manifestation of bourgeois National Guards, who arrived in military order with their arms. Jules Favre addressed them. Now as far as I can make out, these battalions went to the Hôtel de Ville on their own initiative. No one, however, seems to see any incongruity in the friends of the Government making an armed demonstration as a protest against armed and unarmed demonstrations in general. The question of the municipal elections will lie dormant for a few days, but I see no evidence that those who were in favour of it have altered their minds. As far as yesterday's proceedings were concerned, they only go to prove the fact, which no one ever doubted, that the bourgeoisie and their adherents are ready to support the Government, but they have also proved to my mind conclusively that the working men as a body have entirely lost all confidence in the men at the head of affairs. On the pure merits of the question, I think that the working men have reason on their side. They know clearly what they want--to make sorties and to endeavour to destroy the enemy's works; if this fails--to make provisions last as long as possible by a system of rationing--and then to destroy Paris rather than surrender it. The Government and their adherents are waiters on Providence, and, except that they have some vague idea that the Army of the Loire will perform impossibilities, they are contented to live on from day to day, and to hope that something will happen to avert the inevitable catastrophe. I can understand a military dictatorship in a besieged capital, and I can understand a small elected council acting with revolutionary energy; but what I cannot understand is a military governor who fears to enforce military discipline, and a dozen respectable lawyers and orators, whose sole idea of Government is, as Blanqui truly says, to issue decrees and proclamations, and to make speeches. The only practical man among them is M. Dorian, the Minister of Public Works, M. Dorian is a hard-headed manufacturer, and utterly ignoring red tape, clerks, and routine; he has set all the private ateliers to work, to make cannon and muskets. I have not yet heard of his making a single speech, or issuing a single proclamation since the commencement of the siege, and he alone of his colleagues appears to me to be the right man in the right place. I do not take my views of the working men from the nonsense which is printed about them in official and semi-official organs. They are the only class here which, to use an Americanism, is not "played out." The Government dreads them as much as the Empire did; but although they are too much carried away by their enthusiasm and their impulsiveness, they are the only persons in Paris who appear to have a grain of common sense. "As for the Army of the Loire," said one of them to me this morning, "no one, except a fool or a Government employé, can believe that it will ever be able to raise the siege, and as for all these bourgeois, they consider that they are heroes because once or twice a week they pass the night at the ramparts; they think first of their shops, then of their country." "But how can you imagine that you and your friends would be able to defeat the Prussians, who are disciplined soldiers?" I asked. "We can at least try," he replied. I ventured to point out to my friend that perhaps a little discipline in the ouvrier battalions might not be a bad thing; but he insisted that the indiscipline was caused by their distrust of their rulers, and that they were ready to obey their officers. "Take," he said "Flourens' battalions. They do not, it is true, march as regularly as the bourgeois, and they have nothing but kepis and old muskets; but, as far as fighting goes, they are worth all the bourgeois put together." I do not say that Trochu is not wise to depend upon the bourgeois; all I say is, that as the Empire fell because it did not venture to arm any except the regular soldiers, so will Paris render itself the laughing stock of Europe, if its defence is to depend upon an apocryphal Army of the Loire, marines from the Navy, peasants from the provinces, and the National Guards of the wealthy quarters. To talk of the heroic attitude of Paris, when the Parisians have not been under fire, is simply absurd. As long as the outer forts hold out, it is no more dangerous to "man the ramparts" than to mount guard at the Tuileries. I saw to-day a company of mounted National Guards exercising. Their uniforms were exquisitely clean, but I asked myself of what earthly use they were. Their commander ordered them to charge, when every horse butted against the one next to him. I believe a heavy gale of wind would have disconnected all these warriors from their chargers. I fully recognise the fact that the leaders of the ouvriers talk a great deal of nonsense, and that they are actuated as much by personal ambition as by patriotism; but it is certain that the individual working man is the only reality in this population of corrupt and emasculated humbugs; everyone else is a windbag and a sham. A decree has been issued, informing all who have no means of subsistence that they will receive a certain amount of bread per diem upon application at their respective mairies. We are also told that if we wish to make puddings of the blood of oxen, we must mix pigs' blood with it, otherwise it will be unwholesome. It has been showery to-day, and I never have witnessed a more dismal Sunday in Paris. A pigeon from. Gambetta's balloon has returned, but this foolish bird lost _en route_ the message which was attached to its neck. CHAPTER VI. _October 10th._ It is very curious how close, under certain conditions of wind and temperature, the cannonade appears to be, even in the centre of the town. This morning I was returning home at about two o'clock, when I heard a succession of detonations so distinctly, that I literally went into the next street, as I imagined that a house must be falling down there. It is said that the palace of St. Cloud has been destroyed. As well as I can learn, General Burnside came into Paris mainly to discuss with Mr. Washburne the possibility of the American families who are still here being allowed to pass the Prussian lines. He saw Jules Favre, but, if he attempted any species of negotiation, it could have led to nothing, as we are so absolutely confident that the Army of the Loire will in a few days cut off the Prussian supplies, and we are so proud of our attitude, that I really believe if Jules Favre were to consent to pay a war indemnity as a condition of peace, he and his friends would be driven from power the next day. Having nothing particularly to boast of to-day, the newspapers request the world to be good enough to turn its eyes upon Gambetta traversing space in a balloon. A nation whose Minister is capable of this heroic feat must eventually drive the enemy from its soil. The _Figaro_, in fact, hints that in all probability peace will be signed at Berlin at no very distant date. The _Gaulois_, a comparatively sensible newspaper, thus deals with this aërial voyage:--"As the balloon passed above the Prussian armies, amid the clouds and the birds, the old William probably turned to Bismarck and asked, 'What is that black point in the sky?' 'It is a Minister,' replied Bismarck; 'it is the heroic Gambetta, on his way to the Loire. In Paris he named prefects; on the Loire he will assemble battalions.' Favourable winds wafted the balloon on her course; perhaps Gambetta landed at Cahors, his natal town, perhaps somewhere else--perhaps in the arms of Crémieux, that aged lion. To-morrow the provinces will resound with his voice, which will mingle with the rattling of arms and the sound of drums. Like a trumpet, it will peal along the Loire, inflaming hearts, forming battalions, and causing the manes of St. Just and Desmoulins to rise from their graves." Yesterday a battalion of the National Guard was drawn up before the Hôtel de Ville, but there was no demonstration of the Ultras. M. Arago, the Mayor of Paris, made a few speeches from a window, which are described as inflaming the hearts of these heroic soldiers of the country. The rain, however, in the end, sent the heroic soldiers home, and obliged M. Arago to shut his window. A day never passes without one or more of our rulers putting his head out of some window or other, and what is called "delivering himself up to a fervid improvisation." The Ultra newspapers are never tired of abusing the priests, who are courageously and honestly performing their duty. Yesterday I read a letter from a patriot, in which he complains that this caste of crows are to decree the field of battle, and asks the Government to decree that the last moments of virtuous citizens, dying for their country, shall not be troubled by this new Horror. To-day a citizen writes as follows:--"Why are not the National Guards installed in the churches? Not only might they find in these edifices dedicated to an extinct superstition, shelter from the weather, but orators might from time to time in the pulpits deliver speeches. Those churches which are not required by the National Guard might serve as excellent stables for the oxen, the sheep, and the hogs, which are now parked out in the open air." Next to the priests and the churches, the streets named after members and friends of the late Imperial family excite the ire of patriots. The inhabitants of the quartier Prince Eugène, have, I read to-day, decided that the Boulevard Prince Eugène shall henceforward be called the Boulevard Dussault, "the noble child of the Haute Vienne, who was murdered by the aides of the infamous Bonaparte." We are not, as you might perhaps suppose, wanting in news. The French journalists, even when communications with the rest of the world were open, preferred to evolve their facts from their moral consciousness--their hand has not lost its cunning. Peasants, who play the part here of the intelligent contraband of the American civil war, bring in daily the most wonderful stories of the misery which the Prussians are suffering, and the damage which our artillery is causing them--and these tales are duly published. Then, at least three times a week we kill a Prussian Prince, and "an army" relieves Bazaine. A few days ago a troop of 1500 oxen marched into our lines, "they were French oxen, and they were impelled by their patriotism." This beats the ducks who asked the old woman to come and kill them. The clubs appear to be divided upon the question of the "commune." In most of them, however, resolutions have been passed reaffirming their determination to hold the elections with or without the consent of the Government. Rochefort to-day publishes a sensible reply to Flourens, who called upon him to explain why he does not resign. "I have," he says, "descended into the most impenetrable recesses of my conscience, and I have emerged with the conviction that my withdrawal would cause a conflict, and this would open a breach to the Prussians. You will say that I am capitulating with my convictions; if it be so, I do not necessarily capitulate with the Prussians. I silence my political instincts; let our brave friends in Belleville allow theirs to sleep for a time." I understand that in the council which was held to decide upon the advisability of adjourning these elections, Rochefort, Simon, Ferry, and Arago voted against the adjournment, and Pelletan, Garnier Pagés, Picard, and Favre in favour of it. Trochu then decided the question in the affirmative by a threat that, if the elections were allowed to take place, he would resign. _October 11th._ The notions of a Pall Mall dandy respecting Southwark or the Tower Hamlets are not more vague than those of the Parisian bourgeois or the Professional French journalist respecting the vast Faubourgs peopled by the working men which encircle this city. From actual observation they know nothing of them. They believe them to be the homes of a dangerous class--communistic and anarchical in its tendencies, the sworn foes alike of law, order, and property. The following are the articles of faith of the journalist:--France is the world. Paris is France. The boulevards, the theatres, some fifty writers on the press, and the bourgeoisie of the fashionable quarters of the city, are Paris. Within this narrow circle he may reason justly, but he never emerges from it, and consequently cannot instruct others about what he does not know himself. Since the fall of the Emperor, the Parisian bourgeois has vaguely felt that he has been surrounded by two hostile armies--the Prussian without the walls, and the working men within. He has placed his trust in Trochu, as twenty years ago he did in Cavaignac. The siege had not lasted a week before he became convinced that the Prussians were afraid of him, because they had not attacked the town; and within the last few days he has acquired the conviction, upon equally excellent grounds, that the working men also tremble before his martial attitude. On Friday last he achieved what he considers a crowning triumph, and he is now under the impression that he has struck terror into the breasts of the advocates of the Commune by marching with his battalion to the Hôtel de Ville. "We"--and by "we" he means General Trochu and himself--"we have shown them that we are not to be trifled with," is his boast from morning to night. Now, if instead of reading newspapers which only reflect his own views, and passing his time, whether on the ramparts or in a café, surrounded by men who share his prejudices, the worthy bourgeois would be good enough to accompany me to Belleville or La Villette, he would perhaps realise the fact that, as usual, he is making himself comfortable in a fool's paradise. He would have an opportunity to learn that, while the working men have not the remotest intention to pillage his shop, they are equally determined not to allow him and his friends to make Paris the laughing-stock of Europe. With them the "Commune" is but a means to an end. What they want is a Government which will carry out in sober earnest M. Jules Favre's rhetorical figure that "the Parisians will bury themselves beneath the ruins of their town rather than surrender." The lull in the "demonstrations" to urge the Government either to carry out this programme, or to associate with themselves men of energy who are ready to do so, will not last long; and when next Belleville comes to the Hôtel de Ville, it will not be unarmed. The bourgeois and the working man worship different gods, and have hardly two ideas in common. The bourgeois believes in the Army of the Loire; believes that in sacrificing the trade profits of a few months, and in catching a cold by keeping guard occasionally for a night on the ramparts, he has done his duty towards his country, and deserves the admiration of all future ages. As for burying himself, beneath, the ruins of his shop, it is his shop as much as his country that he is defending. He is gradually wearying of the siege; the pleasure of strutting about in a uniform and marching behind a drum hardly compensates for the pecuniary losses which he is incurring. He feels that he is already a hero, and he longs to repose upon his laurels. When Bazaine has capitulated, and when the bubble of the Army of the Loire has burst, he will, if left to himself, declare and actually believe that Paris has surpassed in heroism and endurance Troy and Saragossa; and he will accept what is inevitable--a capitulation. The working man, on the other hand, believes in no Army of the Loire, troubles himself little about Bazaine, and has confidence in himself alone. Far from disliking the siege, he delights in it. He lives at free quarters, and he walks about with a gun, that occupation of all others which is most pleasing to him. He at least is no humbug; he has no desire to avoid danger, but rather courts it. He longs to form one in a sortie, and he builds barricades, and looks forward with grim satisfaction to the moment when he will risk his own life in defending them, and blow up his landlord's house to arrest the advance of the Prussians. What will be the upshot of this radical divergence of opinion between the two principal classes which are cooped up together within the walls of Paris, it is impossible to say. The working men have, as yet, no leaders in whom they place confidence, and under whose guidance they would consent to act collectively. It may be that this will prevent them from giving effect to their views before the curtain drops; they are strongly patriotic, and they are disinclined to compromise the success of the defence by internal quarrels. Very possibly, therefore, they will be deceived by promises on the part of the Government, and assurances that Paris will fight it out to the last ditch, until the moment to act has passed. As for the bourgeois and the Government, their most powerful ally is the cry, "No division; let us all be united." They are both, however, in a radically false position. They have called upon the world to witness how a great capital can die rather than surrender; and yet, if no external agency prevents the surrender, they have no intention to fulfil their boast of dying. Any loophole for escape from, the alternative in which they have thrust themselves they would welcome. "Our provisions will last three months," they say; "during this time something must happen to our advantage." "What?" I inquire. "The Army of the Loire will advance, or Bazaine will get out of Metz, or the Prussians will despair of success, or we shall be able to introduce convoys of provisions." "But if none of these prophecies are realised.--what then?" I have asked a hundred times, without ever getting a clear answer to my question. By some strange process of reasoning in what, as Lord Westbury would say, they are pleased to call their minds, they appear to have arrived at the conviction that Paris never will be taken, because they are unable to realise the possibility of an event which they seem to consider is contrary to that law of nature, which, has made her the capital and the mistress of the world. A victorious army is at their gates; they do not dare even to make a formidable sortie; there is no regular army in the field outside; their provisions have a limit; they can only communicate with the rest of the world by an occasional balloon; and yet they regard the idea of a foreign occupation of Paris much as we do a French invasion of England--a thing so improbable as to be barely possible. Yesterday there were a few groups on the Place de l'Hôtel de Ville, but they were rather curious spectators than "manifesters." At about two o'clock the rappel was beaten in the Place Vendôme, and several battalions of the National Guard of the quartier marched there and broke up these groups. M. Jules Ferry's head then appeared from the window, and he aired his eloquence in a speech congratulating the friends of order on having rallied to the defence of the Government. It is a very strange thing that no Frenchman, when in power, can understand equal justice between his opponents and his supporters. The present Government is made up of men who clamoured for a Municipal Council during the Empire, and whose first step upon taking possession of the Hôtel de Ville was to decree the immediate election of a "Commune." Since then, yielding to the demands of their own supporters, they have withdrawn this decree, and now, if I go unarmed upon the Place de l'Hôtel de Ville and cry "Vive la Commune," I am arrested; whereas if any battalion of the National Guard chooses, without orders, to go there in arms and cry, "à bas la Commune," immediately it is congratulated for its patriotism by some member of the Government. Nothing new has passed at the front since yesterday. I learn from this morning's papers, however, that Moltke is dead, that the Crown Prince is dying of a fever, that Bismarck is anxious to negotiate, but is prevented by the obstinacy of the King, that 300 Prussians from the Polish provinces have come over to our side, and that the Bavarian and Wurtemberg troops are in a state of incipient rebellion. "From the fact that the Prussian outposts have withdrawn to a greater distance from the forts," the _Electeur Libre_, tells me, "it is probable that the Prussians despair of success, and in a few days will raise the siege." Most of the newspapers make merry over the faults in grammar in a letter which has been discovered and published from the Empress to the Emperor, although I doubt if there is one Frenchman in the world who could write Spanish as well as the Empress does French. _Evening._ It appears that yesterday the cheques signed by M. Flourens were not recognised by the Etat Major of his "secteur." On this he declared that he would beat the "generale" in Belleville and march on the Hôtel de Ville. The quarrel was, however, patched up--no disturbance occurred. For some reason or other M. Flourens, until he gave in his resignation, commanded five battalions of the National Guard; he has been told that he can be re-elected to the command of any one of them, but that he cannot be allowed to be at the head of more than one. This man is an enthusiast, and, I am told, not quite right in his head. In personal appearance he is a good-looking gentlemanly fellow. As long as Belleville acts under his leadership there is no great fear that any danger will arise, because his own men distrust, not his good faith, but his sense. Gambetta has sent a despatch from Montdidier, by a pigeon. He says, "Everywhere the people are rising; the Government of the National Defence is universally acclaimed." The Papal Nuncio is going to try to get through on Thursday. He says he is anxious about the Pope--no wonder. _October 12th._ "What is truth?" said jesting Pilate, and would not wait for an answer; the Parisians of 1870 are as indifferent about truth as this unjust Roman judge was. It is strange that their own want of veracity does not lead them to doubt that of others; they are alike credulous and mendacious. A man comes into a café, he relates every detail of an action in which he says he was engaged the day before; the action has never taken place, but every one believes him; one of the auditors then perhaps says that he has passed the night in a fort, and that its guns destroyed a battery which the enemy was erecting; the fort has never fired a shot, but the first speaker goes off convinced that a battery has been dismounted. For my part I have given up placing the least faith in anything I hear or read. As for the newspapers they give currency to the most incredible stories, and they affect not only to relate every shot that has been fired, but the precise damage which it has done to the enemy, and the number of men which it has killed, and wounded. They have already slain and taken prisoner a far greater number of Prussians than, on any fair calculation, there could have been in the besieging army at the commencement of the siege. Since the commencement of the war the Government, the journalists, the generals, and the gossips have been engaged apparently in a contest to test the limits of human credulity. Under the Republic the game is still merrily kept up, and although the German armies are but a few miles off, we are daily treated to as many falsehoods respecting what goes on at the front as when they were at Sedan, or huddled together in those apocryphal quarries of Jaucourt. "I saw it in a newspaper," or "I was told it by an eye-witness," is still considered conclusive evidence of the truth of no matter what fact. To-day, I nearly had a dispute with a stout party, who sat near me as I was breakfasting in a café, because I ventured, in the mildest and most hesitating manner, to question the fact that an army of 250,000 men was at Rouen, and would in the course of this week attack the Prussians at Versailles. "It is here, sir," he said indignantly pointing to his newspaper; "a peasant worthy of belief has brought the news to the Editor; are we to believe no one?" There were a dozen persons breakfasting at the same time, and I was the only one who did not implicitly believe in the existence of this army. This diseased state of mind arises mainly, I presume, from excessive vanity. No Parisian is able to believe anything which displeases him, and he is unable not to believe anything which flatters his _amour propre_. He starts in life with a series of delusions, which all he has read and heard until now have confirmed. No journal dares to tell the truth, for if it did its circulation would fall to nothing. No Parisian, even if by an effort he could realise to himself the actual condition of his country, would dare to communicate his opinion to his neighbour, for he would be regarded as a traitor and a liar. The Bostonians believe that Boston is the "hub of the universe," and the Parisian is under the impression that his city is a species of sacred Ark, which it is sacrilege to touch. To bombard London or Berlin would be an unfortunate necessity of war, but to fire a shot into Paris is desecration. For a French army to live at the expense of Germany is in the nature of things; for a German army to live at the expense of Frenchmen is a barbarity which the civilised world ought to resent. If the result of the present campaign is to convince Frenchmen that, as a nation, they are neither better nor worse than other nations, and to convince Parisians that Paris enjoys no special immunity from the hardships of war, and that if it sustains a siege it must accept the natural consequences, it will not have been waged in vain, but will materially conduce to the future peace of the world. As yet--I say it with regret--for I abominate war and Prussians, and there is much which I like in the French--this lesson has not been learnt. Day by day I am becoming more convinced that a lasting peace can only be signed in Paris, and that the Parisians must be brought to understand by hard experience that, if victory means an accession of military glory, defeat means humiliation, and that the one is just as possible as the other. If the siege were raised to-morrow, the occupation of Alsace and Lorraine by an enemy would be disbelieved within six months by this vain, frivolous populace; and even if the German army does ever defile along the Boulevards, I shall not be surprised if we are told, as soon as they have withdrawn, that they never were there. Shut up in this town with its inhabitants, my sympathies are entirely on their side, but my reason tells me that Bismarck is right in insisting upon treating in Paris. Let him, if he can, come in here; let him impose upon France such a war indemnity, that every man, woman, and child in the country will curse the folly of this war for the next fifty years; and let him give up his scheme of annexation, and he will then have acted in the interests of Europe, and ultimately in those of France herself. Prussia, after the battle of Jena, was as low as France is now. Napoleon stripped her of her provinces, and she acceded to the treaty of her spoliation, but at the first favourable opportunity she protested her signature, and the world has never blamed her for so doing. France, if she is deprived of Alsace, will do the same. If she signs the treaty, it will only be binding on her until she is strong enough to repudiate it. A treaty of territorial spoliation imposed by force never has and never will bind a nation. The peace of Europe will not be lasting if France hawks about her alliance, and is ready to tender it to any Power who wishes to carry out some scheme of aggrandisement, and who will aid her to re-conquer the provinces which she has lost. I have always regarded the Prussians as a disagreeable but a sensible nation, but if they insist upon the annexation of Alsace, and consider that the dismemberment of France will conduce to the unity of Germany, I shall cease to consider them as more sensible than the Gauls, with whom my lot is now cast. The Austrians used to say that their defensive system rendered it necessary that they should possess the Milanese and Venetia; but the possession of these two Italian provinces was a continual source of weakness to them, and in the end dragged them into a disastrous war. The Prussians should meditate over this, and over the hundred other instances in history of territorial greed overreaching itself, and they will then perhaps be more inclined to take a fair and impartial view of the terms on which peace ought to be made. "Moderation in success is often more difficult to practise than fortitude in disaster," says the copy-book. My lecture upon European politics is, I am afraid, somewhat lengthy, but it must be remembered that I am a prisoner, and that Silvio Pellico, under similar circumstances, wrote one of the most dreary books that it ever was my misfortune to read and to be required to admire. I return to the recital of what is passing in my prison house. Last night and early this morning I had an opportunity to inspect the bars of the cage in which I am confined. I happened to say before a superior officer that I was very desirous to see what was going on on the ramparts and in the forts at night, but that I had as yet been foiled in my endeavours to do so, when he told me that he would take me to both, provided in any account that I might give of them I would not mention localities, which might get him into trouble, or in general anything which might afford aid and comfort to the enemy. Of course I accepted his offer, and at eleven o'clock P.M. we started on horseback. We soon struck the Rue des Remparts, and dismounted. Along the top of the ramparts there was a line of sentinels. They were so numerous in some places that they almost touched each other. Every few minutes the cry, "Sentinelles, prenez gardé à vous," went along. Behind them grandes gardes and other patrols were continually passing, and we could hardly move a step without being obliged to give the password, with a bayonet in close proximity to our chests. The National Guards were sleeping, in some places in tents, in others in huts, and I found many more in the neighbouring houses. Here and there there was a canteen, where warm coffee and other such refreshments were sold, and in some places casemates were already built. In the bastions there were camps of Artillerymen, Mobiles, and Nationaux. All was very quiet, and I was agreeably surprised to find with what order and method everything was conducted. At about four o'clock this morning we passed through one of the gates, outside there were patrols coming and going, and I could see numerous regiments on each side of the road, some in tents, others sleeping in the open air, or trying to do so, for the nights are already very chilly. We were stopped almost every two minutes, and my friend had to explain who and what he was. At last we reached a fort. Here we had a long parley before we were admitted. When we got in, the day was breaking. We were taken into the room of the Commandant, with whom my friend had some business to transact. He was a sailor, and from his cool and calm demeanour, I am convinced that he will give a good account of himself if he is attacked. In the fort there were Mobiles and soldiers, and by the guns stood the sailors. I talked to several of them as they leant against their guns, or walked up and down as though they were keeping watch on deck. None of them had left the fort for the last three weeks, and they seemed to have no particular desire to go "on shore," as they called Paris. Their fire, they said, had, they believed, done considerable damage to the works which the Prussians had tried to erect, within their range. The Commandant now came out with some of his officers, and we tried to search with telescopes the distant woods which were supposed to conceal the enemy. I confess that I saw absolutely nothing except trees and some houses, which were in ruins, "Throw a shell into those houses," cried the Commandant, and off went one of the great guns. It fell wide. "Try again," he said. This time we could see through the glasses that the house had been hit, for a portion of one of the walls toppled over, and a column of dust arose. No Prussians, however, emerged. A few shots were then fired promiscuously into the woods, in order to sound the lines; and then Commandant, officers, friend and I, withdrew to breakfast. I was, of course, cautious in my conversation, and all that was said I do not care to repeat--the general feeling, however, seemed to be that the prospects of Paris defending itself successfully were considerably weakened by the "lot of lawyers" who interfered with matters about which they knew nothing. The National Guards, who I hear are to occupy the forts, were laughed at by these warriors; as for the Mobiles, it was thought that in two months they might become good soldiers, but that their discipline was most defective. "When we get them in here," said a gruff old Captain, "we do not stand their nonsense; but outside, when they are alone with their officers, they do very much what they please." The soldiers of the regular army, I was told, had recovered their _morale_, and if well led, might be depended upon. As was natural, the sailors were greatly extolled, and I think they deserved it; the best come from Brittany; and like Joe Bagstock, they are tough, sir, very tough--what are called in French, "wolves of the sea." Breakfast over, we returned to Paris in company with two or three officers, who had been given leave of absence for the day. This afternoon, hearing that egress was allowed at the Barrière de Neuilly, I started out in a fiacre, to see what was to be seen in that direction. Along the Avenue de Neuilly there were encampments of soldiers of the line and Mobiles. At the bridge of Neuilly my fiacre was stopped, but having explained to the commander of the picket that I wanted to take a walk, and shown my papers, for some reason best known to himself, he allowed me to go forward on foot. In Courbevoie all the houses were shut up, except those occupied by troops, and the windows of these were filled with sandbags. Right and left trees were being cut down, and every moment some old poplar was brought to the ground. I passed through Courbevoie, as no one seemed to notice me, and held on to the right until I struck Asnières. It is a species of French Greenwich, full of hotels, tea-gardens, and restaurants. The last time I had been there was on a Sunday, when it was crowded with Parisian bourgeois, and they were eating, drinking, dancing, and making merry. The houses had not been destroyed, but there was not a living soul in the place. On the promenade by the river the leaves were falling from the trees under which were the benches as of old. The gay signs still hung above the restaurants, and here and there was an advertisement informing the world that M. Pitou offered his hosts beer at so much the glass, or that the more ambitious Monsieur Some One Else was prepared to serve an excellent dinner of eels for 2fr., but I might as well have expected to get beer or eels in Palmyra as in this village where a few short weeks ago fish, flesh, and fowl, wine and beer were as plentiful as at Greenwich and Richmond during the season. Goldsmith's "Deserted Village," I said to myself, and I should have repeated some lines from this admirable poem had I remembered any; as I did not, I walked on in the direction of Colombes, vaguely ruminating upon Pompeii, Palmyra, fish dinners at Greenwich, and the mutability of human things. I had hardly left Asnières, however, and was plodding along a path, when I was recalled to the realities of life by half-a-dozen Mobiles springing up from behind a low wall, and calling upon me to stop, while they enforced their order by pointing their muskets at my head. I stood still, and they surrounded me. I explained that I was an Englishman inhabiting Paris, and that I had come out to take a walk. My papers were brought out and narrowly inspected. My passport, that charter of the Civis Romanus, was put aside as though it had been a document of no value. A letter from one of the authorities, which was a species of unofficial _laisser passer_, was read, and then a sort of council of war was held about what ought to be done with me. They seemed to be innocent and well meaning peasants; they said that they had orders to let no one pass, and they were surprised that I had got so far without being stopped. I told them that they were quite right to obey their _consigne_, and that I would go back the way I had come. One of them suggested that I might be a spy, but he accepted my assurance that I was not. Another proposed to keep me as a captive until some officer passed; but I told them that this was contrary to all law, human and divine, civil and military. "Well, gentlemen," I at last said, "I will now wish you good day, my mother will be anxious about me if I do not return, otherwise I should have been happy to remain in such good society;" and with this speech I turned back and went towards Asnières; they did not follow me, but remained with their mouths open, utterly unable to grasp the idea why an Englishman should be taking a walk in the neighbourhood of Paris, and why he should have an aged mother anxiously awaiting his return in the city. (N.B.--If you want to inspire a Frenchman with a sort of sentimental respect, always talk of your mother; the same effect is produced on a German by an allusion to your bride.) At the bridge of Neuilly the guard had been changed, and I had a lengthy discussion whether I ought to be imprisoned or allowed to pass. I was inclined to think that I owe the latter motion being carried, to a very eloquent speech which I threw off, but this may perhaps be vanity on my part, as Mont Valérien was also discoursing at the same time, and dividing with me the attention of my auditors. M. de Kératry has resigned his post of Prefect of the Police, and has been succeeded by M. Edmond Adam, who is said to be a man of energy. Yesterday M. Jules Ferry went down to Belleville, and delivered several speeches, which he informs us to-day in a letter were greatly applauded. The _Official Gazette_ contains an intimation that M. Flourens is to be prosecuted, but I greatly question whether it is more than _brutum fulmen_. The Council of War has condemned five of the soldiers who ran away at the fight of Chatillon. Several others who were tried for the same offence have been acquitted. It is reported that an engagement took place this afternoon at Villejuif, but no details are yet known. There is no doubt that the Prussians have enlarged their circle round Paris, and that they have massed troops near Choisy-le-Roi. What these two manoeuvres portend, we are all anxiously discussing. Several balloons went off this morning. I have deluged the Post-office with letters, but I doubt if they ever get any farther. Mr. Hore, the naval attaché of the British Embassy, also left this morning for Tours. As the Parisian fleet consists of one gunboat, I presume that he considers that his valuable services may be utilised elsewhere. _October 13th._ Frenchmen have none of that rough and tumble energy which enables Anglo-Saxons to shake themselves, no matter under what circumstances, into some sort of shape. Left to themselves they are as helpless as children, it takes a certain time to organize them, and to evolve order from chaos, but when once the process is effected, they surpass us in administrative mechanism, and in readiness to fall into new ways. The organization of Paris, as a besieged city, is now in good working trim, and it must be admitted that its results are more satisfactory than a few weeks ago could have been anticipated. Except when some important event is taking place at the front, there are no crowds in the streets, and even the groups which used to impede circulation are now rare. The National Guards go in turn to the ramparts, like clerks to their office. In the morning the battalions are changed, and those who come off duty march to their respective "quartiers" and quietly disband. Unless there is some extraordinary movement, during the rest of the day and night there is little marching of troops. In the evening the Boulevards are moderately full from eight to ten o'clock, but now that only half the number of street lamps are lit--they look gloomy even then--at half-past ten every _café_ and shop is closed, and half-an-hour later every one has gone home. There are no quarrels and no drunkards. Robberies occasionally occur, but they are rare. "Social evils" have again made their appearance, but they are not so insolently conspicuous as they were under the paternal rule of the Empire. Paris, once so gay, has become as dull as a small German capital. Its inhabitants are not in the depths of despair, but they are thoroughly bored. They are in the position of a company of actors shut up in a theatre night and day, and left to their own devices, without an audience to applaud or to hiss them. "What do you think they are saying of us in England?" is a question which I am asked not less than a hundred times every day. My interrogator usually goes on to say, that it is impossible that the heroism of the population has not elicited the admiration of the world. It seems to me that if Paris submits to a blockade for another month, she will have done her duty by France; but I cannot for the life of me see that as yet she has done anything to entitle her to boast of having set the world an example of valour. Yesterday, it appears by the official report, there was a reconnaissance in force under General Ducrot in the direction of Bougival and Rucil. The Mobiles, we are told, behaved well, but the loss on either side was insignificant. Our amateur strategists are divided as to the expediency of taking Versailles, with the whole Prussian quartier-général, or reopening communications with the provinces by the way of Orleans. The relative advantages of these two schemes is hotly debated in the newspapers and the pothouses. A more practical suggestion to form mobilised regiments of National Guards by taking the most active men from the existing battalions is being seriously considered by the Government. This is all the news, except that a battalion of Amazons is in course of formation. They are to wear trousers, kepis, and blouses, and to be armed like the National Guard. The walls are covered with large placards inviting enlistments. It is reported that the Government are in possession of evidence to show that many of those female ornaments of the Imperial Court who were called cocodettes, and who spent in dress every year three times the annual income of their husbands, were in the pay of Bismarck. This intelligent and unscrupulous gentleman also, it is said, has a corps of spies recruited from all nations, consisting of good-looking men of pleasant address and of a certain social standing, whose business it was to insinuate themselves into the good graces of the beauties of Parisian society, and then endeavour to pick up the secrets of their husbands and friends. I am inclined to think that there is a good deal of truth in this latter allegation, because for several years I have known fascinating foreigners who used to frequent the clubs, the Bois, and the salons of the great world, and lead a joyous life without having any recognised means of existence. I have been struck more than once with the anxiety of these gentry to hook themselves on to the train of any lady who was either the relative of a man in power or who was supposed to be on intimate terms with a minister or a courtier. Every man, said Sir Robert Walpole, has his price, and Bismarck might be justified in making the same reflection as far as regards what is called European good society. The eighth _livraison_ of the Tuileries papers has appeared; it contains two letters from General Ducrot to General Frossard, a despatch from the French Foreign-office to Benedetti, a report on France by Magne, and a letter from a prefect to Pietri. From the few papers of any importance which have been discovered in the Imperial palaces, our friend Badinguet must have had an inkling when he last left Paris that he might not return, and must have put his papers in order, _i.e._, in the fire-place. CHAPTER VII. _Evening._ I am very much afraid that it will be some time before my letters reach you, if indeed they ever do. I had entrusted one to Lord Lyons' butler, a very intelligent man, who was to accompany Mr. Hore, our naval attaché, to Tours; but, alas, they did not get further than the Prussian lines at Epinay, and they are back again at the Embassy. Mr. Hore had with him a letter from the Nuncio to the Crown Prince, but the officer in command of the outpost declined to take charge of it. The Columbian Minister, too, who was charged with the protest of the Corps Diplomatique to Bismarck on account of his refusal to allow their despatches to go out, has also returned, to re-peruse Grotius and Puffendorf, in order to find more precedents with which to overwhelm Bismarck. The Greek Minister has managed to run the blockade. A son of Commodore Lynch made an attempt to get out, but after being kept twelve hours at the Prussian outposts, and fired on by the French, he has returned to share our imprisonment. This morning I read in one of the papers a wonderful account of what Mr. Lynch had seen when with the Prussians. Meeting him this evening, I asked him whether it was true. He told me that he had already been to the newspaper to protest against its appearance, as every statement in it was destitute of foundation. He could, however, get no redress; the editor or his _locum tenens_ told him that one of their reporters had given it him, and that he knew nothing more about it. This is an instance of the reckless mode in which the business of journalism is conducted here. I made two visits this afternoon, one to a pothouse in Belleville, the other to a countess in the Faubourg St. Germain. I went to the former in order to find out what the Bellevillites thought of things in general. I found them very discontented with the Government, and divided in opinion as to whether it would be more in the interests of the country to turn it out at present, or to wait, until the Prussians were defeated, and then do so. They are all very angry at the counter-manifestation of the bourgeois against them in the Commune. "The Government," said one of them to me, "is weak and incapable, it means to deceive us, and is thinking more of bringing back the Comte de Paris than of defending the town. We do not wish it to be said that we compromise the success of the defence by agitation, but either it must show more energy, or we will drive it from the Hôtel de Ville." I quoted to my friend Mr. Lincoln's saying, about the mistake of changing a horse when half-way over a river. "That is all very well," replied a citizen, who was discussing some fiery compound at a table near me, "but we, unfortunately, have only an ass to carry us over, and he will be swept away down the stream with us on his back." Somebody now asked me what I was doing in Paris. I replied that I was the correspondent of an English newspaper. Several immediately shook me by the hand, and one of them said to me, "Pray tell your countrymen that we men of Belleville are not what the bourgeois and their organs pretend. We do not want to rob our neighbours; all we ask is, to keep the Prussians out of Paris." He said a good deal more which it is needless to repeat, but I willingly fulfil his request, to give my testimony that he, and thousands like him, who are the bugbear of the inhabitants of the richer districts of the city, are not by any means as black as they are painted. They are impulsive and somewhat inclined to exaggerate their own good qualities and the faults of others; they seem to think that anyone who differs from them must be a knave or a fool, and that the form of government which they prefer ought at once to be established, whether it obtains the suffrages of the majority or not; their knowledge, too, of the laws of political and social economy is, to say the least, vague; but they are honest and sincere, mean what they say, do not mistake words for deeds, and after the dreary inflated nonsense one is compelled to listen to from their better educated townsmen, it is refreshing to talk with them. From the Belleville pothouse I went to the Faubourg St. Germain. In this solemn abode of a fossil aristocracy I have a relative--a countess. She is, I believe, my cousin about sixteen times removed, but as she is the only person of rank with whom my family can claim the most distant relationship, we stick to the cousinship and send her every year cheap presents, which she reciprocates with still more meretricious _bonbons_. When I was ushered into her drawing-room, I found her taking afternoon tea with two old gentlemen, also a mild young man, and a priest. A "Lady of the Faubourg," who has any pretensions to beauty, but who is of Cornelia's mood, always has two or three old gentlemen, a mild young man, and a priest, who drop in to see her almost every afternoon. "Are you come to congratulate us?" said my cousin, as I entered. I kissed her hand. "What," she continued, "have you not heard of the victory?" I opened my eyes. "Madame," said one old gentleman, "alludes to the taking of Choisy le Roy." I mildly hinted that the news of this important event had not reached me. "Surprising!" said he, "I saw Vinoy myself yesterday." "It does not follow," I suggested, "that he has taken Choisy to-day." "Monsieur, perhaps, is not aware," jeered old gentleman No. 2, "that 60,000 men have broken through the Prussian lines, and have gone to the relief of Bazaine." "I have not the slightest doubt of the fact; it is precisely what I expected would occur," I humbly observed. "As for the victory," struck in the mild young man, "I can vouch for it; I myself have seen the prisoners." "Surely," added my cousin, "you must have heard the cannon; ah! you English are all the same; you are all Prussians, your Queen, your _'Tims'_, and all of you." I took refuge in a cup of tea. One old gentleman came and stood before me. I knew well what was coming--the old, old question. "Well, what does England think of our attitude now?" I said that only one word could properly qualify it--sublime. "We are sacrificing our lives," said the mild young man. I looked at him, and I greatly fear that I smiled--"that is to say," he continued, "we are prepared to sacrifice them." "Monsieur is in the Garde Nationale?" I asked. "Monsieur is the only son of a widow," put in my cousin. "But I mean to go to the ramparts for all that," added the orphan. "You owe yourself to your mother," said the priest--"and to your country," I suggested, but the observation fell very flat. "It is a grand sight," observed one old gentleman, as he put a third lump of sugar in his tea, and another into his pocket, "a glorious spectacle, to see a population that was supposed to be given up to luxury, subsisting cheerfully week after week upon the simplest necessaries of existence." "I have not tasted game once this year, and the beef is far from good," sighed old gentleman No. 2; "but we will continue to endure our hardships for months, or for years if need be, rather than allow the Prussians to enter Paris." This sort of Lacedemonian twaddle went on during the whole time of my visit, and my cousin evidently was proud of being surrounded by such Spartans. I give a specimen of it, as I think these worthies ought to be gratified by their heroic sacrifices being made public. "I'd rough it in a campaign as well as any linesman," said the cornet of her Majesty's Life Guards; "give me a pint of claret and a chicken every day, or a cut at a joint, and I would ask for nothing more;" and the Belgravian knight's idea of the discomforts of war is very like that of the beleaguered Gaul. Want may come, but as yet never has a large city enjoyed greater abundance of bread and meat. The poor are nourished by the State. The rich have, perhaps, some difficulty in getting their supply of meat, but this is the fault of a defective organization; in reality they are only deprived of those luxuries the habitual use of which has impaired the digestions of half of them. It is surely possible to exist for a few weeks on beef, mutton, flour, preserved vegetables, wine, milk, eggs, and every species of sauce that cook ever contrived. At about seven, provisions at the restaurants sometimes run short. I dined to-day at a bouillon at six o'clock for about half-a-crown. I had soup, salt cod, beef (tolerable, but perhaps a shade horsey), rabbit, French beans, apple fritters, grapes, and coffee. This bill of fare is a very long way from starvation. _October 14th._ According to the official account of yesterday's proceedings, General Trochu was anxious to discover whether the Prussians were in force upon the plateau of Chatillon, or had withdrawn from that position. The villages of Chatillon, Bagneux, and Clamart, were consequently attacked, and after an artillery and musketry engagement, the Prussian reserves were brought up, thus proving that the report that they had withdrawn was unfounded. The retreat then commenced under the fire of the forts. About 100 prisoners were taken; in the evening they were brought to the Place Vendôme. The newspapers are one and all singing peans over the valour of the Mobiles--those of the Côte d'Or most distinguished themselves. Although the whole thing was little more than a reconnaissance, its effect has been electrical. The battalions of the National Guard sing the Marseillaise as of old, and everyone is full of confidence. Some of the officers who were engaged tell me that the Mobiles really did show coolness under fire, and that they fought well with the bayonet in the village of Bagneux. Between carrying an advanced post and forcing the Prussian army to raise the siege, there is of course a slight difference, but I see no reason why these strong, healthy peasants should not become excellent troops. What they want are commanders who are old soldiers, and would force them to submit to regular discipline. The _Official Gazette_ contains the following decree: "Every officer of the National Guard whose antecedents are of a nature to compromise the dignity of the epaulette, and the consideration of the corps in which he has been elected, can be revoked. The same punishment may be inflicted upon those officers who render themselves guilty of continuous bad conduct, or of acts wanting in delicacy. The revocation will be pronounced by the Government upon a report of the Minister of War." If the Government has enough determination to carry out this decree, the National Guard will greatly profit by it. Yesterday evening at the Folies Bergères a demonstration was made against the Princes of the Orleans family, who are said to be in command of an army at Rouen. It was determined to send a deputation to the Government on the subject. This move is important, as the Folies Bergères is rather the rendezvous of the Moderate Republicans than of the Ultras. A letter from Havre, dated October 4, has been received, in which it is stated that the ex-Emperor has issued an address to the nation. I do not know what his chances of restoration are in the provinces, but here they are absolutely hopeless. The Napoleonic legend was founded upon victories. Since the name of Napoleon has been coupled with the capitulation of Sedan, it is loathed as much as it once was adulated. Apart from his personal following, Napoleon III. has not 100 adherents in Paris. _October 15th._ Colonel Loyd Lindsay arrived here yesterday morning with £20,000 for the ambulances, and leaves to-morrow with the Comte de Flavigny, the President of the Ambulance Internationale. Mr. Herbert is getting anxious respecting the future of the destitute English still here; and with all due respect to our charitable friends at home, it appears to me that Paris is rich enough to look after its own wounded. The flag of the Cross of Geneva waves over several thousand houses, and such is the desire of brave patriots to become members of an ambulance corps, that the services of neutrals are declined. _October 16th._ We are told that the ex-Emperor has issued a proclamation, _urbi orbique_, and that his agents are engaged in London and elsewhere in intriguing in his behalf. I cannot believe that they have any chance of gaining adherents to their master's cause in England. That halo of success which blinded a portion of the English press to the iniquities which were concealed beneath the Imperial purple has now disappeared. The publication of the papers discovered in the Tuileries has stripped despotism of its tinsel, and has revealed the vile and contemptible arts by which a gallant nation has been enslaved. The Government of Napoleon, as Mr. Gladstone said of that of Bomba, "was a negation of God upon earth." His councillors were bold bad men, ever plotting against each other, and united alone in a common conspiracy to grow rich at the expense of their country, _creverunt in exitio patriæ_. His court was the El Dorado of pimps and parasites, panders and wantons. For eighteen long years he retained the power, which he had acquired through perjury and violence, by pandering to the baser passions of his subjects, and by an organized system of fraud, mendacity, and espionnage. Beneath his blighting rule French women only sought to surpass each other in reckless extravagance, and Frenchmen lost the courage which had half redeemed their frivolity. Honest citizens there were, indeed, who protested against these Saturnalia of successful villany and rampant vice, but few listened to their warnings. They were jeered at by the vulgar, fined, imprisoned, or banished by Ministers and Magistrates. All that was good, noble, and generous in the nation withered in the uncongenial atmosphere. The language of Pascal and of Corneille became the medium of corrupting the minds of millions. The events of the day were some actress who had discovered a new way to outrage decency, or some new play which deified a prostitute or an adulteress. Paris became the world's fair, to which flocked the vain, the idle, and the debauched from all corners of the globe. For a man to be rich, or for a woman to find favour in the eyes of some Imperial functionary, were ready passports to social recognition. The landmarks between virtue and vice were obliterated. The Court lady smiled in half-recognition on the courtezan, and paid her homage by endeavouring to imitate her dress and her manners. Cardsharpers and stockjobbers, disreputable adventurers and public functionaries were intimate friends. No one, able to insult modest industry by lavish ostentation, was asked how he had acquired his wealth. Honour and honesty were prejudices of the past. What has been the consequence? It is a comment upon despotism, which I hope will not be lost upon those who extol the advantages of personal government, and who would sacrifice the liberty of all to the concentrated energy of one. The armies of France have been scattered to the winds; the Emperor, who knew not even how a Cæsar should die, is a prisoner; his creatures are enjoying their booty in ignoble ease, not daring even to fight for the country which they have betrayed. The gay crowd has taken to itself wings; an emasculated bourgeoisie, grown rich upon fashionable follies, and a mob of working men, unused to arms, and distrustful even of their own leaders, are cowering beneath the ramparts of Paris, opposing frantic boasts, pitiful lamentations, unskilled valour, to the stern discipline of the legions of Germany, whose iron grasp is contracting closer and closer every day round the vaunted capital of modern civilization. You know better than we do what is passing in the provinces, but I can answer for it that the Parisians, low as they have fallen, are not so lost to every impulse of honour as to be ready to welcome back in triumph the prime cause of their degradation, the man of December and of Sedan. Titania, in the _Midsummer Night's Dream_, idealizes the weaver, and invests him with every noble attribute, and then as soon as she regains her senses, turns from him with disgust and exclaims, "Oh, how mine eyes do loathe thee now." So it was and so it is with Paris and Napoleon, "None so poor to do him honour now." The Government is daily becoming more and more military, and the Parisian Deputies are becoming little more than lay figures. M. Gambetta, the most energetic of them, has left for the provinces. MM. Jules Favre, Picard, and Pelletan are almost forgotten. Rochefort devotes himself to the barricades, and M. Dorian, a hard-headed manufacturer, is occupying himself in stimulating the manufacture of cannon, muskets, and munitions of war. These gentlemen, with the exception of the latter, are rather men of words than of action. They do neither harm nor good. Of General Trochu, into whose hands, by the mere force of circumstances, all civil and military authority is concentrating, _Bonum virum, facile dixeris, magnum libenter_. He is, I believe, a good general and a good administrator. Although he awakens no enthusiasm, confidence is felt by the majority in his good sense. It is thought, however, that he is wanting in that energy and audacity which are requisite in a leader, if victory is to be wrested from the Germans. He forgets that time is not his ally, and that merely to hold Paris until that surely inevitable hour arrives when the provisions are exhausted will neither save France nor her capital. He is a man slow to form a plan, but obstinate in his adherence to it; unwilling to move until he has his forces perfectly under control, and until every administrative detail is perfected--better fitted to defend Troy for ten years than Paris for a few months--in fact, a species of French M'Clellan. We are now in a position, according to our military authorities, to hold out as long as our provisions last. If Paris does this, without being so heroic as her citizens imagine that she already is, she will have done her duty by France. Nicholas said, when Sebastopol was besieged, that winter was his best ally; and winter will soon come to our aid. The Prussians are a long way from their homes; if the provinces rise it will be difficult for them to keep their lines of communication open, and to feed their troops. It may also be presumed that they will be harassed by the 300,000 armed men who are cooped up here, and who are acting on the inner circle. Cannon are being cast which, it is expected, will render the sorties far more effective. On the other hand, the question has not yet been solved whether the Parisians will really support the hardships of a siege when they commence, and whether there will not be internal dissensions. At present the greatest confidence is felt in ultimate success. The Parisians cannot realise to themselves the possibility of their city being taken; they are still, in their own estimation, the representative men of "la grande nation," and they still cite the saying of Frederick the Great that, were he King of France, not a sword should be drawn without his permission, as though this were a dictum that a sage had uttered yesterday. They feed every day on the vaunts and falsehoods which their newspapers offer them, and they digest them without a qualm. While they expect the provinces to come to their aid, they are almost angry that they should venture to act independently of their guidance. They are childishly anxious to send out commissaries to take the direction of affairs in Normandy and Touraine, for the provincials are in their eyes slaves, born to serve and to obey the capital. Indeed, they have not yet got over their surprise that the world should continue to move now that it is deprived of its pivot. All this folly may not prevent their fighting well. Fools and braggarts are often brave men. The Parisians have an indomitable pride, they have called upon the world to witness their achievements, and the thought of King William riding in triumph along the Boulevards is so bitter a one, that it may nerve them to the wildest desperation. If, however, Bazaine capitulates, and the armies of the Loire and of Lyons are only the figments of their own brains, it may be that they will bow to what they will call destiny. "Heaven has declared against us," is an expression that I already hear frequently uttered. It is indeed as impossible to predicate here, as it is in London, what may be the mood of this fickle and impulsive population a week hence. All I can positively say is, that at the present moment they are in "King Cambyses' vein." We ought not to judge a foreign nation by our own standard, but it is impossible not to re-echo Lord Bolingbroke's "poor humanity" a hundred times a day, when one reads the inflated bombast of the newspapers, and hears the nonsense that is talked by almost everyone; when one sees the Gaul marching off to the ramparts convinced, because he wears a kepi and a sword, that he is a very Achilles; when regiments solemnly crown a statue with laurel crowns, and sign round robins to die for their country. All these antics ought not to make one forget that these men are fighting for the holiest of causes, the integrity of their country, and that the worst of Republics is better than the best of feudal monarchies; but I confess I frequently despair of their ever attaining to the dignity of free men, until they have been further tried in the school of adversity. Yesterday M. Jules Favre, in reply to a deputation from the Club of the Folies Bergères, stated that he was not aware that the Orleans Princes were in France. "If the army of succour," he said, "comes to us, we will extend our hands to it; but if it marches under the Orleans banner, the Government will not recognise that banner. As a man, I deplore the law which proscribes this family; as a citizen and a politician, I maintain it. Even if these Princes were to abdicate their dynastic pretensions, the Government will remember Bonaparte, and how he destroyed the Republic in 1851, and energetically protest against their return." This reply when reported to the Club was greatly applauded. Probably none of its members had ever heard the proverb that beggars ought not to be choosers. The event of the day has been the arrest of M. Portales, the editor of the _Vérité_. This newspaper, after asserting that the Government has received news from the provinces, asks a series of questions. In the afternoon the editor was arrested, and this morning the _Official Gazette_ thus replies to the queries: No news has been concealed. The last official despatch received is one from Gambetta, announcing his safe arrival at Montdidier. The Government has received an old copy of the _Standard_, but this journal, "notoriously hostile to France," contained sensational intelligence, which appeared absolutely untrue. To-day it has received a journal of Rouen of the 12th, and it hastens to publish the news derived from this source. Bismarck never proposed an armistice through Burnside. The General only unofficially informed Trochu that Bismarck's views were not altered since he had met Favre at Ferrières, when he stated that "if he considered an armistice realizable for the convocation of an Assembly, he would only grant it for forty-eight hours; he would refuse to include Metz, or to permit provisions to enter Paris, and exclude from the Assembly our brave and unhappy compatriots of Alsace and Lorraine." The _Official Gazette_ then gives extracts from the Rouen paper, which are very contradictory. Our newspapers, however, in commenting on them, come to the conclusion that there are two armies in the field well equipped, and that they have already achieved important successes. The situation also of Bazaine is proved to be excellent. _Quem Dem, &c._ Two of the mayors have ordered all crucifixes to be removed from the ambulances in their arrondissements. Their conduct is almost universally blamed. The enlistment of the Amazons, notwithstanding the efforts of the Government, still continues. The pretty women keep aloof from the movement; the recruits who have already joined are so old and ugly that possibly they may act upon an enemy like the head of Medusa. _October 17th._ The newspapers to-day almost universally blame the arrest of M. Portales. This gentleman, with M.E. Picard, started, just before the siege commenced, a paper called _L'Electeur Libre_. It was thought that M. Picard's position as a member of the Government rendered it impossible for him to remain the political director of a newspaper, so he withdrew, but appointed his brother as his successor. This did not please M. Portales, who with most of the staff left the _Electeur Libre_, and founded _La Vérité_. It is, therefore, somewhat suspicious that this new paper should be the only one whose editor has been imprisoned for circulating "falsehoods." In the first place, almost every French newspaper of any circulation trades upon lies; in the second place, it appears that in this particular case the _Vérité_ only put in the sensational form of questions a letter from the _Times_' correspondent at Tours. This letter it publishes to-day, and appeals to the public to judge between M. Portales and M. Picard. The fact is that this population can neither tell nor hear the truth. The English papers are one and all in bad odour because they declined to believe in the Emperor's victories, and if a _Daily News_ comes in here with an account of some new French reverse, I shall probably be imprisoned. Government and people have laid down this axiom, "bad news false news." General Trochu again appears in print in a long circular letter to the commandants of the corps d'armée and the forts. He desires them each to send him in a list of forty men who have distinguished themselves, and their names and no others will appear in the order of the day. "We have," says the General, "to cause this grand thought, which monarchies decline to recognise but which the Republic should hold sacred, to penetrate into the minds of our officers and soldiers--opinion alone can worthily recompense the sacrifice of a life; remember that if you make a bad choice of the men you recommend, you will gravely compromise your responsibility towards me, and at the same time the great principle which I would have prevail." The General is a very copious writer, and it seems to me that he would do well to remember that if he can only drive away the Prussians, he will have time enough afterwards to introduce his "grand thoughts" into the army. Two things, says Thiers, impose upon Frenchmen--military glory and profound silence. Trochu has the first to win, and he apparently scorns the latter. He is a species of military doctrinaire, and he finds it difficult to avoid lecturing soldiers or civilians at least once a day. I was looking at him the other day, and I never saw calm, serene, self-complacency more clearly depicted upon the human countenance. Failure or success will find him the same--confident in himself, in his plans, and his grand thoughts. If he eventually has to surrender, he will console himself by coupling with the announcement of his intention many observations--very wise, very beautiful, very lengthy, and very stale. Mr. Herbert tells me that there are more English here than he had imagined. He estimates their number at about 4000, about 800 of whom are destitute. The funds at his disposal for them would have already run short had not Mr. Wallace again largely contributed to them. They are fed with rice and Liebig, but the great difficulty has been to find fat to add to this mess. The beasts that are killed are so lean that it is almost impossible to obtain it except at an extravagant price. Tallow candles have been seriously suggested, but they too are scarce. The English, as foreigners, cannot claim rations, and were it not for the kindness of Mr. Herbert and Mr. Wallace, they would, I am afraid, really starve. All their rich fellow-countrymen, with the exception of Mr. Wallace, have left Paris, and even if they were here they would not be able to do anything unless they had money with them, as it is impossible to draw on London. Winter is coming on, and clothes and fuel as well as food will be wanted. I would suggest to the charitable in England to send contributions to Mr. Herbert. I can hardly suppose that Count Bismarck would decline to let the money pass through the Prussian lines. I hear that Mr. Washburne has obtained a half permission to send his countrymen out of the town, if so, I think it would be well if the poor English were also to leave; but this, of course, will require money. The Nuncio has managed to get away; he declined to take letters with him. E. Washburne, United States Minister, Lopez de Arosemana, Chargé d'Affaires of Honduras, Duke Aquaviva, Chargé d'Affaires of Monaco, and the other members of the Corps Diplomatique still here, have signed and published a protest against the refusal of Count Bismarck to let their despatches to their respective Governments leave Paris sealed. That Mr. Washburne should be indignant I can well understand; but although I do not personally know either Lopez de Arosemana, or Aquaviva, Chargé d'Affaires of Monaco, I can understand Count Bismarck not being absolutely satisfied with the assurance of these potent signors that nothing except official despatches should pass under their seal. That the Prince of Monaco should be debarred for a few months from receiving communications from his representative in Paris, may perhaps be unpleasant to him, but must be a matter of the most profound indifference to the rest of the world. It is somewhat amusing to observe how justice is administered when any dispute arises in the streets. The sergents-de-ville immediately withdraw, in order not to prejudice the question by their presence. A sort of informal jury is impanelled, each disputant states his case, and the one who is thought by the tribunal to be in fault, is either taken off to prison, or cuffed on the spot. I have bought myself a sugar-loaf hat of the First Republic, and am consequently regarded with deference. To-day a man was bullying a child, and a crowd gathered round him; I happened just then to come up, room was immediately made for me and my hat, and I was asked to give my opinion as to what ought to be done with the culprit. I suggested kicking, and as I walked away, I saw him writhing under the boots of two sturdy executioners, amid the applause of the spectators. "The style is the man," said Buffon; had he lived here now he would rather have said "the hat is the man." An English doctor who goes about in a regulation chimney-pot has already been arrested twenty-seven times; I, thanks to my revolutionary hat, have not been arrested once. I have only to glance from under its brim at any one for him to quail. _October 18th._ A decree has been issued ordering a company of 150 men to be mobilised in each battalion of the National Guard. Three of these companies are together to form a mobilised battalion, and to elect their commander. The _Journal Officiel_ contains two long reports upon the works of defence which have been executed since the commencement of the siege. They give the number of guns on each bastion, and the number of rounds to each gun, the number of cartridges, and the amount of powder in store. Unless these reports be patriotic fictions, it seems strange to publish them in the newspapers, as they must inevitably fall into the hands of the Prussians. Be this as it may, I do not feel at liberty to quote from them. General Ducrot publishes a letter protesting against a statement of the German journals that he escaped from Pont-à-Mousson when on parole. He asserts that his safe-conduct had been given up, and that he consequently was free to get away if he could. His evasion is very similar to that of F. Meagher from Australia. M. Jules Favre publishes a circular to the French Diplomatic Agents abroad, in reply to Count Bismarck's report of the meeting at Ferrières. You will probably have received it before you get this letter. It is more rhetorical than logical--goes over the old ground of the war having been declared against Napoleon rather than against the French nation, and complains that "the European Cabinets, instead of inaugurating the doctrine of mediation, recommended by justice and their own interests, by their inertness authorise the continuation of a barbarous struggle, which is a disaster for all and an outrage on civilization." M. Jules Favre cannot emancipate himself from the popular delusions of his country, that France can go to war without, if vanquished, submitting to the consequences, and that Paris can take refuge behind her ramparts without being treated as a fortified town; at the same time he very rightly protests against the Prussian theory of the right of conquest implying a moral right to annex provinces against the wishes of their inhabitants. Few have been in Paris without having driven through the Avenue de l'Impératrice. What has been done there to render it impregnable to attack will consequently give an idea what has been done everywhere. At the Bois de Boulogne end of the avenue the gate has been closed up by a wall and a moat; behind them there is a redoubt. Between this and the Arc de Triomphe there are three barricades made of masonry and earth, and three ditches. Along the grass on each side of the roadway, the ground has been honey-combed, and in each hole there are pointed stakes. In every house Nationaux are billeted; in two of them there are artillerymen. In the Avenue de Neuilly, and in many other parts of the town, the preparations against an assault are still more formidable. Bagatelles, the villa of the late Lord Hertford, has been almost gutted by 2,000 Mobiles, who make it their headquarters. We are exceedingly proud of having burnt down St. Cloud, and we say that if this does not convince the Prussians that we are in earnest, we will burn down Versailles. I wonder whether the proverb about cutting off one's nose to spite one's face has an equivalent in French. CHAPTER VIII. _October 19th._ A despatch is published this morning from M. Gambetta, giving a very hopeful account of things in the provinces. As, however, this gentleman on his arrival at Tours issued a proclamation in which he announced that there were one-third more guns in Paris than it is even pretended by the Government that there are, I look with great suspicion upon his utterances. The latest declaration of the Government differs essentially from that which was made at the commencement of the siege. A friend of mine pointed out to one of its members this discrepancy, when he replied that the Government had purposely understated their resources at first. This may be all very fair in war, but it prevents a reasonable person placing the slightest confidence in anything official. Dr. Johnson did not believe in the earthquake at Lisbon for one year after the news reached London, and I shall not believe in the resources of the provinces until they prove their existence by raising the siege. I am very curious to discover what is thought of Paris by the world. There is but one step from the sublime to the ridiculous. If really by holding out for several months the situation can be altered for the better, the Parisians are right to do so, but if the Government is only humbugging them with false intelligence, if they are simply destroying their own villages in the neighbourhood, and exhausting their resources within the town, whilst a Prussian army is living at the cost of their country, it seems to me that they are acting like silly schoolboys rather than wise men, and that there really is something in the sneer of Bismarck that the Deputies of Paris are determined, _coûte qui coûte_, to preserve the power with which the hazards of a revolution invested them. The newspapers this morning are full of articles lauding M. Jules Favre's circular, and reviling the proposals of Bismarck. The following extract from the _Liberté_ will serve as an example of their usual tone:--"A word of gratitude to the great citizen, to Jules Favre. Let him know that his honest, eloquent, and brave words give us strength, dry our tears, and cure our wounds. Poor and dear France! Provinces crushed and towns blockaded, populations ruined, and thou, O Paris, once the city of the fairies, now become the city of the grave times of antiquity, raise thy head, be confident, be strong. It is thy heart that has spoken, it is thy soul unconquered, invincible, the soul of thy country that has appealed to the world and told it the truth." The _Liberté_, after this preliminary burst, goes on to say, that it knew before that Bismarck was everything that was bad, but that it has now discovered that, besides possessing every other vice, he is a liar, and if there is one thing that France and the _Liberté_ cannot endure, it is a man who does not tell the truth. If the Prussians are not driven out of France by words, it certainly will be a proof that mere words have very little effect in shaping the destinies of nations. Each person now receives 100 grammes of meat per diem, the system of distribution being that every one has to wait on an average two hours before he receives his meat at the door of a butcher's shop. I dine habitually at a bouillon; there horse-flesh is eaten in the place of beef, and cat is called rabbit. Both, however, are excellent, and the former is a little sweeter than beef, but in other respects much like it; the latter something between rabbit and squirrel, with a flavour all its own. It is delicious. I recommend those who have cats with philoprogenitive proclivities, instead of drowning the kittens, to eat them. Either smothered in onions or in a ragout they are excellent. When I return to London I shall frequently treat myself to one of these domestic animals, and ever feel grateful to Bismarck for having taught me that cat served up for dinner is the right animal in the right place. I went last night to the Theatre of the Porte St. Martin; it has become the rendezvous of the optimists, and speeches were delivered to prove that everything was for the best in the best of worlds, and poetry was recited to prove that the Prussians must eventually be defeated. The chair was taken by M. Coquerel, who with great truth said that Paris had fallen so low that the siege might be considered almost a blessing, and that the longer it lasted, the more likely was it to aid in the work of regeneration, which alone can make this world a globe of honourable men and honest women. It will, indeed, do the Parisians all the good in the world to keep guard on the ramparts instead of doing nothing but gossip till one or two in the morning at cafés. General Trochu, that complete letter-writer, to-day replies to General Ducrot, telling him that his proclamation respecting his evasion from Pont-à-Mousson is most satisfactory. The military events of this week have been unimportant. The forts have continued silent, and reconnaissances have been made here and there. The faubourgs, too, have been quiet. Everything is being done to make the siege weigh as little upon the population as possible. Thus, for instance, few lamps are lit in the streets, but the shops and cafés are still a blaze of light; they close, however, early. Here is rather a good story; I can vouch for its truth. The Government recently visited the Tuileries. They were received by the governor, whom they found established in a suite of apartments. He showed them over the palace, and then offered them luncheon. They then incidentally asked him who had nominated him to the post he so ably filled. "Myself," he replied; "just by the same authority as you nominated yourselves, and no less." There was heavy firing all through the night in the direction of Vannes. M. Mottu, the mayor of the 11th arrondissement, who had entered into a campaign against crucifixes, has been removed. The Government were "interviewed" last night by the chiefs of thirty battalions of Gardes Nationales of the 11th arrondissement on the subject. The deputation was assured that M. Mottu would be reinstated in his mairie if he would promise to moderate his zeal. _October 20th._ "The clients of M. Poiret are informed that they can only have one plate of meat," was the terrible writing which stared me on the wall, when I went to dine at my favourite bouillon--and, good heavens, what a portion it was! Not enough for the dinner of a fine lady who has previously gorged herself at a private luncheon. If meat is, as we are told, so plentiful that it will last for five weeks more, the mode in which it is distributed is radically bad. While at a large popular restaurant, where hundreds of the middle classes dine, each person only gets enough cat or horse to whet his appetite for more; in the expensive cafés on the Boulevards, feasts worthy of Lucullus are still served to those who are ready to part with their money with the proverbial readiness of fools. Far more practical, my worthy Republicans, would it be to establish "liberté, égalité, fraternité" in the cook shops, than to write the words in letters of gold over your churches. In every great city there always is much want and misery; here, although succour is supposed to be afforded to all who require it, many I fear are starving owing to that bureaucrat love of classification which is the curse of France. After my meagre dinner, I was strolling along the quays near the river, _l'estomac_ as _leger_ as M. Ollivier's heart, when I saw a woman leaning over the parapet. She turned as I was passing her, and the lamp from the opposite gate of the Tuileries shone on her face. It was honest and homely, but so careworn, so utterly hopeless, that I stopped to ask her if she was ill. "Only tired and hungry'" she replied; "I have been walking all day, and I have not eaten since yesterday." I took her to a café and gave her some bread and coffee, and then she told me her story. She was a peasant girl from Franche Comté, and had come to Paris, where she had gone into service. But she had soon tired of domestic servitude, and for the last year she had supported herself by sewing waistcoats in a great wholesale establishment. At the commencement of the siege she had been discharged, and for some days she found employment in a Government workshop, but for the last three weeks she had wandered here and there, vainly asking for work. One by one she had sold every article of dress she possessed, except the scanty garments she wore, and she had lived upon bread and celery. The day before she had spent her last sou, and when I saw her she had come down to the river, starving and exhausted, to throw herself into it. "But the water looked so cold, I did not dare," she said. Thus spoke the grisette of Paris, very different from the gay, thoughtless being of French romance, who lives in a garret, her window shrouded with flowers, is adored by a student, and earns enough money in a few hours to pass the rest of the week dancing, gossiping, and amusing herself. As I listened to her, I felt ashamed of myself for repining because I had only had one plate of meat. The hopeless, desolate condition of this poor girl is that of many of her class to-day. But why should they complain? Is not King William the instrument of Heaven, and is he not engaged in a holy cause? That Kings should fight and that seamstresses should weep is in the natural order of things. Frenchmen and Frenchwomen only deserve to be massacred or starved if they are so lost to all sense of what is just as to venture to struggle against the dismemberment of their country, and do not understand how meet and right it is that their fellow-countrymen in Alsace should be converted into German subjects. General Vinoy, who was in the Crimea, and who takes a somewhat larger view of things than the sententious Trochu, has been good enough to furnish me with a pass, which allows me to wander unmolested anywhere within the French outposts. "If you attempt to pass them," observes the General, "you will be shot by the sentinels, in obedience to my orders." A general order also permits anyone to go as far as the line of the forts. Yesterday I chartered a cab and went to Boulogne, a village on the Seine, close by the wood of the same name. We drove through a portion of the Bois; it contained more soldiers than trees. Line and artillerymen were camped everywhere, and every fifty yards a group was engaged in skinning or cutting up a dead horse. The village of Boulogne had been deserted by almost all the inhabitants. Across some of the streets leading to the river there were barricades, others were open. In most of the houses there were soldiers, and others were in rifle-pits and trenches. A brisk exchange of shots was going on with the Prussians, who were concealed in the opposite houses of St. Cloud. I cannot congratulate the enemy upon the accuracy of their aim, for although several evilly disposed Prussians took a shot at my cab, their bullets whistled far above our heads, and after one preliminary kick, the old cab-horse did not even condescend to notice them. As for the cabman, he was slightly in liquor, and at one of the cross-streets leading to the river he got off his box, and performed a war-dance to show his contempt for the skill of the enemies of his nation. In the Grand Place there was a long barricade, and behind it men, women, and children were crouching watching the opposite houses, from which every now and then a puff of smoke issued, followed by a sharp report. The soldiers were very orderly and good-natured; as I had a glass, some of them took me up into the garrets of a deserted house, from the windows of which we tried in vain to espy our assailants. My friends fired into several of the houses from which smoke issued, but with what effect I do not know. The amusement of the place seemed to be to watch soldiers running along an open road which was exposed to fire for about thirty yards. Two had been killed in the morning, but this did not appear in any way to diminish the zest of the sport. At least twenty soldiers ran the gauntlet whilst I was there, but not one of them was wounded. As well as I could make out, the damage done to St. Cloud by the bombs of Mont Valérien is very inconsiderable. A portion of the Palace and a few houses were in ruins, but that was all. There is a large barrack there, which the soldiers assured me is lit up every night, and why this building has not been shelled, neither they nor I could understand. The newspapers say that the Prussians have guns on the unfinished redoubt of Brinborion; it was not above 1,000 yards from where I was standing, but with my glass I could not make out that there were any there. Several officers with whom I spoke said that it was very doubtful. On my return, my cabman, who had got over his liquor, wanted double his fare. "For myself," he said, "I am a Frenchman, and I should scorn to ask for money for running a risk of being shot by a _canaille_ of a German, but think of my horse;" and then he patted the faithful steed, whom I may possibly have the pleasure to meet again, served up in a sauce piquante. The newspapers, almost without exception, protest against the mediation of England and Russia, which they imagine is offered by these Powers. "It is too late," says the organ of M. Picard. "Can France accept a mediation which will snatch from her the enemy at the moment when victory is certain?" _October 25th._ Has General Trochu a plan?--if so, what is it? It appears to me, as Sir Robert Peel would have said, that he has only three courses to pursue: first, to do nothing, and to capitulate as soon as he is starved out; this would, I reckon, bring the siege to an end in about two months: secondly, to fight a battle with all his disposable forces, which might be prolonged for several days, and thus risk all upon one great venture: thirdly, to cut his way out of Paris with the line and the Mobiles. The two united would form a force of about 150,000 men, and supported by 500 cannon, it may reasonably be expected that the Prussian lines would be pierced. In this case a junction might be effected with any army which exists in the provinces, and the combined force might throw itself upon the enemy's line of communications. In the meantime Paris would be defended by its forts and its ramparts. The former would be held by the sailors and the mobilized National Guards of Paris, the latter by the Sedentary Garde Nationale. Which of these courses will be adopted, it is impossible to say; the latter, however, is the only one which seems to present even a chance of ultimate success. With respect to the second, I do not think that the Mobiles could stand for days or even for hours against the artillery and musketry force of their opponents. They are individually brave, but like all raw troops they become excited under fire, shoot wildly, then rush forward in order to engage in a hand-to-hand encounter, and break before they reach the Prussian lines. In this respect the troops of the line are not much better. The Prussian tactics, indeed, have revolutionized the whole system of warfare, and the French, until they have learnt them, will always go to the wall. Every day that this siege lasts, convinces me more and more that General Trochu is not the right man in the right place. He writes long-winded letters, utters Spartan aphorisms, and complains of his colleagues, his generals, and his troops. The confidence which was felt in him is rapidly diminishing. He is a good, respectable, honest man, without a grain of genius, or of that fierce indomitable energy which sometimes replaces it. He would make a good Minister of War in quiet times, but he is about as fit to command in the present emergency as Mr. Cardwell would be. His two principal military subordinates, Vinoy and Ducrot, are excellent Generals of Division, but nothing more. As for his civilian colleagues, they are one and all hardly more practical than Professor Fawcett. Each has some crotchet of his own, each likes to dogmatize and to speechify, and each considers the others to be idiots, and has a small following of his own, which regards him as a species of divinity. They are philosophers, orators, and legists, but they are neither practical men nor statesmen. I understand that General Trochu says, that the most sensible among them is Rochefort. We want to know what has become of Sergeant Truffet. As the Prussians are continually dinning it into Europe that the French fire on their flags of truce, the following facts, for the truth of which I can vouch, may, perhaps, account for it; if, indeed, it has ever occurred. A few days ago, some French soldiers, behind a barricade a little in advance of the Moulin Saqui, saw a Bavarian crawl towards them, waving a white flag. When he stopped, the soldiers called to him to come forward, but he remained, still waving his flag. Sergeant Truffet then got over the barricade, and went towards him. Several Germans immediately rushed forward, and sergeant, flag, and Germans, disappeared within the enemy's lines. The next day, General Vinoy sent an officer to protest against this gross violation of the laws of war, and to demand that the sergeant should be restored. The officer went to Creteil, thence he was sent to Choisy le Roi, where General Jemplin (if this is how he spells his name) declined to produce the sergeant, who, he said, was a deserter, or to give any explanation as to his whereabouts. Now Truffet, as his companions can testify, had not the remotest intention to desert. He was a good and steady soldier. He became a prisoner, through a most odious stratagem, and a Prussian general, although the facts have been officially brought before him, has refused to release him. The Germans are exceedingly fond of trumping up charges against the French, but they have no right to expect to be believed, until they restore to us our Truffet, and punish the Bavarians who entrapped him by means of a false flag of truce. The subscription for the 1500 cannon hangs fire. The question, however, whether both cannon and Chassepots can be made in Paris is solved, as the private workshops are making daily deliveries of both to Government. At the commencement of the siege it was feared that there would not be enough projectiles; these, also, are now being manufactured. For the last week, the forts have been firing at everything and anything. The admirals in command say that the sailors bore themselves so, that they are obliged to allow them to fire more frequently than is absolutely necessary. I have been endeavouring to form an estimate of the absolute cost in money of the siege, per diem. The National Guard receive in pay 24,000l., rations to themselves and families amount to about 10,000l., the Mobiles do not cost less than 30,000l. Unproductive industries connected with the war, about 15,000l. Rations to the destitute, 5000l. When, in addition to these items, it is remembered that every productive industry is at a standstill, it is no exaggeration to say that Paris is eating its head off at the rate of 200,000l. per diem. Flourens has been re-elected commander-in-chief of five battalions of Belleville National Guards. The Government, however, declines to recognize this cumulative command. The "Major" writes a letter to-day to the _Combat_ denouncing the Government, and demanding that the Republic "should decree victory," and shoot every unsuccessful general. Blanqui says that he lost his election as commander of a battalion, through the intrigues of the Jesuits. It was proposed on Saturday, at a club, to make a demonstration before the Hôtel de Ville, in favour of M. Mottu, the Mayor of the eleventh arrondissement, who was dismissed on account of his crusade against crucifixes. An amendment, however, was carried, putting it off until famine gives the friends of a revolution new adherents. Crucifixes were denounced by an orator in the course of the evening, as "impure nudities, which ought not to be suffered in public places, on account of our daughters." The great meat question is left to every arrondissement to decide according to its own lights. As a necessary consequence of this, while in one part of Paris it takes six hours to get a beef-steak, in others, where a better system of distribution prevails, each person can obtain his ration of 100 grammes without any extraordinary delay. Butter now costs 18fr. the pound. Milk is beginning to get scarce. The "committee of alimentation" recommends mothers to nourish their babies from what Mr. Dickens somewhere calls "nature's founts." I had a conversation yesterday with one of the best writers on the French press, and I asked him to tell me what were the views of the sensible portion of the population respecting the situation. He replied, "We always were opposed to the Empire; we knew what the consequences eventually would be. The deluge has overtaken us, and we must accept the consequences. In Paris, few who really are able to form a just estimate of our resources, can expect that the siege can have any but a disastrous termination. Everyone, however, has lost so much, that he is indifferent to what remains. We feel that Paris would be disgraced if at least by a respectable defence she does not show that she is ready to sacrifice herself for France." "But," I said, "you are only putting off the inevitable hour at a heavy cost to yourself." "Perhaps," he replied, "we are not acting wisely, but you must take into consideration our national weaknesses; it is all very well to say that we ought to treat now, and endeavour to husband our resources, so as to take our revenge in twenty years, but during that twenty years we should not venture to show ourselves abroad, or hold up our heads at home." "In the end, however, you must treat," I said. "Never," he replied. "Germany may occupy Alsace and Lorraine, but we will never recognise the fact that they are no longer French." "I hardly see," I said, "that this will profit you." "Materially, perhaps not," he answered, "but at least we shall save our honour." "And what, pray, will happen after the capitulation of Paris?" "Practically," he replied, "there is no Government in France, there will not be for about two years, and then, probably, we shall have the Orleans princes." The opinions enunciated by this gentleman are those of most of the _doctrinaires_. They appear to be without hope, without a policy, and without any very definite idea how France is to get out of the singularly false position in which the loss of her army, and the difficulty of her people to accept the inevitable consequences, have placed her. My own impression is, that the provinces will in the end insist upon peace at any cost, as a preliminary step towards some regular form of government, and the withdrawal of the German troops, whose prolonged occupation of department after department must exhaust the entire recuperative resources of the country. _October 27th._ At an early hour yesterday morning, about 100 English congregated at the gate of Charenton _en route_ for London. There were with them about 60 Americans, and 20 Russians, who also were going to leave us. Imagine the indignation of these "Cives Romani," when they were informed that, while the Russians and the Americans would be allowed to pass the Prussian outposts, owing to the list of the English wishing to go not having reached Count Bismarck in time, they would have to put off their journey to another day. The guard had literally to be turned out to prevent them from endeavouring to force their way through the whole German army. I spoke this morning to an English butler who had made one of the party. This worthy man evidently was of opinion that the end of the world is near at hand, when a butler, and a most respectable person, is treated in this manner. "Pray, sir, may I ask," he said, with bitter scorn, "whether her Majesty is still on the throne in England?" I replied, "I believed that she was." "Then," he went on, "has this Count Bismarck, as they call him, driven the British nobles out of the House of Lords? Nothing which this feller does would surprise me now." Butler, Chargé d'Affaires, and the other _cives_, are, I understand, to make another start, as soon as the "feller" condescends to answer a letter which has been forwarded to him, asking him to fix a day for their departure. We are daily anticipating an attack on the Southern side of the city. The Prussians are close into the forts on their line from Meudon to Choisy-le-Roi. Two days ago it was supposed that they were dragging their siege guns to batteries which they had prepared for them, notwithstanding our fire, which until now we proudly imagined had rendered it impossible for them to put a spade to the ground. Our generals believe, I know not with what truth, that the Prussians have only got twenty-six siege guns. If they are on the plateau of Meudon, and if they carry, as is asserted, nine kilometres, a large portion of the city on the left bank of the Seine will be under fire. On our side we have approached so close to the villages along the Prussian line in this direction that one side or the other must in self-defence soon make an attack. The newspapers of yesterday morning having asserted that Choisy-le-Roi was no longer occupied by the enemy, I went out in the afternoon to inspect matters. I got to the end of the village of Vitry, where the advanced posts, to whom I showed my pass, asked me where I wanted to go. I replied, to Choisy-le-Roi. A corporal pointed to a house at some distance beyond where we were standing. "The Prussians are in that house," he said. "If you like, you can go forward and look at them; they are not firing." So forward I went. I was within a hundred yards of the house when some Francs-tireurs, hid in the field to the right of the road, commenced firing, and the Fort d'Ivry from behind opened fire. The Prussians on their side replied with their needle-guns. I got behind a tree, feeling that my last hour was come. There I remained about half an hour, for whenever I moved a bullet came whizzing near me. At last a thought, a happy thought, occurred to me. I rolled myself into a ditch, which ran alongside the road, and down this ditch I crept until I got close to the barricade, over which I climbed with more haste than dignity. The soldiers were greatly amazed at my having really believed a statement which I had read in the newspapers, and their observations respecting the Parisians and their "organs" were far from complimentary. On my way back by Montrouge, I stopped to gossip with some Breton Mobiles. They, too, spoke with the utmost scorn of the patriots within the walls. "We are kept here," they said, "to defend these men, all of whom have arms like us; they live comfortably inside the ramparts, whilst the provinces are being ravaged." These Breton Mobiles are the idols of the hour. They are to the Republic what the Zouaves were to the Empire. They are very far, however, from reciprocating the admiration which the Republicans entertain for them. They are brave, devout, credulous peasants, care far more for Brittany than they do for Paris, and regard the individuals who rule by the grace of Paris with feelings the reverse of friendly. The army and the Mobiles, indeed, like being cooped up here less and less every day, and they cannot understand why the 300,000 National Guards who march and drill in safety inside the capital do not come outside and rough it like them. While I was talking to these Bretons one of them blew his nose with his handkerchief. His companions apologised to me for this piece of affectation. "He is from Finisterre," they said. In Finisterre, it appears, luxury is enervating the population, and they blow their noses with handkerchiefs; in other parts of Brittany, where the hardy habits of a former age still prevail, a more simple method is adopted. The volunteering from the National Guard for active service has been a failure. 40,000 men were required; not 7,000 have sent in their names. The Ultras say that it is a scheme to get rid of them; the bourgeoisie say nothing, but volunteer all the less. The fact is, the siege as far as regards the Parisians has been as yet like hunting--all the pleasure of war, with one per cent. of the danger; and so long as they can help it they have no intention to increase that per-centage. As for the 1,500 cannon, they have not yet been made; but many of them have already been named. One is to be called the "Jules Favre," one the "Populace," "We already hear them thunder, and see the Prussians decimated," says the _Temps_, and its editor is not the first person who has counted his chickens before they are hatched. All yesterday afternoon and evening the Fort of Issy, and the battery of the Bois de Boulogne, fired heavily on Brinborion and Meudon, with what result no one knows. Yesterday morning the _Combat_ announced that Marshal Bazaine was treating for the surrender of Metz in the name of Napoleon. The Government was interviewed, and denied the fact. In the evening the _Combat_ was burnt on the Boulevards. The chief of General Ducrot's staff has published a letter protesting against the assertions of certain journals that the fight at Malmaison produced no results. On the contrary, he says it gained us sixty square kilometres of ground in the plain of Genevilliers. CHAPTER IX. _October 28th._ I see at a meeting of the mayors, the population of Paris is put down at 2,036,000. This does not include the regular army, or the Marines and Mobiles outside and within the lines. The consumption of meat, consequently, at the rate of 100 grammes per diem, must amount to between 400,000 and 500,000lbs. per diem. Although mutton according to the tariff is cheaper than beef, I rarely see any at the restaurants. This tells its own tale, and I imagine that in three weeks from now at the very latest fresh meat will have come to an end. I am reluctantly coming to the conclusion that there is no more fight in the working men than in the bourgeois. The National Guard in Montmartre and Batignolles have held an indignation meeting to protest against their being employed in the forts. A law was passed on August 10 calling under arms all unmarried men between 25 and 40. In Paris it has never been acted on; it would, however, be far better to regularly enrol this portion of the National Guard as soldiers than to ask for volunteers. As long as these "sedentary" warriors can avoid regular service, or subjecting themselves to the discipline and the hardships of real soldiers, they will do so. Before the Panthéon, the mayor of an arrondissement sits on a platform, writing down the names of volunteers. Whenever one makes his appearance, a roll of drums announces to his fellow-citizens that he has undertaken to risk his valuable life outside the ramparts. It really does appear too monstrous that the able-bodied men of this city should wear uniforms, learn the goose-step, and refuse to take any part in the defence within shot of the enemy. That they should object to be employed in a campaign away from their homes, is hardly in accordance with their appeal to the provinces to rise _en masse_ to defend France, but that they should decline to do anything but go over every twelve days to the ramparts, is hardly fighting even for their own homes. Surely as long as the siege lasts they ought to consider that the Government has a right to use them anywhere within the lines of investment They make now what they call military promenades, that is to say, they go out at one gate, keep well within the line of the forts, and come in at another gate. Some of the battalions are ready to face the enemy, although they will not submit to any discipline. The majority, however, do not intend to fight outside the ramparts. I was reading yesterday the account of a court-martial on one of these heroes, who had fallen out with his commanding officer, and threatened to pass his sword through his body. The culprit, counsel urged, was a man of an amiable, though excitable disposition; the father of two sons, had once saved a child from drowning, and had presented several curiosities to a museum. Taking these facts into consideration, the Court condemned him to six days' imprisonment, his accuser apologised to him, and shook hands with him. What is to be expected of troops when military offences of the grossest kind are treated in this fashion? I know myself officers of the Garde Nationale, who, when they are on duty at the ramparts, quietly leave their men there, and come home to dinner. No one appears to consider this anything extraordinary. Well may General Trochu look up to the sky when it is overcast, and wish that he were in Brittany shooting woodcocks. He has undertaken a task beyond his own strength, and beyond the strength of the greatest general that ever lived. How can the Parisians expect to force the Prussians to raise the siege? They decline to be soldiers, and yet imagine that in some way or other, not only is their city not to be desecrated by the foot of the invader, but that the armies of Germany are to be driven out of France. _October 30th._ We really have had a success. Between the north-eastern and the north-western forts there is a plain, cut up by small streams. The high road from Paris to Senlis runs through the middle of it, and on this road, at a distance of about six kilometres from Paris, is the village of Bourget, which was occupied by the Prussians. It is a little in advance of their lines, which follow a small river called the Morée, about two kilometres in the rear. At 5 A.M. last Friday Bourget was attacked by a regiment of Francs-tireurs and the 9th Battalion of the Mobiles of the Seine. The Prussians were driven out of it, and fell back to the river Morée. During the whole of Friday the Prussian artillery fired upon the village, and sometimes there was a sharp interchange of shots between the advanced posts. On Friday night two attacks in considerable force were directed against the position, but both of them failed. At nine on Saturday morning, after a very heavy artillery fire from the batteries at Stains and Dugny, which was replied to from the forts of Aubervilliers and l'Est, La Briche and St. Denis, heavy masses of infantry advanced from Staines and Gonesse. When they approached the village the fire which was concentrated on them was so heavy that they were obliged to fall back. At about twelve o'clock I went out by the gate of La Villette. Between the ramparts and the Fort of Aubervilliers there were large masses of troops held in reserve, and I saw several battalions of National Guards among them, belonging, I heard, to the Volunteers. I pushed on to an inn situated at the intersection of the roads to Bourget and Courneuve. There I was stopped. It was raining hard, and all I could make out was that Prussians and French were busily engaged in firing, the former into Bourget, the latter into Stains and Dugny. It appears to have been feared that the Prussians would make an attack from Bourget upon either St. Denis or Aubervilliers; it was discovered, however, that they had no batteries there. Whether we shall be able to hold the position, or whether, if we do, we shall derive any benefit from it beyond having a large area in which to pick up vegetables, time alone will prove. On returning into Paris I came across in the Rue Rivoli about 200 patriots of all ages, brandishing flags and singing patriotic songs. These were National Guards, who had been engaged in a pacific demonstration at the Hôtel de Ville, to testify their affection to the Republic, and to demonstrate that that affection should be reciprocated by the Republic in the form of better arms, better pay, and better food. They had been harangued by Rochefort and Arago. I see by this morning's paper that the latter requested them to swear that not only would they drive the Prussians out of France, but that they would refuse to treat with any Government in Germany except a Republican one. A decree of General Trochu converts the Legion of Honour into a military decoration. The journalists of all colours are excessively indignant at this, for they all expect, when the party which they support is in power, to be given this red ribbon as a matter of course. It has been so lavishly distributed that anyone who has not got it is almost obliged to explain why he is without it, in the way a person would excuse himself if he came into a drawing-room without a coat. The theatres are by degrees reopening. In order not to shock public opinion, the programmes of their entertainments are exceedingly dull. Thus the Comédie Française bill of fare for yesterday was a speech, a play of Molière's without costumes, and an ode to Liberty. I can understand closing the theatres entirely, but it seems to me absurd increasing the general gloom, by opening them in order to make the audiences wish that they were closed. Fancy, for an evening's entertainment, a speech from Mr. Cole, C.B.; the play of _Hamlet_ played in the dresses of the present century; and an ode from Mr. Tupper. A few days ago the newspapers asserted that M. Thiers had entered Paris, having been provided with a safe conduct by the King of Prussia. It is now said that he is not here yet, but that he shortly will be. Of course if Count Bismarck allows him to come in, he does so rather in the interests of Prussia than of France. I cannot believe myself that, unless Prussia has given up the idea of annexing Alsace and Lorraine to Germany, negotiation will be productive of good results. If Metz can be taken, if the armies of the provinces can be defeated, and if the provisions within the city become less plentiful than they are now, then perhaps the Parisians will accept the idea of a capitulation. At present, however, the very large majority believe that France must eventually conquer, and that the world is lost in wonder and admiration of their attitude. The siege is one long holiday to the working classes. They are as well fed as ever they were, and have absolutely nothing to do except to play at soldiers. Although the troops are unable to hold the villages within the fire of their forts, they are under the delusion that--to use the favourite expression--the circle in which we are inclosed is gradually but surely being enlarged. I was this morning buying cigars at a small tobacconist's. "Well," said the proprietor of the shop to me, "so we are to destroy the Prussians in twenty days." "Really," I said. "Yes," he replied, "I was this morning at the Mairie; there was a crowd before it complaining that they could not get meat. A gentleman--a functionary--got upon a stool. 'Citizens and citizenesses,' he said, 'be calm; continue to preserve the admirable attitude which is eliciting the admiration of the world. I give you my honour that arrangements have been made to drive the Prussians away from Paris in twenty days.' Of course," added my worthy bourgeois, "this functionary would not have spoken thus had the Government not revealed its plans to him." At this moment a well dressed individual entered the shop and asked for a subscription for the construction of a machine which he had invented to blow up the whole Prussian army. I expected to see him handed over to a policeman, but instead of this the bourgeois gave him two francs! What, I asked, is to be expected of a city peopled by such credulous fools? A dispute is going on as to the relative advantages of secular and religious education. The Mayor of the 23rd arrondissement publishes to-day an order to the teachers within his domains, forbidding them to take the children under their charge to hear mass on Sundays. The municipality has also published a decree doubling the amount contributed by the city to the primary schools. Instead of eight million francs it is to be henceforward sixteen millions. This is all very well, but surely it would be better to put off questions affecting education until the siege is over. The alteration in the nomenclature of the streets also continues. The Boulevard Prince Eugène is to be called the Boulevard Voltaire, and the statue of the Prince has been taken down, to be replaced by the statue of the philosopher; the Rue Cardinal Fesch is to be called the Rue de Chateaudun. The newspapers also demand that the Rue de Londres should be rebaptised on the ground that the name of Londres is detested even more than Berlin. "If Prussia" (says one writer) "wages against us a war of bandits and savages, it is England which, in the gloom of its sombre country houses, pays the Uhlans who oppress our peasants, violate our wives, massacre our soldiers, and pillage our provinces. She rejoices over our sufferings." The headquarters of the Ambulance Internationale are to move to-morrow from the Palais de l'Industrie to the Grand Hotel. In the Palais it was impossible to regulate the ventilation. It was always either too hot or too cold. Another objection to it which was urged by the medical men was, that one-half of it served as a store for munitions of war. 4 P.M. So we have been kicked neck and crop out of Bourget. I have got such a cold that I have been lying up to-day. A friend of mine has just come in, and tells me that at eight this morning a regiment on their way to Bourget found the Mobiles who were in it falling back. Some Prussian troops appeared from between Stains and Courneuve, and attempted to cut off the retreat. Whether we lost any cannon my friend does not know. He thinks not. Some of our troops were trapped, the others got away, and fell back on the barricades in front of Aubervilliers. My friend observes that if it was not a rout, it was extremely like one. He thinks that we were only allowed to get into Bourget in order to be caught like rats in a trap. When my friend left the forts were firing on Pierrefitte and Etains, and the Prussians were established in front of Bourget. My friend, who thinks he has a genius for military matters, observes that we ought to have either left Bourget alone, or held it with more troops and more artillery. The Mobiles told him that they had been starving there for forty-eight hours, and only had two pieces of 12, two of 4, and one mitrailleuse. The Prussians had brought up heavy guns, and yesterday they established a battery of twenty-one cannon, which cannonaded the village. _October 31st._ Yesterday evening until eleven o'clock--a late hour now for Paris;--the Boulevards were crowded. Although the news that Bourget had been retaken by the Prussians had been _affiché_ at the Mairies, those who asserted it were at first treated as friends of Prussia. Little by little the fact was admitted, and then, every one fell to denouncing the Government. To-day the official bulletin states that we retreated in good order, leaving "some" prisoners. From what I hear from officers who were engaged, the Mobiles fought well for some time, although their ammunition was so wet that they could only fire twelve shots with their cannon, and not one with their mitrailleuse. When they saw that they were likely to be surrounded, there was a stampede to Aubervilliers and to Drancy, the latter of which was subsequently evacuated. To-day we have two pieces of news--that M. Thiers entered Paris yesterday, and that Metz has fallen. The _Journal des Débats_ also publishes copious extracts from a file of provincial papers up to the 26th, which it has obtained. I hear that M. Thiers advises peace on any terms. The Government of Paris is in a difficult position. It has followed in the course of Palikao. By a long _suggestio falsi et suppressio veri_ it has led the population of this city to believe that the position of France has bettered itself every day that the siege has lasted. We have been told that Bazaine could hold out indefinitely, that vast armies were forming in the provinces, and would, before the middle of November, march to the relief of Paris; that the investing army was starving, and that it had been unable to place a single gun in position within the range of the forts; that we had ample provisions until the month of February, and that there would not be the slightest difficulty in introducing convoys. Anyone who ventured to question these facts was held up to public execration. General Trochu announced that he had a "plan," and that if only he were left to carry it out, it must result in success. All this time the General and the members of the Government, who were at loggerheads with each other, privately confessed to their friends that the situation was growing every day more critical. The attempt to obtain volunteers from the population of the capital for active service outside the gates has resulted in a miserable failure, and the Government does not even venture to carry out the law, which subjects all between twenty-five and thirty-five to enrolment in the army. With respect to public opinion, all are opposed to the entry of the Prussians into Paris, or to a peace which would involve a cession of territory; but many equally object to submitting either to real hardship or real danger. They hope against hope that what they call their "sublime attitude" will prevent the Prussians from attacking them, and that they may pass to history as heroes, without having done anything heroic. I had thought that the working men would fight well, but I think so no longer. Under the Empire they got high wages for doing very little. Since the investment of the capital, they have taken their 1fr. 50c. and their rations for their families, and done hardly anything except drill, gossip, and about once a week go on the ramparts. So fond they are of this idle existence, that although workshops offer 6fr. a day to men, they cannot obtain hands. With respect to provisions, as yet the poorer classes have been better off than they ever were before. Every one gets his 50 or 100 grammes of meat, and his share of bread. Those persons alone who were accustomed to luxuries have suffered from their absence. Meat of some kind is, however, to be obtained by any person who likes to pay for it about twice its normal value. So afraid is the Government of doing anything which may irritate the population, that, contrary to all precedent, the garrison and the wounded alone are fed with salt meat. What the result of M. Thiers' mission will be, it is almost impossible to say. The Government will be anxious to treat, and probably it will put forward feelers to-morrow to see how far it may dare go. Some of its members already are endeavouring to disconnect themselves from a capitulation, and, if it does take place, will assert that they were opposed to it. Thus, M. Jules Favre, in a long address to the mayors of the banlieus yesterday, goes through the old arguments to prove that France never desired war. This gentleman is essentially an orator, rather than a statesman. When he went to meet Count Bismarck at Ferrières, he was fully prepared to agree to the fortresses in Alsace and Lorraine being rased; but when he returned, the phrase, "_Ni un pouce du territoire, ni une pierre des forteresses_," occurred to him, and he could not refrain from complicating the situation by publishing it. To turn for a moment to less serious matters. I never shall see a donkey without gratefully thinking of a Prussian. If anyone happens to fall out with his jackass, let me recommend him, instead of beating it, to slay and eat it. Donkey is now all the fashion. When one is asked to dinner, as an inducement one is told that there will be donkey. The flesh of this obstinate, but weak-minded quadruped is delicious--in colour like mutton, firm and savoury. This siege will destroy many illusions, and amongst them the prejudice which has prevented many animals being used as food. I can most solemnly assert that I never wish to taste a better dinner than a joint of a donkey or a _ragout_ of cat--_experto crede_. _November 1st._ We have had an exciting twenty-four hours. The Government of the National Defence has in the course of yesterday been deposed, imprisoned, and has again resumed the direction of public affairs. I went yesterday, between one and two o'clock, to the Hôtel de Ville. On the place before it there were about 15,000 persons, most of them National Guards from the Faubourgs, and without arms, shouting, "Vive la Commune! Point d'armistice!" Close within the rails along the façade there were a few Mobiles and National Guards on duty. One of the two great doorways leading into the hotel was open. Every now and then some authority appeared to make a speech which no one could catch; and at most of the windows on the first floor there was an orator gesticulating. The people round me said that the mayors of Paris had been summoned by Arago, and were in one room inside deliberating, whilst in another was the Government. I managed to squeeze inside the rails, and stood near the open door. At about 2.30 the Mobiles who guarded it were pushed back, and the mob was forcing its way through it, when Trochu appeared, and confronted them. What he said I could not hear. His voice was drowned in cries of "A bas Trochu!" Jules Simon then got on a chair, to try the effect of his eloquence; but in the midst of his gesticulations a body of armed men forced their way through the entrance, and with about 300 of the mob got inside the Hotel. Just then three or four shots were fired. The crowd outside scampered off, yelling "Aux armes!" and running over each other. I thought it more prudent to remain where I was. Soon the mob returned, and made a rush at both the doors; for the one which had been open had been closed in the interval. This one they were unable to force, but the other, winch leads up a flight of steps into the great covered court in the middle of the building, yielded to the pressure, and through it I passed with the crowd; whilst from the windows above slips were being thrown out with the words "Commune décrétée--Dorian president" on them. The covered court was soon filled. In the middle of it there is a large double staircase leading to a wide landing, from which a door and some windows communicate with a long salle. This, too, was invaded, and for more than two hours I remained there. The spectacle was a curious one--everybody was shouting, everybody was writing a list of a new Government and reading it aloud. In one corner a man incessantly blew a trumpet, in another a patriot beat a drum. At one end was a table, round which the mayors had been sitting, and from this vantage ground Felix Pyat and other virtuous citizens harangued, and, as I understood, proclaimed the Commune and themselves, for it was impossible to distinguish a word. The atmosphere was stifling, and at last I got out of a window on to the landing in the courtyard. Here citizens had established themselves everywhere. I had the pleasure to see the "venerable" Blanqui led up the steps by his admirers. This venerable man had, _horresco referens_, been pushed up in a corner, where certain citizens had kicked his venerable frame, and pulled his venerable white beard, before they had recognised who he was. By this time it appeared to be understood that a Government had been constituted, consisting of Blanqui, Ledru-Rollin, Delescluze, Louis Blanc, Flourens, and others. Flourens, whom I now perceived for the first time, went through a corridor, with some armed men, and I and others followed him. We got first into an antechamber, and then into a large room, where a great row was going on. I did not get farther than close to the door, and consequently could not well distinguish what was passing, but I saw Flourens standing on a table, and I heard that he was calling upon the members of the Government of National Defence, who were seated round it, to resign, and that Jules Favre was refusing to do so. After a scene of confusion, which lasted half an hour, I found myself, with those round me, pushed out of the room, and I heard that the old Government had been arrested, and that a consultation was to take place between it and the new one. Feeling hungry, I now went to the door of the Hôtel to get out, but I was told I could not do so without a permission from the citizen Blanqui. I observed that I was far too independent a citizen myself to ask any one for a permit to go where I liked, and, as I walked on, the citizen sentinel did not venture to stop me. As I passed before Trochu's headquarters at the Louvre I spoke to a captain of the Etat-Major, whom I knew, and whom I saw standing at the gate. When he heard that I had just come from the Hôtel de Ville, he anxiously asked me what was going on there, and whether I had seen Trochu. General Schmitz, he said, had received an order signed by the mayors of Paris to close the gates of the town, and not on any pretext to let any one in or out. At the Louvre he said all was in confusion, but he understood that Picard had escaped from the Hôtel de Ville, and was organizing a counter-movement at the Ministry of Finance. Having dined, I went off to the Place Vendôme, as the generale was beating. The National Guards of the quarter were hurrying there, and Mobile battalions were marching in the same direction. I found on my arrival that this had become the headquarters of the Government; that an officer who had come with an order to Picard to go to the Hôtel de Ville, signed by Blanqui, had been arrested. General Tamisier was still a prisoner with the Government. Soon news arrived that a battalion had got inside the Hôtel de Ville and had managed to smuggle Trochu out by a back door. Off I went to the Louvre. There Trochu, his uniform considerably deteriorated, was haranguing some battalions of the Mobiles, who were shouting "Vive Trochu!" Other battalions were marching down the Rue Rivoli to the Hôtel de Ville. I got into a cab and drove there. The Hôtel was lit up. On the "place" there were not many persons, but all round it, in the streets, were Mobiles and Bourgeois National Guards, about 20,000 in all. The Hôtel was guarded, I heard, by a Belleville battalion, but I could not get close in to interview them. This lasted until about two o'clock in the morning, when the battalions closed in, Trochu appeared with his staff, and in some way or other, for it was so dark, nothing could be seen, the new Government was ejected; M. Jules Favre and his colleagues were rescued. M. Delescluze, who was one of the persons there, thus describes what took place: "A declaration was signed by the new Government declaring that on the understanding that the Commune was to be elected the next day, and also the Provisional Government replaced by an elected one, the citizens designed at a public meeting to superintend these elections withdrew." This was communicated first to Dorian, who appears to have been half a prisoner, half a friend; then to the members of the old Government, who were in honourable arrest; then to Jules Ferry outside. A general sort of agreement appears then to have been made, that bygones should be bygones. The Revolutionists went off to bed, and matters returned to the point where they had been in the morning. Yesterday evening a decree was placarded, ordering the municipal elections to take place to-day, signed Etienne Arago; and to-day a counter-decree, signed Jules Favre, announces that this decree appeared when the Government was _gardé à vue_, and that on Thursday next a vote is to be taken to decide whether there is to be a Commune or not. To-day the streets are full of National Guards marching and counter-marching, and General Tamisier has held a review of about 10,000 on the Place Vendôme. Mobile battalions also are camped in the public squares. I went to the Hôtel de Ville at about one o'clock, and found Mr. Washburne there. We both came to the conclusion that Trochu had got the upper hand. Before the Hôtel de Ville there were about 5,000 Mobiles, and within the building everything appeared quiet. Had General Trochu been a wise man he would have anticipated this movement, and not rendered himself ridiculous by being imprisoned with his council of lawyers and orators for several hours by a mob. The working men who performed this feat seemed only to be actuated by a wild desire to fight out their battle with the Prussians, and not to capitulate. They wished to be led out, as they imagine that their undisciplined valour would be a match for the German army. They showed their sense by demanding that Dorian should be at the head of the new Government. He is not a Demagogue, he has written no despatches, nor made any speeches, nor decreed any Utopian reforms after the manner of his colleagues. But, unlike them, he is a practical man of business, and this the working men have had discernment enough to discover. They are hardly to be blamed if they have accepted literally the rhetorical figures of Jules Favre. When he said that, rather than yield one stone of a French fortress, Paris would bury itself beneath its ruins, they believed it. I need hardly say that neither the Government nor the bourgeoisie have the remotest intention to sacrifice either their own lives or their houses merely in order to rival Saragossa. They have got themselves into a ridiculous position by their reckless vaunts, and they have welcomed M. Thiers, as an angel from heaven, because they hope that he will be able to save them from cutting too absurd a figure. He left yesterday at three o'clock, and I understand he has full powers to negotiate an armistice upon any terms which will save the _amour-propre_ of the Parisians. I should not be surprised, however, if the Government continues to resist until the town is in real danger or has suffered real privations. If the Parisians take it into their heads that they will be able to palm themselves off as heroes by continuing for a few weeks longer their passive attitude of opposition, they will do so. What inclines them to submit to conditions now, is not so much the capitulation of Bazaine, as the dread that by remaining much longer isolated they will entirely lose their hold on the Provincials. That these Helots should venture to express their opinions, or to act except in obedience to orders from the capital, fills them with indignation. _November 2nd._ The Government has issued the following form, on which a vote is to be taken to-morrow: "Does the population of Paris maintain, Yes or No, the powers of the Government of National Defence?" The Ultras bitterly complain that the members of the Government agreed to the election of a Commune, on the recommendation of all the mayors, and that now they are going back from their concession, and are following in the steps of the Empire and taking refuge in a Plebiscite. They, therefore, recommend their friends to abstain from voting. The fact is, that the real question at issue is, whether Paris is to resist to the end, or whether it is to fall back from the determination to do so, which it so boldly and so vauntingly proclaimed. The bourgeois are getting tired of marching to the ramparts, and making no money; the working-men are thoroughly enjoying themselves, and are perfectly ready to continue the _status quo_. I confess I rather sympathise with the latter. They may not be over wise, but still it seems to me that Paris ought to hold out as long as bread lasts, without counting the cost. She had invited the world to witness her heroism, and now she endeavours to back out of the position which she has assumed. I have not been down to Belleville to-day, but I hear that there and in the other outer Faubourgs there is great excitement, and the question of a rising is being discussed. Flourens and some other commanders of battalions have been cashiered, but they are still in command, and no attempt is being made to oblige them to recognise the decree. Rochefort has resigned his seat in the Government, on the ground that he consented to the election of the Commune. The general feeling among the shopkeepers seems to be to accept an armistice on almost any terms, because they hope that it will lead to peace. We will take our revenge, they say, in two years. A threat which simply means that if the French army can fight then, they will again shout "_à Berlin_!" M. Thiers is still at Versailles. There appears to be a tacit truce, but none knows precisely what is going on. A friend of mine saw General Trochu yesterday on business, and he tells me that this worthy man was then so utterly prostrated, that he did not even refer to the business which he had come to transact. Never was a man more unfit to defend a great capital. "Why do you not act with energy against the Ultras?" said my friend. "I wish," replied Trochu, "to preserve my power by moral force." This is all very well, but can the commander of a besieged town be said to have preserved his power when he allows himself to be imprisoned by a mob for six hours, and then does not venture to punish its leaders? Professor Fustel de Coulanges has written a reply to Professor Mommsen. He states the case of France with respect to Alsace very clearly. "Let Prussia double the war-tax she imposes on France, and give up this iniquitous scheme of annexation," ought to be the advice of every sincere friend of peace. In any case, if Alsace and Lorraine are turned with the German Rhine Provinces into a neutral State, I do hope that we shall have the common sense not to guarantee either its independence or its neutrality. If we do so, within ten years we shall infallibly be dragged into a Continental war. We have a whim about Belgium, one day it will prove a costly one; we cannot, however, afford to indulge in many of these whims. CHAPTER X. _November 3rd._ The vote is being taken to-day whether the population of Paris maintains in power the Government of National Defence. On Saturday each of the twenty arrondissements is to elect a Mayor and four adjuncts, who are to replace those nominated by the Government. Of course the Government will to-day have a large majority. Were it to be in the minority the population would simply assert that it wishes to live under no Government. This plebiscite is in itself an absurdity. The real object, however, is to strengthen the hands of the depositories of power, and to enable them to conclude an armistice, which would result in a Constituent Assembly, and would free them from the responsibility of concluding peace on terms rather than accept which they proudly asserted a few weeks ago they would all die. The keynote of the situation is given by the organs of public opinion, which until now have teemed with articles calling upon the population of the capital to bury itself beneath its ruins, and thus by a heroic sacrifice to serve as an example to the whole of France. To-day they say, "It appears that the provinces will not allow Paris to be heroic. They wish for peace; we have no right to impose upon them our determination to fight without hope of victory." The fact is that the great mass of the Parisians wish for peace at any price. Under the circumstances I do not blame them. No town is obliged to imitate the example of Moscow. If, however, it intends after submitting to a blockade, to capitulate on terms which it scouted at first, before any of its citizens have been even under fire, and before its provisions are exhausted, it would have done well not to have called upon the world to witness its sublimity. My impression is that on one point alone the Parisians will prove obstinate, and that is if the Prussians insist upon occupying their town; upon every other they will only roar like "sucking doves." Rather than allow the German armies to defile along the Boulevards, they would give up Alsace, Lorraine, and half a dozen other provinces. As regards the working-men, they have far more go in them than the bourgeois, and if the Prussians would oblige them by assaulting the town, they would fight well in the streets; but with all their shouts for a sortie, I estimate their real feelings on the matter by the fact that they almost unanimously, on one pretext or another, decline to volunteer for active service outside the ramparts. The elections on Saturday, says M. Jules Favre, will be a "negation of the Commune." By this I presume he means that the elected Mayors and their adjuncts will only exercise power in their respective arrondissements, but that their collective action will not be recognised. As, however, they will be the only legally elected body in Paris, and as, undoubtedly, they will frequently meet together, it is very probable that they will be able to hold their own against the Government. The word "Commune" is taken from the vocabulary of the first Revolution. During the Reign of Terror the Municipality was all powerful, and it styled itself a "Commune." By "Commune," consequently, is simply meant a municipality which is strong enough to absorb tacitly a portion of the power legally belonging to the Executive. The Government now meets at one or other of the ministries. At the Hôtel de Ville Etienne Arago still reigns. Being a member of the Government himself, he cannot well be turned out by his own colleagues, but they distrust him, and do not clearly know whether he is with them or against them. Yesterday, several battalions were stationed round the hotel. Arago came out to review them. He was badly received, and the officers let him understand that they were not there to be reviewed by him. Soon afterwards General Tamisier passed along the line, and was greeted with shouts of "A bas la Commune!" I am sorry for Trochu; he is a good, honourable, high-minded man; somewhat obstinate, and somewhat vain; but actuated by the best intentions. He has thrust himself into a hornet's nest. In vain he now plaintively complains that he has made Paris impregnable, that he cannot make sorties without field artillery, and that he is neither responsible for the capitulation of Metz, nor the rout the other day at Bourget. What, then, say his opponents with some truth, was your wonderful plan? Why did you put your name to proclamations which called upon us, if we could not conquer, at least to die? Why did you imprison as calumniators those who published news from the provinces, which you now admit is true? It is by no means easy for him or his colleagues to reply to these questions. General Bellemare has been suspended. He, it appears, is to be the scapegoat of the Bourget affair. I hear from the Quartier-Général that the real reason why the artillery did not arrive in time to hold this position was, not because Bellemare did not ask for it, but because he could not get it. Red tape and routine played their old game. From St. Denis none could be sent, because St. Denis is within the "territorial defence of Paris," and Bourget is not. In vain Bellemare's officers went here and there. They were sent from pillar to post, from one aged General to another, and at eleven o'clock on the day when Bourget was taken, after the troops had been driven out of it, the artillery, every formality having been gone through, was on its way to the village. It is pleasant, whilst one is cut off from the outer world, to be reminded by these little traits of one's native land, its War-Office and its Horse-Guards. I was out yesterday afternoon along our southern advanced posts. A few stray shots were occasionally fired by Francs-tireurs; but there seemed to be a tacit understanding that no offensive operations should take place. The fall of the leaves enables us to distinguish clearly the earthworks and the redoubts which the Prussians have thrown up. I am not a military man, but my civilian mind cannot comprehend why Vanves and Montrouge do not destroy with their fire the houses occupied on the plateau of Chatillon by the Prussians. I asked an officer, who was standing before Vanves, why they did not. He shrugged his shoulders, and said, "It is part of the plan, I suppose." Trochu is respected by the troops, but they have little confidence in his skill as a commander. In the evening I went to the Club Rue d'Arras, which is presided over by the "venerable" Blanqui in person, and where the Ultras of the Ultras congregate. The club is a large square room, with a gallery at one end and a long tribune at the other. On entering through a baize door one is called upon to contribute a few sous to the fund for making cannon. When I got there it was about 8.30. The venerable Blanqui was seated at a table on the tribune; before him were two assessors. One an unwholesome citizen, with long blond hair hanging down his back, the other a most truculent-looking ruffian. The hall was nearly full; many were in blouses, the rest in uniform; about one-fifth of the audience was composed of women, who either knitted, or nourished the infants, which they held in their arms. A citizen was speaking. He held a list in his hand of a new Government. As he read out the names some were applauded, others rejected. I had found a place on a bench by the side of a lady with a baby, who was occupied, like most of the other babies, in taking its supper. Its food, however, apparently did not agree with it, for it commenced to squall lustily. "Silence," roared a hundred voices, but the baby only yelled the louder. "Sit upon it," observed some energetic citizens, looking at me, but not being a Herod, I did not comply with their order. The mother became frightened lest a _coup d'état_ should be made upon her offspring, and after turning it up and solemnly smacking it, took it away from the club. By this time orator No. 1 had been succeeded by orator No. 2. This gentleman, a lieutenant in the National Guard, thus commenced. "Citizens, I am better than any of you. (Indignant disapproval.) In the Hôtel de Ville on Monday I told General Trochu that he was a coward." (Tremendous shouts of "You are a liar," and men and women shook their fists at the speaker.) Up rose the venerable Blanqui. There was a dead silence. "I am master here," he said; "when I call a speaker to order he must leave the tribune, until then he remains." The club listened to the words of the sage with reverential awe, and the orator was allowed to go on. "This, perhaps, no one will deny," he continued. "I took an order from the Citizen Flourens to the public printing establishment. The order was the deposition of the Government of National Defence"--(great applause)--and satisfied with his triumph the lieutenant relapsed into private life. After him followed several other citizens, who proposed resolutions, which were put and carried. I only remember one of them, it was that the Jesuits in Vaugirard (a school) should at once be ejected from the territories of the Republic. At ten o'clock the venerable Blanqui announced that the sitting was over, and the public noisily withdrew. An attempt has been made by the respectable portion of the community to establish a club at the Porte St. Martin Theatre, where speakers of real eminence nightly address audiences. I was there a few evenings ago, and heard A. Coquerel and M. Lebueier, both Protestant pastors, deliver really excellent speeches. The former is severe and demure, the latter a perfect Boanerges. He frequently took up a chair and dashed it to the ground to emphasise his words. This club is usually presided over by M. Cernuschi, a banker, who was in bad odour with the Imperial Government for having subscribed a large sum for the electoral campaign against the Plebiscite. Another club is held at the Folies Bergères, an old concert-hall, something like the Alhambra. The principal orator here is a certain Falcet, a burly athlete, who was, I believe, formerly a professional wrestler. Here the quality of the speeches is poor, the sentiments of the speakers mildly Republican. At the Club Montmartre the president is M. Tony Reveillon, a journalist of some note. The assessors are always elected. A person proposes himself, and the President puts his name to the audience. Generally a dozen are rejected before the two necessary to make the meeting in order are chosen. Every time I have been there an old man--I am told an ex-professor in a girls' school--has got up, and with great unction blessed the National Guards--the "heroic defenders of our homes." Sometimes he is encored several times; and were his audience to let him, I believe that he would continue blessing the "heroic defenders" until the next morning. The old gentleman has a most reverent air, and I should imagine in quiet times goes about as a blind man with a dog. He was turned out of the school in which he was a professor--a profane disbeliever in all virtue assures me--for being rather too affectionate towards some of the girls. "I like little girls--big ones, too," Artemus Ward used to say, and so it appears did this worthy man. Besides the clubs which I have mentioned, there are above 100 others. Most of them are kept going by the sous which are collected for cannon, or some other vague object. Almost all are usually crowded; the proceedings at most of them are more or less disorderly; the resolutions carried more or less absurd, and the speeches more or less bad. With the exception of the Protestant pastors, and one or two others, I have not heard a single speaker able to talk connectedly for five minutes. Wild invectives against the Prussians, denunciations against Europe, abuse of every one who differs from the orator, and the very tallest of talk about France--what she has done, what she is doing, and what she will do--form the staple of almost all the speeches. _Evening._ I went down to Belleville this afternoon. Everything was quiet. The people, as usual, in the streets doing nothing. If you can imagine the whole of Southwark paid and fed by the Government, excused from paying rent, arrayed in kepis and some sort of uniform, given guns, and passing almost all the time gossiping, smoking, and idling, you will be able to form a correct notion of the aspect of Belleville and the other outer faubourgs. The only demonstration I have heard of has been one composed of women, who marched down the Rue du Temple behind a red flag, shouting "Vive la Commune." As far as is yet known, about one-seventh of the population have voted "No." The army and the Mobiles have almost all voted "Yes." A friend of mine, who was out driving near Bobigny, says he was surrounded by a Mobile regiment, who were anxious to know what was passing in Paris. He asked them how they had voted. "For peace," they replied. "If the National Guards wish to continue the war, they must come out here and fight themselves." Many battalions have issued addresses to the Parisians saying that they will not fight for a Commune, and that the provinces must have a vote in all decisions as to the future destinies of France. General Vinoy also has issued an order to the 13th Corps d'Armée, declaring that if the peace of Paris is disturbed he will march at its head to put down disorders. _November 5th._ That Paris is prudent to seize upon the first loophole to get out of the position into which she has inconsiderately thrust herself is most certain. Never for a moment did I believe that the Parisians, indifferent to all but honour, would perish to the last man rather than give up one inch of territory, one stone of a fortress. Heroic constancy and endurance under misfortune are not improvised. A population, enervated by twenty years of slavery, corruption, and luxury, is not likely to immolate itself for country, like the Spartans at Thermopylæ. People who mean to die do not sign a preliminary round-robin to do so. Real fighting soldiers do not parade the streets behind half-a-dozen fantastically dressed _vivandières_. When in a town of 2,000,000 inhabitants not above 12,000 can be found ready to submit to military discipline, and to go outside an inner line of fortifications, it is ridiculous to expect a defence like that of Saragossa. We are under the impression to-day that an armistice will be signed to-morrow. No one affects even to doubt that the word means peace. The bourgeoisie are heartily tired of playing at soldiers, the game has lost its novelty, and the nights are too cold to make an occasional pic-nic to the fortifications agreeable any longer. Besides, business is business, and pleasant as it may be to sit arrayed in uniform behind a counter, in the long run customers are more remunerative, if not so glorious. The cry for peace is universal, the wealthy are lusting after the flesh-pots of Egypt, the hotel-keepers are eagerly waiting for the rush of sightseers, and the shopkeepers are anxious to make up for lost time by plundering friend and foe. The soldiers, although Trochu is popular with them, have neither faith nor confidence in his generalship. The Mobiles and peasants recently from their villages wish to go home, and openly tell the Parisians that they have no intention to remain out in the cold any longer on salt beef, whilst the heroic citizens are sleeping quietly in their houses, or in barracks, and gorging themselves with fresh provisions. As for the working-men, they are spoiling for a fight in the streets, either with the Prussians, or, if that cannot be, with anyone else. They are, however, so thoroughly enjoying themselves, doing nothing, and getting paid for doing it, that they are in too good a temper to be mischievous. The new Prefect of the Police has arrested Felix Pyat and other leaders of the riot of last Monday. Flourens and the venerable Blanqui are only not in prison because they are in hiding. The mayors of the different arrondissements are being elected to-day, but no one seems to trouble himself about the election. The vote of Thursday has somewhat surprised the bourgeoisie. That one-seventh of the population should have registered their deliberate opinion that they prefer no Government to that under which they are living is by no means a reassuring fact, more particularly when this seventh consists of "men of action," armed with muskets, and provided with ammunition. As long as the Line and the Mobiles remain here, Trochu will be able, if he only acts with firmness, to put down all tendencies to disorder; but were there to be a fight between the friends of the Government among the Garde Nationale and its opponents, I am not certain that the former would have the upper hand. As it is, the Hôtel de Ville and the Louvre are guarded by Breton battalions of the Mobile, and Vinoy has announced that if there is a disturbance he will at once march to the aid of the Government at the head of his division. Many complaints are made about the mode in which the vote was taken on Thursday; some of them appear to me to be just. The fact is, that Frenchman have not the most elementary notion of fair play in an election. No matter what body of men are in power, they conceive that they have a perfect right to use that power to obtain a verdict in their favour from their fellow-citizens. Tried by our electioneering code, every French election which I ever witnessed would be annulled on the ground of "intimidation" and "undue influence." _Evening._ No news yet about the armistice. I hear that it is doubtful whether it will be signed, but no doubt respecting it seems to disquiet the minds of the Parisians. I cannot help thinking that they have got themselves again into a fool's paradise. Their newspapers tell them that the Neutral Powers are forcing Prussia to be reasonable, and that Bismarck is struck with awe at the sight of our "heroic attitude." As for his not accepting any terms which we may put forward, the idea does not enter the mind of any one. I must say, however, that there is a vague feeling that perhaps we are not quite so very sublime as we imagine. Even to pay a war indemnity seems to be a concession which no one anticipated. For the first time since I have known the Parisians, they are out of conceit with themselves. "If Prussia forces us to make peace now, in five years we will crush her," is the somewhat vague threat with which many console themselves. Others say that on the conclusion of peace they will leave France; but whether this is intended to punish France, Prussia, or themselves, I do not know. Others boldly assert that they are prevented from immolating themselves by the Neutral Powers. It is the old story of "hold me back, don't let me get at him." One thing, however, is certain, that the capture of Bazaine, the disaster at Bourget, the row at the Hôtel de Ville, the Prussian cannon on the heights of Meudon, and the opportune arrival of Thiers, have made this population as peaceful to-day, as they were warlike a few weeks ago. I really am sorry for these vain, silly, gulled humbugs among whom I am living. They have many amiable qualities, although, in trying to be Spartans, they have mistaken their vocation. They are, indeed, far too agreeable to be Spartans, who in private life must have been the most intolerable of bores. It is a sad confession of human weakness, but, as a rule, persons are not liked on account of their virtues. Excessively good people are--speaking socially--angular. Take, for instance, the Prussians; they are saints compared with the French. They have every sort of excellence: they are honest, sober, hard-working, well-instructed, brave, good sons, husbands, and fathers; and yet all this is spoilt by one single fault--they are insupportable. Laugh at the French, abuse them as one may, it is impossible to help liking them. Admire, respect the Prussians as one may, it is impossible to help disliking them. I will venture to say that it would be impossible to find 100 Germans born south of the Main who would declare, on their honour, that they prefer a Prussian to a Frenchman. The only Prussian I ever knew who was an agreeable man was Bismarck. All others with whom I have been thrown--and I have lived for years in Germany--were proud as Scotchmen, cold as New Englanders, and touchy as only Prussians can be. I once had a friend among them. His name was Buckenbrock. Inadvertently I called him Butterbrod. We have never spoken since. A Prussian lieutenant is the most offensive specimen of humanity that nature and pipeclay have ever produced. Apart from all political considerations, the supremacy of this nation in Europe will be a social calamity, unless France, like vanquished Greece, introduces the amenities of society among these pedants, squires, and martinets. What, however, is to be done for the French? Nothing, I am afraid. They have brought their troubles on their own heads; and, to use an Americanism, they must face the music. Even at this late moment they fail to realise the fact that they ever will be called upon to endure any real hardships, or that their town ever really will be bombarded. I was watching the crowd on the Boulevards this afternoon. It was dispirited because it had for twenty-four hours set its heart upon peace, and was disappointed like a child who cannot get the toy it wants; but I will venture to say, not one person in his heart of hearts really imagined that perhaps within a week he might be blown up by a bomb. They either will not or cannot believe that anything will happen which they do not desire. Facts of this kind must be palpably brought home to them before they will even imagine that they are possible. The army has been re-organized by that arch organizer Trochu. According to this new plan, the whole armed force is divided into three armies. The first comprises the National Guards; the second, under General Ducrot, is what may be called the active army; it consists of three corps, commanded respectively by Generals Vinoy, d'Exea, and Renault. The third comprises all the troops in the forts, in the cottages adjacent to the forts, which have to be occupied for their defence, and the fourth commanded by Trochu. The second army will have four cannon to each thousand men, and will be used to effect a sortie, if possible. This new arrangement is not well received by military men. Both among soldiers and officers, General Vinoy is far more popular than any other general; he is a sort of French Lord Clyde. Until now he had a coordinate command with Ducrot. That he should be called upon to serve under him is regarded as an injustice, more particularly because Ducrot is an intimate personal friend of Trochu. Ducrot and Trochu believe in themselves, and believe in each other; but no one else believes in them. They certainly have not yet given the slightest evidence of military capacity, except by criticising what has been done by others. Now, at last, however, Trochu will have an opportunity to carry out his famous plan, by which he asserts that he will raise the blockade in fourteen days, and of which he has given the fullest details in his will. Ridicule kills in France--and since this eminent General, as an evidence that he had a plan, appealed to the will which he had deposited with his lawyer, he lost all influence. I need not say that this influence has not been restored by the absurd arrest to which he was subjected by Messrs. Flourens and Blanqui. _November 6th._ So we have declined the armistice. The Government deliberated exactly five minutes over the question. The _Journal Officiel_ says:--"Prussia expressly refused to entertain the question of revictualment, and only admitted under certain reserves the vote of Alsace and Lorraine." No further details are given. An opportunity has been lost, which may never recur. Public opinion was disposed to accept a cessation of the siege on almost any terms. General Trochu, however, and his colleagues had not the civic courage to attach their names to a document which would afterwards have been cast in their teeth. A friend of mine, a military man, saw Trochu late last night. He strongly urged him to accept the armistice, but in vain. "What do you expect will occur? You must know that the position is hopeless," said my friend. "I will not sign a capitulation," was all he could get from Trochu. This worthy man is as obstinate as only weak men can be; his colleagues, as self-seeking as only French politicians can be. The news that the armistice had been rejected, fell like a thunderclap upon the population. I never remember to have witnessed a day of such general gloom since the commencement of the siege. The feeling of despair is, I hear, still stronger in the army. Were the real condition of things outside known, I am certain that the Government would be forced to conclude an armistice, on no matter what terms. I happened to come across to-day a file of English newspapers up to the 22nd ult., and I fully realised how all intelligence from without has been distorted by the Government to serve its own purposes. Now a few days ago, these very papers had been lent to Trochu. He read them, kept them two days to show some of his colleagues, and then returned them. One single extract was published by the _Journal Officiel_--a German report upon the defences of Paris. No man in the House of Commons is more fond of special pleading than Sir Roundell Palmer. When anyone complains of it, the reply is, that he teaches some children their catechism on Sundays. So, when anyone ventures to question the veracity of Trochu, one is told that he has adopted his brother's children. According to measurements which have been made, the Prussian batteries at Sèvres and Meudon will carry to the Champ de Mars. From Montretout their guns would throw shells into the Champs Elysées; but we think that Valérien will silence them as soon as they open. Meat is getting more and more scarce every day. That great moralist, Dr. Johnson, said that he should prefer to dine with a Duke than the most agreeable of Commoners. I myself at present should prefer to dine with a leg of mutton than the most agreeable of human beings--Duke or Commoner. I hear, on what I believe to be good authority, that we shall see the end of our fresh meat on or about the 20th of this month. Yesterday, all the hidden stores which had been hoarded up with an eye to a great profit were thrown on the market. To-day they have again disappeared. Lamb is, however, freely offered for sale, and curiously enough, at the same time, live dogs are becoming scarce. Several Ultras have been elected mayors of the different arrondissements; among them Citizen Mottu, who was turned out of his mayorship about a fortnight ago because he refused to allow any child to attend a place of worship except with his own consent. It is all very well for M. Jules Favre to say that the election of mayors is a negation of a Commune. As I understand it, a Commune is but a council of elected mayors. If the Government loses its popularity, the new mayors will become a Commune. The more, however, the majority desire peace, the less likely will they be to throw themselves into the arms of Citizen Mottu and his friends, who are all for war _à outrance_. _Monday, November 7th._ The newspapers of to-day, with the exception of the Ultra organs, are loud in their expressions of regret that the armistice has not been agreed to. The Government gives no further details, but yesterday afternoon M. Jules Favre informed several members of the press who "interviewed" him, that Prussia refused to allow the introduction of provisions into Paris during the duration of the armistice. I have long ceased believing any assertion of a member of the French Government, unless supported by independent evidence. But if this be really true, I must say that Count Bismarck has been playing a game with the Neutral Powers, for it can hardly be expected that Paris would consent to suspend all military operations against the Prussians, whilst their process of reducing the town by starvation was uninterrupted. Besides, as such a condition would have amounted practically to a capitulation, it would have been more frank on the part of Count Bismarck to have submitted the question in that form. I anticipate very shortly a sortie in force. An attempt will be made with the Second Army to pierce the Prussian lines. There appears no reason to doubt that it will fail, and then the cry for peace will become so strong that the Government will be obliged to listen seriously to it. General Trochu's new organization is severely criticised. I hear from military men that he elaborated it himself with his personal friends. So secret was it kept, that the Minister of War knew nothing about it until it appeared in the _Journal Officiel_ yesterday. After the scene of last Monday General Vinoy reproached Trochu for having tamely submitted to arrest and insult by a mob for several hours, and strongly hinted that a French general owed it to his cloth not to allow his decorations to be torn from his breast. It is said by General Vinoy's friends that those observations are mainly the cause why he has been deprived of his independent command, and placed under the orders of General Ducrot, with respect to whose evasion from Sedan many French officers shake their heads. I cannot help thinking that the result of the vote of the army on Thursday last is only relatively correct. Line, Mobile, and Marines do not amount to 250,000 men, unless I am very much mistaken. The Second Army, under Ducrot, will number about 110,000 men. The English at last are about to leave. They are very indignant at having been, as they say, humbugged so long, and loud in their complaints against their Embassy. I do not think, however, that the delay has been the fault either of Colonel Claremont or of Mr. Wodehouse. These gentlemen have done their best, but they were unable to get the Prussian and French authorities to agree upon a day for the exodus. On the one hand, to send to Versailles to receive an answer took forty-eight hours; on the other, from the fact that England had not recognized the Republic, General Trochu could not be approached officially. Colonel Claremont happens to be a personal friend of his, and it is, thanks to his exertions, coupled with those of Mr. Washburne, that the matter has at length been satisfactorily arranged. I need hardly observe that the Foreign-office has done its best to render the question more complicated. It has sent orders to Mr. Wodehouse to provide for the transport of British subjects, without sending funds, and having told Lord Lyons to take the archives with him, it perpetually refers to instructions contained in despatches which it well knows are at Tours. Mr. Washburne remains. He has done his utmost to induce the Government to agree to an armistice, and has clearly told them that they ought not to sacrifice Paris without a prospect of a successful issue. He is in despair at their decision, and anticipates the worst. In the interests of humanity it is greatly to be regretted that Lord Lyons should have received orders to quit Paris. The personal consideration in which he was held, and the great influence which it gave him, would have been invaluable during the negotiations of the last few days. _November 8th._ I was once in love. The object of my affections had many amiable qualities. I remember I thought her an angel; but when she was crossed, she used to go up into her room and say that she would remain there without eating until I yielded the point at issue between us. As I was invariably right and she was invariably wrong, I could not do this; but, pitying the weakness of her sex, and knowing its obstinacy, I usually managed to arrange matters in a way which allowed her to emerge from her retreat without any great sacrifice of _amour propre_. The Parisians remind me of this sentimental episode of my existence; they have mounted a high pedestal, and called upon the world to witness that no matter what may be the danger to which they are exposed, they will not get off it, unless they obtain what they want; that they will obtain it, they find is most improbable, and they are anxiously looking around for some one to help them down, without being obliged absolutely "to swallow their own words." They had hoped that the armistice which was proposed by the neutrals would in some way get them out of their difficulty; and, as the siege still continues, they are exceedingly indignant with their kind friends. "They have," say the papers, "loosened our mainspring of sacrifice. We had fully determined to perish, rather than yield; if we do not, it will be the fault of Russia, Austria, and England." Be the cause what it may, the "mainspring of sacrifice" most assuredly is not only loosened, but it has run down, and, unless some wonderful success occurs shortly, it will never be wound up again. As long as it could be supposed that cannon and musketry would only do their bloody work outside the exterior forts, and that Paris might glory in a "heroic attitude" without suffering real hardships or incurring real danger, the note of defiance was loud and bold. As it is, the Government is obliged to do its utmost to keep their courage up to the sticking point. These foolish people really imagined that, like them, the world regarded their city as a species of sacred Jerusalem, and that public opinion would never allow the Prussians either to bombard it, or to expose the high priests of civilization who inhabit it to the realities of war. It is necessary to live here to understand the strength of this feeling. In England, little attention is paid to the utterances of French newspapers, but the Parisians, more profoundly ignorant of foreign politics than the charity school boys of an English village, were under the flattering delusion that we, in common with every other nation, lived alone to merit their favourable opinion. They find now, to their profound astonishment, that beyond a barren sympathy, founded upon a common humanity, no one regards Paris as different to any other great city, and that, if they choose to convert it into an intrenched camp for their armies, they must meet the consequences. Either they must accept the victor's terms of peace or they must fight the Prussians. The reality of the situation is by degrees coming home to them. From the general tone of the conversations I hear, I am inclined to think that, in their hearts, they admit that Alsace, if not Lorraine, is irretrievably lost. Words have a great influence over them, and they find consolation for this loss of territory in the phrase that Alsace will annex a portion of Germany, and not be annexed to Germany. It is admitted also that sooner or later, an indemnity must be paid in money to Prussia. The newspapers, who were the loudest in their praises of M. Jules Favre's language at Ferrières, now complain that nothing is to be gained by bombast, and that it is ridiculous of him to talk about "France" proposing "conditions of peace" which must be unacceptable to Prussia. The main grounds for continued resistance are the personal ambition of the members of the Government, who well know that if they sign an armistice, which is tantamount to peace, they will hereafter be made scapegoats, and be told that the Parisians were balked of their desire to perish to the last man; the mulish obstinacy of Trochu; and the dread of the capital losing its supremacy over the Provinces. Of course, there are some who wish to fight on to the bitter end. The "Ultras" hope to found on a war _à outrance_ a democratic republic, and dream of the successes of the First Revolution. The politicians hardly know what they want. Their main idea is to keep up for their own purposes that centralization which has so long been the bane of this country. If they agree to terms before Paris has given France an example of heroism, they fear that her supremacy will be compromised; if they allow the insulation to continue, they fear that the Provinces will accustom themselves to independent action; if a Constituent Assembly be elected whilst free communication between Paris and the rest of France is interrupted, they fear that this Assembly will consist of local candidates rather than those, as has heretofore been the case in all French Legislative Chambers, who are imposed upon the departments by a central organization in the capital. The position of the Government is a singular one. They obtained last Thursday a large majority on their plebiscite, because it was fully understood that "oui" meant peace; indeed, on many bulletins, the words "and peace" were added to the "oui." They have imprisoned the leaders of those who revolted to the cry of "no armistice!" Their friends the bourgeois trusted to them to put off the municipal elections until after the war, and they rallied to their defence to the cry of "no Commune!" In each arrondissement a mayor and two adjuncts have been elected, and these mayors and adjuncts have only to meet together in order to assume that right to interfere in public affairs which converts a municipality into a commune. In Belleville the elected mayor is a prisoner, and his two adjuncts, Flourens and Milliere, are in hiding. In the nineteenth arrondissement M. Delescluze, by far the most able of the Ultras, is mayor. Contrary to the wishes, consequently, of the voters of "oui," we are to have no armistice, and we probably shall have a commune. The Ultras are persecuted, but their programme is adopted. There appears to be a tacit truce between all parties within the city until Trochu has made some attempt to carry out his famous plan. For the last fortnight the Government has not published any news which it may have received from the Provinces. M. Thiers has either made no report upon their condition, or it has been concealed. M. Jules Favre, in his despatch to the envoys abroad, enters into no details, and confines himself to the simple announcement, that the armistice was not concluded because Count Bismarck would not allow Paris to be revictualled during the twenty-five days which it was to last. Our anxiety for news respecting what is passing outside has to be satisfied with the following words, which fell from the lips of M. Thiers: "I have seen the Army of the Loire and the Prussian Guard; man to man I prefer the former." The _Débats_ and some other journals contain extracts from the English newspapers up to the 22nd ult. I observe that everything which tells against France is suppressed, and what is published is headed with a notice, that as the source is English the truth is questionable. Thus does the press, while abusing the Government for keeping back intelligence, fulfil its mission. The plan for the redistribution of the troops, and their change from one corps to another, which was announced on Sunday in a decree signed Trochu, has not yet been carried out. Its only effect has been as yet to render confusion twice confounded. Its real object, I hear, was to place General Ducrot in command of the left bank of the Seine, instead of General Vinoy, because it is expected that the fighting will be on that side of the river. So indignant is General Vinoy at being placed under the orders of General Ducrot, that he threatens to give in his resignation on the ground that by military law no officer can be called to serve under a general who has capitulated, and who has not been tried before a court-martial. The dispute will, I imagine, in some way or other, be arranged, without its coming before the public. General Vinoy's retirement would produce a bad effect on the army; for, both with officers and men, he is far more popular than either Ducrot or Trochu. He passes as a fighting general; they pass as writing generals. As for Trochu, to write and to talk is with him a perfect mania. "I have seen him on business," said a superior officer to me, "a dozen times, but I never have been able to explain what I came for; he talked so incessantly that I could not put in a word." I was out this morning along the Southern outposts, the forts were firing intermittently. At Cachan there was a sharp interchange of shots going on between the Prussian sentinels and Mobiles. It is a perfect mystery to me how the Prussians have been allowed to establish themselves at Clamart and at Chatillon, which are within range of the guns of three forts. Our famous artillerists do not appear to have prevented them from establishing batteries exactly where they are most dangerous to us. General Trochu has not confided to me his celebrated plan, but I am inclined to think, that whatever it may have been, he will do well to put it aside, and to endeavour to dislodge the enemy in Chatillon and the adjacent villages, before their batteries open fire. I suggested this to an officer, and he replied that the troops, thanks to the decree of Sunday, hardly knew who commanded them, or where they were to be stationed--"On paper," he added, "I and my battalion are at La Malmaison." As for the sortie, which is to revictual Paris, by forcing the Prussian lines, it is simply absurd to talk of it. If Trochu attempts it, the result must be disastrous, and _coûte qui coûte_, the political exigences of the situation render it absolutely necessary that at least apparent success must crown our next encounter with the enemy. The next thing would be to hold our own, as long as the provisions last, and trust to the chapter of accidents; but this is impossible in the present temper of both soldiers and citizens. General Trochu has insisted so loudly that, if not interfered with, he would not only keep the enemy out of Paris, but raise the siege--that he must do something to redeem his pledge. We have almost forgotten our troubles, in hearing that King William, "to recompense his soldiers and reward their valour," has made his son and his nephew Field Marshals. We wish to know whether, if his army takes Paris, he will reward the men by declaring himself infallible, and giving "our Fritz" a few million francs. With fear and trembling we ask whether the success of the Bavarians will be recognized by their monarch being allowed to inflict on us the operas of his friend Wagner. A new industry has sprung up in Paris. A manufactory has been discovered, in which Prussian casques and sabres were being made. It was at first thought that the owner was engaged in a dark conspiracy, but, upon being arrested, he confessed that he was endeavouring to meet the demand for trophies from the fields of battle. In one room of the house of this ingenious speculator, a large number of forged letters were found, from mothers, sisters, and brides, to their relations in the army before Paris: these, he explained, were to be sold, warranted from the pocket of a German corpse. Has Gambetta contracted with a London firm for a loan of 250 millions at 42? The financial world here is in a state of the greatest agitation about a statement to this effect, which has been discovered in an English newspaper. The Government officially declares that it knows nothing about the matter. It is a curious sign of the universal belief of any one in official utterances, that this denial is regarded as very questionable evidence against the loan having been made. What puzzles us is, that the Rente is at 53--why then was this new loan issued at 42? An attempt has been made to oblige those persons left in charge of houses occupied by foreigners here, to pay the tax upon absents. An energetic protest, however, of Mr. Washburne, has saved Americans from this extortion. CHAPTER XI. _Wednesday, November 9th._ I bought a dozen newspapers this morning. Every one of them, with the exception of the _Gaulois_, in more or less covert language, insists upon peace upon any terms. Our "mainspring" not only has run down, but is broken. The complaints, too, against the Government for concealing all news it has received from the provinces, and for giving no details respecting the negotiations with respect to the armistice, are most outspoken. M. Edmond About, in the _Soir_ of last night, insists that we ought to have agreed to the armistice, even without a revictualment; and such appears to be the opinion of almost everyone. Poor M. Jules Favre, who a few weeks ago was lauded to the skies for having so nobly expressed the ideas of his countrymen, when he said that rather than yield one foot of territory, one stone of a fortress, they would all perish, is now abused for having compromised the situation, and made it difficult to treat, by his mania for oratorical claptrap. In the _Figaro_, Villemessant blunders through three columns over being again disappointed in his expectations of embracing his wife, and plaintively tells "William" that though he may not be anxious to see "his Augusta," this is no reason why he, Villemessant, should not be absolutely wild to see Madame. A more utter and complete collapse of all "heroism" I never did witness. General Trochu has, with his usual intelligence, seized this moment to issue a decree, mobilizing 400 men from each battalion of the National Guard. First, volunteers; secondly, unmarried men, between 25 and 35 years; thirdly, unmarried men, between 35 and 45; fourthly, married men between 25 and 35; fifthly, married men, between 35 and 45, are successively to be called upon to fill up the contingent. The Vinoy affair has been settled by the appointment of the General to the command of the Third Army. The following statistics of the annual consumption of meat by Paris will give some idea of the difficulty of revictualling it:--oxen, 156,680; bulls, 66,028; cows, 31,095; calves, 120,275; sheep, 916,388. Meat is now distributed every three days. I hear that on the present scale of rationing there is enough for five more distributions. We shall then fall back on horses, and our own salt provisions; the former will perhaps last for a week, as for the latter it is impossible to give any accurate estimate. We have, however, practically unlimited supplies of flour, wine, and coffee; if consequently the Parisians are ready to content themselves with what is absolutely necessary to support existence, the process of starving us out will be a lengthy one. _November 14th._ "Wanted, 10,000 Parisians ready to allow themselves to be killed, in order that their fellow-citizens may pass down to posterity as heroes!" The attempt to obtain volunteers having miserably failed, and fathers of families having declined to risk their valuable lives whilst one single bachelor remains out of reach of the Prussian guns, the Government has now issued a decree calling to arms all bachelors between the age of 25 and 35. If this measure had been taken two months ago it might have been of some use, but it is absurd to suppose that soldiers can be improvised in a few days. I must congratulate my friends here upon the astounding ingenuity which they show in discovering pretexts to avoid military service. It is as difficult to get them outside the inner ramparts as it is to make an old fox break cover. In vain huntsman Trochu and his first whip, Ducrot, blow their horns, and crack their whips; the wily reynard, after putting his nose outside his retreat, heads back, and makes for inaccessible fastnesses, with which long habit has made him familiar. That General Trochu will be able to beat the Prussians no one supposes; but if he can manage to get even 5,000 of the heroes who have for the last two months been professing a wish to die for the honour of their country under fire, he will have accomplished a most difficult feat. For the last few days the newspapers, one and all, have been filled with details of the negotiations which were supposed to be going on at Versailles. Russia, it was said, had forwarded an ultimatum to the King of Prussia, threatening him with a declaration of war in case he persisted in besieging Paris, or in annexing any portion of French territory. Yesterday morning the _Journal Officiel_ contained an announcement that the Government knew absolutely nothing of these negotiations. The newspapers are, however, not disposed to allow their hopes of peace to be destroyed in this manner, and they reply that "it being notorious that no member of the Government can speak the truth, this official denial proves conclusively the contrary of what it states." It is indeed difficult to know who or what to believe; all I know for certain is, that M. Jules Favre assured Mr. Washburne on Saturday night that since M. Thiers had quitted Paris he had had no communication with the outer world, and did not even know whether the Tours delegation was still there. Men may lie for a certain time, and yet be believed, but this "arm of war" has been so abused by our rulers, that at present their most solemn asseverations meet with universal incredulity--not, indeed, that the Parisians are cured of their mania for crediting every tale which comes to them from any other source--thus, for instance, every newspaper has contained the most precise details from eye-witnesses of a conflict which took place two nights ago before the battery of Hautes-Bruyères, in which our "braves Mobiles" took between two and three thousand prisoners, and slew hecatombs of the enemy. Now, I was both yesterday and the day before yesterday at the Hautes-Bruyères, and I can certify myself that this pretended battle never took place. It is impossible to predict what will occur during the next fortnight. _Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas._ General Trochu has this morning issued a lengthy address to the inhabitants of the city, informing them that, had it not been for their riotous conduct on Oct. 31 the armistice would have been concluded; and that now all that remains for them to do, is to "close their ranks and to elevate their hearts." "If we triumph, we shall have given our country a great example; if we succumb, we shall have left to Prussia an inheritance which will replace the First Empire in the sanguinary annals of conquest and violence; an inheritance of hatred and maledictions which will eventually prove her ruin." The great question which occupies all minds now is "the sortie." General Trochu and General Ducrot insist upon at least making an attempt to pierce the Prussian lines. All the other generals say that, as it cannot succeed, it is wrong to sacrifice life to no good purpose. This is how the matter is regarded by officers and soldiers. As for the National Guard, they distinctly say that they will be no parties to any such act of folly. Even in the councils of the Government there is a strong feeling against it; but General Trochu declines to allow the question, which he says is a purely military one, to be decided by the lawyers who are his colleagues. They, on their side, complain that the General never quits the Louvre, has surrounded himself with a number of clerical dandies as his aides-de-camp, whose religious principles may be sound, but whose knowledge of war is nil; and that if he wished to make a sortie, he should not have waited until the Prussians had rendered its success impossible by completing their lines of investment. It is said that the attempt will be made along the post road to Orleans, it being now considered impossible, as was at first intended, to open communications by the Havre railroad. The general impression is either that the troops engaged in it will be driven back under the forts in confusion, or that some 50,000 will be allowed to get too far to return, and then will be netted like sparrows. It is not, however, beyond the bounds of possibility that the Prussians will not wait until our great administrator has completed his preparations for attack, but will be beforehand with him, and open fire upon the southern posts from their batteries, which many think would effectually reduce to silence the guns of Vanves, Issy, and of the advanced redoubts. These Prussian batteries are viewed with a mysterious awe. We fire on them, we walk about within less than a mile of them, and they maintain an ominous silence. On the heights of Chatillon it is said at the advanced posts that there are 108 siege guns in position; some of them we can actually distinguish without a glass, and yet not a shot comes from them. Yesterday, the gates of the Bois de Boulogne were opened, and a crowd of several thousand persons walked and drove round the lake. Over their heads one of the bastions was throwing shells into Montretout, but it seemed to occur to no one that Montretout might return the compliment, and throw a few shells, not over their heads, but into their midst. One of the most curious phases in this remarkable siege is, that the women seem to consider the whole question a political one, which in no way regards them--they neither urge the men to resist, nor clamour for peace. _Tros Tyriusque_ seems much the same to them; a few hundreds have dressed themselves up as vivandières, the others appear to regret the rise in the price of provisions, but to trouble their heads about nothing else. If they thought that the cession of Alsace and Lorraine would reduce the price of butchers' meat, they would in a sort of apathetic way be in favour of the cession; but they are so utterly ignorant of everything except matters connected with their toilettes and M. Paul de Kock's novels, that they confine themselves to shrugging their shoulders and hoping for the best, and they support all the privations to which they are exposed owing to the siege without complaint and without enthusiasm. The word armistice being beyond the range of their vocabulary, they call it "l'amnistie," and imagine that the question is whether or not King William is ready to grant Paris an amnesty. As Æneas and Dido took refuge in a cave to avoid a shower, so I for the same reason found myself with a young lady this morning under a porte cochère. Dido was a lively and intelligent young person, but I discovered in the course of our chance conversation that she was under the impression that the Russians as well as the Prussians were outside Paris, and that both were waging war for the King of Spain. Sedan, I also learnt, was in the neighbourhood of Berlin. The _Temps_ gives the following details of our provisions--Beef will fail in a week, horse will then last a fortnight; salt meat a further week; vegetables, dried fruits, flour, &c., about three weeks more. In this calculation I think that the stock of flour is understated, and that if we are contented to live on bread and wine we shall not be starved out until the middle of January. The ration of fresh meat is now reduced in almost all the arrondissements to thirty grammes a head. There is no difficulty, however, in obtaining for money any quantity of it in the restaurants. In the bouillons only one portion is served to each customer. Cats have risen in the market--a good fat one now costs twenty francs. Those that remain are exceedingly wild. This morning I had a salmis of rats--it was excellent--something between frog and rabbit. I breakfasted with the correspondents of two of your contemporaries. One of them, after a certain amount of hesitation, allowed me to help him to a leg of a rat; after eating it he was as anxious as a terrier for more. The latter, however, scornfully refused to share in the repast. As he got through his portion of salted horse, which rejoiced in the name of beef, he regarded us with horror and disgust. I remember when I was in Egypt that my feelings towards the natives were of a somewhat similar nature when I saw them eating rat. The older one grows the more tolerant one becomes. If ever I am again in Africa I shall eat the national dish whenever I get a chance. During the siege of Londonderry rats sold for 7s. each, and if this siege goes on many weeks longer, the utmost which a person of moderate means will be able to allow himself will be an occasional mouse. I was curious to see whether the proprietor of the restaurant would boldly call rat, rat in my bill. His heart failed him--it figures as a salmi of game. _November 15th._ We have passed from the lowest depths of despair to the wildest confidence. Yesterday afternoon a pigeon arrived covered with blood, bearing on its tail a despatch from Gambetta, of the 11th, announcing that the Prussians had been driven out of Orleans after two days' fighting, that 1,000 prisoners, two cannon, and many munition waggons had been taken, and that the pursuit was still continuing. The despatch was read at the Mairies to large crowds, and in the _cafés_ by enthusiasts, who got upon the tables. I was in a shop when a person came in with it. Shopkeeper, assistants, and customers immediately performed a war dance round a stove; one would have supposed that the war was over and that the veracity of Gambetta is unimpeachable. But as though this success were not enough in itself, all the newspapers this morning tell us that "Chartres has also been retaken," that the army of Kératry has effected a junction with that of the Loire, and that in the North Bourbaki has forced the Prussians to raise the siege of Amiens. Everyone is asking when "they" will be here. Edmond About, in the _Soir_, eats dirt for having a few days ago suggested an armistice. At the Quartier-Général I do not think that very great importance is attached to Gambetta's despatch, except as an evidence that the provinces are not perfectly apathetic. It is considered that very possibly the Prussians may have concentrated their whole available force round Paris, in order to crush our grand sortie when it takes place. General Trochu himself takes the most despondent view of the situation, and bitterly complains of the "spirit" of the army, the Mobiles, and the Parisians. This extraordinary commander imagines that he will infuse a new courage in his troops by going about like a monk of La Trappe, saying to every one, "Brother, we must die." Mr. Washburne received yesterday a despatch from his Government--the first which has reached him since the commencement of the siege--informing him that his conduct in remaining at Paris is approved of. With the despatch there came English newspapers up to the 3rd. Extracts from them will, I presume, be published to-morrow. I passed the afternoon greedily devouring the news at the American Legation. It was a curious sight--the Chancellerie was crowded with people engaged in the same occupation. There were several French journalists, opening their eyes very wide, under the impression that this would enable them to understand English. A Secretary of Legation was sitting at a table giving audiences to unnumbered ladies who wished to know how they could leave Paris; or, if this was impossible, how they could draw on their bankers in New York. Mr. Washburne walked about cheerily shaking everyone by the hand, and telling them to make themselves at home. How different American diplomatists are to the prim old women who represent us abroad, with a staff of half-a-dozen dandies helping each other to do nothing, who have been taught to regard all who are not of the craft as their natural enemies. At the English Embassy Colonel Claremont and a porter now represent the British nation. The former, in obedience to orders from the Foreign Office, is only waiting for a reply from Count Bismarck to his letter asking for a pass to leave us. Whether the numerous English who remain here are then to look to Mr. Washburne or to the porter for protection, I have been unable to discover. M. Felix Pyat has been let out of prison. He says that he rather prefers being there than at liberty, for in his cell he can "forget that he is in a town inhabited by cowards," and devote himself to the works of M. Louis Blanc, which he calls the "Bibles of democracy." Although Trochu is neither a great general nor a great statesman, he is a gentleman. I am therefore surprised that he allows obscene caricatures of the Empress to be publicly sold in the streets and exhibited in the kiosks. During the time that she occupied the throne in this most scandal-loving town, no scandal was ever whispered against her. She was fond, it is true, of dress, but she was a good mother and a good wife. Now that she and her friends are in exile, "lives of the woman Bonaparte" are hawked about, which in England would bring their authors under Lord Campbell's statute. In one caricature she is represented stark naked, with Prince Joinville sketching her. In another, called "the Spanish cow," she is made a sort of female Centaur. In another she is dancing the Can-can, and throwing her petticoats over her head, before King William, who is drinking champagne, seated on a sofa, while her husband is in a cage hung up to the wall. These scandalous caricatures have not even the merit of being funny, they are a reflection upon French chivalry, and on that of Trochu. What would he say if the Government which succeeds him were to allow his own wife to be insulted in this cowardly manner? Anything more dreary than the Boulevards now in the evening it is difficult to imagine. Only one street lamp in three is lighted, and the _cafés_, which close at 10.30, are put on half-allowance of gas. To mend matters, everyone who likes is allowed to put up a shed on the side walk to sell his goods, or to collect a crowd by playing a dirge on a fiddle. The consequence is that the circulation is rendered almost impossible. I suggested to a high authority that the police ought at least to interfere to make these peripatetic musicians "move on," but he told me that, were they to do so, they would be accused of being "Corsicans and Reactionaries." These police are themselves most ludicrous objects; anyone coming here would suppose that they are members of some new sect of peripatetic philosophers; they walk about in pairs, arrayed in pea jackets with large hoods; and when it is wet they have umbrellas. Their business appears to be, never to interfere with the rights of their fellow-citizens to do what they please, and, so helpless do they look, that I believe if a child were to attack them, they would appeal to the passers-by for protection. I see in an English paper of the 3rd that it is believed at Versailles that we have only fresh meat for twelve days. We are not so badly off as that. How many oxen and cows there still are I do not know; a few days ago, however, I counted myself 1,500 in a large pen. The newspapers calculate that at the commencement of the siege there were 100,000 horses in Paris, and that there are now 70,000; 30,000 will be enough for the army, consequently 40,000 can be eaten. The amount of meat on each horse averages 500 lb., consequently we have twenty million pounds of fresh horse-flesh, a quantity which will last us for more than three months at the present rate of the meat consumption. These figures are, I think, very much exaggerated. I should say that there are not more than 40,000 horses now in Paris. The _Petites Voitures_ (Cab) Company has 8,000, and offered to sell them to the Government a few days ago, but that proposal was declined. As regards salt meat, the Government keep secret the amount. It cannot, however, be very great, because it is only derived from animals which have been killed since the siege commenced. The stock of flour, we are told, is practically unlimited, and as no attempt is made to prevent its waste in pasty and fancy cakes, the authorities are acting apparently on this assumption. The health of Paris is far from satisfactory, and when the winter weather regularly sets in there will be much sickness. No one is absolutely starving, but many are without sufficient nourishment. The Government gives orders for 10c. worth of bread to all who are in want, and these orders are accepted as money by all the bakers. In each arrondissement there are also what are called cantines économiques, where a mess of soup made from vegetables and a small quantity of meat can be bought for five centimes. Very little, however, has been done to distribute warm clothing among the poor, and when it is considered that above 100,000 persons have come into Paris from the neighbouring villages, most of whom are dependent upon public or private charity, it is evident that, even if there is no absolute want, there must be much suffering. Count Bismarck was not far wrong when he said that, if the siege be prolonged until our stock of provisions is exhausted, many thousands in the succeeding weeks will die of starvation. I would recommend those charitable persons who are anxious to come to the aid of this unfortunate country to be ready to throw provisions into Paris as soon as communications with England are reopened, rather than to subscribe their money to ambulances. All things considered, the wounded are well tended. In the hotel in which I am residing the Société Internationale has established its headquarters. We have now 160 wounded here, and beds are prepared for 400. The ambulance occupies two stories, for which 500 francs a day are paid; and an arrangement has been made with the administration of the hotel to feed each convalescent for 2.50 francs per diem. As in all French institutions, there appear to me to be far too many officials; the corridors are pervaded with young healthy men, with the red cross on their arms, who are supposed to be making themselves useful in some mysterious manner, but whose main object in being here is, I imagine, to shirk military service. The ambulance which is considered the best is the American. The wounded are under canvas, the tents are not cold, and yet the ventilation is admirable. The American surgeons are far more skilful in the treatment of gun-shot wounds than their French colleagues. Instead of amputation they practise resection of the bone. It is the dream of every French soldier, if he is wounded, to be taken to this ambulance. They seem to be under the impression that, even if their legs are shot off, the skill of the Æsculapii of the United States will make them grow again. Be this as it may, a person might be worse off than stretched on a bed with a slight wound under the tents of the Far West. The French have a notion that, go where you may, to the top of a pyramid or to the top of Mont Blanc, you are sure to meet an Englishman reading a newspaper; in my experience of the world, the American girl is far more inevitable than the Britisher; and, of course, under the Stars and Stripes which wave over the American tents she is to be found, tending the sick, and, when there is nothing more to be got for them, patiently reading to them or playing at cards with them. I have a great weakness for the American girl, she always puts her heart in what she is about. When she flirts she does it conscientiously, and when she nurses a most uninviting-looking Zouave, or Franc-tireur, she does it equally conscientiously; besides, as a rule, she is pretty, a gift of nature which I am very far from undervaluing. _November 16th._ It is reported in "official circles" that a second pigeon has arrived with intelligence from the French Consul at Bâle, that the Baden troops have been defeated, and that some of them have been obliged to seek refuge in Switzerland. The evident object of Trochu now is to get up the courage of our warriors to the sticking point for the grand sortie which is put off from day to day. The newspapers contain extracts from the English journals which came in the day before yesterday. By a process, in which we are adepts at believing everything which tells for us, and regarding everything which tells against us as a fabrication of perfidious Albion, we have consoled ourselves with the idea that "the situation is far better than we supposed." As for Bazaine, we cannot make up our minds whether we ought to call him a traitor or a hero. We therefore say as little about him as possible. I have just come back from the southern outposts. The redoubts of Moulin Saqui and Hautes Bruyères were firing heavily, and the Prussians were replying from Chatillon. Their shrapnell, however, fell short, just within our advanced line. From the sound of the guns, it was supposed that they were only using field artillery. The sailors insist that the enemy has been unable to place his siege-guns in position, and that our fire knocks their earthworks to pieces. I am inclined to think that behind these earthworks there are masked batteries, for surely the Prussian Engineer Officers cannot be amusing themselves with making earthworks for the mere pleasure of seeing them knocked to pieces. Anyhow they are playing a deep game, for, as far as I can hear, they have not fired a single siege-gun yet, either against our redoubts or forts. _November 19th._ Burke, in his work on the French Revolution, augured ill of the future of a country the greater number of whose legislators were lawyers. What would he have said of a Government composed almost exclusively of these objects of his political distrust? When history recounts the follies of the French Republic of 1870, I trust that it will not forget to mention that all the members of the Government, with the exception of one; six ministers; 13 under-secretaries of State; the Préfet of Police; 24 prefets and commissaries sent into the provinces; and 36 other high functionaries; belonged to the legal profession. The natural consequence of this is that we cannot get out of "Nisi prius." Our rulers are unable to take a large statesmanlike view of the situation. They live from hand to mouth, and never rise above the expedients and temporizing policy of advocates. They are perpetually engaged in appealing against the stern logic of facts to some imaginary tribunal, from which they hope to gain a verdict in favour of their clients. Like lawyers in England, they entered public life to "get on." This is still the first object of each one of them; and as they are deputies of Paris, they feel that, next to themselves, they owe allegiance to their electors. To secure the supremacy of Paris over the provinces, and of their own influence over Paris, is the Alpha and Omega of their political creed. With an eye to the future, each of them has his own journal; and when any decree is issued which is not popular, the public is given to understand in these semi-official organs, that every single member of the Government voted against it, although it passed by a majority. It is somewhat strange that the military man who, by the force of circumstances, is the President of this Devil's own Government is by nature more of a lawyer than even if he had been bred up to the trade. His colleagues own in despair that he is their master in strength of lungs, and that when they split straws into two he splits them into four. In vain they fall back on their pens and indite letters and proclamations, their President out-letters and out-proclaims them. Trochu is indeed a sort of military Ollivier. He earned his spurs as a military critic, Ollivier as a civil critic. Both are clever, and eminently respectable in their private relations, and both are verbose, unpractical, and wanting in plain common sense. Ollivier had a plan, and so has Trochu. Ollivier complained when his plan failed, that it was the fault of every one except himself, and Trochu is already doing the same. Both protested against the system of rule adopted by their predecessors, and have followed in their steps. Both were advocates of publicity, and both audaciously suppressed and distorted facts to suit their convenience. Ollivier is probably now writing a book to prove that he was the wisest of ministers. Trochu, as soon as the siege is over, will write one to prove that he was the best of generals. Ollivier insisted that he could found a Liberal Government upon an Imperial basis, and miserably failed. Trochu declares that he, and he alone, can force the Prussians to raise the siege of Paris. When his plan has failed, as fail it in all probability will, he still, with that serene assurance which is the attribute of mediocrity, will insist that it ought to have succeeded. "_Victrix causa Diis placuit, sed victa Catoni._" Those who knew him in Brittany tell me that long before he became a personage, "le plan de Trochu" was a standing joke throughout that province. The General, it appears, is fond of piquet; whenever he sat down to play he said, "j'ai mon plan." When he got up after losing the game, as was usually the case, he went away muttering, "Cependant, mon plan était bon." He seemed to have this word "plan" on the brain, for no one who ever played with him could perceive in his mode of handling the cards the slightest trace of a plan. The mania was harmless as long as its exhibition was confined to a game in which a few francs were to be won or lost, but it becomes most serious in its consequences when the destinies of a country are subordinated to it. At the commencement of the siege, General Trochu announced that he not only had a "plan," but that he had inscribed it in his will, which was deposited with his notary. An ordinary man would have made use of the materials at his command, and, without pledging himself to success, would have endeavoured to give the provinces time to organize an army of succour by harassing the Prussians, and thus preventing them from detaching troops in all directions. Instead of this, with the exception of some two or three harmless sorties, they have been allowed slowly to inclose us in a net of circumvallations. Our provisions are each day growing more scarce, and nothing is done except to heap up defensive works to prevent the town being carried by an assault, which there is no probability that the besiegers mean to attempt. Chatillon and Meudon were ill guarded, but ditches were cut along the Avenue de l'Impératrice. The young unmarried men in Paris were not incorporated until the 50th day of the siege, but two or three times a week they were lectured on their duties as citizens by their leader. If there is really to be a sortie, everything is ready, but now the General hesitates--hints that he is not seconded, that the soldiers will not fight, and almost seems to regret at last his own theoretical presumption. "He trusted," said one of his generals to me, "first to the neutrals, then to the provinces, and now he is afraid to trust to himself." Next time a general is besieged in a town I should recommend him not to announce that he has a plan which must ensure victory, unless indeed it be a German town, where nothing which an official can do is considered ridiculous. Benjamin Constant said of his countrymen that their heads could never contain more than one idea at once. A few days ago we were full of our victory at Orleans. Then came the question whether or not Bazaine was a traitor. To-day we have forgotten Bazaine and Orleans. The marching battalions of the National Guard are to have new coats, and we can talk or think of nothing else. The effect as yet of these marching battalions has been to disorganise the existing battalions. Every day some new decree has been issued altering their mode of formation. Perhaps the new coats will settle everything, and convert them into excellent soldiers. Let us hope it. We are by no means satisfied with the news which has reached us through the English papers up to the 3rd. Thus the _Liberté_, after giving extracts from numbers of the _Pall Mall Gazette_, the _Daily News_, the _Daily Telegraph_, the _Sun_, the _Times_, and the _Standard_, accompanies them with the following reflections:--"We feel bound to protest in favour of the English press against the assertions of those who would judge the opinions of a great liberal nation by the wretched specimens which are under our eyes. Heaven be praised. The civilized world is not so degenerate that the ignoble conduct of Prussia fails to elicit universal reprobation." We have had two more pigeons, but Gambetta either cannot or will not let us know anything of importance. These two messengers confirm the news of the "victory of Orleans," and inform us that public opinion is daily pronouncing in favour of France, and that the condition of affairs in the provinces is most satisfactory. Such is the universal distrust felt now for any intelligence which emanates from an official source, that if Gambetta were to send us in an account of a new victory to-morrow, and if all his colleagues here were to swear to its truth, we should be in a wild state of enthusiasm for a few hours, and then disbelieve the whole story. Small-pox is on the increase. The deaths last week from this disease amounted to 419; the general mortality to 1885--a number far above the average. The medical men complain of the amount of raw spirits which is drunk--particularly at the ramparts, and ascribe much of the ill health to this cause. By the bye, the question of the treason of Bazaine turns with us upon what your correspondent at Saarbruck meant by the word "stores," which he says were discovered in Metz. If munitions of war, we say that Bazaine was a hero; if food, that he was a traitor. If sieges were likely to occur frequently, the whole system of ambulances, as against military hospitals, would have to be ventilated. There are in Paris two hundred and forty-three ambulances, and when the siege commenced, such was the anxiety to obtain a _blessé_, that when a sortie took place, those who brought them in were offered bribes to take them to some house over which the flag of Geneva waved. A man with a broken leg or arm was worth thirty francs to his kind preservers. The largest ambulance is the International. Its headquarters are at the Grand Hotel. It seems to me over-manned, for the number of the healthy who receive pay and rations from its funds exceeds the number of the wounded. Many, too, of the former are young unmarried men, who ought to be serving either in the ranks of the army, or at least of the Garde Nationale. The following story I take from an organ of public opinion of to-day's date:--A lady went to her Mairie to ask to be given a wounded soldier to look after. She was offered a swarthy Zouave. "No," she said, "I wish for a blonde, being a brunette myself"--nothing like a contrast. CHAPTER XII. _November 29th._ From morning to evening cannon were rolling and troops were marching through the streets. Since Saturday night the gates of the town had been rigidly closed to all civilians, and even those provided with passes from headquarters were refused egress. It was known that the grand effort which is to make or mar us was to be made the next morning, and it was hoped that the Prussians would be taken unawares. The plan, in its main details, was confided to me by half a dozen persons, and, therefore, I very much question whether it is a secret to the enemy. Most of those who take an interest in the war have, I presume, a map of Paris. If they consult it, they will see that the Marne from the east, and the Seine from the south, unite about a mile from the south-eastern corner of the enceinte. Two miles before the junction of the two rivers the Marne makes a loop to the south, in this way running parallel with the Seine for about three miles. On the north of the Marne towards Paris lies the wood of Vincennes, and beyond the loop there are the villages of Joinville, Nogent, and Brie. The line is defended by the forts of Vincennes and Nogent and the redoubt of La Faisanderie. To the south, between the loop and the Seine, is the fort of Charenton; a little farther on the village of Creteil; beyond it, just outside the loop, is Montmesly, where the Prussians have heavy batteries. On the north side of the loop is the village of Champigny, which is situated on a plateau that extends from there to Brie. On the south of Paris, between the Seine and Meudon, are first a line of forts, then a line of redoubts, except where Chatillon cuts in close by the Fort of Vanves. Beyond this line of redoubts is a plain, that slopes down towards the villages of L'Hay, Chevilly, Thiais, and Choisy-le-Roi, which is situated on the Seine about five miles from Paris. By Monday evening about 100,000 men and 400 cannon were massed under General Ducrot in the Bois de Vincennes and in the adjacent villages. About 15,000 men, under General Vinoy, were behind the southern line of redoubts close by the village of Villejuif. Troops were also placed near St. Denis and in the peninsula of Genevilliers to distract the attention of the enemy. It was arranged that early in the morning General Vinoy should push forward in the direction of L'Hay and Choisy, and then, when the Prussian reserves had been attracted to the south by this demonstration, Ducrot should throw bridges over the Marne and endeavour to force his way through the lines of investment by the old high road of Bâle. At one in the morning a tremendous cannonade from all the forts and redoubts round Paris commenced. It was so loud that I imagined that the Prussians were attempting an assault, and I went off to the southern ramparts to see what was happening. The sight there was a striking one. The heavy booming of the great guns, the bright flash each time they fired, and the shells with their lighted fusees rushing through the air, and bursting over the Prussian lines, realised what the French call a "feu d'enfer." At about three o'clock the firing slackened, and I went home, but at four it recommenced. At six o'clock General Vinoy's troops advanced in two columns, one against L'Hay, and the other against La Gare aux Boeufs, a fortified enclosure, about a mile above Choisy-le-Roi. The latter was speedily occupied, a body of sailors rushing into it, and carrying all before them, the Prussians falling back on Choisy. At L'Hay the attacking column met with a strenuous resistance. As soon as it had passed the barricade at the entrance of the village, a heavy fire was poured into it from the houses at both sides of the main street. A hand-to-hand encounter then took place with the Prussian Guard, which had been brought up as a reinforcement. While the fight was progressing an order arrived from General Trochu to retreat. The same order was sent to the Gare aux Boeufs, and by ten o'clock the troops to the south of Paris had fallen back to the positions they occupied the previous evening. General Vinoy, during the engagement, was with his staff on the bridge which crosses the Seine near Charenton. A battalion of National Guards were drawn up near him. A chance shell took off the legs of one of these heroes, his comrades fled in dismay--they were rallied and brought back with difficulty. A little later they were engaged in cooking their food, when some tin pans fell against each other. Thinking it was a bomb, they again scattered, and the General was obliged to ride along the line shouting "Courage, courage; it is the soup, my children." In the meantime a terrible mishap had occurred on the north of the Marne. On Monday evening, General Trochu and General Ducrot slept at Vincennes. The latter had issued an address, in which he informed his troops that he meant either to conquer or die. During the night an exchange of shots had taken place across the river between the French and Prussian sharp-shooters. Towards morning the latter had withdrawn. At break of day the troops were drawn up ready to cross the river as soon as the engagement on the southern lines had diverted the attention of the enemy. The bridges were there ready to be thrown across, when it was discovered that the Marne had overflown its bed, and could not be crossed. Whether it be true or not that the Prussians had cut a dam, or whether, as sometimes occurs with literary generals, the pontoons were too few in number, is not yet clear. Whatever the cause, the effect was to render it impossible to carry out to-day the plan which was to take General Ducrot and his troops down to Orleans, and at the present moment he and they are still at Vincennes, waiting for the river to go down. At twelve o'clock I managed to get through the gate of Vanves. Outside the walls everything was quiet. Troops were massed in all sheltered places to resist any attack which might be made from the plateau of Chatillon. None of the officers seemed to know what had occurred. Some thought that Choisy had been taken, others that Ducrot had got clear away. I was walking along the outposts in advance of Vanves, when a cantankerous officer, one of those beings overflowing with ill-regulated zeal, asked me what I was doing. I showed my pass. My zealous friend insisted that I had come in from the Prussian lines, and that I probably was a spy. I said I had left Paris an hour ago. He replied that this was impossible, as no civilian was allowed to pass through the gate. Things began to look uncomfortable. The zealot talked of shooting me, as a simple and expeditious mode of solving the question. To this I objected, and so at length it was agreed that I should be marched off to the fort of Vanves. We found the Commandant seated before his fort with a big stick in his hand, like a farmer before his farm yard. In vain the zealot endeavoured to excite his ire against me. The Commandant and I got into conversation and became excellent friends. He, too, knew nothing of what had occurred. He had been bombarding Chatillon, he said, and he supposed he should soon receive orders to recommence. What seemed to surprise him was that the Prussians during the whole night had not replied either from Chatillon, Sèvres, or Meudon to the French guns. From Vanves I went to Villejuif, where a temporary ambulance had been erected, and the surgeons were busy with the wounded. As soon as their wounds were dressed, they were taken in ambulance carts inside the town. The officers and soldiers, who had not yet learnt that General Ducrot had failed to cross the Marne, were in a very bad humour at having been ordered to withdraw at the very moment when they were carrying everything before them. They represented the Prussians as having fought like devils, and declared that they appeared to take a fiendish pleasure in killing even the wounded. Within the town the excitement to know what had passed is intense. The Government has posted up a notice saying that everything is happening as General Trochu wished it. Not a word is said about Ducrot's failure. The _Liberté_, which gives a guarded account of what really took place, has been torn to pieces on the Boulevards. I have just been talking with an officer on the headquarters staff. He tells me that Trochu is still outside, very much cast down, but determined to make a desperate effort to retrieve matters to-morrow. We have received to-day some English newspapers, and you may imagine how far behind the age we are from the fact that we learn for the first time that Prince Gortschakoff has put his finger into the pie. Good heavens! I have invested my savings in Turkish Five per cents., and it gives me a cold shiver to think at what figure I shall find these Oriental securities quoted on the Stock Exchange when I emerge from my enforced seclusion and again find myself in communication with the outer world.[1] _December 2nd._ For the last three days the public within the walls of Paris has been kept in profound ignorance of what has been passing outside. General Trochu has once or twice each day published a despatch saying that everything is happening as he anticipated, and the majority of those who read these oracular utterances religiously believe in them as though they had never been deceived. On the Boulevards there are crowds who question any soldier who is seen passing. "Tout va bien" is the only answer which they get; but they seem to be under the impression that the siege is already over, and that the Prussian lines have been forced. Along the road inside the ramparts, and at the gates, there are dense masses listening to the cannon, and on every mound from which a distant view of the smoke can be obtained men, women, and children are congregated. I have managed to get every day into the horse-shoe at the mouth of which the fighting was going on, and yesterday afternoon, when there was a semi-suspension of arms to bury the dead, I went with the ambulances on the debateable land between the two armies. The whole horse-shoe is full of artillery. The bombs and shells from the forts and batteries pass over the French, and explode within the Prussian lines. A little behind, every house is filled with wounded, who are taken, as soon as their wounds are dressed, inside the town. One or two batteries occasionally open fire, and occasionally those of the Prussians respond. Trochu and Ducrot ride about, and, as far as I can see, the latter commands, while the former makes speeches. Yesterday afternoon we had slightly gained ground, beyond however an occasional discharge from our forts and batteries, there was no fighting. Before our lines a very large number of Prussian dead were lying. There were burying parties out on both sides, but they were getting on very slowly with their work, and were perpetually fired on. At 4 A.M. this morning the Prussians made a rush at our lines from Champigny to Brie, and the Mobiles and line, taken by surprise, hastily fell back. One or two regiments of Mobiles were literally charged by squadrons of gendarmerie, to force them back. Reinforcements came up, and by nine o'clock the positions had been regained--the Prussians being unable to withstand the fire of our forts, redoubts, and siege-guns. The battle then went on till about three o'clock, when it died out. Towards Villiers, I should say we had gained about three-quarters of a mile, and at Champigny we had lost about a third of the village. At about five o'clock I got back to my hotel, which is the headquarters of the Ambulance Internationale. Until eleven o'clock wounded were being brought in. It is quite full now. About 460 French, and 30 Germans--almost all Saxons. Many died during the night. In the room, next to mine, Franchetti, the commander of the Eclaireurs of the Seine, is lying--a portion of his hip has been blown away by a shell, and the doctor has just told me that he fears that he will not recover, as the wound is too high up for an operation. In the room beyond him is a young lieutenant of Mobiles, who has had his leg amputated, and his right arm cut open to extract a portion of the bone, and who still has a ball in his shoulder. Most of the soldiers in here are wounded either in the leg or in the arm. There is a great dearth of doctors, and many wounded who were brought here last night had to wait until this morning before their turn came to be examined. The American Ambulance and several others are also, I hear, full. I go in occasionally to see the Germans, as I can talk their language, and it cheers them to hear it. I see in the newspapers that wounded Bavarians and Saxons are perpetually crying "Vive la France!" I can only say that those here do nothing of the kind. They do not seem to be particularly downcast at finding themselves in the hands of their enemies. They are treated precisely as the French are, and they are grateful for this. It is said this evening that the troops will be withdrawn and return to the Bois de Vincennes. Some say that we have left 20,000 men at Villiers and Champigny; but I take it that our loss does not exceed 6,000 men. The general idea seems to be, that to-morrow we are to try to get out in another direction, either by Chatillon or Malmaison. A pigeon came in this morning from Bourbaki, with a despatch dated Nov. 30, stating that he is advancing, and among the soldiers this despatch has already become an official notice that he is at Meaux. All I know for certain is that the ambulances are ordered out for eight o'clock to-morrow morning, and that I am now going to bed, so as to be ready to start with them. I hear that there has been fighting both yesterday and to-day near Bondy; but not being able to be in two places at once, I cannot tell what really occurred. To my civilian judgment it appears that as our object was to force the line of heights on the south-east of Paris, which constitute the Prussian lines of investment in that direction, and as we have not done so, we can hardly be said to be in a better position than we were last Monday. At a heavy cost of life we have purchased the knowledge that our new artillery is better than was expected, and that Line and Mobiles will stand under fire with tolerable steadiness until their officers are bowled over, when they break. The National Guards were not engaged. General Trochu and General Pisani tried to get some of their battalions over the Marne, but found it impossible. After a long speech from Trochu, Pisani shouted, "Vive la France!" To this they responded; but when he added, "Vive Trochu!" they remained silent, and their commanders declared that this involved political considerations with regard to which they and their men "make certain reservations." They are, however, very proud of having been within two miles of a battle field, and Trochu congratulates them, in an order of the day, upon giving a "moral support" to the army. This is precisely what every one is willing to do. Moral support will not, however, get the Prussians away from Paris. Food is becoming more scarce every day. Yesterday all our sausages were requisitioned. We have still got the cows to fall back on, but they are kept to the last for the sake of their milk. They are fed on oats, as hay is scarce. So you see the mother of a calf has many advantages over its uncle. All the animals in the Zoological Gardens have been killed except the monkeys; these are kept alive from a vague and Darwinian notion that they are our relatives, or at least the relatives of some of the members of the Government, to whom in the matter of beauty nature has not been bountiful. In the cellar of the English Embassy there are three sheep. Never did the rich man lust more after the poor man's ewe lamb than I lust after these sheep. I go and look at them frequently, much as a London Arab goes to have a smell at a cookshop. They console me for the absence of my ambassador. Some one has discovered that an excellent jelly can be made out of old bones, and we are called upon by the mayors to give up all our bones, in order that they may be submitted to the process. Mr. Powell is, I believe, a contractor in London. I do not know him; but yesterday I dined with a friend who produced from a tin some Australian mutton, which he had bought of Mr. Powell before the commencement of the siege. Better I never tasted, and out of gratitude I give the worthy Powell the benefit of a gratis advertisement. If we only had a stock of his meat here, we could defy the Prussians. As it is, I am very much afraid that in a very few weeks William will date his telegrams to Augusta from the Tuileries. _December 3rd._ I wrote to you in a great hurry last night in order to catch a balloon which was to have gone this morning, but whose departure has been deferred as the wind was not favourable. I am now able to give some more accurate details respecting the affair of Friday, as I have had an opportunity of talking with several of the officers who were on the staffs of the different generals engaged. After the Prussians at 4 A.M. had surprised the whole of the French line from Brie to Champigny, they pushed forward a heavy column between, the latter place and the Marne, thus outflanking their opponents. The column advanced about half-way up the horse-shoe formed by the bend in the river, and would have got as far as the bridges at Joinville, had not General Favé opened fire upon it from a small redoubt which he had built in advance of Joinville, with forty field guns which he rapidly placed in position. Reinforcements were then brought up under General Blanchard, and the column was at length forced back, fighting hard to Champigny. To-day most of the troops in the horse-shoe crossed over the river, and are now either in the wood of Vincennes or in other portions of the line between the forts and the enceinte. General Trochu has returned to the Louvre, and General Ducrot, I hear, yesterday evening expressed his regret that he had published that foolish manifesto, in which he declared that if he did not conquer he would die; for, not having done either, he felt the awkwardness of re-entering the city. Both Ducrot and Trochu freely exposed themselves; the latter received a slight wound in the back of the head from a piece of a shell which struck him. All the officers were obliged to keep well in advance of their soldiers in order to encourage them. The brunt of the fighting fell to the Line; the Mobiles, as a rule, only behaved tolerably well; the Vendeans, of whom much was expected, badly. The only battalion of the National Guards engaged was that from Belleville, and it very speedily fell back. I have always had my doubts about the valour of the Parisians. I found it difficult to believe in men who hunt for pretexts to avoid military service--who are so very fond of marching behind drums and vivandières inside a town, and who, in some way or other, manage either to avoid going out of it, or when forced out, avoid all danger. The population is in profound ignorance of the real state of affairs outside. It still believes that the Prussian lines have been forced, and that the siege will be over in a few days. I presume that Trochu will make a second sortie in force. Unless, however, his operations are powerfully aided by the armies of the provinces, it is difficult to believe that the result will be anything beyond a useless sacrifice of life. On Friday, it is estimated that our loss amounted to 4,500 wounded, and 600 killed. That of the Prussians must have been very heavy, to judge from the number of dead bodies that were lying about in the fields and woods. The ambulances were ordered out this morning, and at seven o'clock some 300 victims rendezvoused with the carriages on the Quai, near the Place de la Concorde. After freezing there for about two hours, it was suggested that a messenger should be sent to General Trochu, to ask him whether we were really wanted. The reply was that no attack would be made to-day, and consequently we went off home to thaw. If wars really must be made, I do hope that we shall fall back upon the old system of carrying on military operations in summer. When the thermometer is below zero, I feel like Bob Acres--all my valour oozing out at my fingers' ends. The doctors tell me that many slight wounds have gangrened owing to the cold. When a battle lasts until evening the mass of the wounded cannot be picked up until the next morning, and their sufferings during the night must be terrible. I saw several poor fellows picked up who appeared literally frozen. The _Journal Officiel_ of to-day contains a letter from Monseigneur Bauer, protesting against the Prussians having shot at him when he went forward with a flag of truce and a trompette. The fact is vouched for by, among others, a journalist who remained during the night of Friday outside the walls. I can easily believe it, for the Prussians are not a chivalrous enemy. They are perpetually firing on ambulances: and, when it suits their own purposes, raising the white flag. If, indeed, one-tenth part of the stories which I hear of their treacheries be true, they ought to be exterminated like wolves. This Monseigneur Bauer is a character. He began life as a German Jew, and he is now a Frenchman and a Christian Bishop. During the Empire he was chaplain to the court, and confessor of the Empress. He is now chaplain of the Ambulances de la Presse, and has under his orders 800 "Frères Chrétiens," who dress as priests, but are not in holy orders. Both he and they display the greatest courage. The Frères Chrétiens are the foremost in picking up the wounded; going forward long before the firing is over. The Bishop prances about on his horse, dressed in a soutane and long boots, the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour on his breast, a golden crucifix hanging from his neck, and a huge episcopal ring on his finger, outside his gloves. Sometimes he appears in a red cloak, which, I presume, is a part of his sacerdotal gear. I am told, by those who know him, that "Monseigneur" is a consummate humbug, but he is very popular with the soldiers, as he talks to them in their own language, and there certainly is no humbug about his pluck. He is as steady under fire as if he were in a pulpit. He was by the side of Ducrot when the general's horse was killed under him. The events of the past week prove that General Trochu's sole available force for resisting the enemy consists of the Line and the Mobiles. As for the population of Paris, they are more than useless. They eat up the provisions; they are endowed with a mixture of obstinacy and conceit, which will very probably enable them to endure considerable hardships rather than surrender; fight, however, they will not, although I am convinced that, to the end of their lives, they will boast of their heroic valour, and in the legend which will pass muster as history of the siege of Paris, our grandchildren will be taught that in 1870, when the French troops were all prisoners of war, the citizens of the French capital "covered themselves with honour," and for nearly three months held their town against the furious onslaughts of the victorious German armies. The poor soldiers and the Mobiles, who do all the real fighting, will experience the eternal truth of Virgil's _Sic vos non vobis_. But there is no use being angry at what will happen in one hundred years, for what does it signify to any who are now alive either in Paris or out of Paris? _December 5th._ A proclamation has been issued by the Government, announcing that the troops have retired across the Marne, as the enemy has had time to collect such a force in front of Villiers and Champigny, that further efforts in this direction would be sterile. "The loss of the enemy during the glorious days of the 29th and 30th November, and December 2nd, has been so great that, struck down in its pride of power, it has allowed an army which it attacked the day before, to cross a river under its eyes, and in the light of day," continues this manifesto. Now, considering that the crossing took place at Joinville, and that the river at that point is under the fire of three forts and two redoubts, it appears to me that General Trochu might as well take credit to himself for crossing the Seine opposite the Place de la Concorde. I will say for the Government of to-day, that in any attempt to beat its predecessor in mendacity it had a hard task, but it has worked with a will, and completely succeeded. The military attachés who are still here, consider that the French loss during the three days cannot be less than 10,000 in killed and wounded. It is very unlikely that the Government will admit a loss of above 2,000 or 3,000. That of the Prussians is, we are told, far larger than ours. Without accepting this assertion as gospel, it must have been very heavy. A friend of mine himself counted 500 dead bodies in one wood. We have a certain number of prisoners. With respect to the wounded Germans in our hands, I find that there are about 30 in my hotel, as against above 400 French. In the American ambulance, out of 130 only two are Germans. Colonel Claremont, who had put off his departure, witnessed the fight in the redoubt which General Favé had built opposite Joinville. He was nearly killed several times by bombs from La Faisanderie, which was behind him, bursting short. The Parisians are somewhat taken aback at the victory resulting in a retreat. They appear, however, to be as ignorant of the environs of their own capital as they are of foreign countries, and they never condescend to consult a map. While some of them shake their heads in despair of success, the majority are under the impression that Villiers and Champigny are far beyond the range of the guns of our forts, and that as the ground near them is still occupied by our troops, something which will lead to the speedy retreat of the Prussians has been done. We are two millions, they say; we will all die rather than surrender: and they appear to be under the impression that if they only say this often enough, Paris never will be taken. The Ultra-Democrats in the clubs have a new theory to account for their refusal to fight. "We are," observed an orator, a few nights ago, "the children of Paris, she has need of us; can we leave her at such a moment?" Some of these heroes, indeed, assert that the best plan would be to allow the Prussians to enter and then convert them to the doctrines of Republicanism. I think it was St. Augustine who did not despair of the devil eventually turning over a new leaf; in the same way I heard an ardent patriot express the hope of being able to convert "William" himself to the creed of the Universal Republic. At the club where these fraternal sentiments were expressed there is a lady who sits on the platform. When anyone makes what she considers a good speech she embraces him on both cheeks. She is by no means ugly, and I had serious thoughts of making a few observations myself in view of the reward. That bashfulness, however, which has been my bane through life, prevented me. The lady occasionally speaks herself, and is fond of giving her own experiences. "I was on my way to this club," she said, "the other evening, when I observed a man following me. 'What dost thou want?' I asked, sternly eyeing him. 'I love you,' replied the vile aristocrat. 'I am the wife of a citizen,' I answered, 'and the mother of the Gracchi.' The wretch sneaked away, abashed to seek other prey. If he addresses himself to some princess or duchess he will probably find a victim." The loudest applause greeted this "experience," and several very unclean-looking patriots rushed forward to embrace the mother of the Gracchi, in order to show her how highly they appreciated her noble conduct. The newspapers are already beginning to dread that possibly some doubts may be cast upon the heroism of everyone during the last week. The _Figaro_ contains the following:--"No matter what certain correspondents--better known than they suppose--may say, and although they are preparing to infect foreign countries with their correspondence, our Bretons did not run away on Thursday. It is true that when they saw the Saxons emerging from their holes and shouting hurrah, our Bretons were a little troubled by this abrupt and savage joke, but"--then follows the statement of several of the heroes themselves that they fought like lions. The fact is, as I have already stated in my letter of yesterday, the Mobiles fought only tolerably well, and some of their battalions rather the reverse of well. The Line, for young troops, behaved very fairly; and the reckless courage of the officers, both of the Line and Mobile, was above all praise. It is, however, a military axiom that when an undue proportion of officers are killed in a battle their troops have hung back. Good soldiers cannot be made in two months, and it is absurd to expect that raw lads, who were taken from the plough a few weeks ago, would fight as well as trained and hardened warriors. This however, we are called upon, in defiance of facts, to believe, because "the soil of France produces soldiers." It is difficult to guess what will happen now. The generals must be aware that unless one of the armies of the provinces takes the Prussians in the rear, a fresh sortie will only result in a fresh butchery; but then, on the other hand, the Parisians will not be satisfied until all the Line and the Mobiles outside the walls have been killed, in order that it may be said that the resistance of Paris was heroic. If I were Trochu, I should organize a sortie exclusively of National Guards, in order to show these gentry what a very different thing real fighting is to parading about the streets of the capital and wearing a uniform. The following is a list of the prices of "luxuries:"--Terrines of chicken, 16f; of rabbit, 13f; a fowl, 26f; a rabbit, 18f; a turkey, 60f; a goose, 45f; one cauliflower, 3f; one cabbage, 4f; dog is 2f. a lb.; a cat skinned costs 5f.; a rat, 1f., if fat from the drains, 1f. 50c. Almost all the animals in the Jardin d'Acclimatation have been eaten. They have averaged about 7f. a lb. Kangaroo, however, has been sold for 12f. the lb. Yesterday I dined with the correspondent of a London paper. He had managed to get a large piece of mufflon, an animal which is, I believe, only found in Corsica. I can only describe it by saying that it tasted of mufflon, and nothing else. Without being absolutely bad, I do not think that I shall take up my residence in Corsica, in order habitually to feed upon it. FOOTNOTE: [Footnote 1: A balloon letter, dated November 30, giving, it is presumed, an account of the military operations on that day, suffered so much _in transitu_, that it is illegible.] CHAPTER XIII. _December 6th._ I am by no means certain that I should be a hero at the Equator, but I am fully convinced that I should be an abject coward at the North Pole. Three mornings ago I stood for two hours by the Ambulances de la Presse, and my teeth have not ceased to chatter ever since. I pity the unfortunate fellows who had to keep watch all night on the plateau of Villiers more than those who were put out of their misery the day before. When it is warm weather, one views with a comparative resignation the Prussian batteries, and one has a sort of fanatical belief that the bombs will not burst within striking distance; when the thermometer is below zero, one imagines that every cannon within four miles is pointed at one's head. I do not know how it may be with others, but on me cold has a most unheroic effect. My legs become as wilful as those of Mrs. Dombey's titled relative, and it is only by the strongest effort of mind over matter that I can prevent them carrying me beyond the reach of cannon-balls, bullets, and shells. I have a horrible vision of myself lying all night with a broken leg in a ditch, gradually freezing. On a warm summer's day I do not think very much of the courage of those who fight well; on a cold winter's day, however, any man who does not run away and take shelter by a fire deserves well of his country. We are by no means a very happy family. General Ducrot and General Blanchard have "had words." The latter, in the course of the dispute, said to the former, "If your sword were as long as your tongue, you would be a wonderful warrior indeed." Ducrot and Trochu are the literary Generals; Vinoy and Blanchard the fighting Generals. It is reported also that General Favé is to be superseded, though why I cannot learn, as his redoubt may be said to have saved the army from a greater disaster. While, however, the military men differ among themselves, they are all agreed in abusing the National Guards, whom they irreverently call "Les Charcutiers"--the pork butchers. When La Gare aux Boeufs was carried by Admiral Pothuan and his sailors, two battalions of these heroes followed in the rear. The Admiral and the sailors were somewhat astonished to find that in the order of the day hardly anything was said of those who really did all the fighting, but that the "pork butchers" were lauded to the skies. General Trochu on this wrote a letter to the Admiral, informing him that it was necessary for political reasons to encourage the National Guard. Whilst the battle was going on at Villiers and Champigny, the marching battalions of the National Guard were drawn up almost out of shot. An order came to form them into line. Their commander, General Clément Thomas, replied that this would be impossible, as they would imagine that they were about to be taken into action. Notwithstanding this, General Trochu congratulates them upon the "moral support" which they afforded him. It is not surprising that the real soldiers should feel hurt at this system of humbug. They declare that at the next sortie they will force the Parisians to fight by putting them in front, and firing on them if they attempt to run away. It must be remembered that these fighting battalions consist of young unmarried men, and if Paris is to be defended, there is no reason why they should not be exposed to danger. The inhabitants of this city seem to consider themselves a sacred race; they clamour for sorties, vow to die for their country, and then wish to do it by procuration. I am utterly disgusted with the difference between their words and their deeds. The Mobiles and the Line have as yet done all the righting, and yet, to read the Paris newspapers, one would suppose that the National Guards, who have kept well out of all danger, have "covered themselves with glory." Since the siege commenced they have done nothing but swagger about in uniforms, and go in turns on the ramparts. They have learnt to knock a penny off a cork at a distance of ten yards, and they have carried on a very successful campaign against the sparrows. A fresh order was issued yesterday, suppressing all passes until further notice. I have a pass _en règle_ from General Vinoy; but even with this, the last time I went out of the town I was turned back at two gates before I got through at the third. A good deal of discussion has taken place among the foreign correspondents respecting the fairness of going out with an ambulance under guise of the Geneva flag. I see myself no objection to it, provided the correspondent really does make himself useful in picking up the wounded. In the Prussian camp a correspondent has a recognised position; here it is different, and he must use all legitimate means to obtain intelligence of what is passing. My pass, for instance, does not describe me as a correspondent, but as an Englishman accredited by the British Embassy. At the commencement of the siege I begged Mr. Wodehouse to give me a letter of introduction to M. Jules Ferry, one of the members of the Government. This I did not deliver, but at General Vinoy's headquarters I showed it to prove that I was not a Prussian spy, but that I was known by my natural guardian. An aide-de-camp then gave me a pass, and, not knowing precisely what to call me, described me as "accredited by the British Embassy." I move about, therefore, as a mysterious being--perhaps an Ambassador, perhaps an Ambassador's valet. A friend of mine, who is an authority with the Ambulance de la Presse, and who owns a carriage, has promised to call for me when next the ambulances are sent for; but, as I have already said, all my energy oozes out of me when the thermometer is below zero; and unless the next battle is fought on a warm day, I shall not witness it. As a matter of fact, unless one is riding with the staff of the general who commands, one cannot form an idea of what is going on by hanging about, and it is a horrible sight to look with an opera-glass at men and horses being massacred. When knights charged each other with lances there was a certain chivalry in war; but there is nothing either noble or inspiriting in watching a quantity of unfortunate Breton peasants, who cannot even speak French, and an equal number of Berlin grocers, who probably ask for nothing better than to be back in their shops, destroying each other at a distance of two or three miles with balls of lead and iron, many of them filled with explosive materials. I confess that I pity the horses almost as much as the men. It seems a monstrous thing that in order that the Alsacians should be forced into becoming subjects of King William of Prussia, an omnibus horse, who has honestly done his work in the streets of Paris, should be taken outside the walls of the town to have his head blown off or to stump about on three legs until he dies of cold and hunger. Horses have a way when they are wounded of making desperate efforts to get up, and then letting their heads fall with a bang on the soil which is very horrible to witness. Everybody in authority and out of it seems to have a different opinion as to when the siege will end. I cannot think that when a town with two million inhabitants is reduced to such expedients as this is now, it can hold out very long. The rations, consisting alternately of horse and salt fish, are still distributed, but they are hardly sufficient to keep body and soul together. Unless we make up our minds to kill our artillery horses, we shall soon come to the end of our supply. The rumour to-day is that the Prussians have evacuated Versailles, and that Frederick Charles has been beaten in a battle on the Loire, but I cannot say that I attach great credit to either story. No pigeon has arrived for the last three days, owing, it is supposed, to the cold; and until we know for certain what d'Aurelles de Paladine is doing, we are unable to form an accurate opinion of the chances of the siege being raised. All that can be said is that, left to ourselves, we shall not be able to break through the lines of investment, and that when we have eaten up all our food, we shall have to capitulate. _December 7th._ When this war commenced the Parisians believed in the bulletins which their own Government issued, because they thought it only natural that their arms should be successful, and they disbelieved in any foreign newspaper which ventured to contest their victories. At present they are incredulous alike of everything that comes from friend and foe. Nine-tenths of them are under the impression that Count Moltke, in announcing the defeat of the Army of the Loire, is guilty of a deliberate falsehood; the other tenth supposes that he has grossly exaggerated a slight mishap, and that the occupation of Orleans only proves that Orleans was not defended by a large body of troops. It takes about three days for any information which is not in accordance with the wishes of this extraordinary population to obtain credit, no matter what amount of evidence there may be to prove its truth. If really the Army of the Loire has been put _hors de combat_, sooner or later the fact will be admitted; then, although we shall still pin our faith to Kératry or Bourbaki, the disaster will no doubt tend to produce a certain degree of discouragement, more particularly as it is coupled with the retreat of Ducrot's forces from the south bank of the Marne. French politicians will insist upon dressing up their facts in order to meet the requirements of the moment, and they never seem to consider that so soon as the real state of things comes out there must be an inevitable reaction, which will be far more depressing than if the truth had been fairly told at once. I hear that when Count Moltke's letter arrived, two of the members of the Government of National Defence were inclined to accept his offer to verify what had occurred on the Loire, but that General Trochu stated that he intended to resist until the last, and that consequently, whether Orleans had fallen, or not, was a matter of no importance. If Trochu really thinks that a further resistance and a further sacrifice of life will materially advance the interests of his country, of course he is right to hold out; but if, disregarding facts, he simply wishes to oblige the Prussians to continue the siege, for no purpose except to prove his own tenacity, he cannot be regarded either as a good patriot or a sensible man. When the vote on the Plebiscite was taken, his majority consisted of "Ouis" which were given because it was supposed that he was about to treat. Since then we have gone on from day to day vaguely hoping that either the Neutral Powers or the armies of the provinces would get us out of the mess in which we are, or, even if these failed us, that by a sortie the town would be revictualled. At present none believe in the intervention of the Neutrals; few in the success of a sortie; but all still cling, as drowning men do to a straw, to the armies of the provinces. To destroy this belief it will be necessary for the Prussians to obtain a substantial advantage not only at Orleans, but over the armies of Kératry and Bourbaki. When once we find that we are entirely left to our own resources, and that it is impossible for us to penetrate the lines of investment, I cannot help thinking that we shall yield to the force of circumstances. At present all the newspapers are for fighting on as long as we have a crust, regardless of the consequences; but then, as a rule, a besieged town is never so near surrendering as when it threatens to hang the first man who speaks of surrender. The majority would even now take a practical view of matters if they dared, but Trochu is their man, and Trochu, much to their secret sorrow, refuses to hear of a capitulation. Some German officers who are prisoners on parole have been insulted in a restaurant, and for their own safety it has been found necessary to confine them in La Roquette. I am not surprised at this. French officers are, of course, incapable of this contemptible conduct, and it must be owned that the majority of the Parisians have not, under the trying circumstances in which they find themselves, lost that courtesy which is one of the peculiar attributes of the nation. But there is a scum, who lived from hand to mouth during the Empire, and which infests the restaurants and the public places. Some of them wear the uniform of the National Guard; others have attached themselves to the ambulances; and all take very good care not to risk their precious lives. I was peaceably dining last night in a restaurant; a friend with whom I had been talking English had left me, and I found myself alone with four of these worthies, who were dining at a table near me. For my especial benefit they informed each other that all strangers here were outlaws from their own country, and that the Americans and Italians who have established ambulances were in all probability Prussian spies. As I took no notice of these startling generalities, one of them turned to me and said, "You may look at me, sir, but I assert before you that Dr. Evans, the ex-dentist of the Emperor, was a spy." I quietly remarked, that not having the honour to know Dr. Evans, and being myself an Englishman, whilst the Doctor is an American, I was not responsible for him. "You are a Greek," observed another; "I heard you talk Greek just now." I mildly suggested that his knowledge of foreign tongues was, perhaps, somewhat limited. "Well, if you are not a Greek," he said, "I saw you the other morning near the Ambulance of the Press, to which I belong, and so you must be a spy." "If you are an Englishman," cried his friend, "why do you not go back to your own country, and fight Russia?" I replied that the idea was an excellent one, but that it might, perhaps, be difficult to pass through the Prussian lines. "The English Ambassador is a friend of mine, and he will give you a pass at my request," answered the gentleman who had mistaken English for Greek. I thanked him, and assured him that I should esteem it a favour if he would obtain from his friend Lord Lyons this pass for me. He said he would do so, as it would be well to rid Paris of such vermin as myself and my countrymen. He has not yet, however, fulfilled his promise. Scenes such as these are of frequent occurrence at restaurants; bully and coward are generally synonymous terms; any scamp may insult a foreigner now with perfect impunity, for if the foreigner replies he has only to denounce him as a spy, when a crowd will assemble, and either set on him or bear him off to prison. While, as I have already said, nothing can be more courteous than the conduct of French officers, French gentlemen, and, unless they are excited, the French poorer classes, nothing can be more insolent than that of the third-class dandies who reserve their valour for the interior of the town, or who, if ever they venture outside of its fortifications, take care to skulk beneath the protection of the cross of Geneva. The _Journal Officiel_ contains a decree breaking up the battalion of Belleville. These warriors, says their own Commander, ran away in the presence of the enemy, refused the next day to go to the front, and commenced fighting with their neighbours from La Villette. M. Gustave Flourens, who is the hero of these men of war, and who, although exercising no official rank in the battalion, insisted upon their accepting him as their chief, is to be brought before a Council of War. My next-door neighbour, Franchetti, died yesterday, and was buried to-day. He was a fine, handsome young man, well off, happily married, and, as the commander of the Eclaireurs of the Seine, has done good service during the siege. As he was an Israelite, he was followed to the grave by the Rothschilds and many other of his co-religionists. _December 8th._ M. de Sarcey, in the _Temps_ of to-day, enters into a lengthy argument to prove that the Parisians are heroic. "Heroism is positive and negative," he says, "and we have, for the sake of our country, deprived ourselves during several months of the power to make money, and during this time we have existed without many of the comforts to which we are accustomed." Now, I by no means wish to undervalue the sacrifices of the Parisians, but heroism is not the word for them. So long as there are enough provisions in the town to enable every one to live without feeling the pangs of hunger, they have no opportunity to show negative heroism. So long as the town is not assaulted, and they do not take part in sorties, they cannot be said to be actively heroic. A blockade such as the Prussians have instituted round Paris, is no doubt most disagreeable to its inhabitants. In submitting to it, undoubtedly they show their patriotism and their power of passive endurance. Heroism is, however, something more than either patriotism or endurance--it is an exceptional quality which is rarely found in this world. If the Parisians possessed it, I should admire them; because they do not, no one has a right to blame them. The newspapers have now proved to their own complete satisfaction that Count Moltke's assertion respecting the defeat of the Army of the Loire can only refer to its rearguard, and although no news from without has been received for several days, they insist that the greater portion of this army has effected its junction with that of Bourbaki. A French journalist, even when he is not obliged to do so, generally invents his facts, and then reasons upon them with wonderful ingenuity. I do not know whether the Paris journals get to you through the Prussian lines; if they do not, you have little idea how much excellent advice you lose. One would think that just at present a Parisian would do well to keep his breath to cool his own porridge; such, however, is not his opinion. He thinks that he has a mission to guide and instruct the world, and this mission he manfully fulfils in defiance of Prussians and Prussian cannon. It is true that he knows rather less of foreign countries than an intelligent Japanese Daimio may be supposed to know of Tipperary, but by some curious law of nature, the less he knows of a subject the more strongly does he feel impelled to write about it. I read a very clever article this morning, pointing out that, if we are not on our guard, our empire in India will come to an end by a Russian fleet attacking it from the Caspian Sea; and when one thinks how very easy it would have been for the author not to write about the Caspian Sea, one is at once surprised and grateful to him for having called our attention to the danger which menaces us in that quarter of the globe. M. Gustave Flourens has been arrested and is now in prison. The clubs of the Ultras are very indignant at the Government having accused the braves of Belleville of cowardice. They feel convinced that the "Jesuit" Trochu must have introduced some _mouchards_ into the band of heroes, who received orders to run away, in order to discredit the whole battalion. I was in the "Club de la Délivrance" this evening. It holds its sittings in the Salle Valentino--a species of Argyle Rooms in normal times. I held up my hand in favour of a resolution to call upon the Government to inscribe upon marble tablets the names of the National Guards who have died in the defence of Paris. The resolution was carried unanimously. No National Guard has, indeed, yet been good enough to die; but of course this fact was regarded as irrelevant. The next resolution was that the concubines of patriots should enjoy the same right to rations as legitimate wives. As the Club prides itself upon the stern severity of its morals, this resolution was not carried. An orator then proposed that all strangers should be banished from France. He was so exceedingly lengthy that I did not wait until the end of his speech; I am, therefore, unable to say whether his proposal was carried. The Club de la Délivrance is by far the most reputable public assembly in Paris. Those who take part in its proceedings are intensely respectable, and as intensely dull and prosy. The suppression of gas has been a heavy blow to the clubs. The Parisians like gas as much as lazzaroni like sunshine. The grandest bursts of patriotic eloquence find no response from an audience who listen to them beneath half-a-dozen petroleum lamps. It is somewhat singular, but it is not the less certain, that the effect of a speech depends very much upon the amount of light in the room in which it is delivered. I remember once I went down to assist a friend of mine in an electioneering campaign in a small borough. His opponent was a most worthy and estimable squire, who resided in the neighbourhood. It was, of course, my business to prove that he was a despicable knave and a drivelling idiot. This I was engaged in doing at a public meeting in the town-hall. The Philippics of Demosthenes were milk and water in comparison with my denunciations--when just at the critical moment--as I was carrying conviction into the breasts of the stolid Britons who were listening to me, the gas flickered and went out. Three candles were brought in. I recommenced my thunder; but it was of no use. The candles utterly destroyed its effect, and two days afterwards the squire became an M.P., and still is a silent ornament of St. Stephen's. I trust that England never will be invaded. But if it is, we shall do well to profit by the experience of what is occurring here. There must be no English force, half citizen half soldier. All who take part in the national defence must submit to the strict discipline of soldiers. A vast amount of money has been laid out in equipping the National Guard. Their pay alone amounts to above 20,000fr. per diem, and, as far as the defence of Paris is concerned, they might as well have remained quietly by their own firesides. There are, no doubt, brave men among them, but as their battalions insist upon being regarded as citizens even when under arms, they have no discipline, and are little better than an armed mob. The following extract from an article in the last number of the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ gives some interesting details respecting their habits when on duty behind that most useless of all works of defence, the line of the Paris fortifications:--"On the arrival of a battalion, the chief of the post arranges the hours during which each man is to be on active duty. After this, the men occupy themselves as they please. Some play at interminable games of _bouchon_; others, notwithstanding orders to the contrary, turn their attention to écarté and piquet; others gossip over the news of the day with the artillerymen, who are keeping guard by the side of their cannon. Some go away on leave, or disappear without leave; they make excursions beyond the ramparts, or shut themselves up in the billiard-room of some café. Many make during the course of the day frequent visits to the innumerable canteens, which succeed each other almost without interruption along the Rue des Ramparts. Here old women have lit a few sticks under a pot, and sell, for a penny the glass, a horrible brew called 'petit noir,' composed of sugar, eau de vie, and the grains of coffee, boiled up together. Behind there is a line of cook shops, the proprietors of which announce that they have been commissioned to provide food. These speculators offer for sale greasy soup, slices of horse, and every species of alcoholic drink. Each company has, too, its cantinière, and round her cart there is always a crowd. It seldom happens that more than one-half of the men of the battalion are sober. Fortunately, the cold of the night air sobers them. Between eight and nine in the evening there is a gathering in the tent. A circle is formed in it round a single candle, and whilst the flasks go round tale succeeds to song, and song to tale, until at length all fall asleep, and are only interrupted in their slumbers until morning by the corporal, who, once every hour, enters and calls out the names of those who are to go on the watch. The abuse of strong drink makes shameful ravages in our ranks, and is productive of serious disorder. Few nights pass without false alarms, without shots foolishly fired upon imaginary enemies, and without lamentable accidents. Every night there are disputes, which often degenerate into fights, and then in the morning, when explanations take place, these very explanations are an excuse for recommencing drinking. Rules, indeed, are not wanting to abate all this, but the misfortune is that they are never executed. The indiscipline of the National Guard contrasts strangely with the patriotism of their words. Most of the insubordination may be ascribed to drunkenness, but the _mauvaise tenue_ which is so apparent in too many battalions is due also to many other causes. The primary organisation of the National Guard was ill-conceived and ill-executed, and when the enrolments had been made, and the battalions formed, day after day a fresh series of orders were promulgated, so diffuse, so obscure, and so contradictory, that the officers, despairing to make head or tail of them, gave up any attempt to enforce them." The attempt at the last hour to form marching battalions out of these citizen soldiers, by obliging each sedentary battalion to furnish 150 men, has not been a very successful one. The marching battalions, it is true, have been formed, but they have not yet been engaged with the enemy; and it certainly is the opinion of military men that it will be advisable, for the credit of French arms, to "keep them in reserve" during any future engagement which may take place. General Clément Thomas has issued a series of general orders, from the tenor of which it would appear that the system of substitutes has been largely practised in these battalions. I have myself no doubt of the fact. The fault, however, lies with the Government. When these battalions were formed, the respective categories of unmarried and married men between 25 and 35, and between 35 and 45, were only to be drawn upon in case a sufficient number of volunteers were not forthcoming. It became, consequently, the interest of the men in these categories to encourage volunteering, and this was done on a large and liberal scale. The Government, if it wanted men, should have called to arms all between 25 and 35, and have allowed no exemptions. These new levies should have been subjected to the same discipline as the Line and the Mobiles. It must now accept the consequences of not having ventured to take this step. For all operations beyond the enceinte General Trochu's force consists of the Line and the Mobiles. All that he can expect from the Parisians is a "moral support." _December 9th._ Nothing new. If the Government has received any news from without, it carefully conceals it. A peasant, the newspapers say, has made his way through the Prussian lines, and has brought the information that the armies of the Loire and of Bourbaki are close to Fontainebleau. The cry is still that we will resist to the last, and for the moment every one seems to have forgotten that in a few weeks our provisions will all have been consumed. If we wait to treat until our last crust has been eaten, the pinch will come after the capitulation; for with the railroads and the high roads broken up, and the surrounding country devastated, a fortnight at least must elapse before supplies, in any quantity, can be thrown into the town. I hear that the Prussian officers who were (says the _Journal Officiel_) insulted in a café, have been exchanged. A friend of mine, an ex-French diplomatist, was present when the scene occurred, and he tells me that the officers, who were all young men, were, to say the least of it, exceedingly indiscreet. Instead of eating their dinner quietly, they indulged in a good deal of loud, and by no means wise conversation, and their remarks were calculated to offend those Frenchmen who heard them. _December 15th._ Still no news from the outer world. I trust that M. Jansen, who was dispatched the other day in a balloon to witness the eclipse of the sun, will be more fortunate in his endeavours to discover what is going on in that luminary, than we are in ours to learn what is happening within twenty miles of us. Search has been made to find the peasant who announced that he had seen a French army at Corbeil, but this remarkable agriculturist is not forthcoming. Persons at the outposts say that they heard cannon in the direction of Fontainebleau, when they put their ears to the ground, but none believe them. Four officers, who were taken prisoners on the 12th of the month near Orleans, have been sent in, as an exchange for the Prussian officers who were insulted at a restaurant, but they are so stupid that it has been impossible to glean anything from them except that their division was fighting when they were taken prisoners. A dead, apathetic torpor has settled over the town. Even the clubs are deserted. There are no groups of gossips in the streets. No one clamours for a sortie, and no one either blames or praises Trochu. The newspapers still every morning announce that victory is not far off. But their influence is gone. The belief that the evil day cannot be far off is gradually gaining ground, and those who are in a position to know more accurately the precise state of affairs, take a still more hopeless view of them than the masses. The programme of the Government seems to be this--to make a sortie in a few days, then to fall back beneath the forts; after this to hold out until the provisions are eaten up, and then, after having made a final sortie, to capitulate. Trochu is entirely in the hands of Ducrot, who, with the most enterprising of the officers, insists that the military honour of the French arms demands that there should be more fighting, even though success be not only improbable but impossible. The other day, in a council of war, Trochu began to speak of the armies of the provinces. "I do not care for your armies of the provinces," replied Ducrot. Poor Trochu, like many weak men, must rely upon some one. First it was the neutrals, then it was the armies of the provinces, and now it is Ducrot. As for his famous plan, that has entirely fallen through. It was based, I understand, upon some impossible manoeuvres to the north of the Marne. The members of the Government of National Defence meddle little with the direction of affairs. M. Picard is openly in favour of treating at once. M. Jules Favre is very downcast; he too wishes to treat, but he cannot bring himself to consent to a cession of territory. Another member of the Government was talking yesterday to a friend of mine. He seemed to fear that when the people learn that the stock of provisions is drawing to a close, there will be riots. The Government dares not tell them the truth. Several members of the Government, I hear, intend to leave shortly in balloons, and Trochu, as military Governor of Paris, will be left to his own devices. He himself says that he never will sign a capitulation, and it is suggested that when there is no more food, the Prussians shall be allowed to enter without opposition, without any terms having been previously agreed to. The Parisians are now contending for their supremacy over the provinces, and they seem to think that if they only hold out until famine obliges them to give in, that supremacy will not hereafter be disputed. It is impossible to give precise data respecting the store of provisions now in Paris, nor even were I able would it be fair to do so. As a matter of private opinion, however, I do not think that it will be possible to prolong the resistance beyond the first week in January at the latest. Last Sunday there were incipient bread-riots. By one o'clock all the bakers had closed their shops in the outer faubourg. There had been a run upon them, because a decree had been issued in the morning forbidding flour to be sold, and requisitioning all the biscuits in stock. Government immediately placarded a declaration that bread was not going to be requisitioned, and the explanation of the morning's decree is that flour and not corn has run short, but that new steam-mills are being erected to meet the difficulty. _La Vérité_, a newspaper usually well informed, says that for some days past the flour which had been stored in the town by M. Clément Duvernois has been exhausted, and that we are now living on the corn and meal which was introduced at the last moment from the neighbouring departments. It gives the following calculation of our resources--flour three weeks, corn three months, salt meat fifteen days, horse two months. The mistake of all these calculations seems to be that they do not take into account the fact that more bread or more corn will be eaten when they become the sole means of providing for the population. Thus the daily return of flour sold in Paris is about one-third above the average. The reason is simple, and yet it seems to occur to no one. French people, more particularly the poorer classes, can exist upon much less than Englishmen; but the prospect for any one blessed with a good appetite is by no means reassuring. In the Rue Blanche there is a butcher who sells dogs, cats, and rats. He has many customers, but it is amusing to see them sneak into the shop after carefully looking round to make sure that none of their acquaintances are near. A prejudice has arisen against rats, because the doctors say that their flesh is full of trichinæ. I own for my part I have a guilty feeling when I eat dog, the friend of man. I had a slice of a spaniel the other day, it was by no means bad, something like lamb, but I felt like a cannibal. Epicures in dog flesh tell me that poodle is by far the best, and recommend me to avoid bull dog, which is coarse and tasteless. I really think that dogs have some means of communicating with each other, and have discovered that their old friends want to devour them. The humblest of street curs growls when anyone looks at him. _Figaro_ has a story that a man was followed for a mile by a party of dogs barking fiercely at his heels. He could not understand to what their attentions were due, until he remembered that he had eaten a rat for his breakfast. The friend of another journalist, who ate a dog called Fox, says that whenever anyone calls out "Fox" he feels an irresistible impulse which forces him to jump up. As every Christmas a number of books are published containing stories about dogs as remarkable as they are stale, I recommend to their authors these two veracious tales. Their veracity is guaranteed by Parisian journalists. Can better evidence be required? We are already discussing who will be sent to Germany. We suppose that the army and the Mobiles, and perhaps the officers of the National Guard will have to make the journey. One thing, I do hope that the Prussians will convey across the Rhine all the Parisian journalists, and keep them there until they are able to pass an elementary examination in the literature, the politics, the geography, and the domestic economy of Germany. A little foreign travel would do these blind leaders of the blind a world of good, and on their return they would perhaps have cleared their minds of their favourite delusion that civilization is co-terminous with the frontiers of France. How M. Picard provides for the financial requirements of his colleagues is a mystery. The cost of the siege amounts in hard cash to about £20,000,000. To meet the daily draw on the exchequer no public loan has been negotiated, and nothing is raised by taxation. The monthly instalments which have been paid on the September loan cannot altogether amount to very much, consequently the greater portion of this large sum can only have been obtained by a loan from the bank and by _bons de trésor_ (exchequer bills). What the proportion between the bank loan and the _bons de trésor_ in circulation is I am unable to ascertain. M. Picard, like all finance ministers, groans daily over the cost of the prolongation of the siege, and it certainly appears a very doubtful question whether France will really benefit by Paris living at its expense for another month. Military matters remain _in statu quo_. The army is camped in the wood of Vincennes. The forts occasionally fire. The Prussians seem to be of opinion that our next sortie will be in the plain of Genevilliers, as they are working hard on their fortifications along their lines between St. Denis and St. Cloud, and they have replaced the levies of the smaller States by what we call here "real" Prussians. Our engineer officers consider that the Prussians have three lines of investment, the first comparatively weak, the second composed of strategical lines, by which a force of 40,000 men can be brought on any point within two hours; the third consisting of redoubts, which would prevent artillery getting by them. To invest a large town, say our officers, is not so difficult a task as it would appear at first sight. Artillery can only move along roads, and consequently all that is necessary is to occupy the roads solidly. General Blanchard has been removed from his command, and is to be employed in the Third Army under Vinoy. His dispute with Ducrot arose from a remark which the latter made respecting officers who did not remain with their men after a battle; and as Blanchard had been in Paris the day before, he took this general stricture to himself. Personalities of a very strong nature were exchanged between the two warriors, and it was thought well that henceforward they should, as much as possible, be kept apart. General Favé also, who commanded the redoubt near Joinville, which arrested the advance of the Prussians on the second battle of Villiers, has "had words." It appears that he declined to obey an order which was forwarded to him, on the ground of its absurdity, saying that he was responsible to his conscience. Indiscipline has been the curse of the French army since the commencement of the war, and it will continue to be so to the end. During the siege there have been many individual traits of heroism, but the armed force has been little better than a mob, and Trochu has not had the moral courage to enforce his will on his generals. Ducrot says that he is determined to take the war battalions of the National Guards under fire at the next sortie, but whether he will succeed remains to be seen. In these marching battalions there are undoubtedly many brave men, but both officers and soldiers are inexperienced, and when they see men falling before them, struck down by an invisible enemy, they lose all presence of mind. I do not think, as far as regards the Parisians, Count Bismarck is right in his opinion that the French will for many years to come attempt to reverse the verdict of the present war. The Parisian bourgeois is fond of saving money. As long as war meant a military promenade of the army across the Rhine, followed by a triumphal entry into Paris, he was by no means averse to it, for he considered that a French victory reflected itself on him, and made him a hero in the eyes of the world. Now, however, that he has discovered that there is a reverse to this picture, and that it may very possibly mean ruin to himself, he will be very cautious before he again risks the hazard of the die. Should the disasters of France result in the emancipation of the provinces from the rule of Paris, they will be a positive benefit to the nation. If the thirty-eight million Frenchmen outside Paris are such fools as to allow themselves to be ruled by the two million amiable, ignorant, bragging humbugs who are within it, France will most deservedly cease to be a power of Europe. If this country is to recover from the ruin in which it is overwhelmed it is absolutely essential that Paris should cease to be its political capital, and that the Parisians should not have a greater share in moulding its future policy than they are numerically entitled to. CHAPTER XIV. _December 18th._ Prisoners have before now endeavoured to while away their long hours of captivity by watching spiders making their webs. I can understand this. In the dreary monotony of this dreariest of sieges a spider would be an event. But alas, the spider is outside, and we are the flies caught in his toils. Never did time hang so heavily on human beings as it hangs on us. Every day seems to have twice the usual number of hours. I have ceased to wind up my watch for many a week. I got tired of looking at it; and whether it is ten in the morning or two in the afternoon is much the same to me; almost everyone has ceased to shave; they say that a razor so near their throats would be too great a temptation. Some have married to avoid active service, others to pass the time. "When I knew that there was an army between my wife and myself," observed a cynic to me yesterday, "I rejoiced, but even the society of my wife would be better than this." There is a hideous old woman, like unto one of Macbeth's witches, who makes my bed. I had a horrible feeling that some day or other I should marry her, and I have been considerably relieved by discovering that she has a husband and several olive branches. Here is my day. In the morning the boots comes to call me. He announces the number of deaths which have taken place in the hotel during the night. If there are many he is pleased, as he considers it creditable to the establishment. He then relieves his feelings by shaking his fist in the direction of Versailles, and exit growling "Canaille de Bismarck." I get up. I have breakfast--horse, _café au lait_--the _lait_ chalk and water--the portion of horse about two square inches of the noble quadruped. Then I buy a dozen newspapers, and after having read them, discover that they contain nothing new. This brings me to about eleven o'clock. Friends drop in, or I drop in on friends. We discuss how long it is to last--if friends are French we agree that we are sublime. At one o'clock get into the circular railroad, and go to one or other of the city gates. After a discussion with the National Guards on duty, pass through. Potter about for a couple of hours at the outposts; try with glass to make out Prussians; look at bombs bursting; creep along the trenches; and wade knee deep in mud through the fields. The Prussians, who have grown of late malevolent even toward civilians, occasionally send a ball far over one's head. They always fire too high. French soldiers are generally cooking food. They are anxious for news, and know nothing about what is going on. As a rule they relate the episode of some _combat d'avantposte_ which took place the day before. The episodes never vary. 5 P.M.--Get back home; talk to doctors about interesting surgical operations; then drop in upon some official to interview him about what is doing. Official usually first mysterious, then communicative, not to say loquacious, and abuses most people except himself. 7 P.M.--Dinner at a restaurant; conversation general; almost everyone in uniform. Still the old subjects--How long will it last? Why does not Gambetta write more clearly? How sublime we are; what a fool everyone else is. Food scanty, but peculiar. At Voisins to-day the bill of fare was ass, horse, and English wolf from the Zoological Garden. A Scotchman informed me that this latter was a fox of his native land, and patriotically gorged himself with it. I tried it, and not being a Scotchman, found it horrible, and fell back upon the patient ass. After dinner, potter on the Boulevards under the dispiriting gloom of petroleum; go home and read a book. 12 P.M.--Bed. They nail up the coffins in the room just over mine every night, and the tap, tap, tap, as they drive in the nails, is the pleasing music which lulls me to sleep. Now, I ask, after having endured this sort of thing day after day for three months, can I be expected to admire Geist, Germany, or Mr. Matthew Arnold? I sigh for a revolution, for a bombardment, for an assault, for anything which would give us a day's excitement. I enclose you Gambetta's latest pigeon despatch. His style is so grandiloquently vague that we can make neither head nor tail of it. We cannot imagine what has become of Aurelles de Paladine and of the army of Kératry. The optimists say that Gambetta means that Bourbaki and Chanzy have surrounded Frederick Charles; the pessimists, that Frederick Charles has got between them. The general feeling seems to be that the provinces are doing more than was expected of them, but that they will fail to succour us. Here some of the newspapers urge Trochu to make a sortie, in order to prevent reinforcements being sent to Frederick Charles, others deprecate it as a useless waste of life. General Clément Thomas, who succeeded Tamisier about a month ago in the command of the National Guards, seems to be the right man in the right place. He is making great efforts to convert these citizens into soldiers, and stands no nonsense. Not a day passes without some patriotic captain being tried by court-martial for drunkenness or disobedience. If a battalion misbehaves itself, it is immediately gibbeted in the order of the day. The newspapers cry out against this. They say that Clément Thomas forgets that the National Guards are his children, and that dirty linen ought to be washed at home. "If this goes on, posterity," they complain, "will say that we were little more than a mob of undisciplined drunkards." I am afraid that Clément Thomas will not have time to carry out his reforms; had they been commenced earlier, there is no reason why Paris should not have had on foot 100,000 good troops. Mr. Herbert tells me that there are now above 1,000 persons on the English fund, and that every week there are about 30 new applications. Unknown and mysterious English emerge from holes and corners every day. Mr. Herbert thinks that there cannot be less than 3,000 of them still in Paris, almost all destitute. The French Government sold him a short time ago 30,000 lbs. of rice, and this, with the chocolate and Liebig which he has in hand will last him for about three weeks. If the siege goes on longer it is difficult to know how all these poor people will live. Funds are not absolutely wanting, but it is doubtful whether even with money it will be possible to buy anything beyond bread, if that. Mr. Herbert thinks that it would be most desirable to send, if possible, a provision of portable food, such as Liebig's extract of meat, as near to Paris as possible; so that, whenever the siege ceases, it may at once be brought into the town, as otherwise it is very probable that many of these English will die of starvation before food can reach them. It does seem to me perfectly monstrous that for years we should have, in addition to an Embassy, kept a Consul here, and that he should have been allowed to go off on leave to some watering place at the very moment at which his services were most required. When the Embassy left, a sort of deputy-consul remained here; but with a perfect ingenuity of stupidity, the Foreign-office officials ordered this gentleman to withdraw with Mr. Wodehouse, the secretary. Heine said of his fellow-countrymen, "they are born stupid, and a bureaucratic education makes them wicked." Had he been an Englishman instead of a Prussian he would have said the same, and with even more truth, of certain persons who, not for worlds would I name, but who do not reside 100 miles from Downing-street. _December 21st._ When the Fenians in the United States meditate a raid upon Canada, they usually take very great care to allow their intentions to be known. Our sorties are much like these Hibernian surprises. If the Prussians do not know when we are about to attack, they cannot complain that it is our fault. The "Après vous, Messieurs les Anglais," still forms the chivalrous but somewhat naïf tactics of the Gauls. On Sunday, as a first step to military operations, the gates of the city were closed to all unprovided with passes. On Monday a grand council of generals and admirals took place at the Palais Royal. Yesterday, and all last night, drums were beating, trumpets were blowing, and troops were marching through the streets. The war battalions of the National Guard, in their new uniforms, spick and span, were greeted with shouts, to which they replied by singing a song, the chorus of which is "Vive la guerre, Piff-Paff," and which has replaced the "Marseillaise." As the ambulances had been ordered to be ready to start at six in the morning, I presumed that business would commence at an early hour, and I ordered myself to be called at 5.30. I was called, and got out of my bed, but, alas for noble resolutions! having done so, I got back again into it and remained between the sheets quietly enjoying that sleep which is derived from the possession of a good conscience, and a still better digestion, until the clock struck nine. It was not until past eleven o'clock that I found myself on the outside of the gate of La Villette, advancing, as Grouchy should have done at Waterloo, in the direction of the sound of the cannon. From the gate a straight road runs to Le Bourget, having the Fort of Aubervilliers on the right, and St. Denis on the left. Between the fort and the gate there were several hundred ambulance waggons, and above a thousand "brancardiers," stamping their feet and blowing on their fingers to keep themselves warm. In the fields on each side of the road there were numerous regiments of Mobiles drawn up ready to advance if required. Le Bourget, everyone said, had been taken in the morning, our artillery was on ahead, and we were carrying everything before us, so towards Le Bourget I advanced. About a mile from Le Bourget, there is a cross-road running to St. Denis through Courneuve. Here I found the barricade which had formed our most advanced post removed. Le Bourget seemed to be on fire. Shells were falling into it from the Prussian batteries, and, as well as I could make out, our forts were shelling it too. Our artillery was on a slight rise to the right of Le Bourget, in advance of Drancy; and in the fields between Drancy and this rise, heavy masses of troops were drawn up in support. Officers assured me that Le Bourget was still in our possession, and that if I felt inclined to go there, there was nothing to prevent me. I confess I am not one of those persons who snuff up the battle from afar, and feel an irresistible desire to rush into the middle of it. To be knocked on the head by a shell, merely to gratify one's curiosity, appears to me to be the utmost height of absurdity. Those who put themselves between the hammer and the anvil, come off generally second best, and I determined to defer my visit to the interesting village before me until the question whether it was to belong to Gaul or Teuton had been definitely decided. So I turned off to the left and went to St. Denis. Here everybody was in the streets, asking everybody else for news. The forts all round it were firing heavily. On the Place before the Cathedral there was a great crowd of men, women, and children. The sailors, who are quartered here in great numbers, said that they had carried Le Bourget early in the morning, but that they had been obliged to fall back, with the loss of about a third of their number. Most of them had hatchets by their sides, and they attack a position much as if they were boarding a ship. About 100 prisoners had been brought into the town in the morning, as well as two Frères Chrétiens, who had been wounded, and for whom the greatest sympathy was expressed. Little seemed to be known of what was passing. "The Prussians will be here in an hour," shouted one man; "The Prussians are being exterminated," shouted another. "What is this?" cried the crowd, as Monseigneur Bauer, the bishop _in partibus infidelium_ of some place or other, now came riding along with his staff. He held up his two fingers, and turned his hand right and left. His pastoral blessing was, however, but a half success. The women crossed themselves, and the men muttered "farceur." The war which is now raging has produced many oddities, but none to my mind equal to this bishop. His great object is to see and be seen, and most thoroughly does he succeed in his object. He is a short, stout man, dressed in a cassock, a pair of jack-boots with large spurs, and a hat such as you would only see at the opera. On his breast he wears a huge star. Round his neck is a chain, with a great golden cross attached to it; and on his fingers, over his gloves, he wears gorgeous rings. The trappings of his horse are thickly sprinkled with Geneva crosses. By his side rides a standard-bearer, bearing aloft a flag with a red cross. Eight aides-de-camp, arrayed in a sort of purple and gold fancy uniform, follow him, and the _cortége_ is closed by two grooms in unimpeachable tops. In this guise, and followed by this état major, he is a conspicuous figure upon a field of battle, and produces much the same effect as the head of a circus riding into a town on a piebald horse, surrounded by clowns and pets of the ballet. He was the confessor of the Empress, and is now the aumônier of the Press; but why he wears jack-boots, why he capers about on a fiery horse, why he has a staff of aides-de-camp, and why he has two grooms, are things which no one seems to know. He patronises generals and admirals, doctors and commissariat officers, and they submit to be patronised by him. Half-priest, half-buffoon, something of a Friar Tuck and something of a Louis XV. abbé, he is a sort of privileged person, who by the mere force of impudence has made his way in the world. Most English girls in their teens fall in love with a curate and a cavalry officer. Monseigneur Bauer, who combines in himself the unctuous curate and the dashing dragoon, is adored by the fair sex in Paris. He knows how to adapt his conversation to the most opposite kind of persons, and I should not be surprised if he becomes a Cardinal before he dies. The arrival of Dr. Ricord was the next event. He was in a basket pony-chaise, driving two ponies not much larger than rats. A pole about twelve feet high, bearing the flag of the Geneva Cross, was stuck beside him, and it was knocking against the telegraph wires which ran along the street. The eminent surgeon was arrayed in a long coat buttoned up to his chin and coming down to his feet. On his head was a kepi which was far too large for him. He looked like one of those wooden figures of Noah, when that patriarch with his family is lodged in a child's ark. Having inspected the bishop and the doctor with respectful admiration, and instituted a search for some bread and wine, I thought it was time to see what was going on outside. On emerging from St. Denis everything except the guns of the forts appeared quiet. I had not, however, gone far in the direction of Le Bourget, which was still burning, when I was stopped by a regiment marching towards St. Denis, some of the officers of which told me that the village had been retaken by the Prussians--the artillery, too, which I had left on the rise before Drancy, had disappeared. At a farmyard close by Drancy I saw Ducrot and his staff. The General had his hood drawn over his head, and both he and his aide-de-camp looked so glum, that I thought it just as well not to congratulate him upon the operations of the day. In and behind Drancy there were a large number of troops, who I heard were to camp there during the night. None seemed exactly to know what had happened. The officers and soldiers were not in good spirits. On my return into Paris, however, I found the following proclamation of the Government posted on the walls:--"2 p.m.--The attack commenced this morning by a great deployment from Mont Valérien to Nogent, the combat has commenced and continues everywhere, with favourable chances for us.--Schmitz." The people on the Boulevards seem to imagine that a great victory has been gained. When one asks them where? They answer "everywhere." I can only answer myself for what occurred at Le Bourget. I hear that Vinoy has occupied Nogent, on the north of the Marne; the resistance he encountered could not, however, have been very great, as only seven wounded have been brought into this hotel, and only one to the American ambulance. General Trochu announced this morning that 100 battalions of the National Guards are outside the walls, and I shall be curious to learn how they conduct themselves under fire. Far be it from me to say that they will not fight like lions. If they do, however, it will surprise most of the military men with whom I have spoken on the subject. As yet all they have done has been to make frequent "pacts with death," to perform unauthorised strategical movements to the rear whenever they have been sent to the front, to consume much liquor, to pillage houses, and--to put it poetically--toy with Amaryllis in the trench, or with the tangles of Nearas' hair. Their General, Clément Thomas, is doing his best to knock them into shape, but I am afraid that it is too late. There are cases in which, in defiance of the proverb, it is too late to mend. Officers in a position to know, assure me that no really serious sortie will be made, but that after two or three days of the sham fights, such as took place to-day, the troops will quietly return into Paris. The object of General Trochu is, they say, to amuse the Parisians, and if he can by hook or by crook get the National Guard under the mildest of fires, to celebrate their heroism, in order that they may return the compliment. I cannot, however, believe that no attempt will be made to fight a battle; the troops are now massed from St. Denis to the Marne; within two hours they can all be brought to any point along this line, and I should imagine that either to-morrow or the next day, something will be done in the direction of the Forest of Bondy. Trochu, it is daily felt more strongly, even by calm temperate men, is not the right man in the right place. He is a respectable literary man, utterly unfit to cope with the situation. His great aim seems now to be to curry favour with the Parisian population by praising in all his proclamations the National Guards, and ascribing to them a courage of which as yet they have given no proof. This, of course, injures him with the Line and the Mobiles, who naturally object to their being called upon to do all the fighting, whilst others are lauded for it. The officers all swear by Vinoy, and hold the military capacity both of Trochu and Ducrot very cheap. In the desperate strait to which Paris is reduced, something more than a man estimable for his private virtues, and his literary attainments is required. Trochu, as we are frequently told, gave up his brougham in order to adopt his nephews. Richard III. killed his; but these are domestic questions, only interesting to nephews, and it by no means follows that Richard III. would not have been a better defender of Paris than Trochu has proved himself to be. His political aspirations and his military combinations are in perpetual conflict. He is ever sacrificing the one to the other, and, consequently, he fails both as a general and as a statesman. In order to form an opinion with regard to the condition of the poorer classes, I went yesterday into some of the back slums in the neighbourhood of the Boulevard de Clichy. The distress is terrible. Women and children, half starved, were seated at their doorsteps, with hardly clothes to cover them decently. They said that, as they had neither firewood nor coke, they were warmer out-of-doors than in-doors. Many of the National Guards, instead of bringing their money home to their families, spent it in drink; and there are many families, composed entirely of women and children, who, in this land of bureaucracy, are apparently left to starve whilst it is decided to what category they belong. The Citizen Mottu, the Ultra-Democratic Mayor, announced that in his arrondissement all left-handed marriages are to be regarded as valid, and the left-handed spouses of the National Guards are to receive the allowance which is granted to the legitimate wives of these warriors. But a new difficulty has arisen. Left-handed polygamy prevails to a great extent among the Citizen Mottu's admirers. Is a lady who has five husbands entitled to five rations, and is a lady who only owns the fifth of a National Guard to have only one-fifth of a ration? These are questions which the Citizen Mottu is now attempting to solve. As for the future, he has solved the matrimonial question by declining to celebrate marriages, because, he says, this bond is an insult upon those who prefer to ignore it. As regards marriage, consequently--and that alone--his arrondissement resembles the kingdom of heaven. I went to see, yesterday, what was going on in the house of a friend of mine in the Avenue de l'Impératrice, who has left Paris. The servant who was in charge told me that up there they had been unable to obtain bread for three days, and that the last time that he had presented his ration ticket he had been given about half an inch of cheese. "How do you live, then?" I asked. After looking mysteriously round to see that no one was watching us, he took me down into the cellar, and pointed to some meat in barrel. "It is half a horse," he said, in the tone of a man who is showing some one the corpse of his murdered victim. "A neighbouring coachman killed him, and we salted him down and divided it." Then he opened a closet in which sat a huge cat. "I am fattening her up for Christmas-day, we mean to serve her up surrounded with mice, like sausages," he observed. Many Englishmen regard it as a religious duty to eat turkey at Christmas, but fancy fulfilling this duty by devouring cat. It is like an Arab in the desert, who cannot wash his hands when he addresses his evening prayer, and makes shift with sand. This reminds me that some antiquarian has discovered that in eating horse we are only reverting to the habits of the ancient Gauls. Before the Christian religion was introduced into the country, the Druids used to sacrifice horses, which were afterwards eaten. Christianity put an end to these sacrifices, and horse-flesh then went out of fashion. _La France_ thus speaks of the last despatch of Gambetta:--"At length we have received official news from Tours. We read the despatch feverishly, then we read it a second time with respect, with admiration, with enthusiasm. We are asked our opinion respecting it. Before answering, we feel an irresistible impulse to take off our hat and to cry 'Vive la France.'" The _Electeur Libre_ is still more enraptured with the situation. It particularly admires the petroleum lamp, so different, it says, to those orgies of light, which under the tyrant, in the form of gas, gave a fictitious vitality to Paris. The _Combat_ points out that no fires have broken out since September 4--a coincidence which is ascribed to the existence since that date of a Republican form of government. I recommend this curious phenomenon to insurance companies. The newspapers, one and all, are furious, because they hear that the Prussians contest our two victories at Villiers. "How singular," observes the _Figaro_, with plaintive morality, "is this rage, this necessity for lying." It is notorious that, having gained two glorious victories, we returned into Paris to repose on our laurels, and I must beg the Prussians not to be so mean as to contest the fact. _December 23rd._ Since Wednesday the troops--Line, Mobiles, and marching battalions of the National Guard--have remained outside the enceinte. There has been a certain amount of spade work at Drancy, but beyond this absolutely nothing. The cold is very severe. This afternoon I was outside in the direction of Le Bourget. The soldiers had lit large fires to warm themselves. Some of them were lodged in empty houses, but most of them had only their little _tentes d'abri_ to shelter them. The sentinels were stamping their feet in the almost vain endeavour to keep their blood in circulation. There have been numerous frost-bitten cases. When it is considered that almost all of these troops might, without either danger to the defence, or without compromising the offensive operations, have been marched back into Paris, and quartered in the barracks which have been erected along the outer line of Boulevards, it seems monstrous cruelty to keep them freezing outside. The operations, however, on Wednesday are regarded as very far short of a success. General Trochu does not venture, in the state of public opinion, to bring the troops back into Paris, and thus confess a failure. The ambulances are ordered out to-morrow morning; but I cannot help thinking that the series of operations which were with great beating of drums announced to have commenced on Wednesday, will be allowed gradually to die out, without anything further taking place. The National Guards are camped in the neighbourhood of Bondy and Rosny. They have again, greatly to the disgust of the Mobiles and Line, been congratulated in a general order upon their valorous bearing. As a matter of fact, there was a panic among these braves which nearly degenerated into a rout. Several battalions turned tail, under the impression that the Prussians were going to attack them. One battalion did not stop until it had found shelter within the walls of the town. General Trochu's attempt, for political ends, to force greatness upon these heroes, is losing him the goodwill of the army. On Wednesday and Thursday several regiments of the Line and of the Mobiles bitterly complained that they should always be ordered to the front to protect not only Paris but the National Guards. The marching battalions are composed of unmarried men between twenty-five and thirty-five, and why they should not be called upon to incur the same risks, and submit to the same discipline as the Mobiles, it is difficult to understand. We may learn from the experience of this siege that in war, armed citizens who decline to submit to the discipline of soldiers are worse than useless. The lesson, however, has not profited the Parisians. The following letter appears in the _Combat_, signed by the "adjoint" of the 13th arrondissement. The defence on the part of this municipal functionary of a marching battalion, which, at the outposts, broke into a church, and there parodied the celebration of the mass, is a gem in its way:-- "The marching companies of this battalion left Paris on the morning of the 16th to go to the outposts at Issy. The departure was what all departures of marching battalions must fatally be--copious and multiplied libations between parting friends, paternal handshakings in cabarets, patriotic and bacchic songs, loose and indecent choruses--in a word, the picturesque exhibition of all that arsenal of gaiety and courage which is the appanage of an ancient Gallic race. The old troopers, who pretend to govern us by the sword, do not approve of this joyous mode of regarding death; and all the writers whose pens are dipped in the ink of reaction and Jesuitism are eager to discover any eccentricity in which soldiers who are going under fire for the first time permit themselves to indulge. The Intendance, with that intelligence which characterises our military administrations, had put off the departure of the battalion for several hours. What were the men to do whilst they were kept waiting, except drink? This is what these brave fellows did. Mars, tired of Venus, sung at the companionship of Bacchus. If the God of Wine too well seconded the God of War, it is only water drinkers who can complain; it is not for us, Republicans of the past and of the future, to throw stones at good citizens in order to conceal the misconduct of the old Bonapartist Administration which still is charged with the care of our armies." General Blaise has been killed at Villa Evrard. The buildings, which go by this name, were occupied on Wednesday by General Vinoy's troops. In the night a number of Prussians, who had concealed themselves in the cellars, emerged, and a hand-to-hand fight took place. Some of the Prussians in the confusion got away, and some were killed. Several French officers who ran away and rushed in a panic into the presence of General Vinoy, who was at Fort Rosney, announcing that all was lost, are to be tried by Court Martial. The troops when they heard this were very indignant; but old Vinoy rode along the line, and told them that they might think what they pleased, but that he would have no cowards serving under him. Pity that he is not General-in-Chief. A curious new industry has sprung up in Paris. Letters supposed to be found in the pockets of dead Germans are in great request. There are letters from mothers, from sisters, and from the Gretchens who are, in the popular mind, supposed to adore warriors. Unless every corpse has half a dozen mothers, and was loved when in the flesh by a dozen sweethearts, many of these letters must be fabricated. They vary in their style very little. The German mothers give little domestic details about the life at home, and express the greatest dread lest their sons should fall victims to the valour of the Parisians, which is filling the Fatherland with terror and admiration. The Gretchens are all sentimental; they talk of their inner feelings like the heroines of third-rate novels, send the object of their affections cigars and stockings knitted by their own fair hands, and implore him to be faithful, and not forget, in the toils of some French syren, poor Gretchen. But what is more strange is that in the pocket of each corpse a reply is found which he has forgotten to post. In this reply the warrior tells a fearful tale of his own sufferings, and says that victory is impossible, because the National Guards are such an invincible band. The number of the wounded in my hotel has considerably diminished owing to the deaths among them. For the Société Internationale to have made it their central ambulance was a great mistake. Owing to the want of ventilation the simplest operations are usually fatal. Four out of five of those who have an arm or a leg amputated die of pyæmia. Now, as in the American tents four out of five recover; and as French surgeons are as skilful as American surgeons, the average mortality in the two ambulances is a crucial proof of the advantage of the American tent system. Under their tents there is perfect ventilation, and yet the air is not cold. If their plan were universally adopted in hospitals, it is probable that many lives which are now sacrificed to the gases which are generated from operations, and which find no exit from buildings of stone or brick, would be saved. "Our war," said an American surgeon to me the other day, "taught us that a large number of cubic inches of air is not enough for a sick man, but that the air must be perpetually renewed by ventilation." _December 24th._ The papers publish extracts from German newspapers which have been found in the pockets of the prisoners who were taken on Wednesday. The news from the provinces is not considered encouraging. Great stress is laid upon a proclamation addressed by King William to his troops on December 6, in which it is considered that there is evidence that the Prussians are getting tired of the war. We hear now, for the first time, that Prussia has "denounced" the Luxemburg Treaty of '67, and forgetting that the guarantee of neutrality with respect to these lotus-eaters was collective, and not joint and several, we anxiously ask whether England will not regard this as a _casus belli_. "As soon as Parliament assembles," says _La Vérité_, "that great statesman Disraeli will turn out Mr. Gladstone, and then our old ally will be restored to us." The _Gaulois_ observes that "the English journalists residing at Paris keep up the illusion that Paris must fall by sending to their journals false news, which is reproduced in the organs of Prussia." "These journalists," adds the _Gaulois_, "who are our guests, fail in those duties which circumstances impose upon them." Every correspondent residing abroad must be the guest, in a certain sense, of the country from which he is writing; but that this position should oblige him to square his facts to suit the wishes of his hosts appears to me a strange theory. Had I been M. Jules Favre, I confess that I should have turned out all foreign journalists at the commencement of the siege. He, however, expressed a wish that they should remain in Paris, and his fellow-citizens must not now complain that they decline to endorse the legend which, very probably, will be handed down to future generations of Frenchmen as the history of the siege of Paris. The Prussians will not raise the siege for anything either French or English journalists say. The Parisians themselves must perceive that the attempt to frighten their enemies away by drum-beating and trumpet-blowing has signally failed. Times have altered since Jericho. It is telling the Prussians nothing new to inform them that the National Guard are poor troops. For my part, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to learn some morning that the German armies round Paris had met with the fate which overwhelmed Sennacherib and his hosts. I should be delighted to be able to hope that the town will not eventually be forced to capitulate; but I cannot conceal from myself the truth that, if no succour comes from without, it must eventually fall. I blame the French journalists for perpetually drawing upon their imagination for their facts, and in their boasts of what France will do, not keeping within the bounds of probability; but I do not blame them for hoping against hope that their armies will be successful. I am ready to admit that the Parisians have shown a most stubborn tenacity, and that they have disappointed their enemies in not cutting each other's throats; but this is no reason why I should assert that they are sublime. After all, what is patriotism? The idea entertained by each nation that it is braver and better and wiser than the rest of the world. Does not every Englishman feel this to be true of his own countrymen? It is consequently not absurd that Frenchmen should think the same of themselves. The French are intensely patriotic--country with them is no abstraction. They moan over its ruin as though it were a human being, and far then be it from me to laugh at them for doing so. When, however, I find persons dressing themselves up in all the paraphernalia of war, visiting tombs and statues in order to register with due solemnity that they intend to die rather than yield, and when, after all this nonsense, these same persons decline to take their share in the common danger on the score that they have a mother, or a sister, or a wife, or a child, dependent upon them, and when month after month they drum and strut up and down the Boulevards, I consider that they are ridiculous, and I say so. When a man does a silly thing it is his own fault--not that of the person who chronicles it. Was it wise, for instance, of General Ducrot to announce a fortnight ago that he was about to lead his soldiers against the enemy, and that he himself intended either to conquer or die? Was it wise of General Trochu six weeks ago to issue a proclamation pledging himself to force the Prussians to raise the siege of Paris. The Prussians will have read these manifestoes, and they will form their own estimate respecting them. That I call them foolish does not "keep up illusions in Germany." The other day the members of an Ultra club, in the midst of a discussion respecting the existence of a divinity, determined to decide the question by a general scrimmage. I think that these patriots might have been better employed. It does not follow, however, that I do not regret that they were not better employed. The siege of Paris is in the hands of General Moltke, and the _Gaulois_ may depend upon it that this wary strategist is not at all likely to give up the task by any number of journalists informing him that he is certain to fail. I have got a cold, so I have not been out this morning. I hear that some of the troops have come in from Aubervilliers, and several regiments have marched by my windows. At Neuilly-sur-Marne and Bondy, it is said, earthworks are being thrown up; and it is supposed that Chelles will, as the Americans say, be the objective point of any movement which may take place in that direction. The _Patrie_ has been suspended for three days for alluding to military operations. It did more than allude, it ventured to doubt the wisdom of our generals. As many other journals have done the same I do not understand why the _Patrie_ should have been singled out for vengeance. CHAPTER XV. _December 25th._ Real Christmas weather--that is to say, the earth is as hard as a brickbat, and the wind freezes one to the very marrow. To the rich man, with a good coal fire in his grate, turkey, roast beef, plum pudding, and mince pies on his table, and his family gorging themselves on the solid eatables, a frost at Christmas is very pleasant. Poor people cowering in their rags before the door of a union, cold, hungry, and forlorn, or munching their dry bread in some cheerless garret, may not perhaps so fully appreciate its advantages; but then we all know that poor people never are contented, and seldom understand the fitness of things. Here in Paris, the numbed soldiers out in the open fields, and the women and children, who have no fires and hardly any food, bitterly complain of the "seasonable" weather. With plenty of money, with warm clothes, and a good house, a hard frost has its charms, without them it is not quite so agreeable. For my part I confess that I never have seen a paterfamilias with his coat tails raised, basking himself before his fire, and prating about the delights of winter, and the healthy glow which is caused by a sharp frost, without feeling an irresistible desire to transplant him stark naked to the highest peak of Mont Blanc, in order to teach by experience what winter means to thousands of his fellow-creatures. We are not having a "merry Christmas," and we are not likely to have a happy new year. Christmas is not here the great holiday of the year, as it is in England. Still, everyone in ordinary times tries to have a better dinner than usual, and usually where there are children in a family some attempt is made to amuse them. Among the bourgeoisie they are told to put their shoes in the grate on Christmas-eve, and the next morning some present is found in them, which is supposed to have been left during the night by the Infant Jesus. Since the Empire introduced English ways here, plum-pudding and mincepies have been eaten, and even Christmas-trees have flourished. This year these festive shrubs, as an invention of the detested foe, have been rigidly tabooed. Plum-puddings and mincepies, too, will appear on few tables. In order to comfort the children, the girls are to be given soup tickets to distribute to beggars, and the boys are to have their choice between French and German wooden soldiers. The former will be treasured up, the latter will be subjected to fearful tortures. Even the midnight mass, which is usually celebrated on Christmas-eve, took place in very few churches last night. We have, indeed, too much on our hands to attend either to fasts or festivals, although in the opinion of the _Univers_, the last sortie would have been far more successful had it taken place on the 7th of the month, the anniversary of the promulgation of the Immaculate Conception. Among fine people New Year's-day is more of a fête than Christmas. Its approach is regarded with dark misgivings by many, for every gentleman is expected to make a call upon all the ladies of his acquaintance, and to leave them a box of sugarplums. This is a heavy tax upon those who have more friends than money--300fr. is not considered an extraordinary sum to spend upon these bonbonnières. A friend of mine, indeed, assured me that he yearly spent 1000fr., but then he was a notorious liar, so very possibly he was not telling the truth. "Thank Heaven," says the men, "at least we shall get off the sugarplum tax this year." But the ladies are not to be done out of their rights this way, and they throw out very strong hints that if sugarplums are out of season, anything solid is very much in season. A dandy who is known to have a stock of sausages, is overwhelmed with compliments by his fair friends. A good leg of mutton would, I am sure, win the heart of the proudest beauty, and by the gift of half-a-dozen potatoes you might make a friend for life. The English here are making feeble attempts to celebrate Christmas correctly. In an English restaurant two turkeys had been treasured up for the important occasion, but unfortunately a few days ago they anticipated their fate, and most ill-naturedly insisted upon dying. One fortunate Briton has got ten pounds of camel, and has invited about twenty of his countrymen to aid him in devouring this singular substitute for turkey. Another gives himself airs because he has some potted turkey, which is solemnly to be consumed to-day spread on bread. I am myself going to dine with the correspondent of one of your contemporaries. On the same floor as himself lives a family who left Paris before the commencement of the siege. Necessity knows no law; so the other day he opened their door with a certain amount of gentle violence, and after a diligent search, discovered in the larder two onions, some potatoes, and a ham. These, with a fowl, which I believe has been procured honestly, are to constitute our Christmas dinner. It is very strange what opposite opinions one hears about the condition of the poor. Some persons say that there is no distress, others that it cannot be greater. The fact is, the men were never better off, the women and children never so badly off. Every man can have enough to eat and too much to drink by dawdling about with a gun. As his home is cold and cheerless, when he is not on duty he lives at a pothouse. He brings no money to his wife and children, who consequently only just keep body and soul together by going to the national cantines, where they get soup, and to the Mairies, where they occasionally get an order for bread. Almost all their clothes are in pawn, so how it is they do not positively die of cold I cannot understand. As for fuel even the wealthy find it difficult to procure it. The Government talks of cutting down all the trees and of giving up all the clothes in pawn; but, with its usual procrastination, it puts off both these measures from day to day. This morning all the firewood was requisitioned. At a meeting of the Mayors of Paris two days ago, it was stated that above 400,000 persons are in receipt of parish relief. The troops outside Paris are gradually being brought back inside. A trench has been dug almost continuously from Drancy to Aubervilliers, and an attempt has been made to approach Le Bourget by flying sap. The ground, is, however, so hard, that it is much like attempting to cut through a rock. To my mind the whole thing is merely undertaken in order to persuade the Parisians that something is being done. For the moment they are satisfied. "The Prussians," they say, "have besieged us; we are besieging the Prussians now." What they will say when they find that even these operations are suspended, I do not know. The troops have suffered terribly from the cold during these last few days. Twelve degrees of frost "centigrade" is no joke. I was talking to some officers of Zouaves who had been twenty hours at the outposts. They said that during all this time they had not ventured to light a fire, and that this morning their wine and bread were both frozen. In the tents there are small stoves, but they give out little warmth. Even inside the deserted houses it is almost as cold as outside. The windows and the doors have been converted into firewood, and the wind whistles through them. The ambulance waggons of the Press alone have brought in nearly 500 men frost-bitten, or taken suddenly ill. From the batteries at Bondy and Avron there has been some sharp firing, the object of which has been to oblige the Prussians to keep inside the Forest of Bondy, and to disquiet them whenever they take to digging anywhere outside it. The plain of Avron is a very important position as it commands the whole country round. The end of Le Bourget, towards Paris appears entirely deserted. An ambulance cart went up to a barricade this morning which crosses the main street, when a Prussian sentinel emerged and ordered it to go back immediately. Behind Le Bourget, a little to the right, is a heavy Prussian battery at Le Blanc Mesnel which entirely commands it. The Line and the Mobiles bitterly complain that they, and not the marching battalions, are exposed to every danger. The soldiers, and particularly those of the Mobiles, say that if they are to go on fighting for Paris, the Parisians must take their fair share in the battles. As for the marching battalions, they are, as soldiers, worth absolutely nothing. The idea of their assaulting, with any prospect of success, any positions held by artillery, is simply ludicrous. The system of dividing an army into different categories, is subjected to a different discipline, is fatal for any united offensive operations. It is to be hoped that Trochu will at last perceive this, and limit his efforts to keeping the Prussians out of Paris, and harassing them by frequent and partial sorties. I hear that General Ducrot wanted to attempt a second assault of Le Bourget, but this was overruled at a council of war which was held on Thursday. _December 26th._ The _Journal Officiel_ announces that military operations are over for the present, owing to the cold, and that the army is to be brought inside Paris, leaving outside only those necessary for the defence. This is a wise measure, although somewhat tardily taken. The Parisians will no doubt be very indignant; for if they do not like fighting themselves, they insist that the Line and the Mobiles should have no repose. M. Felix Pyat gives the following account of Christmas in England:--"Christmas is the great English fête--the Protestant Carnival--an Anglo-Saxon gala--a gross, pagan, monstrous orgie--a Roman feast, in which the vomitorium is not wanting. And the eaters of 'bif' laugh at us for eating frogs! Singular nation! the most Biblical and the most material of Europe--the best Christians and the greatest gluttons. They cannot celebrate a religious fête without eating. On Holy Friday they eat buns, and for this reason they call it Good Friday. Good, indeed, for them, if not for God. They pronounce messe mass, and boudin pudding. Their pudding is made of suet, sugar, currants, and tea. The mess is boiled for fifteen days, sometimes for six months; then it is considered delicious. No pudding, no Christmas. The repast is sacred, and the English meditate over it for six months in advance--they are the only people who put money in a savings'-bank for a dinner. Poor families economise for months, and take a shilling to a publican every Saturday of the year, in return for which on Christmas Day they gorge themselves, and are sick for a week after. This is their religion--thus they adore their God." M. Pyat goes on to describe the butchers' shops before Christmas; one of them, he says, is kept by a butcher clergyman, and over his door is a text. The _Gaulois_ gives an extract of a letter of mine from a German paper, in which I venture to assert that the Parisians do not know that Champigny is within the range of the guns of their forts, and accompanies it with the following note:--"The journal which has fallen into our hands has been torn, and consequently we are unable to give the remainder of this letter. What we have given is sufficient to prove that our Government is tolerating within our walls correspondents who furnish the enemy with daily information. What they say is absurd, perhaps, but it ought not to be allowed." Does the _Gaulois_ really imagine that the German generals would have raised the siege in despair had they not learnt that, as a rule, the Parisians do not study the map of the environs of the city? Old Vinoy has issued an order of the day denouncing the conduct of the soldiers and officers who ran away when the Prussians issued from the cellars at Villa Evrard. It requires a great deal of courage just now to praise the Line, and to find fault with the National Guard. But General Vinoy is a thorough soldier, and stands no nonsense. If anything happens to Trochu, and he assumes the command-in-chief, I suspect the waverers of the National Guard will have to choose between fighting and taking off their uniforms. The General is above seventy--a hale and hearty old man; sticks to his profession, and utterly ignores politics. He has a most unsurrendering face, but I do not think that he would either hold out vain hopes to the Parisians, or flatter their vanity. He would tell them the truth, and with perfect indifference as to the consequences. He is a favourite both with the soldiers and the officers, and hardly conceals his contempt for the military capacity of Trochu, or the military qualities of Trochu's civic heroes. _December 28th._ The proverbial obstinacy of the donkey has been introduced into our systems, owing to the number of these long-eared quadrupeds which we have eaten. We "don't care" for anything. We don't care if the armies of the provinces have been beaten, we don't care if we have been forced to suspend offensive operations, we don't care if the Prussians bombard us, we don't care if eventually we have to capitulate. We have ceased to reason or to calculate. We are in the don't-care mood. How long this will last with so impulsive a people it is impossible to say. Our stomachs have become omnivorous; they digest anything now; and even if in the end they be invited to digest the leek, as we shall not be called upon to eat this vegetable either to-morrow or the next day, we don't care. The cold is terrible, and the absence of firewood causes great suffering. The Government is cutting down trees as fast as possible, and by the time it thaws there will be an abundance of fuel. In the meantime it denounces in the _Official Journal_ the bands of marauders who issue forth and cut down trees, park benches, and garden palings. I must say that I don't blame them. When the thermometer is as low as it is now, and when there is no fire in the grate, the sanctity of property as regards fuel becomes a mere abstraction. Yesterday the Prussians unmasked several batteries, and opened fire against the plateau of Avron and the eastern forts. They fired above 3000 shells, but little damage was done. We had only thirty-eight killed and wounded. One shell fell into a house where eight people were dining and killed six of them. The firing is going on to-day, but not so heavily. The newspapers seem to be under the impression that we ought to rejoice greatly over this cannonade. Some say that it proves that the Prussians have given up in despair the idea of reducing us by famine; others that it is a clear evidence that Prince Frederick Charles has been beaten by General Chanzy. On Monday, Admiral La Roncière received a letter from a general whose name could not be deciphered about an exchange of prisoners. In this letter there was an allusion to a defeat which our troops in the North had sustained. But this we consider a mere wile of our insidious foe. The _Gaulois_ continues its crusade against the English Correspondents in Paris. They are all, it says, animated by a hostile feeling towards France. "We give them warning, and we hope that they will profit by it." Now, we know pretty well what French journalists term a hostile feeling towards their country. We were told at the commencement of the war that the English press was sold to Prussia, because it declined to believe in the Imperial bulletins of victories. That a correspondent should simply tell the truth, without fear or favour, never enters into the mind of a Gaul. For my part, I confess that my sympathies are with France; and I am glad to hear, on so good authority, that these sympathies have not biassed my recital of events. Notwithstanding the denunciations of the _Gaulois_, I have not the remotest intention to describe the National Guards as a force of any real value for offensive operations. If, as the _Gaulois_ insists, they are more numerous and better armed than the Prussians, and if the French artillery is superior to the Prussians, they will be able to raise the siege; and then I will acknowledge that I have been wrong in my estimate of them. As yet they have only blown their own trumpets, as though this would cause the Prussian redoubts, like the walls of Jericho, to fall down. I make no imputation on their individual courage; but I say that this siege proves once more the truth of the fact, that unless citizen soldiers consent to merge for a time the citizen in the soldier, and to submit to discipline, as troops they are worthless. The _Gaulois_ wishes to anticipate the historical romance which will, perhaps, be handed down to future generations. Posterity may, if it pleases, believe that the Parisians were Spartans, and that they fought with desperate valour outside their walls. I, who happen to see myself what goes on, know that all the fighting is done by the Line and the Mobiles, and that the Parisians are not Spartans. They are showing great tenacity, and suffering for the sake of the cause of their country many hardships. That General Trochu should pander to their vanity, by telling them that they are able to cope outside with the Prussians, is his affair. I do not blame him. He best knows how to deal with his fellow-countrymen. I am not, however, under the necessity of following his example. The usual stalls which appear at this season of the year have been erected on the Boulevards. They are filled with toys and New Year's gifts. But a woolly sheep is a bitter mockery, and a "complete farmyard" in green and blue wood only reminds one painfully of what one would prefer to see in the flesh. The customers are few and far between. I was looking to-day at a fine church in chalk, with real windows, price 6fr., and was thinking that one must be a Mark Tapley to buy it, and walk home with it under one's arm under present circumstances. Many of the stallkeepers have in despair deserted the toy business, and gone in for comforters, kepis, and list soles. Until the weather set in so bitterly cold, elderly sportsmen, who did not care to stalk the human game outside, were to be seen from morning to night pursuing the exciting sport of gudgeon-fishing along the banks of the Seine. Each one was always surrounded by a crowd deeply interested in the chase. Whenever a fish was hooked, there was as much excitement as when a whale is harpooned in more northern latitudes. The fisherman would play it for some five minutes, and then, in the midst of the solemn silence of the lookers-on, the precious capture would be landed. Once safe on the bank, the happy possessor would be patted on the back, and there would be cries of "Bravo!" The times being out of joint for fishing in the Seine, the disciples of Isaac Walton have fallen back on the sewers. The _Paris Journal_ gives them the following directions how to pursue their new game:--"Take a long, strong line, and a large hook, bait with tallow, and gently agitate the rod. In a few minutes a rat will come and smell the savoury morsel. It will be some time before he decides to swallow it, for his nature is cunning. When he does, leave him five minutes to meditate over it; then pull strongly and steadily. He will make convulsive jumps; but be calm, and do not let his excitement gain on you, draw him up, _et voilà votre dîner_." _December 29th._ So we have withdrawn from the plateau of Avron. Our artillery, says the _Journal Officiel_, could not cope with the Krupp cannons, and, therefore, it was thought wise to withdraw them. The fire which the Prussians have rained for the last two days upon this position has not been very destructive of human life. It is calculated that every man killed has cost the Prussians 24,000lbs. of iron. We are still speculating upon the reasons which induced the Prussians at last to become the assailants. That they wished to drive us from this plateau, which overlooks many of their positions, is far too simple an explanation to meet with favour. The _Vérité_ of this morning contains an announcement that a Christmas Session of the House of Commons has turned out Mr. Gladstone by a hostile vote, and that he has been succeeded by a "War Minister." We are inclined to think that the Prussians, being aware of this, have been attempting to terrify us, in order that we may surrender before Sir Disraeli and Milord Pakington come to our rescue. The Parisians, intelligent and clever as they are, are absolutely wanting in plain common sense. I am convinced that if 500 of them were boiled down, it would be impossible to extract from the stew as much of this homely, but useful quality, as there is in the skull of the dullest tallow-chandler's apprentice in London. The vital question of food is now rarely alluded to in the journals. The Government is, however, called to task for not showing greater energy, and the feeling against the unfortunate Trochu is growing stronger. He is held responsible for everything--the frost, the dearth of food, the ill-success of our sorties, and the defeats of the armies of succour. I am sorry for him, for he is a well-meaning man, although unfitted for such troubled waters. But to a great extent he has himself to thank for what is occurring. He has risked his all upon the success of his plan, and he has encouraged the notion that he could force the Prussians to raise the siege. In the meantime no one broaches the question as to what is to be done when our provisions fail. The members of the Government still keep up the theory that a capitulation is an impossible contingency. The nearer the fatal moment approaches the less anyone speaks of it, just as a man, when he is growing old, avoids the subject of death. Frenchmen have far more physical than civic courage. They prefer to shut their eyes to what is unpleasant than to grapple with it. How long our stores of flour will last it is difficult to say, but if our rulers wait to treat until they are exhausted, they will perforce be obliged to accept any terms; and, for no satisfactory object, they will be the cause that many will starve before the town can be revictualled. They call this, here, sublime. I call it folly. Its sublimity is beyond me. As is the case with a sick man given over by the physicians, the quacks are ready with their nostrums. The Ultra journals recommend that the Government should be handed over to a commune. The Ultra clubs demand that all generals and colonels should be cashiered, and others elected in their place. One club has subscribed 1,600frs. for Greek fire; another club suggests blowing up the Hôtel de Ville; another sending a deputation clothed in white to offer the King of Prussia the presidency of the Universal Republic; another--and this comes home to me--passed a vote yesterday evening demanding the immediate arrest of all English correspondents. I am looking forward with horrible misgivings to the moment when I shall have no more money, so that perhaps I shall be thankful for being lodged and fed at the public expense. My banker has withdrawn from Paris, and his representative declines to look at my bill, although I offer ruinous interest. As for friends, they are all in a like condition, for no one expected the siege to last so long. At my hotel, need I observe that I do not pay my bill, but in hotels the guests may ring in vain now for food. I sleep on credit in a gorgeous bed, a pauper. The room is large. I wish it were smaller, for the firewood comes from trees just cut down, and it takes an hour to get the logs to light, and then they only smoulder, and emit no heat. The thermometer in my grand room, with its silken curtains, is usually at freezing point. Then my clothes--I am seedy, very seedy. When I call upon a friend, the porter eyes me distrustfully. In the streets the beggars never ask me for alms; on the contrary, they eye me suspiciously when I approach them, as a possible competitor. The other day I had some newspapers in my hand, an old gentleman took one from me and paid me for it. I had read it, so I pocketed the halfpence. My wardrobe is scanty, like the sage _omnia mea mecum porto_. I had been absent from Paris before the siege, and I returned with a small bag. It is difficult to find a tailor who will work, and even if he did I could not send him my one suit to mend, for what should I wear in the meantime? Decency forbids it. My pea jacket is torn and threadbare, my trousers are frayed at the bottom, and of many colours--like Joseph's coat. As for my linen, I will only say that the washerwomen have struck work, as they have no fuel. I believe my shirt was once white, but I am not sure. I invested a few weeks ago in a pair of cheap boots. They are my torment. They have split in various places, and I wear a pair of gaiters--purple, like those of a respectable ecclesiastic, to cover the rents. I bought them on the Boulevard, and at the same stall I bought a bright blue handkerchief which was going cheap; this I wear round my neck. My upper man resembles that of a dog-stealer, my lower man that of a bishop. My buttons are turning my hair grey. When I had more than one change of raiment these appendages remained in their places, now they drop off as though I were a moulting fowl. I have to pin myself together elaborately, and whenever I want to get anything out of my pocket I have cautiously to unpin myself, with the dread of falling to pieces before my eyes. For my food, I allowance myself, in order to eke out as long as possible my resources. I dine and breakfast at a second-class restaurant. Cat, dog, rat, and horse are very well as novelties, but taken habitually, they do not assimilate with my inner man. Horse, doctors say, is heating; I only wish it would heat me. I give this description of my existence, as it is that of many others. Those who have means, and those who have none, unless these means are in Paris, row in the same boat. The society at my second-class restaurant is varied. Many are regular customers, and we all know each other. There are officers who come there whenever they get leave from outside--hardy, well-set fellows, who take matters philosophically and professionally. They make the most of their holiday, and enjoy themselves without much thought of the morrow. Then there are tradesmen who wear kepis, as they belong to the National Guard. They are not in such good spirits. Their fortunes are ebbing away, and in their hearts I think they would, although their cry is still "no surrender," be glad if all were over. They talk in low tones, and pocket a lump of the sugar which they are given with their coffee. Occasionally an ex-dandy comes in. I see him look anxiously around to make sure that no other dandy sees him in so unfashionable a resort. The dandy keeps to himself, and eyes us haughtily, for we are too common folk for the like of him. Traviatas, too, are not wanting in the second-class restaurant. Sitting by me yesterday was a girl who in times gone by I had often seen driving in a splendid carriage in the Bois. Her silks and satins, her jewellery and her carriage, had vanished. There are no more Russian Princes, no more Boyards, no more Milords to minister to her extravagances. She was eating her horse as though she had been "poor but honest" all her life; and as I watched her washing the noble steed down with a pint of vin ordinaire, I realized the alteration which this siege was effecting in the condition of all classes. But the strangest _habitués_ of the restaurant are certain stalwart, middle-aged men, who seem to consider that their function in life is to grieve over their country, and to do nothing else for it. They walk in as though they were the soldiers of Leonidas on the high road to Thermopylæ--they sit down as though their stools were curule chairs--they scowl at anyone who ventures to smile, as though he were guilty of a crime--and they talk to each other in accents of gloomy resolve. When anyone ventures to hint at a capitulation, they bound in their seats, and cry, _On verra_. Sorrow does not seem to have disturbed their appetites, and, as far as I can discover, they have managed to escape all military duty. No human being can be so unhappy, however, as they look. They remind me of the heir at the funeral of a rich relative. Speaking of funerals reminds me that the newspapers propose that the undertakers, like the butchers, should be tariffed. They are making too good a thing out of the siege. They have raised their prices so exorbitantly that the poor complain that it is becoming impossible for them even to die. A letter found, or supposed to be found, in the pocket of a dead German from his Gretchen is published to-day. "If you should happen to pillage a jeweller's shop," says this practical young lady, "don't forget me, but get me a pretty pair of earrings." The family of this warrior appears to be inclined to look after the main chance; for the letter goes on to say that his mother had knitted him a jacket, but having done so, has worn it herself ever since instead of sending it to him. Gretchen will never get her earrings, and the mother may wear her jacket now without feeling that she is depriving her son of it, for the poor fellow lies under three feet of soil near Le Bourget. _December 30th._ I hear that a story respecting a council which was held a few days ago, at which Trochu was requested to resign, is perfectly true. Picard and Jules Favre said that if he did resign they should do so also, and the discussion was closed by the General himself saying, "I feel myself equal to the situation, and I shall remain." Yesterday evening there were groups everywhere, discussing the withdrawal of the troops from Avron. It was so bitterly cold, however, that they soon broke up. This morning the newspapers, one and all, abuse Trochu. Somehow or other, they say, he always fails in everything he undertakes. I hear from military men that the feeling in the army is very strong against him. While the bombardment was going on at Avron he exposed himself freely to the fire, but instead of superintending the operations he attitudinized and made speeches. General Ducrot, who was there, and between whom and Trochu a certain coldness has sprung up, declared that he had always been opposed to any attempt to retain this position. The behaviour of Vinoy was that of a soldier. He was everywhere encouraging his men. What I cannot understand is why, if Avron was to be held, it was not fortified. It must have been known that the Prussians could, if they pleased, bring a heavy concentric fire from large siege guns to bear upon it. Casemates and strong earthworks might have been made--but nothing was done. I was up there the other day, and I then asked an engineer officer why due precautions were not being taken; but he only shrugged his shoulders in reply. General Vinoy, who was in the Crimea, says that all that the French, English, and Russians did there was child's play in comparison with the Prussian artillery. From the size of the unburst shells which have been picked up, their cannon must be enormous. The question now is, whether the forts will be able to hold out against them. The following account of what has taken place from the _Vérité_ is by far the best which has been published:-- "Notwithstanding that the fire of the enemy slackened on the 26th, the Prussians were not losing their time. Thanks to the hardness of the soil, and to the fog, they had got their guns into position in all their batteries from Villenomble to Montfermeil. The injury done to the park of Drancy by the precision of the aim of our artillery at Fort Nogent was repaired; cannon were brought to the trenches which the day before we had occupied at Ville Evrart; and, as well as it was possible, twelve new batteries, armed with cannon of long range, were unmasked. All through the 28th the fire continued; shells fell thickly on our batteries, and in the village of Rosny. The roof of the station was knocked in, and several Mobiles were killed in the main street. The evacuation of the church, which had been converted into an ambulance, was thought advisable. All this, however, was nothing in comparison with the fire which was poured in during the night. The plateau of Avron was literally inundated with shells, many of them of far larger size than had previously been fired. The range of the guns was too great, and it was evident that the Prussians had rectified their aim. Their projectiles no longer fell wide in the field; they almost all burst close to the trenches. Two guns in battery No. 2 were struck; the same thing soon occurred in battery No. 3. Every moment the wheels of some ammunition waggon were struck, or one of the horses killed. Several men were wounded in the trenches, which were so shallow as to afford little protection. Two shells bursting at the same moment killed a naval officer and three men at one of the guns. All who were so imprudent as to venture to attempt to cross the plateau were struck down. It was a sad and terrible spectacle to see these sailors coolly endeavouring to point their guns, undisturbed by the rain of fire; while their officers, who were encouraging them, were falling every moment, covering those round them with their blood. The infantry and the Mobiles were, too, without shelter; for the Krupp guns swept the portion of the plateau on which they were drawn up within supporting distance. Most of them made the best of it, and laughed when they heard the shells whistling above their heads and bursting near them. Many, however, were so terrified, that they fell back, and spread abroad in their rear disquieting reports, which the terrified air of the narrators rendered still more alarming. The National Guard were drawn up on the heights in advance of the village of Rosny; a few shells reached their ranks. An officer and a soldier of the 114th were slightly wounded; but they remained firm. Every hour the Prussian cannonade became heavier. On our side our fire slackened; then ceased entirely. An _estafette_ came with an order to evacuate the plateau, and to save the artillery. No time was lost. Fortunately, at this moment the enemy's fire also slackened; and the preparations for a retreat were hurriedly made. The guns were taken from their carriages, the baggage was laden on the carts, and the munition on the waggons. The soldiers strapped on their knapsacks, struck their tents, and harnessed the horses. All this was not accomplished without difficulty, for it had to be done noiselessly and in the dark, for all the fires had been put out. General Trochu, seated on a horse, issued his directions, and every moment received information of what was taking place. Notwithstanding the expostulations of his staff, the General refused to withdraw from this exposed point. 'No, gentlemen,' he said, 'I shall not withdraw from here until the cannon are in safety.' At two in the morning all was ready; the long train began to move; the cannon of 7 and the mitrailleuses of Commandant Pothier took the lead. Then followed the heavy naval guns, then the munition and baggage waggons; the troops of the Line, the Marines, and the National Guard were ordered to cover the retreat. It was no easy matter to descend from the plateau to Rosny. The frost had made the road a literal ice-hill. The drivers walked by the side of their animals, holding the reins and pulling them up when they stumbled. Until four o'clock, however, everything went well. The march slowly continued, and the Prussian batteries were comparatively calm. Their shells fell still occasionally where our guns had been. The noise of the wheels, however, and the absence of all cannonade on our parts, at length awakened the suspicions of the enemy. Their fire was now directed on the fort of Rosny, and the road from the plateau leading to it. At this moment the line of guns and waggons was passing through the village, and only carts with baggage were still on the plateau. At first the shells fell wide; then they killed some horses; some of the drivers were hit; a certain confusion took place. That portion of our line of march which was in Rosny was in imminent danger. Fortunately, our chiefs did not lose their heads. The guns whose horses were untouched passed those which were obliged to stop. Some of them took to the fields; the men pushed the wheels, and, thanks to their efforts, our artillery was saved. As soon as the guns had been dragged up the hill opposite the plateau, the horses started off at a gallop, and did not stop until they were out of the range of the enemy's fire. The guns were soon in safety at Vincennes and Montreuil. The troops held good, the men lying down on their stomachs, the officers standing up and smoking their cigars until the last waggon had passed. Day had broken when they received orders to withdraw. The National Guard went back into Paris, and the Line, after a short halt at Montreuil, camped in the barracks of St. Maur. At eight o'clock, the evacuation of the plateau was complete; but the Prussian shells still fell upon the deserted houses and some of the gun-carriages which had been abandoned. The enemy then turned their attention to the forts of Rosny and Noisy. It hailed shot on these two forts, and had they not been solidly built they would not have withstood it. The noise of this cannonade was so loud that it could be heard in the centre of Paris. Around the Fort of Noisy the projectiles sank into the frozen ground to a depth of two and a half metres, and raised blocks of earth weighing 30lbs. Shells fell as far as Romainville. In the Rue de Pantin a drummer had his head carried off; his comrades buried him on the spot. In the court of Fort Noisy three men, hearing the hissing of a shell, threw themselves on the ground. It was a bad inspiration; the shell fell on the one in the middle, and killed all three. These were the only casualties in the fort, and at ten o'clock the enemy's batteries ceased firing on it. All their efforts were then directed against the Fort of Rosny. The shells swept the open court, broke in the roof of the barracks, and tore down the peach-trees whose fruit is so dear to the Parisians. From eleven o'clock, it was impossible to pass along the road to Montreuil in safety. In that village, the few persons who are still left sought shelter in their cellars. At three o'clock the sun came out, and I passed along the strategical road to Noisy. I met several regiments--Zouaves, Infantry, and Marines--coming from Noisy and Bondy. I could distinctly see the enemy's batteries. Their centre is in Rancy, and the guns seem to be in the houses. The destruction in Bondy commenced by the French artillery has been completed by the Prussians. From three batteries in the park of Rancy they have destroyed the wall of the cemetery, behind which one battery was posted and an earthwork. What remained of the church has been literally reduced to dust. Except sentinels hid in the interior of the houses, all our troops had been withdrawn. Some few persons, out of curiosity, had adjourned to the Grande Place; their curiosity nearly cost them dear, and they had to creep away. At three o'clock the enemy's fire had redoubled; some of our Mobiles, in relieving guard, were killed; and from that hour no one ventured into the streets. 9 P.M. The moon has risen, and shines brightly--the ground is covered with snow, and it is almost like daylight. The Prussian positions can distinctly be seen. The cannon cannot be distinguished, but all along the line between Villenomble and Gagny tongues of fire appear, followed by long columns of smoke. The fire on Rosny is increasing in violence; the village of Noisy is being bombarded." CHAPTER XVI. PARIS, _January 1st, 1871._ Our forts still, like breakwaters before a coast, keep back the storm which the Prussians are directing against us. I went out yesterday by the Vincennes gate to see how matters were looking. In the Bois de Vincennes there were troops of every description, and a large number of guns. The usual scenes of camp life were going on, although, owing to the cold, everyone seemed gloomy and depressed. I confess that if I were called upon to camp out in this weather under a _tente d'abri_, and only given some very smoky green wood to keep me warm, I should not be quite so valorous as I should wish to be. Passing through the Bois, which is rapidly becoming a treeless waste, I went forward in the direction of Fontenay. As the Prussian bombs, however, were falling thickly into the village, I executed a strategical movement to the left, and fell back by a cross road into Montreuil. In this village several regiments were installed. It is just behind Fort Rosny, and on the upper portion, towards the fort, the Prussian shells fell. It is very singular what little real danger there is to life and limb from a bombardment. Shells make a hissing noise as they come through the air. Directly this warning hiss is heard, down everyone throws himself on the ground. The shell passes over and falls somewhere near, it sinks about two feet into the hard ground, and then bursts, throwing up great clouds of earth, like a small mine. The Prussians are unmasking fresh batteries every day, and approaching nearer and nearer to the forts. Their fire now extends from behind Le Bourget to the Marne, and at some points reaches to within a mile of the ramparts. Bondy is little more than a heap of ruins. As for the forts, we are told that, with the exception of their barracks having been made untenable, no harm has been done. Standing behind and looking at the shells falling into them, they certainly do not give one the idea of places in which anyone would wish to be, unless he were obliged; and they seemed yesterday to be replying but feebly to the fire of the enemy. I suppose that the Prussians know their own business, and that they really intend wholly to destroy Fort Rosny. Before you get this letter the duel between earth and iron will be decided, so it is useless my speculating on the result. If Rosny or Nogent fall, there will be nothing to protect Belleville from a bombardment. Many military sages imagine that this bombardment is only a prelude to an attack upon Mont Valérien. About 3,500 metres from that fort there is a very awkward plateau called La Bergerie. It is somewhat higher than the hill on which Valérien stands. The Prussians are known to have guns on it in position, and as Valérien is of granite, if bombarded, the value of granite as a material for fortifications will be tested. Since the Prussians have opened fire, there have been numerous councils of war, and still more numerous proclamations. General Trochu has issued an appeal to the city to be calm, and not to believe that differences of opinion exist among the members of the Government. General Clément Thomas has issued an address to the National Guards, telling them that the country is going to demand great sacrifices of them. In fact, after the manner of the Gauls, everybody is addressing everybody. _Toujours des proclamations et rien que cela_, say the people, who are at last getting tired of this nonsense. Yesterday there was a great council of all the generals and commanders. General Trochu, it is said, was in favour of an attempt to pierce the Prussian lines; the majority being in favour of a number of small sorties. What will happen no one seems to know, and I doubt even if our rulers have themselves any very definite notion. The Ultra journals clamour for a sortie _en masse_, which of course would result in a stampede _en masse_. One and all the newspapers either abuse Trochu, or damn him with faint praise. It is so very much a matter of chance whether a man goes down to posterity as a sage or a fool, that it is by no means easy to form an opinion as to what will be the verdict of history on Trochu. If he simply wished to keep the Prussians out of Paris, and to keep order inside until the provisions were exhausted, he has succeeded. If he wished to force them to raise the siege he has failed. His military critics complain that, admitting he could not do the latter, he ought, by frequent sorties, to have endeavoured to prevent them sending troops to their covering armies. One thing is certain, that all his sorties have failed not only in the result, but in the conception. As a consequence of this, the French soldiers, who more than any other troops in the world require, in order to fight well, to have faith in their leader, have lost all confidence in him. We have had no pigeon for the last eighteen days, and the anxiety to obtain news from without is very strong. A few days ago a messenger was reported to have got through the Prussian lines with news of a French victory. The next day a Saxon officer was said, with his last breath, to have confided to his doctor that Frederick Charles had been defeated. Yesterday Jules Favre told the mayor that there was a report that Chanzy had gained a victory. Everything now depends upon what Chanzy is doing, and, for all we know, he may have ceased to exist for the last week. A census which has just been made of the population within the lines, makes the number, exclusive of the Line, Mobiles, and sailors, 2,000,500. No attempt has yet been made to ration the bread, but it is to be mixed with oats and rice. The mayor of this quarter says that in this arrondissement--the richest in Paris--he is certain that there is food for two months. Should very good news come from the provinces, and it appear that by holding out for two months more the necessity for a capitulation would be avoided, I think that we should hold on until the end of February, if we have to eat the soles of our boots. If bad news comes, we shall not take to this food; but we shall give in when everything except bread fails, and we shall then consider that our honour is saved if nothing else is. M. Louis Blanc to-day publishes a letter to Victor Hugo, in which he tells the Parisians that if they do capitulate they will gain nothing by it, for the Prussians will neither allow them to quit Paris, nor, if the war continues, allow food to enter it. As yet there are no signs of a real outbreak; and if a successful one does occur, it will be owing to the weakness of the Government, which has ample means to repress it. The Parisian press is always adjuring the working men not to cut either each others' or their neighbours' throats, and congratulating them on their noble conduct in not having done so. This sort of praise seems to me little better than an insult. I see no reason why the working men should be considered to be less patriotic than others. That they are not satisfied with Trochu, and that they entertain different political and social opinions to those of the bourgeoisie, is very possible. Opinions, however, are free, and they have shown as yet that they are willing to subordinate the expression of theirs to the exigencies of the national defence. I go a good deal among them, and while many of them wish for a general system of rationing, because they think that it will make the provisions last longer, they have no desire to pillage or to provoke a conflict with the Government. I regard them myself, in every quality which makes a good citizen, as infinitely superior to the journalists who lecture them, and who would do far better to shoulder a musket and to fall into the ranks, than to waste paper in reviling the Prussians and bragging of their own heroism. As soldiers, the fault of the working men is that they will not submit to discipline; but this is more the fault of the Government than of them. As citizens, no one can complain of them. To talk with one of them after reading the leading article of a newspaper is a relief. A French journalist robes himself in his toga, gets upon a pedestal, and talks unmeaning, unpractical claptrap. A French workman is, perhaps, too much inclined to regard every one except himself, and some particular idol which he has set up, as a fool; but he is by no means wanting in the power to take a plain practical view, both of his own interests, and those of his country. Since the commencement of the siege, forty-nine new journals have appeared. Many of them have already ceased to exist, but counting old and new newspapers, there must at least be sixty published every day. How they manage to find paper is to me a mystery. Some of them are printed upon sheets intended for books, others upon sheets which are so thick that I imagine they were designed to wrap up sugar and other groceries. Those which were the strongest in favour of the Empire, are now the strongest in favour of the Republic. Editors and writers whose dream it was a few months ago to obtain an invitation at the Tuileries or to the Palais Royal, or to merit by the basest of flatteries the Legion of Honour, now have become perfect Catos, and denounce courts and courtiers, Bonapartists and Orleanists. War they regard as the most wicked of crimes, and they appear entirely to have forgotten that they welcomed with shouts of ecstacy in July last the commencement of the triumphal march to Berlin. _January 2nd._ Yesterday evening, notwithstanding the cold, there were groups on the Boulevards shouting "_à bas Trochu_." It is understood that henceforward no military operation is to take place before it has been discussed by a Council of War, consisting of generals and admirals. As the moment approaches when we shall, unless relieved, be obliged to capitulate, everyone is attempting to shift from himself all responsibility. This is the consequence of the scapegoat system which has so long prevailed in France. Addresses are published from the commanders outside congratulating the National Guard who have been under their orders. The _Vérité_, in alluding to them, asks the following questions:--"Why are battalions which are accused by General Thomas, their direct superior, of chronic drunkenness, thus placed upon a pinnacle by real military men? Why do distinguished generals, unless forced by circumstances, declare the mere act of passing four or five cold nights in the trenches heroic? Why is so great a publicity given to such contradictory orders of the day?" The _Journal Officiel_ contains a long address to the Parisians. Beyond the statement that no news had been received since the 14th ult., this document contains nothing but empty words. Between the lines one may, perhaps, read a desire to bring before the population the terrible realities of the situation. The deaths for the last week amount to 3,280, an increase on the previous week of 552. I am told that these bills of mortality do not include those who die in the public hospitals. Small-pox is on the increase--454 as against 388 the previous week. Nothing new outside. The bombardment of the eastern forts still continues. It is, however, becoming more intermittent. Every now and then it almost ceases, then it breaks out with fresh fury. The Prussians are supposed to be at work at Chatillon. If they have heavy guns there, it will go hard with the Fort of Vanves. The rations are becoming in some of the arrondissements smaller by degrees and beautifully less. In the 18th (Montmartre) the inhabitants only receive two sous worth of horse-flesh per diem. The rations are different in each arrondissement, as the Mayor of each tries to get hold of all he can, and some are more successful than others. These differences cause great dissatisfaction. The feeling to-day seems to be that if Trochu wishes to avoid riots, he must make a sortie very shortly. The _Gaulois_ says:-- "How sad has been our New Year's-day! Among ourselves we may own it, although we have bravely supported it, like men of sense, determined to hold good against bad fortune, and to laugh in the face of misery. It is hard not to have had the baby brought to our bedside in the morning; not to have seen him clap his hands with pleasure on receiving some toy; not to have pressed the hands of those we love best, and not to have embraced them and been able to say--'The year which has passed has had its joys and its sorrows, sun and shadow--but what matters it? We have shared them together. The year which is commencing cannot bring with it any sorrows that by remaining united we shall not be able to support?' Most of us breakfasted this morning--the New Year's breakfast, usually so gay--alone and solitary; a few smoky logs our only companions. There are sorrows which no philosophy can console. On other days one may forget them, but on New Year's-day our isolation comes home to us, and, do what we may, we are sad and silent. Where are they now? What are they doing now? is the thought which rises in every breast. The father's thoughts are with his children; he dimly sees before him their rosy faces, and their mother who is dressing them. How weary, too, must the long days be for her, separated from her husband. Last year she had taught the baby to repeat a fable, and she brought him all trembling to recite it to the father. She, too, trembles like a child. She follows him with her looks, she whispers to him a word when he hesitates, but so low that he reads it on her lips, and the father hears nothing. Poor man! Sorry indeed he would have been to have had it supposed that he had perceived the mother's trick. He was himself trembling, too, lest the child should not know his lesson. What a disappointment it would have been to the mother! For a fortnight before she had taken baby every night on her knees and said, 'Now begin your fable.' She had taught it him verse by verse with the patience of an angel, and she had encouraged him to learn it with many a sugarplum. 'He is beginning to know his fable,' she said a hundred times to her husband. 'Really,' he answered, with an air of doubt. The honest fellow was as interested in it as his wife, and he only appeared to doubt it in order to make her triumph greater. He knew that baby would know the fable on New Year's morn. You Prussian beggars, you Prussian scoundrels, you bandits, and you Vandals, you have taken everything from us; you have ruined us; you are starving us; you are bombarding us; and we have a right to hate you with a royal hatred. Well, perhaps one day we might have forgiven you your rapine and your murders; our towns that you have sacked; your heavy yokes; your infamous treasons. The French race is so light of heart, so kindly, that we might perhaps in time have forgotten our resentments. What we never shall forget will be this New Year's Day, which we have been forced to pass without news from our families. You at least have had letters from your Gretchens, astounding letters, very likely, in which the melancholy blends with blue eyes, make a wonderful literary salad, composed of sour-krout, Berlin wool, forget-me-nots, pillage, bombardment, pure love, and transcendental philosophy. But you like all this just as you like jam with your mutton. You have what pleases you. Your ugly faces receive kisses by the post. But you kill our pigeons, you intercept our letters, you shoot at our balloons with your absurd _fusils de rempart_, and you burst out into a heavy German grin when you get hold of one of our bags, which are carrying to those we love our vows, our hopes, our remembrance, our regrets, and our hearts. It is a merry farce, is it not? Ah, if ever we can render you half the sufferings which we are enduring, you will see _des grises_. Perhaps you don't know what the word means, and, like one of Gavarni's children, you will say, 'What! _des grises?_' You will, I trust, one of these days learn what is the signification of the term at your own cost. One of your absurd pretensions is to be the only people in the world who understand how to love, or who care for domestic ties. You will see, by the hatred which we shall ever bear to you, that we too know how to love--our time will come some day, be assured. This January 1 of the year 1871 inaugurates a terrible era of bloody revenge. Poor philosophers of universal peace, you see now the value of your grand phrases and of your humanitarian dreams! Vainly you imagined that the world was entering into a period of everlasting peace and progress. A wonderful progress, indeed, has 1870 brought us! You never calculated on the existence of these Huns. We are back again now in the midst of all the miseries of the 13th and 14th centuries. The memory of to-day will be written on the hearts of our children. 'It was the year,' they will say, 'when we received no presents, when we did not kiss our father, because of the Prussians. They shall pay for it!' Let us hope that the payment will commence this very day. But if we are still to be vanquished, we will leave to our children the memory of our wrongs, and the care to avenge them." The following article is from the _Vérité_:-- "What troubles would not have been spared to our unhappy country if only it had been told the truth. If only anyone had been courageous enough to tell us what were our resources when Grammont made his famous declaration from the tribune, the war would not have taken place. On the 4th of September, many members of the new Government were under no delusions, but as it was necessary to say that we were strong, in order to be popular, they did not hesitate to proclaim that the Republic would save France. To-day the situation has not changed. On the faith of the assertions of their rulers, the population of Paris imagines that ultimate victory is certain, and that our provisions can never be exhausted. They have no idea that if we are not succoured we must eventually succumb. What a surprise--and perhaps what a catastrophe--it will be when they learn that there is no more bread, and no chance of victory. The people will complain that they have been deceived, and they will be right. They will shout 'treason,' and seek for vengeance. Will they be entirely in the wrong? If the Government defends itself, what future awaits us! If it does not defend itself, through what scenes shall we pass before falling into the hands of the Prussians! The Republic, like the Empire, has made mendacity the great system of government. The Press has chosen to follow the same course. Great efforts are being made to destroy the reciprocal sentiments of union and confidence, to which we owe it that Paris still resists, after 100 days of siege. The enemy, despairing to deliver over Paris to Germany, as it had solemnly promised, on Christmas, adds now the bombardment of our advanced posts and our forts to the other means of intimidation by which it has endeavoured to enervate the defence. Use is being made, before public opinion, of the deceptions which an extraordinary winter and infinite sufferings and fatigues are causing us. It is said, indeed, that the members of the Government are divided in their views respecting the great interests the direction of which has been confided to them. The army has suffered great trials, and it required a short repose, which the enemy endeavours to dispute by a bombardment more violent than any troops were ever exposed to. The army is preparing for action with the aid of the National Guards, and all together we shall do our duty. I declare that there are no differences in the councils of the Government, and that we are all closely united in the presence of the agonies and the perils of the country, and in the thought and the hope of its deliverance." _La Patrie_, of Jan. 2, says:-- "Perhaps Bourbaki has gone to meet General von Werder. If he is victorious, the road to Paris by the valley of the Seine will be open to him, or the road to Southern Germany by Besançon and Belfort, and the bridge of Bâle, the neutrality of which we are not obliged to respect any more than that of Belgium, since Europe has allowed Bismarck to violate that of Luxemburg. Ah! if Bourbaki were a Tortensen, a Wrangel, or a Turenne--perhaps he is--what a grand campaign we might have in a few weeks on the Danube, the Lech, and the Saar." The _Liberté_, of Jan. 2, says:-- "A great manifestation is being organised against the Government. The object is to substitute in its place the college of Mayors of Paris and their adjuncts. The manifestation, if it occurs, will not get further than the Boulevards. General Trochu is in no fear from Mayor Mothe, but he must understand that the moment for action has arrived. His proclamation has only imperfectly replied to the apprehensions of Paris. A capitulation, the very idea of which the Government recoils from, and which would only become possible when cold, hunger, and a bombardment have made further resistance impossible, besieges the minds of all, and presses all the hearts which beat for a resistance _à outrance_ in a vice of steel. Trochu should reply to these agonies no longer by proclamations, but by acts." _January 4th._ It is said, I know not with what truth, that there always are, on an average, 5000 families who are in destitute circumstances, because their chiefs never would play out their trumps at whist until it became too late to use them effectively. If Trochu really was under the impression that he had trumps in his hand good enough to enable him to win the game he is playing against the Prussians, he has kept them back so long that they are worthless. If he could not break through the Prussian lines a month ago, _à fortiori_, he will not be able to do so now. They are stronger, and he is weaker; for the inaction of the last few weeks, and the surrender of Avron, would have been enough to damp the ardour of far more veteran troops than those which he has under his command. The outcry against this excellent but vain man grows stronger every day, and sorry, indeed, must he be that he "rushed in where others feared to tread." "Action, speedy action," shout the newspapers, much as the Americans did before Bull's Run, or as M. Felix Pyat always calls it, Run Bull. The generals well know that if they yield to the cry, there will most assuredly be a French edition of that battle. In fact, the situation may be summed up in a very few words. The generals have no faith in their troops, and the troops have no faith in their generals. Go outside the walls and talk to the officers and the soldiers who are doing the real fighting, and who pass the day dodging shells, and the night freezing in their tents. They tell you that they are prepared to do their duty, but that they are doubtful of ultimate success. Come inside, and talk to some hero who has never yet got beyond the ramparts, Cato at Utica is a joke to him, Palafox at Saragossa a whining coward. Since the forts have been bombarded, he has persuaded himself that he is eating, drinking, and sleeping under the fire of the enemy. "Human nature is a rum 'un," said Mr. Richard Swiveller; and most assuredly this is true of French nature. That real civil courage and spirit of self-sacrifice which the Parisians have shown, in submitting to hardship and ruin rather than consent to the dismemberment of their country, they regard as no title to respect. Nothing which does not strike the imagination has any value in their eyes. A uniform does not make a soldier; and although they have all arrayed themselves in uniform, they are far worse soldiers than the peasantry who have been enrolled in the Mobiles. To tell them this, however, would make them highly indignant. Military glory is their passion, and it is an unfortunate one. To admire the pomp and pride of glorious war no more makes a warrior than to admire poetry makes a poet. The Parisian is not a coward; but his individuality is so strongly developed that he objects to that individuality being destroyed by some stray shot. To die with thousands looking on is one thing; to die obscurely is another. French courage is not the same as that of the many branches of the great Saxon family. A Saxon has a dogged stubbornness which gives him an every-day and every-hour courage. That of the Frenchman is more dependent upon external circumstances. He must have confidence in his leader, he must have been encouraged by success, and he must be treated with severity tempered with judicious flattery. Give him a sword, and let him prance about on a horse like a circus rider, and, provided there are a sufficient number of spectators, he will do wonders, but he will not consent to perish obscurely for the sake of anything or anyone. Trochu has utterly failed in exciting enthusiasm in those under his command; he issues many proclamations, but they fail to strike the right chord. Instead of keeping up discipline by judicious severity, he endeavours to do so by lecturing like a schoolmaster. And then, since the commencement of the siege he has been unsuccessful in all his offensive movements. I am not a military man, but although I can understand the reasons against a sortie _en masse_, it does appear to me strange that the Prussians are not more frequently disquieted by attacks which at least would oblige them to make many a weary march round the outer circle, and would prevent them from detaching troops for service elsewhere. Not an hour passes without some new rumour respecting the armies of the Provinces being put in circulation. A letter in which General Chanzy is said to be playing with Frederick Charles as a cat plays with a mouse, and which is attributed to Mr. Odo Russell, English Under-Secretary of State, and Correspondent of the _Times_, has been read by some one, and this morning all the newspapers are jubilant over it. A copy of the _Moniteur de Versailles_ of the 1st has found its way in; there is nothing in it about Frederick Charles, but this we consider evidence that he has sustained a defeat. Then somebody has found a bottle in the Seine with a letter in it; this letter alludes to a great French victory. Mr. Washburne has the English papers up to the 22nd, but he keeps grim guard over them, and allows no one to have a glimpse of them; since our worthy friend Otto von Bismarck sent in to him an extract from a letter of mine, in which I alluded to the contents of some of them which had reached us. He passes his existence, however, staving off insidious questions. His very looks are commented on. "We saw him to-day," says an evening paper I have just bought; "he smiled! Good sign! Our victory must have been overwhelming if John Bull is obliged to confess it." Another newspaper asks him whether, considering the circumstances, he does not consider it a duty to violate his promise to Count Bismarck, and to hand over his newspapers to the Government. In this way, thinks this tempter, the debt which America owes to France for aiding her during her revolution will be repaid. "We gave you Lafayette and Rochambeau, in return we only ask for one copy of an English paper." The anxiety for news is weighing heavier on the population than the absence of provisions or the cold. Every day, and all day, there are crowds standing upon the elevated points in the city, peering through glasses, in the wild hope of witnessing the advent of Chanzy, who is apparently expected to prick in with Faidherbe by his side, each upon a gorgeously caparisoned steed, like the heroes in the romances of the late Mr. G.P.R. James. Many pretend to distinguish, above the noise of the cannon of our forts and the Prussian batteries, the echoes of distant artillery, and rush off to announce to their friends that the army of succour has fallen on the besiegers from the rear. In the meantime the bombardment of the forts and villages to the east of the city is continuing, and with that passion for system in everything which distinguishes the Germans, it is being methodized. A fixed number of shells are fired off every minute, and at certain hours in the day there are long pauses. What is happening in the forts is, of course, kept very secret. The official bulletins say that no damage in them has yet been done. As for the villages round them, they are, I presume, shelled merely in order to make them untenable. The Government appears now as anxious to find others to share responsibility with it as heretofore it has been averse to any division of power. The Mayors of the city are to meet with their deputies once a week at the Hôtel de Ville to express their opinions respecting municipal matters, and once a week at the Ministry of the Interior to discuss the political situation. As there are twenty mayors and forty adjuncts, they, when together, are almost numerous enough to form a species of Parliament. The all important food question remains _in statu quo_. It is, however, beginning to be hinted in semi-official organs, that perhaps the bread will have to be rationed; I may be wrong, but I am inclined to think that the population will not submit to this. Government makes no statement with respect to the amount of corn in store. Some say that there is not enough for two weeks, others that there is enough for two months' consumption; M. Dorien assured a friend of mine yesterday that, to the best of his belief, there is enough to carry us into March. Landlords and tenants are as much at loggerheads here as they are in Ireland; the Government has issued three decrees to regulate the question. By the first is suspended all judicial proceedings on the part of landlords for their rent; by the second, it granted a delay of three months to all persons unable to pay the October term; by the third, it required all those who wished to profit by the second to make a declaration of inability to pay before a magistrate. To-day a fourth decree has been issued, again suspending the October term, and making the three previous decrees applicable to the January term, but giving to landlords a right to dispute the truth of the allegation of poverty on the part of their tenants; the question is a very serious one, for on the payment of rent depends directly or indirectly the means of livelihood of half the nation. Thus the landlords say that if the tenants do not pay them they cannot pay the interest of the mortgages on their properties. If this interest be not paid, however, the shareholders of the Crédit Foncier and other great mortgage banks get nothing. Paris, under the fostering care of the Emperor, had become, next to St. Petersburgh, the dearest capital in Europe. Its property was artificial, and was dependent upon a long chain of connecting links remaining unbroken. In the industrial quarters money was made by the manufacture of _Articles de Paris_, and for these, as soon as the communications are reopened, there will be the same market as heretofore. As a city of pleasure, however, its prosperity must depend, like a huge watering-place, upon its being able to attract strangers. If they do not return, a reduction in prices will take place, which will ruin most of the shopkeepers, proprietors of houses, and hotel keepers; but this, although unpleasant to individuals, would be to the advantage of the world at large. Extravagance in Paris makes extravagance the fashion everywhere; under the Empire, to spend money was the readiest road to social distinction. The old _bourgeoisie_ still retained the careful habits of the days of Louis Philippe, and made fortunes by cheeseparing. Imperial Paris was far above this. Families were obliged to spend 20 per cent, of their incomes in order to lodge themselves; shops in favoured quarters were let for fabulous prices, and charged fabulous prices for their wares. _Cocodettes_ of the Court, _cocottes_ of the Bois, wives of speculators, shoddy squaws from New York, Calmues recently imported from their native steppes, doubtful Italian Princesses, gushing Polish Countesses, and foolish Englishwomen, merrily raced along the road to ruin. Good taste was lost in tinsel and glitter; what a thing cost was the only standard of its beauty. Great gingerbread palaces were everywhere run up, and let even before they were out of the builder's hands. It was deemed fashionable to drive about in a carriage with four horses, with perhaps a black man to drive, and an Arab sitting on the box by his side. Dresses by milliners in vogue gave a ready currency to their wearers. The Raphael of his trade gave himself all the airs of a distinguished artist; he received his clients with vulgar condescension, and they--no matter what their rank--submitted to his insolence in the hope that he would enable them to outshine their rivals. Ambassadors' wives and Court ladies used to go to take tea with the fellow, and dispute the honour of filling his cup or putting sugar into it. I once went into his shop--a sort of drawing-room hung round with dresses; I found him lolling on a chair, his legs crossed before the fire. Around him were a bevy of women, some pretty, some ugly, listening to his observations with the rapt attention of the disciples of a sage. He called them up before him like school girls, and after inspecting them, praised or blamed their dresses. One, a pretty young girl, found favour in his eyes, and he told her that he must dream and meditate several days over her, in order to find the inspiration to make a gown worthy of her. "Why do you wear these ugly gloves?" he said to another, "never let me see you in gloves of that colour again." She was a very grand lady, but she slipped off her gloves, and put them in her pocket with a guilty look. When there was going to be a ball at Court, ladies used to go down on their knees to him to make them beautiful. For some time he declined to dress any longer the wife of a great Imperial dignitary who had not been sufficiently humble towards him; she came to him in tears, but he was obdurate, and he only consented at last to make a gown for her on condition that she would put it on for the first time in his shop. The Empress, who dealt with him, sent to tell him that if he did not abate his prices she would leave him. "You cannot," he replied, and in fact she could not, for she stood by him to the last. A morning dress by this artist, worth in reality about 4l., cost 30l.; an evening dress, tawdry with flounces, ribbons, and bad lace could not be had under 70. There are about thirty shops in Paris where, as at this man-milliner's, the goods are not better than elsewhere, but where they cost about ten times their value. They are patronised by fools with more money than wits, and chiefly by foreign fools. The proprietor of one of these establishments was complaining to me the other day of what he was losing by the siege; I told him that I sympathised with him about as much as I should with a Greek brigand, bewailing a falling off of wealthy strangers in the district where he was in the habit of carrying on his commercial operations. Whenever the communications are again open to Paris, and English return to it, I would give them this piece of advice--never deal where _ici on parle Anglais_ is written up; it means _ici on vole les Anglais_. The only tradesmen in Paris who are making a good thing out of their country's misfortunes are the liquor sellers and the grocers; their stores seem inexhaustible, but they are sold at famine prices. "I who speak to you, I owe myself to my country. There is no sacrifice I would not make rather than capitulate to those Huns, those Vandals," said a grocer to me, with a most sand-the-sugar face, this morning, as he pocketed about ten times the value of a trifle--candles, in fact, which have risen twenty-five per cent. in the last two days--and folding his arms, scowled from under his kepi into futurity, with stern but vacuous resolution. _January 6th._ I have just returned from Point-du-Jour, where I went with Mr. Frank Lawley in order to see myself what truth there was in the announcement that we were being bombarded. Point-du-Jour is the point where the Seine issues from Paris. The circular railroad passes over the river here on a high brick viaduct, which makes a species of fortification. The hills outside the city form a sort of amphitheatre, in which are situated the towns of Sèvres and Meudon. To the right of the river is Mont Valérien and the batteries in the Bois de Boulogne; to the left the Fort of Issy. The noise of the cannonade was very loud; but very little could be seen, owing to the sun shining on the hills outside. Speculators, however, with telescopes, were offering to show the Prussian artillerymen for one sou--one of them offered to let me see a general for two sous. When I got within about half a mile of the ramparts I began to hear the whistling of the shells. Here the sightseers were not so numerous. Whenever a shell was heard, there was a rush behind walls and houses. Some people threw themselves down, others seemed to imagine that the smallest tree would protect them, and congregated behind the thinnest saplings. Boys were running about picking up pieces of shells, and offering them for sale. Women were standing at their doors, and peeping their heads out: "Brigands, bandits, they dare to bombard us; wait till to-morrow, we will make them rue it." This, and expressions of a similar nature, was the tone of the small talk. My own impression is, that the Prussians were firing at the ramparts, and that, as often occurs, their projectiles overshot the mark. I did not see anyone either killed or wounded, and it seems to me that the most astonishing thing in a bombardment is the little damage it does to life and limb. I saw a bit of iron cut away a branch from one of the trees, and one shell I saw burst on the road by the river. In 15 minutes we counted 11 shells whizzing through the air, over our heads, which fell I presume somewhere behind us. The newspaper which I have just bought, I see, says that two shells have fallen close by the Invalides, and that they have been coming in pretty thickly all along the zone near the southern ramparts. This may or may not be the case. Like Herodotus in Egypt, I make a distinction between what I am told and what I see, and only guarantee the authenticity of the latter. The only house which as far as I could perceive had been struck was a small one. A chimney-stack had been knocked over; an old lady who inhabited it pointed this out to me. She seemed to be under the impression that this was the result of design, and plaintively asked me what she had done to "William" and to Bismarck that they should knock over her chimney. On the ramparts no damage seemed to have been done. The National Guard on duty were in the casemates. The noise, however, was tremendous. Issy, Valérien, the guns of the bastions and those of the cannon-boats were firing as hard as they could, and the Prussian batteries were returning their fire with a will. After the sun went down the dark hills opposite were lit up with the flashes of light which issued every second from the batteries. The Government has issued a proclamation; in it is announced that we are to be relieved by the Army of the North. Another proclamation has been posted, purporting to proceed from the "delegates of the twenty arrondissements," calling upon the population to turn out Trochu. It has attracted little notice. Several mayors, too, it is reported, have threatened to resign unless more energetic counsels prevail in high places. Frenchmen, however, as one of their statesmen said, cannot grasp two ideas at a time, and for to-day at least the bombardment is the all-absorbing idea. Whether Frederick Charles has been really defeated I do not know, but we are all assured that he has been. Paris journals state that he has been wounded, and that 45,000 of his army have surrendered. It is asserted, too, that the prisoners who were taken yesterday admit that one of their armies has had a very serious reverse. The bombardment of the forts still continues, and it has extended to the southern ones. With respect to its effect, I will say nothing, lest I be accused of giving aid and comfort to the enemy. _La Vérité_ of yesterday already calls upon the Government to open and either suppress or expurgate the letters of English correspondents. The vin ordinaire is giving out. It has already risen nearly 60 per cent. in price. This is a very serious thing for the poor, who not only drink it, but warm it and make with bread a soup out of it. Yesterday, I had a slice of Pollux for dinner. Pollux and his brother Castor are two elephants, which have been killed. It was tough, coarse, and oily, and I do not recommend English families to eat elephant as long as they can get beef or mutton. Many of the restaurants are closed owing to want of fuel. They are recommended to use lamps; but although French cooks can do wonders with very poor materials, when they are called upon to cook an elephant with a spirit lamp the thing is almost beyond their ingenuity. Castor and Pollux's trunks sold for 45fr. a lb.; the other parts of the interesting twins fetched about 10fr. a lb. It is a good deal warmer to-day, and has been thawing in the sun; if the cold and the siege had continued much longer, the Prussians would have found us all in bed. It is a far easier thing to cut down a tree than to make it burn. Proverbs are not always true; and I have found to my bitter experience of late that the proverb that "there is no smoke without a fire" is untrue. The Tupper who made it never tried to burn green wood. CHAPTER XVII. _January 7th._ The attempt of the "Ultras" to force Trochu to resign has been a failure. On Friday bands issuing from the outer Faubourgs marched through the streets shouting "No capitulation!" A manifesto was posted on the walls, signed by the delegates of the 20 arrondissements, calling on the people to rise. At the weekly meeting of the Mayors M. Delescluze, the Mayor of the 19th arrondissement, proposed that Trochu and Le Flô should be called upon to resign, and that a supreme council should be established in which the "civil element should not be subordinated to the military element." M. Gustave Flourens published a letter from his prison suggesting that the people should choose as their leader a young energetic Democrat--that is to say himself. M. Felix Pyat, on the other hand, explained that generals are tyrants, and that the best thing would be to carry on the operations of the siege without one. The "bombardment" is, however, still the absorbing question of the day; and all these incipient attempts at revolution have failed. Trochu issued a proclamation, in which he said, "The Governor of Paris will never capitulate." M. Delescluze has resigned, and several arrests have been made. The Government, however, owes its triumph, not so much to its own inherent merits, as to the demerits of those who wished to supplant it. Everyone complains of Trochu's strange inaction, and distrusts his colleagues, who seem to be playing fast-and-loose with the Commune, and to be anxious by a little gentle violence to be restored to private life. The cry still is, "We will not capitulate!" and the nearer the moment approaches that the provisions must fail, the louder is it shouted. Notwithstanding the bitter experience which the Parisians have had of the vanity of mere words to conjure disaster, they still seem to suppose that if they only cry out loud enough that the Prussians cannot, will not, shall not, enter Paris, their men of war will be convinced that the task is beyond their powers, and go home in despair. We are like a tribe of Africans beating tom-toms and howling in order to avert a threatening storm. Yesterday a great council of war was held, at which not only the generals of division and admirals, but even generals of brigade, were present. Although it is a military dictum that "councils of war never fight," I think that in a few days we shall have a sortie, as that anonymous general "public opinion" insists upon it. We are still without news from the provinces. The _Gazette Officiale_ to-day publishes an extract from a German paper which hardly seems to bear out the assertion of the Government that the Army of the North is advancing to our succour. As evidence that our affairs are looking up in the provinces _La France_ contains the following: "A foreigner who knows exactly the situation of our departments said yesterday, 'These damned French, in spite of their asinine qualities, are getting the better of the Prussians.'" We are forced to live to-day upon this crumb of comfort which has fallen from the lips of a great unknown. Hope is the last feeling which dies out in the human breast, and rightly or wrongly nine persons out of ten believe that Chanzy will shortly force the Prussians to raise the siege. The bombardment is supposed to mask their having been obliged to send heavy reinforcements to Frederick Charles, who regularly every morning is either killed, wounded, or taken prisoner. It is almost needless to say that the newspapers are filled with wondrous tales respecting the bombardment; with denunciations against the Prussians for their sacrilege in venturing upon it; and with congratulations to the population on their heroism in supporting it. The number of persons who have been all but hit by shells is enormous. I went to the left bank of the Seine in order to see myself the state of affairs. At Point-du-Jour there is a hot corner sparsely inhabited. The Prussians are evidently here firing at the viaduct which crosses the river. From there I followed the ramparts as close as I could as far as Montrouge. I heard of many shells which had fallen, but except at Point-du-Jour I did not myself either see any fall, or hear any whiz through the air. I then went to the Observatory, where according to the _Soir_ the shells were falling very freely. A citizen who was sweeping before the gate told me that he knew nothing about them. In the Rue d'Enfer, just behind, there was a house which had been struck during the night, and close by there was a cantinière, on her way to be buried, who had been killed by one. At the garden of the Luxembourg and at the artesian well near the Invalides I heard of shells, but could not find out where they had struck. As far as I can make out, the Prussians aim at the bastions, and occasionally, but rarely, at some public building. Probably about 50 shells have been sent with malice prepense inside the town. Just behind a bastion it is a little dangerous; but in Grenelle, Vaugirard, and Montrouge, the risk to each individual is not so great as it would be to go over a crowded crossing in London. In these quarters I saw a few people moving away with their goods and chattels; but the population generally seemed rather pleased than otherwise with what was going on. Except close in by the ramparts, there was no excitement. Almost the whole of the portion of the town on the left bank of the Seine is now under fire; but even should it be seriously bombarded, I doubt if the effect will be at all commensurate with the expense of powder and projectiles. When shells fall over a very large area, the odds against each separate person being hit by them are so large that no one thinks that--happen what may to others--he will be wounded. _January 11th._ The spy mania, which raged with such intensity at the commencement of the siege, has again broken out. Every day persons are arrested because they are supposed, by lighted candles and other mysterious devices, to be in communication with the enemy. Sergeant Hoff, who used to kill his couple of brace of Germans every day, and who disappeared after Champigny, it is now said was a spy; and instead of mourning over his wife, who had been slain by the Prussians, kept a mistress in splendour, like a fine gentleman. Foreigners are looked upon suspiciously in the streets. Very black looks are cast upon the Americans who have established and kept up the best ambulance there is in Paris at their own cost. Even the French ambulances are suspected, since some of their members, during a suspension of arms, broke bread with the Prussians; for it is held that any one who does not hate a German must be in the pay of Bismarck. But this is not all: the newspapers hint that there are spies at headquarters. General Schmitz has a valet who has a wife, and this wife is a German. What more clear than that General Schmitz confides what passes at councils of war to his valet--generals usually do; that the valet confides it to his wife, who, in some mysterious manner, confides it to Bismarck. Then General Trochu has an aide-de-camp, a Prince Bibesco. He is a Wallachian, and a son of an ex-Hospodar--I never yet heard of a Wallachian who was not more or less. Can a doubt exist in the mind of any reasonable being that this young gentleman, a harmless lad, who had passed the greater part of his existence dancing cotillons at Paris, is in direct communication with the Prussians outside? A day or two ago two National Guards were exchanging their strategical views in a café, when they observed a stranger write down something. He was immediately arrested, as he evidently intended to transmit the opinions of these two military sages to General Moltke. I was myself down at Montrouge yesterday, when I was requested by two National Guards to accompany them to the nearest commissary. I asked why, and was told that a woman had heard me speak German. I replied that I was English. "Zat ve saal soon zee," said one of my captors. "I spek Anglish like an Anglishman, address to me the vord in Anglish." I replied that the gentleman spoke English with so perfect an accent that I thought he must be a fellow-countryman. The worthy fellow was disarmed by the compliment, and told a crowd which had collected round us to do prompt justice on the spy, that I not only was an Englishman, but _un Cockné_; that is to say, he explained, an inhabitant of London. He shook me by the hand; his friend shook me by the hand; and several ladies and gentlemen also shook me by the hand; and then we parted. Yesterday evening on the Boulevards there were groups discussing "the traitors." Some said that General Schmitz had been arrested; others that he ought to be arrested. A patriot observed to me that all foreigners in Paris ought, as a precautionary measure, to be extirpated. "Parbleu," I replied, and you may depend upon it I rolled my eyes and shrugged my shoulders in true Gallic fashion. This morning General Trochu has published a proclamation, denouncing all attacks upon his staff, and making himself responsible for its members. It is an honest, manly protest, and by far the best document which this prolific writer has issued for some time. Another complaint is made against the generals who damp the popular enthusiasm by throwing doubts upon ultimate victory. In fact, we have got to such a condition that a military man dares not venture to express his real opinion upon military matters for fear of being denounced. We are, indeed, still in a most unsurrendering mood. I was talking to-day to a banker--a friend who would do anything for me except cash my bill. In business he is a clear-headed, sensible man. I asked him what would occur if our provisions gave out before the armies of the provinces arrived to our succour. He replied that the Government would announce the fact, and call upon all able-bodied men to make a dash at the Prussian lines; that 300,000 at least would respond to that call, and would either be killed or force their way out. This will give you an idea of the present tone of the population. Nine men out of ten believe that we have enough provisions to last at least until the end of February. The only official utterance respecting the provisions is contained in a paragraph in the _Journal Officiel_ to-day, in which we are informed that there are 15,000 oxen and 40,000 sheep in Bordeaux waiting for marching orders to Paris. This is much like telling a starving man in the Strand that figs are plentiful in Palestine, and only waiting to be picked. The bombardment has diminished in intensity. The Government has put the Prussian prisoners in the ambulances on the left bank of the Seine. It appears to me that it would have been wiser to have moved the ambulances to the right bank. By day few shells fall into the town beyond the immediate vicinity of the ramparts. At night they are more plentiful, and seem to be aimed promiscuously. I suppose about ten people are hit every twenty-four hours. Now as above fifty people die every day in Paris of bronchitis, there is far more danger from the latter than from the batteries of the disciples of Geist outside. It is not worse to die by a bomb than of a cold. Indeed I am by no means sure that of two evils the latter is not the least; yet a person being suddenly struck down in the streets of a capital by a piece of iron from a cannon will always produce a more startling effect upon the mind than a rise in the bills of mortality from natural causes. Those who are out of the reach of the Prussian guns are becoming accustomed to the bombardment. "You naughty child," I heard a woman who was walking before me say to her daughter, "if you do not behave better I will not take you to see the bombardment." "It is better than a vaudeville," said a girl near me on the Trocadero, and she clapped her hands. A man at Point-du-Jour showed me two great holes which had been made in his garden the night before by two bombs close by his front door. He, his wife, and his children seemed to be rather proud of them. I asked him why he did not move into the interior of the town, and he said that he could not afford it. In a German paper which recently found its way in, it was stated that the bombardment of Paris would commence when the psychological moment had arrived. We are intensely indignant at this term; we consider it so cold-blooded. It is like a doctor standing by a man on the rack, and feeling his pulse to see how many more turns of the screw he can bear. All the forts outside are still holding their own against the Prussian batteries. Issy has had as yet the greatest amount of attention paid to it by the besiegers. There is a battery at Meudon which seems never to tire of throwing shells into it. It is said, however, that the enemy is endeavouring to establish breaching guns at a closer range, in order to make his balls strike the ground and then bound into the fort--a mode of firing which was very successful at Strasburg. The sensation news of to-day is that Faidherbe has driven Manteuffel across the Belgian frontier, and that Frederick Charles, who always seems to come to life after being killed, has been recalled from Orleans to Paris. The funds rose to-day one per cent. upon these rumours. Our chief confidence, however, just now is in Bourbaki; we think that he has joined Garibaldi, and that these two will force the Prussians to raise the siege by throwing themselves on their communications. I only hope they may. Mr. Washburne has not been allowed to send out his weekly bag. I presume, however, that this embargo will not be kept up. The Government has not yet announced its intention with respect to M. Jules Favre proceeding to London to represent France in the conferences on the Eastern Question. Most of the newspapers seem to be of opinion that until the Republic has been officially recognised, it is not consistent with her dignity to take part in any European Conference. The diplomatists, who have been a little thrown in the background of late, by wars and generals, must be delighted to find their old friend, the "Eastern Question," cropping up. The settlement of the Schleswig-Holstein question was a heavy blow to them; but for many a year they will have an opportunity to prose and protocol over Turkey. An Austrian wit--indeed the only wit that Austria ever produced--used to say that Englishmen could only talk about the weather, and that if by some dispensation of Providence there ever should be no such thing as weather, the whole English nation would become dumb. What the weather is to Englishmen the Eastern Question is to diplomatists. For their sakes, let us hope that it never will be satisfactorily settled. Diplomatists, like many other apparently useless beings, must live. _January 15th._ Yesterday we were made comparatively happy by a report that the Prussian funds had fallen 3 per cent. at Berlin. To-day we are told that Bourbaki has gained a great victory, raised the siege of Belfort, and is about to enter Germany. German newspapers up to the 7th have been seized at the advanced posts, but whatever in them tells against us we put down to a general conspiracy on the part of Europe to deceive us. It is somewhat curious to watch the transmutations of the names of English statesmen after they have passed through a German and a French translation. Thus the latest news from London is that Mr. Hackington is made Irish Secretary, and that Mr. Floresko is Minister of Commerce. The diplomatists and consuls still at Paris have sent a collective note to Count Bismarck, complaining that the notice of the bombardment was not given, and asking him to afford them the means to place the persons and the property of their respective countrymen out of danger. The minnows sign with the whales. Mr. Washburne's name is inserted between that of the representative of Monaco and that of the Chargé d'Affaires of Honduras. The bombardment still continues. The cannon now make one continuous noise. Each particular discharge cannot be distinguished. The shells fall on the left bank to a distance of about a mile from the ramparts. A return of the _Official Journal_ gives 138 wounded and 51 killed up to the 13th. Among the killed are 18 children and 12 women; among the wounded, 21 children and 45 women. Waggons and hand-carts packed with household goods are streaming in from the left to the right bank. In the bombarded quarters many shops are closed. Some householders have made a sort of casemate reaching to the first story of their houses; others sleep in their cellars. The streets are, however, full of people, even in the most exposed districts; and all the heights from which a view is to be had of the Prussian batteries are crowded with sightseers. Every now and then one comes across some house through which a shell has passed. The public buildings have, as yet, suffered very slightly. The dome of the Panthéon, which we presume is used as a mark for the aim of the Prussian artillerymen, has been hit once. The shell has made a round hole in the roof, and it burst inside the church. In the Jardin des Plantes all the glass of the conservatories has been shattered by the concussion of the air, and the orchids and other tropical plants are dying. Although war and its horrors are thus brought home to our very doors, it is even still difficult to realise that great events are passing around us which history will celebrate in its most solemn and dignified style. Distance in battles lends grandeur to the view. Had the charge of Balaclava taken place on Clapham Common, or had our gallant swordsmen replaced the donkeys on Hampstead Heath, even Tennyson would have been unable to poetise their exploits. When one sees stuck up in an omnibus-office that omnibuses "will have to make a circuit from _cause de bombardement_;" when shells burst in restaurants and maim the waiters; when the trenches are in tea-gardens; and when one is invited for a sou to look through a telescope at the enemy firing off their guns, there is a homely domestic air about the whole thing which is quite inconsistent with "the pomp and pride of glorious war." On Friday night there was an abortive sortie at Clamart. Some of the newspapers say that the troops engaged in it were kept too long waiting, and that they warmed their feet by stamping, and made so much noise that the Prussians caught wind of the gathering. Be this as it may, as soon as they got into Clamart they were received with volleys of musketry, and withdrew. I am told that the marching battalions of the National Guard, now in the trenches, are doing their work better than was expected. The generals in command are satisfied with them, but whether they will be of any great use for offensive operations, is a question yet to be solved. The clubs still keep up their outcry for "La Commune," which they imagine will prove a panacea for every evil. In the club of the Rue Arras last night, a speaker went a step still further, and demanded "the establishment of anarchy as the ruling power." Trochu is still either attacked, or feebly defended, in the newspapers. The French are so accustomed to the State doing everything for them, that their ruler is made responsible for everything which goes wrong. The demand for a sortie _en masse_ is not so strong. Every one is anxious not to surrender, and no one precisely knows how a surrender is to be avoided. Successes on paper have so long done duty for successes in the field, that no one, even yet, can believe that this paper currency has been so depreciated that bankruptcy must ensue. Is it possible, each man asks, that 500,000 armed Frenchmen will have to surrender to half the number of Germans? And as they reply that it is impossible, they come to the conclusion that treason must be at work, and look round for the traitor. Trochu, who is as honest and upright as a man as he is incompetent as a general, will probably share the fate of the "Man of Sedan" and the "Man of Metz," as they are called. "He is a Laocoon," says M. Felix Pyat in his newspaper, with some confusion of metaphor, "who will strangle the Republic." We hear now that Government is undertaking an inquiry to discover precisely how long our stock of provisions will last. Matters are managed so carelessly, that I doubt whether the Minister of Commerce himself knows to within ten days the precise date when we shall be starved out. The rations of meat now amount to 1-27th of a pound per diem for each adult. At the fashionable restaurants the supply is unlimited, and the price as unlimited. Two cutlets of donkey cost 18 francs, and everything else in the way of animal food is in proportion. The real vital question, however, is how long the bread will last. In some arrondissements the supply fails after 8 o'clock in the morning; at others, each resident receives 1 lb. upon production of a _carte de subsistance_. The distribution has been thrown into disorder by the people from the bombarded quarters flocking into the central ones, and wanting to be fed. The bread itself is poor stuff. Only one kind is allowed to be manufactured; it is dark in colour, heavy, pasty, and gritty. There is as little corn in it as there is malt in London beer when barley is dear. The misery among the poorer classes is every day on the increase. Most of the men manage to get on with their 1fr. 50c. a day. In the morning they go to exercise, and afterwards loll about until night in cafés and pothouses, making up with liquids for the absence of solids. As for doing regular work, they scoff at the idea. Master tailors and others tell me that it is almost impossible to get hands to do the few orders which are now given. They are warmly clad in uniforms by the State, and except those belonging to the marching battalions really doing duty outside, I do not pity them. With the women and children the case is different. The latter, owing to bad nourishment and exposure, are dying off like rotten sheep; the former have but just enough food to keep body and soul together, and to obtain even this they have to stand for hours before the doors of the butchers and bakers, waiting for their turn to be served. And yet they make no complaints, but patiently suffer, buoyed up, poor people, by the conviction that by so doing they will prevent the Prussians from entering the town. If one of them ventures to hint at a capitulation, she is set on by her neighbours. Self-assertion, however, carries the day. Jules and Jaques will hereafter quaff many a petit verre to their own heroism; and many a story will they inflict upon their long-suffering friends redounding to their own special glory. Their wives will be told that they ought to be proud to have such men for husbands. But Jules and Jacques are in reality but arrant humbugs. Whilst they boozed, their wives starved; whilst they were warmly clad, their wives were in rags; whilst they were drinking confusion to their enemies in some snug room, their wives were freezing at the baker's door for their ration of bread. In Paris the women--I speak of those of the poorer classes--are of more sterling stuff than the men. They suffer far more, and they repine much less. I admire the crowd of silent, patient women, huddling together for warmth every morning, as they wait until their pittance is doled out to them, far more than the martial heroes who foot it behind a drum and a trumpet to crown a statue, to visit a tomb, and to take their turn on the ramparts; or the heroes of the pen, who day after day, from some cosy office, issue a manifesto announcing that victory is certain, because they have made a pact with death. _January 16th._ If I am to believe the Paris papers, the Fort of Issy is gradually extinguishing the guns of the Prussian batteries which bear on it. If I am to believe my eyes, the Fort of Issy is not replying at all to these said guns; and if I am to believe competent military authorities, in about eighteen days from now at the latest the Fort of Issy will cease to be a fort. The batteries at Meudon appeared to-day to be of opinion that its guns were effectually silenced; shells fell thick and fast on the bastions at Point-du-Jour; and so well aimed were they, that between the bastions a looker-on was in comparative safety. The noise, however, of the duel between the bastions and the batteries was so deafening, that it was literally impossible for two persons to hear each other speak at a few feet distance; the shells, too, which were passing to the right and left, seemed to give the whole air a tremulous motion. At the bastions the artillerymen were working their guns, but the National Guards on duty were under cover. The houses, on both sides of the Seine, within the city, for about half a mile from the viaduct are deserted; not above a dozen of them, I should imagine, are still inhabited. Outside, in the villages of Vanvres and Issy, several fires have broken out, but they have been promptly extinguished, and there has been no general conflagration. The most dangerous spot in this direction is a road which runs behind the Forts of Vanvres and Montrouge; as troops are frequently marching along it the Prussians direct their guns from Clamart and Chatillon on it. In the trenches the danger is not great, and there are but few casualties; the shells pass over them. If anyone, however, exposes himself, a ball about the size of an egg, from a _canon de rampart_, whizzes by him, as a gentle reminder to keep under cover. The area of the bombardment is slightly extending, and will, I presume, very soon reach the right bank. More people are killed in the daytime than at night, because they will stand in groups, notwithstanding every warning, and stare at any house which has been damaged. The bill of mortality for the week ending January 13th, gives an increase on the previous week of 302; the number of deaths registered is 3982. This is at the rate of above twenty per cent. per annum, and it must be remembered that in this return those who die in the public hospitals, or of the direct effect of the war, are not included. Small-pox is about stationary, bronchitis and pneumonia largely on the increase. Bourbaki, we are told to-day, is at Freiburg, in the Grand Duchy of Baden. The latest German papers announce that Mézières has fallen, and it seems to occur to no one that Gambetta's last pigeon despatch informed us that the siege of this place had been raised. _La Liberté_ thus sums up the situation:--"Nancy menaced; Belfort freed; Baden invaded; Hamburg about to be bombarded. This is the reply of France to the bombardment of Paris. The hour has arrived; the Prussians brought to bay, hope to find refuge in Paris. This is their last hope; their last resource." In order to encourage us to put up with our short commons, we are now perpetually being told that the Government has in reserve vast stores of potted meats, cheese, butter, and other luxuries, of which we have almost forgotten the very taste; and that when things come to the worst we shall turn the corner, and enter into a period of universal abundance. These stores seem to me much like the mirage which lures on the traveller of the desert, and which perpetually recedes as he advances. But the great difficulty of the moment is to procure fuel. I am ready, as some one said, to eat the soles of my boots for the sake of my country; but then they must be cooked. All the mills are on the Marne, and cannot be approached. Steam mills have been put up, but they work slowly; and whatever may be the amount of corn yet in store, it is almost impossible to grind enough of it to meet the daily requirements. A good deal of discussion is going on as to the time which it will take to revictual Paris; it is thought that it can be done in seven days, but I do not myself see how it is to be done in anything like this time. One of the principal English bankers here has, I understand, sent an agent by balloon to buy boats of small draught in England, in order to bring provisions up the Seine. As a speculation, I should imagine that the best plan would be to amass them on the Belgian or Luxemburg frontier. About two-thirds of the population will be without means to buy food, even if the food were at their doors. Trade and industry will not revive for some time; they will consequently be entirely dependent upon the State for their means of subsistence. Even if work is offered to them, many of them not be able at once to reassume their habits of daily industry; the Bohemian life which they have led for the last four months, and which they are still leading, is against it. A siege is so abnormal a condition of things, that the State has been obliged to pay them for doing practically nothing, as otherwise they would have fallen into the hands of the anarchists; but this pottering about from day to day with a gun, doing nothing except play at billiards and drink, has been very demoralising, and it will be long before its effect ceases to be felt. The newspapers are somewhat irreverent over the diplomatic protest against the bombardment. They say that while Paris is deserted by the Great European Powers, it is a source of pleasure to think that the Principality of Monaco and the Republics of San Marino and Honduras still stand by her. They suggest that M. Jules Favre should go to Andorre to endeavour to induce that republic also to reason with the Prussians upon the bombardment. I am told that the "proud young porter," who now the sheep is dead, represents alone the Majesty of England at the British Embassy is indignant at not having been invited to add his signature to the protest. He considers--and justly I think--that he is a far more important personage than the Plenipotentiary of his Highness of Monaco; a despot who exercises sway over about 20 acres of orange trees, 60 houses, and two roulette tables. The diplomatists are not, however, alone in their protest. Everybody has protested, and is still protesting. If it is a necessity of war to throw shells into a densely populated town like this; it is--to say the least--a barbarous necessity; but it seems to me that it is but waste of time and paper to register protests against it; and if it be thought desirable to do so, it would be far more reasonable to protest against human beings--women and children--being exposed to its effects, than to indite plaintive elegies about the possibility of the Venus de Milo being damaged, or the orchids in the hot-houses being killed. I know that, for my part, I would rather that every statue and every plant in the world were smashed to atoms by shells, than that I were. This, in an æsthetical point of view, is selfish; but it is none the less true. _Chacun pour soi._ The Panthéon was struck yesterday. What desecration! everyone cries; and I am very sorry for the Panthéon, but very glad that it was the Panthéon, and not me. The world at large very likely would lose more by the destruction of the Panthéon than of any particular individual; but each particular individual prefers his own humble self to all the edifices that architects have raised on the face of the globe. I have been endeavouring to discover, whether in the councils of our rulers, the question as to what is to be done in the possible contingency of a capitulation becoming necessary, has been raised. As far as I can hear, the contingency is not yet officially recognised as within the realms of possibility, and it has never been alluded to. General Trochu has officially announced "that the Governor of Paris will never capitulate." His colleagues have periodically said much the same thing. The most practical of them, M. Ernest Picard, has, I believe, once or twice endeavoured to lead up to the subject, but he has failed in the attempt. Newspaper articles and Government proclamations tell the population every day that they only have to persevere in order ultimately to triumph. If the end must come, it is difficult to see how it will come. I have asked many intelligent persons what they think will happen, but no one seems to have a very distinct notion respecting it. Some think the Government will issue some day a notice to say that there are only provisions for a week longer; and that at the end of this time the gates of the city will be opened, and the Prussians told that, if they insist upon entering, there will be nothing to prevent them. Others think that the Government will resign their power into the hands of the mayors, as the direct representatives of Paris. Trochu rides about a good deal outside, and says to the soldiers, "Courage, my children, the moment is coming." But to what moment he alludes no one is aware. No word is more abused in the French language than "sublime." To call a folly a sublime folly is considered a justification of any species of absurdity. We call this refusal to anticipate a contingency which certainly is possible, if not probable, sublime. We are proud of it, and sleep on in our fool's paradise as though it were to last for ever. CHAPTER XVII. _January 17th._ The papers publish reports of the meetings of the clubs. The following is from the _Débats_ of to-day:-- "At the extremity of the Rue Faubourg St. Antoine is a dark passage, and in a room which opens into this passage is the Club de la Revendication. The audience is small, and consists mainly of women, who come there to keep warm. The club is peaceable--hardly revolutionary--for Rome is Rome no more, and the Faubourg St. Antoine, formerly so turbulent, has resigned in favour of Belleville and La Villette. Yesterday evening the Club de la Revendication was occupied, as usual, in discussing the misery of the situation, and the necessity of electing a Commune. An orator, whose patriotic enthusiasm attained almost to frenzy, declared that as for himself he scorned hams and sausages in plenty, and that he preferred to live on the air of liberty. (The women sigh.) Another speaker is of opinion that if there were a Commune there would also be hams and sausages in plenty. We still pay, he says, the budget of the clergy, as though Bonaparte were still on the throne, instead of having rationed the large appetites and forced every one to live on 1fr. 50c. a day. In order to make his meaning clear the orator uses the following comparison. Suppose, he says, that I am a peasant, and that I have fattened a chicken. (Excitement.) Were I obliged to give the wings to the clergy, the legs to the military, and the carcass to civil functionaries, there would be nothing of my chicken left for me. Well, this is our case. We fatten chickens; others eat them. It would be far wiser for us to keep them for ourselves. (Yes, yes.) A Pole, the Citizen Strassnowski, undertakes to defend the Government. He obtains a hearing, but not without difficulty. You complain that the Government, he says, has not cast more cannon. Where were the artillerymen? (Ourselves.) But three months ago you were citizens, you were not soldiers. In making you march and counter-march in the streets and on the ramparts you have been converted into soldiers. The Government was right therefore to wait. (Murmurs.) The orator is not angry with the German nation; he is angry only with the potentates who force the people to kill each other; and he hopes that the day will come when the European nations will shake hands over the Pyrenées, the Alps, the Balkan, and the mountains of Carpathia. (Feeble applause and murmurs.) A citizen begs the audience to have patience with the Citizen Strassnowski, who is a worthy man and a volunteer; but the citizen then reproaches the worthy man for having attempted to defend a Government whose incapacity is a matter of notoriety. Come now, Citizen Strassnowski, he says, what has the Government done to merit your praise? It has armed us and exercised us; but why? To deliver us over with our guns and our cannons to the Prussians after we have all caught cold on the ramparts. Has it tried to utilise us? No, it has passively looked on whilst the Prussians surrounded Paris with a triple circle of citadels. We are told every day that the armies of the provinces will deliver us. We do not see them. We are not even secure in Paris. Every kind of story is afloat. Yesterday it was reported that General Schmitz had betrayed us; to-day it is an actress who has arrested a spy whose cook was on intimate terms with a cook of the member of the Government. Why these reports? Because the Government has no moral support, and no one feels confidence in it. In the meantime the food gets less and less, and this morning at eight o'clock all the bakers in this arrondissement had closed their shops. (True, true; we waited five hours at the closed doors.) When we get the bread, it is more like plaster than bread. In the third arrondissement, on the other hand, it is good and plentiful. So much for the organising spirit of the Government. We have to wait hours for bread, hours for wood, and hours for meat; and frequently we do not get either bread, meat, or wood. Things cannot last long like this, my worthy Strassnowski. The speaker concludes by urging the people to take the direction of their affairs into their own hands. (Cries of "Vive la Commune.") The President urges his hearers to subscribe towards a society, the object of which is civic instruction. The club breaks up, the President is applauded." Here is another description of a club meeting from the same journal:-- "The laurels of Belleville prevented La Villette from sleeping. La Villette, therefore, determined to have, like her rival, a central democratic and social club, and yesterday she inaugurated in the Salle Marseillaise an opposition to the "Club Favié." In some respects the Marseillaise club is even more democratic than her parent. The Salle is a sort of barn, and the _sans culottes_ themselves, notwithstanding their horror of all luxury, hardly found its comforts sufficient for them. The Club Favié, with its paintings on the walls and its lustres, has a most aristocratic air in comparison with this new hall of democracy. To judge by its first séance, the Club Marseillaise promises well. Last night enough treasons were unveiled to make the fortune of most other clubs for a week at least. From the commencement of the war we have been in the meshes of a vast network of treason; and these meshes can only be broken through by the Commune and the Republic. The conspiracy was hatched long ago between the Emperors and the Kings, and the other enemies of the people. The war had been arranged amongst them, and it is an error to suppose that we were beaten at Rhichshofen or Sedan. "No," cried an orator, with conviction, "we have never been defeated; but we have been betrayed." ("True." Applause. "We are still betrayed.") The men of the Hôtel de Ville imitate Bonaparte, and, like him, they have an understanding with the Prussians, to enslave the people, after having betrayed the country. To whom then must we turn to save the country? To the Legitimists? To the Orleanists?" (No, no.) The orator does not hesitate to avow that he would turn to them if they could save France. (Impossible.) Yes, it is impossible for them. The orator admits it; and all the more because Legitimists and Orleanists are enrolled in the conspiracy against the nation. The people can be the only saviours of the people, by the establishment of the commune; and this is why the men of the Hôtel de Ville and the Reactionists are opposed to its establishment. A second speaker abandons the question of the Commune and of the conspiracy, in order to call attention to the resignation of Citizen Delescluze, late mayor of the nineteenth arrondissement. While this orator thinks that it would be unjust to accuse the patriot Delescluze of treason, he ought not the less to be blamed for having abandoned a post to which he had been called by his fellow citizens. The people elected him, and he had no right to put his resignation in the hands of the men of the Hôtel de Ville in the critical circumstances in which we find ourselves--at a moment when the tide of misery is mounting--when the mayors have a great mission to fulfil. What has been the consequence of this act of weakness? The men of the Hôtel de Ville have named a commission to administer the nineteenth arrondissement exactly as was done under Bonaparte. This is what we citizens of Belleville have gained by the desertion of Delescluze. (Applause.) A citizen pushes his way to the tribune to justify the mayor. He admits that at first sight it is difficult to approve of a magistrate who has been elected by the people resigning his office at the very moment when the people have the greatest need of him, but--and again we get into the dark mystery of the conspiracy--if he gave in his resignation, it was because he would not be an accomplice of treason. In a meeting presided over by Jules Favre, what do you suppose the mayors were asked to do? (Here the orator pauses a moment to take breath. The curiosity of the audience is intense.) They were asked to take part in the capitulation. (Violent murmurs--Infamous.) Well yes--Delescluze would have nothing to do with this infamy, and he withdrew. Besides, there was another reason. In the division of the succour afforded to necessitous citizens the nineteenth arrondissement was only supposed to have 4000 indigent persons, whilst in reality the number is 50,000, and by this means it was hoped that the popularity of this pure Republican would suffer, and perhaps riots break out which would be put down--(the divulgation of this plot against the mayor of the nineteenth arrondissement is received in different ways. A person near us observes--"All the same, he ought not to have resigned.") This incident over, the discussion goes back to the treasons of the Hôtel de Ville. It is well known, says a speaker, that a sortie had been determined on in a Council composed of four generals, presided over by Trochu, and that the next morning the Prussians were informed of it. Who told them, who betrayed us. Was it Schmitz, or another general. (A voice: "It was the man who eats pheasants." Indignation.) In any case, Trochu is responsible, even if he was not the traitor himself. ("Yes, yes; it was Trochu!") Another citizen, not personally known to the audience, but who announces that he lives in the Rue Chasson, says that he has received by accident a confidential communication which, perhaps, may throw some light on the affair. This citizen has some friends who are the friends of Ledru Rollin and of the citizen Tibaldi; and one of these friends heard a friend say that either Ledru Rollin or Tibaldi had heard Trochu say that it was impossible to save Paris; but that he would have 30,000 men killed, and then capitulate. (Murmurs of indignation.) The citizen of the Rue Chasson has received a second confidential communication, which corroborates the first. He has been told by one of his neighbours that everything is ready for a capitulation, and he thinks that he will soon be enabled to communicate something still more important on this subject; but in the meanwhile he entreats the energetic citizens of Belleville--(indignation "This is not Belleville")--pardon, of La Villette and of the other Republican faubourgs, to keep their eyes on the Government. They must have no confidence in the _quartiers_ inside the town. The Rue Chasson, in which he lives, is utterly demoralised. La Villette, with Belleville and Montmartre, must save Paris. (Applause.) Another citizen says that he has of late frequently heard the odious word capitulation. How can it be otherwise? Everything is being done to make it necessary. We, the National Guard, who receive 1fr. 50c. a-day, are called the indigent. What do the robbers and the beggars who thus insult us do? They indulge in orgies in the fashionable restaurants. The Zoological Gardens have been shut. Why? Because the elephants, the tigers, and other rare animals have been sold in order to enable wretches who laugh at the public misery to gorge themselves. What can we, the indigent, as they call us, do with 30 sous, when a few potatoes cost 30fr., and a piece of celery 2fr. And they talk now of capitulating, because they have grown rich on the war. Every one knows that it was made in order that speculators should make fortunes. As long as they had goods to sell at ten times their value they were for resistance to the death. Now that they have nothing more to sell, they talk of capitulating. Ah! when one thinks of these scandals one is almost inclined to blow one's brains out. (Laughter and applause.) A fourth citizen takes up the same theme with the same energy and conviction. He knows, he says, a restaurant which is frequented by bank clerks, and where last week there were eaten two cows and a calf, whilst the ambulance opposite was without fresh meat. (Violent murmurs.) This is a part of the system, of Trochu and his colleagues. They starve us and they betray us. Trochu, it is true, has said that he would not capitulate, but we know what that means. When we are worn out and demoralised he will demand a fresh plebiscite on the question of a capitulation, and then he will say that the people, and not he, capitulated. ("True, he is a Jesuit.") We must make an end of these speculators and traitors. ("Yes, yes, it is time,") We must have the Commune. We have not more than eighteen days of provisions, and we want fifteen of them, to revictual. If the Commune is not proclaimed in three days we are lost ("True. La Commune! La Commune!") The orator explains how the Commune will save Paris. It will establish domiciliary visits not only among the shopkeepers, but among private persons who have stores of provisions. Besides, he adds, when all the dogs are eaten we will eat the traitors. (Laughter and applause.) The Commune will organise at the same time a sortie _en masse_, the success of which is infallible. From statistics furnished by Gambetta it results that at this moment there are not above 75,000 Prussians round Paris. And shall our army of 500,000 men remain stationary before this handful of Germans? Absurd. The Commune will burst through this pretended circle of iron. It will put an end to treason. It will place two commissaries by the side of each general. (The evening before, at the club in the Rue Blanche, one commissary with a revolver had been proposed. At the Marseillaise two were thought requisite. This evening, probably at the Club Favié, in order to beat La Villette, three will be the number. The position of a general of the Commune will not be an easy one.) These commissaries, continues the orator, will watch all the movements of the general. At the first sign he gives of yielding, they will blow his brains out. Inexorably placed between victory and death, he will choose the former. (General approbation.) The hour is getting late, but before concluding the sitting, the President announces that the moment is approaching when Republicans must stand shoulder to shoulder. Patriots are invited to give in their names and addresses, in order to be found when they are wanted. This proposal is adopted by acclamation. A certain number of citizens register their names, and then the meeting breaks up with a shout of "Vive la Commune de Paris!" _January 19th._ All yesterday artillery was rolling and troops were marching through Paris on their way to the Porte de Neuilly. The soldiers of the line were worn and ragged; the marching battalions of the National Guards, spick and span in their new uniforms. All seemed in good spirits, the soldiers, after the wont of their countrymen, were making jokes with each other, and with everyone else--the National Guards were singing songs. In some instances they were accompanied by their wives and sweethearts, who carried their muskets or clung to their arms. Most of them looked strong, well-built men, and I have no doubt that in three or four months, under a good general, they would make excellent soldiers. In the Champs Elysées, there were large crowds to see them pass. "Pauvres garçons," I heard many girls say, "who knows how many will return!" And it was indeed a sad sight, these honest bourgeois, who ought to be in their shops or at their counters, ill-drilled, unused to war, marching forth with stout hearts, but with little hope of success, to do battle for their native city, against the iron legions which are beleaguering it. They went along the Avenue de la Grande Armée, crossed the bridge of Neuilly over the Seine, and bivouacked for the night in what is called the "Peninsula of Genevilliers." This peninsula is formed by a loop in the Seine. Maps of the environs of Paris must be plentiful in London, and a glance at one will make the topography of to-day's proceedings far clearer than any description. The opening of the loop is hilly, and the hills run along the St. Cloud side of the loop as far as Mont Valérien, and on the other side as far as Rueil. About half a mile from Mont Valérien following the river is St. Cloud; and between St. Cloud and the Park of the same name is Montretout, a redoubt which was commenced by the French, but which, since the siege began, has been held by the Prussians. The enemy's line extends across the loop from Montretout through Garches to La Malmaison. The latter lies just below Rueil, which is a species of neutral village. The troops passed the night in the upper part of the loop. In numbers they were about 90,000, as far as I can ascertain, and they had with them a formidable field artillery. The object of the sortie was a vague idea to push forward, if possible, to Versailles. Most of the generals were opposed to it, and thought that it would be wiser to make frequent sudden attacks on the enemy's lines; but General Public Opinion insisted upon a grand operation; and this anonymous but all powerful General, as usual, carried the day. The plan appears to have been this: one half the army was under General Vinoy, the other half under General Ducrot. The former was to attack Montretout and Garches, the latter was to push forward through Rueil and La Malmaison, carry the heights of La Jonchère, and then unite with Vinoy at Garches. General Trochu, from an observatory in Mont Valérien, commanded the whole movement. At 7 o'clock troops were pushed forward against Montretout. This redoubt was held by about 200 Poles from Posen; and they made so determined a resistance that the place was not taken until 9.30. No guns were found in the redoubt. At the same time General Bellemare, who commands one of Vinoy's divisions, advanced on Garches, and occupied the wood and park of Buzenval, driving in the Prussian outposts. Here several battalions of the National Guards were engaged. Although their further advance was arrested by a stone wall, from behind which the Prussians fired, they maintained themselves in the wood and the park. The Prussians now opened a heavy fire along the line. At Montretout it was impossible to get a single gun into position. This went on until a little after three o'clock. By this time reinforcements had come up from Versailles, and were pushed forward against the centre of the French line. At the same time shells fell upon the reserves, which consisted of National Guards, and which were drawn up upon the incline of the heights looking towards Paris. They were young troops, and for young troops nothing is so trying as being shelled without being allowed to move. They broke and fell back. Their companions who were in advance, and who held the crest of the heights, saw themselves deserted, and at the same time saw the attacking column coming forward, and they too fell back. The centre of the position was thus lost. A hurried consultation was held, and Montretout and Buzenval were evacuated. As night closed the French troops were falling back to their bivouacs of the previous night, and the Prussians were recrossing the trench which formed their advanced posts in the morning. The day was misty, the mud was so deep that walking was difficult, and I could not follow very clearly the movements of the troops from the house in which I had ensconced myself. What became of General Ducrot no one seemed to know. I have since learnt that he advanced with little resistance through Rueil and La Malmaison, and that he then fought during the day at La Jonchère, detaching a body of troops towards the Park of Buzenval. He appears, however, to have failed in taking La Celle St. Cloud, and from thence flanking La Bergerie, and marching on Garches. Everything is consequently very much where it was this morning before the engagement took place. It has been the old story. The Prussians did not defend their first line, but fell back on their fixed batteries, there keeping up a heavy fire until reinforcements had had time to be brought up. More troops are ordered out for to-morrow; so I presume that the battle is to be renewed. If it ends in a defeat, the consequences will be serious, for the artillery can only be brought back to Paris by one bridge. The wounded are numerous. In the American ambulance, which is close by in the Champs Elysées, there are about seventy. In the Grand Hotel they are arriving every moment. The National Guard at Buzenval behaved very fairly under fire. Many of them had not been above a few days in uniform. Their officers were in many cases as inexperienced as the men. During the fight entire companies were wandering about looking for their battalions, and men for their companies. As citizen soldiers they did their best, and individually they were made of good stuff; but the moral is--do not employ citizen soldiers for offensive operations. When I returned into the town at about 5 o'clock this afternoon, the peninsula of Gennevilliers resembled the course at Epsom on a wet Derby Day. To my civilian eyes, cavalry, artillery, and infantry, seemed to be in inextricable confusion. This morning the bread was rationed all over the city. No one is to have more than 300 grammes per diem; children only 150. I recommend anyone who has lived too high to try this regime for a week. It will do him good. No costermonger's donkey is so overloaded as the stomachs of most rich people. The Government on December 12 solemnly announced that the bread never would be rationed. This measure, therefore, looks to me very much like the beginning of the end. A perquisition is also being made in search of provisions in the apartments of all those who have quitted Paris. Another sign of the end. But it is impossible to know on how little a Frenchman can live until the question has been tested. I went yesterday into the house of a friend of mine, in the Avenue de l'Impératrice, which is left in charge of a servant, and found three families, driven out of their homes by the bombardment, installed in it--one family, consisting of a father, a mother, and three children, were boiling a piece of horse meat, about four inches square, in a bucket full of water. This exceedingly thin soup was to last them for three days. The day before they had each had a carrot. The bread is scarce because the supply ceases before the demand in most quarters, so that those who come last get none. My friend's servant was giving a dinner to the English coachman. The sole dish was a cat with mice round it. I tasted one of the latter, crunching the bones as if it had been a lark. I can recommend mice, when nothing more substantial is to be obtained. I hear that a pigeon has arrived this evening. Its despatch has not yet been published. The "traitor-mania" still rages. Last night at the Belleville Club an orator announced an awful discovery--the bread was being poisoned by traitors. The Correspondent of one of your contemporaries, having heard that he had been accused of being a Prussian spy, went to-day to the Prefect of the Police. This august being told him that he did not suspect him, and then showed him a file of papers duly docketed relating to each London paper which is represented here. For my part, although I have not failed to blame what I thought blameable, and although I have not gone into ecstacies over the bombastic nonsense which is the legacy of the vile despotism to which the French were foolish enough to submit for twenty years, and which has vitiated the national character, I have endeavoured in my correspondence to be, as far as was consistent with truth, "to all their virtues very kind, to all their faults a little blind." _January 20th._ This morning several fresh regiments of National Guards were ordered to march out to the Peninsula of Gennevilliers. I accompanied one of them; but when we got into Neuilly a counter-order came, and they were marched back. Every house in Neuilly and Courbevoie was full of troops, and regiments were camping out in the fields, where they had passed the night without tents. Many of the men had been so tired that they had thrown themselves down in the mud, which was almost knee-deep, and thus fallen asleep with their muskets by their sides. Bitter were the complaints of the commissariat. Bread and _eau de vie_ were at a high premium. Many of the men had thrown away their knapsacks, with their loaves strapped to them, during the action, and these were now the property of the Prussians. It is impossible to imagine a more forlorn and dreary scene. Some of the regiments--chiefly those which had not been in the action--kept well together; but there were a vast number of stragglers wandering about looking for their battalions and their companies. At about twelve o'clock it became known that the troops were to re-enter Paris, and that the battle was not to be renewed; and at about one the march through the gate of Neuilly commenced, colours flying and music playing, as though a victory had been won. I remained there some time watching the crowd that had congregated at each side of the road. Most of the lookers on appeared to be in a condition of blank despair. They had believed so fully that the grand sortie must end in a grand victory, that they could hardly believe their eyes when they saw their heroes returning into Paris, instead of being already at Versailles. There were many women anxiously scanning the lines of soldiers as they passed by, and asking every moment whether some relative had been killed. As I came home down the Champs Elysées it was full of knots of three and four soldiers, who seemed to consider that it was a waste of time and energy to keep up with their regiments. In the evening papers the despatch announcing the defeat of Chanzy has been published, and a request from Trochu to General Schmitz to apply at once for an armistice of two days to bury the dead. "The fog," he adds, "is very dense," and certainly this fog appears to have got into the worthy man's brain. Almost all the wounded have already been picked up by the French and the Prussian ambulances. Nearly all the dead are in what are now the Prussian lines, and will no doubt be buried by them. In the afternoon, as a suspension of arms for two hours was agreed to, our ambulances pushed forward, and brought back a few wounded, but not many. Most of those who had fallen in the Prussian lines had already been moved, their officers said, to St. Germain and St. Cloud, where they would be cared for. At three P.M. Jules Favre summoned the Mayors to a consultation, and General Trochu also came in to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for half an hour, and then returned to Valérien. The feeling against him is very strong. It is said that he has offered to resign; and I think it very probable that he will be the Jonah thrown out to the whale. But will this sacrifice save the ship? All the Generals are roundly abused. Indeed, in France there is no medium between the Capitol and the Tarpeian Rock. A man who is not a victor must be a traitor. That undisciplined National Guards fresh from their shops, should be unable to carry by assault batteries held by German troops, is a thing which never can be admitted. If they fail to do this, it is the fault of their leaders. Among those who were killed yesterday is M. Regnault, the painter who obtained at the last salon, the gold medal for his picture of "Salome." He went into action with a card on his breast, on which he had written his name and the address of the young lady to whom he was engaged to be married. When the brancardiers picked him up, he had just strength to point to this address. Before they could carry him there he was dead. But the most painful scene during the battle was the sight of a French soldier who fell by French balls. He was a private in the 119th Battalion, and refused to advance. His commander remonstrated. The private shot him. General Bellemare, who was near, ordered the man to be killed at once. A file was drawn up and fired on him; he fell, and was supposed to be dead. Some brancardiers soon afterwards passing by, and thinking that he had been wounded in the battle, placed him on a stretcher. It was then discovered that he was still alive. A soldier went up to him to finish him off, but his gun missed fire. He was then handed another, when he blew out the wretched man's brains. From all I can learn from the people connected with the different ambulances, our loss yesterday does not amount to above 2000 killed and wounded. Most of the newspapers estimate it far higher. At Buzenval, where the only really sharp fighting took place, an officer who was in command tells me that there were about 300 killed. For the sake of humanity, it is to be hoped that we shall have no more of these blind sorties. The French get through the first Prussian lines; they are then arrested by the fire of the batteries from the second line; reinforcements are brought up by the enemy; and the well-known movement to the rear commences. "Our losses," say the official reports the next morning, "are great; those of the enemy enormous. Our troops fought with distinguished valour, but----" _January 21st._ It was so wet last night that there were but few groups of people on the Boulevards. At the clubs Trochu was universally denounced. Almost every one is now in despair. Of what use, they say, are the victories of Bourbaki; he cannot be here in time. We had pinned our faith on Chanzy, and the news of his defeat, coupled with our own, has almost extinguished every ray of hope in the breasts even of the most hopeful. The Government, it is thought, is preparing the public mind for a capitulation. _La Liberté_, until now its strongest supporter, bitterly complains that it should publish the truth! Chandordy's despatch went first to Jules Favre. He stood over the man who was deciphering it. When he read the opening sentence, "Un grand malheur," he refused to read more, and sent it undeciphered to Trochu. When it reached the Governor, no one on his staff could decipher it, so it had to be returned to the Foreign-office. The moment for the quacks is at hand. A "General" offers to raise the siege if he be given 50,000 men. A magician offers a shell which will destroy the Prussians root and branch. M. Felix Pyat, in his organ, observes that Sparta never was taken, and that the Spartans used to eat in common. He proposes, therefore, as a means to free Paris, that a series of public suppers should be inaugurated. I can only say that I hope that they may be, for I certainly shall attend. Even Spartan broth would be acceptable. The bread is all but uneatable. If you put it in water, straw and bits of hay float about. A man, who ought to know, solemnly assured me this morning that we had only food for six days; but then men who ought to know are precisely those who know nothing. I do not think that we are so badly off as this; but the end is a question no longer of months, but of days, and very soon it will be of hours. Those who desire a speedy capitulation are called _les capitulards_, and they are in a majority of nine to one. There are still many who clamour for a grand sortie, but most of those who do so, are persons who, by no possibility, can themselves share in the operation. The street orators are still at poor Jonah Trochu, and their hearers seem to agree with them. These sages, however, do not explain who is to replace him. Some of the members of the Government, I hear, suggest an admiral; but what admiral would accept this _damnosa hæreditas_? Among the generals, each has his partisans, and each seems to be of opinion that he himself is a mighty man of war, and all the others fools. Both Vinoy and Ducrot declined to attend the Council of War which sat before the late sortie. They were generals of division, they said, and they would obey orders, but they would accept no further responsibilities. Ducrot, who was the _fidus Achates_ of Trochu, is no longer in his good graces. The _Réveil_ of this afternoon, which is usually well-informed on all matters which concern our Mayors, gives the following account of the meeting of yesterday: "At three o'clock the meeting took place in the presence of all the members of the Government. M. Trochu declared formally that he would fight no more. M. Favre said that the Government was 'disappearing.' M. Favre proposed that the Government should give up its power to the Mayors. The Mayors refused. The discussion was very violent. Several propositions, one more absurd than another, were brought forward by some of the members of the Government. They were not discussed. As usual, the meeting broke up without any result." The best man they have is Vinoy; he is honest, disinterested, and determined. It is to be hoped that if Trochu resigns, he will take his place. _January 22nd._ So poor Jonah has gone over, and been swallowed up by the whale. He still remains the head of the civil government, but it only is as a figure-head. He is an upright man; but as a military chief he has proved himself a complete failure. He was a man of plans, and never could alter the details of these plans to suit a change of circumstances. What his grand plan was, by which Paris was to be saved, no one now, I presume, ever will know. The plans of his sorties were always elaborately drawn up; each divisional commander was told in the minutest details what he was to do. Unfortunately, General Moltke usually interfered with the proper development of these details--a proceeding which always surprised poor Trochu--and in the account the next day of his operations, he would dwell upon the fact as a reason for his want of success. That batteries should be opened upon his troops, and that reinforcements should be brought up against them, were trifles--probable as they might seem to most persons--which filled him with an indignant astonishment. At the last sortie Ducrot excuses himself for being late at La Malmaison because he found the road by which he had been ordered to advance occupied by a long line of artillery, also there by Trochu's orders. General Vinoy, who has replaced him, is a hale old soldier about seventy years old. He has risen from the ranks, and in the Crimea was a very intimate friend of Lord Clyde. When the latter came, a few years before his death, to Paris, the English Ambassador had prepared a grand breakfast for him, and had gone to the station to meet him. On the platform was also Vinoy, who also had prepared breakfast for his old comrade in arms; and this breakfast, very much to the disgust of the diplomatist, Lord Clyde accepted. General Vinoy has to-day issued a proclamation to the troops, which in its plain, simple, modest language contrasts very favourably with the inflated bombast in which his predecessor was so great an adept. The newspapers are already commencing to prove to their own satisfaction that the battle of last Thursday was not a defeat, but an "incomplete victory." As for the National Guard, one would suppose that every one of them had been in the action, and that they were only prevented from carrying everything before them by the timidity of their generals. The wonderful feats which many of these heroes have told me they performed would lead one to suppose that Napoleon's old Guard was but a flock of sheep in comparison with them. I cannot help thinking that by a certain indistinctness of recollection they attribute to themselves every exploit, not only that they saw, but that their fertile imaginations have ever dreamt to be possible. In all this nonsense they are supported by the newspapers, who think more of their circulation than of truth. To read the accounts of this battle one would suppose that neither the Line nor the Mobiles had been in it. A caricature now very popular represents a lion in the uniform of a National Guard held back by two donkeys in the uniforms of generals, and vainly endeavouring to rush upon a crowd of terrified Germans. As a matter of fact--about 5,000 National Guards were in the thick of it--the men behaved tolerably well, and many of the officers very well. The great majority of the marching battalions which were in the peninsula "did not give," to use the French phrase; and some of them, notwithstanding the efforts of their officers, were unable to remain steady as soon as the Prussian bombs reached them. This _sic vos non vobis_ which, is meted out to the Mobiles and the Line makes me indignant. As for the sailors, they are splendid fellows--and how we always manage to beat them afloat increases my admiration of the British tars. They are kept under the strictest discipline by their captains and admirals, one of whom once said to me when I asked him whether his men fraternized with the soldiers, "If I saw one of them associating with such _canaille_, I would put him under arrest for twenty-four hours." In the forts they are perfectly cool under the heaviest fire, and both at Le Bourget and at Chatillon they fought like heroes. "Ten thousand of them," observed a general to me the other day, "are worth more than the whole National Guards." The bombardment still continues. Bombs fall into the southern part of the town; but habit in this world is everything, and no one troubles himself much about them. At night the Trocadero has become a fashionable lounge for the _cocottes_, who still honour us with their presence. The line of the Prussian batteries and the flash of their guns can be seen. The hissing, too, of the bombs can be heard, when the _cocottes_ crouch by their swains in affected dread. It is like Cremorne, with its ladies and its fireworks. Since yesterday morning, too, St. Denis has been bombarded. Most of its inhabitants have taken refuge in Paris, but it will be a pity if the cathedral, with the tombs of all the old French Kings, is damaged. St. Denis is itself a species of fort. Its guns are not, a friend tells me who has just come from there, replying with vigour. The Prussians are firing on it from six separate batteries, and it is feared that it will fall. Our attention to-day has been diverted from the Prussians outside by a little domestic quarrel at home, and we have been shooting each other, as though the Prussian missiles were not enough for our warlike stomachs, and death were not raging around our prison. Between twelve and one this morning a band of armed patriots appeared before the prison of Mazas, and demanded the release of Flourens and the political prisoners who were shut up there. The director, instead of keeping the gate shut, allowed a deputation to enter. As soon as the gate was opened, not only the deputation, but the patriots rushed in, and bore off Flourens and his friends in triumph. With the Mayor at their head, they then went to the Mairie of the 20th Arrondissement, and pillaged it of all the rations and bread and wine which they found stored up there. Then they separated, having passed a resolution to go at twelve o'clock to the Hôtel de Ville, to assist their "brothers" in turning out the Government. I got myself to the Place of the Hôtel de Ville at about two o'clock. There were then about 5000 persons there. The gates were shut. Inside the rails before them were a few officers; and soldiers could be seen at all the windows. Some few of the 5000 were armed, but most of them were unarmed. Close in by the Hôtel de Ville there seemed to be some sort of military order in the positions occupied by the rioters. I took up my stand at the corner of the Rue de Rivoli. Every moment the crowd increased. It was composed partly of sightseers, for on Sunday every one is out of doors; partly of sympathisers. These sympathisers were not, as on October 31, working men, but mainly what Count Bismarck would call the populace. Their political creed may be summed up by the word "loot;" their personal appearance by the word "hangdog." I found myself in the midst of a group of hangdogs, who were abusing everyone and everything. On one side of me was a lady of expansive figure, whose breath showed that she had partaken lately of ardent spirits, and whose conversation showed that if she was a "matron of Cornelia's mien," her morals were better than her conversation. "The people are slaves," she perpetually yelled, "they will no longer submit to traitors; I say it to you, I, the mother of four children." The maternal vantage ground which she assumed evidently gave her opinions weight, for her neighbours replied, "Oui, elle a raison, la mère." A lean, bilious-looking fellow, who looked as though through life he had not done an honest day's work, and whose personal charms were not heightened by a grizzled beard and a cap of cat-skin, close by the matron, was bawling out, "The Hôtel de Ville belongs to us, I am a taxpayer;" whilst a youth about fifteen years old, hard by, explained in a shrill treble the military errors which Trochu and the generals had committed. At a little after three o'clock, a fresh band, all armed, with a drum, beating the charge, appeared, and as they neared the chief entrance of the Hôtel de Ville, just one shot, and then a number of shots were fired. Everybody who had a gun then shot it off with an eager but general idea of doing something, as he fled, like a Parthian bowman. The stampede soon became general; numbers of persons threw themselves on the ground. I saw the mother of four children sprawling in the mire, and the bilious taxpayer fall over her, and then I followed the youthful strategist into an open door. Inside were about twenty people. The door was shut to, and for about twenty minutes we heard muskets going off. Then, as the fight seemed over, the door was opened and we emerged. The Place had been evacuated by the mob, and was held by the troops. Fresh regiments were marching on it along the quay and the Rue de Rivoli. Wounded people were lying about or crawling towards the houses. Soon some _brancardiers_ arrived and picked up the wounded. One boy I saw evidently dying--the blood was streaming out of two wounds. The windows of the Hôtel de Ville were broken, and the façade bore traces of balls, as did some of the houses round the Place. I remained until dusk. Even when I left the streets were full of citizens. Each man who had rolled in the mire, and whose clothes showed traces of it, was the centre of a group of sympathisers and non-sympathisers, to whom he was explaining how the Breton brigands had fired on him, a poor innocent lamb, who had done no harm. The non-sympathisers, however, were in the majority, and "served him right" seemed to be the general verdict on those who had been shot, or who had spoilt their clothes. Every now and then some window would slam or a cart would rumble by, when there would be a general scamper for a few yards. After dinner I again returned to the Hôtel de Ville. The crowd had dispersed, and the Place was militarily occupied; so we may suppose that this little domestic episode is over. _January 23rd, morning._ The clubs are closed, and the _Réveil_ and the _Combat_ suppressed. Numbers of people are coming in from St. Denis, where the bombardment is getting very hot. Bombs last night fell in one of the islands on the Seine; so the flood is mounting, and our dry ground is every day diminishing. I see in an extract from a German paper, that it has been telegraphed to England that the village of Issy has been entirely destroyed by the Prussian fire. This is not the case. I was there the other day, and the village is still there. It is not precisely the spot where one would wish one's property to be situated, but most of the houses are, as yet, intact. CHAPTER XVIII. _January 27th._ I write this, as I hear that the last balloon is to start to-night. How lucky for the English public that, just when the siege of Paris ceases, the conscript fathers of the nation will furnish them with reading at their breakfast tables. The light, airy wit of Professor Fawcett, and the pleasant fancy of Mr. Newdegate, will be served up for them with their hot rolls every morning instead of the bulletins of Count Moltke--lucky public! Most of us here are much like heirs at a rich man's funeral. We have long faces, we sigh and we groan, but we are not quite so unhappy as we look. The _Journal Officiel_ of this morning announces that Paris will not be occupied, and that the National Guard will not go to Germany. This is, we say, very different from a capitulation--it is a political incident; in a few days I expect to hear it called a victory. The editor of the _Liberté_--why is this gentleman still alive? for the last three months he has been making pacts with death--explains that Paris never would have and never will capitulate, but that an armistice is a very different sort of thing. Last night, notwithstanding the cold which has again set in, the Boulevard was blocked up with groups of patriots and wiseacres discussing the state of things, and explaining what Paris would agree to and what she would not agree to. Occasionally some "pure"--a "pure" is an Ultra--threw out that the Parisians themselves were only reaping what they had sown; but the pure, I need hardly say, was soon silenced, and it seemed to be generally agreed that Paris has been sublime and heroic, but that if she has been neither, it has been the fault of the traitors to whom she has confided her destinies. Some said that the admirals had stated that they would blow up their forts rather than surrender them; but if the worthies who vouched for this had been informed by the admirals of their intentions, I can only say that these honest tars had chosen strange confidants. Paris, as I have already said more than once, has been fighting as much for her own supremacy over the provinces as for victory over the Prussians. The news--whether true or false I know not--that Gambetta, who is regarded as the representative of Paris, has been replaced by a sort of Council of Regency, and that this Council of Regency is treating, has filled everyone here with indignation. Far better, everyone seems to think, that Alsace should be lost to France, than that France should be lost to Paris. The victories of Prussia have been bitter to Frenchmen, because they had each of them individually assumed a vicarious glory in the victories of the First Empire; but the real patriotism of the Parisians does not extend farther than the walls of their own town. If the result of this war is to cause France to undertake the conduct of its own affairs, and not to allow the population of Paris and the journalists of Paris to ride roughshod over her, the country will have gained more than she has lost by her defeats, no matter what may be the indemnity she be called upon to pay. The martial spirit of the National Guard has of course been lauded to the skies by those newspapers which depend for their circulation on these braves. The question what they have done may, however, be reduced to figures. They number above 300,000. According to their own statements they have been fighting for nearly five months, and I venture to say that during the whole campaign they have not lost 500 men. They have occasionally done duty in the trenches, but this duty has been a very brief one, and they have had very long intervals of repose. I do not question that in the National Guard there are many brave men, but one can only judge of the fighting qualities of an army by comparison, and if the losses of the National Guard be statistically compared with those of the Line, of the Mobiles, and of the sailors, it will be shown that--to use an Americanism--their record is a bad one. The soldiers and the sailors have fought, and the women have suffered during the siege. The male population of Paris has done little more than bluster and drink and brag. To-day there is no firing, and I suppose that the last shell has fallen into Paris. I went out yesterday to St. Denis. Along the road there were a few people coming into Paris with their beds and tables in hand-carts. In the town the bombardment, although not so heavy as it had been, was far too heavy to be pleasant. Most of the people still remaining have established themselves in their cellars, and every moment one came against some chimney emerging from the soil. Some were still on the ground-floor of their houses, and had heaped up mattresses against their windows. The inhabitants occasionally ran from one house to another, like rabbits in a warren from hole to hole. All the doors were open, and whenever one heard the premonitory whistle which announced the arrival of one of the messengers of our psychological friends outside, one had to dodge into some door. I did not see any one hit. The houses were a good deal knocked about; the cathedral, it was said, had been hit, but as shells were falling in the Place before it, I reserved investigations for a more quiet moment. Some of the garrison told me that the forts had been "scratched," but as to how far this scratching process had been carried I cannot say from personal observation, as I thought I might be scratched myself if I pushed my reconnaissance farther. I am not a military man, and do not profess to know anything about bombs technically, but it seems to me, considering that it is their object to burst, and considering the number of scientific persons who have devoted their time to make them burst, it is very strange how very few do burst. I am told that one reason for this is the following:--when they lose the velocity of the impelling force they turn over in the air, and as the percussion cap is on the lighter end, the heavier one strikes the ground. Many of these, too, which have fallen in the town, and which have burst, have done no mischief, because the lead in which they are enveloped has kept the pieces together. The danger, indeed, to life and limb of a bombardment is very slight. I would at any time prefer to be for 24 hours in the most exposed portion of a bombarded town, than walk 24 times across Oxford Street in the middle of the day. A bomb is a joke in comparison with those great heavy wagons which are hurled at pedestrians by their drivers in the streets of London. _January 28th._ The Government has not yet made up its mind to bell the cat, and to let us know the terms of the armistice or capitulation, whichever it is to be called. We hear that it is expected that trains will run to England on Tuesday or Wednesday, and by the first train I for one shall endeavour to get out of this prison. It will be such a relief to find oneself once more among people who have glimpses of common sense, who are not all in uniform, and who did not insist so very strongly on their sublime attitude. Yesterday evening there were a series of open-air clubs held on the Boulevards and other public places. The orators were in most instances women or aged men. These Joans of Arc and ancient Pistols talked very loudly of making a revolution in order to prevent the capitulation; and it seemed to me that among their hearers, precisely those who whilst they had an opportunity to fight thought it wise not to do so, were most vociferous in their applause. The language of the National Guard is indeed most warlike. Several hundred of their officers have indulged in the cheap patriotism of signing a declaration that they wish to die rather than yield. This morning many battalions of the National Guard are under arms, and are hanging about in the streets with their arms stacked before them. Many of the men, however, have not answered to the rappel, and are remaining at home, as a mode of protesting against what is passing. General Vinoy has a body of troops ready to act, and as he is a man of energy I do not anticipate serious disturbances for the moment. As for the soldiers and the Mobiles, they are wandering about in twos and threes without arms, and do not affect to conceal that they are heartily glad that all is over. Poor fellows, their torn and tattered uniforms contrast with the spick and span military gear of the National Guard. They have had during the siege hard work, and they have done good duty, with but little thanks for it. The newspapers are one and all down on the Government. It is of course held to be their fault that the lines of the besiegers have not been forced. General Trochu is not a military genius, and his colleagues have not proved themselves better administrators than half a dozen lawyers who have got themselves elected to a legislative assembly by the gift of the gab were likely to be; but still this system of sacrificing the leaders whenever any disaster takes place, and accusing them of treachery and incompetence, is one of the worst features in the French character. If it continues, eventually every man of rank will be dubbed by his own countrymen either a knave or a fool. _January 31st._ _Finita la Comedia._ Let fall the curtain. The siege of Paris is over; the last balloon has carried our letters through the clouds; the last shot has been fired. The Prussians are in the forts, and the Prussian armies are only not in the streets because they prefer to keep watch and guard outside the vanquished city. What will be the verdict of history on the defence? Who knows! On the one hand the Parisians have kept a powerful army at bay far longer than was anticipated; on the other hand, every sortie that they have made has been unsuccessful--every attempt to arrest the approach of the besiegers has failed. Passively and inertly they have allowed their store of provisions to grow less and less, until they have been forced to capitulate, without their defences having been stormed, or the cannon silenced. The General complains of his soldiers, the soldiers complain of their General; and on both sides there is cause of complaint. Trochu is not a Todleben. His best friends describe him as a sort of military Hamlet, wise of speech, but weak and hesitating in action--making plans, and then criticising them instead of accomplishing them. As a commander, his task was a difficult one; when the siege commenced he had no army; when the army was formed, it was encompassed by earthworks and redoubts so strong that even better soldiers would have failed to carry them. As a statesman, he never was the master of the situation. He followed rather than led public opinion, and subordinated everything to the dread of displeasing any section of a population, which, to be ruled--even in quiet times--must be ruled with a rod of iron. Success is the criterion of ability in this country, and poor Trochu is as politically dead as though he never had lived. His enemies call him a traitor; his friends defend him from the charge by saying that he is only a vain fool. As regards the armed force, the sailors have behaved so well that I wonder at the ease with which our own tars have always beaten them. They have been kept under a rigid discipline by their naval commanders. The line, composed of depôt battalions, and of the regiments which Vinoy brought back from Mézières, without being equal to old seasoned troops, have fought creditably. Their great defect has been an absence of strict discipline. The Mobiles, raw peasants fresh from their homes, have shown themselves brave in action, and have supported the hardship of lengthy outpost duty without a murmur. Unfortunately they elected their own officers, and this weakened their efficiency for offensive purposes. When the siege commenced, every citizen indiscriminately assumed the uniform of the National Guard. Each battalion of this motley force elected its officers, and both men and officers united in despising discipline as a restraint to natural valour. The National Guard mounted guard occasionally on the ramparts, and the rest of their time they passed in parading the streets, drinking in the pothouses, and discussing the conduct of their military superiors. General Trochu soon discovered that this force was, for all purposes of war, absolutely useless. He called for volunteers, and he anticipated that 100,000 men would answer to the appeal; not 10,000 did so. He then ordered a marching company to be formed from each battalion. Complaints innumerable arose. Instead of a generous emulation to fight, each man sought for an excuse to avoid it. This man had a mother, that man a daughter; one had weak lungs, and another weak legs. At length, by dint of pressure and coaxing, the marching battalions were formed. Farewell suppers were offered them by their comrades. They were given new coats, new trousers, and new saucepans to strap on their haversacks. They have done some duty in the trenches, but they were always kept away from serious fighting, and only gave a "moral support" to those engaged in the conflict, until the fiasco in the Isthmus of Gennevilliers a fortnight ago. Then, near the walls of Buzanval, the few companies which were in action fought fairly if not successfully, whilst in another part of the field of battle, those who formed the reserves broke and fled as soon as the Prussian bombs fell into their ranks. The entire National Guard, sedentary and marching battalions, has not, I imagine, lost 500 men during its four months' campaign. This can hardly be called fighting to the death _pro aris et focis_, and sublimity is hardly the word to apply to these warriors. If the 300 at Thermopylæ had, after exhausting their food, surrendered to the Persian armies, after the loss of less than one per cent. of their number--say of three men, they might have been very worthy fellows, but history would not have embalmed their act. Politically, with the exception of the riot on October 31, the Government of National Defence has met with no opposition since September last. There are several reasons for this. Among the bourgeoisie there was little of either love or confidence felt in Trochu and his colleagues, but they represented the cause of order, and were indeed the only barrier against absolute anarchy. Among the poorer classes everyone who liked was clothed, was fed, and was paid by Government for doing nothing, and consequently many who otherwise would have been ready to join in a revolt, thought it well not to disturb a state of things so eminently to their satisfaction. Among the Ultras, there was a very strong distaste to face the fire either of Prussians or of Frenchmen. They had, too, no leaders worthy of the name, and many of them were determined not to justify Count Bismarck's taunt that the "populace" would aid him by exciting civil discord. The Government of September, consequently, is still the Government of to-day, although its chief has shown himself a poor general, and its members, one and all, have shown themselves wretched administrators. In unblushing mendacity they have equalled, if not surpassed, their immediate predecessor, the virtuous Palikao. The only two of them who would have had a chance of figuring in England, even as vestrymen, are M. Jules Favre and M. Ernest Picard. The former has all the brilliancy and all the faults of an able lawyer--the latter, although a lawyer, is not without a certain modicum of that plain practical common sense, which we are apt to regard as peculiarly an English characteristic. The sufferings caused by the dearth of provisions and of fuel have fallen almost exclusively on the women and children. Among the well-to-do classes, there has been an absence of many of those luxuries which habit had made almost necessaries, but this is all. The men of the poorer classes, as a rule, preferred to idle away their time on the 1fr. 50c. which they received from the Government, rather than gain 4 or 5fr. a day by working at their trades; consequently if they drank more and ate less than was good for them, they have had only themselves to thank for it. Their wives and children have been very miserable. Scantily clad, ill fed, without fuel, they have been obliged to pass half the day before the bakers' doors, waiting for their pittance of bread. The mortality and the suffering have been very great among them, and yet, it must be said to their credit, they have neither repined nor complained. Business has, of course, been at a standstill since last September. At the Bourse the transactions have been of the most trifling description, much to the disgust of the many thousands who live here by peddling gains and doubtful speculations in this temple of filthy lucre. By a series of decrees payment of rent and of bills of exchange has been deferred from month to month. Most of the wholesale exporting houses have been absolutely closed. In the retail shops nothing has been sold except by the grocers, who must have made large profits. Whether the city has a recuperative power strong enough to enable it to recover from this period of stagnation, and to pay its taxation, which henceforward will be enormous, has yet to be seen. The world is the market for _articles de Paris_, but then to preserve this market, the prices of these articles must be low. Foreigners, too, will not come here if the cost of living is too exorbitant, and yet I do not see how it is to be otherwise. The talk of the people now is, that they mean to become serious--no longer to pander to the extravagances of strangers, and no longer to encourage their presence amongst them. If they carry out these intentions, I am afraid that, however their morals may be improved, their material interests will suffer. Gambling tables may not be an advantage to Europe, but without them Homburg and Baden would go to the wall. Paris is a city of pleasure--a cosmopolitan city; it has made its profit out of the follies and the vices of the world. Its prices are too high, its houses are too large, its promenades and its public places have cost too much for it to be able to pay its way as the sober, decent capital of a moderate-sized country, where there are few great fortunes. If the Parisians decide to become poor and respectable, they are to be congratulated upon the resolve, but the present notion seems to be that they are to become rich and respectable--a thing more difficult. Paris--the Paris of the Empire and of Haussmann--is a house of cards. Its prosperity was a forced and artificial one. The war and the siege have knocked down the cards, and it is doubtful whether they will ever serve to build a new house. As regards public opinion, I cannot see that it has changed one iota for the better since the fall of the Empire, or that common sense has made any headway. There are of course sensible men in Paris, but either they hold their tongues, or their voices are lost in the chorus of blatant nonsense, which is dinned into the public ears. _Mutatis mutandis_ the newspapers, with some few exceptions, are much what they were when they worshipped Cæsar, chronicled the doings of the _demi-monde_, clamoured for the Rhine, and invented Imperial victories. Their ignorance respecting everything beyond the frontiers of France is such, that a charity-schoolboy in England or Germany would be deservedly whipped for it. _La Liberté_ has, I am told, the largest circulation at present. Every day since the commencement of the siege I have invested two sous in this journal, and I may say, without exaggeration, that never once--except one evening when it was burnt on the boulevard for inadvertently telling the truth--have I been able to discover in its columns one single line of common sense. Its facts are sensational--its articles gross appeals to popular folly, popular ignorance, and popular vanity. Every petty skirmish of the National Guard has been magnified into a stupendous victory; every battalion which visited a tomb, crowned a statue, or signed some manifesto pre-eminent in its absurdity, has been lauded in language which would have been exaggerated if applied to the veterans of the first Napoleon. The editor is, I believe, the author of the "pact with death," which has been so deservedly ridiculed in the German newspapers. The orators of the clubs have not been wiser than the journalists. At the Ultra gatherings, a man who says that he is a republican is regarded as the possessor of every virtue. The remedy for all the ills of France has been held to be, to copy exactly what was done during the First Revolution. "Citizens, we must have a _Commune_, and then we shall drive the Prussians out of France," was always received with a round of sympathetic applause, although I have never yet found two persons to agree in their explanation of what is meant by the word "_Commune_." At the Moderate clubs, the speeches generally consisted of ignorant abuse of Germany, attempts to disprove well-established facts, and extravagant self-laudation. I have attended many clubs--Ultra and Moderate--and I never heard a speaker at one of them who would have been tolerated for five minutes by an ordinary English political meeting. The best minister whom the Parisians have, is M. Dorian. He is a manufacturer, and as hard-headed and practical as a Scotsman. Thanks to his energy and business qualities, cannon have been cast, old muskets converted into breechloaders, and ammunition fabricated. He has had endless difficulties to overcome, and has overcome them. The French are entirely without what New Englanders call shiftiness. As long as all the wheels of an administration work well, the administrative coach moves on, but let the smallest wheel of the machine get out of order, and everything stands still. To move on again takes a month's discussion and a hundred despatches. A redoubt which the Americans during their civil war would have thrown up in a night has taken the Parisians weeks to make. Their advanced batteries usually were without traverses, because they were too idle to form them. Although in modern sieges the spade ought to play as important a part as the cannon, they seem to have considered it beneath their dignity to dig--500 navvies would have done more for the defence of the town than 500,000 National Guards did do. At the commencement of October, ridiculous barricades were made far inside the ramparts, and although the generals have complained ever since that they impeded the movements of their troops, they have never been removed. I like the Parisians and I like the French. They have much of the old Latin _urbanitas_, many kindly qualities, and most of the minor virtues which do duty as the small change of social intercourse. But for the sake of France, I am glad that Paris has lost its _prestige_, for its rule has been a blight and a curse to the entire country; and for the sake of Europe, I am glad that France has lost her military prestige, for this prestige has been the cause of most of the wars of Europe during the last 150 years. It is impossible so to adapt the equilibrium of power, that every great European Power shall be co-equal in strength. The balance tips now to the side of Germany. That country has attained the unity after which she has so long sighed, and I do not think she will embroil the continent in wars, waged for conquest, for an "idea," or for the dynastic interests of her princes. The Germans are a brave race, but not a war-loving race. Much, therefore, as I regret that French provinces should against the will of their inhabitants become German, and strongly as I sympathise with my poor friends here in the overthrow of all their illusions, I console myself with the thought that the result of the present war will be to consolidate peace. France will no doubt look wistfully after her lost possessions, and talk loudly of her intention to re-conquer them. But the difficulty of the task will prevent the attempt. Until now, to the majority of Frenchmen, a war meant a successful military promenade, a plentiful distribution of decorations, and an inscription on some triumphal arch. Germany was to them the Germany of Jena and Austerlitz. Their surprise at seeing the Prussians victors at the doors of Paris, is much that which the Americans would feel if a war with the Sioux Indians were to bring these savages to the suburbs of New York. The French have now learnt that they are not invincible, and that if war may mean victory, it may also mean defeat, invasion, and ruin. When, therefore, they have paid the bill for their _à Berlin_ folly, they will think twice before they open a fresh account with fortune. I would recommend sightseers to defer their visit to Paris for the present, as during the armistice it will not be a very pleasant residence for foreigners. I doubt whether the elections will go off, and the decisions of the National Assembly be known without disturbances. The vainest of the vain, irritable to madness by their disasters, the Parisians are in no humour to welcome strangers. The world has held aloof whilst the "capital of civilisation" has been bombarded by the "hordes of Attila," and there is consequently, just now, no very friendly feeling towards the world. Of news, there is very little. We are in a state of physical and moral collapse. The groups of patriots which invested the Boulevards on the first announcement of the capitulation have disappeared; and the gatherings of National Guards, who announced their intention to die rather than submit, have discontinued their sittings, owing it, as they said, to their country to live for her. No one hardly now affects to conceal his joy that all is over. Every citizen with whom one speaks, tells you that it will be the lasting shame of Paris that with its numerous army it not only failed to force the Prussians to raise the siege, but also allowed them whenever they pleased to detach corps d'armée against the French generals in the provinces. This, of course, is the fault of the Government of Trochu and of the Republic, and having thus washed his hands of everything that has occurred, the citizen goes on his way rejoicing. The Mobiles make no secret of their delight at the thought of getting back to their homes. Whatever the Parisians may think of them, they do not think much of the Parisians. The army, and more particularly the officers, are very indignant at the terms of the armistice. They bitterly say that they would far rather have preferred to have been made prisoners of war at once, and they feel that they are in pawn in Paris, a pledge that peace will be made. M. Jules Ferry was treated so coldly the other day by General Vinoy's staff, when he went upon some business to the headquarters of the Commander-in-Chief, that he asked the cause, and was told in plain terms that he and his colleagues had trifled with the honour of the army. The armistice was, as you are aware, concluded by M. Jules Favre in person. It was then thought necessary to send a General to confer with Count Moltke on matters of detail. General Trochu seized upon this occasion to assert himself, and requested to be allowed to send a General of his choice, saying that his book which he published in 1867 must be so well known at the German headquarters, that probably his envoy would meet with peculiar respect. To this General Vinoy acceded, but Count Moltke refused to treat with Trochu's General, who was drunk, and the chief of General Vinoy's staff had to be substituted. General Ducrot is still here. He resigned his command, not as is generally supposed, because the Prussians insisted upon it in consequence of his evasion from Sedan, but because General Vinoy on assuming the command of the army gave him a very strong hint to do so. "I did not"' observed Vinoy, "think your position sufficiently _en règle_ to serve under _you_, and so----" The question of the revictualling is the most important one of the moment. The railroad kings, who had an interview with Count Bismarck at Versailles, seem to be under the impression that this exceedingly wide-awake statesman intends to throw impediments in the way of Paris getting provisions from England, in order that the Germans may turn an honest penny by supplying the requirements of the town. He has thrown out hints that he himself can revictual us for a short time, if it really be a question of life and death. Even when the lines are opened to traffic and passengers, the journey to England, _viâ_ Amiens, Rouen, and Dieppe will be a tedious one. The Seine, we learn, has been rendered impassable by the boats which have been sunk in it. We have as yet had no news from outside. The English here find the want of a consul more than ever. The Foreign Office has sent in an acting commission to Mr. Blount, a gentleman who may be an excellent banker, but knows nothing of consular business, notwithstanding his courtesy. As whenever any negotiation is to take place at a foreign court a Special Envoy is sent, and, as it now appears, whenever a Consul is particularly wanted in a town a Special Consul is appointed, would it not be as well at once to suppress the large staff of permanent ambassadors, ministers, and consuls who eat their heads off at a heavy cost to the country. I should be curious to know how many years it would take to reduce the intelligence of an ordinary banker's clerk to the level of a Foreign Office bureaucrat. How the long-suffering English public can continue to support the incompetency and the supercilious contempt with which these gentry treat their employers is to me a mystery. Bureaucrats are bad enough in all conscience, but a nest of fine gentleman bureaucrats is a public curse, when thousands are subjected to their whims, their ignorance, and their airs. The Republic is in very bad odour just now. It has failed to save France, and it is rendered responsible for this failure. Were the Comte de Paris a man of any mark, he would probably be made King. As it is, there is a strong feeling in favour of his family, and more particularly in favour of the Duc d'Aumale. Some talk of him as President of the Republic, others suggest that he should be elected King. The Bonapartists are very busy, but as regards Paris there is no chance either for the Emperor or the Empress Regent. As for Henri V., he is, in sporting phraseology, a dark horse. Among politicians, the general opinion is that a moderate Republic will be tried for a short time, and that then we shall gravitate into a Constitutional Monarchy. Little heed is taken of the elections which are so close at hand. No one seems to care who is elected. As it is not known whether the National Assembly will simply register the terms of peace proposed by Germany, and then dissolve itself, or whether it will constitute itself into an _Assemblée Constituante_, and decide upon the future form of government, there is no Very great desire among politicians to be elected to it. Several Electoral Committees have been formed, each of which puts forward its own list--that which sits under the Presidency of M. Dufaure, an Orleanist, at the Grand Hotel, is the most important of them. Its list is intended to include the most practical men of all parties; the rallying cry is to be France, and in theory its chiefs are supposed to be moderate Republicans. The ceremony of the giving up of the forts has passed over very quietly. The Prussians entered them without noise or parade. At St. Denis, the mayor of which said that no Prussian would be safe in it, friends and foes, I am told by a person who has just returned, have fraternised, and are pledging each other in every species of liquor. The ramparts are being dismantled of their guns; the National Guard no longer does duty on them, and crowds assemble and stare vaguely into the country outside. During the whole siege Paris has not been so dismal and so dreary as it is now. There is no longer the excitement of the contest, and yet we are prisoners. The only consolation is that a few weeks will put an end to this state of things. CHAPTER XIX. _February 1st._ The Government of National Defence has almost disappeared from notice. It has become a Committee to preside over public order. The world may calumniate us, they said in a proclamation the other day. It would be impossible, replied the newspapers. Trochu and Gambetta, once the idols of the Parisians, are now the best abused men in France. Trochu (a friend of his told me to-day) deserted by all, makes speeches in the bosom of his family. No more speeches, no more lawyers; is the cry of the journals. And then they spin out phrases of exaggerated Spartanism by the yard, and suggest some lawyer as the rising hope of the country. The cannon have been taken from the ramparts. The soldiers--Line and Mobile--wander about unarmed, with their hands in their pockets, staring at the shop-windows. They are very undemonstrative, and more like peaceful villagers than rough troopers. They pass most of their time losing their way and trying to find it again; and the Mobiles are longing to get back to their homes. It appears now that there was an error in the statistics published by the Government respecting the stock of grain in hand. Two accounts, which were one and the same, were added together. The bread is getting less like bread every day. Besides peas, rice, and hay, starch is now ground up with it. In the eighth arrondissement yesterday, there were no rations. The Northern Company do not expect a provision train from Dieppe before Friday, and do not think they will be able to carry passengers before Saturday. We are in want of fuel as much as of food. A very good thing is to be made by any speculator who can manage to send us coal or charcoal. More than 23,000 persons have applied for permits to quit Paris, on the ground that they are provincial candidates for the Assembly. Of course this is a mere pretext. A commission, as acting British Consul, has been sent to Mr. Blount, a banker. Will some M.P. move that the Estimates be reduced by the salary of the Consul, who seems to consider Paris _in partibus infidelium_? The only outsider who has penetrated through the double cordon of Prussians and French, is your Correspondent at the Headquarters of the Crown Prince of Saxony. He startled us quite as much as Friday did Robinson Crusoe. He was enthusiastically welcomed, for he had English newspapers in one pocket, and some slices of ham in the other. VERSAILLES, _February 6th._ I am not intoxicated, but I feel so heavy from having imbibed during the last twenty-four hours more milk than I did during the first six months which I passed in this planet, that I have some difficulty in collecting my thoughts in order to write a letter. Yesterday I arrived here in order to breathe for a moment the air of freedom. In vain my hospitable friends, who have put me up, have offered me wine to drink, and this and that delicacy to eat--I have stuck to eggs, butter, and milk. Pats of butter I have bolted with a greasy greediness which would have done honour to Pickwick's fat boy; and quarts of milk I have drunk with the eagerness of a calf long separated from its maternal parent. Although during the last few months I have seen but two or three numbers of English papers, I make no doubt that so many good, bad, and indifferent descriptions of every corner and every alley in this town have appeared in print, that Londoners are by this time as well acquainted with it as they are with Richmond or Clapham. Versailles must, indeed, be a household word--not to say a household nuisance--in England. It has been a dull, stupid place, haunted by its ancient grandeurs; with too large a palace, too large streets, and too large houses, for many a year; and while the presence of a Prussian army and a Prussian Emperor may render it more interesting, they fail to make it more lively. Of the English correspondents, some have gone into Paris in quest of "phases" and impressions; many, however, still remain here, battening upon the fat of the land, in the midst of kings and princes, counts and Freiherrs. I myself have seldom got beyond a distant view of such grand beings. What I know even of the nobility of my native land, is derived from perusing the accounts of their journeys in the fashionable newspapers, and from the whispered confidences of their third cousins. To find myself in familiar intercourse with people who habitually hobnob at Royal tables, and who invite Royal Highnesses to drop in promiscuously and smoke a cigar, almost turns my head. To-morrow I shall return to Paris, because I feel, were I to remain long in such grand company, I should become proud and haughty; and, perhaps, give myself airs when restored to the society of my relatives, who are honest but humble. There is at present no difficulty in leaving Paris. A pass is given at the Prefecture to all who ask for one, and it is an "open sesame" to the Prussian lines. I came by way of Issy, dragged along by an aged Rosinante, so weak from low living that I was obliged to get out and walk the greater part of the way, as he positively declined to draw me and the chaise. This beast I have only been allowed to bring out of Paris after having given my word of honour that I would bring him back, in order, if necessary, to be slain and eaten, though I very much doubt whether a tolerably hungry rat would find meat enough on his bones for a dinner. I have been this morning sitting with a friend who, under the promise of the strictest secrecy, has given me an account of the condition of affairs here. I trust, therefore, that no one will mention anything that may be found in this letter, directly or indirectly relating to the Prussians. The old King, it appears, is by no means happy as an Emperor. He was only persuaded to accept this title for the sake of his son, "Our Fritz," and he goes about much like some English squire of long descent, who has been induced to allow himself to be converted into a bran new peer, over-persuaded by his ambitious progeny. William is one of that numerous class of persons endowed with more heart than brains. Putting aside, or regarding rather as the delusion of a diseased brain, his notion that he is an instrument of Heaven, and that he is born to rule over Prussian souls by right divine, the old man is by no means a bad specimen of a good-natured, well-meaning, narrow-minded soldier of the S.U.S.C. type; and between Bismarck and Moltke he has of late had by no means an easy time. These two worthies, instead of being, as we imagined in Paris, the best of friends, abominate each other. During the siege Moltke would not allow Bismarck to have a seat at any council of war; and in order to return the compliment, Bismarck has not allowed Moltke to take any part in the negotiations respecting the armistice, except on the points which were exclusively military. Bismarck tells the French that had it not been for him, Paris would have been utterly destroyed, while Moltke grumbles because it has not been destroyed; an achievement which this talented captain somewhat singularly imagines would fittingly crown his military career. But this is not the only domestic jar which destroys the harmony of the happy German family at Versailles. In Prussia it has been the habit, from time immemorial, for the heir to the throne to coquet with the Liberals, and to be supposed to entertain progressive opinions. The Crown Prince pursues this hereditary policy of his family. He has surrounded himself with intelligent men, hostile to the present state of things, and who understand that in the present age 110 country can be great and powerful, where all who are not country gentlemen, chamberlains, or officers, are excluded from all share in its government. Bismarck, on the other hand, is the representative, or rather the business man, of the squirearchy and of the Vons--much in the same way as Mr. Disraeli is of the Conservatives in England; and, like the latter, he despises his own friends, and scoffs at the prejudices, a pretended belief in which has served them as a stepping-stone to power. The consequence of this divergency of opinion is, that Bismarck and "Our Fritz" are very nearly what schoolboys call "cuts," and consequently when the old King dies, Bismarck's power will die with him, unless he is wise enough to withdraw beforehand from public life. "Our Fritz," I hear, has done his best to prevent the Prussian batteries from doing any serious damage to Paris, and has not concealed from his friends that he considers that the bombardment was, in the words of Fouché, worse than a crime--an error. I find many of the Prussian officers improved by success. Those with whom I have come in personal contact have been remarkably civil and polite, but I confess that--speaking of course generally--the sight of these mechanical instruments of war, brought to the highest state of perfection in the trade of butchery, lording it in France, is to me most offensive. I abhor everything which they admire. They are proud of walking about in uniform with a knife by their side. I prefer the man without the uniform and without the knife. They despise all who are engaged in commercial pursuits. I regard merchants and traders as the best citizens of a free country. They imagine that the man whose ancestors have from generation to generation obscurely vegetated upon some dozen acres, is the superior of the man who has made himself great without the adventitious aid of birth; I do not. When Jules Favre met Bismarck over here the other day, the latter spoke of Bourbaki as a traitor, because he had been untrue to his oath to Napoleon. "And was his country to count for nothing?" answered Favre. "In Germany king and country are one and the same," replied Bismarck. This is the abominable creed which is inculcated by the military squires who now hold the destinies of France and of Germany in their hands; and on this detestable heresy they dream of building up a new code of political ethics in Europe. Liberalism and common sense are spreading even in the army; but take a Tory squire, a Groom of the Chamber, and a Life-guardsman, boil them down, and you will obtain the ordinary type of the Prussian officer. For my part, I look with grim satisfaction to the future. The unity of Germany has been brought about by the union of Prussian Feudalists and German Radicals. The object is now attained, and I sincerely hope that the former will find themselves in the position of cats who have drawn the chestnuts out of the fire for others to eat. If "Our Fritz," still following in the steps of his ancestors, throws off his Liberalism with his Crown Princedom, his throne will not be a bed of roses; it is fortunate, therefore, for him, that he is a man of good sense. I am greatly mistaken if the Germans will long submit to the horde of squires, of princes, of officers, and of court flunkeys, who together, at present, form the ruling class. Among the politicians here there is a strong feeling of dislike to the establishment of a Republic in France. If they could have their own way they would re-establish the Empire. But those who imagine that this is possible understand very little of the French character. The Napoleonic legend was the result of an epoch of military glory; the capitulation of Sedan not only scotched it, but killed it. A Frenchman still believes in the military superiority of his race over every other race, as firmly as he believes in his own existence. If a French army is defeated, it is owing to the treachery or the incapacity of the commander. If a battle be lost, the General must pay the penalty for it; for his soldiers are invincible. It is Napoleon, according to the received theory, who has succumbed in the present war; not the French nation. If Napoleon be restored to power, the nation will accept the responsibility which they now lay to his door. The pride and vanity of every Frenchman are consequently the strongest securities against an Imperial Restoration. Were I a betting man, I would bet twenty to one against the Bonapartes; even against a Republic lasting for two years; and I would take five to one against the Comte de Paris becoming King of the French, and three to one against the Duc d'Aumale being elected President of the Republic. This would be my "book" upon the political French Derby. The Prussians are making diligent use of the armistice to complete their engineering work round Paris, and they appear to consider it possible that they may yet have trouble with the city. If this be their opinion I can only say that they are badly served by their spies. The resistance _à outrance_ men in Paris, who never did anything but talk, will very possibly still threaten to continue the struggle; but they will not fight themselves, and most assuredly they will not find others to fight for them. If the preliminaries of peace be signed at Bordeaux, Paris will not protest; if they are rejected, Paris will not expose itself to certain destruction by any attempt at further resistance, but will capitulate, not as the capital of France, but as a besieged French town. General Vinoy is absolute master of the situation; he is a calm, sensible man, and will listen to no nonsense either from the "patriots," or his predecessors, or from Gambetta. From the tone of the decree of the latter of the 3rd instant, he seems to be under the impression that he is still the idol of the Parisians. Never did a man labour under so complete a delusion. Before by a lucky speech he was pitchforked into the Corps Législatif, he was a briefless lawyer, who used to talk very loudly and with vast emphasis at the Café de Madrid. He is now regarded as a pothouse politician, who ought never to have been allowed to get beyond the pothouse. The Germans appear to be carrying on the war upon the same principles of international law which formed many thousand years ago the rule of conquest among the Israelites. They are spoiling the Egyptians with a vengeance. Even in this town, under the very eyes of the King, there is one street--the Boulevard de la Reine--in which almost every house is absolutely gutted. This, I hear, was done by the Bavarians. The German army may have many excellent qualities, but chivalry is not among them. War with them is a business. When a nation is conquered, there is no sentimental pity for it, but as much is to be made out of it as possible. Like the elephants, which can crush a tree or pick up a needle, they conquer a province and they pick a pocket. As soon as a German is quartered in a room he sends for a box and some straw; carefully and methodically packs up the clock on the mantelpiece, and all the stray ornaments which he can lay his hands on; and then, with a tear glistening in his eye for his absent family, directs them either to his mother, his wife, or his lady-love. In vain the proprietor protests; the philosophical warrior utters the most noble sentiments respecting the horrors of war; ponderously explains that the French do not sufficiently appreciate the blessings of peace; and that he is one of the humble instruments whose mission it is to make these blessings clear to them. Then he rings the bell, and in a mild and gentle voice, orders his box of loot to be carried off by his military servant. Ben Butler and his New Englanders in New Orleans might have profitably taken lessons from these all-devouring locusts. Nothing escapes them. They have long rods which they thrust into the ground to see whether anything of value has been buried in the gardens. Sometimes they confiscate a house, and then re-sell it to the proprietor. Sometimes they cart off the furniture. Pianos they are very fond of. When they see one, they first sit down and play a few sentimental ditties, then they go away, requisition a cart, and minstrel and instrument disappear together. They are a singular mixture of bravery and meanness. No one can deny that they possess the former quality, but they are courageous without one spark of heroism. After fighting all day, they will rifle the corpses of their fallen foes of every article they can lay their hands on, and will return to their camp equally happy because they have won a great victory for Fatherland, and stolen a watch from one of the enemies of Fatherland. They have got now into such a habit of appropriating other people's property, that I confess I tremble when one of them fixes his cold glassy eye upon me. I see that he is meditating some new philosophical doctrine, which, some way or other, will transfer what is in my pocket into his. His mind, however, fortunately, works but slowly, and I am far away from him before he has elaborated to his own satisfaction a system of confiscation applicable to my watch or purse.[2] PARIS, _February 7th_. Rosinante has brought me back with much wheezing from Versailles to Paris; and with me he brought General Duff, U.S.A., and a leg of mutton. At the gate of Versailles we were stopped by the sentinels, who told us that no meat could be allowed to leave the town. I protested; but in vain. Mild blue-eyed Teutons with porcelain pipes in their mouths bore off my mutton. The General protested too, but the protest of the citizen of the Free Republic fared like mine. I followed my mutton into the guard-house, where I found a youthful officer, who looked so pleasant that I determined to appeal to the heart which beat beneath his uniform. I attacked the heart on its weak side. I explained to him that it was the fate of all to love. The warrior assented, and heaved a great sigh to his absent Gretchen. I pursued my advantage, and passed from generalities to particulars. "My lady love," I said, "is in Paris. Long have I sighed in vain. I am taking her now a leg of mutton. On this leg hang all my hopes of bliss. If I present myself to her with this token of my affection, she may yield to my suit. Oh, full-of-feeling, loved-of-beauteous-women, German warrior, can you refuse me?" He "gazed on the joint that caused his shame; gazed and looked, then looked again." The battle was won; the vanquished victor stalked forth, forgetting the soldier in the man, and gave order that the General, the Englishman, and the leg of mutton should be allowed to go forth in peace. Rosinante toiled along towards Paris; we passed through St. Cloud, now a heap of ruins, and we arrived at the Bridge of Neuilly. Here our passes were examined by a German official, who was explaining every moment to a French crowd in his native language that they could not be allowed to pass into Paris without permits. The crowd was mainly made up of women, who were carrying in bags, pocket handkerchiefs, and baskets of loaves, eggs, and butter to their beleaguered friends. "Is it not too bad of him that he will pretend not to understand French?" said an old lady to me. "He looks like a fiend," said another lady, looking up at the good-natured face of the stolid military gaoler. The contrast between the shrieking, gesticulating, excited French, and the calm, cool, indifferent air of the German, was a curious one. It was typical of that between the two races. Having reached Paris, I consigned poor old long Rosinante to his fate--the knackers, and, with my leg of mutton under my arm, walked down the Boulevard. I was mobbed, positively mobbed. "Sir," said one man, "allow me to smell it." With my usual generosity I did so. How I reached my hotel with my precious burthen in safety is a perfect mystery. N.B. The mutton was for a friend of mine; Gretchen was a pious fraud; all being fair in love and war. In the quarter in which I live I find that the rations have neither been increased nor diminished. They still remain at 3-5ths lb. of bread, and 1-25th lb. of meat per diem. In some other districts a little beef has been distributed. Some flour has come in from Orleans, and it is expected that in the course of a few days the bread will cease to be made of the peas, potatoes, and oats which we now eat. In the restaurants, beef--real beef--is to be obtained for little more than three times its normal price. Fish, too, in considerable quantities has been introduced by some enterprising speculator. The two delegates, also, of the Lord Mayor's Relief Fund have arrived with provisions, &c. This evening they are to telegraph to London for more. These gentlemen are somewhat at sea with respect to what is wanted, and by what means it is to be distributed. One of them did me the honour to consult me this afternoon on these two points. With respect to the first, I recommended him to take the advice of Mr. Herbert--to whose energy it is due that during the siege above one thousand English have not been starved--and of the Archbishop of Paris, who is a man of sterling benevolence, with a minimum of sectarianism. With respect to the latter, I recommended Liebig, milk, and bacon. The great point appears to me to be that the relief should be bestowed on the right persons. The women and children have been the greatest sufferers of late. The mortality is still very great among them; not because they are absolutely without food, for the rations are distributed to all; but because they are in want of something more strengthening than the rations. Coal is wanted here as much as food. The poorer classes are without the means of cooking whatever meat they may obtain, and it is almost impossible for them, on account of the same reason, to make soup. If I might venture a suggestion to the charitable in England, it would be to send over a supply of fuel. I had some conversation with a gentleman connected with the Government this evening respecting the political situation. He tells me that Arago, Pelletan, and Garnier Pagès were delighted to leave Paris, and that it was only the absolute necessity of their being as soon as possible at Bordeaux, that induced General Vinoy to consent to their departure. As for Gambetta, he says, it is not probable that he has now many adherents in the provinces; and it is certain that he has very few here. When a patient is given up by the faculty a quack is called in; if the quack effects a cure he is lauded to the skies; if he fails, he is regarded as a _charlatan_, and this is now the case with M. Gambetta. My informant is of opinion that a large number of Ultra-Radicals will be elected in Paris; this will be because the Moderates are split up into small cliques, and each clique insists upon its own candidates being supported, whereas the _Internationale_ commands 60,000 votes, which will all be cast for the list adopted by the heads of that society, and because the National Guard are averse to all real work, and hope that the Ultras will force the National Assembly to continue to pay them the 1f. 50c. which they now receive, for an indefinite period. Gambetta, in his desire to exclude from political power a numerous category of his fellow-citizens, has many imitators here. Some of the journals insist that not only the Bonapartists, but also the Legitimists and the Orleanists should be disfranchised. They consider that as a preliminary step to electing a National Assembly to decide whether a Republic is henceforward to be the form of government of the country, it is desirable, as well as just, to oblige all candidates to swear that it shall be. The fact is, the French, no matter what their opinions may be, seem to have no idea of political questions being decided by a majority; or of a minority submitting to the fiat of this majority. Each citizen belongs to a party; to the creed of this party, either through conviction or personal motives, he adheres, and regards every one who ventures to entertain other views as a scoundrel, an idiot, or a traitor. I confess that I have always regarded a Republican form of government as the best, wherever it is possible. But in France it is not possible. The people are not sufficiently educated, and have not sufficient common sense for it. Were I a Frenchman a Republic would be my dream of the future; for the present I should be in favour of a Constitutional Monarchy. A Republic would soon result in anarchy or in despotism; and without any great love for Kings of any kind, I prefer a Constitutional Monarch to either Anarchy or a Cæsar. One must take a practical view of things in this world, and not sacrifice what is good by a vain attempt to attain at once what is better. Will the Prussians enter Paris? is the question which I have been asked by every Frenchman to whom I have mentioned that I have been at Versailles. This question overshadows every other; and I am fully convinced that this vain, silly population would rather that King William should double the indemnity which he demands from France than march with his troops down the Rue Rivoli. The fact that they have been conquered is not so bitter to the Parisians as the idea of that fact being brought home to them by the presence of their conquerors even for half-an-hour within the walls of the sacred city. I have no very great sympathy with the desire of the Prussians to march through Paris; and I have no great sympathy with the horror which is felt by the Parisians at their intention to do so. The Prussian flag waves over the forts, and consequently to all intents and purposes Paris has capitulated. A triumphal march along the main streets will not mend matters, nor mar matters. "Attila, without, stands before vanquished Paris, as the Cimbrian slave did before Marius. The sword drops from his hand; awed by the majesty of the past, he flees and dares not strike," is the way in which a newspaper I have just bought deals with the question. It is precisely this sort of nonsense which makes the Prussians determined that the Parisians shall drink the cup of humiliation to its last dregs. I was told at Versailles that St. Cloud had been set on fire on the morning after the last sortie, and that although many houses were still burning when the armistice was signed, none had subsequently been either pillaged or burnt. This act of vandalism has greatly incensed the French, and I understand that the King of Prussia himself regrets it, and throws the blame of it on one of his generals, who acted without orders. A lady who was to-day at St. Cloud tells me that she found Germans eating in every room of her house. Both officers and men were very civil to her. They told her that she might take away anything that belonged to her, and helped to carry to her carriage some valuable china; which, by good luck, had not been smashed. With respect to the charge of looting private property, which is brought by the French against their invaders, no unprejudiced person can, after looking into the evidence, doubt that whilst in the German Army there are many officers, and even privates, who have done their best to prevent pillage, many articles of value have disappeared from houses which have been occupied by the German troops, and much wanton damage has been committed in them. I assert the fact, without raising the question whether or not these are the necessary consequences of war. It is absurd for the Germans to pretend that the French Francs-tireurs are the culprits and not they. Francs-tireurs were never in the Boulevard de la Reine at Versailles, and yet the houses in this street have been gutted of everything available. I venture to repeat a question which I have already frequently asked--Where is the gentleman who enjoys an annual salary as British Consul at Paris? Why was he absent during the siege? Why is he absent now? Why is a banker, who has other matters to attend to, discharging his duties? I am a taxpayer and an elector; if "my member" does not obtain a reply to these queries from the official representative of the Foreign Office in the House of Commons, I give him fair notice that he will shake me by the hand, ask after my health, and affect a deep interest in my reply, in vain at the next general election; he will not have my vote. The _Electeur Libre_, the journal of M. Picard, has put forth a species of political programme, or rather a political defence of the wing of the Government of National Defence to which that gentleman belongs. For a French politician to praise himself in his own organ, and to say under the editorial "we" that he intends to vote for himself, and that he has the greatest confidence in his own wisdom, is regarded here as nothing but natural. PARIS, _February 9th._ "We have been conquered in the field, but we have gained a moral victory." What this phrase means I have not the remotest idea; but as it consoles those who utter it, they are quite right to do so. For the last two days long lines of cannon have issued from the city gates, and have been, without noise or parade, handed over to the Prussians at Issy and Sevran. Few are aware of what has taken place, or know that their surrender had been agreed to by M. Jules Favre. Representations having been made to Count Bismarck that 10,000 armed soldiers were insufficient for the maintenance of the peace of the capital, by an additional secret clause added to the armistice the number has been increased to 25,000. The greatest ill-feeling exists between the Army and the National Guards in the most populous quarters. A general quartered in one of the outer faubourgs went yesterday to General Vinoy, and told him that if he and his men were to be subjected to insults whenever they showed themselves in the streets, he could not continue to be responsible for either his or their conduct. Most persons of sense appear to consider that the armistice was an error, and that the wiser policy would have been to have surrendered without conditions. M. Jules Favre is blamed for not having profited by the occasion, to disarm the National Guards. Many of their battalions, as long as they have arms, and receive pay for doing nothing, will be a standing danger to order. The sailors have been paid off; and the fears that were entertained of their getting drunk and uproarious have not been confirmed. They are peaceably and sentimentally spending their money with the "black-eyed Susans" of their affections. The principal journalists are formally agitating the plan of a combined movement to urge the population to protest against the Prussian triumphal march through the city, by absence from the streets through which the invading army is to defile. Several are, however, opposed to any action, as they fear that their advice will not be followed. Curiosity is one of the strongest passions of the Parisians, and it will be almost impossible for them to keep away from the "sight." Even in Coventry one Peeping Tom was found, and here there are many Peeping Toms. Mr. Moore and Colonel Stuart Wortley, the delegates of the London Relief Fund, have handed over 5,000l. of provisions to the Mayors to be distributed. They could scarcely have found worse agents. The Mayors have proved themselves thoroughly inefficient administrators, and most of them are noisy, unpractical humbugs. Colonel Stuart Wortley and Mr. Moore are very anxious to find means to approach what are called here _les pauvres honteux_; that is to say, persons who are in want of assistance, but who are ashamed to ask for it. From what they told me yesterday evening, they are going to obtain two or three names of well-known charitable persons in each arrondissement, and ask them to make the distribution of the rest of their provisions in store here, and of those which are expected shortly to arrive. Many families from the villages in the neighbourhood of Paris have been driven within its walls by the invaders, and are utterly destitute. In the opinion of these gentlemen they are fitting objects for charity. The fact is, the difficulty is not so much to find people in want of relief, but to find relief for the thousands who require it. Ten, twenty, or thirty thousand pounds are a mere drop in the ocean, so wide spread is the distress. "I have committed many sins," said a Bishop of the Church of England, "but when I appear before my Maker, and say that I never gave to one single beggar in the streets they will be forgiven." There are many persons in England who, like this prelate, are afraid to give to beggars, lest their charity should be ill applied. No money, no food, no clothes, and no fuel, if distributed with ordinary discretion, can be misapplied at present in Paris. The French complain that all they ever get from England is good advice and sterile sympathy. Now is the moment for us to prove to them that, if we were not prepared to go to war in order to protect them from the consequences of their own folly, we pity them in their distress; and that our pity means something more than words and phrases which feed no one, clothe no one, and warm no one. The Prussian authorities appear to be deliberately setting to work to render the armistice as unpleasant to the Parisians as possible, in order to force them to consent to no matter what terms of peace in order to get rid of them; and I must congratulate them upon the success of their efforts. They refuse now to accept passes signed by the Prefect of the Police, and only recognise those bearing the name of General Valdan, the chief of the Staff. To-morrow very likely they will require some fresh signature. Whenever a French railroad company advertises the departure of a train at a particular hour, comes an order from the Prussians to alter that hour. Every Frenchman who quits Paris is subjected to a hundred small, teasing vexations from these military bureaucrats, and made to feel at every step he takes that he is a prisoner on leave of absence, and only breathes the air of his native land by the goodwill of his conquerors. The English public must not forget that direct postal communications between Paris and foreign countries are not re-established. Letters from and to England must be addressed to some agent at Versailles or elsewhere, and from thence re-addressed to Paris. As in a day or two trains will run pretty regularly between Paris and London, had our diplomatic wiseacres been worth in pence what they cost us in pounds, by this time they would have made some arrangement to ensure a daily mailbag to England leaving Paris. News was received yesterday that Gambetta had resigned, and it has been published this morning in the _Journal Officiel_. A witness of the Council at which it was agreed to send the three old women of the Government to Bordeaux to replace him, tells me that everybody kissed and hugged everybody for half an hour. The old women were ordered to arrest Gambetta if he attempted resistance. It was much like telling a street-sweeper to arrest a stalwart Guardsman. "Do not be rash," cried Trochu. "We will not," replied the old women; "we will remain in one of the suburbs of Bordeaux, until we learn that we can enter it with safety." This reply removed from the minds of their friends any fear that they would incur unnecessary risks in carrying out their mission. Provisions are arriving pretty freely. All fear of absolute famine has disappeared. To-day the bread is far better than any we have had of late. Some sheep and oxen were seen yesterday in the streets. The walls are covered with the professions of faith of citizens who aspire to the honour of a seat in the National Assembly. We have the candidate averse to public affairs, but yielding to the request of a large number of supporters; the candidate who feels within himself the power to save the country, and comes forward to do so; the candidate who is young and vigorous, although as yet untried; the candidate who is old and wise, but still vigorous; the man of business candidate; the man of leisure candidate, who will devote his days and nights to the service of the country; then there is the military candidate, whose name, he modestly flatters himself, has been heard above the din of battle, and typifies armed France. I recommend to would-be M.P.'s at home, the plan of M. Maronini. He has as yet done nothing to entitle him to the suffrages of the electors beyond making printing presses, which are excellent and very cheap; so he heads his posters with a likeness of himself. Why an elector should vote for a man because he has an ugly face, I am not aware; but the Citizen Maronini seems to be under the impression that, from a fellow-feeling at least, all ugly men will do so; and perhaps he is right. Another candidate commences his address: "_Citoyens, je suis le representant du_ go ahead." In the clubs last night everyone was talking, and no one was listening. Even the Citizen Sans, with his eternal scarlet shawl girt round his waist, could not obtain a hearing. The Citizen Beaurepaire in vain shouted that, if elected, he would rather hew off his own arm than sign away Alsace and Lorraine. This noble figure of rhetoric, which has never been uttered by a club orator during the siege without eliciting shouts of applause, was received with jeers. The absurdity of the proceedings at this electoral gathering is, that a candidate considers himself insulted if any elector ventures to ask him a question. The president, too, loses his temper half a dozen times every hour, and shakes his fist, screams and jabbers, like an irate chimpanzee, at the audience. If the preliminary electoral meetings are ridiculous, the system of voting, on the other hand, is perfect in comparison with ours. Paris to-day in the midst of a general election is by far more orderly than any English rotten village on the polling-day. Three days ago each elector received at his own house a card, telling him where he was to vote. Those who were entitled to the suffrage, and by accident did not get one of these cards, went the next day to their respective mairies to obtain one. I have just come from one of the rooms in which the votes are taken. I say rooms; for the Parisians do not follow our silly example, and build up sheds at the cost of the candidate. At one end of this room was a long table. A box was in the middle of it, and behind the box sat an employé. To his right sat another. The elector went up to this latter, gave in his electoral card, and wrote his name; he then handed to the central employé his list of names, folded up. This the employé put into the box. About thirty National Guards were on duty in or about the room. The box will remain on the table until to-night, and the National Guards during this time will not lose sight of it; they will then carry it to the Hôtel de Ville, where it, and all other voting boxes, will be publicly opened, the votes counted up, and the result, as soon as it is ascertained, announced. How very un-English, some Briton will observe. I can only say that I regret it is un-English. Our elections are a disgrace to our civilisation, and to that common-sense of which we are for ever boasting that we possess so large a share. Last year I was in New York during a general election; this year I am in Paris during one; and both New York and Paris are far ahead of us in their mode of registering the votes of electors. FOOTNOTE: [Footnote 2: Several complaints having been received from Germans respecting these charges against the German armies, the following extract from an Article--quoted by the _Pall Mall Gazette_--in his new paper _Im Neuen Reich_, by the well-known German author, Herr Gustav Freytag, will prove that they are not unfounded:--"Officers and soldiers," he says, "have been living for months under the bronze clocks, marble tables, damask hangings, artistic furniture, oil-paintings, and costly engravings of Parisian industry. The musketeers of Posen and Silesia broke up the velvet sofas to make soft beds, destroyed the richly inlaid tables, and took the books out of the book-cases for fuel in the cold winter evenings.... It was lamentable to see the beautiful picture of a celebrated painter smeared over by our soldiers with coal dust, a Hebe with her arms knocked off, a priceless Buddhist manuscript lying torn in the chimney grate.... Then people began to think it would be a good thing to obtain such beautiful and tasteful articles for one's friends. A system of 'salvage' was thus introduced, which it is said even eminent and distinguished men in the army winked at. Soldiers bargained for them with the Jews and hucksters who swarm at Versailles; officers thought of the adornment of their own houses; and such things as could be easily packed, such as engravings and oil-paintings, were in danger of being cut out of their frames and rolled up for home consumption." Herr Freytag then points out that these articles are private property, and that the officers and soldiers had no right to appropriate them to their own use. "We are proud and happy," he concludes, addressing them, "at your warlike deeds; behave worthily and honourably also as men. Come back to us from this terrible war with pure consciences and clean hands."] CHAPTER XX. CALAIS, _February 10th._ At 4 o'clock p.m. on Wednesday I took my departure from Paris, leaving, much with the feelings of Daniel when he emerged from the lions' den, its inhabitants wending their way to the electoral "urns;" the many revolving in their minds how France and Paris were to manage to pay the little bill which their creditor outside is making up against them; the few--the very few--still determined to die rather than yield, sitting in the cafés on the boulevard, which is to be, I presume, their "last ditch." Many correspondents, "special," "our own," and "occasional," had arrived, and were girding up their loins for the benefit of the British public. Baron Rothschild had been kind enough to give me a pass which enabled me to take the Amiens train at the goods station within the walls of the city, instead of driving, as those less fortunate were obliged to do, to Gonesse. My pass had been signed by the proper authorities, and the proper authorities, for reasons best known to themselves--I presume because they had elections on the brain--had dubbed me "Member of the House of Commons, rendering himself to England to assist at the conferences of the Parliament." I have serious thoughts of tendering this document to the doorkeeper of the august sanctuary of the collective wisdom of my country, to discover whether he will recognise its validity. The train was drawn up before a shed in the midst of an ocean of mud. It consisted of one passenger carriage, and of about half a mile of empty bullock vans. The former was already filled; so, as a bullock, I embarked--I may add, as an ill-used bullock; for I had no straw to sit on. At St. Denis, a Prussian official inspected our passes, and at Gonesse about 200 passengers struggled into the bullock vans. We reached Creil, a distance of thirty miles, at 11.30. I and my fellow-bullocks here made a rush at the buffet. But it was closed. So we had to return to our vans, very hungry, very thirsty, very sulky, and very wet; for it was raining hard. In this pleasant condition we remained until 9 o'clock on Thursday; occasionally slowly progressing for a few miles; then making a halt of an hour or two. Why? No one--not even the guard--could tell. All he knew was, that the Prussians had hung out a signal ordering us, their slaves, to halt, and therefore halt we must. We did the forty miles between Creil and Breteuil in ten hours. There, in a small inn, we found some eggs and bread, which we devoured like a flight of famished locusts. It was very cold, and several of us sought shelter in a room at the station, where there was a fire. In the middle of this room there were two chairs, on one of them sat a Prussian soldier, on the other reposed his legs. He was a big red-haired fellow, and evidently in some corner of his Fatherland passed as a man of wit and humour. He was good enough to explain to us, with a pleasant smile, that in his eyes we were a very contemptible sort of people, and that if we did not consent to all the terms of peace which were proposed by "the Bismarck," he and his fellow warriors would burn our houses over our heads, and in many other ways make things generally uncomfortable to us. "Ah! speak to me of Manteuffel," he occasionally said: and as no one did speak to him of Manteuffel, he did so himself, and narrated to us many tales of the wondrous skill and intelligence of that eminent general. As he called, after the manner of his nation, a _batterie_ a _paderie_, and otherwise Germanized the French language, much of his interesting conversation was unintelligible. We had been at Breteuil about an hour when a Prussian train came puffing up. I managed to induce an official to allow me to get into the luggage van; and thus, having started from Paris as a bullock, I reached Amiens at twelve o'clock as a carpet-bag. The Amiens station, a very large one covered in with glass, was crowded with Prussian soldiers; and for one hour I stood there the witness of and sufferer from unmitigated ruffianism. The French were knocked about, and pushed about. Never were negro slaves treated with more contempt and brutality than they were by their conquerors. I could not stand on any spot for two minutes without being gruffly ordered to stand on another by some officer. Twice two soldiers raised their muskets with a general notion of staving in my skull "pour passer le temps." Frenchmen, whatever may be their faults, are always extremely courteous in all their relations with each other, and with strangers. In their wildest moments of excitement they are civil. They may poison you, or run a hook through you; but they will do it, as Isaac Walton did with the worm, "as though they loved" you. They were perfectly cowed with the rough bullying of their masters. It is most astonishing--considering how good-natured Germans are when at home, that they should make themselves so offensive in France, even during a truce. At one o'clock I left this orgie of German terrorism in a train, and from thence to Calais all was straight sailing. At Abbeville we passed from the Prussian into the French lines. Calais we reached at seven p.m., and right glad was I to eat a Calais supper and to sleep in a Calais bed. THE END. BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. _Now published_, NEW COPYRIGHT EDITIONS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS AND POEMS. _Shakespeare's Plays and Poems._ EDITED BY CHARLES AND MARY COWDEN CLARKE In Four Volumes, Demy Octavo, price £1 11s. 6d. ALSO, _The Same Text._ In One Volume, Royal Octavo, price 12s. LONDON: BICKERS & SON, 1 LEICESTER SQUARE. The PUBLISHERS have much pleasure in announcing the publication of the above Editions of Shakespeare's Plays and Poems. 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[Illustration: Divine Emblems, OR, TEMPORAL THINGS SPIRITUALISED, &c. WITH PREFACE BY ALEXANDER SMITH, AUTHOR OF "DREAMTHORP," ETC. LONDON: BICKERS & SON _JOHN ADAM_] LONDON: BICKERS & SON, 1 LEICESTER SQUARE. 
36209	----	THE FRANCO-GERMAN WAR OF 1870--71 BY FIELD-MARSHAL COUNT HELMUTH VON MOLTKE TRANSLATION REVISED BY ARCHIBALD FORBES _WITH A MAP, NOTES, AND ORDERS OF BATTLE_ LONDON JAMES R. OSGOOD, McILVAINE & CO. 45, ALBEMARLE STREET, W. 1893 [_All rights reserved_] NOTE. The translation has been thoroughly revised for the sense as well as in regard to technical military terms and expressions. To the name of every German general officer mentioned in the text has been affixed, within brackets, his specific command, a liberty which the reader will perhaps not resent, since the interpolation is intended to facilitate his clearer understanding of a narrative condensed by the author with extreme severity. In further aid of elucidation there has been occasionally inserted, also within brackets, a date, a figure, or a word. A few footnotes will be found, which may perhaps be excused as not wholly irrelevant. In the Appendix have been inserted the "Orders of Battle" of both sides, as in the first period of the war. A. F. PREFACE. Field-Marshal von Moltke began this history of the War of 1870--1 in the spring of the year 1887, and during his residence at Creisau he worked at it for about three hours every morning. On his return to Berlin in the autumn of that year, the work was not quite finished, but he completed it by January, 1888, at Berlin, placed it in my hands, and never again alluded to the subject. The origin of the book was as follows. I had several times entreated him, but in vain, to make use of his leisure hours at Creisau in noting down some of his rich store of reminiscences. He always objected, in the same words: "Everything official that I have had occasion to write, or that is worth remembering, is to be seen in the Archives of the Staff Corps. My personal experiences had better be buried with me." He had a dislike to memoirs in general, which he was at no pains to conceal, saying that they only served to gratify the writer's vanity, and often contributed to distort important historical events by the subjective views of an individual, and the intrusion of trivial details. It might easily happen that a particular character which in history stood forth in noble simplicity should be hideously disfigured by the narrative of some personal experiences, and the ideal halo which had surrounded it be destroyed. And highly characteristic of Moltke's magnanimity are the words he once uttered on such an occasion, and which I noted at the time: "Whatever is published in a military history is always dressed for effect: yet it is a duty of piety and patriotism never to impair the prestige which identifies the glory of our Army with personages of lofty position." Not long after our arrival at Creisau, early in 1887, I repeated my suggestion. In reply to my request that he would write an account of the Campaign of 1870--1, he said: "You have the official history of the war. That contains everything. I admit," he added, "that it is too full of detail for the general type of readers, and far too technical. An abridgment must be made some day." I asked him whether he would allow me to lay the work on his table, and next morning he began the narrative contained in this volume, and comparing it as he went on with the official history, carried it through to the end. His purpose was to give a concise account of the war. But, while keeping this in view, he involuntarily--as was unavoidable in his position--regarded the undertaking from his own standpoint as Chief of the General Staff, and marshalled results so as to agree as a whole with the plan of campaign which was known only to the higher military authorities. Thus this work, which was undertaken in all simplicity of purpose, as a popular history, is practically from beginning to end the expression of a private opinion of the war by the Field-Marshal himself. The Appendix: "On a pretended Council of War in the Wars of William I. of Prussia," was written in 1881. In a book by Fedor von Koppen, "Männer und Thaten, vaterländische Balladen" (_Men and Deeds: Patriotic Songs_), which the poet presented to the Field-Marshal, there is a poem entitled, "_A German Council of War at Versailles_" (with a historical note appended), describing an incident which never occurred, and which, under the conditions by which the relations of the Chief of the Staff to his Majesty were regulated, never could have occurred. To preclude any such mistakes for the future, and to settle once and for all the truth as to the much-discussed question of the Council of War, the Field-Marshal wrote this paper, to which he added a description of his personal experience of the battle of Königgrätz. It is this narrative which, shortly after the writer's death, was published in the _Allgemeine Zeitung_ of Munich, in the somewhat abridged and altered form in which the Field-Marshal had placed it at the disposal of Professor von Treitscke, the well-known historian. COUNT HELMUTH VON MOLTKE, Major and Adjutant to his Imperial Majesty. Berlin, June 25th, 1891. CONTENTS. PART I. PAGE Preparations for War 2 Combat of Weissenburg (4th August) 12 Battle of Wörth (6th August) 14 Battle of Spicheren (6th August) 19 Right-wheel of the German Army 26 Battle of Colombey-Nouilly (14th August) 29 Battle of Vionville--Mars la Tour (16th August) 34 Battle of Gravelotte--St. Privat (18th August) 49 New Distribution of the Army 64 The Army of Châlons 66 Battle of Beaumont (30th August) 76 Battle of Sedan (1st September) 87 PART II. Sortie from Metz (26th August) 102 Battle of Noisseville (31st August) 106 Change of Government in Paris 114 Retreat of General Vinoy 116 March on Paris of IIIrd Army and the Army of the Meuse 119 Investment of Paris (19th September) 124 First Negotiations for Peace 129 Reduction of Toul (23rd September) 130 Reduction of Strasburg (28th September) 131 Operations round Paris to 15th October 139 Action of Artenay (10th October) 145 Engagement at Orleans (11th October) 146 Reduction of Soissons (15th October) 149 Storming of Châteaudun (18th October) 151 Sortie against Malmaison (21st October) 153 Storming of Le Bourget (30th October) 156 Sortie from Metz against Bellevue (7th October) 162 Capitulation of Metz (27th October) 165 New Distribution of the Army 166 Operations of the XIVth Corps in the South-East (October) 166 Reduction of Schlettstadt (24th October) 172 Reduction of Breisach (10th November) 174 Reduction of Verdun (9th November) 175 Advance of Ist and IInd Armies (up to mid-November) 177 Engagement at Coulmiers (9th November) 181 Operations of the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg 187 Situation of IInd Army (second half of November) 189 Battle of Beaune la Rolande (28th November) 192 Advance of the Army of the Loire to the relief of Paris 197 Battle of Loigny--Poupry (2nd December) 199 Paris in November 204 Attempt of the Army of Paris to break out (30th November and 2nd December) 207 Advance of the Ist Army in November 216 Battle of Amiens (17th November) 217 Reduction of La Fère (27th November) 221 Reduction of Thionville (24th November) 222 Investment of Belfort in November 223 Battle of Orleans (3rd and 4th December) 224 Offensive Operations South, East, and West 233 Fighting of the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg (7th--10th December) 235 Interruption of important offensive operations in December 245 The XIVth Corps in December 250 The Ist Army in December 252 Reduction of Mézières (1st January, 1871) 257 Paris in December 259 Combat of Le Bourget (21st December) 261 Bombardment of Mont-Avron (27th December) 264 The Army of the East under General Bourbaki 266 Advance of the IInd Army to Le Mans 269 Battle in front of Le Mans (10th--12th January) 284 Occurrences northward of Paris during January 303 Battle of Bapaume (3rd January) 305 Fighting on the Lower Seine (4th January) 308 Reduction of Péronne (9th January) 310 Battle of St. Quentin (19th January) 316 Occurrences in the South-Eastern Seat of War up to 17th January 324 Siege of Belfort 324 Transfer of the French Army of the East to the South-Eastern Seat of War (end of December) 328 Action of Villersexel (9th January) 331 Battle on the Lisaine (15th--17th January) 338 The Artillery Attack on Paris (January, 1871) 349 Battle of Mont Valérien (19th January) 355 Prosecution of the Artillery Attack on Paris to the Armistice 361 Operations of the Army of the South under General von Manteuffel 366 General Hann von Weyhern's March on Dijon 390 Occupation of the Departments of the Doubs, Jura, and Côte d'Or 391 Prosecution of the Siege of Belfort 393 The Armistice 399 The Homeward March of the German Army 406 APPENDIX. On the pretended Council of War in the Wars of King William I. 413 "Orders of Battle" of the French and German Armies in the first period of the war 419 THE FRANCO-GERMAN WAR. PART I. The days are gone by when, for dynastical ends, small armies of professional soldiers went to war to conquer a city, or a province, and then sought winter quarters or made peace. The wars of the present day call whole nations to arms; there is scarcely a family that has not had to bewail lost ones. The entire financial resources of the State are appropriated to military purposes, and the seasons of the year have no influence on the unceasing progress of hostilities. As long as nations exist distinct one from the other there will be quarrels that can only be settled by force of arms; but, in the interests of humanity, it is to be hoped that wars will become the less frequent, as they become the more terrible. Generally speaking, it is no longer the ambition of monarchs which endangers peace; but the impulses of a nation, its dissatisfaction with its internal conditions, the strife of parties and the intrigues of their leaders. A declaration of war, so serious in its consequences, is more easily carried by a large assembly, of which no one of the members bears the sole responsibility, than by a single individual, however lofty his position; and a peace-loving sovereign is less rare than a parliament composed of wise men. The great wars of recent times have been declared against the wish and will of the reigning powers. Now-a-days the Bourse possesses so great influence that it is able to have armies called into the field merely to protect its interests. Mexico and Egypt have had European armies of occupation inflicted upon them simply to satisfy the demands of the _haute finance_. To-day the question is not so much whether a nation is strong enough to make war, as whether its Government is powerful enough to prevent war. For example, united Germany has hitherto used her strength only to maintain European peace; while the weakness of a neighbouring Government continues to involve the gravest risk of war. It was, indeed, from such a condition of relations that the war of 1870--71 originated. A Napoleon on the throne of France was bound to justify his pretensions by political and military successes. Only temporarily was the French nation contented by the victories of its arms in remote fields of war; the triumphs of the Prussian armies excited jealousy, they were regarded as arrogant, as a challenge; and the French demanded revenge for Sadowa. The liberal spirit of the epoch set itself against the autocratic Government of the Emperor; he was forced to make concessions, his internal authority was weakened, and one day the nation was informed by its representatives that it desired war with Germany. PREPARATIONS FOR WAR. The wars carried on by France beyond seas, essentially on behalf of financial interests, had consumed immense sums and had undermined the discipline of the army. Her army was by no means in thorough preparedness for a great war, but, in the temper of the nation, the Spanish succession question furnished an opportune pretext on which to go to war. The French Reserves were called out on July 15th, and, as if the opportunity for a rupture was on no account to be let slip, only four days later the French declaration of war was presented at Berlin. One Division of the French Army was ordered to the Spanish frontier as a corps of observation; only such troops as were absolutely necessary were left in Algiers and in Civita Vecchia; Paris and Lyons were sufficiently garrisoned. The entire remainder of the army: 332 battalions, 220 squadrons, 924 guns, in all about 300,000 men, formed the Army of the Rhine, which, divided into eight Corps, was, at any rate in the first instance, to be under the sole direction of a central head. The Emperor himself was the fitting person to undertake this weighty duty, pending whose arrival Marshal Bazaine was to command the gathering forces. It is very probable that the French reckoned on the old dissensions of the German races. Not that they dared to look forward to the South Germans as allies, but they hoped to paralyze their offensive by an early victory, perhaps even to win them over to their side. It was true that Prussia by herself was still a mighty antagonist, and that her armed forces were of superior strength; but peradventure this advantage might be counterbalanced by rapidity of action. The French plan of campaign was indeed based on the delivery of sudden unexpected attacks. The powerful fleet of war-ships and transports was to be utilized to land a considerable force in Northern Prussia, which should there engage a part of the Prussian troops, while the main body of the German army, it was assumed, would await the first French attack behind the strong defensive line of the Rhine. A French force was to cross the Rhine promptly, at and below Strasburg, thus avoiding the great German fortresses; its function being, at the very outset of the campaign, to cut off the South-German army charged with the defence of the Black Forest, and prevent it from effecting a junction with the North Germans. In the execution of this plan it was imperative that the main body of the French army should be massed in Alsace. Railway accommodation, however, was so inadequate that in the first instance it was only possible to transport 100,000 men to Strasburg; 150,000 had to leave the railway at Metz, and remain there till they could be moved forward. Fifty thousand men in the Châlons camp were intended to serve as supports, and 115 battalions were destined for field service as soon as the National Guard should relieve them in the interior. The various Corps were distributed as follows:-- Imperial Guard, General Bourbaki--Nancy. Ist Corps, Marshal MacMahon--Strasburg. IInd Corps, General Frossard--St. Avold. IIIrd Corps, Marshal Bazaine--Metz. IVth Corps, General Ladmirault--Thionville. Vth Corps, General Failly--Bitsch. VIth Corps, Marshal Canrobert--Châlons. VIIth Corps, General Félix Douay--Belfort. Thus while there were but two Corps in Alsace, there were five on the Moselle; and, so early as the day of the declaration of war, one of the latter, the IInd Corps, had been pushed forward close to the German frontier, about St. Avold and Forbach. General Frossard, its commander, was, however, under strict injunctions to commit himself to no serious undertaking. The regiments had been hurried away from their peace stations before the arrival of their complement of men, and without waiting for their equipments. Meanwhile the called-out reservists accumulated in the depôts, overflowed the railway stations and choked the traffic. Their transmission to their destinations was at a standstill, for it was often unknown at the depôts where the regiments to which the reservists were to be sent were for the time encamped. When at length they joined they were destitute of the most necessary articles of equipment. The Corps and Divisions lacked trains, hospitals and nearly the whole of the _personnel_ of their administration. No magazines had been established in advance, and the troops were to depend on the stores in the fortresses. These were in a neglected state, for in the assured expectation that the armies would be almost immediately launched into the enemy's country they had received little attention. It was of a piece with this that the French Staff-officers had been provided with maps of Germany, but not of their own country. The Ministry of War in Paris was overwhelmed with claims, protestations, and expostulations, till finally it was left to the troops to help themselves as best they could. "_On se débrouillera_," was the hope of the authorities. When the Emperor arrived at Metz eight days after the declaration of war, the forces were not yet up to their strength, and even the precise whereabouts of whole bodies of troops was for the time unknown. He ordered the advance of the army, but his Marshals protested that its internal plight was so unsatisfactory as to make this impossible for the time. The general conviction was gradually impressing itself on the French, that instead of continuing to aim at invasion of the enemy's country, their exertions would have to be confined to the defence of their own territory. A strong German army was reported to be assembling between Mayence and Coblentz; and instead of reinforcements being sent forward from Metz to Strasburg, much heavier ones would have to be ordered from the Rhine to the Saar. The determination to invade South Germany was already abandoned; the fleet sailed, but without carrying a force to be landed on the north German coast. Germany had been surprised by the declaration of war, but she was not unprepared. That was a possibility which had been foreseen. After the withdrawal of Austria from the German connection, Prussia had taken upon itself the sole leadership, and had gradually formed closer relations with the South-German States. The idea of national unification had been revived, and found an echo in the patriotic sentiments of the entire people. The mobilization machinery of the North-German army had been elaborated from year to year, in accord with the changing conditions, by the combined exertions of the War Ministry and the General Staff. Every branch of the administration throughout the country had been kept informed of all it needed to know in this relation. The Berlin authorities had also come to a confidential understanding with the Chiefs of the General Staffs of the South-German States on all important points. The principle was established that Prussian assistance was not to be reckoned on for the defence of any particular point, such as the Black Forest; and that South Germany would be best protected by an offensive movement into Alsace from the middle Rhine, to be effectively supported by a large army massed there. That the Governments of Bavaria, Würtemberg, Baden and Hesse, to all appearance uncovering their own territories, were ready to place their contingents under the command of King William, proved their entire confidence in the Prussian leadership. This understanding enabled the preparations which it entailed to be proceeded with. The train and march tables were worked out for each body of troops, with the most minute directions as to the respective starting-points, the day and hour of departure, the duration of the journey, the refreshment stations, and points of detrainment. In the locality of concentration cantonments were assigned to each Corps and Division, and magazines were established with due regard to the most convenient sites; and thus, when the stroke of war inevitably impended, there was required only the Royal signature to start the whole mighty movement in its smooth, swift course. Nothing needed to be changed in the directions originally given; it sufficed to follow the plans previously thought out and prepared. The aggregated mobile forces were formed into three separate Armies, on the basis of an elaborate tabular statement drawn up by the Chief of the Prussian General Staff. The Ist Army, under the command of General von Steinmetz, consisted of, in the first instance, only the VIIth and VIIIth Corps, with one Division of cavalry; 60,000 men all told. It was ordered to assemble at Wittlich and form the right wing. The IInd Army, under the command of Prince Frederick Charles, consisted of the IIIrd, IVth, Xth, and Guard Corps, with two Divisions of cavalry. Assembling in the vicinity of Homburg and Neunkirchen, it was to form the centre, with a strength of 134,000 men. The IIIrd Army, under the command of the Crown Prince of Prussia, consisted of the Vth and XIth Prussian, and the Ist and IInd Bavarian Corps, the Würtemberg and Baden Field Divisions, with one Division of cavalry. Its approximate strength was 130,000 men; it was to constitute the left wing, and to concentrate about Landau and Rastatt. The IXth Corps, consisting of the 18th and the Hesse Divisions, was along with the XIIth Royal Saxon Corps to form a reserve of 60,000 men in front of Mayence, for the reinforcement of the IInd Army to a strength of 194,000 men. The three Armies numbered together 384,000 men. There still remained the Ist, IInd, and VIth Corps, numbering 100,000 men; but they were not at first included, as railway transport for them was not available for three weeks to come. The 17th Division and certain bodies of Landwehr troops were detailed to defend the coasts. It is apparent that numerically the German armies were considerably superior to the French. Inclusive of the garrisons and reserves about one million of men and over 200,000 horses were on the ration list. On the night of July 16th the Royal order for mobilization was issued, and when his Majesty arrived in Mayence fourteen days later, he found 300,000 men assembled on the Rhine and beyond. The plan of campaign submitted by the Chief of the General Staff, and accepted by the King, proves that officer to have had his eye fixed, from the first, upon the capture of the enemy's capital, the possession of which is of more importance in France than in other countries. On the way thither the hostile forces were to be driven as persistently as possible back from the fertile southern provinces into the more confined background to the north. But beyond everything the plan of campaign was based on the resolve to attack the enemy at once, wherever found, and keep the German forces always so compact that this could be done with the advantage of superior numbers. The specific dispositions for the accomplishment of those objects were left to be adopted on the spot; the advance to the frontier was alone pre-arranged in every detail. It is a delusion to imagine that a plan of campaign can be laid down far ahead and fulfilled with exactitude. The first collision with the enemy creates a new situation in accordance with its result. Some things intended will have become impracticable; others, which originally seemed impossible, become feasible. All that the leader of an army can do is to form a correct estimate of the circumstances, to decide for the best for the moment, and carry out his purpose unflinchingly. The advance of the French troops to the frontier, while as yet imperfectly mobilized, which was an extremely hazardous measure in itself, was evidently with the intent of utilizing the temporary advantage of having a superior force at immediate disposition by taking at unawares the German armies in the act of developing their advance-movements. But, notwithstanding, the German commanders did not deviate from their purpose of promptly effecting this first advance in front of the Rhine. The railway transport of the Corps of the IInd and IIIrd Armies, however, ended at the Rhine; thence the troops marched on foot into the cantonments prepared on the left bank of the river. They moved in echelon, advancing only so many at a time as would make room for the body in rear, in the first instance to the line Bingen-Dürkheim-Landau. The farther advance towards the frontier was not to be undertaken until the Divisions and Corps were all assembled, and provided with the necessary trains; and then they were to march forward in a state of readiness to confront the enemy at any moment. The massing of the Ist Army appeared to be less threatened, because its route was protected by neutral territory, and was covered by the garrisons of Trèves, Saarlouis and Saarbrücken, the German outposts on the Saar. The Ist Army, 50,000 strong, was concentrated at Wadern, in the first days of August. The IInd Army, which meanwhile had been increased to a strength of 194,000 men, had pushed forward its cantonments to Alsenz-Günnstadt, at the farther base of the Haardt Mountains, a position which had been thoroughly inspected by an officer of the General Staff, and where the troops might confidently await an attack. The 5th and 6th cavalry Divisions were reconnoitring the country in front. The IIIrd Army was still assembling on both banks of the Rhine. The French so far had made no serious attempt at Saarbrücken; Lieutenant-Colonel Pestel, with one battalion and three squadrons, was able successfully to withstand their petty attacks. It had meanwhile been observed that the hostile forces were moving farther to the right, towards Forbach and Bitsch. This seemed to indicate that the two French Corps known to be about Belfort and Strasburg, might purpose crossing the Rhine and marching through the Black Forest. It seemed therefore all the more important that the IIIrd Army should be set in motion as early as possible, for one thing to protect the right bank of the Upper Rhine by an advance on the left; for another, to cover the left flank of the IInd Army during its advance. A telegraphic order to that effect was despatched on the evening of July 30th, but the Head-quarters of the IIIrd Army wished to wait for the arrival of the VIth Corps and of the trains. Whereupon, regardless of this delay, the IInd Army was put in march towards the Saar, where the French were beginning to be active. The time had gone by when they might have taken advantage of their over-hasty mobilization; the inefficient condition of the troops had paralyzed every attempt at activity. France had been long waiting for the news of a victory, and something had to be done to appease public impatience. So, in order to do something, it was resolved (as is usual in such circumstances) to undertake a reconnoissance in force, and, it may be added, with the usual result. On August 2nd three entire Army Corps were set in motion against three battalions, four squadrons, and one battery in Saarbrücken. The Emperor himself and the Prince Imperial shared in the enterprise. The IIIrd Corps advanced on Völklingen, the Vth through Saargemünd, the IInd on Saarbrücken. Saarbrücken was evacuated after a gallant defence and repeated counter-strokes, but the French did not press across the Saar; convinced, possibly, that they had wasted their strength in a stroke in the air, and had nowhere gained any insight into the dispositions of the enemy. The French military chiefs now hesitated for a long while between conflicting resolutions. Orders were given and recalled on the strength of mere rumours. The left wing was reinforced because 40,000 Prussians were supposed to have marched through Trèves, the Guard received contradictory orders, and the bare apparition of a small German force about Lörrach in the Black Forest occasioned the order that the VIIth Corps must remain in Alsace. Thus the French forces were straggled over the wide area between the Nied and the Upper Rhine, while the Germans were advancing in compact masses towards the Saar. This scattered state of their forces finally induced the French leaders to divide them into two separate Armies. Marshal MacMahon took command, but only provisionally, of the Ist, VIIth, and Vth Corps, of which the latter had therefore to draw in to him from Bitsch. The other Corps remained under Marshal Bazaine, with the exception of the Imperial Guard, the command of which the Emperor reserved to himself. It had now become a pressing necessity to protect the left wing of the advancing IInd German Army against the French forces in Alsace, and the IIIrd Army was therefore ordered to cross the frontier on August 4th, without waiting any longer for its trains. The Ist Army, forming the right wing, was in complete readiness near Wadern and Losheim, three or four days' march nearer to the Saar than the IInd Army in the centre. It received the order to concentrate in the neighbourhood of Tholey and there halt for the present. For one thing, this army, the weakest of the three, could not be exposed single-handed to an encounter with the enemy's main force; and for another, it was available to serve as an offensive flank in case the IInd Army should meet the enemy on emerging from the forest zone of the Palatinate. In the execution of this order, the Ist Army had so extended its cantonments southward that they trenched on the line of march of the IInd Army, and it had to evacuate the quarters about Ottweiler in favour of the latter. This involved a difficulty, as all the villages to the north were full, and as room had also to be found for the Ist Corps, now advancing by Birkenfeld. General von Steinmetz therefore decided to march his whole army in the direction of Saarlouis and Saarbrücken. The IInd Army, on August 4th, stood assembled ready for action, and received orders to deploy on the farther side of the forest zone of Kaiserslautern. COMBAT OF WEISSENBURG. (August 4th.) On this day the Corps of the IIIrd Army, consisting of 128 battalions, 102 squadrons, and 80 batteries, which had been assembled in bivouac behind the Klingsbach, crossed the French frontier, marching on a broad front to reach the Lauter between Weissenburg and Lauterburg. This stream affords an exceptionally strong defensive position, but on August 4th only one weak Division and a cavalry brigade of the Ist French Corps covered this point, the main body of that Corps being still on the march towards the Palatinate. Early in the morning the Bavarians forming the right wing encountered a lively resistance before the walls of Weissenburg, which were too strong to be stormed. But very soon after the two Prussian Corps crossed the Lauter lower down. General von Bose led forward the XIth Corps (which he commanded) with intent to turn the French right flank on the Geisberg, while General von Kirchbach, with the Vth Corps (which he commanded) advanced against the enemy's front. Thirty field-guns were meanwhile massed against the railway station of Weissenburg. It and subsequently the town were taken, after a bloody struggle. So early as ten o'clock General Douay had ordered a retreat, which was seriously threatened by the movement against the Geisburg; and the château of that name, a very defensible building, was most obstinately defended to enable the French to retire. The Grenadiers of the King's Regiment No. 7 in vain assailed it by storm, suffering heavy loss; nor did its defenders surrender until, with the greatest difficulty, artillery had been dragged up on to the height. The French Division, which had been attacked by three German Corps, effected a retreat after an obstinate struggle, though in great disorder, having suffered much loss. Its gallant Commander had been killed. The Germans had to bewail a proportionately considerable loss; their casualties were 91 officers and 1460 men. General von Kirchbach had been wounded while fighting in the foremost rank. The 4th Division of cavalry had met with much delay in the course of a nineteen miles' march by the crossing of the columns of infantry. It did not reach the scene of combat, and all touch of the enemy, now retiring to the westward, was lost. Uncertain as to the direction whence fresh hostile forces might be approaching, the IIIrd Army advanced on the 5th of August by diverging roads in the direction of Hagenau and Reichshofen; yet not so far apart but that it should be possible for the Corps to reconcentrate in one short march. The Crown Prince intended to allow his troops a rest on the following day, so as to have them fresh for a renewed attack as soon as the situation was made clear. But already, that same evening, the Bavarians on the right flank and the Vth Corps in the front had a sharp encounter with the enemy, who showed behind the Sauer in considerable strength. It was to be assumed that Marshal MacMahon had brought up the VIIth Corps from Strasburg, but it remained a question whether he intended to join Marshal Bazaine by way of Bitsch, or whether, having secured his line of retreat thither, he meant to accept battle at Wörth. Yet again there was the possibility that he might himself initiate the offensive. The Crown Prince, to make sure in any case of a preponderance of force, determined to concentrate his army in the neighbourhood of Sulz on August 6th. The IInd Bavarian Corps received separate instructions to watch the road from Bitsch with one Division; the other Division was to strike the hostile attack in flank on the western bank of the Sauer, in the event of artillery fire about Wörth being heard. Marshal MacMahon was endeavouring with all his might to concentrate his three Corps, and he really had the intention to make an immediate attack on his invading foe. A Division of the VIIth Corps, which had but just been sent to Mülhausen to strengthen the defence of Alsace, was at once recalled to Hagenau, and early on the 6th formed the right wing of the strong position which the Ist Corps had taken up behind the Sauer, and in front of Fröschwiller, Elsasshausen, and Eberbach. On the left, Lespart's Division of the Vth Corps was expected from Bitsch, of which the other Divisions were only now on march from Saargemünd by way of Rohrbach. Meanwhile Ducrot's Division formed a refused flank on the French left. Neither the German nor the French leaders expected the collision before the following day, but when, as in this case, the adversaries are in so close proximity, the conflict may break out at any moment, even against the wish of the higher commanders. BATTLE OF WÖRTH. (August 6th.) After a good deal of skirmishing between the respective outposts during the night, the Commander of the 20th German Brigade[1] thought it expedient to seize a passage over the Sauer, which flowed just in his front and constituted a serious obstacle. The bridge leading to Wörth had been destroyed, but the sharp-shooters waded through the river, and at seven o'clock pressed into the town, which the French had left unoccupied. Soon enough they realized that before them was a numerous enemy in a strong position. The broad meadows of the Sauer all lie within effective range of the commanding slopes on the right bank; and the long-ranging chassepôt fire could not but tell heavily. On the French side of the river the terrain was dotted with vineyards and hop-gardens, which afforded great advantages for defensive purposes. The combat which had begun at Wörth was broken off after lasting half an hour, but the artillery of both sides had taken part in it, and the sound of cannon-fire had been the signal prescribed to Hartmann's IInd Bavarian Corps, acting on which it now advanced from Langensulzbach, and was soon engaged in a brisk fight with the left flank of the French. The latter on their side had advanced on their right to the attack of Gunstett, where they came in contact with the advancing XIth Prussian Corps. The din of battle, rolling from the north and south alike, was heard by the Vth Corps in its position opposite to Wörth; and it seemed imperative that it should engage with vigour the enemy's centre in order to hinder him from throwing himself with all his strength on one or other of the German flanks. The artillery was brought up, and by ten o'clock 108 guns were in action on the eastern slope of the Sauer valley. Some infantry detachments waded breast-high through the river, but this dashing attempt, undertaken in inadequate strength, miscarried, and it was only by strenuous efforts that a foothold was maintained on the other side. The Crown Prince sent orders that nothing was to be undertaken that would bring on a battle on that day. But by this time the Vth Corps was so seriously engaged that the fight could not be broken off without obvious disadvantage. General von Kirchbach therefore determined to continue the contest on his own responsibility. The frontal attack was an undertaking of great difficulty, and could scarcely succeed unless with the co-operation of another on the flank. But at this juncture the Bavarians, who, in position as they were on the right, could have afforded this co-operation, obeyed the breaking off command, which had also reached them in the course of the fighting, and withdrew to Langensulzbach. There was, however, the XIth Corps in position on the left, eager to strike in. It seized the Albrechts-häuser farm, and pressed forward into the Niederwald. In front of Wörth the battle hung, consisting of a succession of attacks renewed again and again on either side; each assailant in turn getting worsted, in consequence of the nature of the country. By degrees, however, the collective battalions, and finally the artillery of the Vth Corps, were brought over to the west bank of the Sauer; while the XIth Corps had already won there a firm point of support for further advance. Just then, near Morsbronn, notwithstanding the evident unfavourable nature of the ground, two Cuirassier and one Lancer regiments of Michel's brigade hurled themselves with reckless daring on a body of German infantry taken in the act of wheeling to the right. But the 32nd Regiment, far from seeking cover, received in open order the charging mass of over 1000 horse with a steady fire which did great execution. The Cuirassiers especially suffered immense loss. Only a few horsemen broke through the firing line and gained the open ground; many were taken prisoners in the village, the remainder rode in wild gallop as far as Walburg. There they encountered the Prussian 13th Hussars, suffered further loss, and disappeared from the field. It is true that the infantry of the French right wing succeeded in driving back the foremost detachments of the Germans about Albrechts-häuser farm, but the further advance of the former was shattered by the fire of newly-unmasked artillery. When finally the last battalions had crossed the Sauer, the XIth Corps made its way through the Niederwald, fighting its way step by step. The northern edge of the forest was reached by 2.30, and there a junction was formed with the left flank of the Vth Corps. The burning village of Elsasshausen was carried by storm, and the little copse south of Fröschwiller was also won after a gallant defence. Thus crowded together in a limited space, the French army was in a situation of imminent danger. Its left flank, it is true, still held out against the renewed attack of the Bavarians, who had re-entered the action, but its front and right flank were terribly hard pressed, and even its retreat was seriously threatened. Marshal MacMahon therefore tried to obtain a breathing space by a heavy counter-stroke to the south. The weak German detachments standing to the east of Elsasshausen, thrown into confusion by the vehement attack, were in part driven back into the Niederwald, but were quickly rallied and brought up again. Here the French cavalry strove once more to change the fortunes of the day. Bonnemain's Division, notwithstanding the unfavourable nature of the ground, threw itself on the dishevelled front of the enemy, suffered terrible losses, and was shattered without having been able effectively to charge home. The Würtembergers now came up from the south, and the Bavarians from the north. General von Bose, though twice wounded, led what of his troops he could collect to the storm of the burning Fröschwiller, the enemy's last stronghold. The artillery moved up within case-shot range, and thus cleared the road for the infantry which was pushing forward from all sides. After maintaining to the utmost a resolute and gallant resistance until five o'clock, the French retreated in great disorder towards Reichshofen and Niederbronn. At the Falkenstein stream, Lespart's Division, just arrived on the field, made a short stand, but these fresh troops offered only brief resistance, and were swept away in the general rout. This victory of the IIIrd Army had been dearly paid for with the loss of 489 officers and 10,000 men. The loss on the French side is not exactly known, but of prisoners alone they left 200 officers and 9000 men, and in the German hands there remained 33 guns and 2000 horses. The disintegration of the French army must have been so complete as to throw it altogether out of hand. Only one brigade of Lespart's Division took the road by Bitsch to join the French main army at St. Avold; all the rest of the army, following an infectious impulse, rolled unhaltingly in a south-western direction towards Saverne. As in the Head-quarter of the IIIrd Army it had not been intended to fight on August 6th, the 4th Division of cavalry had not left its quarters in the rear, and was therefore not available to take up the pursuit; it did not reach Gunstett until nine o'clock in the evening. But, in order to be at hand at any rate for the next day, Prince Albert marched his command on during the night as far as Eberbach; after three hours' rest he started again, and after covering thirty-six miles,[2] came up in the evening with the rearguard of the enemy near Steinberg, at the foot of the Vosges. Without infantry it would have been impossible for the Division to push farther, but the sight of it gave the enemy a fresh impulse of flight. The Ist Corps stampeded again in the night and reached Saarburg, where it joined the Vth Corps. Thus the French had a start of twenty-three and a half miles, and continued their retreat on Lunéville, unmolested by the Germans. FOOTNOTES: [1] General Walther von Montbary. It is Molkte's custom throughout this work, except in regard to his prime aversion, Prince Frederick Charles, to refrain from naming an officer whom by implication he is censuring, but this is simply a _nuance_, since he specifies the culprit's military position. [2] Throughout the miles are English miles. BATTLE OF SPICHEREN. (August 6th.) Let us now turn to the events which occurred, on this same 6th of August, in another part of the theatre of war. The IInd Army, its southern (left) flank covered by the IIIrd Army, had been moving to the westward, while the Corps it still lacked were being brought up by railway. Its leading Corps, having traversed unmolested the long defiles of the forest-belt of Kaiserslautern, reached on the 5th the line Neunkirchen-Zweibrücken. The cavalry, scouting into French territory, reported that the enemy was retreating. Everything seemed to indicate that the French would await the attack of the Germans in a strong defensive position. The nearest position of the kind that offered was that on the farther bank of the Moselle, of which Metz protected one flank, Thionville the other. It was decided that if the French were found in that position, the Ist Army should hold the enemy in front, while the IInd made a circuit south of Metz, and so the enemy be forced either to retire or to fight. In case of disaster the IInd Army was to fall back on the IIIrd, now advancing over the Vosges. The protrusion to the south-westward[3] of the Ist Army towards the Saar, which had not been intended by the supreme Command, had brought its left wing in upon the line of march laid down for the IInd, and detachments of the two armies had to cross each other at Saarbrücken on the 6th. Thus there was indeed no lack of strength at that point; but as a battle on that day was neither expected nor probable, the synchronous arrival of troops had not been pre-arranged, and so detachments could only come up by quite unprescribed routes and arrive one after the other at different hours. The 14th Division of the VIIth Corps was the first to reach Saarbrücken, towards noon on the 6th. General Frossard, considering his position there very hazardous, had left the night before, without waiting for permission, and had fallen back with the IInd Corps on Spicheren, where it had entrenched itself. The IIIrd, IVth, and Vth Corps were behind, at distances of from nine to nineteen miles, and the Imperial Guard was about twenty-three miles rearward. The Emperor, therefore, had it in his power to collect five Corps for a battle in the vicinity of Cocheren, or, on the other hand, to support Frossard with at least four Divisions, if that General were confident that his position was strong enough to hold. The range of heights which upheaves itself immediately behind Saarbrücken is capable of affording a serious obstacle to a hostile passage of the Saar. It was known that the French had evacuated those heights, but General von Kameke thought it prudent to seize them at once, in order to secure the debouche of the columns following him. When, in the forenoon, two squadrons of the 5th Cavalry Division showed themselves on the drill-ground on the ridge above the farther bank, they were greeted with a hot fire from the Spicheren heights. But as it seemed highly probable, from the previous behaviour of the French, that the force seen there was only the rear-guard of the retiring enemy, General von Kameke (commanding 14th Infantry Division) ordered an immediate attack, since he had the promise of reinforcements. General von Zastrow (commanding VIIth Corps), as soon as he recognized that the 14th Division had involved itself in a serious engagement, allowed the 13th to go forward. General von Alvensleben (its commander) also ordered up to Saarbrücken all the available troops of the IIIrd Corps, and with equal promptitude General von Goeben (commanding VIIIth Corps) hurried thither the entire 16th Division. Generals von Döring (commanding 9th Infantry Brigade) and von Barnekow (commanding 16th Infantry Division), belonging respectively to these two Corps (IIIrd and VIIIth), had besides already struck forward from Tudweiler and Fischbach in the direction of the cannon-thunder, even before receiving orders to that effect. The position occupied by the French was one of exceptional advantage. In the centre projected the Red Hill (der Rothe Berg), a precipitous and almost inaccessible cliff; and the steep slopes on either side were densely wooded. On the left the massive buildings of the Stiering-Wendel ironworks furnished a separate defensive position. Had the strength of the enemy been fully known the attack would certainly have been delayed until the whole of the 14th Division had arrived. As a matter of fact, at the beginning of the fight, about noon, only von François' Brigade (27th) had come up, and this force, in the effort to facilitate an attack on the naturally strong position held by the enemy's front, assailed in the first instance both his flanks. At first it succeeded in making progress. On the left the 39th Regiment drove the swarms of hostile skirmishers out of the wood of Gifert, but then became exposed to the bitter fire of a French battalion lining the farther side of a deep hollow. On the right flank its 3rd Battalion, together with the 74th Regiment, seized the wood of Stiering. But the enemy's superior strength soon displayed itself in violent counter-attacks, and when Von Woyna's[4] Brigade (28th) reached the field it had to furnish reinforcements to both flanks. Thus, at an early stage, intermingling of battalions and companies began, which increased with every subsequent rush, and made the control of the combat a matter of extraordinary difficulty. Added to this was the circumstance that three Commanding Generals in succession came up to the scene of the conflict, and one after the other took the chief control. At about one o'clock, simultaneously with the flanks, the Fusilier Battalion of the 74th Regiment pushed forward in front, under a severe fire across the open ground towards the Red Hill, and, under such trivial cover as offered, established itself at the foot of the cliff. When at about three o'clock the Prussian artillery compelled the foe to move his guns farther up the hill, the Fusiliers, with General von François at their head, began to climb the cliff. The French Chasseurs, evidently taken by surprise, were driven from the most advanced entrenchments with clubbed rifles and at the point of the bayonet. The 9th company of the 39th Regiment followed close, and the gallant General, charging farther forward along with it, fell pierced by five bullets. Nothing daunted, the small body of Fusiliers made good its grip of the narrow spur of the cliff. Nevertheless, a crisis was imminent. The 14th Division was extended over a distance of about three and a half miles, its left wing had been repulsed by greatly superior forces in the wood of Gifert, its right wing was hard pressed at Stiering. But now, at four o'clock, the heads of the 5th and 16th Divisions simultaneously struck in, shortly after their batteries, which had been sent on ahead, had come into action. The left wing, strongly reinforced, now again pressed forward. General von Barnekow[5] led trusty succours up on to the Red Hill, where the Fusiliers had almost entirely exhausted their ammunition, and drove the French out from all their entrenchments. As the result of a fierce struggle the Germans also succeeded in taking possession of the western part of the wood of Gifert. The right wing with sharp fighting had pressed on to Alt Stiering and was approaching the enemy's line of retreat, the Forbach highway. General Frossard had, however, recognized the danger threatened at this point, and reinforced his left wing to the strength of a Division and a half. This force advanced to the attack at five o'clock. On the German side there was no formed force to oppose to it, so all the previously gained advantages were lost. If the 13th Division[6] had here struck in with a resolute attack, the battle would have ended. This Division after, indeed, a march of nearly nineteen miles had reached Puttlingen at one o'clock, where it was little more than four miles distant from Stiering. When the fighting about Saarbrücken was heard it is true that at four p.m. the advanced guard moved forward to Rossel. It would seem that the roar of the cannon was not audible in that wooded region; the impression was that the combat was over, and the Division bivouacked at Völkingen, which place had been previously named as the end of its march by the Corps Commander at a time when he was, of course, unable to foresee the change in the situation. The French offensive movement had meanwhile been brought to a stand by the seven batteries in position on the Folster height; the infantry then succeeded in making fresh progress, under the personal leadership of General von Zastrow. The nature of the ground entirely prohibited the twenty-nine squadrons of cavalry which had arrived from all directions and were drawn up out of the range of fire, from taking part in the action. The Hussars tried in vain to ride up the Red Hill, but in spite of incredible difficulties Major von Lyncker finally gained the summit with eight guns, amid the loud cheering of the hard-pressed infantry. The guns, as each one came up, at once came into action against three French batteries; but quite half of the gunners were shot down by sheltered French tirailleurs, at a range of about 800 paces. A small strip of ground in front was indeed won, but the narrow space allowed of no deployment against the wide front of the enemy. But effective assistance was coming from the right. General von Goeben had despatched all the battalions of the 16th Division not yet engaged, in the decisive direction toward Stiering. While one part of these troops made a frontal attack on the village, the rest climbed from the high-road up the defiles of the Spicheren woods, in a hand-to-hand encounter drove the French from the saddle leading to the Red Hill, and pushed them farther and farther back towards the Forbach height. Even as late as seven o'clock on the French right wing Laveaucoupet's Division, supported by part of Bataille's, advanced to the attack and once more penetrated into the oft-contested Gifert wood, but the danger threatening the French left wing from the Spicheren wood paralyzed this effort. By nightfall the French were falling back over the whole plateau. At nine o'clock, when their "Retreat" call was sounding from the heights, General von Schwerin (commanding 10th Infantry Brigade) made sure of night quarters by occupying Stiering, where resistance was only quelled, at many points, after a hand-to-hand fight. The advanced guard of the 13th Division advanced on Forbach, but did not occupy it, having allowed itself to be hoodwinked by some French Dragoons in possession. Apart from this, General Frossard had abandoned the line of retreat by the so seriously threatened Forbach-St. Avold road, and fell back with all his three divisions on Oetingen. The darkness, and the impossibility of handling large bodies of cavalry in such a country, saved him from further pursuit. General von Steinmetz ordered the reorganization of the dislocated bodies of troops that same night. Some of them had marched more than twenty-eight miles; two batteries, arriving from Königsberg by rail, had immediately set out for the battle-field. But it remains that the Germans at no time of the day attained the numerical strength of the enemy in this engagement, which had been begun with insufficient forces. Only thirteen batteries could be brought into action in the limited space, and the cavalry remained excluded from all participation. It was only natural, under the circumstances, that the losses of the assailants were greater than those of the defence. The Prussians lost 4871, the French 4078 men. The fact was significant that a considerable number of unwounded French prisoners were taken in this early action. In strong contrast to the comradeship and mutual helpfulness displayed by the Prussian Generals, and the eagerness of their troops to hurry into the fight, was the strange vacillation of the Divisions in General Frossard's rear; of which three, indeed, were sent forward to his support, but only two came up, and that when the fight was already ended. It has been vehemently asserted that the battle of Spicheren was fought in an ill-judged locality, and that it interfered with more important plans. It certainly had not been anticipated. But, generally speaking, a tactical victory rarely fails to fit in with a strategic design. Success in battle has always been thankfully accepted, and turned to account. By the battle of Spicheren the IInd French Corps was prevented from withdrawing unharmed; touch of the enemy's main force was obtained, and to the supreme Direction of the armies was afforded a basis for further resolutions. FOOTNOTES: [3] South-eastward. [4] There were two Major-Generals of this name, both commanding Brigades; one the 28th, VIIth Corps, the other 39th, Xth Corps. [5] Commanding 16th Division, VIIIth Corps. [6] Commanded by General Glümen. RIGHT WHEEL OF THE GERMAN ARMY. Marshal MacMahon in his retreat had taken a direction which entirely severed his touch with Marshal Bazaine. As he was not pursued, he could have used the Lunéville-Metz railway to effect his union with the French main army; for up to the 9th it was still open. But rumour had it that the Prussians had already appeared in Pont à Mousson, and the state of his troops did not permit him thus early to risk another engagement. His Ist Corps, therefore, marched southwards on Neufchâteau, whence Châlons could be reached by railway. The Vth Corps was being shifted to and fro by contradictory orders from the Emperor's head-quarters. First it was to proceed to Nancy, then to take an opposite direction towards Langres. On arriving at Charmes it was ordered to Toul, but from Chaumont it was finally directed to proceed to Châlons. General Trochu had there located the newly-formed XIIth Corps, and behind this gathering point the VIIth Corps also managed to get away from Alsace and reach Rheims by rail by way of Bar sur Aube and Paris. Thus by August 22nd a Reserve Army was formed, consisting of four Corps and two Cavalry Divisions, under the command of Marshal MacMahon, who, however, at a distance, as he was, of about 120 miles, was unable to render timely assistance to Marshal Bazaine, who stood directly in the line of the advancing enemy. When the news of the double disaster of August 6th reached the Imperial Head-quarter, the first impression there was that it would be necessary to retreat immediately on Châlons with Bazaine's army; and the VIth Corps, a portion of which was already being transported thence to Metz, was ordered to retrace its steps. But this resolution was presently retracted. The Emperor had not merely to consider the foreign enemy, but public opinion within his own realm. The sacrifice of entire provinces at the very beginning of a war which had been undertaken with such high anticipations, would have provoked the unbounded indignation of the French people. There were still 200,000 men who could be brought together in front of the Moselle, supported by a large fortress, and though the enemy would still have the superiority in numbers, his army was holding a line nearly sixty miles long. It had yet to cross the Moselle, and this would necessitate a dislocation which might create a weakness at the critical moment. In the IIIrd German Army the disorderly condition of the defeated enemy was not known, nor even the direction of his retreat. It was expected that MacMahon's Army would be found rallied on the farther side of the Vosges for renewed resistance; and as it was impossible to cross the mountains except in detached columns, the German advance was very cautious, and by short marches only. Though the distance between Reichshofen and the Saar is not more than about twenty-eight miles in a straight line, that river was only reached in five days. Nothing was seen of the enemy, except in the fortified places, small indeed, but too strong to be taken by storm, which command the highways in the mountains. Bitsch had to be avoided by a fatiguing circuit, Lichtenberg was captured by surprise, Lützelstein had been abandoned by its garrison, the investment of Pfalzburg was handed over to the approaching VIth Corps, and Marsal capitulated after a short resistance. The German left wing had no enemy before it, and could be brought into closer connection with the centre. To bring the three armies abreast of each other a wheel to the right was requisite. The advance of the Ist and IInd Armies had, however, to be delayed, as the IIIrd did not reach the Saar until August 12th. The whole movement was so arranged that the IIIrd Army was to use the roads by Saarunion and Dieuze, and to southward; the IInd those by St. Avold and Nomény and to southward; the Ist those by Saarlouis and Les Etangs, the last also taking the direction of Metz. The cavalry Divisions which were reconnoitring far to the front, reported the enemy as retreating all along the line. They ranged close up to Metz, and across the Moselle both above and below the place, forcing the detachments of Canrobert's Corps, which had again been ordered up from Châlons, to return thither. All their information indicated that very large masses were encamped in front of Metz. From this it might equally be inferred that the enemy intended to retreat further, or, with his whole force concentrated, to strike hard at the right wing of the German Army, at the moment when the impending crossing of the Moselle should make its severance from the left wing unavoidable. The chief Head-quarter restricted itself in ordinary course to issuing general directions, the execution of which was left in detail to the army commanders; but in this instance it was deemed necessary in the momentary circumstances to regulate the movements of each separate corps by specific orders. On August 11th the Head-quarter of his Majesty was therefore transferred to St. Avold, in the front line, and midway between the Ist and IInd Armies, so as, by being in the immediate vicinity, to be able to exercise timely authority to either hand. The three Corps of the Ist Army advanced towards the German Nied on August 12th, only to find that the French had evacuated that position. Three Corps of the IInd Army on the left of the Ist also moved forward in prolongation of the same front by Faulquemont and Morhange, while two others followed. On the next day the IInd Army reached the Seille, without encountering the enemy, and occupied Pont à Mousson with infantry. The strangely inactive attitude of the French made it seem quite probable that they might not make any stand in front of Metz, a probability strengthened by the reports of the German cavalry, which was scouting as far as Toul and on to the Verdun road. But there always loomed the possibility that the enemy would throw himself with 200 battalions on the Ist Army, now in his immediate front. The two Corps forming the right wing of the IInd Army were therefore ordered to halt for the present, a little to the south of Metz, ready to deliver a shattering blow on the flank of any such attack. If the enemy preferred to assail these Corps, then would devolve on the Ist Army on its part the prompt assumption of the offensive. Meanwhile the other Corps of the IInd Army were pursuing the march towards the Moselle farther to the southward; if the enemy should attack them with superior forces after they had crossed the river, it would be possible for them, in case of need, to fall back on the IIIrd Army. So much caution was not universally deemed essential; it was argued that the French seemed already committed to full retreat, they ought not to be allowed to get away without punishment, and it followed that the German Army should strike without delay. The French had, indeed, already committed themselves to a further retreat; but when in the afternoon (of the 14th) the VIIth Corps discerned their retrograde movement, a fight began on the hither side of the Moselle, which, by the voluntary intervention of the nearest bodies of troops, developed into a battle in the course of the evening. BATTLE OF COLOMBEY--NOUILLY. (August 14th.) The Commandant of Metz had declared his inability to hold that place for a fortnight, if left to his own resources; but the chosen and intrenched position on the Nied, taken up to cover the fortress, had been found locally defective, and the French Head-quarter hoped to find a more favourable defensive position in the vicinity of Verdun. Military necessity outweighed even a politic regard for public opinion, and the Emperor, although he had transferred the command-in-chief to Marshal Bazaine, still remained with the army, for it would have been impossible for him to return to Paris in existing circumstances. Very early in the morning of the 14th August the multitudinous trains were being withdrawn through the city, and towards noon the IInd, IVth, and VIth Corps got in motion, while the IIIrd Corps remained in position behind the deep valley of the Colombey brook, to cover the retirement. When, at four in the afternoon, the break-up of the enemy was perceived, General von der Goltz (commanding 26th Infantry Brigade) with the advanced guard of the VIIth Corps struck him in the act, and wrenched from him Colombey and the Château d'Aubigny on his right flank. But, at the first cannon sound, the French columns immediately turned about, fully equipped for fighting, and eager, after their many previous disasters, to break the spell by a desperate effort. Castagny's Division threw itself in greatly superior force upon the weak German detachment in the isolated position of Colombey, which held its own only by the utmost exertion. Already the advanced guard of the Ist Army Corps was approaching by both the high-roads from Saarbrücken and Saarlouis; and its batteries having pushed on ahead, at once took part in the engagement. Passing through Lauvallier, the infantry followed close, climbed the eastern slope of the plateau of Bellecroix, and farther to the right drove the enemy out of the wood east of Mey. But the presence at this point of the main body of the French IIIrd Corps gave pause to the German offensive for the time. The 13th, 1st, and 2nd Divisions had meanwhile followed their respective advanced guards, the two latter having been held in full readiness by General von Manteuffel ever since his outposts had reported that the enemy was moving. General von Zastrow, too, arrived on the field, and took over the command of the left wing. Soon sixty field-pieces were in action against the enemy. General von Osten-Sacken hurried forward the 25th Brigade through the hollow of Coincy, and climbed on to the edge of the upland. The clump of fir-trees on the road to Bellecroix was taken by storm, was surrounded on three sides, was lost again in a bloody conflict, and was once more recaptured. Soon afterwards two batteries succeeded in establishing themselves above Planchette, whose fire drove the French back as far as Borny; yet still the conflict raged on both sides with the utmost fury. But now there threatened the German right the danger of being out-flanked. General Ladmirault, on learning that Grenier's Division had been driven out of Mey, immediately set out to its support with his other two Divisions, retook the village, and pressed farther forward by the Bouzonville road. General von Manteuffel had meanwhile given the necessary orders for holding, at all hazards, the deep-cut trough of the Vallières brook which covered the flank. The 1st Brigade was posted behind Noisseville as general reserve, the 4th, and part of the artillery of the Ist Corps, marched by the Bouzonville road to confront General Ladmirault near Poix, while the remaining batteries from the southern slopes to the eastward of Nouilly enfiladed his advance. On the left, Glümer's Division (13th) had all this time been holding its ground at Colombey, and now, at seven o'clock in the evening, Woyna's Brigade came to its assistance, and took possession of the copses westward of Colombey. A very welcome reinforcement now arrived from the IInd Army remaining halted on the Seille. The 18th Infantry Division, after a heavy march, had bivouacked near Buchy in the afternoon, but when General von Wrangel (its commander) was informed that fighting was audible from the locality of the Ist Army, he promptly set his Division in motion in that direction. He drove the enemy out of Peltre, and then in conjunction with Woyna's Brigade occupied Grigy, somewhat in rear of the French position in front of Borny. On the right wing of the fighting line, the 2nd Division had also pushed on towards Mey, by way of Nouilly and through the adjacent vineyards; and, as darkness was setting in, that village and the adjoining woods were wrenched from the enemy. The French had not advanced beyond Villers L'Orme, and they now withdrew all along their line from that village to Grigy. The Prussians, as they followed up after dark, were molested only by the fire of the heavy guns of the forts, more especially Fort St. Julien. The engagement of August 14th cost them the heavy loss of 5000 men, inclusive of 200 officers; while the French lost only 3600 men, their IIIrd Corps being the heaviest sufferer. The vicinity of a great fortress of course prevented the reaping of the fruits of victory by an immediate pursuit. It was for the same reason that a battle on the part of the Ist Army on that day had not been included in the concerted plan of action, though the possibility of such an occurrence had been foreseen. Although it was true that but one Division of the IInd Army (the 18th) had been able to hasten to the aid of the Ist, and that after the late opening of the fight, its assault on the left[7] flank of the enemy had not failed of its effect. The manner in which the battle originated rendered unity of direction impossible. It was but the advanced-guards of four Divisions which were the troops principally engaged; and the daring attacks made on greatly superior hostile forces by small bodies unfollowed by immediate supports occasioned many critical moments, which might have been dangerous if the enemy had pushed forward more energetically in closely concentrated strength. But while, for instance, his IIIrd Corps received no support from the Imperial Guard standing close behind it, the contrast presented itself that on the Prussian side, in this as in the previous battles, there shone forth, along with their ready acceptance of personal responsibility, the eager mutual helpfulness of all the commanders within reach of the battle-field. An essential share of the success of the day must be attributed to the artillery. Hurrying along in front, leaving the responsibility of covering it to the advanced guards which reached forward before the main bodies of the Divisions had time to come up, it drove the French completely out of their positions before Metz, and back under the guns of the defences of the place. The protection so afforded to the enemy rendered it impossible that the victory of Colombey-Nouilly should yield any trophies, but the supreme Command was quite content with the results obtained. The retreat of the enemy had been arrested, and a day had been gained for the crossing of the Moselle by the IInd and IIIrd Armies. _August 15th._--In the early morning of the 15th the cavalry had ridden forward to the outworks of Metz, but found none of the enemy on this side of the fortress. A few shells scared away the Imperial Head-quarter from Longeville on the further side of the Moselle. As King William was riding over to visit the Ist Army, immense clouds of dust were observed rising on the further side of the fortress; and it was no longer doubtful that the French had begun their retreat, and that the IInd Army was henceforth free to follow across the Moselle with all its Corps. The Ist Corps of the Ist Army was necessarily left at Courcelles, south of Metz, to protect the railway, the other two were brought up leftward towards the Seille; and they were also by-and-by to cross the Moselle higher up, so as to avoid interference from the fortress. The French had started again on the retreat interrupted on the previous day, but proceeded little more than four miles[8] beyond Metz on August 15th. Their cavalry only went somewhat farther ahead, by both the roads to Verdun. The IIIrd Corps of the German IInd Army crossed the Moselle at Novéant, by the bridge which was found intact, and by a flying pontoon bridge; its artillery, however, was forced to make a détour by Pont à Mousson. It was not until late at night that the troops were all across and in bivouac close to the left bank. One Division of the Xth Corps remained at Pont à Mousson and the other advanced to Thiaucourt. The cavalry scouted farther forward towards the Metz-Verdun road, and struck in on the French cavalry near Mars la Tour. Several small engagements took place, but when early in the afternoon twenty-four Prussian squadrons had assembled, the French retired on Vionville. The Guard Corps and the IVth Corps crossed at Dieulouard and Marbache, higher up the river. The IIIrd Army advanced to the line Nancy-Bayon. On this day an attempt to seize the fortress of Thionville by surprise proved a failure. FOOTNOTES: [7] Clearly should be "right." [8] On the night of 15th, four of Bazaine's five Corps (less one Division) bivouacked at distances of from eight to ten miles westward of Metz; viz., from beyond Rezonville rearward to Gravelotte. BATTLE OF VIONVILLE--MARS LA TOUR. (August 16th.) In the Head-quarter of the IInd Army there was the belief that serious fighting with the French was no more to be anticipated on the Moselle, and therefore two Corps, the IIIrd and the Xth, were ordered to march on August 16th, northwards toward the road to Verdun by way of Gorze and Thiaucourt, while the other Corps were directed to advance by forced marches westwards towards the Meuse. The French retreat from Metz was, however, not completely effected on this day. The trains blocked every road, and in the forenoon three Divisions still remained behind in the Moselle valley. The Emperor, however, escorted by two brigades of cavalry, had departed at an early hour by the road through Etain, which was still comparatively safe. As the right wing of the army could not yet follow, the prosecution of the retreat was postponed until the afternoon, and the left wing, which had already begun the march, was sent back again into its bivouacs. But so early as nine o'clock Prussian shells startled the troops from their rest. Major Körber had advanced with four batteries close up to Vionville under cover of the cavalry, and the French troopers, surprised by their fire, fled in utter confusion through the camp of the infantry. The latter, however, briskly got under arms in good order, and the artillery opened a heavy fire. Destitute at first of infantry supports, the Prussian guns were withdrawn. Matters soon became serious. General von Alvensleben, fearing lest he should fail to overtake the enemy, had started again with the IIIrd Corps after a short night's rest. The 6th Division marched on the left, by Onville; the 5th, on the right, followed the long forest valley on the way to Gorze. This valley so capable of defence was found unoccupied by the enemy, who indeed had taken very few precautions. The advanced-guard presently encountered Bergés' French Division on the open plateau south of Flavigny, and General von Stülpnagel (commanding 5th Infantry Division) soon discovered that he had before him an enemy whom it would take all his strength to beat. At ten o'clock he began operations by sending forward the 10th Brigade (commanded by General von Schwerin); and opened fire with twenty-four guns. Both sides now assumed the offensive. The Prussians, on the right, fought their way with varying fortunes through the wood, often in hand-to-hand encounter, and, towards eleven o'clock, succeeded in reaching the spur of the wood of St. Arnould projecting in the direction of Flavigny. Their left wing, on the contrary, was repulsed; even the artillery was in danger; but the 52nd Regiment hurried forward and re-established the fight at the cost of bloody sacrifices. Its 1st Battalion lost every one of its officers, the colours passed from hand to hand as its bearers were successively shot down, and the commander of the 9th Brigade, General von Döring, fell mortally wounded. General von Stülpnagel rode up into the foremost line of fire, inspiriting the men with brave words, while General von Schwerin collected the remnants of troops bereft of their leaders, and, reinforced by a detachment of the Xth Corps from Novéant, carried the height in front of Flavigny, whence the French presently retired. On the assumption that the French were already prosecuting the retreat, the 6th Division had been ordered forward towards Etain by way of Mars la Tour, to bar the enemy also from the northern road to Verdun. When it reached the height of Tronville, whence could be seen how things really stood, the brigades wheeled to the right in the direction of Vionville and Flavigny. The artillery going on in advance, formed a formidable line of batteries, the fire of which prepared the way for a farther advance, and by half-past eleven the 11th Brigade had taken possession of Vionville in spite of heavy losses. From thence, and from the south, in conjunction with the 10th Brigade, an attack was then directed on Flavigny, which had been set on fire by shell-fire. The different detachments were hereabouts very much mixed, but by skilfully taking advantage of every fold of the ground, the individual regimental officers succeeded in getting their men steadily forward, in spite of the heavy fire of the hostile infantry and artillery. Flavigny was taken by assault, and one cannon and a number of prisoners fell into the hands of the brave Brandenburgers. Vionville, Flavigny and the northern end of the forest of St. Arnould constituted the points of support of the Prussian front now facing to the east; but this front was more than four miles long, and the whole infantry and artillery were engaged up to the hilt all in one line. The second line consisted only of the 5th and 6th Cavalry Divisions and half of the 37th Brigade near Tronville. The position of the French was one of great advantage. Their left flank leaned on Metz, their right was protected by formidable batteries on the old Roman road and a strong force of cavalry; and so they could await with confidence a frontal attack on the part of a venturesome enemy. The possibility of continuing the march to Verdun on this day, under the protection of a strong covering rearguard, was, no doubt, out of the question. Supposing the Marshal earnest above everything to effect his retreat, he could do so only by fighting hard for his right of way, and by so freeing himself from the enemy blocking his path. It is not easy to discern, from a purely military standpoint, why this course was not resorted to. There was the full certainty that only part, and probably only a small part, of the German host could as yet have reached the left side of the Moselle, and when in the course of the day the Divisions detained about Metz arrived, the French had greatly the superiority in strength. But it seems that the Marshal's chief solicitude was lest he should be forced to relinquish his touch of Metz; and he gave almost his whole attention to his left wing. Constantly sending fresh reinforcements thither, he massed the whole Guard Corps and part of the VIth Corps opposite the Bois des Ognons, whence an attack was exceptionally improbable. One is tempted to assume that political reasons alone thus early actuated Bazaine in his resolve to cling to Metz. Meanwhile the Prussians slowly but surely made their way beyond Flavigny and Vionville, and, assisted by a heavy fire from the artillery, compelled the right wing of the IInd French Corps to retire on Rezonville, a movement which became a flight when the French Generals Bataille and Valazé were killed. To regain the lost ground the French Guard Cuirassier Regiment threw itself resolutely on the pursuers. But its attack was cut short by the rapid fire of two companies of the 52nd Regiment drawn up in line, which reserved their fire till the enemy were within 250 paces. The horsemen sweeping right and left rushed into the fire of more infantry behind; 243 horses strewed the field, and only the remnants of the regiment wheeled about in swift flight, pursued by two Hussar regiments which had dashed forward from Flavigny. A French battery in front of Rezonville had hardly time to discharge a few shots before it was surrounded. For want of teams the Prussians could not, indeed, carry off the captured guns; but the Commander-in-Chief of the French army, who had himself brought them up, was for several minutes in imminent danger of being taken prisoner. The 6th Prussian Cavalry Division had also been ordered to the front. After passing through the line of artillery and deploying as well as the limited space permitted, it found itself face to face with fresh and completely formed troops. Marshal Bazaine had taken the precaution of substituting for the routed bodies of the IInd Corps the Guard Grenadier Division, which he had at last prevailed on himself to bring up from his unengaged left wing, but not without filling the vacancy by a Division of the IIIrd Corps. Thus the Prussian cavalry was received with such an overwhelming musketry and artillery fire that it halted, and deliberately retired, its retreat being covered by two squadrons of Uhlans, which time after time showed a front against the enemy. The cavalry had not actually engaged, but its advance had gained time and opportunity for the artillery to move further forward in one line from the spur of the wood to Flavigny. It was now two o'clock. So far General von Alvensleben had deceived the enemy with regard to the slenderness of his force by acting incessantly on the offensive. But the battle was now at a standstill, the battalions were visibly thinned, their strength was sapped by four hours of hard fighting, and the ammunition of the infantry was almost exhausted. Not a battalion, not a battery remained in reserve behind the fighting line standing there in the fire. It was now required to conserve the success won with so much blood by acting thenceforth on the defensive. The left wing was in especial danger, being under the fire of the powerful artillery deployed on the Roman road. Their greatly superior numbers enabled the French to extend farther and farther to the right, threatening thus completely to envelop the Prussian flank. Marshal Canrobert, in the French centre, had discerned the right moment to press forward against Vionville with all his might. At this critical instant there was on the German side only a small detachment of the 5th Cavalry Division available to check this effort. Two brigades had necessarily been sent to strengthen the left flank, and of the 12th Brigade remaining in rear of Vionville two squadrons had been detached to the Tronville copses. The two regiments ordered to undertake the task of charging the advancing enemy--the Magdeburg Cuirassiers and the Altmark Uhlans--were consequently each but three squadrons strong, in all 800 horses. General von Bredow, commanding the 12th Cavalry Brigade, first traversed in column the shallow hollow sinking down from Vionville, then wheeled to the right and mounted the slope to the eastward, both his regiments on one front. Received immediately with heavy artillery and infantry fire, he threw himself on the hostile ranks. The first line is ridden over, the line of guns is broken through, gunners and teams are put to the sword. The second French line is powerless to resist this vigorous onslaught, and even the more distant batteries limbered up to drive away. But the rapture of victory and the impetuosity of the charge carried the handful of troopers too far, and after a gallop of 3000 paces they found themselves surrounded by the French cavalry, which attacked them from all sides. There was no scope for a second charge, and so after several encounters with the French horse the brigade was forced to cut its way back through the French infantry, whose bullets accompanied it home. Only one-half of the command returned to Flavigny, where it was reorganized into two squadrons. The devoted self-sacrifice of the two heroic regiments effected the result, that the French entirely discontinued their attack on Vionville. At three o'clock four of their Divisions advanced towards the Tronville copses. Barby's cavalry brigade (11th), watching the western verge, had to retire before the enemy's fire, and the German infantry occupying the wood also had to yield to a strength so superior; the batteries which were in action between Vionville and the copses were assailed in rear from the west through the glades of the copses, and were likewise forced to retire. But not until the lapse of an hour did the French succeed in overcoming the obstinate resistance of four staunch battalions. At the subsequent roll-call near Tronville, it was ascertained that the 24th Regiment had lost 1000 men and 52 officers, and that the 2nd Battalion of the 20th Regiment had lost all its officers. The 37th demi-Brigade, which of its own accord had been fighting valiantly in support since noon, took possession of the village of Tronville and prepared it for an obstinate defence. It was not till after three that the IIIrd Corps, which had been fighting for seven[9] hours almost single-handed, received effective assistance. While the Xth Corps was on the march through Thiaucourt, its advanced guard heard cannon-fire from the direction of Vionville. The Corps Commander, General von Voigts-Rhetz, immediately set out for the battle-field, and having personally ascertained how matters stood, he sent back the requisite orders to his approaching troops. In this instance again it was the artillery which, hurrying on in advance, masterfully struck into the conflict. Its fire, in conjunction with that of the promptly further advancing batteries of the IIIrd Corps, checked the French rush made on both sides of the Tronville copses simultaneously. At half-past three the head of von Woyna's Brigade (39th) fell on, drove the enemy back into the wood, and finally, supported by Diringshofen's Brigade (40th), took possession of its northern outskirts. The right wing of the IIIrd Corps had also received some reinforcement. The 32nd Brigade of the VIIIth Corps, on being called upon to assist the 5th Division, fatigued though it was by a long march, immediately advanced from the Moselle by Arry. The 11th Regiment joined it, and three batteries were sent ahead to commence operations; this force emerged at five o'clock from the forest of St. Arnould. It at once made an assault on the heights in front of Maison Blanche, but, though it made three strenuous efforts in succession, failed to carry them, since Marshal Bazaine had greatly strengthened his position in front of Rezonville. Then the French, in their turn, took the offensive there; but were equally unable to establish themselves firmly on the heights, swept as they were by the well-directed fire of the Prussian artillery; and they had to withdraw from the attempt. Petty struggles for this position were renewed later on both sides, but those spurts came to nothing because of the fire of the respective artillery; and the fighting on the German right became in the main stationary. That on the German left two French Divisions had retired before a few newly-arrived battalions, and had evacuated the Tronville copses, can only be explained by a report having reached Bazaine's head-quarters that the enemy was coming in upon his right flank in the vicinity of Hannonville. The enemy referred to was Wedell's Brigade (38th), which, while on the march in the direction of Etain according to its original orders, had received counter-instructions while halted at St. Hilaire at noon, to hurry to the field of battle. General von Schwartzkoppen (commanding 19th Infantry Division) decided to march by the highway to Mars la Tour, in the hope of falling on the enemy either in flank or in rear. But the French meanwhile had extended their reinforced right wing to the sunken valley west of Bruville, where three Divisions of their cavalry were massed in position. Thus when General von Wedell advanced to the attack on both sides of Tronville, which the French themselves had fired, his brigade--only five battalions strong--found itself in face of the long deployed front of the 4th French Corps. The two Westphalian regiments advanced steadily under the storm of shell and mitrailleuse fire till they suddenly reached the edge of a deep ravine hitherto unseen. This, however, they soon traversed, and were climbing the farther ascent, when they were met by a murderous shower of bullets from the French infantry which hemmed them in closely on every side. After almost every one of the commanders and regimental officers had fallen, the wreck of the battalions fell back into the ravine; 300 men were taken prisoners, having no strength left to ascend the steep southern rise after the fatigue of a twenty-eight miles march. The remainder rallied at Tronville under the shot-torn colours which Colonel von Cranach, the only officer who still had a horse under him, had brought back in his own hand. Seventy-two officers and 2542 men were missing out of 95 officers and 4546 men--more than half. The French followed up their success, but were checked on the right by the headlong charge of the 1st Guard Dragoons, which cost that regiment 250 horses and nearly all its officers; and on the left by the 4th squadron of the 2nd Guard Dragoons, which attacked three times its strength of Chasseurs d'Afrique. But there now imminently threatened the charge of a great mass of French cavalry, which disclosed itself on the open plateau of Ville sur Yron. This consisted of Legrand's Division and de France's Guard Brigade in four compact echelons, overlapping each other to the right. On the German side, all the still disposable cavalry joined Barby's brigade, and the body thus made up, consisting only of sixteen squadrons, was formed for action in two lines west of Mars la Tour. Farther in advance stood the 13th Dragoons, halted to receive the Guard-squadron on its return from its recent charge. The 13th galloped forward to meet the charge of Montaigu's Hussar Brigade, which constituted the first line of the French cavalry mass, and which broke through the (over-wide) intervals of the Prussian squadrons. But General von Barby promptly appeared with the other regiments on the upland of Ville sur Yron, where at a quarter to seven the cavalry masses came into collision. A mighty cloud of dust concealed the varying phases of the hand-to-hand encounter of 5000 horsemen which gradually declared itself in favour of the Prussians. General Montaigu, severely wounded, was taken prisoner, and General Legrand fell while leading his Dragoons to the assistance of the Hussars. De France's Brigade allowed the enemy to approach within 150 paces, and then its Lancer regiment rushed impetuously upon the Hanoverian Uhlans; but the latter outflanked it, and received unexpected assistance from the 5th squadron of the 2nd Guard Dragoons, which, returning from a reconnaissance, plunged forward over fences and ditches and fell upon the enemy in flank, while the Westphalian Cuirassiers at the same time broke his front. The Chasseurs d'Afrique strove in vain to hinder the enveloping tactics of the Hanoverian Dragoons; the clouds of dust drifted farther and farther northward, and the whole mass of French horse drew away towards the wooded slopes of Bruville, behind which there were still five regiments of Clérembault's Cavalry Division. Clérembault permitted one of his brigades to cross the valley, but the fleeing Hussars and some misunderstood signals threw it into confusion. It was borne back, and not until the French infantry confronted the Prussian pursuers in the covering valley did the latter desist from the pursuit. The Prussian regiments quietly re-formed and then withdrew at a walk to Mars la Tour, followed at a great distance by part of Clérembault's Division. This, the greatest cavalry combat of the war, had the effect of making the French right wing give up all further attempts to act on the offensive. The Germans mourned the loss of many superior officers, who always, at the head of their men, had set them a glorious example. Prince Frederick Charles had hastened to the field of battle. The day was nearly at an end, darkness approaching, and the battle won. The Prussians in the evening stood on the ground which in the morning had been occupied by the French. Though General von Alvensleben had in the first instance been under the impression that he would have only the French rear-guard to deal with, he did not hesitate for a moment to become the assailant when he found the entire French Army before him. With his single Corps he maintained the fight till the afternoon, and drove back the enemy from Flavigny to Rezonville, a distance of more than two miles. This was one of the most brilliant achievements of all the war. Thanks to the valuable assistance of the Xth Corps it was possible to carry on the battle through the afternoon on the defensive, but only by most resolute counter-attacks by the cavalry, and by the unflinching tenacity of the artillery. It was clearly most unadvisable to challenge by renewed attacks an enemy who still outnumbered the Germans; which action, since no further reinforcements could be hoped for, could not but jeopardize the success so dearly bought. The troops were exhausted, most of their ammunition was spent, the horses had been under the saddle for fifteen hours without fodder; some of the batteries could only move at a walk, and the nearest Army Corps on the left bank of the Moselle, the XIIth,[10] was distant more than a day's march. Notwithstanding all these considerations, an order from Prince Frederick Charles's Head-quarter issued at seven o'clock, commanded a renewed and general attack on the enemy's positions. The Xth Corps was quite incapable of answering this demand; and only part of the artillery went forward on the right followed by some infantry. The batteries indeed reached the much-disputed plateau south of Rezonville, but only to be exposed on two sides to the fire of infantry and artillery. Fifty-four guns of the French Guard alone, in position on the farther side of the valley, were taking them in flank. The Prussian batteries were compelled to retreat to their previous position, but two brigades of the 6th Cavalry Division still pressed forward. Scarcely able to discern in the increasing darkness where lay their proper line of attack, they came under very sharp infantry fire, and withdrew with great loss. Fighting did not entirely cease until ten o'clock. On either side 16,000 men had fallen. On either side pursuit was out of the question. The Germans reaped the fruits of this victory solely in its results. The troops, worn out by a twelve hours' struggle, bivouacked on the victorious but bloody field, immediately opposite the French position. Those Corps of the IInd Army which had not taken part in the battle, were on that day on march towards the Meuse. The advanced guard of the IVth Corps on the left wing was heading towards Toul. This fortress, commanding a railway-line of importance to the further progress of the German Army, was reported to be but feebly held, and it was resolved to attempt its capture by a _coup de main_. But the bombardment of it by field-artillery proved quite ineffective. Bastions of masonry and wide wet ditches made a storm impossible. An attempt to batter down the gates by shot and thus gain an entrance proved a failure. Finally the undertaking was given up, and not without some loss on the part of the Germans. At the Royal Head-quarter in Pont à Mousson it had become known by about noon on the 16th that the IIIrd Corps was engaged in serious conflict, and that the Xth and IXth were hastening up to its support. The far-reaching consequences of this information were recognized at once. The French were arrested in their withdrawal from Metz, but it was to be presumed as a certainty that they would again make strenuous efforts to force open their interrupted line of retreat. The XIIth Corps was therefore ordered to set out for Mars la Tour as early as three o'clock next morning; the VIIth and VIIIth Corps to stand in readiness at Corny and Arry. The bridging operations were to be pushed with the utmost vigour during the night. The Head-quarter of the IInd Army sent from Gorze the order to the Guard Corps to make a forced march to Mars la Tour, and there take up a position on the left of the XIIth Corps. The execution of these orders was facilitated by the foresight of the Commanders, who had in the course of the day received news of the battle which was being fought. Prince George of Saxony at once placed his Division on the march to Thiaucourt, and the Prince of Würtemberg assembled the Infantry of the Guard in its cantonments farther northward in readiness for an early march. _August 17th._--On this morning, at sunrise, the French outposts were observed still occupying the sweep of front from Bruville to Rezonville. Behind them were noticed a stir and much noise of signalling, which might be the indications equally of an attack or of a retirement. The King arrived from Pont à Mousson at Flavigny as early as six o'clock. The reports sent in to headquarters until noon by the reconnoitring cavalry were somewhat contradictory; they left it uncertain whether the French were concentrating towards Metz, or were pursuing their retreat by the two still open roads through Etain and Briey. Preparations for the offensive were nowhere observed. By one o'clock, after a skirmish on the way, the head of the VIIth Corps had reached the northern skirt of the Bois des Ognons, over against which the French subsequently abandoned Gravelotte. The VIIIth Corps stood ready at Gorze, the IXth, IIIrd, and Xth remained in their positions, the XIIth and the Guard Corps were on the march. Seven Corps and three Cavalry Divisions could be counted on for the following day; for to-day all attacks were forbidden. In making the dispositions for the impending battle of August 18th, two possible contingencies were foreseen and had to be provided for. To meet both the left wing was to be sent forward in a northerly direction through Doncourt towards the nearest of the routes still open for the retreat of the French. If the enemy were already retiring, he was to be at once attacked and detained while the right wing was hurrying up in support. In case the enemy should be remaining about Metz, the German left wing was to swing eastwards and out-flank his farthest north position, while the right was to hold his left closely engaged until this movement was accomplished. The battle, under these circumstances, probably could not be decided until late in the day, owing to the wide-sweeping movement of a portion of the army. A peculiar feature of the situation was that both parties had to fight with inverted front, and sacrifice for the time their respective lines of communication. The consequences of victory or defeat would thus be greatly enhanced or aggravated, but the French had the advantage of having as their base a large place of arms with its resources. A decision having been arrived at, by two o'clock orders were published at Flavigny for an advance by echelons from the left wing. The guidance of individual Corps during the battle was to turn on the reports which should be brought in. The King then returned to Pont à Mousson. As early as nine o'clock in the morning the Saxon Cavalry Division had reached the Etain road to the west of Conflans, and had reported no enemy visible except a few stragglers. Still, this only proved that on the 17th the French had not yet taken up their retreat. In rear of its cavalry the XIIth Corps arrived during the day in the vicinity of Mars la Tour and Puxieux, and left of it the Guard bivouacked in the evening at Hannonville sur Yron, in accordance with order. The IInd Corps, which ever since it left the railway had followed close on the IInd Army, reached Pont à Mousson, and was ordered to march forward by Buxières at four next morning. FOOTNOTES: [9] Five; viz. from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. [10] The Hessian Division of the IXth Corps was on the left bank, much nearer the field than the XIIth--so near indeed that portions of it were actually engaged; and its other Division crossed the river in the night. The _Staff History_ assigns the proximity of the IXth Corps as a leading reason for the action of Prince Frederick Charles which Moltke denounces. Both the VIIth and VIIIth Corps (the latter of which had a brigade engaged in the battle) were more immediately available than the distant XIIth. BATTLE OF GRAVELOTTE--ST. PRIVAT. (August 18th.) Marshal Bazaine had not thought it advisable to prosecute the march to Verdun now that the Germans were so close on the flank of such a movement. He preferred to concentrate his forces near Metz, in a position which he rightly considered as almost impregnable. Such an one was afforded him by the range of heights stretching along the western verge of the valley of Chatel. Their face looking toward the enemy sloped away like a glacis, while the short and steep decline in the rear afforded cover for the reserves. Along the flat crown of the heights from Roncourt to Rozerieulles, a distance of about seven miles, were posted the VIth, IVth, IIIrd, and IInd Corps in succession from the north; for which distance there were available from eight to ten men to the pace (Schritt). A brigade of the Vth Corps stood near Ste. Ruffine in the valley of the Moselle; the cavalry was in rear of both flanks. In front of the IInd and IIIrd Corps shelter-trenches had been thrown up, battery emplacements and covered ways of communication constructed, and the farmsteads lying out to the front converted into little forts. To approach this (left) wing from the west it was necessary to cross the deep ravine of the Mance. The VIth Corps on the other hand was wholly without an engineer park; and it is indicative of the general ill-equipment of the French that, for the transport of the wounded to the rear, in spite of the enormous trains, provision waggons had to be unloaded and their contents burnt. This Corps was therefore unable to construct fortified flank defences toward the forest of Jaumont, such as would have given to the right wing the character of formidable strength. This would undoubtedly have been the place for the Guard, but in his apprehension of an attack from the south the Marshal held that Corps in reserve at Plappeville. The King returned to Flavigny at six o'clock on the morning of the 18th. All commanding officers were instructed to send their reports thither, and officers of the General Staff belonging to the Royal Head-quarter were besides sent out in different directions to report information as to the progress of the engagement. The following were the initial dispositions. The VIIth Army Corps, which was to form the pivot for the eventual wheel to the right, occupied the Bois de Vaux and Bois des Ognons; the VIIIth, which the King had reserved at his own disposition, stood halted near Rezonville ready to march to the north or to the east, as might be required. The IXth Corps, on its left, advanced towards St. Marcel, while the IIIrd and Xth followed in second line. The Guard and XIIth Corps moved in a northerly direction. In consequence of the Head-quarter of the IInd Army having ordered the XIIth Corps, although it stood on the right,[11] to form the extreme left, a serious delay occurred from the crossing of the respective lines of march. The Saxon troops had not entirely passed through Mars-la-Tour until nine o'clock, and till then the Guard Corps could not follow. Meanwhile the advanced guard of the XIIth Corps had already reached Jarny, and pursued its march as far as Briey without encountering the enemy. Before information to this effect came in, the conviction had been reached in the Royal Head-quarter that at all events the main forces of the enemy still remained before Metz; there was, however, a difference of opinion as to the extension of the French front, which it was assumed did not reach beyond Montigny. The Head-quarter of the IInd Army was therefore instructed not to extend further northward, but to attack the enemy's right wing with the IXth Corps, and push in the direction of Batilly with the Guard and the XIIth Corps. The Ist Army was not to begin its frontal attack until the IInd should be ready to co-operate. In obedience to those instructions Prince Frederick Charles ordered the IXth Corps to march towards Verneville, and, in case the French right wing should be found there, to begin the action by promptly bringing a large force of artillery into action. The Guard was to continue its advance by way of Doncourt to support the IXth as soon as possible. The XIIth was to remain at Jarny for the present. A little later fresh reports came in, which indicated that the IXth Corps, should it proceed in the manner ordered, would not strike the enemy on his flank, but full on his front. The Prince, in the discretion of his high position, therefore determined that the Corps should postpone its attack till the Guard Corps should have been brought to bear upon Amanvillers. At the same time the XIIth Corps was to push on to Ste. Marie aux Chênes. But while these orders were being expedited, there was heard from Verneville at twelve o'clock the roar of the first cannon shots. The two Corps of the left wing had, moreover, of their own accord, taken an easterly direction, and the IIIrd Corps moved up in rear of the IXth to the Caulre farm. General von Manstein, the commander of the IXth Corps, had observed from Verneville a French camp at Amanvillers, which apparently lay in negligent repose. From his standpoint it could not be discerned that to his left about St. Privat great masses of troops were in position. Thinking that in this camp he had the enemy's right wing before him, he determined to act on his original orders and at once take the foe by surprise. Eight of his batteries at once opened fire. But the French troops showed great alacrity in moving up into their prepared positions. The isolated initiative of the single Corps naturally drew upon it not only the fire of the troops opposite to it, but also that of the hostile Corps to right and left. In the effort to find a location affording something of shelter, the Prussian batteries had taken position in a fold of the slope looking towards Amanvillers, and facing to the south-east, where, however, they were exposed from the north, on the flank and even in the rear, to the fire of the enemy's artillery, as well as to the massed fire of his infantry. To meet this, it was necessary to send forward the infantry battalions nearest at hand. They took possession of the eastern point of the Bois de la Cusse on the left, and on the right seized the farmhouses of L'Envie and Chantrenne, and forced their way into the Bois des Genivaux. Thus the front of the 18th Division in action extended along a distance of 4000 paces. It had to endure very heavy loss from the circumstance that the French with their long-range Chassepôt rifles could afford to keep out of the effective range of the needle-gun; the artillery suffered exceptionally severely. One of the batteries had already lost forty-five gunners when the enemy's sharpshooters swarmed forward on it. Infantry protection was not available at the moment, and two guns were lost. By two o'clock the batteries still remaining in position were almost unserviceable, and no relief arrived till the Hessian Division reached Habonville, and brought up on the left of the distressed batteries, five batteries on either side of the railway, which diverted on themselves to a considerable extent the concentrated fire of the enemy. The batteries of the 18th Division, which had suffered most, could now be withdrawn in succession, but even in the act of retreat they had to drive off the pursuers by grape-shot. The artillery of the IIIrd Corps and the Guard also came to the aid of the IXth, and those of the damaged guns of the last, which were still at all fit for service, were at once brought up again into the fighting line. Thus there was formed in front of Verneville and as far as St. Ail an artillery front of 130 pieces, whose fire now opposed the enemy's artillery with conspicuous success. Now that the IIIrd Corps was approaching Verneville and the 3rd Guard Brigade had reached Habonville, it was no longer to be apprehended that the French would succeed in piercing this line. The main body of the Guard Corps reached St. Ail so early as two o'clock. General von Pape (commanding Ist Guard Division) at once recognized that by wheeling to the east he would not only not strike the enemy on that right flank of his which had to be turned, but would expose his own left flank to the hostile force occupying Ste. Marie aux Chênes. This town-like village, in itself extremely strong, and also strongly flanked by the main stronghold of the enemy's right, it was necessary to gain before making any further advance; but, in obedience to superior orders, the General had to await the co-operation of the Saxon Corps. The foremost troops of this Corps had already reached the vicinity of Batilly, but it was still distant from Ste. Marie more than two miles, so that its batteries could not be pushed forward into position west of that place until three o'clock. But as the Guard had sent most of its own artillery to the support of the IXth Corps the Saxon batteries were of essential service. Ten batteries now directed their fire upon Ste. Marie, and by the time its effect was discernible, the 47th Brigade of the XIIth Corps came up. At half-past three the Prussian and Saxon battalions hurled themselves on the town from the south, the west, and the north, with loud hurrahs and without returning the fire of the enemy. The French were driven from it with the loss of several hundred men taken prisoners. The Saxons eagerly followed up, and north of Ste. Marie there ensued a lively infantry fight, which masked the fire of the artillery. The brigade having obeyed the order to retire, the batteries immediately re-opened fire, and the repeated efforts of the French to recover the lost position were frustrated. Soon afterwards the IXth Corps succeeded in storming and firmly holding the farm of Champenois, but all further attempts by isolated battalions or companies to force their way forward against the broad and compact front of the French were then manifestly futile. Thus, towards five o'clock, the infantry fire altogether died out, and the artillery fired only an occasional shot. The exhaustion of both sides caused for the time an almost total suspension of hostilities in this part of the field. The Royal Head-quarter had firmly maintained the resolution, that the Ist Army should not commit itself to a serious offensive until the IInd had grappled with the enemy. But when the day was half-spent and when about noon heavy firing was heard from Vionville,[12] it was to be assumed that the moment for action had arrived; still, for the present, permission was only given to the Ist Army to engage in the artillery preparation. Sixteen batteries of the VIIth and VIIIth Corps accordingly drew up right and left of Gravelotte on the highway passing through that village. Their fire was ineffective, because they were too far distant from the enemy; and furthermore they suffered from the fire of the French tirailleurs nestling in the opposite woods. It became necessary to drive those out, and thus there occurred here a premature infantry fight. The French were cleared out from the eastern declivity of the Mance ravine, and the artillery line, now increased to twenty batteries, was able to advance closer up to the western brink and now direct the strength of its fire against the main position of the enemy. But the battalions of the 29th Brigade pushed the attack further. They pressed on leftward into the southern section of the Bois des Genivaux, but were unable to obtain touch of the IXth Corps in possession of the northern portion of the forest, since the French firmly held the intervening ground. On the right sundry detachments took possession of the quarries and gravel-pits near St. Hubert. The artillery meanwhile had gained the mastery over that of the enemy, several of whose batteries were silenced, and others prevented from coming into position. The French fire was in part directed on the farm-steading of St. Hubert, to the vicinity of which portions of the 30th Brigade had spurted forward. These formidable premises close under the face of the enemy's main position, and in spite of a very heavy fire therefrom, were stormed at three o'clock. The 31st Brigade also now promptly crossed the ravine, but a further advance against the farms of Moscou and Leipzig, over a bare stretch of ground encompassed by the enemy on its wooded edges, did not succeed, and resulted only in heavy loss. On the extreme right, the 26th Brigade had taken possession of Jussy, thus securing the connection of the German army towards Metz, but found it impossible to cross the deep valley of Rozerieulles. Everywhere the advanced positions of the French had been driven in, the farms in their front were blazing, their artillery appeared to be crushed, and, as the situation was viewed from Gravelotte, there needed nothing but to follow up the success. General von Steinmetz therefore, at four o'clock, ordered a renewed attack with fresh forces. While the VIIth Corps occupied the border of the woodland, four batteries, backed by the 1st Cavalry Division, moved at a trot through the ravine, about 1500 paces across, which lies east of Gravelotte. But as soon as the head of the deep column came in sight of the enemy he redoubled his rifle and artillery fire, which had till now been kept under. One battery lost in a twinkling the men serving four of its guns, and it was only by an extreme effort that it was withdrawn to the border of the wood; another never succeeded in deploying. On the other hand, Hasse's battery remained in action, in spite of the loss of seventy-five horses, and Gnügge's battery stood fast near St. Hubert, regardless of the return fire from the quarries. The foremost regiment of cavalry bent to the right at a gallop on leaving the hollow way, and advanced towards Point du Jour, but the enemy, being completely under cover, offered no mark for an attack. Clearly there was no field here for the utilization of this arm, so the regiments withdrew across the Mance ravine under a heavy fire from all sides. The result of the ill-success of this attempt was that swarms of French tirailleurs now poured down from Point du Jour, and drove the Prussian detachments still remaining on the bare plateau backward to the skirts of the wood. Chassepôt bullets even reached the position of the Royal Commander-in-Chief and his personal staff, and Prince Adalbert's horse was shot under him. Fresh forces pushed forward and drove the enemy back into his main position. St. Hubert remained in German possession, though the gunners of the battery in post there were equal to the service of but one gun. But all partial attempts to advance over the exposed plateau proved a failure; and here also at about five o'clock in the afternoon there occurred a lull in the fighting, during which the weary troops on both sides reorganized themselves and took breath. About this time King William and his staff rode forward to the swell south of Malmaison. But from there nothing could be discerned of the situation of the left flank of the army, at a distance as it was of more than four miles. The French artillery had almost entirely ceased along the whole front from La Folie to Point du Jour; but to the northward the thunder of the cannon fire roared louder than ever. It was six o'clock, the day was nearly at an end, and it was imperative that the decisive result should be precipitated. The King therefore ordered the Ist Army to make a renewed advance in support of which he placed the IInd Corps, just arrived after a long march, at the disposal of General von Steinmetz. The battalions of the VIIth Corps which were still serviceable, except five which remained in reserve, were again sent across the Mance ravine, and in support of them the battalions holding the Bois de Vaux advanced in the direction of Point du Jour and the quarries. The IInd Corps of the French Army thus assailed was now reinforced by the Guard Voltigeur Division. All the reserves were hurried up into the foremost line. The artillery burst into redoubled fire, and a crushing musketry fire was concentrated on the advancing enemy. Then the French themselves took the offensive with a huge swarm of tirailleurs, which hurled backward upon the wood-fringes the small leaderless bodies of German troops that had been lying in the shallow folds of the plateau. There, however, the sally found its limit; and there still remained at disposition a fresh Army Corps in full strength. The IInd Corps, the last to come up by rail into the theatre of war, had hitherto followed in the wake of the army by forced marches, and had not been able to take part in any engagement. It had started from Pont à Mousson at 2 a.m. and, taking the road by Buxières and Rezonville, arrived south of Gravelotte towards evening. The Pomeranians expressed their eager desire to get at the enemy before the day should end. It would have been more proper if the Chief of the General Staff of the Army, who was personally on the spot at the time, had not permitted this movement at so late an hour of the evening. A body of troops, still completely intact, might have been of great value the next day; but it could hardly be expected on this evening to effect a decisive reversal of the situation. Hurrying through Gravelotte, the foremost battalions of the IInd Corps pushed forward to the quarries, and up to within a few hundred paces of Point du Jour; but those following soon found themselves involved in the throng of the broken detachments remaining under fire south of St. Hubert, and the further advance towards Moscou was arrested. In the growing darkness friend became indistinguishable from foe, and the firing had to be broken off. Not, however, until ten o'clock did it entirely cease. It was, to be sure, an advantage that the fresh troops of the IInd Corps were available to hold the foremost fighting-line for the night, behind which the intermixed detachments of the VIIth and VIIIth Corps were enabled to reorganize themselves. The whole course of the struggle had conclusively proved that the French left flank, almost impregnable as it was by nature and art, could not be forced even by the most devoted bravery and the greatest sacrifices. Both sides were now facing each other in threatening proximity, and both in attitude to renew the battle on the following morning. The result of the day turned on the events evolving themselves on the opposite flank. The Prince of Würtemberg,[13] then in St. Ail, had judged at a quarter-past five that the moment was come for an attack on the French right wing; but that wing extended considerably further north than the front of the Guard Corps reached; further, indeed, than the French Commander-in-Chief himself was aware. The Saxons had, indeed, participated in the seizure of Ste. Marie aux Chênes, but after that event the Crown Prince[14] deemed it necessary to assemble his Corps in front of the Bois d'Auboué, before proceeding to attack the enemy in flank. One of his brigades had to come up from Jarny, another from Ste. Marie; and, since the Corps had been delayed in getting away from Mars la Tour, its direct attack could not be expected at the earliest for an hour to come. The 4th Infantry Brigade of the Guard Corps, in accordance with orders received, proceeded in the prescribed direction of Jerusalem, immediately south of St. Privat. As soon as General von Manstein observed this movement, he ordered the 3rd Guard Brigade, which had been placed at his orders, immediately to advance from Habonville direct upon Amanvillers. Between and abreast of these two brigades marched Hessian battalions. It was not till half-an-hour later that the 1st Guard Division leftward of the 2nd moved forward from Ste. Marie against St. Privat. This combined offensive movement was directed against the broad front of the French VIth and IVth Corps. Their respective strongholds of St. Privat and Amanvillers had as yet hardly felt the fire of the German batteries, which had hitherto found enough to do in combating the enemy's artillery outside the villages. In front of the French main position on the crown of the height had been prepared on the slope behind the hedges and low walls, which rose terrace-wise backward, tier on tier of shelter trenches. Behind these defences towered the village named St. Privat, castle-like with its massive houses, which were garrisoned to the very roofs. The bare slope stretching in its front was thus exposed to an overwhelming storm of projectiles. The losses of the Guard Corps marching forward to attack a front so formidable were simply enormous. In the course of half an hour five battalions lost all, the others the greater part of their officers, especially those of the higher grades. Thousands of dead and wounded marked the track of the battalions pressing valiantly forward in spite of their cruel losses. The ranks as fast as they were thinned constantly closed up again, and their cohesion was not lost even under the leadership of young lieutenants and ensigns. As they drew nearer to the enemy the needle-gun came into full utility. The French were driven from all their foremost positions, in which, for the most part, they did not await the final struggle. By a quarter-past six the battalions had advanced to within 600 to 800 paces of Amanvillers and St. Privat. The troops, weary from the strained exertion, halted under the steeper slopes offering some, though small, protection, and in the shelter trenches abandoned by the enemy. Only four battalions now remained in reserve at Ste. Marie, behind the line which now extended to a length of 4000 paces. Every charge of the French cavalry and of de Cissey's Division had been steadily repelled with the aid of twelve batteries of the Guard Corps which had hastened up; but detachments commingled under stress of untold losses, had to show a resolute front against two French Corps in close proximity for more than half-an-hour, before relief came to them. It was nearly seven o'clock when on the left of the Guard, two brigades of Saxon infantry reached the scene of strife; the other two were still assembling in the forest of Auboué; their artillery, however, had for a considerable time been maintaining a lively fire on Roncourt. When Bazaine received word that the Germans were stretching out in constantly increasing extension with intent to outflank his right, he at three p.m. ordered Picard's Guard Grenadier Division posted at Plappeville, to march towards the threatened flank. Though the distance to be covered was little more than four miles, this all-important reinforcement, having diverged to rightward from the direct road through the woodland, had not yet arrived; and Marshal Canrobert, who was fending off with all his might the converging masses of Prussian assailants, decided to concentrate his troops more closely about the strong position of St. Privat. The retreat from Roncourt would be adequately covered by a small rearguard, since the border of the Bois de Jaumont was being held. Thus it happened that the Saxons did not find the strong resistance at Roncourt which they had expected, and after a slight skirmish entered the village together with the companies of the extreme left of the Guard; a body of Saxon infantry had previously been diverted to the right from the road to Roncourt and marched direct on St. Privat to the support of the Guard. The fire of twenty-four batteries of the two German Corps wrought awful havoc there. Many houses were set on fire, or crumbled under the concentrated crash of the shells. But the French were determined to hold to the last extremity this point, decisive as it was of the fate of the day. The batteries of their right flank were hurried into position between St. Privat and the Bois de Jaumont, whence their fire would enfilade the further advance of the Saxons on the former place. Other batteries went southward to confront the Prussians, and the simultaneous final rush of the German battalions was met by a rattling fire from the French riflemen under cover in their lines of shelter trenches. All those obstacles were gradually overcome in the course of the assault, although again with heavy loss; some detachments halting occasionally for a moment to pour in a volley, others again never firing a shot. By sundown the attack had swept up to within 300 paces of St. Privat. Some detachments of the Xth Corps, which had reached St. Ail, closed up, and now the final onset was made from every side at once. The French still defended the burning houses and the church with great obstinacy, till, finding themselves completely surrounded, they surrendered at about eight o'clock. More than 2000 men were here taken prisoners, and the wounded were rescued from the burning houses. The defeated troops of the VIth French Corps hurriedly retired into the valley of the Moselle, their retreat covered by the brigade holding the Bois de Jaumont and by the cavalry. Only then did the Guard Grenadier Division make its first appearance, and the Reserve Artillery of the French Army deployed east of Amanvillers. The German batteries at once took up the fight, which lasted till late in the night, and in the course of which Amanvillers was burned. In that quarter the retirement of the IVth French Corps had also already commenced, masked, however, by repeated heavy attacks to the front. In the course of these there occurred a hand-to-hand encounter with the charging battalions of the right wing of the Guard and the left of the IXth Corps. Amanvillers, however, remained in the hands of the French for the night. Not until three o'clock on the morning of the 19th did the IIIrd French Corps evacuate its position about Moscou; and the IInd Corps held its ground until five o'clock, engaged in constant sharp frays with the outposts of the Pomeranians, who on its withdrawal took possession of the plateaus of Moscou and Point du Jour. The results attained on the 18th of August had been made possible only by the battles of the 14th and 16th. The French estimate their losses at 13,000 men. In October 173,000 were still in Metz, consequently it is certain that the enemy had at disposition in the battle of the 18th of August more than 180,000 men. The exact strength of the seven[15] German Corps on that day amounted to 178,818 men. Thus with the forces on either side of approximately equal strength, the French had been driven out of a position of almost unrivalled natural advantage. Naturally the loss of the assailants was much heavier than that of the defence; it amounted to 20,584 men, among them 899 officers. Whereas by the war-establishment the average is one officer to every forty men, in this battle one officer fell to every twenty-three men; glorious testimony to the example set by their leaders to their brave men, but also a loss which could not be restored during the course of the war. Altogether the six battles fought in the first fourteen days of August had cost the German army 50,000 men.[16] It was naturally impossible immediately to call out at home a sufficient levy in substitution for the losses; but reinforcements drawn from the time-expired cadres were already bespoken. First of all that same evening the earliest instalment of the trains and the Field-Hospitals had to be brought up from the right bank of the Moselle; and the ammunition had to be replenished throughout. In Rezonville, thronged as it was with the wounded, it was with difficulty that a little garret for the King and shelter for his General Staff were found. Its members were engrossed throughout the night in preparing the dispositions which the new phase of the situation created by the victory rendered immediately necessary. This exertion enabled all those orders to be laid before his Majesty for approval on the morning of the 19th. FOOTNOTES: [11] The XIIth Corps never stood on the right. It occupied its assigned position on the extreme left, and the delay arose from the Guard Corps having occupied a position other than that designed for it, and having been allowed to remain there. [12] Vionville in text seems a slip of the pen for Verneville. [13] Commanding the Guard Corps. [14] Of Saxony, commanding XIIth Corps. [15] These figures represent only the infantry of the eight (not seven) Corps engaged; they do not include the cavalry, 24,584; the artillery, at least as strong; nor the officerhood of the two armies, numbering several thousands. Inclusive of those items the German host "employed" in the battle of Gravelotte--St. Privat numbered, in round figures, 232,000 combatants. Accepting Moltke's own estimate of ten defenders per "Schrith" of front, there works out a total of 133,000 men, as the strength of the French army "employed" in the battle. [16] During the first fourteen days of August, the German troops were in conflict with the enemy on five occasions: viz. Saarbrücken, 2nd, loss 79; Weissenburg, 4th, loss 1551; Wörth, 6th, loss 10,642; Spicheren, 6th, loss 4871; Borny, 14th, loss 5000. Total losses during the fourteen days, 22,143. NEW DISTRIBUTION OF THE ARMY. The siege of Metz had formed no part of the original plan of campaign; it had been intended to do no more than merely to maintain an observation on the place when the main army should have passed it on the advance towards Paris; and a Reserve Division, consisting of eighteen battalions, sixteen squadrons, and thirty-six guns, detailed for that duty, was now near at hand. Under the altered conditions, however, the regular investment of Metz was now necessary, and this involved a radical alteration of the existing arrangements throughout the whole army. A separate army under the command of Prince Frederick Charles, consisting of the Ist, VIIth, and VIIIth Corps of the former Ist Army, the IInd, IIIrd, IXth, and Xth Corps of the IInd Army, the Reserve Division and the 1st and 3rd Cavalry Divisions, in all 150,000 men, was assigned to the duty of investing Metz. The Guard, IVth, and XIIth Corps and the 5th and 6th Cavalry Divisions were formed into a separate army under the command of the Crown Prince of Saxony; it was styled "The Army of the Meuse" and was 138,000 strong.[17] This and the IIIrd Army, which numbered 223,000 men, were directed to advance against the new French army forming at Châlons. Certainly the army investing Metz was left weaker than the blockaded enemy. It was to be expected that the latter would renew his efforts to break out to the westward. Prince Frederick Charles' main forces were therefore to remain on the left bank of the Moselle. All these orders received the approval of the King, and were dispatched to the commanding officers by eleven o'clock on the morning of the 19th. In accordance with the orders of Prince Frederick Charles, the Xth Corps occupied the woodland districts of the lower Moselle as far as St. Privat, while the IInd held the high ridge from that point to Moscou. To the right of the IInd, the VIIIth and VIIth Corps followed on, the latter positioned on both sides of the Upper Moselle. The Ist Corps occupied the Pouilly upland to left and right of the Seille, specially charged to protect the great magazines which were being established at Remilly and Pont à Mousson. The 3rd Reserve Division moved to the vicinity of Retonfay, north-east of Metz. The IXth and IIIrd Corps cantoned at St. Marie and Verneville as reserve. All the troops immediately set about the construction of earthworks, and of bridges over the Moselle above and below the fortress. Of the Corps now belonging to the Army of the Meuse, the XIIth assembled at Conflans and the Guards at Mars la Tour; the IVth Corps, which had not been ordered to Metz, had already reached Commercy. The IIIrd Army, after crossing the Vosges range, and having left a Bavarian brigade blockading Toul, was pressing forward in three columns. Its foremost Corps had already reached the Meuse, but were obliged to halt there for two days, so as to cross the river approximately abreast of the Meuse army. Its cavalry meanwhile patrolled three marches ahead as far as Châlons and Vitry, where, for the first time since Wörth, it regained touch of the enemy. The French encountered were only guarding posts on the Marne railway-line, which retired when the traffic thereon ceased. FOOTNOTE: [17] These figures are erroneous. It is manifest that three Corps and two Cavalry Divisions, most of which had been materially weakened by casualties, could not furnish a strength of 138,000 men; nor could the IIIrd Army, originally 130,000 strong, swelled by one Corps and diminished by battle losses of 12,000, approximate a strength of 223,000. As a matter of fact, on August 22nd, the Meuse Army was 86,275 strong, and the IIIrd Army 137,622; the two armies together had a total strength, in round numbers, of 224,000 men. THE ARMY OF CHÂLONS. Meanwhile at Châlons there had been formed a French army of 166 battalions, 100 squadrons, and 380 guns, consisting of the Ist, Vth, VIIth, and XIIth Corps. Of the last the Division which had been left behind on the Spanish frontier formed the nucleus, to which was added a body of very superior troops, consisting of four regiments of marines; later the two cavalry divisions also joined. General Trochu, who had been made Governor of Paris, had taken back with him thither eighteen battalions of Gardes-Mobiles, they having already given such proofs of insubordination that it was thought unsafe to confront them with the enemy. The Emperor had arrived in Châlons and had placed Marshal MacMahon in command of the newly-formed army. In the French Head-quarter it was not unnaturally assumed that Marshal Bazaine was in retreat from Metz. By an advance of the Army of Châlons merely to Verdun the armies could form a junction with each other in the course of a few days, and so a fighting force be formed which might make head against the hitherto victorious enemy. On the other hand, MacMahon had to concern himself with the duty of covering Paris, and that capital, no less than his own right flank, was threatened by the appearance of the Crown Prince of Prussia's army on the Meuse. For the attainment of a decision between advancing and retiring, it was beyond everything necessary to know the direction which Marshal Bazaine might have taken. On the 18th tidings had come from him, that he had maintained his position in a battle about Rezonville, but that his troops had to be supplied with ammunition and supplies before they could renew the march. From this it seemed only too probable that the communications of the Army of the Rhine were already threatened; and MacMahon determined to march on Rheims, whence he could either reach Paris, though by a somewhat circuitous route, or move in the direction of the other army. But when it became known that the Crown Prince of Prussia's army had not even been near Metz, and that Prussian cavalry had already appeared before Vitry, the Marshal could not deceive himself as to the danger involved in the latter alternative. With sound judgment, therefore, he stood out against the order of the Empress and the Ministry to undertake that enterprise; he determined against it, and announced his resolution to march to Paris. Under its walls he could accept a battle with advantage, since the fortifications, even in the event of defeat, assured a safe retreat and precluded pursuit. Further reports from Metz did not afford a clear insight into the situation there. Also on the 18th, "the army had held its position," the narrative ran--only the right wing had changed front. "The troops required two or three days' rest," but the Marshal "counted still on being able to move out in a northerly direction," and fight his way to Châlons by the Montmédy--Ste. Menehould route, if this road was not strongly held by the enemy. In that case, he would march on Sedan, and even by Mézières, in order to reach Châlons. Bazaine might already have committed himself to the movement thus indicated, and therefore Marshal MacMahon, who was not the man to leave his fellow-soldier in the lurch, instead of marching on Paris, set forth on the 23rd in the direction of Stenay. The suddenness of this decision caused all the preparations for the undertaking to be left unexecuted. At the end of the first day's march the troops reached the Suippe late in the evening in pouring rain. They lacked every necessary, and two Corps remained entirely without food. The Marshal was therefore forced to move his army further northward to Rethel, where large magazines of provisions had been established, and where the railway facilitated the bringing up of stores. Even on the third day's march the army had made little progress eastward. The left wing remained at Rethel, the right reached the Aisne, near Vouziers. On August 26th the main army was still standing between Attigny and Le Chêne on the Ardennes canal, while the VIIth Corps and a regiment of Hussars lay in front of Vouziers for the protection of the right flank. While the French army was thus marching eastward by a wide détour, the German forces, which had been put in motion at the same time, were for their part marching due westward. According to orders issued from the supreme Head-quarter at Pont à Mousson, the advance on the enemy, supposed to be at Châlons, was to be effected in such manner that the IIIrd Army, marching on the left of the Army of the Meuse, should have the start by a day's march, so that the enemy, wherever he might stand halted, could be struck simultaneously in front and on his right flank, and thus forced away northward from the direction of Paris. The two armies were to converge as they advanced, and to reach the line of Ste. Menehould--Vitry on the 26th. On the first day's march, the armies still on a front some fifty-six miles long, the Meuse was reached; on the second day, the 24th, they advanced to the line St. Dizier--Bar le Duc--Verdun. The attempts to take the latter place and Toul in the by-going proved unsuccessful. So early as on that day the 4th Cavalry Division, which had pushed far ahead, sent in important news. The Rhenish dragoons had found Châlons and the camp at Mourmelon deserted, and notwithstanding the destruction effected, there still remained in the latter considerable booty. An intercepted letter written by a French officer, which intimated that the relief of Metz was in prospect, and another which stated that Marshal MacMahon was at Rheims with 150,000 men and was fortifying his position there, were corroborated by the Paris newspapers. On the 25th the Army of the Meuse formed a line from Sommeille to Dombasle, while the heads of columns of the IIIrd Army were already executing the march prescribed for the following day, on the Ste. Menehould--Vitry road. The small fortress of Vitry, a few hours after a battalion of Mobiles had left the place, surrendered to the 4th Cavalry Division. On its march to Ste. Menehould, thence to be forwarded by train to Paris, this battalion, 1000 strong, fell into the hands of the 6th Cavalry Division as it was moving on Dampierre, and was carried away captive. The 5th Cavalry Division reached Ste. Menehould, and the 12th followed on the same road as far as Clermont, patrolling the country up to Varennes, within nine miles of the French outposts at Grand Pré, but without learning anything as to the whereabouts of the French army. The scouting service to any great distance on the right of the army was hindered by the vicinity of the forest of Argonnes, which it was difficult for the cavalry to penetrate without the assistance of infantry. The inhabitants of the country began to show themselves extremely hostile. The Government had provided them with arms, and organized a general rising. The Germans, who hitherto had made war on the Emperor alone, were now forced to use their arms against the population. The franctireurs, though not affecting operations on a large scale, were a source of much annoyance to the smaller undertakings, and as it naturally embittered the soldiers to realize that they were no longer safe either by day or night, the character of the war became more stern, and the sufferings of the country were increased. A Paris telegram, sent by way of London, reached this day (25th) the Royal Head-quarter at Bar le Duc. It stated that MacMahon was at Rheims, and sought to effect a junction with Bazaine. It is always a serious matter to exchange, without the most pressing necessity, a once-settled and well-devised plan for a new and unprepared scheme. It would have been unwise and unskilful hastily to alter the whole direction of the advance because of rumours and information which might later probably turn out to be unfounded. Endless difficulties must result from such a course; the arrangements for bringing up baggage and reinforcements would have to be cancelled, and aimless marches might impair the confidence of the troops in their commanders. The orders for the following day, issued at eleven o'clock in the morning, prescribed therefore for both armies merely a slight alteration of direction; Rheims instead of Châlons was indicated as the objective. The cavalry of the right wing, however, was explicitly ordered to advance to Buzancy and Vouziers, where a thorough insight into the situation could not but be obtained. In war it is for the most part with probabilities only that the strategist can reckon; and the probability, as a rule, is that the enemy will do the right thing. Such a course could not be anticipated as that the French army would uncover Paris and march along the Belgian frontier to Metz. Such a move seemed strange, and indeed somewhat venturesome; but nevertheless it was possible. The chief of the General Staff, therefore, that same day worked out a tabular detail of marches, upon which the three Corps of the Army of the Meuse, together with the two Bavarian Corps which were nearest that army, could be brought together in the vicinity of Damvillers, on the right bank of the Meuse, in three not over-severe marches. These forces, with the two Corps standing in reserve at Metz, which could be brought up, would constitute a force of 150,000 men, which might give battle in the specified vicinity, or compel the enemy to do so on the march to Longuyon. Without employing this reserve, there was every prospect that the advance of the French could be brought to a halt on this side of the Meuse, and then another Corps of the IIIrd Army could be brought up. This march-table was soon to be brought into service. Fresh news arrived in the course of the same afternoon. The newspapers revealed the secret by publishing vehement speeches delivered in the National Assembly to the effect "that the French general who should leave his comrade in the lurch, deserved the execration of the country." It would be a disgrace, it was protested, to the French nation if the brave Bazaine were left unsuccoured: from all this, and considering the effect of such phrases on the French, it was to be expected that military considerations would give way to political. A telegram from London, quoting the Paris _Temps_, stated that MacMahon had suddenly resolved to hasten to the assistance of Bazaine, though the abandonment of the road to Paris endangered the safety of France. The King, before night, approved of the march to the right, and the orders were dispatched that night direct to the respective Army Corps on the march. On the 26th his Majesty moved his head-quarter to Clermont. The Crown Prince of Saxony had set out for Varennes early in the morning with the XIIth Corps, and had ordered the Guards to Dombasle, the IVth Corps to Fleury. The cavalry, sent forward in every direction, found that the enemy had evacuated the region of the Suippe valley and had not yet entered that of the Meuse; that Buzancy and Grand Pré were in occupation of the French, and that a large encampment of their VIIth Corps had been specifically perceived on the height of Vouziers. The apparition of a few handsful of cavalry, despatched thither on observation duty, occasioned an almost unaccountable excitement. General Douay, quartered at Vouziers, received the most exaggerated reports, and must have thought that a general attack by the German army was imminent. The VIIth Corps was kept under arms the entire night in pouring rain, and the Marshal resolved to advance towards Vouziers and Buzancy with all his forces on the following morning. Thus the march to the east received a check as early as the 27th, but the untruthfulness of the reports very soon became sufficiently apparent. If the German chiefs were deeply interested in gaining an insight into the enemy's movements, so on the French side this requisite was certainly urgent in no less imperative degree. With judicious disposal of their cavalry on the right flank, a surprise like that above mentioned would have been impossible, but the 1st French Cavalry Division was placed on the left flank, where there was no danger whatever, and the 2nd was rearmost of everything. It seemed as though in the French army less attention was paid to the repulse of an attack than to the evasion of one, and to the unobserved attainment of Montmédy, the point of rendezvous with the other army. When the movement of the Germans from southward could no longer be doubted, it would certainly have been best for the French to take the vigorous offensive in that direction with intent to defeat them, or at least to sweep them out of the vicinity of their own line of march. If they had failed in this they would, at any rate, have readily learnt that their undertaking was impracticable, and that its further prosecution must certainly result in a catastrophe. It must, however, be admitted that the German cavalry formed an almost impenetrable screen. The Marshal could not know that his enemy was écheloned from Vitry to Varennes, a distance of more than thirty-seven miles, and was not at all in form to attack him just then in serious earnest. _August 27th._--The Marshal had cleared up his misconception, and on the 27th he continued his march, at least with part of his troops. The VIIth and Vth Corps covered the movement at Vouziers and Buzancy, the XIIth advanced to Le Chêne, and the 1st Cavalry Division to Beaumont, probably to ascertain the whereabouts of Marshal Bazaine. The Ist Corps and the 2nd Cavalry Division remained behind on the Aisne. The Saxon Corps, the furthest forward of the German Army, had received direct orders to march to Dun on the 27th, and secure on the right bank the passages over the Meuse, as far as Stenay. It reached Stenay at three o'clock in the afternoon, and threw forward a post on the left bank. The cavalry clung closely to the enemy and followed his movements, often engaging in petty skirmishes. The departure of the Vth French Corps from Buzancy in the direction of Le Chêne was at once detected, as also was the march to Beaumont; and the Saxon Cavalry Division pushed forward that evening to Nouart. The Bavarian Corps reached the Clermont-Verdun road, the 5th Ste. Menehould; the other Corps of the IIIrd Army were hurrying by forced marches in a northerly direction. The prospect now seemed certain that the enemy would be overtaken on the left bank of the Meuse. Word was sent to the blockading army before Metz that the two Corps asked for were no longer required, but they had already set out. The latest dispositions made by Marshal MacMahon clearly betokened a last effort on his part to persevere in the original direction. He was écheloned along the northernmost of the roads by which he could reach Metz, but had left a strong reserve on the Aisne on which he might fall back. When he now learnt that nothing had been seen of the Army of the Rhine at Montmédy, but that it actually was still at Metz, he resolved on retreating, and, after giving orders to that effect for the following morning, reported his intention to Paris. From thence during the night came the most strenuous remonstrances. The Minister of War telegraphed, "If you leave Bazaine in the lurch, the revolution will break out," and the Council of Ministers issued a peremptory order to relieve Metz. The troops in front of the Marshal, it was urged, were nothing more than part of the army investing Metz; he had the start of the Crown Prince of Prussia by several days' march; and General Vinoy had already left Paris for Rheims with the newly-formed XIIIth Corps as a reinforcement to him. The Marshal silenced his military convictions and issued new orders. But the troops had started in advance of the promulgation of them. The change of route gave rise to much confusion; the roads were bad, and quarters for the night were not reached until darkness had long set in; the men were weary, wet to the skin, and depressed in spirits. _August 28th._--Little more than nine miles' distance eastward was attained. The XIIth Corps reached La Besace, the Ist was on the march to Le Chêne, the VIIth was halted at Boult aux Bois because of a false report that two Prussian Corps were occupying Buzancy, further ahead. On the strength of this report the Vth Corps moved toward that town by way of Bar, but went on to Bois des Dames in the afternoon. Neither of these movements was interfered with. The German cavalry had strict orders, while watching the French as closely as possible, not in any way to check or press them, and the Saxon cavalry evacuated Nouart on the approach of the enemy. The Germans had to await the coming up of the IIIrd Army, the rearmost Corps of which, the VIth, had only just reached Ste. Menehould. _August 29th._--For this day also a non-offensive attitude was prescribed, and the bringing on of decisive operations was postponed until the 30th. The Marshal in his head-quarter at Stonne had been informed that the Germans occupied Dun, and that the bridges over the Meuse had been destroyed. He had no pontoon-train, and could cross the river only lower down, at Mouzon and Villers. His XIIth Corps and 1st Cavalry Division passed over to the right bank unhindered at these points; the Ist Corps and the 2nd Cavalry Division proceeded to Raucourt. The VIIth Corps, delayed on march by petty skirmishes on its right flank, did not reach its destination at La Besace, but went into bivouac at Oches. The Vth Corps was to have moved to Beaumont, but the staff officer carrying the order fell into the hands of the Prussian cavalry together with his escort. General de Failly therefore marched upon Stenay, according to his original instructions. Up to this time, apart from the cavalry, the Saxon Corps alone had been in contact with the enemy, but the Guard now came up to Buzancy in parallel line, while the Saxon Corps crossed over to the left bank of the Meuse at Dun. Its advanced guard at once took possession of the wooded spur to the north-east of Nouart, drove out the French cavalry, and pressed ahead to Champy, where it encountered a strong force in Lespart's Division. The purpose of the reconnaissance having been attained, the advanced guard was called in. The French Division, in consequence of fresh orders received from the Marshal, withdrew simultaneously in a northerly direction. On the German side four Corps of the IIIrd Army were now within nine miles rearward of the Army of the Meuse. The 5th Cavalry Division stood at Attigny on the enemy's line of communication; the 6th was hanging on the heels of the French columns of march, and, among other things, had taken Boncq with a dismounted party. The Royal Head-quarter was now advanced to Grand Pré, and, as the result of the various reports which had poured in, the resolution was taken to attack the enemy on the following day, before he should cross the Meuse. The Army of the Meuse was to march towards Beaumont, the IIIrd Army to move forward between that place and Le Chêne. To bring both armies to a parallel front, the right wing was not to move until ten o'clock, while the left[18] was to start before six o'clock. Only the trains absolutely requisite for the battle were to follow. FOOTNOTE: [18] The Army of the Meuse constituted the right wing; the IIIrd Army, the left. BATTLE OF BEAUMONT. (August 30th.) On the 30th of August, at ten o'clock, the King set out for Sommauthe by way of Buzancy. Both the Bavarian Corps were on the march thither, the Vth Corps advanced in the centre towards Oches, the XIth, together with the Würtemberg Division, was heading for Le Chêne, the VIth for Vouziers. The IVth Corps on the right was advancing by Belval, the XIIth reached to the Meuse, while the Guard Corps followed in rear as a reserve. Marshal MacMahon had issued orders for the attainment of the object that his entire army should on this day cross to the right bank of the Meuse; only the baggage trains and sick were to remain behind. His Ist Corps and the 2nd Cavalry Division had left Raucourt so early as seven; they crossed the river at Remilly, light bridges having been thrown over for the infantry. The VIIth Corps at Oches had struck camp still earlier at four o'clock, but as it took with it in the march all its waggons, even the empty ones, the trains formed a column more than nine miles in length, and seven of its battalions were forced to march alongside the road in the capacity of baggage guard; so that the brigade bringing up the rear was unable to start until ten o'clock. This long procession soon came into contact with the Prussian cavalry, was fired upon by artillery, and compelled to arrest its march. Not till one o'clock could the movement on La Besace be resumed, and then, as heavy firing was heard from Beaumont, General Douay conceived it right to abandon the road to Mouzon and take that to Remilly. To the Vth Corps had been precautionally assigned the duty of covering the march of the other two. The troops had reached the vicinity of Beaumont only at 4 a.m., and were thoroughly exhausted by fighting and the night-march. General de Failly therefore determined to halt his Corps for cooking and rest before pursuing the march. Precautionary measures seem to have been altogether neglected, though it must have been known that the enemy was now close at hand. While at half-past one the officers and men were engaged in their meal, Prussian shells suddenly burst among these heedless groups. The two Corps of the German right wing had to move through a wooded tract in four wholly independent columns, by ways sodden with rain. The Crown Prince of Saxony therefore ordered that no single column should attempt to enter on an attack before the neighbouring one was ready to co-operate. The IVth Corps had started very early, and after a short rest had pursued its march at ten o'clock. When at noon the head of the 8th Division emerged from the forest, it discerned from its elevated position the enemy's camp about 800 paces distant, in the condition as described. General Schöler (commanding the Division) held that the opportunity of so complete a surprise was not to be let pass; the proximity of his force could not long remain undetected by the enemy. He announced it by his cannon-fire. The Division soon recognized that it had drawn upon itself an enemy of immensely superior strength. The French rapidly got under arms, and dense swarms of riflemen hurried to the front, whose long-range Chassepôts inflicted great losses, especially upon the artillerymen. The main body of the 8th Division had meanwhile come up to the assistance of its advanced guard, and ere long the 7th Division appeared on the right. The French assailed it too with great impetuosity, and could only be repulsed at the bayonet-point. Presently, however, the foremost battalions of both Divisions made their way into the French camp in front of Beaumont, into the town itself, and finally into a second camp located northward of it. Seven guns, of which the teams were missing, and which continued firing up to the last moment, a number of gunners, waggons and horses, fell into the hands of the assailants. Whilst now, about two o'clock, a pause occurred in the infantry fight, fourteen batteries of the IVth Corps engaged in a contest with the French artillery deployed on the stretch of heights north of Beaumont. The German artillery mass was presently strengthened by the Saxon artillery on the right, and by the Bavarian batteries on the left. This formidable and commanding artillery line, constantly advancing in echelon, promptly squandered the mitrailleuses, and at three o'clock the remaining French batteries also were silenced. The IInd Bavarian Corps, on the left of the Prussian IVth, was advancing on La Thibaudine, when it was quite unexpectedly attacked from the west by a strong force of the enemy. These troops were Conseil Dumesnil's Division of the VIIth French Corps, which was continuing in march to Mouzon in error, acting on its original orders. Completely surprised as it was, and attacked in front and flank, the Division gave up all hope of cutting its way through, and at about four o'clock beat a hasty retreat northwards, leaving two guns behind. The Bavarians had in the meantime taken possession of the farm of Thibaudine, and the Prussians that of Harnoterie. The wooded hills prevented a clear view of the surrounding country; the enemy had completely disappeared. General de Failly was making strenuous efforts to collect his scattered forces in front of Mouzon, under cover of a rear-guard halted at La Sartelle; and General Lebrun had left behind on the left side of the Meuse an infantry and a cavalry brigade and three batteries belonging to the XIIth Corps, to render him assistance. At five o'clock the 8th Division, headed by the 13th Brigade, was pushing toilsomely through the dense forest of Givodeau, on its way to operate against this new defensive position. On emerging from the wood the battalions, which had fallen into some confusion, were received by a brisk fire at short range. The repeated efforts of the riflemen to advance were unsuccessful, and the dense underwood hindered the clubbed mass behind them from forming. By the time the Saxon Corps had succeeded with extreme difficulty in extricating itself from the forest and swamps of the Wamme stream, and had reached Létanne, the impracticability of further progress in the Meuse valley became apparent, since numerous French batteries, in unassailable positions on the opposite side of the river, commanded all the low ground. The Corps therefore ascended the plateau, moved in its turn through the Givodeau woods, and debouching thence swelled the strength of the forces assembled on the northern border, where, however, their development on a broader front was impossible. So about six o'clock the infantry engagement came to a stand for a time in this quarter. On the left the 14th Brigade had come up into line with the 13th, and this body (the 7th Division) was followed by the 8th Division in two columns. The 93rd Regiment had carried the height to the north-east of Yoncq, and advanced in pursuit of the enemy as far as to the foot of Mont de Brune. Four mitrailleuses and eight guns, some of them with their entire teams, fell thus into the hands of the Anhalters. When, at half-past five, the artillery had come up into position, and at the same time the 27th Regiment was approaching, General Zychlinski (commanding 14th Brigade) advanced to the enveloping attack. The French occupied in strength the summit of the entirely isolated hill; their batteries faced to eastward against the Bois de Givodeau, whence an assault threatened; but they swiftly changed front to the south and directed a heavy fire on the 93rd and the 2nd Battalion of the 27th, as they charged up on this face while the Fusilier battalion was at the same time pressing forward from the west. Regardless of their losses, the assailants eagerly scaled the ascent, the brigade and regimental commanders at their head. Six French guns were seized while in action, in spite of a brave resistance by the gunners and covering troops, and the enemy was pursued as far as the Roman road. Here four more guns, completely horsed, which had been abandoned by the artillerymen, fell into the hands of the conquerors. The three battalions[19] hurried on towards Mouzon, without waiting for the support of the[20] 14th Brigade following in rear, but they suddenly found themselves threatened by a cavalry-charge. Marshal MacMahon had recognized the fact that the only thing left him now to do was to effect as orderly an evacuation as possible of the left bank of the Meuse; the reinforcements sent across from the right had already been recalled. The 5th Cuirassier Regiment alone still remained. When, a little to the north of the Faubourg de Mouzon, it was reached by the fire of the advancing Prussians, the French regiment hurled itself upon the enemy with a noble contempt for death. The shock struck the 10th Company of the 27th Regiment. The soldiers, without closing their ranks, waited for the word of command of their leader, Captain Helmuth, and then fired a volley at close range, which struck down eleven officers and 100 men, the brave commander of the band of horsemen falling fifteen paces in front of his men. The survivors rushed back towards the Meuse, and, as all the bridges had been removed, they strove to gain the other side by swimming. Considerable masses of the enemy were still in front of Mouzon, and upon these the batteries of the IVth Corps, as one after another they came into action, directed their fire. Two Bavarian batteries brought under their fire the bridge at Villers, lower down the river, and prevented it from being used. Then the suburb was carried after a fierce encounter, and here too the bridge across the Meuse was taken and held. The enemy, deprived of every way of retreat, received with a hot fire the 8th Division emerging from the valley of the Yoncq, but was gradually driven back towards the river. The French troops in front of the Bois de Givodeau were also in a hopeless plight; they were assailed by the 7th Division and XIIth Corps, and were dispersed after an obstinate struggle. By nightfall the French had ceased their resistance on the hither side of the Meuse. Many lagging stragglers were taken prisoners, others hid themselves in the copses and farmhouses, or tried to escape by swimming the river. In this battle, as in the preceding ones, the attack suffered far heavier loss than the defence. The Army of the Meuse lost 3500 combatants, the preponderating loss falling on the IVth Corps. The French estimated their loss at 1800; but in the course of the day and on the following morning, 3000 prisoners, mostly unwounded, fell into the hands of the victors, with 51 guns, 33 ammunition and many other waggons, and a military chest containing 150,000 francs. And, what was of supreme importance, by the result of this battle the French army had been driven into an extremely unfavourable position. While the IVth Corps had been chiefly sustaining the day's battle, the Saxon Cavalry had pushed forward on the right bank of the Meuse, and had reconnoitred towards Mouzon and Carignan. The Guard Corps reached Beaumont, and General von der Tann with the 1st Bavarian Corps was at Raucourt, having marched by way of La Besace with some slight skirmishing on the way. The IInd Bavarian Corps was assembled at Sommauthe, the Vth Corps had reached Stonne, the XIth, La Besace. Thus seven Corps now stood in close concentration between the Meuse and the Bar. The King rode back to Buzancy after the battle, as all the villages in the vicinity of the battle-field were crowded with the wounded. Here, as previously at Clermont, was felt the great inconvenience of inadequate lodging for hundreds of illustrious guests and their suites, when, for once in a way for military reasons, head-quarters were established in a small village, instead of in a large town. Shelter for those officers whose duty it was to prepare the necessary orders for the morrow was only found late at night, and with considerable difficulty. These orders instructed that on the 31st two Corps of the Army of the Meuse should cross over to the right bank of the river, to prevent the possibility of further progress of the French to Metz by way of Montmédy. Two Corps of the army besieging Metz were besides already posted in that direction about Etain and Briey. The IIIrd Army was to continue its movement in the northward direction. As the situation had now developed itself, it already seemed within sight that the Army of Châlons might be compelled to cross over into neutral territory, and the Belgian Government was therefore asked through diplomatic channels to concern itself with its disarmament in that event. The German troops had orders at once to cross the Belgian frontier, should the enemy not lay down his arms there. While the Vth French Corps was still fighting about Beaumont, and when the rest of the army had crossed the Meuse, General MacMahon had ordered the concentration of his army on Sedan. He did not intend to offer battle there, but it was indispensable to give his troops a short rest, and provide them with food and ammunition. He then meant to continue the retreat by way of Mézières, which General Vinoy was just then approaching with the newly-formed XIIIth Corps. The Ist Corps, which had arrived at Carignan early in the afternoon, detached two of its divisions to Douzy in the evening to check any further advance of the Germans. Though any pursuit immediately after the battle of Beaumont was prevented by the intervening river, the retreat of the French soon assumed the ominous character of a rout. The troops were utterly worn out by their exertions by day and night, in continuous rain and with but scanty supplies of food. The marching to and fro, to no visible purpose, had undermined their confidence in their leaders, and a series of luckless fights had shaken their self-reliance. Thousands of fugitives, crying for bread, crowded round the waggons as they struggled forward to reach the little fortress which had so unexpectedly become the central rallying point of a great army. The Emperor Napoleon arrived at Sedan from Carignan late in the evening of the 30th; the VIIth Corps reached Floing during the night, but the XIIth Corps did not arrive at Bazeilles until the following morning. The Vth Corps mustered at the eastern suburb of Sedan in a fearfully shattered state, followed in the afternoon of the 31st by the Ist, which, after many rear-guard actions with the German cavalry, took up a position behind the Givonne valley. To pursue the march to Mézières on that day was not to be thought of. The XIIth Corps had that same evening to show a front at Bazeilles, where the thunder of their cannon already heralded the arrival of the Germans. The destruction of the bridges there and at Donchery was ordered, but the order remained unexecuted, owing to the worn-out condition of the men. _August 31st._--Of the army of the Meuse the Guard and 12th Cavalry Divisions had crossed the Meuse at Pouilly, and by a pontoon bridge at Létanne, and swept the country between the Meuse and the Chiers. Following close upon the rear of the French and harassing them in skirmishes till they reached their new position, they brought in as prisoners numbers of stragglers. The Guard Corps then crossed the Chiers at Carignan and halted at Sachy; the XIIth pushed on to about Douzy on the Meuse,[21] while its advanced guard thrust ahead on the further side (of the Chiers) as far as Francheval. The IVth Corps remained at Mouzon. The 4th Cavalry Division of the IIIrd Army reconnoitred in the direction of Sedan, drove back the French outposts from Wadelincourt and Frénois, and, moving from the latter place, seized the railroad under the fire of hostile artillery. The 6th Cavalry Division on the left flank proceeded on the way to Mézières as far as Poix. When the Ist Bavarian Corps reached Remilly before noon, it came under heavy fire from the opposite side of the river, and at once brought up its batteries in position on the hither slope of the valley of the Meuse. A sharp cannonade ensued, by the end of which sixty Bavarian guns were engaged. It was only now that the French attempted to blow up the railway bridge south of Bazeilles, but the vigorous fire of the 4th Jäger Battalion drove off the enemy with his engineers, the Jägers threw the powder-barrels into the river, and at midday crossed the bridge. The battalion entered Bazeilles in the face of a storm of bullets, and occupied the northern fringe of the straggling place. Thus the XIIth French Corps was forced to move up into a position between Balan and Moncelle, where, having been reinforced by batteries belonging to the Ist Corps, it had to encounter, and that with considerable waste of power, the daring little band of Germans. General von der Tann[22] did not however hold it advisable to commit himself on that day to a serious conflict on the further side of the Meuse with a closely compacted enemy, while his own Corps was still unconcentrated; and, since the weak detachment in Bazeilles had no hope of being reinforced, it withdrew therefrom at about half-past three without being pursued. Meanwhile two pontoon bridges had been laid at Allicourt, without molestation from the French. These and the railway bridge were barricaded for the night, while eighty-four guns further secured them from being crossed. The Ist Bavarian Corps went into bivouac at Angecourt, the IInd at Hancourt. To the left of the Bavarians the XIth Corps marched towards Donchery, followed by the Vth. The advanced guard found the place unoccupied, and extended itself on the further side of the river. By three o'clock two other bridges were completed close below Donchery, whilst the railway bridge above the place, also found unguarded, was destroyed. On the extreme left the Würtemberg and the 6th Cavalry Divisions came in contact with the XIIIth French Corps, which had just arrived at Mézières. The King removed his head-quarters to Vendresse. In spite of a succession of occasionally very severe marches in bad weather, and of being in regard to supplies chiefly beholden to requisitioning, the Army of the Meuse advancing on the east, and the IIIrd Army on the south, were now directly in face of the concentrated French Army. Marshal MacMahon could scarcely have realized that the only chance of safety for his army, or even for part of it, lay in the immediate prosecution of his retreat on the 1st of September. It is true that the Crown Prince of Prussia, in possession as he was of every passage over the Meuse, would have promptly taken that movement in flank in the narrow space, little more than four miles wide, which was bounded on the north by the frontier. That nevertheless the attempt was not risked was only to be explained by the actual condition of the exhausted troops; for on this day the French Army was not yet capable of undertaking a disciplined march involving fighting; it could only fight where it stood. On the German side it was still expected that the Marshal would strike for Mézières. The Army of the Meuse was ordered to attack the enemy's positions with the object of detaining him in them; the IIIrd Army, leaving only one Corps on the left bank, was to press forward on the right side of the river. The French position about Sedan was covered to rearward by the fortress. The Meuse and the valleys of the Givonne and the Floing brooks offered formidable obstructions, but it was imperative that those outmost lines should be obstinately held. The Calvary height of Illy was a very important point, strengthened as it was by the Bois de Garenne in its rear, whence a high ridge stretching to Bazeilles afforded much cover in its numerous dips and shoulders. In the event of a retreat into neutral territory in the last extremity, the road thereto lay through Illy. Bazeilles, on the other hand, locally a very strong point of support to the Givonne front, constituted an acute salient, which, after the loss of the bridges across the Meuse, was open to attack on two sides. FOOTNOTES: [19] Of 27th and 93rd Regiments. [20] Read in "rest of the." [21] Douzy is on the north bank of the Chiers. [22] Commanding Ist Bavarian Corps. BATTLE OF SEDAN. (September 1st.) In order, in co-operation with the Army of the Meuse, to hold fast the enemy in his position, General von der Tann sent his Ist Brigade over the pontoon-bridges against Bazeilles so early as four o'clock in a thick morning mist. The troops attacked the place, but now found the streets barricaded, and were fired on from every house. The leading company pressed on as far as to the northern egress, suffering great losses, but the others, while engaged in arduous street-fighting, were driven out of the western part of Bazeilles by the arrival of the 2nd Brigade of the French XIIth Corps. They however kept possession of the buildings at the southern end, and from thence issued to repeated assaults. As fresh troops were constantly coming up on both sides, the French being reinforced to the extent even of a brigade of the Ist and one of the Vth Corps, the murderous combat long swayed to and fro; in particular the struggle for the possession of the Villa Beurmann, situated in front of the exit, and commanding the main street throughout its whole length, lasted for a stricken hour. The inhabitants took an active part in the fighting, and so they inevitably drew fire upon themselves. The fire of the strong array of guns drawn up on the left slope of the valley of the Meuse naturally could not be directed on the surging strife in Bazeilles, which was now blazing in several places, but at eight o'clock, on the arrival of the 8th Prussian Division at Remilly, General von der Tann threw his last brigades into the fight. The walled park of the château of Monvillers was stormed and an entrance won into the Villa Beurmann. The artillery crossed the bridges at about nine o'clock, and the 8th Division was requested to support the combat in which the right wing of the Bavarians was also engaged southward of Bazeilles about Moncelle.[23] In this direction Prince George of Saxony[24] had so early as five o'clock despatched an advanced guard of seven battalions from Douzy. They drove the French from Moncelle, pressed ahead to Platinerie and the bridge there, and, in spite of the enemy's heavy fire, took possession of the houses bordering the further side of the Givonne brook, which they immediately occupied for defensive purposes. Communication with the Bavarians was now established, and the battery of the advanced guard moved up quickly into action on the eastern slope; but a further infantry support could not at first be afforded to this bold advance. Marshal MacMahon had been struck by a splinter from a shell near Moncelle at 6 a.m. He had named General Ducrot as his successor in the chief command, passing over two senior Corps commanders. Apprized of this promotion at seven o'clock, that General issued the necessary orders for the prompt assemblage of the army at Illy, in preparation for an immediate retreat on Mézières. He had already despatched Lartigue's Division of his own Corps to safeguard the crossing of the Givonne ravine at Daigny; the Divisions of Lacretelle and Bassoigne were ordered to take the offensive against the Saxons and Bavarians, to gain time for the withdrawal of the rest of the troops. The divisions forming the second line were to start immediately in a northerly direction. But the Minister of War had appointed General de Wimpffen, recently returned from Algiers, to the command of the Vth Corps in room of General de Failly, and had at the same time given him a commission empowering him to assume the command of the Army in case of the disability of the Marshal. General de Wimpffen knew the army of the Crown Prince to be in the neighbourhood of Donchery. He regarded the retreat to Mézières as utterly impracticable, and was bent on the diametrically opposite course of breaking out to Carignan, not doubting that he could drive aside the Bavarians and Saxons, and so succeed in effecting a junction with Marshal Bazaine. When he heard of the orders just issued by General Ducrot, and at the same time observed that an assault on Moncelle seemed to be taking an auspicious course, he produced--to his ruin--the authoritative commission which had been bestowed on him. General Ducrot submitted without any remonstrance; he might probably not have been averse to be relieved of so heavy a responsibility. The Divisions of the second line which were in the act of starting immediately were recalled; and the further advance of the weak Bavarian and Saxon detachments was soon hard pressed by the impact of the first stroke of the enemy rushing on to the attack. By seven in the morning, while one regiment of the Saxon advanced guard had gone in upon Moncelle, the other on its right had to concern itself with the threatening advance of Lartigue's Division. With that body it soon became engaged in a heavy fire-fight. The regiment had laid down its packs on the march, and had omitted to take out the cartridges carried in them. Thus it soon ran short of ammunition, and the repeated and violent onslaughts of the Zouaves, directed principally against its unprotected right flank, had to be repulsed with the bayonet. On the left in this quarter a strong artillery line had gradually been formed, which by half-past eight o'clock amounted to twelve batteries. But Lacretelle's Division was now approaching by the Givonne bottom, and dense swarms of tirailleurs forced the German batteries to retire at about nine o'clock. The guns, withdrawn into a position at a somewhat greater distance, drove back with their fire the enemy in the hollow, and presently returned to the position previously occupied. The 4th Bavarian Brigade had meanwhile pushed forward into Moncelle, and the 46th Saxon Brigade also came up, so that it was possible to check the trifling progress made by Bassoigne's Division. On the right flank of the Saxons, which had been hard pressed, much-needed supports now arrived from the 24th Division, and at once took the offensive. The French were driven back upon Daigny, with the loss of five guns. Then in conjunction with the Bavarians, who were pushing on through the valley to the northward, the village of Daigny, the bridge and the farmstead of La Rapaille were carried after a bitter fight. About ten o'clock the Guard Corps reached the upper Givonne. Having started in the night, the Corps was marching in two columns, when cannon thunder from Bazeilles heard afar off caused the troops to quicken their pace. In order to render assistance by the shortest road, the left column would have had to traverse two deep ravines and the pathless wood of Chevallier, so it took the longer route by Villers Cernay, which place the head of the right column passed in ample time to take part with the Saxons in the contest with Lartigue's Division, and to capture two of its guns. The Divisions ordered back by General Ducrot had already resumed their former positions on the western slopes, and fourteen batteries of the Guard Corps now opened fire upon them from the east. At the same hour (ten o'clock) the 7th Division of the IVth Corps had arrived near Lamécourt, and the 8th near Remilly, both places rearward of Bazeilles; the head of the latter had reached the Remilly railway station. The first attempt of the French to break out eastward to Carignan proved a failure, and their retreat westward to Mézières was also already cut off, for the Vth and XIth Corps of the IIIrd Army, together with the Würtemberg Division, had been detailed to move northward to the road leading to that place. These troops had started early in the night, and at six a.m. had crossed the Meuse at Donchery, and by the three pontoon bridges further down the river. The advanced patrols found the Mézières road quite clear of the enemy, and the heavy cannonade heard from the direction of Bazeilles made it appear probable that the French had accepted battle in their position at Sedan. The Crown Prince, therefore, ordered the two Corps, which already had reached the upland of Vrigne, to swing to their right and advance on St. Menges; the Würtembergers were to remain behind to watch Mézières. General von Kirchbach then indicated Fleigneux to his advanced guard as the objective of the further movement, which had for its purpose the barring of the escape of the French into Belgium, and the establishment of a junction with the right wing of the Army of the Meuse. The narrow pass about 2000 paces long between the heights and the river traversed by the road to St. Albert, was neither held nor watched by the French. It was not till the advanced guard reached St. Menges that it encountered a French detachment, which soon withdrew. The German advance then deployed against Illy. Two companies moved to the right and took possession of Floing, where they maintained themselves for the next two hours without assistance against repeated attacks. The earliest arriving Prussian batteries had to exert themselves to the utmost to maintain themselves against the much superior strength of French artillery in action about Illy. At first they had for their only escort some cavalry and a few companies of infantry, and as these bodies debouched from the defile of St. Albert, they found themselves an enticing object of attack to Margueritte's Cavalry Division halted on the aforesaid plateau of Illy. It was at nine o'clock that General Galliffet rode down to the attack at the head of three regiments of Chasseurs d'Afrique and two squadrons of Lancers formed in three lines. The first fury of the charge fell upon two companies of the 87th Regiment, which met it with a hail of bullets at sixty yards range. The first line charged some horse-lengths further forward, then wheeled outward to both flanks, and came under the fire of the supporting troops occupying the broom copses. The Prussian batteries, too, showered their shell fire into the throng of French horsemen, who finally went about in confusion, and, having suffered great losses, sought refuge in the Bois de Garenne. At ten o'clock, the same hour at which the assaults of the French on Bazeilles and about Daigny were being repulsed, fourteen batteries of the XIth Corps were already in action on and near the ridge south-east of St. Menges; to swell which mass presently came up those of the Vth Corps. Powerful infantry columns were in march upon Fleigneux, and thus the ring surrounding Sedan was already at this hour nearly closed. The one Bavarian Corps and the artillery reserves on the left bank of the Meuse were considered strong enough to repel any attempt of the French to break through in that direction; five Corps were on the right bank, ready for a concentric attack. The Bavarians and Saxons, reinforced by the head of the IVth Corps, issued from the burning Bazeilles and from Moncelle, and, in spite of a stubborn resistance, drove the detachments of the French XIIth Corps in position eastward of Balan back upon Fond de Givonne. Once in possession of the southern spur of the ridge sloping down from Illy, and while awaiting the renewed attacks of the French, the extreme urgency was realized of reassembling the different Corps and of re-forming the troops, which had fallen into great confusion. As soon as this was done, the 5th Bavarian Brigade advanced on Balan. The troops found but a feeble resistance in the village itself; but it was only after a hard fight that they succeeded in occupying the park of the château situated at its extreme end. From thence, soon after midday, the foremost battalion extended close up to the walls of the fortress, and exchanged shots with the garrison. There now ensued a stationary musketry fight with the enemy once again firmly posted about Fond de Givonne. At one o'clock the French, having evidently been reinforced, took the offensive, after a preparatory cannonade and mitrailleuse fire. The 5th Bavarian Brigade was driven back for some considerable distance, but presently, supported by the 6th, regained its old position after an hour's hard fighting. Meanwhile the Saxon Corps had extended itself in the northern part of the valley against Givonne. There also the foremost detachments of the Guard Corps were already established, as well as in Haybés. The Prussian artillery forced the French batteries to change their positions more than once, and had already caused several of them to go out of action. To gain breathing space here, the French repeatedly tried to send forward large bodies of tirailleurs, and ten guns were brought up into the still occupied Givonne, but these were taken before they could unlimber. The Prussian shells also fell with some effect among the French troops massed in the Bois de Garenne, though fired from a long distance. After the Franctireurs de Paris had been driven out of Chapelle, the Guard-cavalry dashed through Givonne and up the valley, and at noon the Hussars had succeeded in establishing direct contact with the left flank of the IIIrd Army. The 41st Brigade of that army had left Fleigneux and was descending the upper valley of the Givonne, and the retreat of the French from Illy in a southern direction had already begun. The 87th Regiment seized eight guns which were in action, and captured thirty baggage waggons with their teams, as well as hundreds of cavalry horses wandering riderless. The cavalry of the advanced guard of the Vth Corps also made prisoners of General Brahaut and his staff, besides a great number of dispersed infantrymen and 150 draught-horses, together with forty ammunition and baggage waggons. In the direction of Floing there was also an attempt on the part of the French to break through; but the originally very weak infantry posts at that point had gradually been strengthened, and the French were driven from the locality as quickly as they had entered. And now twenty-six batteries of the Army of the Meuse[25] crossed their fire with that of the Guard batteries, in position on the eastern slope of the Givonne valley. The effect was overwhelming. The French batteries were shattered and many ammunition waggons exploded. General de Wimpffen at first took the advance of the Germans from the north for nothing more than a demonstration, but toward midday became completely convinced that it was a real attack. He therefore ordered that the two Divisions of the Ist Corps halted in second line behind the Givonne front, should now return to the Illy height in support of General Douay. On rejoining the XIIth Corps he found it in full retreat on Sedan, and now urgently requested General Douay to despatch assistance in the direction of Bazeilles. Maussion's Brigade did actually go thither, followed by Dumont's Division, which latter was relieved in the foremost line by Conseil Dumesnil's Division. All this marching and counter-marching was executed in the space south of the Bois de Garenne dominated by the cross fire of the German artillery. The recoil of the cavalry heightened the confusion, and several battalions drew back into the insecure protection of the forest. General Douay, it is true, reinforced by portions of the Vth Corps, retook the Calvary (of Illy), but was forced to abandon it by two o'clock; and the forest (of Garenne) behind it was then shelled by sixty guns of the Guard artillery. Liébert's Division alone had up to now maintained its very strong position on the heights north of Casal. The amassing at Floing of a sufficient strength from the German Vth and XIth Corps could only be effected very gradually. After one o'clock, however, detachments began to climb the steep hill immediately in its front, while others went round to the south towards Gaulier and Casal, and yet others came down from Fleigneux. The complete intermixture of the troops prevented any unity of command; and a bloody contest was carried on for a long time with varying fortunes. The French Division, attacked on both flanks and also heavily shelled, at last had its power of resistance undermined; and the reserves of the VIIth Corps having already been called off to other parts of the battle-field, the French cavalry once more devotedly struck in to maintain the fight. General Margueritte, with five regiments of light horse, and two of Lancers, charged to the rescue out of the Bois de Garenne. Almost at the outset he fell severely wounded, and General Galliffet took his place. The advance was over very treacherous ground, and even before the actual charge was delivered the cohesion of the ranks was broken by the heavy flanking fire of the Prussian batteries. Still, with thinned ranks but with unflinching resolution, the individual squadrons charged on the troops of the 43rd Infantry Brigade, partly lying in cover, partly standing out on the bare slope in swarms and groups; and also on the reinforcements hurrying from Fleigneux. The first line of the former was pierced at several points, and a band of these brave troopers dashed from Casal through the intervals between eight guns blazing into them with case-shot, but the companies beyond stopped their further progress. Cuirassiers issuing from Gaulier fell on the hostile rear, but encountering the Prussian Hussars in the Meuse valley, galloped off northward. Other detachments cut their way through the infantry as far as the narrow pass of St. Albert, where they were met by the battalions debouching therefrom. Others again entered Floing only to succumb to the 5th Jägers, who had to form front back to back. These attacks were repeated by the French again and again in the shape of detached fights, and the murderous turmoil lasted for half an hour with steadily diminishing fortune for the French. The volleys of the German infantry delivered steadily at a short range strewed the whole field with dead and wounded horsemen. Many fell into the quarries or down the steep declivities, a few may have escaped by swimming the Meuse; and scarcely more than half of these brave troops returned to the protection of the forest. But this magnificent sacrifice and glorious effort of the French cavalry could not change the fate of the day. The Prussian infantry had lost but little in the cut-and-thrust encounters, and at once resumed the attack against Liébert's Division. But in this onslaught they sustained heavy losses; for instance, all three battalions of the 6th Regiment had to be commanded by lieutenants. But when Casal had been stormed, the French, after a spirited resistance, withdrew at about three o'clock to their last refuge in the Bois de Garenne. When between one and two o'clock the fighting in Bazeilles had at first taken a favourable turn, General de Wimpffen reverted to his original plan of driving from the village the Bavarians, now exhausted by a long struggle, and of breaking a way through to Carignan with the Ist, Vth, and XIIth Corps; while the VIIth Corps was to cover the rear of this movement. But the orders issued to that effect in part never reached the Corps; in part did so so late that circumstances forbade their being carried out. In consequence of previously mentioned orders, besides Bassoigne's Division, the Divisions of Goze and Grandchamp were still available. Now, at about three in the afternoon, the two last-named advanced from Fond de Givonne, over the ridge to the eastward, and the 23rd Saxon Division, which was marching up the valley on the left bank of the Givonne, found itself suddenly attacked by closed battalions accompanied by batteries. With the support of the left wing of the Guard Corps and of the artillery fire from the eastern slope, it soon succeeded in repulsing the hostile masses, and indeed drove them across the valley back to Fond de Givonne. The energy of the French appeared to be by this time exhausted, for they allowed themselves to be taken prisoners by hundreds. As soon as a firm footing had been gained on the heights west of the Givonne, the German artillery established itself there, and by three o'clock an artillery line of twenty-one batteries stretching from Bazeilles to Haybés was in action. The Bois de Garenne, in which many broken bands of all Corps and of all arms were straggling in search of refuge, still remained to be gained. After a short cannonade the 1st Guard-Division climbed the heights from Givonne, and were joined by Saxon battalions, the left wing of the IIIrd army at the same time coming on from Illy. A wild turmoil ensued, in which isolated bands offered violent resistance, while others surrendered by thousands; nor was it until five o'clock that the Germans had complete possession of the forest. Meanwhile long columns of French could be seen pouring down on Sedan from the surrounding heights. Disordered bodies of troops huddled closer and closer in and up to the fortress, and shells from the German batteries on both sides of the Meuse were constantly exploding in the midst of the chaos. Pillars of fire were soon rising from the city, and the Bavarian riflemen, who had pushed forward through Torcy, were preparing to climb the palisades at the gate when, at about half-past four, the white flags were visible on the towers. The Emperor Napoleon had declined to follow General de Wimpffen in his attempt to break through the German lines; he had, on the contrary, ordered him to enter into negotiations with the enemy. In consequence of the renewal of the order to that effect the French suddenly ceased firing. General Reille now made his appearance in the presence of the King, who had watched the action since early morning from the hill south of Frénois. He was the bearer of an autograph letter from the Emperor, whose presence in Sedan was till then unknown. He placed his sword in the hand of the King, but as this was clearly only an act of personal surrender, the answer stipulated that an officer should be commissioned with full powers to treat with General von Moltke as to the surrender of the French Army. This painful duty was imposed on General de Wimpffen, who was in no way responsible for the desperate straits into which the French army had been brought. The negotiations were held at Donchery in the night between the 1st and 2nd September. On the part of the Germans it had to be insisted on that they durst not forego the advantages gained over so powerful an enemy as France. Since the French had regarded the victory of German arms over other nationalities in the light of an offence to France, any untimely generosity might cause them to forget their own defeat. The only course to pursue was to insist upon the disarmament and captivity of their entire army, with the exception that the officers were to be free on parole. General de Wimpffen declared it impossible to accept conditions so hard, the negotiations were broken off, and the French officers returned to Sedan at one o'clock on the morning of the 2nd. Before their departure they were given to understand that unless the offered terms were accepted by nine o'clock that morning the artillery would reopen fire. The capitulation was signed by General de Wimpffen on the morning of the 2nd, further resistance being obviously impossible. Marshal MacMahon was very fortunate in having been disabled so early in the battle, else on him would have inevitably devolved the duty of signing the capitulation; and though he had only carried out the orders forced upon him by the Paris authorities, he could hardly have sat in judgment, as he afterwards did, on the comrade he had failed to relieve. It is difficult to understand why we Germans celebrate the 2nd of September--a day on which nothing memorable happened, but what was the inevitable result of the previous day's work; the day on which the army really crowned itself with glory was the 1st of September. The splendid victory of that day had cost the Germans 460 officers and 8500 men. The French losses were far greater; they amounted to 17,000 men, and were chiefly wrought because of the full development of the fire of the German artillery. During the battle there were taken prisoners 21,000 By the Capitulation 83,000 ------ A total of 104,000 sent into captivity. The prisoners for the present were assembled on the peninsula of Iges formed by the Meuse. As supplies for them were entirely lacking, the Commandant of Mézières permitted the unrestricted transport of provisions by the railway as far as Donchery. Two Army Corps were assigned to the duty of guarding and escorting the convoys of prisoners, who were sent off in successive bodies 2000 strong by two roads, one to Etain, and the other by Clermont to Pont à Mousson, where the prisoners were taken over by the army investing Metz, and forwarded to various parts of Germany. On Belgian territory 3000 men had been disarmed. The spoils of war taken at Sedan consisted of three standards, 419 field-pieces, 139 fortress guns, 66,000 rifles, over 1000 waggons, and 6000 serviceable horses. With the entire nullification of this army fell the Empire in France. FOOTNOTES: [23] Moncelle is northward of Bazeilles. [24] Now commanding XIIth Corps, since his elder brother's appointment to command of the Army of the Meuse. [25] Sense and accuracy alike indicate that "Army of the Meuse" in text should be "Third Army," _vide_ Staff History, part I. 2nd vol. pp. 361, 367, and 370.--Clarke's authorized Trs. PART II. While one half of the German Army was thus engaged in a victorious advance, the other half remained stationary before Metz. The foremost line of outposts of the investment embraced a circuit of more than twenty-eight miles. An attempt of the concentrated forces of the enemy to break through would have met at the beginning of the blockade with but slight opposition. It was therefore extremely urgent that the several posts should be strengthened by fortifications. These works, the clearing of the neighbouring battle-fields, the close watch kept over every movement of the enemy, the construction of a telegraph-line connecting the quarters of the several Staffs, and finally the erection of a sufficiency of shelter, kept the troops and their leaders amply occupied. Besides the care of the wounded, provision had to be made for the sick, whose number was daily increased by the unusually severe weather and lack of shelter. The provisioning of the troops was, however, facilitated by their stationary attitude, and in addition there now flowed in upon them from their homes a copious supply of love-gifts. The first days of the investment went by without any attempts to break out on the part of the French. They too were busy reorganizing, collecting ammunition and supplies. On the 20th of August Marshal Bazaine had written to Châlons: "I will give due notice of my march if, taking everything into consideration, I can undertake any such attempt." On the 23rd he reported to the Emperor: "If the news of the extensive reductions in the besieging army is confirmed, I shall set out on the march, and that by way of the northern fortresses, in order to risk nothing." SORTIE FROM METZ. (August 26th.) On the 26th of August, when the Army of Châlons was still nearly seventy miles distant from the Ardennes Canal, and its advance on Metz was as yet not generally known, Marshal Bazaine collected his main forces on the right bank of the Moselle. This movement had not escaped the notice of the German posts of observation, and the field-telegraph at once disseminated the information. To support the 3rd Reserve Division at Malroy, ten battalions of the Xth Corps crossed from the left bank of the Moselle to Argancy on the right bank. The 25th Division held itself in readiness at the bridge of Hauconcourt, and the Ist Corps closed up towards Servigny. In the event of the success of a breach towards the north, the IIIrd, IVth, and part of the IXth Corps were available to intercept the enemy's march about Thionville. The crossing from the island of Chambière by the field-bridges which had been built, seriously delayed the French advance; the IIIrd, IInd, IVth, and VIth Corps, however, by about noon stood closely concentrated between Mey and Grimont. Advanced detachments had already at several points driven in the German posts south-east of Metz, but instead of now entering upon a general attack, Marshal Bazaine summoned all his Corps Commanders to a conference at Grimont. The Commandant of Metz then made it known that the artillery ammunition in hand would suffice for only one battle, that when it was exhausted the army would find itself defenceless in midst of the German hosts; the fortress, he continued, was not defensible in its present state, and could not stand a siege if the army were to be withdrawn from the place. All those things might certainly have been seen into during the stay in Metz; and much more did they behove to have been known before the army should cut loose. It was particularly enforced, "That the preservation of the Army was the best service that could be rendered to the country, more especially if negotiations for peace should be entered into." The generals present all spoke against the prosecution of the proposed movement; and the Commander-in-Chief, who had refrained from expressing any opinion in the matter, gave the order to retire at four o'clock. The whole affair of the 26th of August can only be regarded in the light of a parade manoeuvre. Bazaine reported to the Minister of War that the scarcity of artillery ammunition made it "impossible" to break through the hostile lines, unless an offensive operation from the outside "should force the enemy to raise the investment." Information as to the "temper of the people" was earnestly requested. There is no doubt that Bazaine was influenced, not wholly by military, but also by political considerations; still it may be asked whether he could have acted differently in the prevailing confusion of France. From the correspondence referred to, and his behaviour in the battles before Metz, his reluctance to quit the place was evident. Under its walls he could maintain a considerable army in unimpaired condition till the given moment. At the head of the only French army not yet shattered,[26] he might find himself in a position of greater power than any other man in the country. This army must, of course, first be freed from the bonds which now confined it. Even if it should succeed in forcibly breaking out it would be greatly weakened; and it was not inconceivable that the Marshal, as the strongest power in the land, might be able to offer a price which should induce the enemy to grant him a passage. Then when at length the time for making peace should come, the Germans would no doubt ask: "Who in France is the authority with whom we can negotiate now that the Empire is overthrown, and who is strong enough to give a guarantee that the obligations which he will have undertaken shall be performed?" That the Marshal, if his plans had come to fulfilment, would have acted otherwise than in the interest of France is neither proved nor to be assumed. But presently a number of men combined in Paris, who, without consulting the nation, constituted themselves the Government of the country, and took the direction of its affairs into their own hands. In opposition to this party, Marshal Bazaine, with his army at his back, could well come forward as a rival or a foe; nay, and--this was his crime in the eyes of the Paris Government--he might restore the authority of the Emperor to whom he had sworn allegiance. Whether he might not thus have spared his country longer misery and greater sacrifices may be left undecided. But that he was subsequently charged with treason obviously arose, no doubt, from the national vanity of the French, which demanded a "Traitor" as a scapegoat for the national humiliation. Soon after this demonstration, for it was nothing more, of the besieged army, the investing forces were, in fact, reduced by the despatch, on the 29th, in accordance with orders from the supreme Headquarter, of the IInd and IIIrd Corps to Briey and Conflans, there to remain. To be sure, from those positions it was in their power to attack either of the French Marshals, as might prove requisite; while the XIIIth Corps, newly formed of the 17th Division, hitherto retained to defend the coast, and from the Landwehr, was already within a short distance of Metz. Meanwhile Marshal Bazaine might have realized that he must abandon his delusion as to a release by means of negotiations; and he now firmly resolved to cut his way out by dint of force. The troops were served out with three days' provisions, and the intendance was furnished with a supply of "iron rations" from the magazines of the fortress. That the attempt should again be made on the right bank of the Moselle was only to be expected; since by far the larger portion of the enemy's forces stood entrenched on the left bank. It would have been very difficult to traverse that hilly region, intersected by deep ravines; and finally the army of the Crown Prince on the march to Paris would have had to be encountered. East of Metz, on the other hand, there afforded ample space for the full development of the French forces. By bending of the south the open country was to be reached, offering no effective intercepting position to the enemy, whose line of investment was weakest in that direction. The march to the north and along the Belgian frontier entailed more danger and greater obstacles, yet the Marshal had explicitly indicated this particular road as that by which he intended to move. The Army of Châlons was also marching in that direction; its approach was already reported; and on the 31st of August, on which day, in fact, Marshal MacMahon's forces reached Stenay[27] in such disastrous circumstances, Bazaine's army also issued from Metz. FOOTNOTES: [26] The Army of Châlons was still unimpaired on August 26th. [27] "Stenay," probably a slip of the pen for "Sedan," where MacMahon's army was gathered on August 31st. It never reached Stenay. BATTLE OF NOISSEVILLE. (August 31st.) Of the French Corps then located on the right bank of the Moselle,[28] the IIIrd was to cover on the right flank the advance of the others; one Division was ordered to move early in a south-easterly direction with intent to mislead the enemy, its other three Divisions to take position threatening Noisseville. Three pontoon bridges were constructed for the crossing of the rest of the army, and accesses to the heights in front of St. Julien were prepared. The passage of the IVth and VIth Corps was to begin at six o'clock, and they were to take a position which, linking on its right with the IIIrd Corps, should extend from the village of Mey by Grimont to the Moselle; the IInd Corps and the Guard were to follow and form a second line. With the passage of the artillery reserve and the cavalry it was expected that the crossing of the Moselle should be finished by ten o'clock; the trains were halted on the Isle of Chambière. Thus it was intended that by noon five Corps should be ready for the assault of the section of the line of investment from Retonfay (on the French right) to Argancy (on the left), a distance of about seven miles, which space had for its defenders only two German Divisions. So early as seven o'clock Montaudon's Division issued from Fort Queuleu, and heading eastward drove the opposing outposts back on Aubigny. But this demonstration did not in the least deceive the Germans. The stir in the French camp had been observed quite early, and when the mist cleared off and great masses of French troops were seen in front of Fort St. Julien, an attempt to break through to the north was anticipated with certainty, and the necessary dispositions were immediately undertaken to foil the effort. The 28th Brigade of the VIIth Corps was dispatched to protect Courcelles, so that thus the 3rd Brigade of the Ist Corps could be brought nearer to Servigny. The troops of the Xth Corps which could be spared from their own section of the line of defence on the left bank were again set in motion to cross to the right, and the IXth Corps was held in readiness in anticipation of its having eventually to follow. The IIIrd Corps and the Ist Cavalry Division were recalled from Briey and directed to the plateau of Privat; the IInd was to stand ready to move off. The attempt of the French to break out proved on this day even less successful than on the 26th; the IVth and VIth Corps crossed each other at the bridges, and they only reached their rendezvous position at one o'clock, though it was little more than three miles further; they then abandoned the intention of an immediate assault, and set about cooking. A few skirmishes on the east of Aubigny and on the north towards Rupigny came to nothing. The Imperial Guard did not come up till three o'clock, the artillery and cavalry were still behind. As entire quiescence now supervened, the Germans came to the conclusion that the attack must be intended for the following day. To save the strength of the troops, part of the reinforcements ordered up had already been sent back, when, at about four o'clock, the French suddenly opened a heavy artillery fire. The Marshal had again summoned his commanders to assemble at Grimont, this time to inform them of his dispositions for the attack. It was evident that the French could not advance towards the north until they had gained elbow-room by means of an offensive movement in the eastern direction, and had secured their right flank. For even if they succeeded in breaking through the Malroy-Charly line, they could get no further so long as the Germans were at Servigny and swept with their fire the plain as far as the Moselle, a space not more than 5000 paces broad. The Marshal could not in any case reckon on carrying through his Artillery Reserve, which did not reach the battle-field until six o'clock, and the extrication of the baggage trains which had been left behind on the Isle of Chambière was clearly impossible. The Cavalry Corps was still defiling, and could not come up until nine o'clock in the evening. This unsatisfactory aspect of affairs was in complete accord with the character of the dispositions of the French commanders. Marshal Le Boeuf received orders to advance with the IInd and IIIrd Corps on both sides of the valley of St. Barbe, and outflank from the south the 1st Prussian Division at Servigny, while the IVth Corps assailed it in front. The VIth Corps had the task of thrusting forward against the Reserve Division at Charly-Malroy. Marshal Canrobert was to command the two latter Corps, and the Guard was to be held back as reserve. Thus General von Manteuffel had at first to confront with a small force a greatly superior enemy. This opposition might be undertaken either in the St. Barbe position, to outflank which was by no means easy, or on the line of Servigny--Poix--Failly, which, though more exposed, afforded much greater scope for the use of artillery. The latter position was chosen on the advice of General von Bergmann commanding the artillery, and the Landwehr Brigade was ordered into it from Antilly, where its place was taken by the 25th Division. Ten batteries were advanced to a distance of 1000 paces in front of the line of villages held by the infantry. Their fire proved so superior to that of the enemy, that the hostile batteries were soon silenced. The attack on Rupigny by the French IVth Corps, supported on the flank though it was by three batteries, remained stationary for a considerable time, and as the Prussians had not yet been driven back on St. Barbe, the VIth French Corps meanwhile could not enter upon any serious attack on the Reserve Division at Malroy-Charly. For the same reason Marshal Canrobert received the order for the present only to send a detachment of his force to the attack of the village of Failly, the northern point of support of the Servigny position. Tixier's Division therefore moved out at 7.30 in the evening from Villers L'Orme, but met with a most obstinate resistance at Failly. Though attacked on two sides, pelted by a storm of projectiles, and, as regarded a part of them, engaged in hand-to-hand fighting, the East Prussians stoutly held possession of their ground till the Landwehr Brigade came to their assistance from Vremy. Up till now the situation southward of Servigny had worn a more favourable aspect for the French than in this northern re-entering angle between two hostile positions; their IInd and IIIrd Corps in the former quarter had only the 3rd Brigade of the Ist Prussian Corps to deal with in front of Retonfay. Montaudon's and Metman's Divisions moved down by way of Nouilly into the valley of the Vallières brook; Clinchant's Brigade stormed the brewery in the face of strong resistance, and by seven o'clock the defenders of Noisseville were forced to evacuate the place. Montoy and Flanville were also taken possession of by the French, and further south the outposts of the German 4th Brigade were thrown back through Coincy and Château Aubigny. The batteries of the 1st Division, after enduring for a long time the fire of strong swarms of tirailleurs from the deep hollow south of them, were forced about seven o'clock to retire in echelon to the infantry position on the Poix--Servigny line, fending off for a time the pursuing enemy with case-shot. But to this position the Prussians now held on staunchly, although completely out-flanked on their left. Potier's Brigade ascended the northern slope of the Vallières valley, but found it impossible to reach Servigny. A moment later Cissey's Brigade rushed forward from the west, and seized the graveyard outside the village. The French IVth Corps struck at the centre of the Prussian position, but without success. Its effort to penetrate between Poix and Servigny was frustrated by the offensive stroke delivered by the battalions of the 2nd Brigade constituting the last reserve--a counter attack in which all the troops at hand at once joined. With drums beating they hurled themselves on the French, swept them out of the graveyard, and drove them back down the slope. In support of the fierce fight here, the 3rd Brigade about half-past eight marched on Noisseville, whence it promptly expelled the small detachment found in possession, but subsequently yielded to superior numbers, and withdrew to St. Marais. The din of strife had now fallen silent at all points, and the fight seemed to be ended. The infantry of the 1st Division were moving into the villages, and the artillery was going into bivouac, when suddenly at nine o'clock a great mass of French infantry advanced in the darkness to an attack on Servigny. This proved to be Aymard's Division; it entered the village without firing a shot, surprised the garrison, and drove it out after a fierce hand-to-hand fight. This episode remained unnoticed for a long time, even by the nearest troops; but these then rushed to arms, and pouring in from all sides, drove the French back beyond the graveyard, which thenceforth remained in German possession. It was now ten o'clock at night. The 1st Division had kept its ground against an enemy of superior strength; but the French had penetrated into the unoccupied gap between the 3rd and 4th Brigades, and were a standing menace to the German flank at Servigny from their position at Noisseville. _September 1st._--The 18th Division, by a night-march, crossed from the left to the right bank of the Moselle at four o'clock in the morning, and reinforced with a brigade both flanks of the line Malroy--Charly--Bois de Failly. The 25th Division was now able to fall back from Antilly to St. Barbe, where, with the 6th Landwehr Brigade, it formed a reserve for the Poix--Servigny position. On the morning of the 1st of September a thick mist still shrouded the plain when all the troops stood to arms. Marshal Bazaine now again indicated to his generals the seizure of St. Barbe as the prime objective, since that alone could render possible the march to the north; and he added, "In the event of failure, we shall maintain our positions." This expression could only indicate the intention, in the event specified, of remaining under shelter of the cannon of Metz, and evinced but little confidence in the success of the enterprise now engaged in.[29] So early as five o'clock the 3rd Brigade had deployed on the Saarlouis road to prevent the further progress of the enemy on the left flank of the 1st Division. It swept the slopes in the direction of Montoy with the fire of twenty guns, and when Noisseville had been well plied for a considerable time by the fire of the artillery of the 2nd Brigade, about seven o'clock the 43rd Regiment carried the village by storm. A fierce fight ensued in and about the houses: two French brigades struck into the combat, and after a long whirl of fighting the German regiment was driven out again. Battalions of the 3rd Brigade came up just as the fight was over, but the attack was not renewed. Now that the direction of the French effort to break out was no longer doubtful, the 28th Brigade had started from Courcelles at six in the morning to reinforce the Ist Corps. Its two batteries silenced those of the French at Montoy, and then directed their fire on Flanville. The enemy soon began to abandon the burning village, which, at nine o'clock, the Rhinelanders entered from the south and the East Prussians from the north. Marshal Le Boeuf again sent forward Bastoul's Division on Montoy, but the extremely effective fire of the Prussian artillery compelled it to turn back. The 3rd Brigade had meanwhile taken up a position on the upland of Retonfay, where it was now joined by the 28th. The 3rd Cavalry Division was reinforced by the Hessian Horse Brigade, and these troops with the artillery mass made up presently to 114 guns, formed a rampart against any further progress of the IInd and IIIrd French Corps. The fighting had now died out on the right wing of the French army; but the IVth Corps had been enjoined to await the direct advance of the troops of that wing before renewing its attack on the artillery-front and village entrenchments of the line from Servigny to Poix, whose strength had been proved on the previous day. But towards eleven o'clock, after Noisseville had been heavily bombarded, the 3rd Prussian Brigade, supported by the Landwehr, advanced southward of the position, pushed its attack against that point, and compelled the French to withdraw from the burning village. Marshal Canrobert, on the northern front of the sortie, had brought up his batteries at Chieulles by half-past eight, and their fire, seconded by that of the artillery of the fortress, caused a temporary evacuation of Rupigny; but the village was soon reoccupied. Tixier's Division had made two fruitless attempts to seize Failly, and now, on the other hand, the 36th Brigade of the 18th Division came up, and taking the offensive in conjunction with the Reserve Division, at ten o'clock drove the French back over the Chieulles stream. They made still another onslaught on Failly, but the flanking fire made this also a failure. Marshal Le Boeuf, though he still had more than two Divisions to oppose it, held himself obliged to retreat on account of the approach of the Prussian 3rd Brigade on his right flank; and in consequence of the receipt of this intelligence, Marshal Bazaine at mid-day ordered the fighting to be broken off at all other points. The Army of the Rhine which issued from Metz on August 31st, with a strength of 137,000 men,[30] had been successfully opposed by no more than 36,000 Prussians. In this battle for the first time in the war the French were the assailants, the Germans had the rôle of the defence. That the Germans lost 3400 men against the loss of 3000 by the French, must be attributed to the higher properties of the infantry weapon of the latter. But the superiority of the Prussian artillery was decisively proved, and this it was which rendered possible General von Manteuffel's unshaken resistance. The VIIth Corps remained on the right bank of the Norelle, where the line of investment was now further strengthened by the arrival of the XIIIth Corps under the command of the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg. On the left bank the IInd and IIIrd Corps were now able to return to their respective previous positions. On the same day and at about the same hour when the destruction of one French army was completed at Sedan, the other was returning to an apparently more and more hopeless detention in Metz. Thus the issue of the war was already beyond doubt after a campaign of but two months' duration; though the war itself was far from being ended. FOOTNOTES: [28] The IInd and IIIrd Army. [29] The wording of Bazaine's order dispenses with any speculation on this point. He wrote, "In the event of failure, we shall maintain our positions, strengthen ourselves therein, _and retire in the evening under Forts St. Julien and Queuleu_." [30] The estimate of the total strength of the Army of the Rhine on the 22nd August is given at 137,728 men in the German Staff History. It deducts for garrison and normal outpost duty details amounting to over 17,000 men; and reckons the marching out strength for the battle of 31st August--1st September at "about 120,000 men." CHANGE OF GOVERNMENT IN PARIS. When, in the night of the 4th of September, the news of the disaster of Sedan and the Emperor's surrender became known in Paris, the Legislative Body met in a rapidly successive series of sittings for the purpose of selecting an Administrative Committee. The mob cut those deliberations short by forcing its way into the Chamber and proclaiming the Republic there and at the Hôtel de Ville, amidst the acclamations of the people. Though the troops were under arms in their barracks, the Government till now in power offered no resistance; the Empress left Paris; General Trochu and several members of the Minority in the Chamber combined to form a Government, which they styled "The Government of National Defence and War." "War to the bitter end" was its motto, and the entire nation was to be called to arms. Not an inch of territory, not a stone of the fortresses was to be yielded up to the enemy. Such a Government, devoid of any legitimate foundation, necessarily thirsted for results, and could be little disposed to allow the war to end in peace. Notwithstanding all the early reverses of the war, France was too rich in resources to find herself as yet by any means defenceless. General Vinoy was still in the field. All the scattered Corps, the Marine troops and the Gendarmerie could gather to him. There was, too, the "Territorial Militia," numbering 468,000 men, an institution which the country owed to Marshal Niel, whose far-seeing work of reorganization had been cut short only too soon. Further, there was available to be called up the falling-due contingent of 100,000 conscripts, as well as the National Guard. It followed that France was thus able to put into the field a million of men, without reckoning Franctireurs and Volunteer Corps. The reserve store of 2000 guns and 400,000 Chassepôts assured the means of armament, and the workshops of neutral England were ready and willing to fulfil commissions. Such resources for war, backed by the active patriotism of the nation, could maintain a prolonged resistance if a master will should inspire it with energy. And such a will was disclosed in the person of Gambetta. Minister of War, he had at the same time, by the French system of government, the direction of military operations, and certainly he was not the man to loosen his grasp of the chief command. For in a Republic, a victorious general at the head of the Army would at once have become Dictator in his stead. M. de Freycinet, another civilian, served under Gambetta as a sort of Chief of the General Staff, and the energetic, but dilettante, commandership exercised by these gentlemen cost France very dear. Gambetta's rare energy and unrelenting determination availed, indeed, to induce the entire population to take up arms, but not to direct these hasty levies with comprehensive unity of purpose. Without giving them time to be trained into fitness for the field, with ruthless severity he despatched them into the field in utter inefficiency as they were called out, to attempt the execution of ill-digested plans against an enemy on whose firm solidity all their courage and devotion was inevitably wrecked. He prolonged the struggle at the cost of heavy sacrifices on both sides, without turning the balance in favour of France. In any event the German chiefs had still great difficulties to overcome. The battles already won had cost heavy losses; in officers especially the losses were irreparable. Half the army was detained before Metz and Strasburg. The transport and guarding of already more than 200,000 prisoners required the services of a large part of the new levies being formed at home. The numerous fortresses had not indeed hindered the invasion of the German army, but they had to be invested or kept under observation to secure the rearward communications, and to safeguard the forwarding and victualling of troops; and each further advance into the enemy's country involved increased drafts of armed men. After the battle of Sedan only 150,000 men were available for further operations in the field. There could be no doubt that the new objective must be Paris, as the seat of the new Government and the centre of gravity, so to speak, of the whole country. On the very day of the capitulation of Sedan, all the dispositions were made for the renewal of the advance. To spare the troops, the movement was to be carried out on a very broad front, which involved no risk, for of the French Corps, the XIIIth alone could possibly cause any detention. And, indeed, only Blanchard's Division of that Corps was now at Mézières; its other two Divisions had but just begun their march when they received orders to halt preparatory to returning (to Paris). RETREAT OF GENERAL VINOY. General Vinoy's most urgent anxiety was--very rightly--to reach Paris with the least possible loss. This was not very easy to accomplish, since the VIth Prussian Corps, which had taken no part in the battle of Sedan, was at Attigny in such a position that as a matter of distance, as far as to Laon, it could reach any point of any line of the enemy's retreat before, or as soon as the latter. General von Tümpling, commanding that Corps, had already taken possession of Rethel with the 12th Division by the evening of September 1st, thus closing the high-road to Paris. Only extraordinary forced marching and a succession of fortunate circumstances could save from destruction Blanchard's Division, which had already wasted its ammunition in small conflicts. General Vinoy supplied the troops with several days' rations, enjoined the strictest discipline on the march, and during the night between 1st and 2nd September set out on the road to Rethel, where he expected to find Exéa's Division; which, however, availing itself of the section of railway still undestroyed, had already gone back to Soissons. It was still early morning (of 2nd) when the French column of march came in contact with the 5th and presently with the 6th Prussian Cavalry Divisions, without, however, being seriously attacked. It was not till about ten o'clock, and within about seven miles of Rethel, that the French general learnt that place was in hostile possession, whereupon he decided on turning westward to Novion Porcien. He sent his rear-guard against the enemy's horse-artillery, but seeing hardly anything but cavalry in its front, it soon resumed the march. At about four in the afternoon the Division reached Novion, where it went into bivouac. General von Hoffmann (commanding the 12th Prussian Division) had taken up a position at Rethel, and was awaiting the enemy, of whose approach he had been warned. Having ridden out in person, he became aware of Vinoy's deviation from the Rethel road, and at four in the afternoon marched to Ecly, where he arrived late in the evening. Part of his troops scouted forward toward Château Porcien. General Vinoy, on learning that this road, too, was closed to him, quited his bivouac again at half-past one on the morning (of 3rd), leaving his fires burning, and set out on a second night-march in pouring rain and total darkness. At first he took a northerly direction, to reach Laon at worst by the byways. By tracks fathomless in mud, and with frequent alarms, but without being reached by the enemy, he trudged into Château Porcien at half-past seven on the morning of the 3rd, and there halted for a couple of hours. The trend of the roads now compelled him again to take a southerly direction, and when the head of his column reached Séraincourt, the sound of firing told him that his rear had been attacked by the Germans. The Prussian cavalry had, early the same morning, discovered the French departure, but this important information found General von Hoffmann no longer in Ecly. He had already started thence to search for the enemy at Novion-Porcien, where he might well be expected to be after his first night-march, but at half-past nine the Prussian general found the place empty. Thus, that morning, the German and French Divisions had marched past each other in different directions at a distance apart of little more than four miles. The thick weather had prevented them seeing each other. General Vinoy this day reached Montcornet, in what plight may be imagined. The 12th Division continued its pursuit in the westerly direction, but came up only with the rear stragglers of the fast-retreating enemy, and took up alarm-quarters in Chaumont Porcien. This march of the enemy ought not indeed to have remained unobserved and unchecked under the eye of two Cavalry Divisions, but it has to be said that these were called off at an unfortunate moment. It was, in fact, in consequence of a report that the French forces were assembled at Rheims, that the Headquarter of the IIIrd Army had ordered the immediate return of the VIth Corps and the two Divisions of cavalry. These at once relinquished the pursuit, and General von Tümpling ordered his two Infantry Divisions to march at once on Rheims. The 11th, which had been holding Rethel, set out forthwith. General von Hoffmann, on the contrary, followed up the French, on his own responsibility, as far as was possible without cavalry to overtake them. Not till the following day did the 12th Division reach the Suippe. _September 4th._--General Vinoy made his way northward again, by way of Marle, where he received the news of the Emperor's surrender and of the outbreak of the revolution in Paris. His presence there was now of the greatest importance, and on the 13th he reached the French capital with the two other divisions of his Corps from Laon and Soissons. THE MARCH ON PARIS OF THE IIIRD ARMY AND THE ARMY OF THE MEUSE. During these occurrences the German armies, on the 4th September, had begun their advance on Paris. The first thing to be done was to disentangle the mass of troops assembled in the cramped space around Sedan. The IIIrd Army, of which the XIth and the Ist Bavarian Corps were still remaining there, had to make two long marches forward in order that the Army of the Meuse should regain its line of supply (Etappen-line). The news of a great assemblage of French troops at Rheims soon proved to be unfounded. Early on the 4th, detachments of Prussian horse entered the hostile and excited city, the 11th Division arrived that afternoon, and on the following day the German King's head-quarters were established in the old city where the French Kings had been wont to be crowned. On the 10th of September the IIIrd Army had reached the line Dormans--Sezanne, and the VIth Corps had pushed forward to Château Thierry. The Army of the Meuse, after the failure of a coup-de-main on Montmédy, was advancing between Rheims and Laon. Cavalry sent far in advance covered this march executed on a front so exceptionally broad. The scouts everywhere found the inhabitants in a very hostile temper; the franctireurs attacked with great recklessness, and had to be driven out of several villages by dismounted troopers. The roads were in many places wrecked by the tearing up of the stone pavement, and the bridges were blown up. On the approach of the 6th Cavalry Division Laon had capitulated. Small detachments of troops of the line were taken prisoners, 25 guns, 100 stores of arms and ammunition were seized as prizes, and 2000 Gardes-Mobiles were dismissed to their homes on parole to take no further part in the war. While friends and foes were assembled in large numbers in the courtyard of the citadel, the powder-magazine blew up, having probably been intentionally fired, and did great damage both there and in the town. The Prussians had fifteen officers and ninety-nine men killed and wounded; among the wounded were the Division-Commander and his general-staff officer. The French lost 300 men; the commandant of the fortress was mortally wounded. On the 16th the Army of the Meuse was between Nanteuil and Lizy-on-Ourcq; the 5th Cavalry Division had advanced to Dammartin; the 6th to beyond Beaumont, sending patrols up to before St. Denis. The IIIrd Army was spread over the area from Meaux to Compte Robert. Strong military bridges had been thrown over the Marne at Trilport and Lagny to replace the permanent ones which had been blown up, and on the 17th the Vth Corps reached the Upper Seine. To secure the draw-bridges at Villeneuve St. Georges, the 17th Brigade pushed on down the right bank of the Seine towards Paris, and at Mont Mesly it encountered Exéa's Division, which had been sent out by General Vinoy to bring in or destroy stores of supplies. The fight which ensued ended in the French being driven back under shelter of Fort Charenton. The IInd Bavarian Corps also reached the Seine on this day and bridged the river at Corbeil. The 2nd Cavalry Division was in observation in front of Saclay, towards Paris. The Royal head-quarter moved to Meaux by way of Château Thierry. The complete investment of the French capital was now imminent. The works constructed under Louis Philippe effectually protected the city from being taken by storm. The artillery armament of the place consisted of over 2627 pieces, including 200 of the largest calibres of naval ordnance. There were 500 rounds for each gun, and in addition a reserve of three million kilogrammes of powder. As concerned the active strength of the garrison, besides the XIIIth Corps which had returned from Mézières, a new Corps, the XIVth, had been raised in Paris itself. These 50,000 troops of the line, 14,000 highly efficient and staunch marines and sailors, and about 8000 gensd'armes, customs officers, and forest-guards, formed the core of the defence. There were besides 115,000 Gardes-Mobiles, who had been drawn in from outside at an earlier date. The National Guard was formed into 130 battalions, which, however, being defective in equipment and poorly disciplined, could be employed only in the defence of the inner circle of fortifications. The volunteers, though numerous, proved for the most part useless. In all the besieged force was over 300,000 strong, thus it was far more than double the strength of the besiegers as yet on the spot, of whom there were at the outside only about 60,000 men available, with 5000 cavalry and 124 field-batteries. On the Seine the defence had five floating batteries and nine section-built gunboats originally intended for the Rhine; on the railways were some guns mounted on armour-plated trucks. Great difficulties necessarily attended the victualling of two million human beings for a long period; however, the authorities had succeeded in gathering into Paris 3000 oxen, 6000 swine, and 180,000 sheep, with considerable stores of other provisions, so that perfect confidence was justifiable, that Paris could hold out for six weeks at least. Orders issued from the head-quarter at Meaux charged the Army of the Meuse with the investment of the capital on the right bank of the Seine and Marne,[31] and the IIIrd Army with the section on the left bank of both rivers. As a general rule the troops were to remain beyond range of the fire of the fortress, but, short of that, were to keep as close as possible so as to curtail the circuit of environment. The close connection of the two armies was to be secured above Paris by several bridges across both the rivers, and below the city, by the cavalry occupying Poissy. To the IIIrd Army was to belong the duty of reconnoitring in the direction of Orleans. In case of any attempt to relieve the capital it was to allow the relieving force to approach within a short distance, and then, leaving the investment to be maintained by weak details, to strike the enemy with its main body. Without relief from outside, a close passive blockade must inevitably result in the capitulation of Paris, though probably not for some weeks or even months. As an ultimate compulsory measure there remained recourse to a bombardment. At the time when Paris was fortified it was not foreseen that improvements in the artillery arm would double or treble the range of fire. The exterior forts, especially on the south, were at so short a distance from the enceinte that the city could easily be reached by the fire of heavy batteries. The Germans have been blamed for not having had recourse at an earlier date to this expedient of bombardment; but this criticism indicates an inadequate appreciation of the difficulties which stood in the way of its earlier execution. It may safely be accepted that the attack of a large fortified place in the heart of an enemy's country is simply impossible so long as the invader is not master of the railways or waterways leading to it, by which may be brought up in full quantity the requisite material. The conveyance of this by the ordinary highways, even for a short distance, is in itself a herculean undertaking. Up to this time the German army had the control of only one railway in French territory, and this was fully occupied in the maintenance of supplies for the armies in the field: in bringing up reinforcements and equipment; in conveying rearward wounded, sick and prisoners. But even this much of railway service ended at Toul; and the attempt to turn that fortress by laying a temporary section of line found insurmountable difficulties in the nature of the ground. Further forward there interposed itself a scarcely inferior obstacle in the complete destruction of the Nanteuil tunnel, to repair which would probably require weeks. Even then, for the further transport from Nanteuil up to the Paris front of 300 heavy guns with 500 rounds for each gun, there were requisite 4500 four-wheeled waggons, such as were not in use in the country, and 10,000 horses. Thus a bombardment was, in the earlier period, not to be thought of, and in any case the object of it would not be to destroy Paris, but merely to exert a final pressure on the inhabitants; and this influence would be more effectual when a long blockade had shaken the resolution of the besieged than it was likely to be at the beginning of the investment. _September 18th._--Corresponding directions communicated to the respective army commands, ordered the resumption of the march on the enemy's capital. On the 18th the Army of the Meuse, swinging leftward, had the XIIth Corps at Claye, the Guard Corps at Mitry, and the IVth Corps at Dammartin, one march from Paris. All the villages in front of St. Denis were occupied by the French. It seemed as if the investment on the north front of Paris would be resisted, and the Crown Prince of Saxony took measures for next day to follow up and support the IVth Corps, which led the advance. The 5th and 6th Cavalry Divisions, hastening on to Pontoise, were given two companies of Jägers and a pontoon train, and after a bridge had been laid they crossed the Oise. The Vth Corps of the IIIrd Army passed over the Seine at Villeneuve-St.-Georges and advanced to Palaiseau and the Upper Bièvre. The advanced guard came into collision with Bernis' French Cavalry Brigade. The 47th Regiment at once proceeded to the attack, and stormed the walled farmsteads of Dame Rose and Trivaux. But on the southern skirt of the forest of Meudon the whole of the French XIVth Corps was drawn up; on its left stood a Division of the XIIIth Corps. The regiment retired on Petit Bicêtre without being followed, and there took up a defensive position. The IInd Bavarian Corps marched from Corbeil by Longjumeau on a parallel front with the Vth Corps, and on the right the VIth occupied both banks of the Seine. These Corps, too, had several brushes with the enemy. The Würtemberg Division at Lagny and Gournay was to cross the Marne forthwith, and so establish communication between the two armies. FOOTNOTE: [31] Viz., from the Marne above Paris in a wide half-circle to the Seine below it. The rayon of the Army of the Meuse subsequently extended to the right bank of the Seine above Paris. INVESTMENT OF PARIS. (September 19th.) On the 19th September the IVth Corps met with no opposition in its advance to St. Brice; it drove detachments of the enemy from the neighbouring villages back under cover of the heavy guns of St. Denis, and pushed forward towards the Lower Seine. The Guard Corps followed it as far as Dugny, and lined the Morée brook, which was dammed up at its mouth, and afforded useful cover for the line of investment along a considerable distance. Further to the left the XIIth Corps took up a position extending to the Marne, and on the left bank of that river the Würtemberg Division advanced to Champigny. On this day the Vth Corps of the IIIrd Army marched on Versailles in two columns. The 47th Regiment had again the duty of covering the march along the hostile front. The French evidently were anxious to remain masters of the important heights in front of the fortifications of Paris, and in the early morning two divisions of their XIVth Corps marched out of the neighbouring forest of Meudon against Petit Bicêtre and Villacoublay. Supported by a numerous artillery, which set on fire the farm-buildings of Petit Bicêtre, they drove back the German outposts; but reinforcements from the Vth Corps presently came up to Villacoublay, and to Abbaye aux Bois from the IInd Bavarian Corps. The left brigade of the latter had crossed the columns marching on Versailles in the valley of the Bièvre; but the sound of fighting from the field of strife induced General von Dietl[32] to advance with his detachments as they came up singly, on both sides of the high-road to Bicêtre. A conjunct assault with the Prussians still fighting in the Bois de Garenne, was successful in repulsing the French at Pavé blanc. Meanwhile the enemy by half-past eight had formed an artillery front of fifty guns, and three regiments of march advanced to renew the attack on Petit Bicêtre and the Bois de Garenne. They were received with a destructive musketry fire, and not even General Ducrot's personal influence could persuade the troops, who were young recruits, to go forward. The Zouaves posted about the farm of Trivaux were finally thrown into such confusion by some shells falling among them that they hurried back to Paris in headlong flight. General Ducrot had to abandon his attempt. His Divisions retired in evident disorder on Clamart and Fontenay, under cover of the artillery and of the cavalry, which had resolutely endured the hostile fire; pursued at their heels by the German troops. The Bavarians stormed Pavé blanc under a heavy cannon fire; the Prussians retook Dame Rose after a trivial skirmish, and pushed on past the farm of Trivaux into the forest of Meudon. The French still held the heights of Plessis-Piquet, which were to them of vast importance and very easy of defence, as well as the redoubt at Moulin de la Tour, where nine field-batteries at once came into action, the fire from which commanded the whole of the western field of operations. The main body of the Bavarian Corps had meanwhile moved southward, and during its advance on Fontenay aux Roses, about nine o'clock, it came under a hot fire from the height, as well as a flanking fire from a redoubt near Hautes Bruyères. Being informed of the situation at the scene of conflict on the plateau of Bicêtre, General von Hartmann (the Corps Commander) at once sent thither an artillery reinforcement, and ordered the 5th Brigade to attempt a junction to his left by way of Malabry. As soon as this brigade had deployed under a hot Chassepôt and artillery fire between Pavé blanc and Malabry, General von Walther (commanding 3rd Bavarian Division) passed to the attack of Plessis-Piquet. The artillery advanced to a short distance on the hither side of the park wall, and then the infantry broke out from the wood of Verrières, and, after a brief but sharp struggle, took possession of the mill lying to the southward. After half an hour's artillery preparation, the Bavarians advanced on Hachette by rushes, and broke into the park of Plessis. The French kept up a hot fire from the redoubt of Moulin de la Tour on the localities wrenched from them, by which the Bavarian field batteries suffered severely; but they still effectively supported the further advance of the infantry, who now got close in under the earthworks. However, the defenders were already on the point of retiring, and when about three o'clock one Bavarian company entered, it found the place deserted and the guns left in position. Caussade's Division had left Clamart and was on the way to Paris; Maussion's had abandoned the heights of Bagneux on the pretence of having received mistaken orders, and Hughes' Division was with difficulty brought to a halt under cover of Fort Montrouge. The Bavarian Corps now took up the position it had won on the plateau of Bicêtre to the right of the Vth Corps. The fight had cost the former 265 men and the latter 178; the French lost 661 killed and above 300 prisoners. The condition in which the French XIVth Corps returned to Paris caused such dismay that General Trochu found himself obliged to withdraw a Division of the XIIIth from Vincennes for the defence of the enceinte. It was subsequently argued that it would have been possible to capture one of the forts on this day by forcing an entrance along with the fugitive enemy, with the result of materially shortening the siege. But the forts did not need to open their gates to shelter fugitives, to whom those of the capital stood open. The escalade of masonry escarpments eighteen feet high can never be successful without much preparation. Ventures of this character are rarely ordered by superior authority; but can be attempted only in a propitious moment by those on the spot. In this case probable failure would have endangered the important success of the day. The Vth Corps had meanwhile proceeded on its march to Versailles; a few National Guards, who had collected at the entrance to the town, were driven off or disarmed by the German Hussars. The 9th Division held the eastern exits of the town, the 10th encamped at Rocquencourt, and strong outposts were pushed out on the Bougival--Sèvres line. The 18th Brigade, which remained at Villacoubay to support the Bavarians in case of need, did not reach Versailles until the evening. The 3rd Bavarian Division remained on the heights in front of Plessis Piquet, its outposts confronting the forest of Meudon, where the French were still in possession of the château; and the pioneers at once altered the redoubt of La Tour du Moulin so as to front north. The 12th Division was encamped at Fontenay and rearward as far as Châtenay. The main body of the VIth Corps had taken position at Orly, its outposts extending from Choisy le Roi past Thiais to Chevilly. Maud'huy's Division attempted to drive in the outpost line at the last-named village, but without success. A brigade of the same Corps at Limeil, on the right bank of the Seine, was engaged in skirmishing with the French at Créteil. Within touch, further to the right, the Würtemberg Division held the (left) bank of the Marne from Ormesson to Noisy le Grand, behind which latter place the pontoon bridge near Gournay assured communication with the Saxon Corps. Thus on the 19th of September the investment of Paris was complete on all sides. Six Army Corps stood in a deployment some fifty miles in circumference immediately in front of the enemy's capital, in some places actually within range of his guns, its rear guarded by a large force of cavalry. FOOTNOTE: [32] Commanding 1st Bavarian Infantry Brigade. FIRST NEGOTIATIONS FOR PEACE. In full expectation of a battle to the north of Paris, the King had ridden out to join the Guard Corps, and in the evening his head-quarters were moved to Ferrières. Here thus early Monsieur Jules Favre made his appearance to negotiate for peace on the basis of "not one foot of soil." He believed that after all their victories and losses, the Germans would come to terms on payment of a sum of money. It was self-evident that such a proposal could not be taken into consideration, and only the eventuality of granting an armistice was seriously discussed. It was in the political interest of Germany as well, to afford the French nation the possibility of establishing by its own free and regular election a government which should have full right to conclude a peace creditable to the people; for the self-constituted de facto Government ruling in Paris was the offspring of a revolution, and might at any moment be removed by a counter-revolution. From a military point of view it was true that any pause in the active operations was a disadvantage. It would afford the enemy time to push forward his preparations, and by raising for a time the investment of Paris would give the capital the opportunity to reprovision itself at discretion. The armistice could, therefore, only be granted in consideration of a corresponding equivalent. To secure the subsistence of the respective German armies, Strasburg and Toul, which now intercepted the railway communication, must be given over. The siege of Metz was to be maintained; but with regard to Paris, either the blockade was to continue; or, if it were raised, one of the forts commanding the capital was to be occupied by the Germans. The Chamber of Deputies was to be allowed to meet at Tours in full freedom. These conditions, especially the surrender of the fortified places, were absolutely rejected on the French side, and the negotiations were broken off. Eight days later Toul and Strasburg were in the hands of the Germans. REDUCTION OF TOUL. (September 23rd.) As soon as the German coast seemed no longer threatened by the danger of a landing of French troops, the 17th Division, which had been left behind there, was ordered to join the army in France. It arrived before Toul on September 12th. This place, in itself exempt from capture by storm but commanded by neighbouring heights, had till now been invested by Etappen troops of the IIIrd Army, and shelled by the guns taken at Marsal and with field-guns, but without any particular effect. The infantry on the other hand had established a footing behind the railway embankment and in the suburbs close up to the foot of the glacis, so that sorties by the garrison were rendered almost impossible. In view of these circumstances half the Division was presently sent to Châlons, where sixteen battalions and fifteen squadrons barely sufficed to deal with the extremely hostile attitude of the people, hold the Etappen-lines and safeguard the communication with Germany. Thus only seven battalions, four squadrons, and four field-batteries remained before Toul. On the 18th there arrived from Nancy by railway ten 15 cm. and sixteen 12 cm. siege guns. The intention was to attack the western face, which was enfiladed from Mont St. Michel, and then to breach the south-west bastion; but first an (unsuccessful) attempt was made to reduce the place by the shorter process of subjecting it to a bombardment with field artillery. On the night of the 22nd battery-emplacements for the siege artillery were constructed by the infantry; three on Mont St. Michel, seven on the heights on the left bank of the Moselle, and one on the right bank. Next morning sixty-two guns opened fire, and at half-past three in the afternoon the white flag was hoisted on the Cathedral. The handing over of the place followed the same day (23rd), on the conditions as had been granted at Sedan. A hundred and nine officers were released on parole, 2240 rank and file were taken prisoners. Six companies took possession the same evening of the city, which on the whole had suffered little. Twenty-one heavy guns, about 3000 stand of arms, and large stores of provisions and forage were the prizes of success. REDUCTION OF STRASBURG. (September 28th.) Immediately after the victory of Wörth, the reduction of Strasburg became a primary object. This strong fortified position, bridge-head as it was commanding the Rhine, was a standing menace to Southern Germany. When Marshal MacMahon evacuated Alsace, only three battalions of the line were left with the commandant of Strasburg. But with stragglers from the various regiments engaged at Wörth, with sundry fourth battalions and reserve detachments, and finally with Mobiles and National Guards, the strength of the garrison had increased to 23,000 men. There was a complete absence of engineer troops, but 130 marines formed an excellent nucleus; the armament of the fortress was also ample. So early as on the 11th August the Baden Division had been detailed to observe Strasburg. Notwithstanding the smallness of its force the Division had advanced unchecked by the enemy on the Ruprechtsau as far as the Rhine-and-Ill Canal; had occupied the village of Schiltigheim, almost within rifle-shot of the fortifications: and, having promptly prepared it for defence, pushed forward into the suburb of Königshofen. In the course of eight days there arrived, under the command of General von Werder, the Guard Landwehr and 1st Reserve Divisions, and one cavalry brigade, in all 46 battalions, 24 squadrons, and 18 field-batteries; as well as a siege-train of 200 rifled cannon and 88 mortars, with 6000 foot artillerymen and ten companies of fortress-pioneers; a total strength of 40,000 men. The unloading of the guns brought from Magdeburg, Coblentz, and Wesel was begun on August 18th at the railway station of Vendenheim, by a detachment of the Railway Battalion. The engineer-depôt was established at Hausberge, a wagon-park at Lampertsheim, and provision made for permanent magazines. A complete blockade was established, and the field-telegraph kept up communication between all the posts. To attain the desired end with the least possible delay, an attempt was made, contrary to the advice of General of Engineers Schultz, though with the sanction of the supreme Head-quarter, to force the town to surrender by stress of a bombardment. The request that the women and children should be allowed to withdraw was necessarily refused. The erection of the batteries for the bombardment in the dark, wet nights was attended with great difficulties. Meanwhile only the field-guns could fire on the city; but the batteries whose armament of heavy guns was complete opened fire on the night of the 24th--25th; and soon a great fire was raging. Kehl, on the right bank of the river, was also set on fire by the shell-fire. The Bishop of Strasburg came out to the outposts at Schiltigheim to entreat forbearance for the citizens. Much as damage to this German city was to be regretted, since the Prelate was not empowered to negotiate the bombardment was continued through the night of the 25th, when it reached its height. But the headquarter staff at Mundolsheim became convinced that this mode of attack would not accomplish the desired object, and that the more deliberate course of a regular siege would have to be resorted to. General von Mertens was placed in charge of the engineer operations, General Decker was given the direction of the artillery. During the night of the 29th--30th August the first parallel was opened very close to the glacis, and soon was prolonged from the Rhine and Marne canal, through the churchyard of St. Helena, to the Jewish cemetery at Königshofen. The number of batteries on the left bank of the Rhine was soon increased to 21, on the right bank to 4; so that 124 guns of the heaviest calibre were ready in protected positions to begin the contest with the guns of the fortress. The further offensive operations were directed against bastions Nos. 11 and 12 on the north-west salient of the fortress. In the night of September 1st--2nd the second parallel was completed, but not without opposition. A strong sortie of fourteen companies of the garrison made at daybreak (of 2nd) upon the island of Waken, and in front of Kronenburg and Königshofen, was repulsed. The fortress then opened a heavy fire, pouring such a storm of projectiles on the siege-works that they had to be abandoned, till at about nine o'clock the artillery of the attack had silenced the guns of the fortress. A second sortie followed on the 3rd September, which was not repulsed before it had reached the second parallel. A short truce was granted at the request of the commandant, to allow of the burial of the dead lying in front of the works. And on this day a grand salvo announced to the besieged the victory of Sedan. Incessant rain had filled the trenches of the second parallel, 2400 paces in length, ankle-deep with water, and it was not till the 9th that they were completely repaired. Five batteries were moved forward from the first parallel, as special batteries were required to crush the fire of lunette No. 44, which took in flank all the approaches. These soon silenced its guns, and the lunette was abandoned by the garrison. There were now 96 rifled cannon pieces and 38 mortars in full fire at very short range. Each gun was authorized to fire twenty rounds a day and ten shrapnel each night. The large Finkmatt Barracks were destroyed by fire, and the Stone Gate was so much injured that it had to be buttressed with sandbags. The garrison withdrew the guns behind the parapet, and only fired their mortars. However, in order to push forward the siege-works, sap-rollers had to be brought into use. When it was discovered that mining galleries were being driven in front of lunette No. 53, Captain Ledebour let himself down by a rope into the ditches, and with the help of his pioneers removed the charges of powder. During the night of the 13th--14th, the crest of the glacis in front of both the lunettes Nos. 52 and 53 was reached. The crowning was then begun by means of the double traverse sap, and was finished in four days. The attack henceforth was exclusively directed against bastion No. 11. To run off the water from the ditches of the fortress it was necessary to destroy the sluices by the Jews' Gate. These were invisible from any part of the field of attack, and the desired result could only be very incompletely obtained by artillery fire at a distance of more than a mile. Detachments of the 34th Fusilier Regiment, therefore, on the 15th, marched on the sluices under a heavy rifle fire from the besieged, and destroyed the dam. The island of Sporen was at this time taken possession of by the Baden corps. When the mortar-batteries had for the most part been moved up into the second parallel, the gun-batteries were also advanced nearer, and the wall-piece detachments did such execution by their accurate practice that the defenders never more dared to show themselves by day. The retaining wall of lunette No. 53 could only be reached by indirect fire; but 1000 shells made a breach, and on the 19th September two mines were fired, which blew up the counterscarp and brought it down to the level of the water of the ditch. The pioneers immediately set about laying a dam of fascines across the ditch. A party sent over in a boat found the work abandoned. The gorge was closed under heavy rifle fire from the ramparts of the main fortress, and the parapet reversed so as to face the place. The next lunette to the left, No. 52, was merely an earthwork, and the attack had already been pushed forward as far as the edge of the ditch, but earth screens had first to be thrown up and covered in with railway iron, as a protection against the heavy fire of shell from bastion No. 12. The construction of a dam of fascines or earth, more than sixty paces across, and with the ditch full of water almost fathom deep, would have taken a long time; so it was decided to make a cask bridge of beer-barrels, of which a quantity had been found in Schiltigheim. This work was begun at dusk on the 21st, under no better protection than a screen of boards to prevent observation, and it was finished by ten o'clock. Here again the defenders had not waited for the escalade, and this lunette, too, was immediately prepared for being held. Both lunettes were now furnished with batteries of mortars and guns to silence the fire from the ravelines and counter-guards of the front of attack, against which five dismounted and counter-batteries were also directed. During the night of the 22nd--23rd the Germans advanced from lunette No. 52, partly by flying sap and partly by the deep sap, and there followed the crowning of the glacis in the front of counter-guard No. 51. A breaching fire was immediately opened against the east face of bastion No. 11, and the west face of bastion No. 12. The splinters of stone compelled the defenders to abandon the counter-guards. The scarp of bastion No. 11 fell on the 24th, after a shell-fire of 600 rounds. The bringing down of the earthwork angle which remained standing, was postponed till the beginning of the assault. It was more difficult to breach bastion No. 12, because of the limited opportunity for observing the effect of the fire. It was not till the 26th that a breach thirty-six feet wide was made, after firing 467 long shells. And even then, for the actual assault to succeed, the deep wet ditch at the foot of the bastion had to be crossed. News of the fall of the Empire had indeed reached Strasburg, but General Uhrich would not listen to the prayers of the citizens that he would put an end to their sufferings. The Republic was proclaimed. The siege had lasted thirty days, but the place was still well supplied with food and stores; the garrison was not materially weakened by the loss of 2500 men, but its heterogeneous elements prevented its effective employment in large bodies outside the walls. From the first the small blockading force had been allowed to approach close to the works; and the moment when the artillery of a fortress always has the advantage over the attack had been little utilized. The German artillery had proved much the stronger, both as regards material and in its advantageous employment. Under its powerful protection the work of the pioneers and infantry was carried on with equal courage and caution, never swerving from the object in view. The storming of the main walls was now to be imminently expected, and no relief from outside could be hoped for. On the afternoon of September 27th, the white flag was seen flying from the Cathedral tower; firing ceased and the sapper-works were stopped. In Königshofen at two in the following morning the capitulation was settled, on the Sedan conditions. Five hundred officers and 17,000 men were made prisoners, but the former were free to go on their parole. The National Guards and franctireurs were dismissed to their homes, after laying down their arms and pledging themselves to fight no more. All the cash remaining in the state bank, 1200 guns, 200,000 small arms and considerable stores proved a valuable prize of war. At eight o'clock in the morning of the 28th, companies of Prussian and Baden troops took over the National, Fischer, and Austerlitz gates. The French garrison marched out at the National Gate, General Uhrich at their head. At first the march was conducted in good order, but before long numbers of drunken men broke the ranks and refused to obey, or threw down their arms. The prisoners were taken in the first instance to Rastatt, under the escort of two battalions and two squadrons. The old city of the German Reich, which had been seized by France in time of peace nearly two centuries earlier, was now restored by German valour to the German fatherland. The siege had cost the Germans 39 officers and 894 men. The city unhappily could not have been spared great suffering. Four hundred and fifty houses were utterly destroyed, 10,000 inhabitants were roofless, nearly 2000 were killed or wounded. The museum and picture gallery, the town hall and theatre, the new church, the gymnasium, the Commandant's residence, and alas! the public library of 200,000 volumes had fallen a prey to the flames. The noble Cathedral showed many marks of shot, and the citadel was a heap of ruins. Under the wreck of the assailed works in the western front lay buried burst cannon. The fall of Toul and of Strasburg produced a not unimportant change in the military situation. Considerable forces were now free for other services, and the railway transport could be brought up nearer to the armies. The material no longer required at Strasburg could not indeed be at once employed for the artillery offensive against Paris; it needed considerable re-equipment, and was to do duty meanwhile in the reduction of several smaller places. The newly-opened railway line was made use of to bring up the Guard Landwehr Division to the army investing Paris. A new Army Corps, the XIVth, was created of the Baden Division, a combined brigade consisting of the 30th and 34th Prussian regiments, and one cavalry brigade; which, under the command of General von Werder, marched on the Upper Seine. The 1st Reserve Division remained behind as the garrison of Strasburg. OPERATIONS ROUND PARIS TO 15TH OCTOBER. The Government in the now closely-blockaded capital, could not make its behests heard and obeyed throughout France. It therefore decided on sending a delegation of two of its members out into the provinces, their seat of direction to be at Tours. They could quit Paris only in a balloon. One of these delegates was Gambetta, whose restless energy soon made itself conspicuously felt, and lasted during the continuance of the war. Monsieur Thiers, meanwhile, had been visiting the European courts on the errand of inducing them to interpose their good offices in favour of France. After the mishap of September 19th the feeling in Paris was against any great offensive demonstrations for the present; but the troops of the line still remained outside the walls under protection of the outlying forts. The Divisions of the XIIIth Corps were encamped on the south front and on the plateau of Vincennes; the XIVth was at Boulogne, Neuilly and Clichy behind the loops of the Seine, with Mont Valérien in its front, which was held by two line-battalions, after the flight, on the 20th, of the Gardes-Mobiles from that impregnable stronghold, in great disorder back into Paris. The defence of the northern front of the city remained entrusted to the Gardes-Mobiles. On the German side the positions of the Army of the Meuse, which were to be occupied and defended to the uttermost, extended from Chatou along the Seine to the heights of Montmorency, and onward along the Morée and the skirts of the forest of Bondy as far as the Marne. In close touch with the flank of the Army of the Meuse at the Marne, the lines of the Würtemberg Division carried on the investment from Noisy le Grand across the Joinville peninsula to Ormesson. The XIth Corps arriving from Sedan on the 23rd filled up the interval from Ormesson to Villeneuve St. Georges, and the 1st Bavarian Corps occupied Longjumeau as a protection against attempts from the direction of Orleans. The VIth Corps could now be entirely transferred to the left bank of the Seine, where the line of defence extended along the wooded heights south of Paris to Bougival. The Head-quarter of the King and that of the IIIrd Army were at Versailles, that of the Army of the Meuse was transferred to Vert-Galant. Numerous bridges facilitated the inter-communication of the various portions of the forces, telegraphs and signal-lights insured their rapid concentration, and every movement of the French was watched from eligible posts of observation. There was no lack of accommodation for the troops, for every village was deserted; but this made the difficulty of obtaining supplies all the greater. The fugitive inhabitants had driven off their cattle and destroyed their stores; there remained only the apparently inexhaustible wine-cellars. For the first few days all the food needed had to be drawn from the Commissariat trains, but ere long the cavalry succeeded in obtaining considerable supplies. High prices and good discipline secured a market. Only the troops in advanced positions had to bivouac or build huts, many within range of the hostile artillery, some even within rifle-shot of the enemy. Near St. Cloud, for instance, no one could show himself without becoming a mark for the chassepôts from behind the shutters of the houses opposite. The outposts here could only be relieved at night, and sometimes had to remain on duty two or three days at a time. The advanced positions of the Bavarians at Moulin la Tour were also much exposed, and the visits of superior officers to them always drew a sharp cannonade. Le Bourget, standing as it did in advance of the line of inundation, was especially liable to a surprise. That village had been seized on 20th (Sept.) by a battalion of the Guard Corps, at whose approach 400 Gardes-Mobiles had fled, leaving their baggage. Only one company occupied this post, on account of the heavy fire of the adjacent forts. Some petty sorties from St. Denis met with no success; but an attempt by detachments of the VIth Corps to occupy the village of Villejuif and the redoubt of Hautes Bruyères proved unsuccessful. They forced their way in several times, but always had to retire under the fire of the neighbouring forts of Bicêtre and Ivry, and because of the superior strength of Maud'huy's Division. The French afterwards armed the redoubts with heavy guns. _September 30th._--Early on this day a cannonade of an hour and a half's duration from the southern forts and batteries announced a sortie in that direction. By six o'clock two brigades of the XIIIth French Corps deployed against Thiais and Choisy le Roi. Strong swarms of tirailleurs drove in the outposts of the VIth Corps, and forced the field-guns in position between those two villages to retire; but then the fire of the infantry garrisons checked any further attack on the part of the French. Further to the west a third brigade got into Chevilly and seized a factory on the road to Belle Epine; but its determined attack failed to obtain possession of the whole village. The 11th Division was alarmed in its rearward quarters, and hurried forward to the support of the 12th. The factory was recovered from the French, and the Prussian batteries now opened fire, and worked such havoc among the enemy as he retired on Saussaye, that, shunning the attack of the infantry, he fled in great disorder to Hautes Bruyères and Villejuif. A brigade which had forced its way into L'Hay was in the same way driven back, leaving 120 prisoners for the most part unwounded. In the farmstead at the north entrance of Chevilly, however, the French still held their ground with great obstinacy. Not till they were completely surrounded, and had made an ineffectual attempt to force a passage, did surrender those brave defenders, who numbered about 100. The whole series of attacks was entirely defeated by about nine o'clock, and General Vinoy vainly endeavoured to incite the diminished battalions at Hautes Bruyères to renew the struggle. These few morning hours had cost the VIth Corps 28 officers and 413 men; and the French many more. Two simultaneous feint-attacks on Sèvres and on Mesly on the right bank of the Seine, came to nothing. The German outposts, at first driven in, re-occupied their ground by about nine o'clock. After thus failing to gain space towards the southward by this sortie, the besieged proceeded to assure themselves of the ground already in their possession by the construction of entrenchments. They fortified Villejuif and extended their lines from Hautes Bruyères past Arcueil to the Mill of Pichon, so that there the Bavarian outposts had to be drawn in nearer to Bourg-la-Reine. Otherwise, throughout the first half of the month of October the garrison of Paris restricted itself for the most part to daily cannonades. Guns of the heaviest calibre were directed on the most petty objects. It was sheer waste of ammunition, just as though the aim was to get rid of the stores on hand. If one of the gigantic long shells happened to fall on an outpost, the destruction was of course terrible; but on the whole they did little execution. Apart from the noise of the cannonade to which one soon became accustomed, in Versailles, whence none of the residents had fled, it might have been thought a time of profound peace. The admirable discipline of the German troops allowed the townsfolk to pursue their business undisturbed; the hosts were well paid for the billeting imposed on them, and the country people could cultivate their fields and gardens in peace. At St. Cloud every room was kept in the same order as when the Imperial family had left it, till the shells from Mont Valérien reduced that delightful palace with all its treasures of art to a heap of charred ruins. It was the French fire, too, which wrecked the Château of Meudon, the porcelain factory of Sèvres, and whole villages in the nearer environs. And it was also the French themselves who, without any necessity, felled half the Bois de Boulogne. The investment line was considerably strengthened on the 10th and 16th of October, when the 17th Division arriving from Toul relieved the 21st at Bonneuil, and the latter took up a position between the Bavarians and the Vth Corps, in the Meudon--Sèvres tract; and when the Guard Landwehr Division came up and occupied St. Germain. These movements were observed from Paris, and to clear up the situation, General Vinoy advanced at nine o'clock on 13th October with about 26,000 men and 80 guns, against the position held by the IInd Bavarian Corps. Four battalions of Gardes-Mobiles, protected by the fire of the nearest forts and of field batteries, advanced to the attack of Bagneux, and forced their way over the entrenchments wrecked by artillery fire, into the heart of the place, whence the defenders retired to Fontenay, when at eleven o'clock the French 10th Regiment of the line had also come up. Reinforced by a fresh battalion, and supported by an effective flanking fire from Châtillon, the Bavarians now made so firm a stand that the enemy could make no further progress, but began to put Bagneux in a state of defence. Meanwhile the 4th Bavarian Division had stood to arms, and by about 1.30 General von Bothmer (its commander) moved it up from Sceaux and from Fontenay, and proceeded to surround Bagneux. The barricades erected by the enemy were carried, who however still offered an obstinate resistance in the northern part of the village. A French battalion had also made its way into Châtillon, but the Bavarian battalion in occupation there held its own until assistance came, and the enemy was driven out of the place after a sharp conflict. A third brigade seized Clamart, which at that time was not yet included in the German intrenched lines; but it failed to climb the ascent to Moulin de la Tour, although the defenders on the plateau above were exposed to the fire of the forts. General Vinoy had convinced himself that forces which were a match for him confronted him at every point, and at three o'clock he decided to break off the fight. The French bodies of troops gradually disappeared behind the forts, and had all vanished by dusk. The Bavarians returned to their former fore-post positions, and the garrison of Bagneux was increased to two battalions. All France had meanwhile been arming with eager haste. Armies of considerable strength were being massed at Rouen and Evreux, at Besançon, and especially behind the Loire, of very various composition no doubt, and above all lacking in professional officers to drill and discipline them. Great battles were therefore in the first instance to be avoided; the enemy was to be constantly harassed by small engagements. Thus, towards the end of September, General Delarue advanced from Evreux with his "Eclaireurs de la Seine" up to the vicinity of St. Germain. But the 5th Cavalry Division, supported by two Bavarian battalions, drove these bands back to Dreux behind the Eure. The woods in front of the 6th Cavalry Division were also full of hostile parties, who were, however, swept out without much difficulty beyond Rambouillet to Epernon. Matters looked more serious to the south of Paris, in front of the 4th Cavalry Division, which was in observation towards the Loire. The newly-formed French XVth Corps had assembled at Orleans in three Divisions with a strength of 60,000 men, and it occupied the whole forest-belt on the right bank of the river. To counteract the danger threatening the investment from that direction, the 1st Bavarian Corps and the 22nd Division of the XIth had been put in march on Arpajon and Montcléry as soon as they were freed from duty at Sedan; and on the 6th of October they were placed, with the 2nd Cavalry Division, under the command of General von der Tann. ACTION OF ARTENAY. (October 10th.) When General von der Tann received instructions to take the offensive against Orleans, he marched on the 9th of October to the vicinity of St. Péravy without meeting any serious opposition, and on the 10th advanced on Artenay. The 4th Cavalry Division covered the right flank; the 2nd remained near Pithiviers, where the enemy had collected in great force. General La Motterouge on the same day also moved out on Artenay with the XVth French Corps, having the wood in his rear occupied by Gardes-Mobiles; and so the advanced guards of both sides met at a short distance to the north of the common objective. While the Bavarian light horse on the right were driving the French cavalry before them, the infantry deployed across the road near to Dambron. The 22nd Division marched forward on Dambron with both Cavalry Divisions on its flanks. Under the fire of the Bavarian batteries, the French had gone about to Artenay, where the Germans were ready to receive them. Attacked in front and threatened by bodies of horse, at about two o'clock, leaving their tents standing, they began a retreat which soon degenerated into flight. The cavalry seized four field-guns and took above 250 prisoners. Six hundred more, who had reached Croix Briquet, surrendered there to the Bavarian infantry on the arrival of the latter. The German troops had made a long march; General von der Tann therefore allowed them rest for the day in and around Artenay, and only the advanced guard went on to Chevilly, to pursue the march to Orleans next day. ENGAGEMENT AT ORLEANS. (October 11th.) On this day, the 22nd Division, for the time only 6000 strong, moved to the right flank of the advance, and drove the French out of several villages partly prepared for defence; it was not till about ten o'clock that it met with serious opposition from an intrenched position at Ormes. The French Commander after the disaster at Artenay had decided on a retreat behind the Loire, to cover which he had halted about 15,000 men on the right bank of the river, in a position which possessed many essentials towards a good defence. General von Wittich (commanding 22nd Division) first sent the 44th Brigade against this position at Ormes, and opened fire from seven batteries. The troops of his left wing, supported by the Bavarian right, made their way but slowly over the plain east of the enemy's position, and various enclosures and buildings had to be stormed and taken as they advanced. This threatening attitude of the German right, however, shook the firmness of the defence, and, after some hours' hard fighting, the French began to retreat. No sooner was this observed by the Germans than two batteries were brought up to within 800 paces, and the 83rd Regiment stormed the entrenchments at two in the afternoon, but with heavy loss. Detachments of the 43rd Brigade had meanwhile reached the road in rear of Ormes, and took 800 prisoners. But the villages, gardens and vineyards which line the road to Orleans for more than four miles on either side, were serious obstacles to the advance of the Germans in close formation, and the Division did not arrive at Petit St. Jean till three o'clock, of which the nearest buildings were forcibly taken possession of. The Bavarian Corps, which had also met with a stout resistance at Saran, pushed forward to Bel Air, but with great loss, especially in the artillery. Here the nature of the ground did not allow of the deployment of the guns, a further attack came to a standstill, and at half-past four the French were still stoutly holding their own at Les Aides, till the advance of the 4th Bavarian Brigade to Murlins threatened their line of retreat. They made a renewed stand behind the railway embankment, 1000 paces in front of the town, and the railway-station and gas-works had also to be taken by assault. It was already five o'clock when General von der Tann led his reserve, the 1st Bavarian Brigade, to the decisive assault of Grand Ormes. The 32nd Prussian Regiment crossed the embankment on the left flank of the French, who now retired into the suburb of St. Jean. The 1st Bavarian Regiment, hurrying in their rear, was received with a hot fire at the gate of the city; but with its officers marching at its head it reached the market-place about seven o'clock. The French hurried across the bridge over the Loire, while the 43rd Prussian and 1st Bavarian Brigades seized the principal buildings and the passages across the river; but as darkness fell they desisted from further advance and bivouacked on the open places of the city. The day had cost the Germans a loss of 900 men, the 3rd Bavarian Brigade having suffered most severely. But their hard-won victory promptly dispelled the disquietude of the investing armies caused by the threatening attitude of the French; and 5000 rifles, ten locomotives and sixty railway-carriages were welcome prizes. The French rear-guard had lost in detached combats and retreats alone 1800 prisoners; but it had covered the retreat of the main body of the Army of the South for a whole day against superior forces, with praiseworthy determination. In the open field, where skilful handling of masses is possible, it would soon have been defeated; but in street-fighting unflinching personal courage is all that is needed in the defender, and the latest recruits of the newly created French levies did not lack that attribute. On the following day the 1st Bavarian Division took possession of the suburb of St. Marceau, on the further side of the Loire, and advanced to the Loiret. The 2nd Cavalry Division scouted through the Sologne, the 4th on the right bank ranged to the westward. The French XVth Corps had continued its retreat to Salbris and Pierrefitte, behind the Sauldre. It was certainly to be wished that its pursuit could have been followed up to Vierzon and Tours, so that the vast arsenals at the first-named town might have been destroyed, and the Government Delegation driven away from the other. But it must not be forgotten that though the French forces had been discomfited at Artenay, favoured by the nature of the locality they had escaped utter defeat by retreat. General von der Tann was disproportionately weak in the infantry arm, and hostile masses were disclosing themselves on all sides. A new French Army Corps, the XVIth, appeared at Blois, below Orleans, and at Gien, above that city; the German cavalry met with resistance in the forest of Marchénoir and before Châteaudun; and everywhere the inhabitants and volunteers appeared so full of confidence that the proximity of reinforcements was to be presumed. So it behoved the Germans to restrict themselves to the occupation of Orleans and the line of the Loire; and for this purpose the Bavarian Corps, with the 2nd Cavalry Division, seemed a sufficient force. The 22nd Infantry and 4th Cavalry Divisions were recalled to the IIIrd Army; on their return march they were charged to disperse the volunteers who had made their appearance at Châteaudun and Chartres. General von der Tann had the bridges over the Loiret and the Loire prepared for destruction, an Etappen-line was established to Longjumeau, and the Bavarian Railway Detachment set to work to restore the line to Villeneuve. REDUCTION OF SOISSONS. (October 15th.) Soissons still hindered the further utilization of the railway, which had been re-opened at the time of the fall of Toul as far as Rheims. This fortress had been bombarded by field artillery without success when the Army of the Meuse passed by it on the march to Paris, and since then it had only been kept under observation until on October 6th eight Landwehr battalions, four squadrons, two batteries, two companies of pioneers, and four of fortress artillery made good the investment. Soissons, with its walls about 26 feet high, had complete immunity from escalade, and the damming of the Crise brook made it unassailable on the south. The south-west front, on the other hand, had only a dry ditch, with no counterscarp of masonry; here, too, the town was commanded by Mont Marion, rising to a height of 300 feet at a distance of little more than a mile. Against this face of the fortress, therefore, the artillery attack was directed at short range, when on the 11th October there arrived from Toul 26 Prussian siege-guns with 170 rounds for each, and 10 French mortars. The Grand Duke of Mecklenburg took over the command. In a clear moonlight night the artillery with the help of the infantry was brought up on to the heights of Ste. Geneviève; the construction of the batteries about Belleu and in Mont Marion was completed and the arming of them effected. At six in the morning of 12th October they opened fire simultaneously. The besieged answered with great spirit but with small results, and the accurate fire of the Prussian artillery soon subdued that of the enemy in the particular front. A narrow breach was visible by next day, and the fire from the fortress was evidently much enfeebled; but the commandant decidedly rejected the demand that he should capitulate. On the 14th he increased the number of guns on his south front, so that the batteries on Ste. Geneviève had an arduous struggle. The French also laboured hard along the front of the attack to restore the severely damaged works, brought more guns up to the ramparts, and closed the breach by retrenchment. But on the 15th these repairs were soon demolished again by the artillery of the attack, and a breach was made 40 paces wide and amply spread with earth. As the fortress still kept up a brisk fire, it was determined to bring up the field-batteries within 900 paces. But at eight in the evening, when this operation was just begun, the commandant opened negotiations and surrendered the place on the Sedan terms. The garrison marched out next morning, for the most part drunk. A thousand Gardes-Mobiles were dismissed on parole, 3800 regulars were made prisoners. The attack had cost 120 men; 128 guns and 8000 small arms became prize of war, besides vast stores of provisions. STORMING OF CHÂTEAUDUN. (October 18th.) In obedience to instructions, General von Wittich marched on Châteaudun with the 22nd Division on the afternoon of the 18th. The French troops of the line had already been ordered to retire on Blois, but about 1800 National Guards and volunteers still remained, prepared under cover of barricades and walls to receive the enemy. The infantry attack was also made more difficult by the nature of the ground, and four batteries had to keep up a hot fire for a long time. It was not till dusk that a general assault was had recourse to. Inside the town the enemy made a desperate resistance. House after house had to be won, the fighting lasted until late into the night, and a large part of the place was set on fire. The volunteers finally escaped, leaving 150 prisoners and abandoning the inhabitants to their fate; and these, though they had taken part in the struggle, were let off with a fine. At noon on the 21st the Division arrived in front of Chartres, where 10,000 French were said to have assembled. The marine infantry and Gardes-Mobiles advanced to the attack, but were repulsed by the fire of seven batteries. The General commanding the Division had deployed both his brigades southward of the city, and with the assistance of his cavalry, which had been joined by the 6th (Cavalry) Division, completely surrounded it. The fate of Châteaudun had been a warning to the municipal authorities, and at three o'clock an agreement was come to by which the troops were to be withdrawn, the National Guards to lay down their arms, and the gates to be thrown open. General Wittich's orders were to remain at Chartres for the present, while the 6th Cavalry Division was to occupy Maintenon, and so cover the investing army to the west. Not less fervid was the rush to arms in the north, in Picardy and Normandy. The Saxon Cavalry Division, supported by detachments of the Army of the Meuse, had in the early part of October driven the franctireurs and Gardes-Mobiles beyond the Oise and the Epte on Amiens, taking some hundreds of prisoners. But fresh swarms were constantly coming on, and had to be attacked at Breteuil, Montdidier, and Etrêpagny, so that no less than eleven battalions, twenty-four squadrons, and four batteries, were by degrees employed in this direction for the protection of the besieging force. But by the end of the month the French forces were so systematically organized and in so great strength, that for the time the Germans had to confine themselves to holding on the defensive the line of the Epte. To the south-east also, in the forest-land of Fontainebleau, hostilities were prosecuted by the volunteers, particularly against requisition-parties of cavalry; and from Nangis obstruction was threatened to the transport of the siege-guns. A small force of Würtemberg troops seized Montereau, which, though barricaded, was not defended; the inhabitants gave up their arms, and the detachment marched on Nogent. This town was held by a large body of Gardes-Mobiles. After breaching the walls of the churchyard, the Würtembergers, in the face of a hot fire, made their way into the place. The French still offered a stout resistance in its interior, but finally retired on Troyes, leaving 600 dead and wounded. The small flying column rejoined its Division, having traversed over 126 miles in six days. SORTIE AGAINST MALMAISON. (October 21st.) The French capital had now been invested for more than four weeks, and it seemed not impossible, because of the long continuance of inactivity, that it might be brought to surrender by famine. All the sorties hitherto attempted had only had for their object to drive the enemy from the closest vicinity; a new effort was to aim at greater results. The project was to cross the Seine below Paris at Bezons and Carrières, and to make a simultaneous attack on the positions of the IVth Prussian Corps on the heights of Argenteuil from the south, and from St.-Denis from the east. A march on Rouen by Pontoise was to follow, into a district not yet altogether exhausted of resources. The Army of the Loire was also to proceed thither by railway by way of Le Mans, and so there would be massed in that region an army of 250,000 men. The Prussian Vth Corps, it was true, stood right on the flank of such an advance across the Seine; its outposts had several times been seen in Rueil. As a preliminary step, General Ducrot undertook to force back this body with 10,000 men and 120 field-guns. Then an intrenched line from Valérien to Carrières would close the peninsula against interference from the southward. Perhaps, in the face of much-dreaded "public opinion" and the growing restlessness of political parties in Paris, it was more the urgency to be doing something than any serious hope of success which gave rise to such far-reaching schemes. Considerable difficulties had to be met in attacking the enemy's lines, and greater must inevitably arise if the attack should succeed. It was vain to think of bringing through the miles-long trains which are indispensable for victualling an army. Serious embarrassment would ensue when the troops had consumed the three days' rations they would carry with them. To live on the country the army must disperse itself; but with the enemy at its heels close concentration was indispensable. And, in any case, it is hard to see what would have been gained by withdrawing from Paris the forces which had been assembled for the defence of the capital. Success could only have been hoped for if an army from without had been so near as to be able immediately to give the hand to the troops marching out. However, on the 21st of October, after Mont Valérien had all the morning kept up a seemingly ineffective fire, General Ducrot advanced at about one o'clock to attack the position of the Prussian 19th Brigade whose supports held the line Bougival--Jonchère--Fohlenkoppel. Fourteen French field-batteries deployed on either side of Rueil and about the southern base of Valérien; the infantry advanced in five columns behind this artillery front. On the German side only two batteries could at first engage in the unequal duel, and one of these near the Villa Metternich had very soon to retire. The French guns advanced rightward to within 1400 paces of Bougival, and at three o'clock four companies of Zouaves rushed out of Rueil. Being received with a hot fire, they wheeled into the park of Malmaison, and without opposition seized the Château of Buzanval and the eastern slope of the deep-cut ravine of Cucufa. And here one of their batteries was brought up into the fighting-line to support them. While the main body of the 9th Division advanced from Versailles on Vaucresson, the 10th deployed against the ravine and at Villa Metternich. The infantry fire lasted for a full hour, and wrought the French much loss. When at about four o'clock they seemed sufficiently shaken, and a reinforcement of the Guard Landwehr had come up from St. Germain on the left, the German left wing advanced from Bougival and over the height of Jonchère, forced its way into Malmaison in spite of violent opposition, and followed the retreating Zouaves as far as Rueil. The right wing at the same time having turned the head of the Cucufa ravine, charged against its eastern slope, drove out the enemy, seized the battery of two guns, and occupied the Château of Buzanval. The French now retired on all sides, firing ceased by six o'clock, and the 10th Division, which had repulsed the enemy's assaults single-handed, re-established its previous fore-post line. The struggle had cost the Germans 400 men. The French, on the other hand, had in this luckless enterprise left 500 dead and wounded, and 120 prisoners. Soon after this affair the French began to throw up entrenchments within 800 paces of the line of the Guard Corps; and in the early morning of the 28th, General Bellemare, under cover of the darkness, advanced on Le Bourget with a force of several battalions. The German company in occupation there, taken completely by surprise, could only retire before such overwhelming numbers, to Pont Iblon and Blanc Mesnil. The French promptly barricaded themselves in the place and prepared it for an obstinate defence. A German battalion made a vain attempt that evening to drive them out; it was repulsed with heavy loss. Equally unsuccessful next day was the fire of thirty field-guns directed against the place from Pont Iblon. Then, however, the Crown Prince of Saxony issued imperative orders to the Guard Corps to recapture Le Bourget without delay. STORMING OF LE BOURGET. (October 30th.) Accordingly on October 30th, nine battalions of the 2nd Guard-Division and five batteries, under the command of Lieutenant-General von Budritzki,[33] were assembled at Dugny, Pont Iblon and Blanc Mesnil for a concentric attack on Le Bourget. The artillery in action along the bank of the Morée inundation opened the attack at about eight in the morning, and then the infantry went forward. The terrain was perfectly open, and the advance was under fire, not merely from Le Bourget, but also from the heavy guns of the forts. Nevertheless the Grenadier Battalion of the Queen Elizabeth Regiment, at the head of the central column, at nine o'clock made a successful assault, charging over the barricade at the northern end of the village, and entering it through a breach in the wall promptly made by the pioneers. The Emperor Francis Grenadier Regiment advanced against its western face and took possession of the park. A fierce street-fight ensued on a further advance into the village, in the course of which there fell the commanders of both regiments, Colonels von Zaluskowski and Count Waldersee. The walled farmsteads left of the main street, were stormed one after another in spite of a determined defence; the windows of the church, high up in the walls as they were, were broken in and scaled, and a hand-to-hand fight raged furiously inside the sacred building. The Guard Rifle-Battalion forced its way into the glass-works. At half-past nine the French attempted to bring up into Le Bourget reinforcements from Aubervillers and Drancy; but the left German column had meanwhile seized the railway-embankment, placed a detachment of the Emperor Alexander Regiment to hold it, and was forcing its way into the southern quarter of the village. Two batteries had taken up position on the Mollette brook, and their fire drove back the enemy and even compelled him to evacuate Drancy. At ten o'clock the French still held the buildings on the north side of the Mollette. These were now assailed from the south. The 4th Company of the Emperor Alexander Regiment crossed the stream and forced its way through a breach made by the sappers into the farmstead in which the enemy's main force was gathered. The defenders had to be quelled with the bayonet and with clubbed arms, and here the French Colonel de Baroche met his death. Although by this time--eleven o'clock--all the three attacking columns had struck hands in the heart of Le Bourget, the enemy continued the struggle in detached houses and gardens with embittered desperation till the afternoon, while all the forts on the north front of Paris overwhelmed the place with shell-fire. It was not till half-past one that the troops of the attack could withdraw by companies to their respective quarters. Two battalions remained to garrison Le Bourget. The desperate resistance of the French showed how important they considered their retention of this post. Its success had cost the 2nd (Guard) Division 500 men. The enemy's loss is not known, but 1200 prisoners were taken. This new disaster added to the dissatisfaction of the inhabitants of Paris. The revolutionary factions, which at all times lurk in the French capital, came ominously to the front. Highly-coloured reports could no longer conceal utter lack of results; the authority of the Government was steadily on the wane. It was accused of incapacity, nay, of treason. Noisy mobs clamoured for arms, and even a part of the National Guard took part in the tumult. The Hôtel de Ville was surrounded by a throng shouting "Vive la Commune!" and though other troops dispersed these gatherings, the ringleaders, though well known, went unpunished. On the 31st of October uproarious masses again paraded the streets. As General Trochu had forbidden the sentries at the Hôtel de Ville to use their arms, the rebels forced their way in. The Ministers were their prisoners till the evening, when some battalions which remained staunch liberated them. Monsieur Thiers, who had returned from his fruitless tour among the European Courts, thought the time had come for re-opening negotiations with Versailles. On the part of the Germans there was still the readiness to grant an armistice, but it was naturally impossible to accede to the condition demanded by the French, that the city should be re-provisioned, and so hostilities had to take their course. At this time, towards the end of October, the situation on the Moselle had assumed an aspect which essentially modified that of the whole war. * * * * *[34] By the exchange of German prisoners for French who had fought at Sedan, details of the disaster which had befallen France in that battle were currently known in Metz. But Marshal Bazaine declared that the Army of the Rhine would continue to defend the country against the invaders, and maintain public order against the evil passions of disloyal men--a resolution which certainly could be interpreted in more ways than one. It would have been eminently satisfactory to the Germans, politically speaking, if there had been in France an available power, apart from the pretentious but feeble Government in Paris, with which to come to an understanding as regarded the termination of the war. Permission was therefore given for the admission to Metz of a person representing himself to have a commission from the exiled Imperial family. As he was unable to authenticate himself in this capacity to the satisfaction of Marshal Bazaine, General Bourbaki was allowed to pass through the German lines that he might betake himself to London, where, however, the Empress Eugénie declined all intervention in the already so disastrous affairs of France. The General then placed his services at the disposal of the National Defence Government at Tours. Meanwhile the army which had been beleaguered in Metz since the day of Noisseville maintained a waiting attitude. The necessary supplies for 70,000 inhabitants, including the country-folk who had taken refuge in the city, had originally been enough to last three months and a half, those for the regular garrison were calculated for about five months; but for the Army of the Rhine there was sustenance in store for only forty-one days, and there was forage for only twenty-five. Certainly it was possible to supplement the supplies for the troops by purchase from the abundant stores of the citizens; but ere long smaller rations of bread were served out and horses were being slaughtered to furnish animal food, so that most of the cavalry regiments were reduced to two squadrons. On the German side, the service of supplying 197,326 men and 33,136 horses was one of great difficulty. The outbreak of cattle-plague in Germany restricted the importation of live beasts to those purchased in Holland and Belgium. The meat rations had to be supplemented by tinned provisions; and increased rations of oats had to take the place of hay and straw. The losses of the army had hitherto been made good from the reserves, but the transport of the prisoners from Sedan alone required the services of fourteen battalions of the force blockading Metz. Thus it had not yet been possible to provide sufficient shelter for the troops near the wide extension of the entrenched line. Raw, rainy weather had come on early in the season, and a fourth part of the men were still roofless; so that by degrees the sick in hospital reached the alarming number of 40,000. Although fifty heavy guns had been brought up from Germany, they were useless for the bombardment of Metz, since in consequence of the superior calibre of the fortress artillery they could only be fired at night, and with frequent change of position. There was nothing for it but to hope for the best, and have patience. For four weeks already had the besieged been consuming their stores. To replenish those in some degree, and at the same time to revive the spirit of the troops by active measures, the Marshal decided on fetching in all the provisions to be found in the villages inside the line of the German investment, under cover of a sortie. At noon on September 22nd Fort St. Julien opened a heavy fire on the outposts of the Ist Corps. Strong bodies of infantry then advanced on the villages to the eastward, drove in the picquets of the enemy, and returned to Metz with the stores which had been seized. But a similar attempt made next afternoon on the villages to the north was less successful. Most of the waggons had to return empty, under the fire of the Prussian batteries quickly brought up into position. Finally, on the 27th, a sortie for the same purpose was made to the southward, which led to a series of small conflicts and the capture in Peltre of a German company, which was surrounded by a much stronger force. A simultaneous sally on the left bank of the Moselle was baffled by the fire of the alert artillery of the besieging force. Thionville, on the north of Metz, had hitherto only been kept under observation by a small force, which could not hinder the garrison from scouring the country as far as the neighbouring frontier, taking many prisoners, seizing fifty waggon-loads of supplies, and even diverting into the fortress a whole train of provision-trucks while passing by the now restored railway from Luxemburg. In point of fact, the Army of the Rhine would have found in Thionville an important rallying-point at the end of its first day's march, if the blockade of Metz could have been broken through. Prince Frederick Charles, realizing this, took care to strengthen the investing lines to the north, on the right bank of the Moselle. On October 1st the Xth Corps took up the position hitherto held by the Reserve Division Kummer, which was transferred to the left bank of the river. The Ist, VIIth, and VIIIth Corps closed up to the right, and the IInd occupied the space between the Seille and the Moselle; the troops before Thionville were also reinforced. The Marshal had really once more determined to break out to the northward, and that on both banks of the river. New bridges were constructed behind St. Julien and from the island of Chambière, the nearest German outposts on the north and west of Metz were pushed back by a series of daily skirmishes. Under cover of the fire of the forts the French established themselves firmly in Lessy and Ladonchamps. The troops to be left in Metz were expressly selected; the others tested as to their marching powers. Light-signals were arranged with Thionville, and all preparations made for a sortie on the 7th. Then the French commander suddenly changed his mind, and the proposed enterprise collapsed into a foraging expedition. For this, indeed, large forces were set in motion; the Guard Voltigeur Division, the VIth Corps, and the IVth in the forest of Woippy. The movement was also to be supported by the IIIrd Corps on the right bank of the river. Four hundred waggons were in readiness to carry off the stores from the large farms lying north of Ladonchamps. FOOTNOTES: [33] Commanding 2nd Guard-Division. [34] In text there is at this point no Section-Headline, although the subject changes; but the succeeding pages till commencement of new Section are headed: "Die Lage vor Metz im October." This heading is followed in translation. SORTIE FROM METZ AGAINST BELLEVUE. (October 7th.) Although the start from Woippy planned for eleven o'clock, was not effected till one, the Landwehr companies on outpost duty were driven in by superior numbers, and as they defended their positions till their ammunition was exhausted, they also lost a considerable number of prisoners. But the artillery of the Landwehr Division prevented the removal of the stores; the 5th Division advancing from Norroy struck the left flank of the French attack and drove the enemy back on Bellevue, where a stationary fight developed itself. The French IIIrd Corps advanced on the right bank of the Moselle against Malroy and Noisseville. Here, too, the outpost line fell back; but behind it stood the Xth and Ist Corps, ready for action. The respective Corps commanders at once perceived that this attack was only a feint. Although threatened himself, General von Voigts-Rhetz sent his 38th Brigade across the Moselle at Argancy by half-past two to assist the Landwehr Division, and when General von Manteuffel forwarded him supports to Charly, the 37th Brigade followed. No sooner had the first reinforcements arrived than General von Kummer on his side took the offensive, recaptured the farmsteads from the enemy after a sharp struggle just as the latter were about to retire, and then, supported on the right by part of the 5th Division, moved on Bellevue at about six in the evening. Ladonchamps, however, still remained in the hands of the French. Late in the evening the 19th and Reserve Divisions advanced on this place. The premises of the château, which were surrounded by a moat, were carefully intrenched and strongly defended by infantry and guns. The darkness precluded effective artillery action, and the attack failed; but all the other points previously held by the Germans were re-occupied. The day had cost the Prussians 1700 killed and wounded, besides 500 reported missing. The French loss was given out to be no more than 1193. This attempt on the part of the French might be regarded as tentative, and preliminary only to a real effort to break through; perhaps it was so intended. The German troops therefore remained in the positions they had occupied at the close of the fighting, in expectation of renewed hostilities on the morrow. The forts in fact opened a heavy fire on the farm-buildings early on the 8th, while the German batteries directed their fire on Ladonchamps. Strong columns also advanced along the right bank of the Moselle, but nowhere attempted a serious attack. The Prussian troops therefore presently retired to their quarters. The artillery duel was carried on for the next few days, but with diminished energy. Constant rain made all field operations very difficult, and increased the sufferings of the men on both sides. In Metz the lack of victuals was becoming very painfully felt. So early as on the 8th the commandant had announced that his stores would not last longer than for twelve days. A council of war, held on the 10th, was, however, of opinion that the greatest service the Army of the Rhine could do to France was to hold out as long as possible, since it thus continued to detain a hostile army under the walls of Metz. The Marshal now sent General Boyer to negotiate at Versailles, but his instructions were to demand a free exit for the army and explicitly to refuse the terms of the Sedan capitulation. The state of affairs in Metz was perfectly well known to the Germans. The number of men who were taken willing prisoners while digging potatoes increased every day. They reported that disturbances had broken out in the city, in which even part of the soldiers had taken part, and that the commander-in-chief had been compelled to proclaim the Republic. And since the Empress had declared that she would never give her consent to any diminution of French territory, no further political negotiations were possible with the chiefs of the Army of the Rhine. On the 20th the distribution of stores came to an end within the fortress, and the troops thenceforth for the most part subsisted on horseflesh. The original stock of 20,000 horses was reduced by a thousand a day. The want of bread and salt was severely felt, and the soaked, deep ground made living in camp almost unendurable. After the failure of the negotiations at Versailles, the imperative necessity of entering into negotiations with the Headquarter of the besieging army was recognized by a council of war held on the 24th. The first interview had no result, as the Marshal still stipulated for free egress on condition of withdrawing to Algiers, or the alternative of an armistice with the reprovisioning of Metz. On the German side the surrender of the fortress and the march out of the garrison as prisoners of war were insisted on, and on these conditions the capitulation was signed on the evening of the 27th of October. CAPITULATION OF METZ. (October 27th.)[35] On the morning of the 29th[35] Prussian flags were hoisted on the great outworks of Metz. At one o'clock the French garrison marched out by six roads in perfect silence and correct military formation.[36] At each specified position a Prussian Army Corps stood to receive the prisoners, who were immediately placed in bivouacs previously prepared, and supplied with food. The officers were allowed to keep their swords and to return to Metz; provisions were immediately sent in. Marshal Bazaine set out for Cassel. In the course of the day the 26th Brigade occupied Metz. The city had suffered no injury, but the state of the camps showed what the troops had suffered during the siege of seventy-two days. The Germans during that time had lost 240 officers and 5500 men in killed and wounded. Six thousand French officers and 167,000 men were taken prisoners, beside 20,000 sick who could not be at once removed, about 200,000 in all.[37] Fifty-six Imperial eagles, 622 field and 876 fortress guns, 72 mitrailleuses and 260,000 rifles fell into the hands of the Germans. The prisoners were transported by way of Trèves and Saarbrücken, escorted by Landwehr battalions, and as these would have also to guard them when in Germany, their return to field service was not to be reckoned on. FOOTNOTES: [35] The Protocol embodying the terms of capitulation was signed on the evening of the 27th; its provisions came into effect at and after 10 a.m. of the 29th. [36] On the contrary, there were much drunkenness and disorder. [37] The 20,000 sick were included in the total of 173,000 officers and men surrendered. NEW DISTRIBUTION OF THE ARMY. The capitulation of Metz, which Prince Frederick Charles had brought about under such serious difficulties, materially improved the prospects of the war for Germany. At the Royal Headquarter at Versailles, even before the catastrophe but in confident anticipation of it, decisions had been arrived at as to the respective destinations of the forces it would release for service, and communicated in advance to the superior Commanders. The Ist, VIIth and VIIIth Corps, with the 3rd Cavalry Division, were thenceforth to constitute the Ist Army, under the command of General von Manteuffel. Its orders were to advance into the Compiègne region and cover the investment of Paris on the north. But apart from these orders it had various other duties to fulfil; it was to occupy Metz and lay siege to Thionville and Montmédy. The IInd, IIIrd, IXth and Xth Corps, with the 1st Cavalry Division, were to constitute the IInd Army under the command of Prince Frederick Charles, which was ordered to advance on the Middle Loire. OPERATIONS OF THE XIVTH CORPS IN THE SOUTH-EAST. (October.) Since the fall of Strasburg the newly-formed XIVth Corps had been employed in safe-guarding the communications between the German armies standing fast respectively before Metz and before Paris. General von Werder had no great battle to look forward to, but a succession of small engagements. To prepare his four infantry brigades for independent action under such circumstances, he detailed artillery and cavalry to each. In this formation the Corps crossed the Vosges by the two roads through Schirmeck and Barr, driving swarms of hostile Franctireurs out of the narrow passes without material delay. But on emerging from the mountains it at once met with serious opposition. The French General Cambriels had been at Epinal with about 30,000 men ever since the beginning of October, and under cover of this force numerous battalions of National Guards and Gardes-Mobiles had been formed in the south of France. On the 6th, General von Degenfeld[38] with the advanced guard of the Baden force approached St. Dié, marching on both banks of the Meurthe. The weak column was beset on all sides by far superior forces, yet after repeated attacks it succeeded in taking the villages which the enemy had been holding. The struggle, which lasted seven hours, ended with the eccentric retreat of the enemy to Rambervillers and Bruyères. It had cost the Germans 400 and the French 1400 men. The Baden force bivouacked on the field, and presently found that the French had evacuated St. Dié. General Cambriels had, in fact, collected all his available forces in intrenched positions about Bruyères. The Baden Brigade advanced on these on the 11th, drove the Gardes-Mobiles and volunteers from the outlying villages, climbed the heights on both sides of the town, and forced its way into it with inconsiderable loss. The enemy retired to the southward on Remiremont. From the small resistance hitherto made by the French, though so far superior in numbers, General von Werder assumed that they would hardly make a stand before reaching Besançon, so he immediately countermanded further pursuit, though somewhat early in the day, and concentrated his forces on Epinal, which place was taken possession of by the Germans after insignificant fighting. From thence an etappen-route and telegraph-line were opened to Lunéville and Nancy, magazines were formed, and the trains, which were following the Corps from Saverne by Blamont to Baccarat, were brought up. The railway along the Moselle remained, however, useless for a long time, in consequence of injury done to it by the enemy. General von Werder was now anxious, in accordance with his instructions of September 30th, to march on the Upper Seine by Neufchâteau, but a telegram from the supreme Headquarter directed him in the first instance to complete the rout of the enemy in his vicinity under General Cambriels. The Corps accordingly put itself in motion forthwith through Conflans and Luxeuil on Vesoul, and information was received that the enemy had in fact halted at the Ognon, taken up quarters there, and received reinforcements. General von Werder determined to attack at once. He ordered that the passages over the river should be secured on the 22nd; further decisions were postponed till reports should be brought in. The 1st Baden Brigade came up on the right by nine o'clock, reaching Marnay and Pin without having encountered the French; it secured the bridges there, and then halted to await further orders. On the left flank the franctireurs were driven out of the woods by the 3rd Brigade, which also stormed Perrouse, and at about half-past two seized the bridge over the Ognon at Voray. In the centre the head of the advanced guard of the 2nd Brigade entered Etuz after a slight skirmish, but had to withdraw at eleven o'clock to the northern bank, before the enemy's flank attack from out the woods. Afterwards, when the main force came up and the artillery opened fire, the place was taken for the second time at one o'clock. But a prolonged fire-fight ensued, the French making an obstinate stand in front of the passage over the river at Cussey. Orders had already been sent to the 1st Brigade to move up on the southern bank from Pin on the enemy's flank and rear. But it could not reach the ground until six o'clock, when the battle was over. When two batteries had made good the possession of the bridge over the Ognon under a heavy fire, the enemy hastily retired, pursued by the Badeners; he was again driven out of his rearward positions, but when night fell he still remained in possession of several points in front of Besançon. The Germans had lost 120 men, the French 150 and 200 prisoners. In opposition to Gambetta, who was himself in Besançon, General Cambriels obstinately resisted every order to renew the advance, and would only consent to maintain his strong position under the walls of the fortress. Parties sent out to reconnoitre on the right reported the presence of French forces at Dôle and Auxonne, the advance-guard probably of an "Army of the Vosges" under Garibaldi, which was assembling on the Doubs. General von Werder disregarded it, and on the 26th moved his Corps to Dampierre and Gray. Beyond the Saône all the roads were broken up, the woods choked with abatis, and the whole population in arms. But the franctireurs and Gardes-Mobiles were dispersed without difficulty, and a column marching without any precautions was driven back on the Vingeanne brook, where 15 officers and 430 men laid down their arms. From further reports and the information of the prisoners it was known that Dijon was strongly garrisoned. In expectation, therefore, of an attack from that side, the XIVth Corps was assembled behind the Vingeanne, whence early on October 30th General von Beyer[39] marched on Dijon with the 1st and 3rd Brigades. Filled with apprehension by recent events, the National Guards in Dijon had already laid down their arms, the Gardes-Mobiles and the line troops of the garrison had retreated southwards; but the inhabitants were assured that the forces would be brought back to defend them. About 8000 men were available, but they insisted on their commander pledging himself to fight only outside the city. The advanced posts on the Tille were driven in by the Baden advanced guard; the village of St. Apollinaire and the neighbouring heights were taken with a rush at noon, in spite of a hot fire. Meanwhile the main body had come up, and at three o'clock six German batteries opened fire. The vineyards and numerous farmsteads in the neighbourhood of Dijon, and especially the strongly barricaded park south of the city, gave the defence a great advantage. Nevertheless, the Baden infantry continued its steady advance and closed in on the northern and eastern suburbs by a wide encircling movement. Here a fierce combat ensued, in which the inhabitants took part. House after house had to be stormed, but the attack came to a stand at the deep-cut bed of the Suzon brook, which borders the city on the east. It was four o'clock, and the impending struggle could not be ended before dark. General von Beyer therefore broke off the fight; the battalions were withdrawn and retired to quarters in the adjacent villages; only the artillery still kept up its fire. The Germans had lost about 150 and the French 100 men; but of the latter 200 were taken prisoners. In the course of the night a deputation came out to beg that the town might be spared; its members undertook to furnish supplies for 20,000 men, and to guarantee the good behaviour of the inhabitants. The Baden troops took possession of Dijon on the 31st. Meanwhile fresh instructions had reached General von Werder. They prescribed that he was to protect the left flank of the IInd Army advancing to the Loire and at the same time to cover Alsace and the troops besieging Belfort, where two reserve Divisions had now arrived. It was intended that the XIVth Corps, while retaining its hold on Dijon, should also move to Vesoul and hold in check from there the gathering of hostile troops round Besançon and at Langres. Some offensive movement on Châlons[40] and Dôle was also insisted on. General von Werder's position was more difficult than was recognized at Versailles. At Besançon alone there were 45,000 French troops, under the command of a new leader, General Crouzat. Garibaldi had collected 12,000 between Dôle and Auxonne; lower down the Saône valley a new Corps was being formed of 18,000 men, and 12,000 National Guards and Gardes-Mobiles threatened from Langres the flank of the isolated German Corps. But the French, instead of attacking this slender force with overwhelming numbers--spread out as it was over a distance of fifty-six miles from Lure to Dijon and Gray--were haunted by the apprehension that the Germans, reinforced from Metz, might be intending an attack on Lyons. General Crouzat, leaving a strong garrison in Besançon, consequently marched to Chagny, where up to November 12th he was reinforced from the south to a strength of 50,000 men. The Garibaldian volunteers moved up to Autun to protect Bourges. General von Werder meanwhile had occupied Vesoul, and had the south face of the city put in a state of defence. The only event of importance during the course of October which remains to be mentioned was the action taken against the French forts lying rearward of the German armies. At the beginning of the month the newly constituted 4th Reserve Division, of fifteen battalions, eight squadrons, thirty-six guns, and a company of fortress-pioneers, had assembled in Baden, and crossed the Rhine at Neuenburg. The vicinity was first cleared of franctireurs, Mülhausen was occupied, and, by the express desire of its municipal authorities, the excited artisan inhabitants were disarmed. General von Schmeling (commanding the Division) was instructed to besiege Neu-Breisach and Schlettstadt, and at once set about the investment of each of these places with a brigade. On October 7th the East Prussian Landwehr invested Breisach, and the field-batteries shelled the place, but without effect. The other brigade, having been forced to detach considerably, reached Schlettstadt very weak, but was reinforced by Etappen troops to such extent that the place was invested with 8 battalions, 2 squadrons, and 2 batteries. At the same time 12 companies of fortress-artillery and 4 companies of pioneers arrived from Strasburg with the necessary siege material, and an artillery park of fifty-six heavy guns was established at St. Pilt; the engineer park was located at Kinzheim. FOOTNOTES: [38] Commanding 2nd Baden Brigade. [39] Commanding Baden Division. [40] Châlons-sur-Saône. REDUCTION OF SCHLETTSTADT. (October 24th.) At the beginning of the blockade, inundations and marsh-land rendered Schlettstadt, a fortified town of 10,000 inhabitants, unapproachable on the east and south, and partly on the north. The place itself, perfectly safe from storm, with high walls and a wet ditch, was armed with 120 guns, but garrisoned with only 2000 men, for the most part Gardes-Mobiles. There was a deficiency of safe casemates, and on the west front vineyards and hedgerows favoured the near approach of assaults, while the railway embankment was a ready-made protecting wall for the construction of the first parallel. To divert the attention of the besieged from this front of attack, a battery was constructed on the 20th at the Kappel Mill on the south-east, from which fire was opened on the barracks and magazine in the town, and on the sluice which maintained the inundation. By the evening of the 21st, the infantry posts had advanced to within 400 paces of the glacis, and the construction of the first parallel was proceeded with that night, immediately behind the railway, as well as of emplacements for six batteries within 1230 feet from the ramparts. The garrison fired in the dark on the entire field of attack, but almost without effect. By the morning the trenches were two feet wide and three and a half feet deep, and 20 heavy guns and 8 mortars were ready to open fire. A hot artillery duel now began with the fortress, which replied very steadily. The battery at the mill subjected the west front to a telling reverse fire, and several guns and embrasures were severely damaged. The town was fired at several points, and the defenders' fire gradually ceased. During the night, which was very stormy, the batteries of the attack kept up their fire, the parallel was widened and two new batteries were begun. At daybreak of the 24th the white flag was seen flying, and a capitulation was forthwith signed, by which Schlettstadt surrendered with its garrison and war-material. The commandant begged the Germans to take possession at once, as the greatest disorder reigned within the town. The public buildings were being plundered by the mob and the drunken soldiery, and a powder-magazine was actually on fire. The German battalions promptly restored order, extinguished the flames, and took away the prisoners. Seven thousand stand of arms fell into German hands, besides the fortress artillery and a large quantity of stores. The siege had cost the victors only twenty men. Schlettstadt was occupied by Etappen troops, and the battalions released from duty there marched into southern Alsace, three of them going to strengthen the siege of Breisach, which was now being proceeded with. REDUCTION OF BREISACH. (November 10th.) This fortress, lying in the plain and of very symmetrical shape, was proof against a coup-de-main because of its ditches, which were dry indeed, but faced with solid masonry. The garrison of over 5000 men had well-protected quarters in the bomb-proof casemates of the ravelins. Fort Mortier, standing near the Rhine, and constructed for independent defence, effectually commanded the ground over which the intended attack must be made on the north-west front of the fortress. Therefore 12 heavy guns were brought up from Rastatt to Alt Breisach, where the right bank of the Rhine commands the fort at effective range. It was not till near the end of October that the siege-guns arrived before New Breisach from Schlettstadt, and when the infantry had closed up and all preparations were complete, fire from 24 heavy guns was opened on the fortress on November 2nd from Wolfgantzen, Biesheim and Alt Breisach. By three o'clock a large part of the town was on fire, and detachments of infantry were skirmishing with the French posts at the foot of the glacis. Fort Mortier had suffered exceptionally severely. Nevertheless, an attempt to storm it was repulsed, but at six o'clock it capitulated, an utter ruin. Only one gun remained in serviceable condition. Two new mortar batteries were erected to shell the main fortress, the defence became perceptibly more feeble, and on November 10th Breisach surrendered on the same terms as Schlettstadt, but the garrison was allowed to march out with the honours of war. The fortifications were almost uninjured, but the town was for the most part burnt down or severely damaged. The success had cost the Germans only 70 men; 108 guns, 6000 small arms and large quantities of stores fell into their hands. While these strongholds in Alsace-Lorraine were thus being reduced, Verdun still intercepted the line of railway which formed the shortest line of communication with Germany. TAKING OF VERDUN. (November 9th.) This place, too, was made quite storm-free by high walls and deep wet ditches; but, on the other hand, it was surrounded by a ring of heights whence it could be seen into, and at the foot of these heights villages and vineyards favoured an approach to within a short distance of the outworks. The fortress was armed with 140 guns and abundantly victualled, and the garrison, which had been supplemented by escaped prisoners, was 6000 strong. A bombardment by field-artillery had already proved perfectly ineffectual. For a long time Verdun was only under observation, at first by cavalry, and afterwards by a small mixed force. At the end of September the 65th Regiment and twelve companies of Landwehr assembled under General von Gayl before the east face of the place. It was not till October 9th that two companies of fortress-artillery brought up some French heavy guns from Toul and Sedan. The infantry now advanced to within a few hundred paces of the west and north fronts and there established itself. Under this cover the construction of the batteries was begun on the evening of October 12th. The heavy ground after the rain, and the rocky subsoil very thinly covered, made the work uncommonly difficult, yet by next morning fifty-two guns were able to open fire. But the fortress replied with such effect that before noon two batteries on the Côte de Hayvaux on the westward were reduced to inaction. In the course of this three days' artillery engagement, 15 German guns were placed out of action, the artillery lost 60 men and the infantry 40. The disabled guns on the walls of the enemy were constantly replaced by fresh ones. The garrison, which was far stronger than the besiegers, now assumed the offensive. During the stormy night of the 19th--20th, the picquets on the Hayvaux were overpowered, and the guns in the battery there were spiked. On the 28th a sortie in greater force was made. The French climbed up Mont St. Michel, lying northward of Verdun, and destroyed the breast-works and bomb-proofs of the batteries, from which, however, the guns had been withdrawn. Another body pushed up the Hayvaux, and as the soaked state of the ground prevented the guns from being withdrawn, they were totally disabled. The villages in the neighbourhood were also occupied by the French. It was now evident that the means hitherto brought to bear on the reduction of Verdun were quite inadequate. But after the fall of Metz the Ist Army was able to send up reinforcements. At the end of the month 5 battalions and 2 companies of pioneers and several of artillery arrived, and also a quantity of German material. The siege park now numbered 102 guns with abundant ammunition, and preparations were at once made for a regular attack. But for this the garrison did not wait. After an armistice had been granted, the place capitulated on November 8th, in virtue of which the garrison, with exception of the local National Guards, became prisoners of war. The officers were dismissed on parole with their swords and personal property, and it was agreed that the war-material in store should be given back on the conclusion of peace. ADVANCE OF IST AND IIND ARMIES UP TO MID NOVEMBER. The Ist Army having in addition undertaken the siege of Mézières, the 1st Infantry Division moved on that place, and the 3rd Brigade, sent forward by railway to Soissons, on November 15th set about the siege of the small fortress of La Fère. The rest of the Ist Corps reached Rethel on the same day, the VIIIth Rheims, and the 3rd Cavalry Division Tagnon, between the two places named. The VIIth Corps was still fully engaged in guarding the prisoners and in besieging Thionville and Montmédy. Of the IInd Army the IXth Corps and 1st Cavalry Division reached Troyes on the 10th, the IIIrd Vendeuvre, the Xth Neufchâteau and Chaumont. The important railway connections there and at Bologne were occupied, and the injury done to the line to Blesme was repaired, so as to open up a new line of communication. The health of the German forces had been materially improved by short marches along good roads and by abundant supplies; but a telegram from Versailles now ordered an accelerated advance. The Government in Paris being powerless, the Delegation at Tours was displaying increased activity. Gambetta, as Minister both of War and of the Interior, was exercising the power almost of a Dictator, and the fiery energy of this remarkable man had achieved the feat of placing 600,000 armed men and 1400 guns in the field in the course of a few weeks. In the Arrondissements the National Guards were formed into companies and battalions; then in each Department these were consolidated into brigades; and finally the brigades were incorporated along with the nearest troops of the line and Gardes-Mobiles into the larger Army-Corps. Thus, in the course of October, under cover of the troops of General d'Aurelle de Paladines which had re-crossed the Loire, a new XVIIth Corps was made up at Blois, another, the XVIIIth, at Gien, and a third, under Admiral Jaurès, at Nogent le Rotrou. A large force was in Picardy under General Bourbaki, another at Rouen under Briand, and a third on the left bank of the Seine under Fiéreck. The detachments of the army investing Paris, which were pushed forward to the south, west, and north, already met in all directions strong forces of the enemy, which they indeed repulsed in many small encounters, but could not follow up to the places of their origin. For such purposes the arrival of the army released from the siege of Metz was needed, and this was not to be looked for before some time in November, while now in October there was threatened a general advance of the French forces on Paris. Having regard to the inferior strength of General von Tann's Division holding Orleans, at a French council of war held at Tours it was decided to recover that important place. The attack was to be delivered chiefly from the west. The French XVth Corps--two Infantry Divisions and one of Cavalry--therefore assembled at Mer on the northern bank of the Lower Loire, and the main body of the XVIth behind the forest of Marchénoir. The remaining portions of both Corps were to co-operate on the Upper Loire by way of Gien. Any further advance was not projected, at any rate for the present; on the contrary, General d'Aurelle's instructions were to form an intrenched camp about Orleans for 200,000 men. General von Tann's reconnoitring parties to the westward everywhere met hostile detachments, which were indeed driven back by restraining skirmishes into the forest of Marchénoir without much difficulty, but which betrayed the vicinity of large forces of the enemy. On the whole an attack from the south-west on the investing army before Paris seemed the likeliest event, since this would threaten both the German Head-quarter in Versailles and the siege-park at Villacoublay; while the German reinforcements from the eastward would have the furthest distance to reach the quarter indicated. The French forces to the west of Orleans were already extended over a wide stretch of country from Beaugency to Châteaudun. The volunteers grew bolder every day, and the people more hostile. At last, in quest of some more accurate information, Count Stolberg (commanding 2nd Cavalry Division) on November 7th made a reconnaissance in force. Three regiments of the 2nd Cavalry Division, two batteries, and some companies of Bavarian Infantry advanced by Ouzouer and drove the enemy out of Marolles, but they found the skirts of the forest strongly held. General Chanzy had brought up all his immediately available troops to St. Laurent des Bois. A sharp fire-fight ensued, lasting about half an hour, which caused severe losses in the Bavarian infantry; and then, as the great superiority of the French was evident, the engagement was broken off. As a matter of fact, both the French Corps were already in full march on Orleans. Reaching the forest on the 8th, they occupied it firmly, their right wing at Messas and Meung, their left at Ouzouer. The XVth Corps was next to move to the right to the Mauve and the XVIth to the left on Coulmiers. The heads of those Corps showed themselves at Bardon and Charsonville respectively. Both the French Cavalry Divisions were directed northward on Prénouvellon to turn the right wing of the Bavarians with a force of ten regiments, six batteries, and numerous volunteer bands, and thus to cut off their retreat on Paris. To counteract this attempt the Bavarian Cuirassier Brigade started for St. Péravy, the 2nd Cavalry Division for Baccon, and, further south, the 2nd Bavarian Infantry Division advancing from Orleans held the country about Huisseau and St. Ay. But an attack was also threatening the German rear from the considerable force at Gien. General von der Tann realized that it was now the last moment when he could hope to extricate himself from so hazardous a position; and that same evening he issued the necessary orders. However desirable it was to keep possession of Orleans, he could not accept battle in so thickly wooded country, where the action of his relatively strong artillery and cavalry would be seriously impeded, and where indeed he might be entirely hemmed in. The General, however, determined to strike at the most immediately threatening hostile force in the open country about Coulmiers, where he would at the same time be nearer to the 22nd Division at Chartres, on which he could call for support. General von Wittich had already asked and obtained permission to fall back on Orleans, but on the 9th he had only reached Voves, with his cavalry at Orgères; thus he could not take any direct part in that day's fighting. The IInd Army was in full march from Metz, but on this day its head had but just arrived at Troyes. ENGAGEMENT AT COULMIERS. (November 9th.) Left thus to its own resources, the Ist Bavarian Corps moved out in the night, and on the morning of the 9th stood concentrated on the skirts of the forest between Château Montpipeau and Rosières, with the village of Coulmiers in its front. The Bavarian Cuirassiers on the right wing protected the line of retreat by St. Sigismond; the 2nd Cavalry Division was distributed by brigades along the whole front, with detachments well in advance and infantry posts ready in support. Only a small detachment remained in Orleans after the bridge over the Loiret had been destroyed, to protect the numerous sick and wounded in the field hospitals, and occupy the city at any rate till the result of the fight was decided. The first reports brought in that morning were of the advance of a strong hostile column from Cravant on Fontaines and Le Bardon. This was Rébillard's Brigade, which, as it seemed, aimed at turning the Bavarian left flank and marching direct on Orleans. To oppose it on the bank of the Mauve, General von der Tann at about nine o'clock sent the 3rd Brigade in a southerly direction to Préfort, a little over two miles distant, and as at the same time a sharp contest had now begun at the outposts near Baccon, the 1st Brigade marched to La Renardière. The remainder of the Corps remained in and behind Coulmiers. The General's intention was to assume the offensive from this point against the enemy's left flank, if, as seemed probable, the latter should attempt to push his chief attack across the Mauve. In furtherance of this intention the cavalry of the right flank was ordered to close in to Coulmiers. But the superior strength of the French allowed of their fetching a much wider compass to the left. While General d'Aurelle with the XVth Corps detained the Bavarians southward of the road from Ouzouer to Orleans, General Chanzy advanced with Barry's Division against their centre and directed Jauréguiberry's Division northward against their right; and finally the strong force of French cavalry under General Reyau moved in the direction of Patay, thus threatening the German communication with Paris. This movement of the French XVIth Corps compelled General von Tann, at the very beginning of the engagement, to despatch the 2nd Brigade, which had constituted his reserve, to prolong his right wing northwards towards Champs, and thus obtain touch with the 4th Cavalry Brigade. The Bavarian Cuirassiers, retiring according to orders from St. Péravy to the southward, about eleven o'clock encountered Reyau's cavalry, which, however, restricted itself to a mere cannonade. Meanwhile, after a stout resistance, the advanced posts of the Bavarians had been driven in by the enemy's superior strength. The 1st Rifle Battalion, after having retarded the advance of the French horse-batteries through Champdry for a long time, retreated from Baccon to La Rivière,[41] where it expected to be received by the 2nd (Rifle Battalion). But the situation of the latter soon became very critical. Peytavin's Division closely followed up through Baccon, beset La Rivière with five batteries, and then attacked the burning village from three sides at once. After energetic reprisals the Riflemen retired in good order on the 1st Brigade in Renardière, where General Dietl had taken up a position for defence. After the evacuation of Baccon by the Bavarians, Barry's Division had continued its advance through Champdry, and its batteries deployed opposite Coulmiers and in front of Saintry, in preparation for an assault by strong lines of tirailleurs. The 4th Bavarian Brigade occupied the park extending to the west; the quarries further in front were occupied by two battalions, two others were sent to the right to the farmsteads of Ormeteau and Vaurichard, so as to keep up some sort of communication with the 2nd Brigade. One battery to the south and four batteries to the north of Coulmiers were supported by the 5th Cavalry Brigade. Thus at noon the Bavarian Corps, with only three brigades, held the ground from Renardière to the front of Gémigny, its front disproportionately extended to a length of more than four miles. But the French right wing remained quite inactive, so that the 3rd Brigade which had been sent to Préfort was recalled to Renardière. When the French Corps had made good its foothold opposite the thin Bavarian line, it attacked in earnest at about one o'clock. The Riflemen in Renardière had indeed repulsed the enemy's first rush, but this position was no longer tenable with only four battalions against the whole of Peytavin's Division. At about one o'clock General Dietl retired unmolested, under cover of an intermediate position, on the wood of Montpipeau, and occupied its border. Here he was joined by the 3rd Brigade, which on its retirement from Préfort had found Renardière already evacuated. The French had followed up from thence but hesitatingly, came under the fire of six batteries between the points of the forests at La Planche and Coulmiers, and made no further advance with their right wing. In the centre Barry's Division about one o'clock had driven the Bavarian Riflemen out of the stone-quarries in front of Coulmiers. Not till three o'clock did it advance to a renewed general attack on the 4th Brigade, which was repulsed by the fire of the German guns and the repeated charges of the 5th Cavalry Brigade. Meanwhile, d'Aries' Brigade of the XVth French Corps, after leaving Renardière, arrived southward of Coulmiers, and its batteries strengthened the fire which was being directed on that village. The Bavarian guns were compelled before the rush of the French tirailleurs to take ground further in rear, where they resumed their activity, while the infantry drove the French out of the park at the point of the bayonet. But after four hours' fighting the resistance of this single brigade against three French brigades had become extremely arduous. Of the whole Corps only two battalions remained intact as a reserve at Bonneville, no reinforcement was to be looked for from anywhere, and on the right flank the French threatened the communications with Chartres as well as with Paris. At four in the afternoon General von der Tann gave orders to break off the fight and to retire by brigades from the left wing on Artenay. Fresh troops of the enemy at this moment forced their way into the park of Coulmiers. Colonel Count von Ysenburg held the eastern outlets of the village, and withdrew his troops by alternate echelons through Gémigmy in good order. It now proved of the greatest importance that the 2nd Brigade should have been able to maintain its position in front of this village, thus covering the further retreat. At noon, General von Orff (in command of the Brigade), on approaching Champs and Cheminiers, had found these villages occupied by Deplanque's French Brigade. First he silenced its artillery, then he deployed his four battalions for action, with the 4th Cavalry Brigade on the right flank. Reyau's Cavalry ere long came up between these two villages, after it had given up its two hours' cannonade against the Bavarian Cuirassiers and had been driven out of St. Sigismond by dismounted hussars. But this body of horse soon got out from under the fire of the Bavarian guns and moved off to the westward, it was said because it mistook Lipkowski's volunteers, skirmishing further to the north, for German reinforcements advancing. And when the Bavarian horse-batteries opened fire on Champs from the north-east, the French abandoned the place at about two o'clock, in great disorder. General von Orff now brought the artillery up to within 500 paces of Cheminiers, and marched the infantry up through the intervals. Admiral Jauréguiberry, however, arriving in person, succeeded in rallying the wavering troops, and this attack failed. The French batteries soon compelled the Bavarian horse-batteries to retire. When, at about three o'clock, Bourdillon's Brigade and the reserve artillery of the XVIth French Corps also arrived at Champs, and news was brought of the state of the fighting at Coulmiers, General von Orff determined to refrain from all further attack, and confined himself to maintaining his position in front of Gémigny to the last extremity. Unshaken by the fire of the numerous hostile batteries, the weak brigade repulsed the repeated attacks of the enemy. Thus the 4th Brigade was enabled unmolested to retire from Coulmiers by Gémigny and St. Péravy, and the 1st, from Montpipeau further eastward, on Coinces. The 2nd Brigade followed to Coinces, and finally the 3rd formed the rear-guard as far as St. Sigismond, where it halted and bivouacked. The cavalry covered the retreat on all sides. After a short rest the retreat of the main body was continued during the night, by very bad roads. Artenay was reached by the morning. Orleans was evacuated, and the garrison which had been left there rejoined its Corps. The stores were conveyed by railway back to Toury; but one ammunition column, 150 prisoners, and the sick who could not be moved, fell into the hands of the French. This contest of 20,000 Germans against 70,000 French cost the former about 800 in killed and wounded; the enemy's loss was nearly double. From Artenay, on November 10th, the 2nd Brigade undertook the duty of covering the further march on Toury, where close quarters were available. Thither, too, came the 22nd Division from Chartres, and took up a position at Janville close to the Bavarians. General von der Tann had extricated himself from a difficult position with much skill and good fortune. The enemy did not attempt a pursuit. General d'Aurelle restricted himself to awaiting further reinforcements in a strong position before Orleans. The French preparations were, however, in greater activity on the Upper Loir and the Eure. On the German side the IInd Army Corps arrived before Paris on the 5th of November; the 3rd Division was included in the investing line between the Seine and Marne; the 4th moved on to Longjumeau. When the Guard Landwehr took possession of the peninsula of Argenteuil, a brigade of the IVth Corps became available for service on the north side of the capital. On the south side, the 17th Division at Rambouillet, the 22nd at Chartres, and the Bavarian Corps, which had moved to Ablis, with the 4th and 6th Cavalry Divisions, were ultimately formed into a separate Army-Detachment of the IIIrd Army, under the command of the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg, and it was ordered to betake itself in the first instance to Dreux. FOOTNOTE: [41] According to the _Staff History_, on La Renardière and La Grande Motte. OPERATIONS OF THE GRAND DUKE OF MECKLENBURG. On the 17th of November the 17th Division advanced by Maintenon. On the left, a French detachment was driven back across the Blaise; and when a few companies of marines, who attempted to block the high-road, had been disposed of, General von Tresckow (commanding the Division) marched into Dreux that evening. The combat had cost the Germans 50 men, the French 150 and 50 prisoners. Prince Frederick Charles, whose forces were now at length assembled before Orleans in face of the enemy, expressed the wish that the (Grand Duke's) Detachment should advance on Tours by way of Le Mans. The Grand Duke accordingly marched on Nogent le Rotrou, which place, being the central rendezvous of the French levies, promised to be the scene of an obstinate resistance. After several skirmishes the Detachment approached the place, but when on the 22nd preparations were being made to storm it from three sides, it was found that the enemy had already evacuated it. At the same time orders arrived from the supreme Headquarter, instructing the Grand Duke to fall back at once on Beaugency to join the right wing of the IInd Army, which it was necessary should immediately be reinforced in view of the superior strength of the enemy. "The force now massing before Orleans is to postpone all hostilities until the arrival of the Detachment. The slight opposition offered by the French on the Eure and Huisne sufficiently shows that no serious danger threatens on that side; the enemy in that quarter need only be kept under observation by cavalry." The Detachment was not to be permitted even a single rest day, and its march was to be conducted with the utmost speed. On the 23rd, the Divisions had closed up on their respective heads, and the Grand Duke on the 24th moved on Châteaudun and Vendôme; but the Bavarian Corps only got as far as Vibraye, while the two Prussian Divisions withdrew from the difficult country of the Perche, and the cavalry found the whole line of the Loir held by the enemy. In fact, the French had sent a brigade of the troops massed behind the forest of Marchénoir by railway to Vendôme, expressly to protect the Government at Tours, while General de Sonis had advanced with the rest of the XVIIth Corps on Brou. Here on the 25th his advance met an ammunition column and bridge-train of the Bavarian Corps. At first only the 10th Cavalry Brigade could engage the enemy, but when presently two companies and eight guns had occupied the bridge over the Loir at Yèvres, the waggons were got through Brou in safety, and the enemy could not enter that place till the cavalry had continued its march. The Bavarian Corps was meanwhile advancing on Mondoubleau and St. Calais, not certainly the shortest route to Beaugency, but, on the contrary, on the direct road to Tours. The two Divisions only reached the vicinity of Vibraye and Authon. The appearance of a hostile force at Brou was deemed of sufficient importance to justify a détour by that place, postponing for the moment the prescribed march on the Loire. But when the 22nd Division approached Brou on the 26th, it found that the enemy had already retired during the night. The Government at Tours had ordered the whole of the XVIIth Corps to concentrate at Vendôme for their protection. But when the German cavalry made its appearance at Cloyes and Fréteval, General Sonis considered that he could not pursue his march further along the Loir, and made a détour by Marchénoir. But two night-marches so shattered the levies for the first time collected in mass that whole swarms of stragglers wandered about the neighbourhood all day and could only with difficulty be re-assembled at Beaugency. To imbue the operations with unity of command, the Grand Duke was now, by instruction from the supreme Head-quarter, placed under Prince Frederick Charles's orders, and General von Stosch[42] was despatched to undertake the duties of Chief of the Staff to the Detachment. That force by the Prince's orders was to come in with all speed to Janville, whither troops of the IXth Corps would be sent to meet it by way of Orgères. The Grand Duke therefore marched, on the 27th, with both his (Prussian) Divisions (17th and 22nd) to Bonneval, where there was already a squadron of the 2nd Cavalry Division. The Bavarian Corps, which, after finding Brou abandoned, had been directed on Courtalin, marched to Châteaudun. Having thus accomplished a junction with the IInd Army, the sorely fatigued troops of the Detachment were allowed a day's rest on the 28th, in quarters on the Loir. FOOTNOTE: [42] Until then Commissary-General. He succeeded Colonel von Krenski as the Grand Duke's Chief of Staff. SITUATION OF IIND ARMY. (Second half of November.) Prince Frederick Charles had hastened the advance of his army as much as possible, but it had met with many hindrances. The roads were broken up, National Guards and franctireurs stood watchful for mischief, and even the country people had taken up arms. However, by November 14th the IXth Corps with the 1st Cavalry Division reached Fontainebleau, whence it pursued its march to Angerville. The IIIrd Corps was following on Pithiviers. Of the Xth Corps the 40th Brigade was left at Chaumont, to make connection with the XIVth Corps; the 36th reached Montargis and Beaune la Rolande on the 21st.[43] The two brigades following in rear (37th and 39th) had a sharp encounter on the 24th at Ladon and Maizières. In this combat 170 French prisoners were taken, who belonged to a corps which, as General von Werder had already reported, was proceeding under General Crouzat's command from Chagny to Gien by railway. The order of battle was found on an officer who was among the prisoners. That while the Grand Duke's Detachment was marching to join it, the IInd Army, only now fully concentrated, was in very close proximity to considerable forces of the enemy, was ascertained beyond doubt by several reconnoissances. On the 24th troops of the IXth Corps advanced along the great high-road. A few shells caused the enemy to evacuate Artenay, pursued by the cavalry as far as Croix Briquet. Early in the same day a mixed detachment of all arms from the IIIrd Corps reached Neuville aux Bois. Two detachments of the 38th Brigade marched on Bois Commun and Bellegarde, but everywhere those inquisitive reconnaissances were met by very superior numbers of the enemy. It was ascertained that the position of the French before Orleans extended for about 37 miles from the Conie to Loing; and the massing of troops, especially on their (right) flank, made it highly probable that they proposed advancing by Fontainebleau on the rear of the besieging army. Still, this intention was not so evident as to justify Prince Frederick Charles in leaving the great highways from Orleans to Paris unguarded. However, to enable him to lend his left wing timely support in case of need, he moved the 5th Infantry Division of the IIIrd Corps and the 1st Cavalry Division to Boynes, nearer to the Xth Corps which was weak, and the 6th Division occupied Pithiviers in their stead. The quarters at Bazoches vacated by the 6th Division, were assigned to the IXth Corps. Finally, the Grand Duke received orders to reach Toury with his heads of columns by the 29th at latest. These dispositions were all carried out in due course. Immediately after its success at Coulmiers the French Army of the Loire seemed for the moment only to have thought of securing itself against a counter-blow. It retired on Orleans, threw up extensive entrenchments, for which marine artillery was even brought up from Cherbourg, and awaited the arrival of further reinforcements. The XXth Corps, already mentioned, 40,000 strong, joined the XVth, XVIth, and XVIIth at Gien, in addition to one Division of the XVIIIth newly assembled at Nevers, and finally the volunteer bands under Cathelineau and Lipowski. Thus the French Army round Orleans numbered 200,000; the German infantry opposed to this host for the time reached a strength of not more than 45,000 men. Gambetta soon became urgent for renewed offensive operations. As General d'Aurelle raised objections to an advance by Pithiviers and Malesherbes, the Dictator himself took in hand the dispositions. In the night of the 22nd--23rd he telegraphed orders from Tours that the XVth Corps was at once to assemble at Chilleurs aux Bois and reach Pithiviers on the 24th; the XXth to march to Beaune la Rolande; and that then both Corps were to advance by way of Fontainebleau on Paris. The General pointed out that, according to his reckoning, 80,000 Germans must be encountered in an open country, and that it would be more advisable to await their attack in an intrenched position. Further, that this movement could be of no service in affording succour to the distressed capital, and that meanwhile there would remain unperformed the strengthening of the right wing, where on the 24th the unsteadiness of the XVIIIth and XXth Corps had caused the loss of the already mentioned fight at Ladon and Maizières. In accordance with instructions received from Tours on the 26th, General Crouzat ordered the advance for the 28th of the two Corps he commanded--the XVIIIth by the right through Juranville, the XXth by the left through Bois Commun--for an encompassing attack on Beaune la Rolande. The XVth Corps in addition was moved up to Chambon in support, and Cathelineau's volunteers went forward to Courcelles. As we have seen, on this same day the Grand Duke's Detachment had come up on the extreme right of the IInd German Army. On the left stood the Xth Corps with the 38th Brigade at Beaune, the 39th at Les Côtelles; the 37th, with the Corps artillery, had advanced to Marcilly between these two places. FOOTNOTE: [43] There seems some confusion here. The 36th Brigade belonged, not to the Xth, but to the IXth Corps. The 38th Brigade is stated in the _Staff History_ to have reached Beaune la Rolande on 23rd, the rest of the Corps (exclusive of the 40th Brigade) still behind at Montargis. BATTLE OF BEAUNE LA ROLANDE. (November 28th.) The French attack on November 28th failed because of the miscarriage of the projected combination, the two separate attempts exerting little reciprocal influence. On the right, the head of the XVIIIth Corps struck the outposts of the 39th Brigade at an early hour, in front of Juranville and Lorcy. Not until after a stout resistance were these driven in by about nine o'clock on Les Côtelles and behind the railway-embankment at Corbeilles, where they took possession of the park. The French could now deploy in the open country in front of Juranville, and following up with strong lines of tirailleurs preceding them, they forced their way into Corbeilles and drove the garrison out to the north and west. But meanwhile, on the other side, a reinforcement from the reserve at Marcilly reached Les Côtelles, and now Colonel von Valentini passed to the attack of Juranville with the 56th Regiment. The artillery could afford no co-operation, the enemy made an obstinate resistance, and not till noon did he begin to retreat, while bitter fighting still continued round some detached houses. But when strong columns came up from Maizières and Corbeilles, the Germans were compelled to abandon the conquered village, carrying off with them 300 prisoners. About two o'clock the greater portion of the French Corps deployed near Juranville for an attack on the position at Long Cour, into which the 39th Brigade had retired. But since the attack had not been prepared by artillery, it came to nothing under the fire of five Prussian batteries. The first attack on Les Côtelles was also repulsed, but when it was repeated an hour later, the Germans had to abandon the place with the loss of fifty men taken prisoners. A gun, seven of the gunners of which had fallen, sank so deep in the soft ground that the few men left could not drag it out. The XVIIIth French Corps, however, made no further way, but, as dusk came on, contented itself with an ineffective cannonade, and finally the 39th Brigade was able to maintain its position abreast of Beaune. On the left wing of the French line of battle the attack had also from the first been of an encompassing tendency, the 2nd Division of the XXth Corps having advanced on Beaune, and the 1st on Batilly. But it was near noon before the arrival of part of its 3rd Division, which had remained in reserve, enabled the enemy to drive in the German advanced posts from Bois de la Leu to the cross-roads north-west of Beaune. And here also the 38th Brigade soon found itself under the artillery and infantry fire from Pierre Percée, the enemy continually gaining ground from the northward. The retreat had to be continued along the Cæsar road, whereon a gun, of which the men and horses had for the most part perished, fell into the enemy's hands. About the same time the 2nd French Division ascended the heights to the east of Beaune, and Colonel von Cranach was first enabled to rally the 57th Regiment further rearward, near La Rue Boussier, whereby the withdrawal of the batteries hurrying away from Marcilly was covered, and the further advance of the enemy was then arrested. Any such effort on his part entirely ceased when he was suddenly threatened on his own flank by the 1st Prussian Cavalry Division advancing from Boynes, and came under fire of its horse-batteries. Meanwhile the 16th Regiment found itself completely isolated in Beaune, and surrounded on three sides by the enemy. The town, which was surrounded by the remains of a high wall, and the churchyard were as far as possible prepared for defence. The enemy, after his first onset by strong swarms of riflemen had been driven back, set about bombarding the town. His shells burst through the walls of the churchyard and set a few buildings on fire, but every attempt at an assault was steadfastly repulsed. In the meantime, General von Woyna had replenished the ammunition of his batteries, and while occupying Romainville on the right, he also took up a position opposite the copses of Pierre Percée, so that by three o'clock he was able to bring up seven companies on the east side of Beaune. About this time assistance came with the arrival of the IIIrd Army Corps. While the 6th Division was still pressing on towards Pithiviers, the 5th had already that morning stood to arms in front of that place. The first news from Beaune had sounded so far from alarming, that the Corps-artillery retired to its quarters. Nevertheless, in consequence of the increasing cannon thunder and later information of a serious encounter, General von Alvensleben gave the word for the Corps to advance, with the 5th Division of which General von Stülpnagel had already set out of his own initiative. The 6th followed, and detached a battalion to observe towards Courcelles; wherein, however, Cathelineau's volunteers remained inactive. Part of the 52nd Regiment, which was marching at the head of the column, turned off to the right, and, supported by artillery, began a fire-fight about 4.30 against Arconville and Batilly. Another part penetrated into the Bois de la Leu and the copses near La Pierre Percée, where it recaptured the gun which had been lost there earlier. Four batteries in position on the road from Pithiviers, behind Fosse des Prés, directed their fire on the enemy still holding his ground on the west side of Beaune, from which he was finally driven by the 12th Regiment, and pursued as far as Mont Barrois. After dark the Xth Corps encamped about Long Cour, Beaune and Batilly, and the 5th Division in its rear; the 6th remained at Boynes, where the 1st Division of Cavalry also found accommodation. In the battle of Beaune la Rolande General von Voigts-Rhetz had to hold his ground against the enemy with 11,000 men against 60,000, with three brigades against six Divisions, until help reached him towards evening. This action cost the Germans 900 and the French 1300 men in killed and wounded; and 1800 unwounded prisoners fell into the hands of the Germans. In the evening the French XXth Corps had retreated as far as Bois Commun and Bellegarde; the XVIIIth, on the contrary, had taken up its position near Vernouille and Juranville, in fact, directly in front of the Xth German Corps, on the ground which the former had won. The expectation was therefore not unnatural that the fighting would recommence on the morrow. Prince Frederick Charles, therefore, directed the Xth and IIIrd Corps to assemble on the 29th in full preparedness. The IXth received orders to advance with two brigades towards Boynes and Bazoches, and the remaining troops were to follow as soon as the Grand Duke's Detachment should have reached the main road to Paris. Of it in the course of the day the heads arrived, the 4th Cavalry Division at Toury, the infantry at Allaines and Orgères. The 6th Cavalry Division, which was marching on the right flank, met first with opposition at Tournoisis. Meanwhile General Crouzat had been instructed from Tours by a message which reached him on the evening of the 28th, to desist for the present from further offensive attack, and the French right wing was thereupon drawn further back. On the 30th both Corps moved leftward, in order to be again nearer to the XVth. For the purpose of disguising this lateral movement, detachments were sent in a northerly direction and met reconnoitring parties of the German Xth and IIIrd Corps, with which skirmishes took place at Maizières, St. Loup and Mont Barrois; and the movement of the French was soon detected, in the first instance on their left flank. The Government at Tours had received news from Paris that General Ducrot would attempt on the 29th to break through the German investing lines with 100,000 men and 400 guns, and endeavour to connect with the Army of the Loire in a southerly direction. The balloon which carried this despatch had descended in Norway, whence the message had been forwarded. It was concluded from this that the General was already vigorously engaged, and that help must be no longer delayed. Commissioned by Gambetta, M. Freycinet submitted to a council of war called by General d'Aurelle, a scheme for the advance of the whole army on Pithiviers. In the event of a refusal by the Commander-in-Chief to accept the same, M. Freycinet carried an order for his supersession. It was decided in the first place to execute a wheel to the right with the left wing, Chilleurs aux Bois forming the pivot of the movement. While a front was thus being formed against Pithiviers, the Corps of the right wing on a parallel front were to await the order to move until this was accomplished. The XXIst Corps was to be sent to Vendôme to cover the left flank. THE ADVANCE OF THE ARMY OF THE LOIRE TO THE RELIEF OF PARIS. As the result of those dispositions, on the 1st of December the XVIth Corps moved on Orgères, in the direction of the railway; the XVIIth followed to Patay and St. Péravy. Opposite to these forces, on the right wing of the IInd German Army the 17th Division of the Grand Duke's Detachment had arrived at Bazoches, the 22nd at Toury, and the Bavarian Corps reached the vicinity of Orgères. Thus the hostile shock fell first on the last body. Attacked in front by a far superior force, and threatened in flank by Michel's Cavalry Division, the 1st Bavarian Brigade was forced to retreat at three o'clock to Villepion. The 2nd Brigade approaching from Orgères, halted to the west of Nonneville, and the 4th marched up to between Villepion and Faverolles, which position the Bavarians, in spite of heavy losses, succeeded in holding for a long time. On their right wing Prince Leopold of Bavaria, with the four guns of his battery still serviceable, arrested the enemy's advance on Nonneville, but under the personal leadership of Admiral Jauréguiberry the French forced their way into Villepion. As night drew on, and the want of ammunition was becoming serious, the 1st Bavarian Brigade went to Loigny; the 2nd, however, did not retreat until five o'clock to Orgères, where also the 3rd arrived in the evening, whilst the 4th joined the 1st at Loigny. The engagement cost both sides about 1000 men, and only the foremost Bavarian detachments were forced back for a short distance. This measure of success, and the news from Paris, rekindled in Tours ardent hopes of victory. As will be seen further on, a sortie from Paris on 30th November had certainly so far succeeded that the village of Epinay on the northern section of the line of investment was occupied for a short time. Thereupon it was summarily concluded that this was the village of the same name which lay to the south near Longjumeau, and that there was now scarcely any obstacle to the junction of the Army of Orleans with that of Paris. Cathelineau's volunteer Corps was directed at once to occupy the forest of Fontainebleau, and the imminent annihilation of the Germans was announced to the country. The head of the Army of Orleans, nevertheless, had barely made half a day's march in the direction of Paris, and the right wheel of the left wing remained to be accomplished. The XVIth Corps was to attempt to reach the line Allaines-Toury by the 2nd of December; the XVIIth was to follow, and the XVth, marching from Chilleurs through Artenay, was to close to the right. The Grand Duke, on the report of the great force in which the enemy was approaching, determined to march to meet him with the whole strength of the Detachment. The requisite orders were issued at eight o'clock in the morning to the Divisions, which were already standing prepared on their respective assembling-grounds. The Bavarian Corps was directed to take up a position opposite Loigny with its left wing at Château-Goury; the 17th Division to march immediately from Santilly to Lumeau, and the 22nd from Tivernon to Baigneaux. The cavalry was to undertake the protection of both wings. BATTLE OF LOIGNY--POUPRY. (December 2nd.) The Bavarian Corps was still engaged in the advance from Maladerie when the French ascended the heights to the west of Loigny. The 1st Division, therefore, marched towards Villeprévost, and the 2nd held the line Beauvilliers-Goury. At 8 a.m. General Chanzy set out with his 2nd and 3rd Divisions from Terminiers, for Loigny and Lumeau. The 1st followed in reserve, and Michel's Cavalry Division covered the left flank. In spite of the strong fire of the defenders, the 2nd Division by nine o'clock advanced close upon Beauvilliers, but then it had to give way before the onset of the Bavarians, who now on their side attacked Loigny. When, however, at 10.30 the whole French Corps advanced, deployed on a broad front from Nonneville to Neuvilliers, they had to fall back with great losses. They, however, found a rallying point at Beauvilliers, where the fire of the Corps artillery gave pause to the advance of the enemy. The combat surged backwards and forwards until, at 11.30, the 2nd Bavarian Brigade joined in the fray. The 4th Cavalry Division charged the left flank of the enemy; and Michel's Division fell back on the XVIIth Corps, numerous prisoners thus falling into the hands of the German troopers. In the meantime the Bavarian infantry had marched to Ferme Morâle with intent to renew the attack, but there found itself under fire so destructive that it was forced to turn back. Thereupon the horse-batteries on the flank enfiladed the enemy's wing with such effect, that the farm was set on fire and General von Orff found himself able to take possession of it. At Beauvilliers, meanwhile, the 2nd Division had only with great difficulty resisted the vigorous onslaughts of the French, whose rifle-swarms were already so close that the batteries were compelled to retire to positions further back. But the success of the right wing soon extended to the left. Breaking out from Beauvilliers, as well as from Château Goury, the Bavarians drove Jauréguiberry's Division back to Loigny. Shortly after noon the firing of the French became again remarkably energetic, especially against Château Goury. The battalions of the Bavarian left wing were forced back upon the park. During these events the two Prussian Divisions had continued their advance. The artillery of the 17th pressed on in order to engage the enemy, while the head of the infantry reached Lumeau in time to prevent its occupation by the opposing forces. Strong swarms of French riflemen fought their way up quite close to the place, but they were finally driven back by a well-directed fire of musketry and shell; whereupon the Division assailed the right flank of the French attack. The 22nd Division also marched through Baigneaux to Anneux, and joined in the pursuit of the retreating enemy. A number of prisoners and a battery were captured, and the enemy, after a vain attempt to make another stand near Neuvilliers, at last fled towards Terminiers in utter disorder. After this result of the fighting about Lumeau, General von Tresckow was able to go to the assistance of the hard-pressed left wing of the Bavarians. Under cover of the fire of eight batteries the 33rd Brigade moved against the flank of the French masses which were now making a fierce attack on Château Goury. Taken by surprise, these retired upon Loigny. But there, too, the Mecklenburg battalions forced in, shoulder to shoulder with the Bavarians, and it was only in the churchyard on high ground at the west end of the village, that an obstinate resistance was made for some time longer. The French, as they retired on Villepion, suffered from a destructive fire from eighty guns massed near Loigny. At 2.30 General von der Tann caused the whole of his 1st Division, after the replenishment of its ammunition, to advance once more; this movement, however, was arrested by the fire of the enemy. Michel's Division moved up to oppose the advance of the German cavalry on the right flank, but went about as soon as it came within range of the horse-batteries. Because of the exposed condition of his right flank, General Chanzy had sent a few battalions to form a refused flank[44] near Terre-noire. Behind this a brigade of the XVIIth Corps came up near Faverolles, and to the right of Villepion the Papal Zouaves advanced against Villours. General von Tresckow now threw in his last reserves. Two battalions of the 75th Regiment broke into the place at the first charge, and in conjunction with all the troops fighting in the vicinity, drove back the French columns to Villepion. The approach of darkness brought the fighting here to a close. While the French XVIth Corps had been fighting single-handed with great persistence all day, the XVth, according to orders, had advanced through Artenay along the Paris high-road. There it was opposed only by the 3rd Cavalry Brigade. That force was attacked about mid-day near Dambron by the 3rd French Division, which formed the left-flank column, while the other two Divisions held much further to the right. So soon as this information came in from the cavalry, General von Wittich moved off with the whole of the 22nd Division from Anneux in the direction of Poupry. The head of the column reached that place at the double, and succeeded in driving back the enemy, who had already broken in there and occupied the forest belts to the north. Six batteries then came into action, resting on Morâle to the south. The French deployed between Dambron and Autroches, and maintained a persistent fire while their remaining Divisions came up. After an encounter with the troops from Poupry, they occupied with their right wing the small copses which lay near, in front of the forest-land to the north, placed the artillery in the intervals, and began at three o'clock an attack from thence. This, however, withered under a fire of grape-shot from the defenders, and the menace of a charge by the 3rd Cavalry Brigade, which General von Colomb had set in motion in the open country to the west of Dambron. An attack on Morâle by the left wing from Autroches likewise miscarried. But at four o'clock the French advanced along their whole front, preceded by great swarms of tirailleurs. They were repulsed at Poupry, and likewise at Morâle, at which latter place two companies of pioneers joined in the fight; on the other hand, their right wing pushed into the forest, and compelled its defenders to retreat. But Prussian battalions yet remaining in reserve, advanced from Poupry, and drove the enemy back into the copses, where he had still to defend himself against an attack by the cavalry. The fighting was now stopped by the approach of night. The 22nd Division remained under arms till eleven o'clock in the position which it had seized, and only then withdrew to Anneux. The 3rd Cavalry Division quartered for the night in Baigneaux. The 17th Division remained in position near Lumeau, having Loigny in its front, which it occupied in concert with the Bavarians, who extended further to the right as far as Orgères. The day had cost the French 4000 killed and wounded, and the Germans fully as many, but 2500 unwounded prisoners, eight guns, one mitrailleuse and a standard belonging to the enemy were left in possession of the latter. On the French side, the XVth Corps retired to Artenay and received orders, under cover of a Division to be left there, to occupy the defensive position previously held on the skirt of the forest. Thus the intended further advance of the left wing of the Army of Orleans had not succeeded. The XVIth Corps, lacking the support of the XVIIth, had indeed lost ground, but still maintained itself with its most advanced line on Villepion, Faverolles and Terminiers. General Chanzy therefore considered himself justified in making yet another effort against the German right wing on the following day. The German strength consisted of five Corps, and stood close in front of the enemy; further reinforcements could not be immediately expected, but by the supreme Command it was judged that the moment had now come to put an end to the standing menace from the south against the investment of Paris. At mid-day of the 2nd, the order came from the Royal Head-quarter to undertake an attack on Orleans in full strength, and in the course of that day Prince Frederick Charles gave the requisite instructions to this end. It is here necessary to go back a little in order to see how circumstances developed events during November at various other points. FOOTNOTE: [44] To the German term "Haken-stellung" there is perhaps no precisely equivalent expression in our military vocabulary. "Refused flank" is probably approximate. PARIS IN NOVEMBER. The tidings, which became known on the 14th November, of the happy result of the action at Coulmiers on the 9th, had rekindled in Paris universal hope. No one doubted that the enemy would find it necessary to send large forces in the Orleans direction, which would considerably weaken the investment line, particularly in its southern section. In order to contribute towards the hoped-for approaching relief by active co-operation, three separate armies were formed out of the garrison of Paris. The first, under General Clément Thomas, consisted of 226 battalions of the National Guard, in round numbers 130,000 men. Its duty was the defence of the enceinte and the maintenance of quietude within the city. The second, under General Ducrot, constituted the most trustworthy element, especially the troops of the former XIIIth and XIVth Corps. This army was apportioned into three (Infantry) Corps and one Cavalry Division, and it consisted of fully 100,000 men and more than 300 guns. It was designed for active service in the field, and for making sorties on the investing forces. The third army, under General Vinoy, 70,000 strong, was made up of six Divisions of Gardes-Mobiles and one Cavalry Division; and to it also Maud'huy's Division of the line was assigned. It was to aid the more important sorties by diversions on subordinate fronts. In addition to all these details, 80,000 Gardes-Mobiles were in the forts, and 35,000 more in St. Denis under Admiral de la Roncière. The available military strength consequently amounted to above 400,000 men. The garrison exhibited a lively activity in petty nocturnal enterprises. The heavy guns of the defences carried to Choisy le Roi, and even as far as Beauregard, near Versailles. On the peninsula of Gennevilliers trenchwork was energetically set about, and the task of bridge-building was undertaken. Many signs pointed to an intended effort on the part of the French to break out in a westerly direction. But since, as long as the IInd Army was still incomplete, the greatest danger threatened from the south, the supreme Command in Versailles, as already mentioned, ordered the IInd Corps into the position behind the Yvette from Villeneuve to Saclay. On the north of Paris the Guard Corps extended itself leftward as far as Aulnay, the XIIth sent one brigade across to the south bank of the Marne, and the Würtemberg Division moved into the interval between the Marne and the Seine caused by the shifting of the IInd Corps. On November 18th the summons from Tours reached Paris, calling on the latter with all promptitude to reach the hand to the Army of the Loire; certainly somewhat prematurely, since, as we know, that army was at the time concerning itself only in regard to defensive measures. In Paris all preparations were actually made for a great sortie. But as the earlier attacks on the front of the VIth Corps had shown that this section of the investment was materially strengthened by fortifications about Thiais and Chevilly, it was decided in the first instance to gain the plateau east of Joinville and from thence to bend rightward towards the south. The attention of the Germans was to be distracted by attacks in the opposite direction. On the 18th,[45] the day on which the Army of Orleans had vainly striven to press forward to Beaune la Rolande, General Ducrot assembled the IInd Army of Paris in the neighbourhood of Vincennes, and Mont Avron was occupied on the following day by Hugues' Division of the IIIrd Army. As, however, the construction of the bridges (over the Marne) at Champigny and Bry was delayed, the battle was postponed till the 30th; but it was left to the commanders of the subordinate affairs to carry them out simultaneously with the chief enterprise or in advance of it. Accordingly, Maud'huy's Division assembled in the night of 28th--29th behind the redoubt of Hautes Bruyères, and advanced against L'Hay before daybreak. Warned by the heavy firing from the southern forts, General von Tümpling (commanding VIth Corps) had early ordered the 12th Division to get under arms in its fighting positions, and the 11th to assemble at Fresnes. The French, favoured by the darkness, made their way through the vineyards into L'Hay; but were successfully driven back by the Germans with the bayonet and clubbed arms. After a prolonged fire-fight, the French renewed their onslaught at 8.30, but without success; and then the defenders, reinforced from the reserve, retaliated with a vigorous counterstroke. At ten o'clock the enemy retreated to Villejuif. Admiral Pothuau at the same time had moved up the Seine with Marines and National Guards. An outpost at Gare aux Boeufs was surprised and captured, and Choisy le Roi was fired upon by field-guns, fortress artillery, and gunboats which appeared on the Seine. Just as the Grenadiers of the 10th (Prussian) Regiment were on the point of making an attack, General Vinoy broke off the fight. This demonstration cost the French 1000 men and 300 uninjured prisoners; the Prussians, remaining under cover, lost only 140 men. The fortress kept up its fire till mid-day, and then the enemy was allowed a short truce, to remove his numerous wounded. Against the front of the Vth Corps also, a strong infantry force advanced at eight o'clock upon Garches and Malmaison, and drove in part of the outposts. But it soon found itself opposed by closed battalions, and at noon retreated to Valérien. FOOTNOTE: [45] Obvious misprint for 28th. THE ATTEMPT OF THE ARMY OF PARIS TO BREAK OUT. (November 30th and December 2nd.) On November 30th the IInd Paris Army opened the battle which was to decide the fate of the capital. To hinder the reinforcement of the Germans towards the real point of attack, almost every section of their line of investment was again engrossed by sorties. To the duty of pushing an attack against the southern front, General Ducrot assigned Susbielle's Division of his IInd Corps. It reached Rosny so early as three o'clock in the morning, crossed the Marne at Créteil by a field-bridge, and from thence, briskly supported by the nearest forts, opened fire on the outpost line of the Würtemberg Division, which had been pushed forward to Bonneuil and Mesly. General von Obernitz (commanding the Division) had an extended position to maintain. His 1st Brigade was at Villiers on the peninsula of Joinville, his 2nd at Sucy en Brie, and his 3rd at Brévannes. The Division was placed under the Commander of the Army of the Meuse, who had been instructed from Versailles to reinforce it strongly by the XIIth Corps, or even by troops of the Guard Corps. From the great accumulation of hostile forces on Mont Avron, the Saxon Corps believed itself directly threatened on the right bank of the Marne, and requested to be immediately transferred to the left; the Crown Prince of Saxony gave the order that the whole 24th Division should assemble there on the following day. Thus for the present the only aid that could be rendered to the Würtembergers was from the wing of the IInd Corps at Villeneuve, of which the 7th Infantry Brigade moved up near Brévannes to Valenton. The fire of its three batteries hurrying thither, first brought the advance of the French Division to a stand. The attempt of the Würtembergers to seize Mont-Mesly failed at first; but after a strenuous artillery fire they succeeded in carrying the hill by twelve o'clock, and the Prussian battalions forced their way into Mesly. The Würtemberg horse cut in upon the enemy's retreating guns with great success. At 1.30 the re-opening of the fire from the forts proclaimed the end of this sortie. It cost the Germans 350 men, and the French 1200. During this time the front of the VIth Corps had not been at all molested. General Vinoy, who had not been informed of the advance of Susbielle's Division, when its retreat was noticed caused to be opened from Fort Ivry and the adjoining works a brisk fire, which was augmented by gunboats on the Seine and armour-plated batteries on the railway. Then Admiral Pothuau advanced against Choisy le Roi and Thiais. His Marines, after driving out the Prussian fore-posts, again settled themselves firmly in Gare aux Boeufs. But the further advance failed, and General Vinoy recalled his troops, after which the fighting at Mesly ceased, and only the thunder of artillery continued till five o'clock. After a preliminary cannonade from Valérien the Gardes-Mobiles advanced against the front of the Vth Corps about seven o'clock. They were, however, repulsed by the outposts and supporting troops in readiness, and retired at eleven o'clock. On the northern front of Paris there occurred also a sharp fight. At mid-day Fort de la Briche, supported by field-guns and a floating battery, opened a heavy fire on the low-lying village of Epinay on the right bank of the Seine. At two o'clock Haurion's Brigade advanced, two companies of marines pressed into the place along the bank of the river, and drove out the garrison, which consisted of only one company. A second also retired from the defence-works in a northerly direction towards Ormesson. At three o'clock in the afternoon, the village, up to some still obstinately defended farms on the further side of the mill-race, fell into the hands of the French. Meanwhile the troops of the IVth Corps had assembled, and seven batteries came into action on the overhanging heights. The infantry rushed upon the village from all sides with loud cheers, and about four o'clock, after a fierce street-fight, recovered possession of the posts which had been lost; and it was this transitory conquest that was to raise so great hopes in Tours. The losses on both sides amounted to 300 men. Those affairs were all mere feints to facilitate the chief action; and whilst the investing troops were thus engaged and held fast at all points, two Corps of the IInd French Army at 6.30 in the morning crossed the bridges at Joinville and Nogent which had been completed during the night. After repulsing the German outposts they both deployed, and stretched completely across the peninsula between Champigny and Bry. The IIIrd Corps had taken the road along the north bank of the Marne, towards Neuilly, to cross the river there, thus threatening to compromise the position of the Saxon Corps, which therefore still detained the 47th Brigade on the right bank, though it had been assigned to the assistance of the Würtembergers. Consequently there were available to oppose the two French Corps on the left bank, only two German brigades extended over about four miles, the Saxon 48th about Noisy, and the Würtemberg 1st from Villiers to Chennevières. At ten o'clock Maussion's Division advanced against the Park of Villiers. Supported by Saxon detachments from Noisy, the Würtembergers repulsed a first attack, but in following it up met with heavy losses. The French batteries of two Divisions and those of the Artillery Reserve formed line in front of the park. On their right Faron's Division, not without heavy losses, succeeded in gaining possession of Champigny, and had then established itself in front of that village to defend the occupation of it. General Ducrot's original idea had been to maintain a stationary fight on the peninsula until he should be joined at Noisy by his IIIrd Corps. But as news arrived that at eleven o'clock it was still on the northern side of the Marne, he ordered an immediate general attack by both his other Corps. On the left the advance was checked for a considerable time by the German batteries which had been pushed forward between Noisy and Villiers, and when Colonel von Abendroth moved out from both villages with six companies of the 48th Brigade to an attack in close formation, the French fell back into the vineyards on the western slope of the plateau, leaving behind two guns, which, however, the Saxons could not carry away for want of teams. In the centre of the line of fight, Berthaut's Division tried to push forward south of Villiers, but by the fire of five batteries in position there and at Coeuilly its ranks were so severely thinned that it gave ground before the advance of a Saxon battalion. On the right wing, the guns which had been brought up into position in front of Champigny had at last been compelled by the German artillery to withdraw, and had sought cover further north, near the lime-kilns. A body of French infantry had advanced along the riverside to Maison Blanche, but meanwhile the 2nd Würtemberg Brigade, although itself attacked at Sucy, despatched a reinforcement of two companies and a battery to Chennevières. Advancing from the Hunting-lodge, the Würtembergers took 200 French prisoners at Maison Blanche; though, on the other hand, an attempt to carry the heights in front of Champigny with the companies assembled at Coeuilly failed with heavy loss. As the result, however, of a renewed flank-attack from the Hunting-lodge, Faron's Division, which had already been severely shaken, was obliged to retreat to Champigny. General Ducrot decided to be content, for that day, with having established a firm footing on the left bank of the Marne, and he brought up sixteen batteries to a position in his front, to secure the wedge of ground he had gained. On the following day the attack was to be renewed by all the three Corps. The Germans, on their part, had to congratulate themselves on having maintained their ground against greatly superior numbers. And so in the afternoon the fight gradually died away, until it broke out again in the north. The French IIIrd Corps, marching up the right bank of the Marne, had occupied Neuilly in force, and had driven in the outposts of the Saxon 47th Brigade. Under cover of six batteries the construction of two military bridges below Neuilly was begun at ten o'clock, and finished by noon. But just at this time it happened, as we have seen, that the French were in retreat from the plateau, so the crossing did not occur until two o'clock in the afternoon. Bellemare's Division marched down the valley to Bry, where it closed on the left flank of the IInd Corps. A regiment of Zouaves, trying to ascend the plateau from Bry, lost half its men and all its officers. Notwithstanding, General Ducrot decided to employ his reinforced strength in the immediate renewal of the attack on Villiers. Strengthened by four battalions, the Division advanced in this direction, although the artillery had not succeeded in battering down the park wall; repeated onslaughts by rifle-swarms were repulsed, and finally the French retreated into the valley. The simultaneous attacks of Berthaut's Division along the railway line and of Faron's Division on the Hunting-lodge also miscarried. Not till darkness had set in did the firing cease on both sides. Near Chelles, on the line in which the French IIIrd Corps had been advancing in the morning, the Crown Prince of Saxony had collected the 23rd Division; but as soon as the enemy's real objective was penetrated, he despatched part of the 47th Brigade and a portion of the Corps Artillery to the threatened position held by the Würtembergers. Not less opportunely had General von Obernitz, as soon as the fighting at Mesly was over, sent three battalions to the Hunting-lodge. In the night orders came from the supreme Head-quarter for the IInd and VIth Corps to send reinforcements to the endangered points of the line of investment, and the 7th and 21st Brigades arrived at Sucy on the following day, the 1st of December. On the French side the attempt to break through without help from outside was already considered as well-nigh hopeless, and it was only the fear of popular indignation which caused the IIIrd Army to remain longer on the left bank of the Marne. Instead of attacking, the French began to intrench themselves, and in order to clear the battle-field a truce was arranged. The thunder of the cannon from Mont Avron had to serve for the present to keep up the spirits of the Parisians. The Germans also worked at the strengthening of their positions, but, suffering from the sudden and extreme cold, part at least of the troops withdrew into quarters further rearward. The command of the whole of the German Army between the Marne and the Seine was assumed by General von Fransecky (commanding IInd Corps). The Head-quarter of the Army of the Meuse had already given instructions that Prince George (of Saxony) with all the available troops of the XIIth Corps, should make surprise-attacks on Bry and Champigny in the early morning of the 2nd. With this object, on the morning specified the 24th Division assembled at Noisy, the 1st Würtemberg Brigade at Villiers, and the 7th Prussian Brigade at the Hunting-lodge. The foremost battalions of the Saxon Division drove back the enemy's outposts by a sudden rush, took 100 prisoners, and after storming a barricade entered Bry. Here ensued an embittered fight in the streets and houses, in which the 2nd Battalion of the 107th Regiment lost nearly all its officers. Nevertheless it maintained its hold on the northern part of the village, in spite of the heavy fire of the forts. The Würtembergers also forced an entrance into Champigny, but soon met with fierce resistance from the enemy sheltered in the buildings. The previously occupied Bois de la Lande had to be abandoned, and General Ducrot now determined to resort to the offensive. The strong artillery line on his front came into action at about nine o'clock, and two Divisions deployed in rear of it. Meanwhile the Fusilier battalion of the Colberg Regiment marched once more from the Hunting-lodge on Bois de la Lande, and carried it with the first onslaught. The French, firing heavily from the railway embankments, struck down the Pomeranians with clubbed rifles and at the point of the bayonet. A fierce fight was carried on at the same time at the lime-pits, where at noon 160 French laid down their arms. When six Würtemberg and nine Prussian batteries had been by degrees brought into action against Champigny, General Hartmann[46] succeeded in getting as far as the road leading to Bry. As, however, the batteries were now being masked by their own infantry, and were suffering, too, under the heavy projectiles fired from the forts, they were withdrawn into the hollow of the Hunting-lodge. At two o'clock the 1st Würtemberg and 7th Prussian Brigades established themselves firmly in the line from the churchyard of Champigny to the Bois de la Lande. Meanwhile the French divisions of Bellemare and Susbielle had reached the battle-field from the right bank of the Marne. The two Saxon battalions in Bry, having already lost 36 officers and 638 men, were compelled by the approach of the enemy in very superior force, to evacuate the village and retire on Noisy, but not without taking 300 prisoners with them. The rest of the Saxon forces held Villiers, where the still available batteries also were in position. While, at two o'clock, the French were bringing up a strong artillery mass against this point, four batteries of the IInd Corps rushed out of the hollow near the Hunting-lodge at a gallop upon their flank, and opened fire at a range of 2000 paces. In less than ten minutes the French batteries fell back and the Prussian batteries returned to their sheltered position. Several hostile battalions which, at about three o'clock, attempted a renewed assault on Villiers, were repulsed with no difficulty, and at five o'clock the fighting ceased. The French merely kept up a fire of field and fortress artillery until dark. General Ducrot had received information in the course of the day, that the Army of the Loire was marching on Fontainebleau, and he was, therefore, very anxious to continue to maintain his position outside Paris. During the night of December 2nd--3rd, provisions were procured, and the teams and ammunition of the batteries were made up; but the approach of support from without was in no wise confirmed. The troops were completely exhausted by the previous disastrous fighting, and the Commander-in-Chief was justified in apprehending a repulse on the Marne by the enemy's invigorated forces. He therefore ordered a retreat, the troops being informed that the attack should be renewed as soon as their preparedness for fighting should have been re-established. Soon after midnight the divisions were assembled behind the outposts, and the trains were sent back first. At noon the troops were able to follow over the bridges at Neuilly, Bry, and Joinville. Only one brigade remained in position to cover the passage. The retreat was very skilfully covered by a series of small attacks on the German outposts. The French batteries had opened fire at Le Plant and Bry by daybreak, and the withdrawal of the enemy's army was completely hidden by the thick mist. General Fransecky assembled the Saxon and the Würtemberg Divisions in a fighting position at Villiers and Coeuilly, the 7th Brigade with the Corps-Artillery of the IInd Corps and two regiments of the VIth at Chennevières, intending to wait for the expected reinforcement which the VIth Corps had agreed to furnish for the 4th. The 23rd Division also received orders from the Crown Prince of Saxony to cross to the left bank of the Marne, whilst the Guard Corps had meanwhile extended its outposts to Chelles. So remained matters on the 3rd, with the exception of petty frays, and at four o'clock in the afternoon the troops were able to return to quarters. When early on the 4th patrols rode forward towards Bry and Champigny, they found these places vacated, and the peninsula of Joinville deserted by the enemy. The IInd French Army, which had been severely reduced and its internal cohesion much shaken, returned to Paris; on its own report it had lost 12,000 men. The German troops engaged had lost 6200 men, but resumed their former positions in the investing line. This energetic attempt on the part of General Ducrot was the most serious effort that was made for the relief of Paris. It was directed towards what was at the moment the weakest point of the investment, but met with any success only at the outset.[47] FOOTNOTES: [46] Commanding 3rd Infantry Division. [47] A legend was subsequently circulated that the voice of one general in a German council of war had, in opposition to all the others, prevented the removal of the chief head-quarters from Versailles. Apart from the fact that during the whole course of the invasion no council of war was ever held, it never occurred to any member of the King's military suite to set so bad an example to the army. [Moltke.] THE ADVANCE OF THE IST ARMY IN NOVEMBER. The newly-formed levies in northern France were not remaining inactive. Rouen and Lille were their chief centres. In front of the latter place, the Somme with its fortified passages at Ham, Péronne, Amiens, and Abbeville afforded a line equally advantageous for attacks to the front or for secure retreat. Isolated advances had, indeed, on various occasions, been driven back by detachments of the Army of the Meuse, but these were too weak to rid themselves of the continued molestation by pursuit pushed home. We have already seen how, after the fall of Metz, the IInd Army marched to the Loire, and the Ist into the northern departments of France. A large portion of the Ist Army was at first detained on the Moselle by having had to undertake the transport of the numerous prisoners and the observation of the fortresses which interrupted the communications with Germany. The whole VIIth Corps was either in Metz or before Thionville and Montmédy. Of the Ist Corps, the 1st Division was detached to Rethel,[48] the 4th Brigade transported by railway through Soissons to the investment of La Fère, and the 3rd Cavalry Division sent on towards the forest of Argonnes. The remaining five brigades followed with the artillery on the 7th November.[49] Marching on a wide front, the force reached the Oise between Compiègne and Chauny on the 20th. In front of the right wing the cavalry, supported by a battalion of Jägers, came in contact with Gardes-Mobiles at Ham and Guiscard; in face of the infantry columns the hostile bodies fell back on Amiens. It was learned that 15,000 men were there, and that reinforcements were continually joining. On the 25th the 3rd Brigade reached Le Quesnel. The 15th Division of the VIIIth Corps advanced beyond Montdidier, and the 16th to Breteuil, whence it established connection with the Saxon detachments about Clermont. On the 26th the right wing closed up to Le Quesnel, the left to Moreuil and Essertaux. The cavalry scouted forward towards the Somme, the right bank of which it found occupied. The enemy's attitude indicated that he was confining himself to the defence of that position. General von Manteuffel thereupon determined to attack, without waiting for the arrival of the 1st Division, the transport of which from Rethel was extraordinarily delayed. His intention, in the first instance, was to utilize the 27th in drawing closer in his forces, which were extended along a front of some nineteen miles. But the battle was unexpectedly fought on that same day. FOOTNOTES: [48] According to statement on p. 177, to Mézières. [49] The "five brigades" mentioned in the text consisted of the 3rd of Ist Corps, and the four composing the VIIIth Corps, of which, the Ist and VIIth, the Ist Army was made up. The 1st Cavalry Division, originally belonging to the Ist Army, was transferred to the IInd Army by the reorganization following the capitulation of Metz. BATTLE OF AMIENS. (November 17th.) General Farre, with his 17,500 men distributed into three brigades, stood eastward of Amiens on the south bank of the Somme, about Villers Bretonneux and Longueau along the road to Péronne, holding also the villages and copses on his front. Besides these troops there were 8000 Gardes-Mobiles occupying an intrenched position about two and a half miles in front of the city. In accordance with instructions from the Army Headquarter, General von Goeben (commanding the VIIIth Corps) had given orders for the 27th that the 15th Division should take up quarters at Fouencamps and Sains; the 16th at Rumigny and Plachy and in the villages further back; the Corps-Artillery at Grattepanche. Consequently the VIIIth Corps was to be assembled before Amiens between the Celle and the Noye, at the distance, then, of nearly two and a half miles from the Ist Corps, and divided from it by the latter brook and the Avre. General von Bentheim (commanding the 1st Division, Ist Corps[50]) on the other hand, had sent his advanced guard, the 3rd Brigade, into quarters north of the Luce. At an early hour that brigade seized the passages of the brook at Démuin, Hangard, and Domart. At ten o'clock it moved forward in order to occupy the appointed quarters, and as the enemy were already in possession, a fight began which gradually increased in magnitude. The wooded heights on the north bank of the Luce were taken without any particular resistance, and maintained in spite of several counter strokes by the French. The artillery pushed forward through the intervals of the infantry. On the left the 4th Regiment seized the village of Gentelles, on the right the 44th Regiment rushed up to within 300 paces of the left flank of the French position, and by a vigorous onslaught carried by storm the earthworks at the railway cutting east of Villers Bretonneux. Soon after mid-day heavy hostile masses drew up at Bretonneux and in Cachy, directly opposite the 3rd Brigade, which was extended along a front of some four miles. On the left wing of the Germans the 16th Division had by eleven o'clock already reached its assigned quarters, and had driven the enemy out of Hébecourt, as well as out of the woods north of that village towards Dury. The 15th Division, in compliance with the enjoined assemblage of the VIIIth Corps on the left bank of the Noye, moved westward from Moreuil through Ailly to Dommartin, its advance guard which had been holding Hailles marching direct on Fouencamps. Thus it happened that before noon the roads from Roye and Montdidier between the two Corps were left completely uncovered by troops on the German side, while a French brigade was standing at the fork of these roads at Longueau, though, in fact, it remained absolutely inactive. This interval was at first screened only by the numerous retinue and staff escort of the Commander-in-Chief; and then it was to some extent filled by the battalion constituting the guard of the headquarter. As, however, after ten o'clock the French on their side commenced an attack on the 3rd Brigade, General von Manteuffel ordered the 15th Division to join in the fight as far as possible toward the right wing. After a staunch defence the companies of the 4th Regiment were driven back out of the Bois de Hangard towards the declivity of the height in front of Démuin, and subsequently, having expended all their ammunition, the defenders of Gentelles were driven back to Domart. General von Strubberg (commanding 30th Infantry Brigade, VIIIth Corps), on instructions from the scene of combat in front of the Luce, had sent four battalions in that direction, which crossed the Avre, but came under such a heavy fire from the Bois de Gentelles that their further advance was prevented, and they had to change front against the wood. Behind them, however, the other detachments of the 30th Brigade pressed forward to St. Nicolas on the right bank, and to Boves on the left, and in co-operation with the 29th Brigade drove the French from the neighbouring Ruinenberg. Meanwhile a part of the approaching 1st Division came up behind the 3rd Brigade. The artillery positions were considerably strengthened, and the cannon fire was directed against the earthworks south of Bretonneux. As the nearest support the Crown Prince's Regiment went forward, and soon the French were again driven out of the Bois de Hangard. The East Prussians following them up, took cover in front of the earthworks; several detachments of the 4th and 44th Regiments gradually collected there from the neighbouring woods, and the enemy was then driven back from this position. Thirteen batteries now silenced the French artillery, and, after they had fired for some time on Bretonneux, the place was, at four o'clock, seized by the Prussians pouring in from all sides with drums beating. The French in its interior made only a weak defence at isolated points; for the most part they hurried over the Somme at Corbie under cover of the darkness, and with the loss of 180 unwounded prisoners. When, somewhat later, the French General Lecointe advanced with the reserve brigade on Domart, he found that crossing point already in possession of the 1st Division, and turned back. Cachy only was held by the French till late in the evening. The troops of the Ist Corps were distributed for the night in the hamlets to the south of the Luce; but the outposts were established on the northern bank of the Somme, and Bretonneux also remained occupied. On the left wing of the battle-field the 16th Division had advanced to Dury, and had driven the French out of the neighbouring churchyard, but had been forced to withdraw from an attack on the enemy's extensive and strongly defended line of intrenchment. It bivouacked behind Dury. It was night before General von Manteuffel received information which proved that the enemy had been completely defeated. Early in the morning of the 28th the patrols of the Ist Corps found the region clear of the enemy as far as the Somme, and all the bridges across the river destroyed. At noon General von Goeben entered Amiens, the citadel of which capitulated two days later with its garrison of 400 men and 30 cannon. One peculiarity of the battle of the 27th November was the disproportionately great extent of the battle-field to the number of the troops engaged. General Farre, with 25,000 men in round numbers, covered a front of about fourteen miles from Pont de Metz south of Amiens to the east of Villers Bretonneux, and with the Somme close on his rear. The Germans attacked on approximately the same breadth of front, with the result that there was a break in the middle of their line. The danger caused by this gap was not taken advantage of during the morning through the inactivity of the enemy, and it was then nullified by the occupation of St. Nicolas. The superiority of numbers was on the side of the Germans, for, although of the approaching 1st Division only the Crown Prince's Regiment could take part in the fighting, they were 30,000 strong. The 3rd Brigade bore the brunt of the battle, losing 630 men and 34 officers out of a total of 1300. The French also lost about 1300, besides 1000 reported missing. Part of the National Guard threw down their arms and fled to their homes. The main body of the French Corps retired on Arras. Immediately after the battle the Ist Army was reinforced by the 4th Brigade, which had been brought from La Fère. FOOTNOTE: [50] In effect commanding the whole Ist Corps, although nominally Manteuffel was still chief of it, as well as in command of the Ist Army. REDUCTION OF LA FÈRE. (November 27th.) This little fortress became of importance since it closed the line of railway passing through Rheims, both to Amiens and to Paris. Lying in open, wet, low ground overflowed by the Somme and its tributaries, it was difficult of approach; otherwise, the fortifications merely consisted of an isolated wall, with sundry earthworks close in front of it, and it was entirely seen into from heights on the east at a distance of not more than 1500 metres. The brigade (4th of Ist Corps) as a preliminary measure had invested La Fère on the 15th November, and when the siege-train arrived from Soissons with thirty-two heavy guns, seven batteries were built and armed during the night of the 25th on the heights already mentioned. On the following morning these opened fire, and on the 27th the place capitulated. Gardes-Mobiles to the number of 2300 were taken prisoners, and the most serviceable of the 113 guns found were brought away to arm the citadel of Amiens. The reinforcement of the Ist Army by the VIIth Corps meanwhile was not yet even in prospect, since the latter still had further work to do on the Moselle; the greater part of the 14th Division only arrived before Thionville on November 13th. REDUCTION OF THIONVILLE. (November 24th.) This fortress, shut in on all sides by hills, was entirely without bomb-proof protection; direct approach from the south was, on the other hand, rendered difficult by artificial inundations, and on the west and north by swamps. General von Kameke therefore decided to await the result of a heavy bombardment before resorting to a regular attack. Batteries were erected on both banks of the Moselle, and on the morning of the 22nd eighty-five guns opened fire. At first the fortress answered briskly. In the following night the infantry detailed to the task of throwing up the first parallel, advanced to within 600 paces of the west front, but, in consequence of pouring rain and the condition of the ground the work made but small progress. However, on the 24th at mid-day the commandant proposed negotiations for the surrender of the place. The garrison, 4000 strong, with the exception of the National Guard belonging to the place, became prisoners and were sent to Germany; and 199 guns, besides a considerable amount of supplies, arms and ammunition, fell into the hands of the conqueror. The 14th Division was now required to lay siege to the northern frontier fortresses, which would occupy it for some time. The 13th Division, by orders from the supreme Head-quarter, was assigned to the operations in southern France. INVESTMENT OF BELFORT IN NOVEMBER. On the south-east section of the theatre of war Belfort had become the centre of continual petty enterprises on the part of French flying detachments in rear of the XIVth Corps, which under General von Werder stood about Vesoul. But when the troops previously before Strasburg had been relieved by a newly formed body from Germany, the troops before Neu-Breisach became available, and were set in march on Upper Alsace; while the 1st Reserve Division reached Belfort on the 3rd November, and by the 8th had effected the preliminary investment of that place. The greater part of the 4th Reserve Division marched to join the XIVth Corps at Vesoul, a detachment under General von Debschitz occupied Montbéliard, and the 67th Regiment held Mulhouse and Delle. Glancing back on the German successes during November and the general military position at the end of the month, we see the great sortie from Paris repulsed[51]; in the north the menace to the investment of being hemmed in done away with by General von Manteuffel's victory at Amiens; in the east Thionville, Breisach, Verdun, and La Fère taken, Montmédy and Belfort surrounded; and in the south Prince Frederick Charles ready to attack the French army before Orleans. FOOTNOTE: [51] The great sortie to the east of Paris was not repulsed until December 2nd. BATTLE OF ORLEANS. (December 3rd and 4th.) When soon after noon of 2nd December the telegraphed order to take the offensive against Orleans reached the headquarter of the IInd Army, the Prince on the same day assembled the Xth Corps at Beaune la Rolande and Boynes, the IIIrd at Pithiviers, and the IXth at Bazoches les Gallerandes. By evening the collected forces had their marching orders. The attack was to comprise two days of fighting. The IIIrd Corps was first to advance on Loury by way of Chilleurs aux Bois; the Xth was to follow to Chilleurs; and the IXth was to attack Artenay at half-past nine. The 1st Cavalry Division supported by infantry was to be on observation on the left flank towards the Yonne; the 6th was to follow the right wing. The Grand Duke, to whom it had been left to arrange the details of his own march westward of the Paris main road, ordered the 22nd Division to support the attack on Artenay, the Bavarian Corps to advance on Lumeau, the 17th Division to remain for the present at Anneux. The 4th Cavalry Division was charged with the duty of scouting on the right flank. So early as nine o'clock in the morning on the 3rd of December the IIIrd Corps met eight battalions and six batteries of the enemy at Santeau. The 12th Brigade and the artillery of the 6th Division intercalated in the columns of march in rear of the foremost battalions, thereupon deployed about La Brosse. After a few rounds a battery of the left wing had to be withdrawn from the fight which had now commenced; on the right, on the other hand, the Corps-Artillery gradually came up, and by noon seventy-eight Prussian guns were in action. The French, yielding to strength so overwhelming, retired on Chilleurs; but, when the German batteries had advanced within 2000 paces of that place, and the right flank of the former was threatened by an assault of the Jäger battalions, they began a retreat towards the forest, and at three o'clock part of the 5th Division followed them up through the glen leading to the southward, and the 6th by the high road. As these had been obstructed in many places, it was six o'clock in the evening before the clearing by Loury was reached. On the right, heavy musketry-firing was heard in the region of Neuville, and tidings also arrived that on the left the French had occupied Nancray. In consequence of this, a reinforcement from the reserve remaining in Chilleurs was brought up; one regiment was thrown out fronting towards the west, a second towards the east, and under cover of the outposts extended toward the south the remainder of the troops went into bivouac and quarters at Loury. The IXth Corps had first assembled at Château Gaillard on the main road to Paris, and then advanced along the chaussée through Dambron against Villereau. At Assas it met the enemy, who was soon driven back by its artillery, and disappeared towards Artenay. At about ten o'clock an obstinate contest was engaged in against the batteries of the 2nd French Division in position here, in which part of the Corps-Artillery presently bore part, seconded later by the batteries of the 22nd Division, which had come up to Poupry. General Martineau retreated slowly by successive detachments, his artillery leading, before the overwhelming fire of ninety guns, on La Croix Briquet and Ferme d'Arblay. At twelve o'clock the Germans occupied Artenay, and after half an hour's rest they renewed the offensive. There occurred a long and obstinate fire-fight both of infantry and artillery, while the 22nd Division pushed forward on the enemy's left flank. At two o'clock his guns were silenced, the left-wing column of the IXth Corps seized the farm of Arblay, and the centre by hard fighting drove the enemy back along the high road through La Croix Briquet to Andeglou, where under cover of the marine artillery resistance was kept up till dark. General Puttkamer[52] had brought up five batteries to within 800 paces of Chevilly, and the 22nd Division was advancing on the burning village, when the chief Command gave the order to halt, the Grand Duke hesitating to engage in a night attack on the intrenched village. But when, soon after, a Hussar patrol brought the information that it was already evacuated, General von Wittich ordered its occupation. The troops bivouacked in a heavy snowstorm, in and to the rear of La Croix Briquet. About the time of the first advance the IXth Corps had sent a detachment of four Hessian battalions leftward against St. Lyé. They met with opposition at La Tour, drove the enemy back on St. Germain, but could not dislodge him from that place. When the Xth Corps, marching round by Pithiviers unmolested, about three o'clock reached the vicinity of Chilleurs in rear of the IIIrd Corps, part of the 20th Division went on in the direction of the fighting about Neuville, the noise of which in the evening was also heard at Loury. Darkness had already come on and precluded the use of artillery, but the infantry broke into the village at several points. But it found the streets barricaded, and met with obstinate resistance, so that the prosecution of the attack had to be postponed till the following day. The XVth French Corps had sustained single-handed the onslaught of three Prussian Corps. Strong masses of the Army of Orleans, to right and to left of that Corps, made but feeble efforts in the course of the day to support it. General Chanzy alone, when at about two o'clock he heard heavy firing from Artenay, ordered forward the 2nd Division of the XVIth Corps, though he had already that morning begun his retreat on St. Péravy and Boulay. But this reinforcement encountered the Prussian 17th Division, which, coming up from Anneux, was on the point of joining in the fight at Andeglou, and with it the Bavarian Corps advancing from Lumeau. Their strong united artillery in position at Chameul and Sougy, soon forced the enemy to retire. Douzy and then Huêtre were taken, and the château of Chevilly was occupied by the 17th Division. Here too darkness put an end to the fighting. The troops of the right wing quartered at Provenchères, Chameul and rearward. Thus the German army had made its way without very heavy fighting to within nine miles of Orleans. The French, indeed, had maintained their ground till evening in the neighbourhood of Neuville, but the forces holding on there were ordered to retire in the night. They were to gain the road from Pithiviers by Rebréchien, and make a circuit by Orleans to Chevilly. But they thus came under the fire of the IIIrd German Corps quartered in Loury, and fled in disorder back into the forest, whence they attempted to reach their destination by detachments. It was only to be expected that the French would stoutly defend their intrenchments at Gidy and Cercottes on the following day, if only to keep open their way of retreat through Orleans. Prince Frederick Charles therefore ordered the Grand Duke's Detachment and the IXth Corps to make an encompassing attack on both points on the 4th. The IIIrd Corps was to advance from Loury on Orleans, and the Xth, again forming the reserve, was to follow to Chevilly. General d'Aurelle had retired to Saran on the evening of the 3rd. Here he saw the 2nd Division of the XVth Corps fleeing by in utter rout, and heard also that the 1st had failed to make a stand at Chilleurs. The Corps of his right wing were altogether shattered as regarded their internal cohesion by the battle of Beaune, and those of his left no less by the fight at Loigny. The French General could not but dread being driven on the Loire with undisciplined masses, and the consequent block of the only passage of the river at Orleans. He decided therefore on an eccentric retreat. Only the XVth Corps was to retire by Orleans; General Crouzat was to cross the Loire at Gien, General Chanzy at Beaugency. The reassemblage remained to be attempted behind the Sauldre. The necessary dispositions were made during the night, and communicated to the Government. From the Board of Green Cloth at Tours, counter orders of course came next morning to maintain the Orleans position, which practically was already wrecked; but the General adhered firmly to his own determination. On December 4th the IIIrd Army Corps marched out of Loury in two columns by the high road and the tracks through Vennecy. Both bodies reached Boigny by noon, having met only stragglers. A detachment was sent to the right to Neuville, which made prize of seven derelict guns and many rifles. To the left, another detachment occupied Chézy on the Loire. After a short rest the main columns advanced, and by two o'clock the 6th Division reached Vaumainbert, which was occupied by detachments of the French XVth Corps. Although the country was not open enough to allow of the employment of artillery, the place was taken by the Brandenburgers in spite of the stout resistance of the French Marine Infantry, and the fire of the batteries on the heights to the north of St. Loup could now be directed on the suburb of Orleans. The 5th Division had meanwhile come up behind the 6th and took part in the fight. The XXth French Corps, which was still at Chambon, in the eastern part of the forest opposite Beaune la Rolande, had received orders at four in the morning from Tours direct, to march on Orleans. Contrary orders had previously arrived from General d'Aurelle, but nothing subsequently came to hand. General Crouzat had, as a precaution, sent his train across the Loire by way of Jargeau, and then marched in the prescribed direction. When, at half-past two he met at Pont aux Moines the German detachment despatched to Chézy, he determined to cut his way through by force of arms; but as General von Stülpnagel reinforced his two battalions with the rest of his Division, the French general gave up that attempt and retreated across the river, making the passage at Jargeau. On the German side the attack on St. Loup[53] was unsuccessful; and since from the locality of the fighting on the part of the other Corps no tidings reached him, and darkness was approaching, General von Alvensleben postponed any further attack on the city till the following day. North of Orleans the IXth Army Corps advanced from La Croix Briquet on the intrenched position of Cercottes. At about one o'clock the foremost detachments of infantry entered the place. The 2nd Division of the French XVth Corps was driven back by the fire of the artillery into the vineyards in front of the city. Here the infantry alone could continue the struggle. The French defended every tenable spot, and especially in the railway station close to Orleans held their own with great persistency. It and the adjacent deep road-cutting were fortified with barricades and rifle-pits, and armed with naval guns. It was not till nightfall, about half-past five, that these posts were abandoned, but the contest was continued further back. To avoid street-fighting in the dark, General von Manstein broke off the fight for the day at about seven o'clock. The advanced guard of the 17th Division of the Grand Duke's Detachment had found Gidy intrenched and strongly occupied. But at the approach of the IXth Corps the French about eleven o'clock thought proper to abandon the position, leaving behind eight guns. The German Division, to avoid the wood, now moved in a westerly direction on Boulay, whither the 22nd and the 2nd Cavalry Division followed as a reserve. Here the Bavarian Corps and the 4th Cavalry Division were already engaged in a fight, having previously driven the French out of Bricy and Janvry. When the artillery had for some time been in action, General von der Tann passed to the assault at about twelve o'clock. But the French did not wait for this; they beat a hasty retreat, leaving some of their guns in the defences. The 2nd Cavalry Division took up the pursuit. The 4th Hussars of the 5th Brigade, trotting forward through Montaigu, charged a dismounted French battery and seized all its guns; another near Ormes was left to be carried off by the horse battery. From thence a strong body of French horse suddenly appeared on the left flank of the 4th Brigade as it was crossing the Châteaudun road. But the Blücher Hussars, promptly wheeling into line, drove the enemy back through the village on Ingré. The 4th Cavalry Division was placed on observation on the right flank of the Detachment; and the Hussars of the 2nd Life Regiment here rode down 250 men forming the escort of a waggon column escaping by the road to Châteaudun, and captured the convoy. While the Germans were thus converging on Orleans from the east and north, in the west the XVIIth French Corps and the 1st Division of the XVIth were still in the field about Patay and St. Péravy. General Chanzy had assembled the latter about Coinces, and, to protect himself against its threatened attack on his flank, General von der Tann formed front at Bricy with his 3rd Infantry Brigade, the Cuirassiers, and the artillery reserve. The 4th Cavalry Division marched on Coinces, where General von Bernhardi, clearing a wide ditch with four squadrons of Uhlans, drove a body of French horse back on St. Péravy without its having been able to do more than fire one carbine-volley. Other squadrons of the 9th Brigade rode down the French tirailleurs, and pursued the cavalry till it reached the protection of strong bodies of infantry. The 8th Brigade was in observation toward Patay, and after that place had come under the fire of a battery and been abandoned, General Chanzy gave up all further attack and retired behind the forest of Montpipeau. The 2nd Cavalry Division now made for the Loire immediately below Orleans. Its artillery destroyed a bridge at Chapelle over which a baggage-train was passing, and compelled the French troops, which were marching towards Cléry along the further bank, to flee back to Orleans. Two military railway-trains from thence were not to be stopped by the firing, but a train coming from Tours, in which, as it happened, was Gambetta himself, returned thither with all speed. The Bavarian Corps meanwhile was advancing by the high road, and the 22nd Division, in touch with the IXth Corps, on the old Châteaudun road; the 17th Division between the two on La Borde. This last Division at about 3.30 had to carry on its way the strongly defended village of Heurdy; and when the Bavarians from Ormes turned to the right on Ingré, it proceeded by the high road towards St. Jean de la Ruelle. Having overcome all opposition there too, the head of the Division reached the gates of Orleans at about six o'clock. General von Tresckow entered into negotiations with the military authorities there for the orderly occupation of the town. An agreement was arrived at by ten o'clock, and shortly after midnight the Grand Duke marched in with the 17th Division, promptly followed by the 2nd Bavarian Brigade. The bridge over the Loire, which the French had not found time to blow up, was secured with all speed. The rest of the troops found quarters for the night, to the west and north of the city. The peremptory orders from the Government to hold Orleans had shaken General d'Aurelle's original determination. When the mass of the XVth Corps arrived there in the forenoon, he was anxious to make a final stand. But the necessary orders could not be transmitted to the Corps of the right wing, nor carried out by those of the left; and by five o'clock the General in command was convinced of the futility of any further resistance. The artillery of the XVth Corps was in the first instance forwarded to La Ferté St. Aubin; the infantry followed. The XXth Corps, as we have seen, was at Jargeau; the XVIIIth recrossed the Loire at Sully; the XVIth and XVIIth moved off westward in the direction of Beaugency, but remained on the right bank of the river. The two days' battle had cost the Germans 1700 men; the French lost 20,000, of whom 1800 were taken prisoners. Their large army lately massed before Orleans, was now split up into three separate bodies. FOOTNOTES: [52] Commanding Artillery of IXth Corps. [53] The northern suburb of Orleans. OFFENSIVE OPERATIONS SOUTH, EAST, AND WEST. The troops were too much exhausted for immediate pursuit in any of these three directions. It was ordered that only the 6th Cavalry Division, reinforced by an infantry detachment of the 18th Division, should follow up the enemy making to the southward, ascertain his whereabouts, and destroy the concentration of the railways from Bourges, Orleans and Tours at the Vierzon junction. This Cavalry was in quarters to the north of the city; the French XVth Corps had a considerable start of it, and the main body of the latter had reached Salbris, when, on December 6th, two days after the battle, General von Schmidt (commanding 14th Brigade, 6th Cavalry Division) arrived by a forced march at La Ferté St. Aubin. Here he found a detachment of the 18th Division, which had already driven the French rear-guard back on La Motte Beuvron, but was now recalled to the Loiret. Only two companies of the 36th Regiment and one of pioneers joined the further advance, and followed the cavalry partly in waggons and partly on gun-limbers. On the 7th, under direct orders from Tours, the French Corps left the high road to the south, and made a flank march of twenty miles in an easterly direction to Aubigny Ville. The cavalry, supported to the best of their power by its artillery and the small infantry detachment, had a sharp fight with the French rear-guard at Nouan le Fuzelier, and again in the evening at Salbris, in which the French finally had the best of it. The neighbourhood being very thinly populated, the Division had to return in the night to Nouan, to find shelter from the bitter winter weather. Long before daybreak on the 8th, the French rear-guard evacuated Salbris to avoid a further encounter with the enemy, whose strength was greatly overestimated. After some slight skirmishes the Cavalry Division reached Vierzon that evening. The telegraph wires were cut and the railway line torn up in several places, 70 goods vans were made prize of, the direction of the enemy's retreat was ascertained, and any offensive movement on the part of the French from that side for the time was reckoned very improbable. The Division had fulfilled its task; it was now ordered to leave one brigade in observation, and to advance in the direction of Blois with the rest. General (Count) von der Groeben (commanding 14th Cavalry Brigade) maintained his positions at Vierzon and Salbris till the 14th. The winter marches of the 6th Cavalry Division were exceptionally arduous. It was almost impossible to travel excepting by the high roads, and they were so slippery with ice that it was often necessary to dismount and lead the horses. The inhabitants of the Sologne were extremely hostile, and troopers patrolling in advance were fired upon in every village. The French forces, on the other hand, made but a feeble resistance. Numerous prisoners and large quantities of abandoned war matériel bore witness to a hasty retreat, in many cases indicated panic-flight. Nevertheless, in spite of much desultory marching and counter-marching, the Corps on December 13th finally succeeded in joining the right wing of the Army of Orleans at Bourges. The plight in which it arrived there may be gathered from the telegraphic _Correspondance Urgente_ of the Tours Government with General Bourbaki, who, when General d'Aurelle was dismissed from the command in chief, had assumed command of the three Corps. The delegate Freycinet, who was no doubt kept well informed by the country people, assured General Bourbaki that he had only a weak force of cavalry in his front, and called upon him repeatedly, and in the most urgent terms, to advance against Blois. The General retorted that if he were to undertake that operation, not a gun, not a man of his three Corps would ever be seen again. His intention was to retreat without delay from Bourges on St. Amand, and if necessary yet further; all he dreaded was lest he should be attacked before he could accomplish this, and so be involved in overwhelming disaster. The Minister of War himself went to Bourges, but he too renounced all idea of a serious offensive movement when he saw the disorder of the troops; "I have never seen anything so wretched." It was with difficulty that he carried his point that the Corps should not retreat, but should await events under cover of one of them pushed forward towards Vierzon. On the day when General von Schmidt entered Vierzon, the XVth Corps was in the vicinity of Henrichemont, at about an equal distance with himself from Bourges. The XVIIIth and XXth Corps were at Aubigny Ville and Cernay, from two to three marches away. It can scarcely be doubted that if the 18th Division had followed the advance of the 6th Cavalry Division, possession would have been obtained of Bourges and of the vast military establishments there. To the east of Orleans the IIIrd German Corps marched up the river through Châteauneuf. It met only stragglers, till on the 7th two Divisions of the XVIIIth French Corps attempted to cross to the right bank of the Loire at Gien. There came about an advanced-guard fight at Nevoy, with the result that these Divisions retreated across the bridge in the night, and continued their march on Bourges. FIGHTING OF THE GRAND DUKE OF MECKLENBURG. (December 7th, 8th, 9th, and 10th.) The Grand Duke's Detachment stood westward, close to the retreating left wing of the enemy. In contrast to the disorder of the right wing, General Chanzy, probably the most capable of all the leaders whom the Germans had to encounter in the battle-field, had very rapidly in so great measure restored the discipline and spirit of his defeated troops, that they were able not only to make a stand, but even to take the offensive. They had, it is true, been considerably reinforced by the newly formed XXIst Corps and by Camô's Division. The latter formed the advanced guard at Meung; behind it were the XVIth Corps at Beaugency, the XVIIth at Cravant, and the XXIst at St. Laurent on the edge of the forest of Marchénoir. On the day after the fight the troops of the Grand Duke were given a rest-day; only the cavalry pursued the French. The 4th Cavalry Division reached Ouzouer; the 2nd came upon considerable masses of infantry behind Meung. On the 7th, the Grand Duke's forces advanced on a very wide front. The 17th Division, on the left wing, marched on Meung, where its artillery opened a combat with that of the enemy. The French held possession of the narrow lanes of the village, which further westward was pierced by the main road to Beaugency. Towards four o'clock a Mecklenburg battalion carried Langlochère by storm, but found itself threatened on both sides by the approach of hostile columns. On the left Foinard was presently occupied, and a gun captured there, while on the right the 1st Bavarian Brigade advanced on La Bourie. Here, almost at the same moment, the 2nd Cavalry Division came up by by-roads from Renardière, having driven the enemy out of Le Bardon by the fire of its guns. The Bavarians had now to march out to meet a hostile mass advancing from Grand Chatre. Supported by the horse batteries, they maintained till nightfall a stubborn fight, which ended in the retreat of the French on Beaumont. During this conflict on the left wing of the Detachment, the 1st Bavarian Division, considerably on the right, were marching on Baccon, the 22nd on Ouzouer; and finding that the French were offering a determined resistance, the Grand Duke decided on closing in his forces to the left. _December 8th._--To this end the 22nd Division moved southward from Ouzouer through Villermain. After repulsing the swarms of tirailleurs which attacked its left flank under cover of a thick fog, General von Wittich directed his march on Cravant, to effect a junction with the right wing of the 1st Bavarian Division already engaged in a hot struggle. They had repulsed an attack of the enemy pushed forward from Villechaumont, and the 2nd (Bavarian) Division advanced by the road from Cravant to Beaugency; but when three French Divisions came on afresh, it retreated on Beaumont. Here it found support from the 1st (Bavarian Division) and 17 batteries were gradually brought up into the fighting line. Their fire and an impetuous attack from three Bavarian brigades at last forced the enemy to fall back, and the position on the high road was recovered. The French now, on their side, brought up a strong force of artillery, and prepared to advance on Cravant with their XVIIth Corps. But the 22nd German Division having taken Beauvert and Layes by the way, had already reached Cravant at about one o'clock, and was in position there with the 4th Cavalry Division on its right and the 2nd on its left. So when, at about three o'clock, dense French columns advanced on Cravant, they were repulsed by a powerful counter-stroke delivered by the 44th Brigade, in conjunction with the Bavarians, and were soon driven out of Layes, which they had entered while advancing. The five batteries nearest to Cravant had suffered so severely meanwhile that they had to be withdrawn. When finally at about four o'clock the Bavarian battalions advanced to storm the height in their front, they were met by fresh troops of the enemy, and after losing a great part of their officers were compelled to retreat on the artillery position at Beaumont. Later, however, the French abandoned Villechaumont. On the left wing of the Detachment the 17th Division pursued the retreating French through Vallées and Villeneuve, and then at about noon made an attack on Messas. The defence was obstinate, and it was not till dusk that it succeeded in gaining full possession of the place. The artillery directed its fire on dense masses showing about Vernon, the infantry stormed the height of Beaugency, and finally forced its way into the town itself, where a French battery fell into its hand. Camô's Division then retired on Tavers, and at midnight General von Tresckow fell upon Vernon, whence the French, taken entirely by surprise, fled to Bonvalet. The Headquarter of the IInd Army had determined to set in march on Bourges the IIIrd, Xth, and IXth Corps, from Gien, from Orleans, and also from Blois. But the Detachment in its advance on Blois by the right bank of the Loire had met with unexpected resistance lasting for two days. In the supreme Headquarter at Versailles it was regarded as indispensable that the Grand Duke should immediately be reinforced by at least one Division. Telegraphic orders to that effect arrived at ten o'clock on December 9th. The IXth Corps, which was already on the march along the left bank and had found no enemy in its front, could not give the requisite support, since all the bridges over the river had been blown up. The IIIrd Corps was therefore ordered to leave only a detachment in observation at Gien, and to turn back to Orleans. The Xth Corps was to call in its detachments standing eastward of the city and march forward to Meung. Meanwhile on the 9th the Detachment remained still quite unsupported while actually confronting with four Infantry Divisions, eleven French Divisions. And early on that morning General Chanzy took the offensive. _December 9th._--The two Prussian Divisions at Beauvert and Messas stood firmly awaiting the hostile onslaught. The two Bavarian Divisions, because of their severe losses, were held in reserve at Cravant, but soon had to come up into the fighting line, when at seven o'clock strong columns of the enemy advanced on Le Mée. Dense swarms of tirailleurs were repulsed both there and before Vernon, and were later shattered by the fire of the devoted German artillery, which silenced the French guns and then directed its fire on Villorceau. In spite of a stout defence, this village was carried and occupied about half-past ten by the Bavarian infantry. The French advance on Villechaumont in greatly superior force was also repulsed, with the assistance of three battalions and two batteries of the 22nd Division. The Thüringers[54] then stormed Cernay, where 200 French laid down their arms, and one of their batteries lost its teams and limbers. On the right wing of the Detachment, in consequence of a misunderstanding, the Germans evacuated Layes and Beauvert, and the French occupied these villages. However, with the assistance of the 2nd Bavarian Brigade, the 44th (Brigade) drove them out again from both places. Further to the north, the 4th Cavalry Division was in observation of a French detachment approaching Villermain. The French made renewed efforts, advancing again at mid-day on Cravant in strong columns; but this movement General Tresckow took in flank from Messas. He left only a weak detachment in Beaugency, and secured himself towards Tavers in the villages on his left. The main body of the 17th Division advanced on Bonvalet, reinforced the hardly-pressed Bavarians in Villorceau, and occupied itself Villemarceau in front of that place. Here the Division had to maintain a severe struggle, at about three o'clock, with close columns of the French XVIth and XVIIth Corps. The infantry rushing on the enemy with cheers succeeded, however, in repulsing him and holding its ground in spite of a hot fire. At the same time three Bavarian battalions, accompanied by cavalry and artillery, marched up from Cravant and drove the French out of Villejouan. Yet further to the right a battalion of the 32nd Regiment took possession of Ourcelle. A line from thence to Tavers defined the section of terrain laboriously wrung from the enemy. The fight ended with the retreat of the enemy on Josnes and Dugny. On this day the IIIrd Corps was still on the march to Orleans. The IXth from its position on the left bank, could only take part in the fighting by the fire of its artillery on Meung and Beaugency. It was not till near Blois that it met French detachments. Fifty men of one of the Hessian battalions carried the defended château of Chambord lying rightward of the line of march, and there took 200 prisoners and made prize of twelve ammunition waggons with their teams. Of the Xth Corps only the head of its infantry reached Meung, but it sent forward a regiment of Hussars with eight batteries, which arrived at Grand Chatre by about three o'clock in the afternoon. By order of the Headquarter of the IInd Army the Bavarian Corps was now to retire to Orleans, to recruit after its heavy losses. But even after the arrival of the Xth Corps the Grand Duke had still in his front an enemy double his strength, and instead of engaging in a pursuit he had rather to study how to maintain himself on the defensive. _December 10th._--At dawn General Chanzy renewed his attack, which even the Bavarians were presently required to join in repulsing. At seven o'clock the French XVIIth Corps rushed in dense masses on Origny, took there 150 prisoners, and forced its way into Villejouan. This advance was met directly in front by the 43rd Brigade at Cernay, and by the 4th Bavarian Brigade with six batteries at Villechaumont; while on the right flank General von Tresckow pushed forward on Villorceau and Villemarceau. In this latter village two of his battalions, supported by four batteries, resisted every onslaught of the French from Origny and Toupenay. At noon the main body of the 17th Division advanced to the recapture of Villejouan. Here the French made an obstinate stand. An embittered and bloody fight in the streets and houses was prolonged till four o'clock, and then fresh troops of the enemy came up to recover the post the Germans still held in one detached farmstead. The artillery mass of the Prussian Division had, however, deployed to the south of Villemarceau; it was joined by two horse batteries of the Xth Corps, and the batteries of the 22nd Division also came into action from Cernay. The concentric fire of this body of artillery wrecked the subsequent attacks of the XVIIth French Corps. Beaugency was now occupied by part of the Xth Corps. During the previous days the left flank of the German fighting position had a secure point d'appui on the Loire, but on the right such a support had been wholly lacking. The French had nevertheless hitherto made no attempt to take advantage of their superiority by a wider extension of their front. For the first time on this day did they come in on the unprotected left flank of their enemy. The greater part of the XXIst Corps deployed opposite to it, between Poisly and Mézierès, and at half-past ten strong columns advanced on Villermain. The Bavarians were compelled to take up with their 2nd Brigade the "hook" formation from Jouy to Coudray. Seven batteries were brought up into that line, and on its right flank the 4th Cavalry Division stood in readiness to act. By two o'clock two more horse batteries, and from Cravant four batteries of the Xth Corps arrived, which massed there with three brigades as a reserve. The fire of over a hundred German guns compelled the French to hurry their artillery out of action at three o'clock, and weak independent attacks by their infantry were repulsed without difficulty by the Germans persevering staunchly on the defence. The French losses in this four days' battle are unknown. The Detachment lost 3400 men, of whom the larger half belonged to the two Bavarian Divisions. The Grand Duke had succeeded in holding his own against three Corps of the enemy till the arrival of the first reinforcement, and this he owed to the bravery of all his troops, and not least to the exertions of the artillery. This arm alone lost 255 men and 356 horses. Its material was tasked to the utmost, so that finally almost all the steel guns of the light batteries of the 22nd Division, and most of the Bavarian, were rendered useless by the burning out of their vent-pieces. The IIIrd Corps had on this day just arrived at St. Denis, and the IXth at Vienne opposite Blois; but here, too, the bridge over the Loire was found to be blown up. On the French side, General Chanzy had learnt from the telegraphic correspondence of the Government at Tours with General Bourbaki, that nothing had come of that commander's attempt to divert part of the German IInd Army upon himself. The long delay gave General Chanzy the daily apprehension of an attack by it with its full strength; and he therefore decided on a retreat, which resulted in the removal of the Assembly from Tours to Bordeaux. In the Grand Duke's Head-quarter the renewed offensive had been decided on for December 11th. The villages in his front remained strongly occupied, and it was only at noon of that day that the enemy's retreat became known. He was at once pursued on the left by the Xth Corps, and on the right, south of the forest of Marchénoir, by the Detachment. On the north, the 4th Cavalry Division took up the scouting. A thaw had followed the hard frost, making the march equally difficult for friend and foe. The Germans found the roads littered with abandoned waggons and cast-away arms; the bodies of men and horses lay unburied in the fields, and in the villages were hundreds of wounded uncared for. Several thousands of stragglers were captured. The directions[55] of the Chief of the General Staff from Versailles suggested an immediate pursuit, which should render the enemy incapable of further action for some time to come; but not to be maintained beyond Tours. The IInd Army was then to assemble at Orleans and the Detachment at Chartres, and the troops were to obtain the rest they needed. From the former point constant and strict watch could be kept on General Bourbaki's army, and to this end a connection was to be made with General von Zastrow, who with the VIIth Corps was to reach Châtillon sur Seine on the 13th. But the operations in this quarter were not to extend beyond Bourges and Nevers. The IInd Army was accordingly in the first instance marched toward the Loir, and on the 13th reached the line Oucques--Conan--Blois, which last town was found evacuated. On the 14th the 17th Division marched to Morée, and reached the Loir at Fréteval. A fight occurred at both these points. Though the French had yielded thus far, they seemed resolved to make a firm stand on the Loir, and had occupied Cloyes and Vendôme in great strength. In order to attack with success, Prince Frederick Charles first proceeded to concentrate all his forces. The IIIrd Corps, which was hurrying after the army by forced marches, was in the first instance to come up into the interval between the Detachment and the Xth Corps, which was to march from Blois and Herbault on Vendôme. But when, on the 15th, the Xth Corps was moving in the prescribed direction, its main body encountered so determined a resistance close in front of Vendôme that it could not be overcome before dark. The troops therefore retired to quarters in the rear of Ste. Anne. A left-flank detachment had found St. Amand occupied by heavy masses, and halted at Gombergean. The IIIrd Corps had advanced in the course of the day on Coulommiers, in the vicinity of Vendôme, had fought the French at Bel Essert, driven them back across the Loir and established connection with the Xth. The Grand Duke, in compliance with instructions, stood meanwhile on the defensive. The IXth Corps, after the restoration of the bridge of Blois, was at last able to follow the army, leaving a brigade in occupation of Blois. A greatly superior force was now assembled opposite the enemy's position, and a general attack was decided on; but to give the wearied troops some rest it was postponed till the 17th, and meanwhile, on the 16th, General Chanzy withdrew. It had certainly been his intention to make a longer stand in the Loir angle; but his Generals convinced him that the condition of the troops did not permit the prolongation of active hostilities. He accordingly gave the order for the retreat of the army at daybreak by way of Montoire, St. Calais, and Vibraye to Le Mans. Thus in the early morning (of the 17th) the Xth Corps found the French position in front of Vendôme abandoned, and it entered the city without opposition. On the French left wing only, where the marching orders had not yet arrived, General Jaurès made an attack on Fréteval, but in the evening he followed the other Corps. FOOTNOTES: [54] In the 22nd Division of the XIth Corps--a Corps of a curiously composite character, there were three Thüringian regiments. The 43rd Brigade was wholly Thüringian, consisting as it did of the 32nd and 95th regiments (2nd and 6th Thüringers), and in the 44th Brigade was the 94th (5th Thüringers). It was the 2nd battalion of this last regiment which is referred to in the text. [55] The expression "Directiven" in the text cannot be succinctly translated. It was rarely, except when actually himself in the field, that the Chief of the General Staff issued actual "orders" to the higher commanders. His communications for the most part consisted of "Directiven"--messages of general suggestions as to the appropriate line of action to be pursued, leaving a wide discretion to the commanders to whom they were addressed, and refraining almost entirely from details. A collection of Moltke's "Directiven" would be perhaps the finest tribute to his military genius. INTERRUPTION OF IMPORTANT OFFENSIVE OPERATIONS IN DECEMBER. On the 17th of December general directions were issued from Versailles to the Armies both to the north and south of Paris. Now that General von Manteuffel was across the Somme, and Prince Frederick Charles had advanced to the Loir, the Germans held possession of almost a third of France. The enemy was everywhere driven back; and that the German forces should not be split up, it was thought advisable that they should be concentrated into three principal groups. The Ist Army was therefore to assemble at Beauvais, the Detachment at Chartres, the IInd Army near Orleans, where the troops were to have the needful rest, and their full efficiency was to be re-established by the arrival of reservists and equipment. If the French should engage in any new enterprises, they were to be allowed to approach within striking distance, and then were to be driven back by a vigorous offensive. For the IInd Army there was but little prospect at present of overtaking the enemy beyond the Loir; and the reports from the Upper Loire now necessitated the bestowal of increased attention in that direction. News came from Gien that the posts left there had been driven back to Ouzouer sur Loire; and it seemed not unlikely that General Bourbaki would take the opportunity of advancing by Montargis towards Paris, or at least towards Orleans, which for the moment was occupied only by part of the Ist Bavarian Corps. Prince Frederick Charles had got quit of his enemy probably for some considerable time, and he decided, in accordance with directions from Versailles, to assemble his forces at Orleans and maintain a waiting attitude. Only the Xth Corps was to remain behind in observation on the Loir. To secure immediate support for the Bavarian Corps in any event, the IXth Corps, on its arrival from Blois at La Chapelle Vendômoise on the 16th December, was ordered to march to Beaugency that same day, and to Orleans on the morrow. It covered nearly 52 miles in twenty-four hours, notwithstanding the badness of the weather. The IIIrd Corps followed it. However, it was soon known that the enemy's detachment which had been seen at Gien did not form part of a large body of troops, and was intrenching itself at Briare for its own safety. So the Germans retired into comfortable rest-quarters, the Ist Bavarian Corps at Orleans, the IIIrd there and along to Beaugency, the IXth in the plain of the Loire up as far as Châteauneuf, with a strong post at Montargis. The Bavarian Corps was later transferred to Etampes, to recover at its leisure, to recruit its numbers, and refit as to its clothing and equipment. Nor was the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg's detachment in a condition to follow General Chanzy beyond the Loir. Six weeks of daily marching and fighting had tried the troops to the utmost. The dreadful weather and the state of the roads had reduced their clothing and foot-gear to a miserable state. A reconnoissance beyond the Loir showed that the French could be overtaken by only long and rapid marches. So the Grand Duke allowed his troops a long rest, from the 18th, in the villages on the left bank of the river. Of the IIIrd Army, General von Rheinbaben, on the other hand, occupied with the three Brigades of the 5th Cavalry Division Courtlain, Brou, and Chartres, strengthened by five battalions of Guard Landwehr and four batteries. A letter from the Chief of the General Staff at Versailles had pointed out that this cavalry might probably be employed with great success in attacking the flank and rear of the enemy's retreating columns, and the Crown Prince had already given orders that it should push forward by way of Brou in full strength on the 15th. Contrary to these orders, the Division obeyed a subsequent order which reached it on the 16th from the Grand Duke, under whose command the Division had not been placed, to take up a position on the Yères. On this day patrols had found the roads open to Montmirail and Mondoubleau, except for French infantry in front of Cloyes, which retired after a short fray. On the left, a connection was opened with the 4th Cavalry Division. On the 17th, the 12th Cavalry Brigade entered Cloyes, already evacuated by the French; on the 13th it advanced on Arrou, and only General von Barby (commanding the 11th Cavalry Brigade) marched on Droue with a force of all arms, where he surprised the French at their cooking, and carried off much booty. On the 18th, the 12th Brigade did make prisoners of a few stragglers there, but the other two brigades only made a short march to the westward to La Bazoche Gouet and Arville, whence the enemy had quite disappeared. To the south of Arville a battalion of the Guard Landwehr drove the French infantry out of St. Agil. With this the pursuit ended on the 19th. The Division retired on Nogent le Rotrou by the Grand Duke's desire, and subsequently undertook the observation of the left bank of the Seine at Vernon and Dreux. The Grand Duke's Detachment left its quarters on the Loir on the 21st. The 22nd Division occupied Nogent le Roi, and the 17th Chartres, till the 24th. The 4th Bavarian Brigade rejoined its own Corps at Orleans. During the remainder of December only the Xth Corps had any fighting, it having been detailed to keep watch beyond the Loir from Blois and Vendôme. Two brigades were set on march towards Tours on the 20th. On the further side of Monnaie they met the newly-formed troops of General Ferri-Pisani, 10,000 to 15,000 strong, which were advancing from Angers and had passed through Tours. The soaked ground made the deployment of the artillery and cavalry exceedingly difficult. The cavalry, indeed, could only pursue the retreating French in deep columns along the high roads, thus suffering severely from the enemy's fire delivered at very short range. On the following day General von Woyna (commanding 39th Infantry Brigade) advanced unopposed with six battalions on the bridge at Tours. A light battery was brought up on the bank of the river and dispersed the rabble firing from the opposite shore, but it would have cost too many lives to storm the city, which, since the removal of the seat of Government, had ceased to be of any great importance. The detachment was withdrawn to Monnaie, and the Xth Corps went into quarters, the 19th Division at Blois, the 20th at Herbault and Vendôme. From the latter place on the 27th, a detachment of two battalions, one squadron, and two guns marched through Montoire on Sougé on the Braye, and there met a greatly superior force. General Chanzy had in fact marched a Division of his XVIIth Corps towards Vendôme in order to draw the Prussians away from Tours. Behind St. Quentin the weak Prussian detachment found itself hemmed in between the river and the cliff, enclosed on every side, and under heavy fire. Lieutenant-Colonel von Boltenstern succeeded, however, in cutting his way through. Without firing a shot the two Hanoverian battalions hurled themselves on the dense body of tirailleurs blocking their retreat, and fought their way out fighting hand to hand. Through the gap thus made the guns dashed after firing one round of grape-shot, and notwithstanding losses to the teams they ultimately got back safely to Montoire. The squadron also charged through two lines of riflemen and rejoined the infantry. As a result of this incident General von Kraatz Koschlau (commanding 20th Division) brought up the remainder of his Division from Herbault, determined to clear up the situation by a fresh reconnoissance. Four battalions were to advance from Vendôme, and the 1st Cavalry Brigade from Fréteval was to scout towards Epuisay. On this same day, however, General de Jouffroy was marching with two Divisions to the attack of Vendôme. When, at about ten o'clock, the reconnoitring force from Vendôme reached the Azay, it came under a hot fire from the further slope of the valley. Soon after six hostile battalions attacked its flank from the south, and repeated notice was brought in that considerable forces of the enemy were marching on Vendôme direct, from north of Azay by Espéreuse. General von Kraatz perceived that he would have to face a planned attack made by very superior numbers, and determined to restrict himself to the local defence of Vendôme. Under cover of a battalion firmly maintaining its position at Huchepie, he accomplished in perfect order the retreat of the detachment, which then took up a position on the railway embankment to the west of the city. Further to the north the hostile columns, advancing over Espéreuse, had already reached Bel Air. A battalion hastening up from Vendôme re-occupied the château, but being outflanked on the right by a superior force withdrew, and likewise took up a position behind the railway. At about two o'clock the French attacked this position in dense swarms of sharpshooters, but came under the quick-fire of six batteries in position on the heights behind Vendôme, which caused their right wing to give way. A column of the enemy advanced along the left bank of the Loir from Varennes against this artillery position, but hastily retreated out of range of the fire from it. The attacks directed against the railway from Bel Air and Tuileries were more serious; but eight companies posted there repelled them. At four o'clock the French once more advanced in strength; fortune wavered for some time, and at length, as darkness fell, they retired. The 1st Cavalry Brigade, accompanied by two companies and a horse battery, marched on this day on Danzé. Captain Spitz, with a handful of his Westphalian Fusiliers fell on two batteries halted there, and captured two guns and three limbers. With these and fifty prisoners General von Lüderitz (commanding 1st Cavalry Brigade) returned to Fréteval by about one o'clock, after pursuing the enemy as far as Epuisay. The attempt of the French on Vendôme had utterly failed, and they now retreated to a greater distance. General von Kraatz, however, was ordered, in the prospect of a greater enterprise to be described later, to remain meanwhile in waiting on the Loir. THE XIVTH CORPS IN DECEMBER. In the south-eastern theatre of war the French had at last decided on some definite action. Garibaldi's Corps, assembled at Autun, advanced toward Dijon on the 24th (November); its detachments closed up by Sombernon and St. Seine, with various skirmishes, and subjected to night surprises. Crémer's Division advanced as far as Gevrey from the south. But as soon as reinforcements reached Dijon from Gray and Is sur Tille, the enemy was driven back, and now General von Werder on his part ordered the 1st Brigade of his Corps to march on Autun. General Keller (commanding 3rd Infantry Brigade, Baden Division), arrived in front of the town on December 1st, driving the hostile detachments before him. The preparations had been made to attack on the following day, when orders came for a rapid retreat. Fresh troops had become necessary at Châtillon, to replace the posts which had been stationed to protect the railway and which had been surprised at Gray, to cope with sorties by the garrison of Besançon and also to observe Langres. The Prussian Brigade (26th) marched on Langres, along with two cavalry regiments and three batteries, and on the 16th it met the French in the vicinity of Longeau, in number about 2000. They were repulsed, losing 200 wounded, fifty prisoners, two guns, and two ammunition waggons. General von der Goltz (commanding the Brigade) in the next few days surrounded Langres, drove the Gardes-Mobiles posted outside into the fortress, and occupied a position opposite the northern front for the protection of the railways. In the country south of Dijon fresh assemblages of French troops had also now been observed. To disperse these General von Werder advanced on the 18th with two Baden Brigades on Nuits. In Boncourt, close to the town on the east, the advanced guard met with lively opposition, but carried the place by noon. The French, aided by their batteries posted on the heights west of Nuits, offered an obstinate defence in the deep railway cutting and at the Meuzin brook. When the main body of the Brigade came up at two o'clock, General von Glümer (commanding Baden Division) ordered a general attack. With heavy losses, especially in superior officers, the infantry now rushed across the open plain at the double against the enemy, who was under cover, and who, after maintaining a fire at short range, was driven back on Nuits so late as four o'clock in the course of a hand-to-hand struggle. At five o'clock he abandoned the place before the on-coming battalions. The Germans had had to do with Crémer's Division, 10,000 strong, which lost 1700 men, among them 650 unwounded prisoners. The Baden Division had lost 900 men. It encamped for the night on the market-place of the town and in the villages to the eastward. Next morning the French were found to have retreated still further, but the Germans were not strong enough for pursuit. The XIVth Corps had already been obliged to spare seven battalions for the investment of Belfort. General von Werder therefore returned to Dijon, where he assembled all the forces still left to him with those of General von der Goltz from Langres, and waited to see whether the enemy would again advance against him. But the month of December ended without any further disturbance. THE IST ARMY IN DECEMBER. While the IInd Army was fighting on the Loire, General von Manteuffel, after the victory of Amiens, marched on Rouen. General Farre was indeed at Arras, in the rear of this movement, but the disorder in which his troops had retired after the battle made it probable that he would do nothing, at any rate for the present. The 3rd Brigade, too, was left in Amiens, with two cavalry regiments and three batteries, to occupy the place and protect the important line of railway to Laon. The outlook to the west was more serious than to the north, for from thence at this juncture hostile forces threatened to interfere with the investment of Paris. General Briand was at Rouen with some 20,000 men, and had advanced his leading troops up to the Epte, where at Beauvais and Gisors he came in contact with the Guard Dragoon regiment and the Saxon Cavalry Division detached from the Army of the Meuse. The detachment of infantry which accompanied the latter had lost 150 men and a gun in a night surprise. When the Ist Army reached the Epte on December 3rd, both bodies of cavalry joined its further march, and the French retired behind the Andelles. The VIIIth Corps reached the vicinity of Rouen after petty skirmishes by the way, and found an intrenched position abandoned at Isneauville; and on December 5th General von Goeben entered the chief city of Normandy. The 29th Brigade advanced on Pont Audemer, the Ist Corps crossed the Seine higher up at Les Andelys and Pont de l'Arche. Vernon and Evreux were occupied, whence numbers of Gardes-Mobiles had retreated by railway to Liseux. On the northern bank the Guard Dragoon Regiment reconnoitred as far as Bolbec, and the Uhlan Brigade found no enemy in Dieppe. The French had retired to Havre, and a considerable force had been conveyed in ships that were in readiness, to Honfleur on the other bank of the Seine. The 16th Division continued its march on Havre, reaching Bolbec and Lillebonne on the 11th. The already-mentioned directions from Versailles had been communicated in advance by the Chief of the General Staff, and in accordance with them General Manteuffel now decided on leaving only the Ist Corps on the Lower Seine, and returning with the VIIIth to the Somme, where the French in Arras were now becoming active. Besides making this evident by various small encounters, on December 9th they had attacked a company detailed to protect the reconstruction of the railway at Ham, surprising it at night, and taking most of the men prisoners; while on the 11th several French battalions advanced as far as La Fère. To check their further progress, the Army of the Meuse had meantime sent detachments to Soissons and Compiègne. General Count von der Groeben[56] (commanding 3rd Cavalry Division) took up a position at Roye with part of the garrison of Amiens, and on the 16th met the 15th Division at Montdidier, which immediately moved up to the Somme. Only the citadel of Amiens now remained in German occupation; but General von Manteuffel, who had not approved of the evacuation of the city, ordered its immediate reoccupation. The inhabitants had, however, remained peaceable, and on the 20th the 16th Division, which had given up the attack on Havre, arrived by way of Dieppe. A reconnoissance fight near Querrieux made it certain that great numbers of French were drawn up on the Hallue, and General von Manteuffel now drew in the whole (VIIIth) Corps on Amiens. Reinforcements were shortly to be expected, for the 3rd Reserve Division was on the march, and had already reached St. Quentin. The Ist Corps was also ordered to send a brigade from Rouen to Amiens by railway, and the Commanding General determined to take the offensive at once with 22,600 men, all his available force at the moment. General Faidherbe had assembled two Corps, the XXIInd and XXIIIrd. His advance on Ham and La Fère, intended to divert the Prussians from attacking Havre, had succeeded. He next turned toward Amiens, advanced to within nine miles of the city, and now stood, with 43,000 men and eighty-two guns, fronting to the west behind the Hallue. Two Divisions held the left bank of this stream for about seven miles, from its confluence at Daours up to Contay, two standing further back, at Corbie and Fravillers. The Somme secured the left flank. On December 23rd General von Manteuffel, with the VIIIth Corps, advanced on the road to Albert. The 3rd Brigade of the Ist Corps formed his reserve. His design was to keep the French engaged by the 15th Division on their front and left wing, and with the 16th Division to outflank their right. The unexpected extension of the French right wing prevented this, and it became a frontal battle along the whole line. The greater height of the eastern bank afforded the French a commanding artillery position, and the villages lying at the foot had in every instance to be stormed. The French had drawn in their advanced posts to this line when at eleven o'clock the head of the 15th Division reached the grove of Querrieux, and brought up a battery. Two battalions of the 29th Brigade took the village at mid-day at the first onslaught, crossed the stream, and drove the French on the further bank out of Noyelles; but they now found themselves overwhelmed by an artillery and infantry fire from all sides. The East Prussians[57] stormed the acclivity at about four o'clock, and took two guns which were in action, but were forced to fall back into the village before the advancing French masses. Soon after mid-day Féchencourt was won on the left, and Bussy on the right; and the enemy after a feeble resistance was driven back across the stream. On the other hand, the German Artillery could at first do nothing against the strong and well-posted batteries of the enemy. Vecquemont, however, was stormed, though stoutly defended, and a bitter street-fight lasted till the afternoon. The 15th Division, against the intention of General Manteuffel, had become involved in fighting before the 16th, engaged further to the left, could afford it any assistance. Not till four o'clock did the 31st Brigade arrive in front of Béhencourt, when, crossing the river by flying bridges, it threw the enemy back into the village, where he maintained a stout resistance, but had ultimately to give way. The 32nd Brigade, on the extreme left, crossed the Hallue and entered Bavelincourt. Thus all the hamlets on the river were in German possession; but the short December day was closing in, and further progress had to be postponed till the morrow. Even in the dark the French made several attempts to recover the positions they had lost, especially about Contay, where they outflanked the German position. But their attacks were repulsed both there and at Noyelles. They succeeded, indeed, in getting into Vecquemont, but were driven out again, and were lost to the Prussians now following across the stream, who even seized Daours, so that ultimately the Germans held dominion over every passage of the Hallue. The battle was over by six o'clock. The troops moved into alarm-quarters in the captured villages, their foreposts standing close in front of the outlets. The attack had cost the Germans 900 men; the defence had cost the French about 1000, besides 1000 unwounded prisoners who were taken into Amiens. At daybreak on the 24th the French opened fire on General Manteuffel's position in the angle bounded by the Hallue and the Somme. It having been ascertained that the enemy's strength was almost double that of the Germans, it was decided this day on the latter side to remain on the defensive, pending the arrival of reinforcements, and to strengthen the defence of the positions gained. The Army-Reserve was pushed forward to Corbie to threaten the left flank of the French. But at two o'clock in the afternoon General Faidherbe took up his retreat. His insufficiently-equipped troops had suffered fearfully through the bitter winter night, and were much shaken by the unfavourable issue of the fighting of the previous day. He therefore drew them back within the area of the covering fortresses. When on the 25th the two Prussian Divisions and the cavalry pursued beyond Albert, and then close up to Arras and as far as Cambrai, they found no formed bodies at all in front of those places, and only captured some hundreds of stragglers. When General Manteuffel had thus disposed of the enemy, he sent General von Mirus (commanding 6th Cavalry Brigade) to invest Péronne, while he himself returned to Rouen. Since it had detached to Amiens six battalions as a reinforcement, the Ist Army Corps (at Rouen) now remained only two brigades strong. The French had 10,000 men on the right bank, and 12,000 on the left bank of the lower Seine. And these forces had come very close to Rouen; particularly on the south side within nine miles. Meanwhile, however, the Commanding-General had ordered back the 2nd Brigade from Amiens, and on its arrival the hostile bodies were once more driven back. FOOTNOTES: [56] Lieut.-General, not to be confounded with Major-General of same name commanding 14th Cavalry Brigade. [57] Men of the 2nd battalion 33rd Regiment (East Prussian Fusiliers), belonging to the VIIIth Corps, whose territory is the Rhine Provinces. It would be interesting to know how an East Prussian Regiment came to be incorporated into the Rhineland Corps. The Ist is the East Prussian Corps, and it was also under General v. Manteuffel, who had been the Corps Commander until the beginning of December, when its command passed to General v. Bentheim. THE REDUCTION OF MÉZIÈRES. (1st January, 1871.) In the northern section of hostilities, before the end of the year, the siege of Mézières was brought to an end. After the battle of Sedan the Commandant had contributed supplies from the magazines of the fortress for the maintenance of the great mass of prisoners, and it had remained, therefore, for the time exempt from attack. Later the place precluded the use of the railroad; still it was only kept under provisional observation till the 19th of December, when, after the fall of Montmédy, the 14th Division moved up before Mézières. The garrison numbered only 2000 men, but it was effectively assisted by bands of volunteers outside, who displayed extraordinary activity in this broken and wooded country. The place was not completely invested till the 25th. Mézières stands on a mountain-spur which is surrounded on three sides by the Moselle,[58] but it is hemmed by a ring of heights. The character of the defences, which had been strengthened by Vauban, with their numerous salient angles, was not calculated to resist modern long-range artillery. The place exposed an isolated rampart of masonry in a circumference of from 2160 to 3250 yards, and although the long delay had been utilized in repairing the weak points by throwing up earthworks, a bombardment could not fail to be destructive to the defenders. When Verdun had surrendered, heavy siege guns were brought by rail from Clermont to a position close in front of the southern face of the fortress. The only hindrance to the erection of the batteries was the state of the soil, frozen to a depth of twenty inches; and at a quarter past eight on the morning of the 31st of December 68 siege guns and 8 field-pieces opened fire. At first the fortress replied vigorously, but by the afternoon its artillery was utterly silenced, and the white flag was hoisted next day. The garrison were taken prisoners; considerable stores and 132 guns fell into the hands of the besiegers. But the chief advantage gained was the opening of a new line of railway to Paris. FOOTNOTE: [58] Slip of pen for "Meuse." PARIS IN DECEMBER. In Paris General Ducrot had been busily employed in making good the losses sustained in the battle of Villiers. A part of the greatly reduced Ist Corps had to be consigned to the reserve; the IInd Army was reorganized. A projected sortie by way of the peninsula of Gennevillers and the heights of Franconville had not been approved by the government. There was the confident expectation of seeing the Army of Orleans appear within a short time before the capital, and steps were being taken to reach it the hand, when on the 6th December a letter from General von Moltke announced the defeat of General d'Aurelle and the occupation of Orleans. A sortie to the south would thenceforth be aimless, and after long deliberation it was at length decided to break through the enemy's lines in a northern direction by a sortie in great force. It was true that the Morée brook afforded the besiegers some cover on that side, but only so long as the ice would not bear. And there were but three German corps of the gross strength of 81,200, extended over a front of about twenty-seven miles.[59] By way of preparation earthworks were begun to be thrown up on the 13th, between Bondy and Courneuve, the forts of the north front were furnished with a heavier artillery equipment, and the plateau of Mont Avron was occupied by batteries. Ninety rounds of ammunition were served out to each man, with six days' rations; and four days' fodder for the horses. Packs were not to be carried, but rolled tent-pieces were to be worn as breast-protection. December 19th was the day first set for the enterprise, but there was a postponement to the 21st. Thus, during the larger half of December the investing army had remained almost wholly undisturbed by the defenders. Regular food, warm winter clothing, and abundant supplies of comforts which the exertions of the postal service afforded, had maintained the troops in a thoroughly satisfactory condition. The preparations which the garrison was making for a new effort did not escape the notice of the besieging forces. Deserters brought in reports of an imminent sortie. On the 20th information came from the posts of observation that large masses of troops were assembling about Merlan and Noisy le Sec; and early on the 21st the 2nd Guard Division, by order of the Commander-in-Chief of the Army of the Meuse, stood in readiness at the passages of the Morée. Part of the 1st Division remained in reserve at Gonesse; the other portion was to be relieved by the 7th Division, and made available for action. On the right wing the Guard Landwehr Division occupied the section from Chatou to Carrières St. Denis; on the left a brigade of the Saxon Corps held Sévran. The 4th Infantry Division of the IInd Corps moved to Malnoue to support, in case of need, the Würtembergers, to whom was allotted the task of holding resolutely the advanced position of Joinville opposite the French. To divert the attention of the Germans from the true point of attack, a brisk fire was to be opened in early morning from Fort Valérien; strong bodies were to assail the right wing of the Guard Corps, General Vinoy was to lead the IIIrd Army against the Saxons, and Admiral de la Roncière was to fall upon Le Bourget with his Army Corps. This latter post, projecting as it did so prominently, it was essential to seize first of all, and not till then was General Ducrot, with the IInd Paris Army, to cross the Morée near Blanc Mesnil and Aulnay. (COMBAT OF LE BOURGET, 21ST DECEMBER.)--Le Bourget was held by only four companies of the Queen Elizabeth Regiment, and one Guard Rifle battalion. When the mist rose at a quarter to eight, there was rained on the garrison a heavy fire from the guns of the forts and many batteries, as well as from armour-clad railway trucks. Half an hour later closed hostile columns marched on the place from east and west. In the former direction its outskirts were successfully defended for some time against seven French battalions, and on the opposite side five more were brought to a halt by the quick fire of the defenders in front of the cemetery[60]; but a detachment of marine fusiliers penetrated unhindered into the village by its northern entrance. Pressed upon on all sides by overwhelming numbers, the defenders were compelled to fall back into the southern part of the village. The garrison of the cemetery also strove to force its way thither, but part of it fell into the enemy's hands. The French advanced only step by step, suffering heavy loss in bloody street-fighting, but they did not succeed in obtaining possession of the buildings or glass-factory. Five fresh battalions of the French reserve marched up from St. Denis on the gas-works, and battered down the garden-wall with cannon-fire, but still could not crush there the steady resistance of the Germans. At nine o'clock the latter were reinforced by one company, and at ten o'clock by seven more companies, which in a bloody hand-to-hand struggle, fought their way to the cemetery and glass-factory. By eleven the last bodies of assailants were driven out, and Le Bourget, in expectation of a renewed attack, was occupied by fifteen companies. Two batteries of field artillery, which had been in brisk action on the Morée, were brought up to the village. General Ducrot had meanwhile waited in vain for the signal which was to have announced the capture of Le Bourget. He had pushed forward the heads of his columns beyond Bondy and Drancy, when he was warned by the disastrous issue of the struggle on his left to abandon his intended attack on the line of the Morée. The anticipated important enterprise lapsed into a mere cannonade, to which the German field-guns did their best to reply. In the afternoon the French retired from the field. They had lost, by their own account, about 600 men. The troops of the Prussian Guard Corps lost 400, but 360 prisoners remained in their hands. In the evening the outposts resumed their previous positions. The various feigned attacks of the Parisian garrison were without effect, and produced no alteration in the dispositions made on the German side. An advance from St. Denis against Stains was repulsed, and two gunboats on the Seine had to go about in consequence of the fire of four field batteries on Orgemont. The trivial sortie on Chatou was scarcely heeded. General Vinoy indeed led forward a large force along the right bank of the Marne, but that was not till the afternoon, when the fight at Le Bourget was over. The Saxon outposts retired into the fighting position near Le Chenay. One of the battalions massed there drove the enemy out of Maison Blanche that same evening, another made a grasp at Ville Evrart, where fighting went on till midnight; it lost seventy men, but brought in 600 prisoners. Next morning the French abandoned Ville Evrart, under heavy fire from the German artillery on the heights on the opposite side of the river. Paris had now been invested for three months. The always distasteful expedient of a bombardment of a place so extensive could not of itself bring about a decisive result; and on the German side there was the full conviction that only a regular siege could accomplish the wished-for end. But the operations of the engineers had to be delayed till the artillery should be in a position to co-operate with them. It has already been shown that the siege-artillery had been first employed against those fortified places which interrupted the rearward communications of the army. There were indeed 235 heavy pieces standing ready at Villacoublay; but it had proved impossible as yet to bring up the necessary ammunition for the attack which, once begun, must on no account be interrupted. By the end of November, railway communication had been restored up to Chelles, but the greater part of the ammunition had meanwhile been deposited at Lagny, and from thence would now have to be carried forward by the country roads. The ordinary two-wheeled country carts proved totally unfit for the transport of shells, and only 2000 four-wheeled waggons had been collected by requisitions made over a wide area. There were brought up from Metz 960 more with horses sent from Germany, and even the teams of the IIIrd Army were taken into the service, though they were almost indispensable just then to contribute towards the efficiency of the army fighting on the Loire. Finally, all the draught horses of the pontoon columns, of the field-bridge trains, and of the trench-tool columns were brought into the ammunition-transport service. A new difficulty arose when the breaking-up of the ice necessitated the removal of the pontoon bridges over the Seine. The roads were so bad that it took the waggons nine days to get from Nanteuil to Villacoublay and back. Many broke down under their loads, and the drivers constantly took to flight. And moreover, at the instance of the Chief of the Staff there was now laid upon the artillery yet an additional task to be carried out forthwith. Though the besieged had not hitherto succeeded in forcing their way through the enemy's lines, they now set about widening their elbow room, with intent that by their counter-approaches the ring of investment should be further and yet further pushed back, until at last it should reach the breaking point. On the south side the French entrenchments already extended beyond Vitry and Villejuif to the Seine; and on the north, between Drancy and Fort de l'Est, there was an extensive system of trenches and batteries reaching to within 1100 yards of Le Bourget, which in part might in a manner be dignified with the title of a regular engineer-attack. The hard frost had indeed hindered the further progress of these works, but they were armed with artillery and occupied by the IInd Army. And further, a singularly favourable point of support for a sortie to the east as well as to the north, was afforded to the French in the commanding eminence of Mont Avron, which, armed with seventy heavy guns, projected into the Marne valley like a wedge between the northern and southern investing lines. (BOMBARDMENT OF MONT AVRON, DECEMBER 27TH.)--In order to expel the French from this position fifty heavy guns from Germany, and twenty-six from before La Fère were brought up under the command of Colonel Bartsch. By the exertions of a whole battalion as a working party, two groups of battery emplacements were erected in spite of the severe frost on the western slope of the heights behind Raincy and Gagny, and on the left upland of the Marne Valley near Noisy le Grand, thus encompassing Mont Avron on two sides at a distance of from 2160 to 3250 feet. At half-past eight on the morning of 27th December those seventy-six guns opened fire. A heavy snowstorm interfered with accurate aim, and prevented any observation of the execution done. Mont Avron and Forts Nogent and Rosny replied rapidly and heavily. The German batteries lost two officers and twenty-five gunners, several gun-carriages broke down under their own fire, and everything pointed to the prospect that no definite result would be obtained on that day. But the batteries had fired more effectually than had been supposed. The clear weather of the 28th allowed of greater precision; the Prussian fire proved most telling, making fearful havoc in the numerous and exposed French infantry garrison. Mont Avron was silenced, and only the forts kept up a feeble fire. General Trochu, who was present in person, ordered the abandonment of the position, which was so effectually accomplished in the night by the energetic commander, Colonel Stoffel, that only one disabled gun was left behind. On the 29th the French fire was silent, and the hill was found deserted. The Germans had no intention of continuing to occupy the position. Their batteries now turned their fire on the forts, which suffered severely, and on the earthworks near Bondy. By the end of the year the besiegers had succeeded in collecting the most indispensable ammunition in Villacoublay. The engineer operations were entrusted to General Kameke; the artillery was under the command of General Prince Hohenlohe.[61] The battery emplacements had long been finished, and with the dawn of the new year 100 guns of the largest calibres stood ready to open fire on the south front of Paris. FOOTNOTES: [59] Viz., the section of the investment line on the northern side, from the Marne above, to the Seine below Paris, held by the Army of the Meuse, consisting of the IVth, the Guard, and XIIth (Saxon) Corps. [60] "Kirchhof" seems to stand in German not only for our "churchyard," but also for our "graveyard," in which latter there need be no church. In the case of Le Bourget the church stands in the village street--the reader will remember de Neuville's striking picture--and the graveyard lies outside the shabby village, and has the aspect of the modern "cemetery." That term has therefore been used. [61] Details as to the personnel of the artillery and engineer commands of the siege operations will be found on a later page. THE ARMY OF THE EAST UNDER GENERAL BOURBAKI. While the French forces were engaged in constant fighting, in the north on the Seine and the Somme, in the south on the Loire and the Saône, General Bourbaki's army had nowhere made itself prominent. Since the 8th of December, when the 6th Cavalry Division had reported its presence at Vierzon, all trace of it had been lost. It was of course of the greatest importance to the supreme Command that it should know the whereabouts of so large an army; only the IInd German Army could acquire this information, and on the 22nd it received instructions to obtain the required enlightenment by means of reconnaissances. On this errand General von Rantzau (commanding 25th Cavalry Brigade) set out from Montargis by the right bank of the Loire towards Briare, where he found that the French had abandoned their position on the 25th; in the course of the next few days he met them, and was defeated. The Hessian detachment was reinforced to a strength of three battalions, four squadrons and six guns, but was nevertheless driven back to Gien on the 1st of January. The French had displayed a force of several thousand Gardes-Mobiles, twelve guns, and a body of marine infantry. A noticeable fact was that some of the prisoners brought in belonged to the XVIIIth French Corps, which formed part of the Ist Army of the Loire. A regiment of the 6th Cavalry Division sent out to reconnoitre into the Sologne, returned with the report that strong hostile columns were marching on Aubigny Ville. On the other hand, two waggon-drivers who had been taken prisoners declared that the French troops had been already moved from Bourges by rail, and the newspaper reports also pointed to the same conclusion; still, too much weight could not be attached to mere rumour as against circumstantial intelligence. It was therefore assumed at Versailles that the Ist Army of the Loire was still about Bourges, and that General Bourbaki, when again in a condition to fight, would act in concert with General Chanzy. The two armies might attack the Germans at Orleans from opposite sides, or one might engage and detain them there, while the other marched to relieve the capital. This, in fact, was what General Chanzy had in view. Since the 21st of December he had been resting in quarters in and about Le Mans, where railways from four directions facilitated the bringing up of new levies. His troops had no doubt great hardships to contend with there. In lack of shelter for such great masses part had to camp out under canvas in the snow, and suffered severely from the intense cold. The hospitals were crammed with wounded and small-pox patients. On the other hand, this close concentration was favourable to the reorganization of the details and the restoration of discipline; and the news from Paris urged the General to renewed action. General Trochu had sent word that Paris unaided could not accomplish her freedom. Even if a sortie should prove successful, the necessary supplies for the maintenance of an army could not be carried with it, and therefore nothing but the simultaneous appearance of an army from without could meet the case. Now General Chanzy was quite ready to march on Paris, but it was indispensable that he should first know exactly what Generals Bourbaki and Faidherbe were doing. It was clearly evident that concerted action on the part of three great Army Corps could only be devised and controlled by the chief power. The General therefore sent an officer of his Staff on the 23rd of December to Gambetta at Lyons, to express his conviction that only a combined and prompt advance could avert the fall of the capital. But the Minister believed that he knew better. The first news of a quite different disposition of Bourbaki's army only reached General Chanzy on the 29th, when it was already entered upon. Nor in other respects did Gambetta's reply convey either distinct orders or sufficient information. "You have decimated the Mecklenburgers," wrote Gambetta, "the Bavarians no longer exist, the rest of the German Army is a prey to disquietude and exhaustion. Let us persevere, and we shall drive these hordes from our soil with empty hands." The plan of the Provisional Government was to be the one "which would most demoralize the German army."[62] Under instructions so obscure from the chief authority General Chanzy, relying on his own strength, determined to make his way to Paris without other assistance; but he soon found himself in serious difficulties. On the German side there was no time to be lost in utilizing their position between the two hostile armies, advantageous as it was so long as those armies were not too near. The simultaneous attacks on the 31st December at Vendôme on the Loir, and at Briare on the Loire, seemed to indicate that the two were already acting on a concerted plan. On New Year's day Prince Frederick Charles received telegraphic instructions to re-cross the Loir without delay, and strike at General Chanzy, as being the nearest and most imminently dangerous enemy. With this object the IInd Army was strengthened by the addition of the XIIIth Corps of the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg (17th and 22nd Divisions) and the 2nd and 4th Divisions of Cavalry. And in addition the 5th Cavalry Division was detailed to the duty of covering the right flank of the advance. Only the 25th (Hessian) Division was to be left in Orleans as a possible check on General Bourbaki, and to maintain observation on Gien. But as a further provision, in case of need against a possible advance of the IInd Army of the Loire, General von Zastrow was ordered to the Armançon with the VIIth Corps;[63] and further the IInd Corps from the besieging lines was set in march to Montargis. Prince Frederick Charles' arrangement was to have his three corps assembled on the line Vendôme--Morée by 6th January, and to order the XIIIth from Chartres on Brou. FOOTNOTES: [62] "Qui démoralisera le plus l'armée Allemande." [63] In effect, with only the Corps-headquarter and the 13th Division--the 14th Division being still in the north-east. THE ADVANCE OF THE IIND ARMY TO LE MANS. The Germans had hoped to strike the enemy in his winter quarters; but General Chanzy had provided against surprise by a cordon of strong advanced positions. Nogent le Rotrou on his left was held by Rousseau's Division, and numerous bands of volunteers; from thence strong detachments were posted through Vibraye and St. Calais up to the Braye brook, where General Jouffroy had made a halt after the last attack on Vendôme; and on the right were General Barry at La Chartre and de Curten's Division at Château Renault. Both wings of the German army came into collision with these forces on the 5th of January. General Baumgarth (commanding 2nd Cavalry Brigade), on the German left, had assembled at St. Amand three battalions, two cavalry regiments and two batteries. The 57th regiment stormed Villeporcher in the direction of Château Renault, evacuated it in face of an attack by four French battalions, and finally recaptured and held it. This much, at any rate, was thus ascertained, that a not inconsiderable force of the enemy was assembled in front of the left wing of the German army now marching westward. While this movement was in prosecution General Baumgarth was thenceforth to undertake its protection, and with this object he was reinforced by the addition of the 6th Cavalry Division and the 1st Cavalry Brigade. On the right wing the 44th Brigade, in its advance on Nogent le Rotrou, also had had a sharp encounter. It carried the enemy's position at La Fourche, and captured three guns, with a large number of prisoners. The main body of the Corps (the XIIIth) reached Beaumont les Autels and Brou, but the cavalry failed to penetrate the woods to the north of Nogent. _January 6th._--At six in the morning the advanced guard of General Baumgarth's detachment started on march to Prunay, but the main body could not follow, since it was attacked in force at about half-past nine. With the object of observing the enemy, the infantry had been scattered in detached posts in a wide extension from Ambloy to Villeporcher, and only a small reserve remained at La Noue. The fight soon assumed greater expansion, and the defence with difficulty maintained the line Les Haies--Pias, the turning of the German left flank being seriously threatened, upon which the 6th Cavalry Division moved up, but could only enter the fight with one horse battery. The reserve, however, moved up along the high road to Château Renault and repulsed the enemy, who had already forced his way into Les Haies. But when he renewed the attack in strong columns and developed four batteries against the place, the reserve was obliged to retire behind the Brenne. Meanwhile the 16th Regiment, which had already reached Ambloy on its march to Vendôme, turned back to St. Amand in support, and the just assembled 38th Infantry Brigade deployed between Neuve St. Amand and St. Amand with a strong force of cavalry on its flanks. But as by some mistake St. Amand was evacuated, Duke William of Mecklenburg (commanding 6th Cavalry Division) ordered a further retreat. The infantry, however, had already come to a halt at Huisseau and took quarters there. The advanced guard turned into Ambloy; the cavalry fell back partly on that place and partly on Villeromain. During the engagement about St. Amand the Xth Corps itself advanced on Montoire in two columns along the left bank of the Loire, leaving on its right a battalion in front of Vendôme to secure the debouche of the IIIrd Corps through that place. When the 20th Division reached St. Rimay at about one o'clock, it found the heights on the opposite side of the Loir occupied by General Barry's troops. The massed German batteries were brought up to the southern ridge of the valley and soon drove the French off the broad flats; but the defile of Les Roches in the front remained quite unassailable. The broken bridge at Lavardin, lower down the stream, was therefore made practicable by the pioneers. The 19th Division having meanwhile reached that place, several battalions crossed from the south side to attack Les Roches, and easily dislodged the French. As darkness came on, preventing any further advance, the Corps found quarters in and about Montoire. The Commander of the IIIrd Corps had intended to make a halt on this day before Vendôme, and only push forward his advanced guard as far as the Azay brook; but this detachment soon met with so stout opposition, that the main force was compelled to advance to its assistance. General de Jouffroy, with intent to disengage General de Curten, had renewed the attack on Vendôme, and so the advanced guard of the 5th Division, approaching Villiers at about half-past one, found the 10th Jäger Battalion, which had accompanied the march of its Corps along the right bank of the Loir, engaged at that place in a sharp fight which had already lasted four hours. The advanced guard brought up its two batteries on to the plateau north of the village, and the 48th Regiment made its way forward to the slope of the lower Azay valley, the broad flat meadows of which were commanded by the French long-range rifles and completely swept by the fire of the artillery. And here then the enemy came over to the attack in dense swarms of sharp-shooters. The 8th Regiment presently came up in support, and after a short fight took possession of Le Gué du Loir on its left flank; then the further reinforcement arrived of the 10th Infantry Brigade, and by degrees the number of Prussian guns increased to thirty-six. The French artillery could not endure their fire, and within half an hour it was possible to turn it on the hostile infantry. At about half-past four the German battalions crossed the valley, made themselves masters of the vineyards and farms on the opposite heights, and finally stormed Mazange. Under cover of the darkness the French retired to Lunay. Further to the right the advance guard of the 6th Division, having left Vendôme at eleven o'clock, found the battalion left by the Xth Corps at Courtiras fighting hard against a very superior force of the French. The 11th Brigade advanced on the Azay ravine, though not without heavy loss, and when at about half-past three the 12th also came up, and the artillery went to work vigorously, Azay was successfully stormed and the force established itself firmly on the heights beyond. Repeated counterstrokes of the enemy were repulsed in succession, and by five o'clock the fighting ended with the retirement of the French. The IIIrd Army Corps took up quarters between the Azay stream and the Loir. A detachment occupied Danzé, higher up the river. The Corps lost thirty-nine officers and above 400 men, but captured 400 prisoners. In the course of the day the IXth Corps crossed the upper Loir about Fréteval and St. Hilaire, without opposition, and advanced along the high road to St. Calais, as far as Busloup. The XIIIth remained at Unverre, Beaumont, and La Fourche. Prince Frederick Charles had not been led into any change of purpose by the attack at St. Amand and the obstinate resistance at Azay. The XIIIth Corps was expected to reach Montmirail, and the XIth Epuisay, both on the 7th; the IIIrd was to continue the attack on the deep-cut channel of the Braye brook. But after the reverse experienced at St. Amand, the presence of a strong hostile force on the left flank could not be suffered to remain unregarded. Duke William had already been given verbal orders at the Head-quarter in Vendôme, to turn back forthwith to St. Amand with the 6th Cavalry Division, and in addition General von Voigts-Rhetz was ordered to support General Baumgarth if necessary with his whole Corps. The country between the Loir and the Sarthe through which the Germans had to march, presents peculiar difficulties to an invading force, and affords marked advantages to the defence. All the roads leading to Le Mans intersect at right angles, stream after stream flowing through broad and deeply cut meadow-valleys. Groves, villages, and châteaux with walled parks cover the highly cultivated upland; vineyards, orchards and gardens are enclosed by hedges, ditches or fences. Hence almost the whole burthen of the impending fighting would have to be borne by the infantry; nowhere was there space for the deployment of cavalry, and the use of artillery needs must be extremely limited, since in a country so greatly enclosed guns could only singly be brought into action. The enemy's central position could be approached by only four main roads, and the communications between the marching columns, starting at the least some thirty miles apart, would be confined to the cross roads, almost impassable from the severity of the season and the hostility of the inhabitants. Any lateral mutual support was at first quite out of the question. Under such conditions the movements could only be guided by general instructions, and even the leaders of lower grades had to be left free to act at their own individual discretion. Specific orders for each day, though they would of course be issued, could not in many cases be possibly carried out. In the Army Headquarter it could not be foreseen in what situation each individual corps might find itself after a day's fighting. Reports could only come in very late at night, and the orders drawn up however early would often arrive only after the troops, because of the shortness of the day, had already set out on the march. _January 7th._--In obedience to orders from the Army Headquarter, General Voigts-Rhetz on the 7th sent the part of the 19th Division which had already reached Vendôme, back to St. Amand in reinforcement. The 38th Brigade had again entered that place early in the day, and General von Hartmann, taking over its command, advanced along the Château Renault high road, the cavalry moving on both flanks. The column first struck the enemy near Villechauve at mid-day. A thick fog prevented the employment of the artillery, and it was at the cost of heavy loss that Villechauve, Pias, and various other farmsteads were captured. Villeporcher and the adjacent villages remained in possession of the French, who at about two o'clock advanced by the high road to the attack with several battalions. The weather had cleared, and it was soon evident that this offensive was only intended to mask the beginning of the enemy's retreat to the westward. The troops took quarters where they stood, and the reinforcements forwarded to them remained at St. Amand. The Xth Corps, awaiting the return of the latter, remained in its quarters about La Chartre; only the 14th Cavalry Brigade went on up to La Richardière to establish connection with the IIIrd Corps. But it did not succeed in taking the village with dismounted troopers. General von Alvensleben[64] hoped to overtake the French on the hither side of the glen of Braye, and by turning their left wing to drive them on to the Xth Corps, whose co-operation had been promised. The IIIrd Corps advanced in the direction of Epuisay, leaving one brigade to garrison Mazange, and when tidings reached it on the march that the French had evacuated Lunay and Fortan, that brigade also followed by way of the latter village. Epuisay was found to be strongly held, and in the meantime the advanced guard of the IXth Corps, advancing from Busloup, also arrived there. But it was not till half-past one that the French were expelled from the little town, which they had strongly barricaded; and on the hither side of the Braye they renewed their resistance in the numerous hamlets and farmsteads. A long fire fight was kept up in the thick fog; but at length, at about four o'clock, the 12th Brigade pushed forward to the edge of the valley. The 9th Brigade took possession of Savigny without meeting any serious opposition, and Sargé was stormed in the dusk. The IIIrd Corps had lost forty-five men and had taken 200 prisoners. It found quarters behind the Braye, but threw forward outposts on its western bank. The IXth Corps found shelter in and about Epuisay, and thus, as a matter of fact, two corps were now crowded on one of the few available roads. The 2nd Cavalry Division went to the right, towards Mondoubleau, to make connection with the XIIIth Corps. The French retreated to St. Calais. The order from the Army Head-quarter that the XIIIth Corps was to march to Montmirail, had been issued on the presumption that it would have reached Nogent le Rotrou on the 6th, whereas in fact, as has been shown, it had remained at La Fourche, Beaumont, and Unverre. The Grand Duke, who expected to experience a stout resistance, did not pass to the attack of Nogent till the 7th. When the 22nd Division arrived there, it found all the villages deserted in the Upper Huisne valley and was able to enter Nogent without any fighting at two o'clock. It took up quarters there, the 4th Cavalry Division at Thirion Gardais; and only an advanced guard followed the enemy. It found the wood near Le Gibet strongly occupied, and did not succeed in forcing it till after nightfall. The French had retired to La Ferté Bernard. The 17th Division had at first followed in reserve. But at one o'clock, in consequence of the reports brought in, the Grand Duke detached it southward to Authon; and in order to follow the Head-quarter instructions as closely as possible he did at least push a detachment of two battalions, two cavalry regiments, and one battery towards Montmirail, under the command of General von Rauch. _January 8th._--Finding on the morning of the 8th that the enemy was not advancing to the attack of St. Amand, General von Hartmann at nine o'clock sent back the troops which had crossed the river to his support. At ten o'clock also he received instructions to join the Xth Corps; but the French still continued to hold Villeporcher and the forest lying behind it, and were also drawn up across the Château Renault high road in a very advantageous position behind the Brenne. The General recognized the necessity of making a decisive stand here, and took the best means to that end by acting himself on the offensive. Supported by the fire of his battery, and accompanied by the cavalry on either flank, six companies of the 60th Regiment marched on Villeporcher, drove back its defenders in flight into the forest of Château Renault, and took 100 prisoners. On the left the 9th Uhlans drove the Chasseurs d'Afrique before them. Not till darkness had set in did General von Hartmann proceed in the direction of Montoire. General von Voigts-Rhetz had already set out from thence very early in the day. The night's frost had covered the roads with ice, which cruelly impeded all movements of troops. The road on the right bank of the Loir was in many places broken up. It passed through a succession of narrow defiles, and on emerging from these the advanced guard found itself face to face with a force of about 1000 Gardes-Mobiles, who had taken up a position in front of La Chartre. Their mitrailleuses were soon forced to a hasty retreat by the fire of two field-guns, but it was only after a prolonged struggle that the infantry, moving with difficulty, succeeded at 4 o'clock in entering the town, where it took up quarters. Two battalions which were sent further on the road, had to fight for their night's shelter, and all through the night were exchanging shots with the enemy at close quarters, of whom 230 were taken prisoners. The 39th Brigade, which left Ambloy in the morning, could follow the corps only as far as Sougé. General von Schmidt with the 14th Cavalry Brigade was sent to the right, to try to make connection with the IIIrd Corps. He was received at Vancé with a sharp fire. The leading squadron made way for the horse battery, and a volley of grape-shot from the foremost gun drove the dismounted hostile Cuirassiers behind the hedges. When two more guns were brought up into position, their shell fire dispersed in every direction a long column of cavalry. Colonel von Alvensleben pursued the French cavalry with the 15th Uhlan Regiment till he came upon a body of infantry guarding the Etang-fort brook. The brigade halted at Vancé, after putting about 100 French _hors de combat_. Of the IIIrd Corps the 6th Division had moved forward through St. Calais. The French tried to hold the cuttings on the greatly broken up roads; but they nowhere awaited a serious attack, and made off, for the most part in carts which were in waiting. The 5th Division, proceeding on a parallel front on the left, met with no opposition; but the state of the roads made the march extremely difficult. The corps halted on the hither side of Bouloire. The IXth Corps came up behind it into St. Calais. The Grand Duke had moved both Divisions of the XIIIth Corps on La Ferté Bernard. On their way they came across none but stragglers, but they found the roads so utterly cut up that not till four in the afternoon did they reach the place, where they took up quarters. The French had retired to Connerré. The 4th Cavalry Division was to secure the right flank on the further advance, but could not get as far forward as Bellême; on the other hand, General von Rauch's (commanding 15th Cavalry Division) detachment despatched leftward towards Montmirail, surprised the French in Vibraye, and took possession of the bridge over the Braye. By the evening of this day the two flank Corps of the German Army were at an equal distance from Le Mans, both on the same high road which crosses the district of the Quere from La Ferté Bernard in a southerly direction through St. Calais and La Chartre; the IIIrd Corps was further in advance, separated from each of them by the interval of a long march. A closer concentration of the forces could be attained only by a further advance along the converging highways. Prince Frederick Charles therefore issued an order at ten o'clock that evening, for the Xth Corps to march next day to Parigné l'Evêque, the IIIrd to Ardenay, and the XIIIth on to the heights of Montfort, the advanced guard of each to be pushed forward beyond these respective points. The IXth, in the centre, was to follow, while General von Hartmann was to protect Vendôme with the 38th Brigade and the 1st Division of Cavalry. But the distances prevented the flanking corps advancing from La Chartre and La Ferté from reaching their respective destinations, and, on the 9th of January, snow-storms, ice-bound roads, and thick fog further combined to make their progress arduous beyond conception. _January 9th._--General von Hartmann marched the 38th Infantry Brigade on Château Renault, and entered the town at one o'clock, to find that Curten's French Division had started early in the morning for St. Laurent. The incomplete Xth Corps moved this day in two columns; the detachment of General von Woyna (commanding 39th Infantry Brigade) was to march from Pont de Braye by Vancé, the remainder of the corps from La Chartre by way of Brives to Grand Lucé. The 20th Division had scarcely set out by this route from L'Homme, when it encountered shell and mitrailleuse-fire. Here there happened for once to be room for three batteries to advance, but in the heavy snow-fall aim was out of the question. The infantry, however, by degrees drove the enemy out of sundry hamlets and farmsteads, and back across the Brives. To pursue him beyond that stream a makeshift bridge needed first to be thrown across with some loss of time, and then Chahaignes was to be seized. But in the narrow valley which had to be now traversed a vigorous resistance was to be counted on. The state of the road was such that the artillerymen and cavalry had to dismount and lead their horses. The General in command rode on a gun-carriage; his staff went on foot. Some horses which had fallen in front presently stopped the way for the whole column; and it therefore became necessary to send back all the Corps-artillery, which was to try next day to come on by way of Vancé. To facilitate the march of the 20th Division, General von Woyna had been instructed to deviate from his direct road and attack the enemy's left. When he approached the valley the fighting had fallen silent, and the detachment turned back to Vancé; but at Brives at about half-past three the main column met with fresh resistance, being received with a brisk fire from the heights north-east of the village. Not even the infantry could move outside of the high road, so there was no alternative to a frontal advance along it. A closed attack by the 39th Brigade broke up and routed the enemy. At half-past six in the evening, when quite dark, Colonel von Valentini set out for St. Pierre with four battalions, and took there 100 French prisoners and a loaded train of 100 waggons. The Xth Corps spent the night with only its advance in Brives and Vancé, but its quarters reached back nearly to the valley of the Loir. Nor had the 14th Brigade of Cavalry been able to make any further headway. Of the IIIrd Corps the 6th Division had marched by the high road through Bouloire, with the artillery corps; the 5th on the left along the by-roads. The advanced guard of the 6th Division, after a lively fire-fight, expelled the enemy from his positions in front of Ardenay, but there at two o'clock had to encounter a determined resistance. After General de Jouffroy had withdrawn from St. Calais to the southward, General Chanzy pushed forward Paris' Division to secure the high road leading from thence to Le Mans. It had taken up a position near Ardenay, occupying the château on the right, and on the left posting four guns and two mitrailleuses near La Butte. To oppose these there was only room on the road for two German guns, which, however, in the course of half an hour silenced the mitrailleuses, and carried on the unequal contest with the greatest obstinacy. At about four o'clock five companies of the 12th Brigade stormed the château of Ardenay, while others, crossing the meadowland to the right, forced their way through a patch of wood towards La Butte. As night came on the French tried to effect a general attack along the chaussée; but this was repulsed, and the Brandenburgers[65] plunged through the heavy fire of the defenders, and without firing a shot took La Butte and Ardenay with a rush and a cheer. The French were thrown back into the valley of the Narais, losing many prisoners. On the right a detachment of one battalion, two squadrons, and two guns, accompanied the 6th Division. It drove before it franctireur bodies, but at La Belle Inutile met with more serious resistance. The post was, however, carried by the 24th Regiment, which made prize of a large ammunition and provision train, and took above 100 unwounded prisoners. Count zu Lynar moved into the village for its defence. The 5th Division met with no opposition, but the state of the roads caused extreme delay to its progress. It was not till the afternoon that its head reached the Narais at Gué de l'Aune and took up quarters there and rearward to St. Mars de Locquenay. Its advanced guard went on, however, to La Buzardière, thus forming the absolute head of the whole army. Parigné l'Evêque, on its left flank, was found to be held by the enemy. The IXth Corps followed the IIIrd to Bouloire. Orders from head-quarters had not yet reached La Ferté when, at nine in the morning, the Grand Duke set the XIIIth Corps in motion on Connerré. Soon after midday the 17th Division came upon the French near Sceaux, and in a struggle wherein it slowly gained ground, drove them first out of the village precincts and then off the road. The French, who had retreated to Connerré by a forced night march, lost above 500 prisoners in this small affair. But the short day was closing in, and the advanced guard halted at dusk at Duneau. A detachment going further forward found Connerré occupied by the French, and many watch-fires blazing in the valley of the Due. The main body of the infantry found quarters in and about Sceaux. Rauch's detachment, ordered to rejoin the Corps, took possession of Le Croset and of the bridge over the Due in front of that village, and also expelled the French from Thorigné. The French stayed in Connerré only till the evening; then, leaving a company in occupation, they continued their retreat. This necessarily led from the left bank of the Huisne through the quarters taken up by the IIIrd German Corps, which was disturbed all night by wandering detachments of the enemy, even at Nuillé, where the Divisional headquarters lay. On the extreme right the 4th Cavalry Division occupied Bellême, after driving out the French battalion which had been in occupation there. Thus on this day the centre of the IInd Army had fought its way to within about nine miles of Le Mans; while the two wings were still some distance behind. As it was probable that the French would accept battle in a prepared position behind the Huisne, it seemed advisable to await the arrival of the Xth and XIIIth Corps; but on the other hand, this would also give the enemy time to strengthen himself. Were an immediate attack determined on, the two Divisions which had been delayed respectively at Château Renault and Le Chartre, could scarcely reach Le Mans in time, and the rest of the army would be involved everywhere in a disadvantageous contest with the hostile bodies which were being driven back concentrically on that place. Prince Frederick Charles therefore ordered the IIIrd Corps to push on through Ardenay; the Xth was to advance to Parigné, and the XIIIth on St. Mars la Bruyère, though these points could scarcely be reached from the positions actually occupied by the respective Corps this same evening (9th). As we have seen, the French army now assembled about Le Mans had been acting on the offensive on January 6th, when General Jouffroy had advanced on Vendôme, and de Curten on St. Amand. But so early as the 7th the French found themselves reduced to the defensive along their whole front, some 50 miles in length. General Rousseau, on the left wing, had evacuated Nogent le Rotrou, and, without being pressed, began his retreat by a night march to Connerré. In the centre, the trough of the Braye was wrested from General Jouffroy; he quitted St. Calais, not rearward on Le Mans, but southward to join General Barry. On the right, General Curten had abandoned Château Renault, and set out, unpursued, on the line through Château du Loir. To effect some concert in the operations of the three Divisions of his right wing, General Chanzy placed them under the superior orders of Admiral Jauréguiberry. He pushed forward the Division Paris on Ardenay by the high road General Jouffroy had uncovered, and on the left wing he reinforced General Rousseau by stationing three Divisions more on either side of his line of retreat. General Jouffroy was to retire to Parigné l'Evêque, and a Division was sent to meet him there and at Changé. General de Curten succeeded on the 9th in checking the progress of the German left wing for some time about Chahaignes; but the Division Paris was driven back through Ardenay, and General Rousseau, thus beset in Connerré, evacuated that village the same evening. The two Divisions of the right wing were behind as far as Jupilles and Neuillé Pont Pierre. Under these circumstances General Chanzy ordered that on the 10th the Division Jouffroy should fall back on Parigné l'Evêque, but that the Division Paris should once more move forward on Ardenay. He sent the remaining three Divisions of the XXIst Corps to meet General Rousseau, with instructions that he was to retake Connerré and Thorigné. The offensive movements thus planned by both sides developed into the fierce battle which, on the German side, was fought out single-handed by the IIIrd Corps. FOOTNOTES: [64] Lieut.-General Alvensleben II, commanding IIIrd Army Corps, not to be confounded with Infantry-General Alvensleben I, commanding IVth Corps. [65] Brandenburg is the territorial province of the IIIrd Army Corps. It was the nucleus of the Prussian monarchy, and the Hohenzollerns were Margraves and then Electors of Brandenburg for 300 years before they became Kings of Prussia. The IIIrd is unquestionably the most distinguished Corps of the Prussian line. The late Prince Frederick Charles long commanded it. BATTLE IN FRONT OF LE MANS. (10th, 11th, and 12th of January.) _January 10th._--_The Fighting about Parigné and Changé._--Owing to the peculiar nature of the country, deep columns could not deploy without great loss of time. General von Alvensleben therefore advanced in the centre with the 9th and 11th Infantry Brigades on Changé from Gué de l'Aune and Ardenay, moving on a broad front in comparatively small separate bodies. On the right the 12th marched by the high road to Le Mans; on the left the 10th was to start from Volnay when Parigné should be found abandoned by the French, and leaving that place on its left, was also to converge on Changé. Parigné had, in fact, been deserted by the French, but had been reoccupied before daybreak by a brigade of the Division Deplanque; and even before the German troops had started, the far-advanced outposts towards the forest of Loudon were smartly attacked. The greater part of the 9th Brigade had to be deployed by degrees between Blinières and the point of the forest, but only seven guns could be brought into action against the numerous French artillery. General von Stülpnagel decided to reserve his strength for the struggle at Changé, and to carry on merely a stationary fight here, which must be inevitably decided as soon as the 10th Brigade should make its appearance on the left. That brigade, delayed by the badness of the roads, did not arrive by way of Challes till noon; but it brought two batteries to reinforce the German artillery strength, which now vigorously prepared the infantry attack on the high-lying Parigné. Half an hour later the battalions rushed on the place with shouts of "Hurrah Brandenburg!" taking a gun which the enemy had abandoned, and two mitrailleuses still in action. When the French returned to try to recover them they were again repulsed, and sacrificed another gun, two colours, and several waggons. After losing 2150 prisoners they fled to the shelter of the forest of Ruaudin. General von Stülpnagel left two battalions at Parigné to maintain observation in that quarter, and hurried on to Changé in two columns. In front of this village, at about three o'clock, the 11th Brigade met with a violent resistance at the Gué Perray brook from the other brigade of Deplanque's Division. The 2nd Battalion of the 35th Regiment lost nine officers and above 100 men in a severe struggle at Les Gars. The General in command, who was on the spot, dislodged both flanks of the enemy from his strong position, and on the left two companies succeeded in crossing the stream at La Goudrière. These at four o'clock now fell in with the advanced guard of the 9th Brigade, which Colonel Count von der Groeben was bringing up from Parigné, having taken possession of the Château of Girardrie on the way. When the companies of the 11th Brigade sent to the right reached Auvigné simultaneously, the "General Advance" was sounded. Auvigné was stormed, the bridge north of Gué la Hart was crossed, and that village carried after a hard fight. Over 1000 prisoners more were taken from the flying French. It was already dark, but Changé, the goal of the struggle, was not yet reached. But when a barricade outside the village had been won it was found that the 10th Brigade was already in possession. This brigade, on its way along the high road from Parigné, had met with resistance at the Châteaux Chef Raison and Paillerie. Having only two guns, it failed to silence the French artillery, but General von Stülpnagel left there only a battalion in observation, and hurried forward with part of the brigade to reinforce the fight at Gué la Hart; the other portion was directed against Changé. Here the French had already been for the most part dismissed to quarters, but they soon assembled and made a prompt and determined resistance. There ensued an embittered street-fight, which ended in about an hour's time in the surrender of the whole garrison of 800 men, who had been crowded together into the market-place. The 12th Brigade had at last left Ardenay at eleven o'clock; it advanced along the high road without opposition as far as St. Hubert, where an abandoned commissariat train was seized. Having there aligned itself with the rest of the Corps it halted for a while, but after one o'clock was fired upon by French artillery; and the enemy again advancing along the highway, General von Buddenbrock[66] on his part passed to the attack, and drove back the enemy out of Champagné, in part across the Huisne, and in part to the heights behind the village. Two guns successfully dealt with the fire of the French artillery near Lune d'Auvours, and then the infantry expelled the French from that shelter also. Further to the right a German battalion had taken St. Mars la Bruyère after a slight skirmish, and was subsequently joined there by General Count zu Lynar's detachment. Fighting thus with equal skill and success the IIIrd Corps had indeed already lost 450 men; but it had brought in more than 5000 prisoners, and had won many trophies of which it had a right to be proud. The Xth Corps had started this day from Vancé and Brives, and unobstructed indeed by the enemy, but along very heavy roads, reached Grand Lucé at two o'clock. Here it took up quarters. The IXth Corps remained at Nuillé. Of the XIIIth Corps the 17th Division had continued its advance along the left bank of the Huisne, and found Connerré already deserted by the French. But on the further side of the river the heights of Cohernières, the railway station, and the wood to the north, were occupied by the 2nd Division of the French XXIst Corps. General von Rauch led two battalions to the attack from the south, in which shared the 22nd Division from the east, having crossed the Huisne at Sceaux and taken the direction of Beillé by the right bank. A stubborn resistance was encountered, and the fight swayed to and fro till darkness fell. The Château of Couléon, indeed, and several villages at the foot of the wooded heights were taken, but the French maintained their hold on the heights and their position at Cohernières. The 17th Division had meanwhile continued its advance along roads frozen as smooth as glass, and reached La Belle Inutile; the 22nd passed the night at Beillé. This division had in the morning sent a detachment sideward to Bonnétable, whither the 4th Cavalry Division now proceeded. The 12th Cavalry Brigade followed to Bellême. Colonel von Beckedorff then continued his advance to Chanteloup, whence he drove out the French in spite of an obstinate defence. General Chanzy had determined to risk a decisive battle in front of Le Mans. Curten's Division had not yet reached him, and only a part of Barry's had come up, but on the other hand the army from the camp of Conlie, in strength some 10,000 men, had arrived. The right wing of the French position rested its flank on the Sarthe near Arnaye[67]; it extended for more than four miles along the Chemin aux Boeufs, and continued in a slight curve leftward to the Huisne. Barry's Division, already weakened by previous reverses, and General Lalande's National Guards--undisciplined and badly armed troops--were posted on the extreme right which was the least threatened. Deplanque's and Roquebrune's Divisions, Desmaison's Brigade and Jouffroy's Division, held the centre and left, the last body in the first instance opposite to General von Alvensleben. Behind this line Bouëdec's Division and Colonel Marty's detachment constituted a reserve. In all from 50,000 to 60,000 men under the command of Admiral Jauréguiberry, with full ranks and well commanded, crowded the entrenched front of the most important section of the line--that between the two rivers (Sarthe and Huisne). Five Divisions more, under the command of General de Colomb, lined the right bank of the Huisne for a distance of about eight and a half miles, the Division Paris was at Yvré; Gougeard's Division, also holding the heights of Auvours on the hither side, was northward of Champagné; then came Rousseau's Division at Montfort and Pont de Gesnes, and finally, Collin's Division in hook-formation about Lombron. Besides these Villeneuve's Division, quite on the flank, fronted toward Chanteloup. _January 11th._--On this day the IIIrd German Army Corps was directly opposed to the main body of the French forces. It could not for the present hope for any assistance from the corps of the flanks, and had before it the certainty of an arduous struggle. On the left, the Xth Corps was still this morning at Grand Lucé, and on the right the XIIIth Corps had been detained on the previous day by the obstinate resistance of the French, who had held their own between Les Cohernières and La Chapelle, and occupied Le Chêne in their front. The troops of the 22nd Division had necessarily lost their formations and become mixed up in the course of the struggle in the wood, and it was not till they had been re-formed and the enemy's position had been reconnoitred by both the Divisional Commanders that the attack was renewed at about eleven o'clock. Two battalions of the 17th Division and one battery were left in observation in front of Pont de Gesnes, on the southern bank of the Huisne; on the northern side, the Mecklenburg battalions stormed Cohernières in the afternoon after a sharp contest, and in conjunction with the Hessians forced their way westward up to the Gué and on towards Lombron about four o'clock. Further to the right two companies of the 90th Regiment (22nd Division) meanwhile took Le Chêne by a closed attack on the obstinate defenders; the 83rd Regiment, after a sharp fire fight, stormed the farmsteads of Flouret and La Grande Métairie. Colonel von Beckedorff, on being relieved at Chanteloup by the 4th Cavalry Division, had driven the French out of St. Célerin, and he then advanced to La Chapelle-St. Rémy on the right of the Division, which occupied wide quarters behind the points it had seized. The Mecklenburg Grenadiers had held their own for a long time at Le Gué and La Brosse against superior numbers attacking from Pont de Gesnes; but the main body of the 17th Division was retired in the evening further back to Connerré. The more completely that General von Alvensleben had to rely solely on his own command, the more essential it was to keep the troops composing it closely concentrated. But a strong force of the enemy was now on his flank, almost indeed in his rear, on the heights of Auvours, where it was only kept at bay by his 12th Brigade, which therefore for the present was not free to advance. And here it was that the battle first really began. The French had repossessed themselves of Champagné, and had deployed artillery on the heights behind it. When their fire had been subdued by four guns of the brigade, two battalions advanced to an attack on the village. It was not till after an obstinate street-fight, that the enemy at eleven o'clock was driven back to the heights, and the bridge over the Huisne carried. General von Buddenbrock now let the two battalions remain in observation, sent a third to Lune d'Auvours, and at noon started with the rest of the brigade to rejoin the Corps. Meanwhile the conflict had been raging with such fury all along the front of the latter that at twelve o'clock Prince Frederick Charles sent orders from St. Hubert to General Voigts-Rhetz, to hurry forward by the shortest roads to the battle-field with the Xth Corps; and at the same time General von Manstein was instructed to seize the heights of Auvours with the IXth. It was already one o'clock when the advanced guard of the IXth climbed up the hollow way, deep in snow, followed by two battalions of the 12th Brigade, and by two batteries straining every nerve. The infantry plunged forward through the wood, strongly held as it was by the enemy, straight on Villiers; the skirmishers of the Fusilier battalion of the 11th Regiment seized three mitrailleuses in action, and when the French had abandoned the village, turned them against the wood. Further to the left, at about three o'clock, two battalions of the 85th Regiment from the main body of the 18th Division, were directed on the western end of the ridge, supported by the Jägers and two batteries which were brought up near Les Hêtres. To cover them two companies moved on La Lune, and baulked for the moment the hostile rush along the high road. But against these movements the French opened a heavy fire from their commanding batteries behind Yvré. Regardless thereof the Holsteiners[68] on the left charged on a hostile battery and seized three of its guns. On the right they took possession of the neighbouring farmsteads; and soon after five the French abandoned the whole plateau as far as its western edge. Over it, however, a strong counter-attack was delivered in the evening, when part of Gougeard's Division charged up the slope from Yvré. Its further advance was arrested; but the French could not be prevented from remaining there during the evening and night. Nevertheless, this offensive struggle on the part of the 18th Division had relieved the pressure on the rear and flank of the IIIrd Corps. It received the further order in the evening to secure the passage over the Huisne for use next day. Three battalions and one battery immediately crossed over to the northern bank and drove from the bridge the hostile detachments in its vicinity. The Division lost 275 men. General von Alvensleben had delayed the advance of the IIIrd Corps till eleven o'clock, in anticipation of the arrival of the 12th Brigade. During the night (10--11th) the French had completed their entrenchments on the skirts of the wood and had taken up their position there; they also lined the heights on the further side of the river with numerous batteries. Thus a frontal attack must involve heavy loss, and it was impossible to out-flank lines so extensive. General von Alvensleben therefore decided on advancing at first only against the enemy's left wing, and assigned to that task the 11th Brigade. The 10th and 9th remained in reserve for the present about Changé and Gué la Hart. The 12th, released at Mont-Auvours, was indeed marching up, but on circuitous ways, because the high road was everywhere entirely commanded by the batteries on the heights. The 11th Brigade, scarcely 3000 strong, followed the course of the Gué Perray streamlet up to the northern end of the wood. To protect it against the French columns threatening it from the heights, the 35th Regiment had to form front towards the brook and also occupied the Château of Les Arches. The 20th Regiment tried to get forward by the cattle-path, and while holding firmly the Château of Les Noyers and the bridge there over the Huisnes, drove back the enemy by sheer hard fighting to Les Granges. But he presently returned so considerably reinforced that the whole brigade had to be gradually brought up into the fighting line. Les Granges was lost and retaken several times with heavy loss, particularly of officers; but the Brandenburgers fought on staunchly. On the left of the 11th the 10th Brigade now made its appearance, coming up from Changé at one o'clock. After an hour-long bloody struggle the 52nd Regiment made itself master of the farm of Le Pavillon, of the wooded slope in front, and the farm of Grand Anneau. Strong columns advancing from Pontlieue were driven back, two batteries dashed up into the Chassepôt fire to within 800 paces of Le Tertre; yet the 12th Regiment did not succeed in getting into the farmstead till two battalions of the 9th Brigade from Changé had come up to its assistance. The farmstead whose possession was so obstinately disputed was taken by storm at about five o'clock, with the co-operation of the Grenadiers of the 8th Life-Regiment. The 52nd Regiment, having expended all its ammunition, had to retire, but the Grenadier battalions pushed further forward on the cattle-path, where two French guns in action were captured after a bloody mêlée; and the enemy's repeated attempts to recover them were steadily frustrated. A hostile battery which had been brought up westward of the wood was driven back by quick fire. As the 35th Regiment had to be brought forward from the Gué Perray brook to support the 20th, the French had recovered possession of Les Arches. The 12th Brigade, only three battalions strong, arrived there from Auvours at two o'clock. The 64th Regiment recaptured the château after a short fight. The overwhelming artillery and musketry fire from the heights on the further side of the river prevented the German artillery from coming into action, and it was only with great difficulty and a heavy sacrifice of gunners that the pieces were brought away again; but every attack on the château by the French from Yvré was steadily repulsed. It was now quite dark, and only the fire of the cannon still lasted. The IIIrd Corps had taken 600 prisoners, but had also lost 500 men. It had fought its way into the heart of the French position, and its outposts were in the closest proximity to the enemy's front. And now strong, though late, reinforcements arrived. The Xth Corps had marched from Grand Lucé to the westward in the morning, to gain the high road from Tours to Le Mans, but slippery roads again delayed its march, so that it only reached Teloche in the afternoon. The cannon thunder heard to the northward left no doubt that General von Alvensleben was engaged in arduous fighting. The orders sent at noon from the Army Headquarter in St. Hubert sped to General Voigts-Rhetz; but that officer rightly judged that his appearance would now have a more telling effect on the enemy's flank than on the field where the IIIrd Corps was engaged. So in spite of the exhausted state of his men, who had had no opportunity to cook on the way, he at once pushed forward without halting. To protect himself against Curten's Division on the watch for him from Château du Loir, he despatched a battalion to Ecommoy. It was received with firing from the houses, surrounded on all sides in the darkness, and compelled to withdraw from the place; but it then kept the road clear in the rear of the corps. The head of the 20th Division found Mulsanne but feebly defended, and drove the detachment back beyond the cutting of La Monnerie. The nature of the country which here had to be traversed greatly favoured the enemy. Ditches and fences afforded his marksmen complete cover, farmsteads and copses furnished excellent defensive positions. Only eight guns could at first be brought to bear against the enemy's artillery; but nevertheless four Westphalian and Brunswick[69] battalions steadily repelled the French, and by nightfall reached Point du Jour. The fight first became stationary on the cattle-path in front of Les Mortes Aures. Here the French swept the whole foreground with a continuous rolling fire from tiers of shelter-trenches rising one above the other. The fight swayed to and fro for a long time, but finally the German left gained ground. The 1st Battalion of the 17th Regiment rushed on the enemy, who delivered his fire at point blank range and then made for the wood. And when now the 1st Battalion of the 56th Regiment advanced from Point du Jour, its drums beating the charge, the French carried away their mitrailleuses and evacuated Les Mortes Aures. This battalion had received orders from the Commanding General to settle the business with the bayonet. Captain von Monbart led it on locked up close at the charging pace; all the detachments at hand joined it, and in spite of a heavy fire from the wood La Tuilerie was reached by half-past eight; and here the 40th Brigade deployed, while the 37th stood ready to support it in front of Mulsanne. The enemy drifted away in the darkness. The constant roll of wheels, the noise of departing railway trains and the confusion of cries indicated a retreat. Yet the prisoners who were constantly being brought in, with one accord reported that a strong force was still encamped in the forest. Numerous watch-fires blazed there through the night, and instead of resting, it seemed evident that the hostile troops were preparing to engage in fresh attempts. At half-past ten the outposts reported the approach of a strong force from Pontlieue. Hitherto it had been only the little-to-be-relied-on National Guards under General Lalande at this point with whom the German troops in this quarter of the field had had to deal; but the Admiral now sent Bouëdec's Division against La Tuilerie, and ordered General Roquebrune to support his advance. For a full hour the Prussian battalions in first line were scourged with rifle fire in front and flank, and pelted by a hail-storm of projectiles, but no serious attack occurred. According to French reports, the officers strove in vain to bring forward their troops; but the latter constantly hung back. A later assault made by Gardes-Mobiles was equally fruitless. But still there was to be no rest. At two in the morning the din of fighting again made itself heard on the right. Deplanque's Division had been disturbed by a flank detachment of the 40th Brigade. This body was advancing by the road from Ruaudin to Pontlieue, to be at hand in case of need; without returning the enemy's fire, it had driven out the holders of Epinettes, and had established itself there close to the cattle-path. _January 12th._--For the impending struggle of the following day only the IIIrd and Xth Corps could be counted on. The other two Corps could only co-operate indirectly by holding engaged a part of the hostile forces. Of the XIIIth Corps the 17th Division was to advance by Lombron to St. Corneille, without committing itself to a contest with the enemy still holding the bank of the Huisne; the 22nd was ordered from La Chapelle to Savigné. The Gué brook was to be lightly held, and part of the artillery was to remain at Connerré with the 7th Brigade of Cavalry. On advancing it was found that the enemy had already abandoned Lombron, Pont de Gesnes, and Montfort. Arms and equipments thrown away betrayed how hurried had been the flight. Many stragglers were brought in prisoners, and it was not till reaching the Merdereau brook at noon, that the 17th Division met with opposition. The Château of Hyre and St. Corneille were won about four o'clock by an enveloping attack, and 500 French were taken prisoners. The enemy was then driven back behind the Parance brook, where the advanced guard halted at dusk. Colonel von Beckedorff's detachment of the 22nd Division marched through Chanteloup from Sillé, throwing back the enemy on La Croix, where a large body of hostile troops made a stand. But when, after a long halt, the main body of the Division came up, it at once passed to the attack. Entire formed bodies of French here laid down their arms, and 3000 men with many officers became prisoners. An attempt of the cavalry to advance across the Sarthe to break up the railway on the further side of the river was, however, unsuccessful. The whole force occupying the heights of Auvours surrendered to the IXth Corps. The 35th Brigade marched up to Villiers, but patrols sent ahead soon reported that the French had retired across the Huisne. When the noise of fighting was heard at mid-day from St. Corneille, the brigade in question was ordered to proceed northward to support the 17th Division engaged there. The 84th Regiment, passing through La Commune, lent efficient assistance in the attack on Château Hyre. Outposts were left on the Parance for the night, but the main body of the 35th Brigade returned to Fatines, and the 36th took up quarters between Villiers and St. Mars la Bruyère. By the battle of the previous day the position of the French before Le Mans had been forced; but they still stood firm behind the Huisnes, and as their left wing had been driven in on their centre, the latter section had been considerably strengthened. There still remained the stream to be crossed, and the steep slope to be climbed, where every row of the vineyards in terraced ascent was held by strong firing lines, and the crest of which was crowned with batteries. The passage of the Huisnes near Ivré, on the left, was covered by entrenchments with special carefulness, and the ground in front of the wood of Pontlieue had been made impassable in many places by abatis. Against such a position the artillery could be of little and the cavalry of no service, while deep snow hampered every movement of the infantry. General von Alvensleben therefore decided on standing for the present on the defensive with his right wing, while he prepared to support the advance of General von Voigts-Rhetz with his left. The troops were roused from their short rest at six in the morning. Two French companies made their way towards the bridge at Château Les Noyers with powder-bags, but they were compelled to retreat, leaving the explosives behind them. At eight o'clock the French made a determined attack on the outposts of the 12th Regiment in the wood, and drove them in on Le Tertre. Again a combat raged furiously about this farmstead, which was almost demolished by shell fire. One by one the last battalions of the 10th Brigade were drawn into the struggle, to replace bodies which, their ammunition exhausted, had to retire. Only four guns could be used with effect, but by eleven o'clock the enemy's fire gradually died away, and he was seen to retire on Pontlieue. The battalions of the left wing pursued, and came out on the Parigné road in immediate touch with the Xth Corps. General von Voigts-Rhetz had left two battalions at Mulsanne, for his protection from the direction of Ecommoy; the whole Corps, after many detachments had been unavoidably detailed from it, was assembled by about half-past seven for a further advance on Pontlieue. The main body of the 20th Division closed up by the Mulsanne road on La Tuilerie. Three battalions of the 19th Division massed at Ruaudin to strengthen the sideward detachments in Epinettes, while two battalions with the 14th Cavalry Brigade and the Corps' artillery, which could find no opening in the region further to the left, moved up by the roads from Parigné. The reinforcement meanwhile arrived from Ruaudin, and General von Woyna made his way without hindrance through the forest to La Source, where he halted at one o'clock, his front parallel with that of the 20th Division. A heavy battery of the latter had already driven away the French mitrailleuses in front of Pontlieue. On the right a light battery of the 19th Division was brought up to La Source, and ten horse-artillery guns on to the road from Parigné. The atmosphere was, however, so thick that their fire could only be directed by the map. At two o'clock General von Kraatz advanced in close column on Pontlieue, whither General von Woyna was now also marching. The southern part of the village was taken after a slight resistance; but on the further side of the Huisne the French held the houses along the river-bank, and just as the Germans approached the bridge it was blown up. The demolition, however, was not complete, and the foremost battalions got across over the débris to reach the enemy. Two made their way into the high street of Pontlieue, one turned left to the railway station, whence were heard signals for departing trains. Nothing interposed to hinder the railway bridge here from being blown up, and thus many prisoners were taken, besides 150 provision waggons and 1000 hundred-weight of flour. The artillery fire was immediately directed on the town of Le Mans. Meanwhile the detachments of the IIIrd Corps, which had become mixed up in the forest fight, had re-formed. After a ration of meat, the first for three days, had been served out to the troops, the 10th Brigade resumed its march. The Brandenburg Jäger Battalion crossed the river by the paper-mill of L'Epau, and two batteries strengthened from Château Funay the artillery fire directed on Le Mans. When presently the infantry entered the town, a fierce struggle began in the streets, which were entirely blocked by the French trains. Entrance into individual houses had to be cleared by artillery fire; a large number of French were taken prisoners, and a vast quantity of waggons were seized. The fighting lasted till nightfall, and then the Xth Corps and half of the IIIrd took up alarm quarters in the town. The 6th Division took possession of Yvré, which the enemy had abandoned, and threw out foreposts to Les Noyers and Les Arches on the further side of the Huisne. The actions fought by the French on this day, had been engaged in for the sole purpose of gaining time for the extrication of the army. On learning from Admiral Jauréguiberry that every effort to get the troops to advance had failed, and that the last reserves were shattered, General Chanzy had at eight in the morning issued orders for a general retreat on Alençon, where the Minister of War had arranged for the arrival of two Divisions of the XIXth Corps from Carentan. The advance of the IInd Army to Le Mans had been a series of seven days' incessant fighting. It was made at a season when the winter was in extremest severity. Ice and snow-drifts had rendered every movement one long struggle. Bivouacking was out of the question; and the troops had to seek their night shelter often at a distance of some miles in rear; their reassembling in the morning cost precious hours, and the shortness of the day then prevented their taking full advantage of their successes. Whole battalions were employed in guarding the prisoners. The roads were in such a state that the trains of the army could not be brought up; officers and men alike marched insufficiently clothed and on scanty rations. But zeal, endurance, and discipline conquered every difficulty. The army had sacrificed in this prolonged struggle 3200 men and 200 officers, the larger half belonging to the IIIrd Corps alone. Many companies fought under the command of non-commissioned officers. The French estimated their losses at 6200 men, and 20,000 taken prisoners; seventeen guns, two colours, and an abundant supply of matériel remained as trophies in the hands of the victors. After exertions so severe the troops imperatively needed some rest. The instructions from the supreme Headquarter were that the operations were not to be extended beyond a certain limit; and it was possible that the services of the IInd Army might almost immediately be required on the Seine and the Loire. Prince Frederick Charles therefore determined to follow up the retreating enemy with only a small force. On the French side, that each Corps might have a separate road for the retreat to Alençon, two Corps had necessarily to draw out westward in the first instance. On the evening of the last day's fight the XVIth Corps reached Chauffour on the Laval road, and the XVIIth Conlie on the road to Mayenne, each covered by its rear-guard. The XXIst was assembled at Ballon, on the left bank of the Sarthe. From these points all were to march in a northerly direction. General Chanzy still deluded himself with the hope of coming up by Evreux to the assistance of the besieged capital. He would have had thus to make a wide circuit--an arc by moving on the chord of which the Germans could easily have anticipated him; and in a country where all arms were available, his army, in the condition to which it was now reduced, must have inevitably been destroyed. Ultimately the defeated French army retired in the direction to the westward of the Sarthe. After the distribution of rations and forage, General von Schmidt set forth at mid-day on the 13th with four battalions, eleven squadrons, and ten guns, and reached Chauffour after some skirmishing. The XIIIth Corps advanced to the Sarthe, the 17th Division sending its outposts across the river at Neuville, and the 22nd drove the French out of Ballon, whence they retired in full flight to Beaumont. The XXIst French Corps had taken up quarters this day at Sillé. The National Guards of Brittany fled wildly to Coron, and thence made homeward toward their own province. They were joined by the troops left in camp at Conlie, after the camp there had been plundered. The XVIIth Corps also went off, without halting by the Vègre as it had been ordered to do, but retreating direct on Ste. Suzanne. The XVIth withdrew on Laval, leaving Barry's Division at Chassillé as rear-guard. Numbers of abandoned waggons and cast-away arms, everywhere testified to the demoralization of the defeated forces. On the 14th the French were driven out of Chassillé. The XVIth Corps had by this time almost entirely lost its organization; it retired during the night to St. Jean sur Erve. In the camp at Conlie were found 8000 stands of arms and 5,000,000 cartridges, as well as various other war matériel. The Grand Duke had marched on Alençon along the right bank of the Sarthe. The French in Beaumont made a feeble resistance to the advanced guard of the 22nd Division, and lost 1400 prisoners. On the following day General von Schmidt advanced further on the road to Laval, but found that the French had concentrated at St. Jean and posted a strong force of artillery on the heights behind the Erve. The Oldenburg Regiment[70] forced its way as far as the church of the little town, and the Brunswickers drove the enemy back on Ste. Suzanne, higher up the river, but there the pursuit ended. Barry's and Deplanque's Divisions, according to the French estimate, had now no more than 6000 fighting men, and Curten's Division had still not yet come up, but this strength was considerably superior to that of the weak German detachment confronting it. The rest of the Xth Corps was moving up in support, but had as yet only reached Chasillé. A battalion advancing from Conlie came into conflict at Sillé with the XXIst French Corps assembled there, and sustained heavy loss. The 22nd Division of the XIIIth Corps also met with serious opposition before reaching Alençon, from the National Guards and the volunteers under Lipowski; and the attack on the town was postponed till next day. But on the following morning the French positions in Alençon as well as in Sillé and St. Jean were abandoned. Those places were at once occupied by the Germans, and General von Schmidt marched forward, close up to Laval. Numerous stragglers from the retreating army were taken prisoners. Behind the Mayenne, whither now Curten's Division had arrived, the remnants of the IInd Army of the Loire re-assembled. Reduced to half its original strength, and its morale gravely shaken, it could but be unfit for service for a long time to come, and the object of the German advance on Le Mans was fully attained. To the north of Paris, however, the French were meanwhile threatening a renewed offensive. It was necessary to draw in on the Somme the portions of the Ist Army which were still on the Lower Seine; and orders came from the supreme Head-quarter that the XIIIth Corps of the IInd Army should march on Rouen. On the Upper Loire also French detachments had advanced against the Hessian posts about Briare, and had driven them back, on the 14th, to Ouzouer; while from the Sologne came a report of the advance of a newly-formed French Army Corps--the XXVth. The German IXth Corps, after evacuating and destroying the camp at Conlie, was therefore sent to Orleans in support. The remainder of the IInd Army, the IIIrd and Xth Corps with the three cavalry divisions--in a strength of about 27,000 foot, 9000 horse, and 186 guns--was assembled by Prince Frederick Charles round Le Mans. The cavalry in observation on the front and flanks had several small skirmishes, but no further serious hostilities were attempted. The 4th Cavalry Division held Alençon on the right, and on the left General von Hartmann entered Tours without any opposition. FOOTNOTES: [66] Commanding 6th Division, IIIrd Corps. [67] "Arnage" on the map and in the _Staff History_. [68] The "Holsteiners" mentioned in the text were two battalions of the 85th Regiment, which belonged to the 36th Brigade, 18th Division, IXth Army Corps, whose territorial region consists of Schleswig-Holstein, the Hanse towns, Mecklenburg, &c. [69] The 17th and 92nd Regiments comprising the 46th Brigade commanded by General von Diringshofen. [70] The 91st Regiment, 37th Brigade, 10th Army Corps, whose recruiting ground is Hanover, Oldenburg, and Brunswick. The Hanoverian Corps consists mainly of the regiments of the old Hanoverian army of the kingdom long ruled by British sovereigns; an army whose valour, proved side by side with British troops on countless battle-fields from Minden and Dettingen to the Peninsula and Waterloo, culminated in its final battle on the glorious but luckless field of Langensalza. OCCURRENCES NORTHWARD OF PARIS DURING JANUARY. At the beginning of the New Year a considerable part of the Ist German Army was engaged in besieging Péronne, which had afforded a safe crossing-point for the debouche of the French on the southern bank of the Somme. General Barnekow held the little place invested with the 3rd Reserve Division and the 31st Infantry Brigade. Previously it had only been kept under observation by cavalry, but circumstances had temporarily given it importance. What of the VIIIth Corps formerly on the Somme was available formed a wide curve from Amiens northward as far as Bapaume, to cover the siege. The Ist Corps, posted at Rouen for the time, consisted only of three brigades; but the 4th was on the march thither from before Péronne, where it had been relieved. No reinforcement of the Ist Army had been effected. The 14th Division, after reducing Mézières and, soon after, Rocroy, had received fresh orders from Versailles which transferred it to another part of the theatre of war. General Faidherbe had concentrated his troops behind the Scarpe, from their resting quarters south of Arras, and had begun his forward march on January 2nd. He advanced with the XXIInd Corps to the relief of Péronne by way of Bucquoy. The XXIIIrd followed by the high road to Bapaume. About half-past ten Derroja's Division of the former Corps obliged the 3rd Cavalry Division, as well as those battalions of the 32nd Brigade which had been attached to it, to fall back on Miraumont, followed, however, only as far as Achiet le Petit. The other Division, under General Bessol, did not advance towards Achiet le Grand till the afternoon. There it was opposed for several hours by two companies of the 68th, a sub-division of Hussars, and two guns, which only retired in the evening on Avesnes. The French did not follow up the detachment, but threw out outposts about Bihucourt. Payen's Division deployed on the high road at Béhagnies, and its batteries opened fire on Sapignies, where, however, General von Strubberg had posted five battalions. These repulsed the attack, and at two o'clock entered Béhagnies with a rush, took 240 prisoners, and prepared the village for defence. The enemy withdrew to Ervillers, and there once again drew out, but attempted no further attack. The other Division of the French XXIIIrd Corps, consisting of mobilized National Guards under General Robin, moved forward on the left on Mory. There were only one battalion and a squadron of Hussars to oppose it. By extending their line on the heights of Beugnâtre, the German detachment succeeded in deceiving the enemy in regard to its weakness. The latter marched and counter-marched, and also brought up artillery, but did not attempt an attack, and remained at Mory. The 30th German Brigade and the 3rd Cavalry Division assembled for the night in and about Bapaume. The 29th Brigade occupied the neighbouring villages on the right and the left of the Arras road. BATTLE OF BAPAUME.--_January 3rd._--General Faidherbe had brought his forces close up to the position which covered the investment of Péronne. His four Divisions consisted of fifty-seven battalions, which were opposed by only seventeen German battalions. He decided on the 3rd to push on in four columns to Grévillers and Biefvillers, on the high road, and to Favreuil on the east. But General von Goeben was not inclined to give up his position at Bapaume. Under cover of a force in occupation of Favreuil, General von Kummer in the morning assembled the 30th Brigade in front of Bapaume, and behind it the 29th, of which, however, three battalions were left in the villages to left and to right. A reserve was established further to the rear at Tronsloy, whither the 8th Rifle Battalion, with two batteries, was detached; and General von Barnekow received orders to hold three battalions and the 2nd Foot Detachment in readiness at Sailly Saillisel, without raising the blockade. Finally the detachment under Prince Albrecht, jun.--three battalions, eight squadrons, and three batteries--advanced on Bertincourt, near to the subsequent battle-field. In this disposition, in bitterly cold and sullen weather, the attack of the French was awaited. General Count von der Groeben had already sent the 7th Cavalry Brigade against the enemy's right flank, but it did not succeed in forcing its way through the villages occupied by the hostile infantry. On the right wing the Division Robin was at Beugnâtre met by so sharp a fire from two battalions of the 65th Regiment and two horse batteries which had joined them from Transloy, that it withdrew again on Mory. The garrison of Favreuil was reinforced by two battalions and two batteries against the approach of the Division Payen, which was marching by the high road to the eastward of that place. The first French gun moving out from Sapignies was immediately destroyed, but several batteries soon became engaged on both sides, and the French forced their way into Favreuil and St. Aubin. The 40th Regiment advanced on these places at noon from Bertincourt, and after a lively action re-occupied them; but had to evacuate Favreuil again, and took up a position alongside of the 2nd Guard Uhlan regiment and a horse battery sideward of Frémicourt, which secured the right flank of the Division. On the left, the Division Bessol had driven the weak garrison out of Biefvillers. The 1st Battalion of the 33rd Regiment, which moved forward to retake that place, became hotly engaged; it lost all but three of its officers, and had to retire upon Avesnes. The Division Derroja also took part in this fight. The French now brought up a strong force of artillery, and extended their firing-line to the south nearly as far as the road to Albert. Therefore, at mid-day, General von Kummer decided to confine himself to the local defence of Bapaume. At the cost of serious loss, the artillery covered the drawing in thither of the infantry. The 1st Heavy Battery, which was the last to withdraw, lost 2 officers, 17 men, and 36 horses; its guns could only be brought out of action with the help of the infantry. In Bapaume the 29th Brigade now prepared for an obstinate defence of the old city wall, and the 30th assembled behind the place. The French advanced leisurely as far as the suburb. Then ensued a long pause in the fighting. General Faidherbe hoped to take the town by further encompassing it, without exposing it to a bombardment followed by a storm. A brigade of the Division Derroja endeavoured to advance through Tilloy, but met there with stubborn resistance from the Rifle Battalion and two batteries which had come up from Péronne. At the same time twenty-four guns of the batteries which had retired behind Bapaume opened fire on the advancing columns, which then withdrew, at half-past three, across the road to Albert. They soon resumed the attack, and succeeded in entering Tilloy. All the neighbouring batteries now opened fire upon this village. General von Mirus, who on the advance of the 3rd Cavalry Division had been left behind in Miraumont, saw no enemy in his front there, but heard the fighting at Bapaume, and advanced from the west, as did General von Strubberg from the town, to renew the attack. The French did not await their arrival, and were driven back out of the suburb and also Avesnes. The French Divisions spent the night at Grévillers, Bihucourt, Favreuil, and Beugnâtre, thus surrounding Bapaume on three sides. The day had cost the Germans 52 officers and 698 men, and the French 53 officers and 2066 men. But only by exerting the whole available strength of the VIIIth Corps had it been possible to withstand the preponderating attack of the enemy. It had not yet been possible to replenish the Corps' supply of ammunition, and General von Goeben decided to immediately move back the fighting ground to behind the Somme. This movement was actually in process when the patrols brought information that the enemy was also evacuating the neighbouring villages. The French troops, as yet unaccustomed to the vicissitudes of warfare, had suffered extremely from the previous day's fighting and the severe cold of the ensuing night. General Faidherbe could perceive that the forces before Péronne had been brought forward to Bapaume, and that the Germans thus reinforced would take the offensive. His chief object, the interruption of the siege of Péronne, had been obtained, and the General thought it best not to endanger that result by a second encounter. He led his Corps back in the direction of Arras. Of the German cavalry detachments following up the retirement the 8th Cuirassiers succeeded in breaking a French square. The 15th Division withdrew behind the Somme, immediately below Péronne, and the Saxon cavalry joined the right wing at St. Quentin. FIGHTING ON THE LOWER SEINE.--_January 4th._--Exactly at the same time the other Corps of the Ist Army was in conflict with the enemy on the Lower Seine. The French had not undertaken any new enterprise on the right bank of the river, but on the left bank they held the wooded heights of Bois de la Londe, which overhang the southern outlet of the Seine after its encircling the peninsula of Grand Couronne. Here General von Bentheim,[71] with a view of gaining room in this direction, had assembled half the Ist Army Corps, and advanced on the 4th of January on Les Moulineaux. Before daybreak Lieut.-Colonel von Hüllessem surprised the enemy's outposts there, stormed the rock-crowned fortalice of Château Robert le Diable, and took prisoners the defenders who had sought refuge amid the ruins of the castle. The heights of Maison Brulet were then scaled under the heavy fire of the enemy, and two of his guns were taken. After a renewed resistance at St. Ouen the French withdrew on Bourgachard in the afternoon, pursued towards six in the evening by a half squadron of dragoons, two guns, and a company carried on waggons, which took from them two 12-pounders posted at the entrance of Rougemontier, killing the gunners and capturing an ammunition waggon. After a slight skirmish the enemy was also driven out of Bourgtheroulde and thrown back in the direction of Brionne. The French right wing at Elbeuf during the night hastily withdrew from a position rendered precarious by the wavering of the other detachments. The affair cost 5 officers and 160 men. The loss of the French must have been equal, besides which they lost 300 prisoners and 4 guns. General Roye posted his troops behind the Rille on the line Pont-Audemer--Brionne, but the Germans now held Bourgachard, Bourgtheroulde, and Elbeuf strongly garrisoned, with three battalions at Grand-Couronne in readiness to furnish support. The other troops returned to Rouen. An attempted advance of the French on the same day by the northern bank of the Seine had been arrested in front of Fauville, whence they again withdrew towards Harfleur. Meanwhile it had not escaped the observation of the VIIIth Army Corps that this time the French did not seek the cover of the northern fortresses, but that they had halted south of Arras, thus betraying an intention shortly to renew the attack on the force investing Péronne. General von Goeben therefore decided to return to the northern bank of the Somme, to cover that operation, and there to take up a flanking position whose front the enemy would have to cross in his advance. On January 6th, after the troops had been permitted one day's rest and the ammunition had been replenished, the 30th Brigade moved to Bray, the 29th to Albert. In close vicinity to the enemy was the 3rd Cavalry Division at Bapaume, behind it the Guard Cavalry Brigade. For the protection of the left flank Lieut.-Colonel von Pestel[72] occupied Acheux, and from the investing Corps the 3rd Reserve Division moved westward of Péronne to Feuillères. The Corps-Artillery remained for the time on the left bank of the Somme, since it almost seemed as if the enemy intended to direct his attack on Amiens. But during the next day the French did not undertake anything of importance, and on the 9th Péronne fell. REDUCTION OF PÉRONNE.--_January 9th._--For fourteen days this little place had been invested by eleven battalions, sixteen squadrons, and ten batteries. Flooded meadows on one side, and on the other walls with medieval towers, had secured it against a surprise; but for the rest it was commanded on all sides by overhanging heights. Although the fire of fifty-eight field guns had not done it much damage, yet in any case it must have been very soon discontinued for want of ammunition. A bombardment with captured French siege-artillery remained without result. The fortress stoutly maintained its fire, and its garrison of only 3500 men even attempted sorties. As before mentioned, on the day of the battle of Bapaume, a portion of the besieging troops had been necessarily withdrawn to the support of the VIIIth Army Corps, and in the uncertainty as to the result of this fight it had been imperative to take precautions for the safety of the siege material. The troops that remained behind stood ready to march, and part of the heavy guns had been withdrawn. But the garrison maintained a waiting attitude. Two days later arrived a siege-train of fifty-five heavy guns which had been brought together at La Fère. A second, of twenty-eight French siege-pieces, was on the way from Mézières. The preliminaries of a regular siege were undertaken, and when at length on the 8th of January a large ammunition-convoy arrived, the commandant was summoned to give up a defence that had now become hopeless. On the 10th of January, General von Barnekow entered the fortress, which was found amply provided with arms, ammunition and provisions. The garrison were made prisoners. On the 7th of January, his Majesty the King had assigned General von Manteuffel to another section of the theatre of war, and had given the supreme command of the Ist Army to General von Goeben. Freed from concern as to Péronne, that General's only duty thenceforward was to insure the protection of the investment of Paris. For this purpose the Somme, whose passages were all in the hands of the Germans, formed a natural bulwark, behind which the attack even of a greatly superior enemy could be awaited. And some reinforcements now arrived for the VIIIth Army Corps. The peaceful condition of the Lower Seine allowed of two infantry regiments and two batteries being sent from thence to Amiens. By instructions from the supreme Head-quarter an infantry brigade of the Meuse Army was held in readiness, which in case of need was to be sent up by rail to reinforce the Ist Army. It was still uncertain whither the enemy would direct his stroke. General von Goeben, therefore, spread his forces behind the Somme on a prolonged extension of some forty-five miles, still holding fast the points gained in front of the river, to meet the contingency of his having to renew the offensive. In the middle of the month, the detachments of the Ist Corps under the command of General Count von der Groeben occupied Amiens, Corbie, and the line of the Hallue as a flank position. The 15th Division, holding Bray firmly, took up quarters south of that village. Next to it, on the left of Péronne, was the 3rd Reserve Division, right of it were the 16th Division and the 3rd Reserve Cavalry Brigade, holding Roisel and Vermand to the front. The 12th Cavalry Division was at St. Quentin. The French army had already begun to advance on the Cambrai high-road, and its XXIInd Corps had pushed back the 3rd Cavalry Division first out of Bapaume and then out of Albert behind the Hallue. The XXIIIrd followed by the same road, and their objective really appears to have been Amiens. But a reconnaissance had exposed the difficulty of attacking in that direction, besides which a telegram from the War Minister announced that the Army of Paris within the next few days was to make a last supreme effort to burst the bonds of the investment, and the Army of the North was enjoined to divert, as far as possible, the enemy's forces from the capital, and draw them on itself. In accordance with these orders General Faidherbe decided to advance without delay on St. Quentin, whither the Brigade Isnard was already marching from Cambrai. An attack on their right wing, consisting for the time solely of cavalry, directly threatened the communications of the Germans, while the vicinity of the northern forts afforded the French army shelter and also greater liberty of action. But General von Goeben had foreseen such a leftward movement of the enemy, and concentrated all his forces to meet it. The convalescents who were fit for service joined the ranks. Only weak detachments were left at Amiens, and because of the approach of the XIIIth Corps from the Sarthe to the Lower Seine, it was now safe to transfer the 3rd Grenadier Regiment and a heavy battery from thence to the Somme. The departure of the French from Albert and the march of their Corps on Combles and Sailly Saillisel were soon reported by the cavalry in observation. The newly-formed Brigade Pauly occupied Bapaume, and the Brigade Isnard entered St. Quentin, whence General zur Lippe (commanding the 12th (Saxon) Cavalry Division detailed from the Army of the Meuse) retired on Ham in accordance with orders. General von Goeben now moved eastward, using the roads on both banks of the Somme so that he might the sooner reach the enemy. _January 17th._--The 12th Cavalry Brigade moved further to the right on La Fère, the 16th Division to Ham. The 3rd Reserve Division and the Guard Cavalry Brigade arrived at Nesle; the 15th Division and the Corps Artillery, at Villers Carbonnel. An Army-Reserve had been formed of the troops last brought up from Rouen, and it followed to Harbonnières. On the northern bank, the detachment under Count von der Groeben moved to the vicinity of Péronne. The four French Divisions had so far advanced on Vermand as to be able to unite next day near St. Quentin. The XXIIIrd Corps was to move straight upon the town, the XXIInd to cross the Somme lower down, and take up a position south of St. Quentin. _January 18th._--On the German side, the 16th and the 3rd Reserve Division moved by the south bank of the Somme to Jussy and Flavy, the Army-Reserve to Ham. The 12th Cavalry Division at Vendeuil found the country east of the Oise still free from the enemy. With the object of obtaining touch of the approaching enemy, the 15th Division was on its part to cross the Somme at Brie, and, together with the troops of General Count von der Groeben, to advance on Vermand and Etreillers. General von Kummer was enjoined, in case he found that the French had taken up a position, merely to watch them and to follow them should they retire northward, but should they march towards the south, to attack them with all his force. At half-past ten, the 29th Brigade came up on the hither side of Tertry with the rear-guard of the XXIInd Corps and its trains. The Hussars charged one of the battalions guarding the latter, and drove the waggons in the greatest disorder back on Caulaincourt, but had to abandon prisoners and prize under the fire of the approaching infantry. The French brigade had turned about, and it advanced to an attack on Trescon. This was resisted by the 65th Regiment and three batteries until after two o'clock, when General du Bessol reached the scene of the fight and ordered the French brigade to resume its march on St. Quentin. The XXIIIrd had also halted and detached a brigade against the left flank of the 15th Division. This, however, on reaching Cauvigny Farm, came upon two German battalions, which after a protracted fire-fight pursued the retreating enemy and entered Caulaincourt at half-past three, making 100 prisoners and capturing fourteen provision-waggons. Meanwhile Count von der Groeben had hurried forward at the sound of firing. The General realized that he could help most efficaciously by marching straight on Vermand. Four batteries came into action against Poeuilly, which was occupied by the enemy, and when the 4th Grenadier Regiment passed to the assault the French retreated, losing some prisoners. Many Gardes-Mobiles were dispersed by the Uhlans. About Vermand the whole of the XXIIIrd Corps was now in the act of beginning to march off. Count von der Groeben therefore posted his troops behind the Poeuilly bottom, thereby retarding the withdrawal of the enemy by forcing him to halt and form front against each display of pressure. The 15th Division took up quarters about Beauvois and Caulaincourt. The sole aim of the French Generals on this day seemed to be to reach St. Quentin. They neglected the opportunity of falling with their two Corps upon the single 15th Division. The XXIIIrd Corps passed the night in and westward of St. Quentin, and the XXIInd, after crossing the Somme at Séraucourt, southward of the town. A further advance either on Paris or on the German lines of communications depended now, when the latter had approached so close, on the issue of a battle; and this General Faidherbe wished to await at St. Quentin. It was important to hold on here in case the sortie of the Paris Army should result in success. The ground offered certain advantages--the heights in front of the town gave a free range of fire and afforded a sheltered position for the reserves. It was true that the Somme divided the army in two halves, but the bridge of St. Quentin made mutual assistance possible. The enemy also occupied both sides of the river, and including the Isnard and Pauly Brigades which had come up, he finally counted 40,000 men, opposed to an enemy numerically weaker.[73] The Germans, all told, numbered exactly 32,580 combatants, of whom nearly 6000 were cavalry. FOOTNOTES: [71] Who had succeeded General Manteuffel in the command of the Ist Corps, when at the beginning of December the latter found oppressive the command of a Corps along with the Command-in-Chief of the Ist Army. [72] Commanding the 7th (Rhineland) Uhlan Regiment, the officer who so long and so gallantly defended Saarbrücken on his own responsibility in the earliest days of the war. [73] Whether the author intends, in the two first sentences of this paragraph, that the advantages of the St. Quentin position should be enjoyed by Faidherbe or Goeben, appears somewhat obscure. The third sentence certainly refers to the German Army, as the succeeding one clearly shows. But this being so, there is a discrepancy between the text and the _Staff History_, as regards the side which the bridge of St. Quentin would serve in the battle. The following is quoted from that work: "Moreover, the German troops were separated by the Somme, whilst the bridges at St. Quentin enabled the French Corps to afford one another easy support." BATTLE OF ST. QUENTIN. (January 19th.) General von Goeben had ordered the general attack for this day. Covered by the occupation of Séraucourt, General von Barnekow advanced along the southern bank of the Somme, with the 16th and the 3rd Reserve Divisions from Jussy through Essigny; the 12th Cavalry Division advanced on the road leading from La Fère. The French columns were still on the march to take up their position with its rear towards the town; and Grugies was already occupied by them. While the 32nd German Brigade advanced northward of Essigny the Reserve Division halted behind the village, and the 31st Brigade at a quarter to ten advanced on Grugies. This attack was taken in flank on its left by the French Brigade Gislain, which had meanwhile occupied the hamlets of Contescourt and Castres. It was met in front by the Brigades Foerster and Pittié which had promptly come into action. The fire of the German batteries was at once returned vigorously from Le Moulin de Tout Vent. At eleven o'clock the second battalion of the 69th Regiment marched in company columns across the entirely open ground against the heights on the hither side of Grugies; but the attempt, renewed four times, was frustrated by the destructive cross-fire of the enemy. The ammunition of the isolated battalion was nearly exhausted, and only when followed by six fresh companies of the 29th Regiment did it succeed in forcing the French back, after a desperate hand-to-hand fight: but the latter held their ground in front of Grugies and in the sugar-factory there. On the right wing, the 12th Cavalry Division were advancing on the La Fère road. The French Brigade Aynès, hitherto held in reserve, rushed forward at the double to encounter it, and as Count zur Lippe had at disposition but one battalion of infantry, his advance at first was arrested at Cornet d'Or. But when at noon the Division was joined by reinforcements from Tergnier, the Saxon rifles stormed the park by the high-road, and the Schleswig-Holstein Fusiliers carried La Neuville. The French, with the loss of many prisoners, were vigorously pursued back to the suburb of St. Quentin, where first they found shelter. Meantime, the 31st Brigade was engaged in a hot fight on both sides of the railway-line in front of Grugies; behind its right wing was the 32nd in the hollow ground on the high-road, where it suffered severely from the enemy's shell-fire; and on the left, the detachment advancing from Séraucourt did not succeed in entering Contescourt. And now the French made so determined and overwhelming an attack from Grugies, that the 16th Division had to be withdrawn as far as Essigny. When after noon General Faidherbe joined the XXIIIrd Corps, he had reason to hope that the XXIInd Corps would be able to maintain its position. But certainly the most important result was to be looked for on the northern section of the battle-field. Here the Division Robin had taken up a position between Fayet and Francilly. The Brigade Isnard had marched up it on its left, and the Brigade Lagrange of the Division Payen extended as far as the Somme. The Brigade Michelet remained in reserve, and the Brigade Pauly at Gricourt secured the communications rearward. On the German left, so early as eight o'clock, General Count von der Groeben set out from Poeuilly with eight battalions and twenty-eight guns and advanced along the Roman road; the Cavalry Brigade accompanied the march on the left. The East-Prussians[74] immediately hurled the French back from Holnon, cleared them out of Selency, and then advanced against Fayet and on to the heights of Moulin Coutte. A gun in action, ammunition-waggons, and many prisoners were there taken from the enemy. By degrees the twenty-eight guns were massed on the Windmill Height and entered into a contest with the artillery of the Division Robin. But in the course of half an hour the ammunition failed, since the waggons which had been sent on the previous day to the ammunition column of the VIIIth Corps had not yet come up with the reserve supply. The batteries, which were moreover suffering from infantry fire, had to retire to Holnon, and as Francilly, immediately on the flank and to the rear, was still occupied by the enemy, a further advance was temporarily postponed. On the right, General von Kummer with the 15th Division, marching from Beauvois, had reached Etreillers at ten. The King's Hussars cut in upon the enemy's horse in retreat, and drove them back upon L'Epine de Dallon, and the 29th Brigade entered Savy. North of that place three batteries opened fire against the artillery of the Division Payen, and then the 65th Regiment passed to the attack of the forward-lying copses. The smaller one to the south was carried, but here, as at Francilly, the Brigade Isnard maintained itself in the larger one to the north. At noon the Brigade Lagrange also advanced once more on the small copse and forced its way into it for a short time, but was again driven back by the 65th. The 33rd Regiment was posted in readiness on the threatened right flank of the 29th Brigade, and near it stood in action two heavy batteries of the Corps Artillery just arrived at Savy. At the same time the 30th Brigade also advanced through Roupy on the right of the 29th. Meanwhile Colonel von Massow at one o'clock renewed the offensive on the much more advanced left wing. Six companies of the 44th Regiment advanced on Fayet, and after firing into them at the shortest range, drove the French from the place. Two batteries followed, and resumed action against the enemy's great artillery position at Moulin de Cépy. General Paulze D'Ivoy, who saw the communications of his Corps with Cambrai in such imminent danger, had already called up the Brigade Michelet from its reserve post west of the town, and thus reinforced now advanced on Fayet. The Prussian detachments that were in the place had to be withdrawn to Moulin Coutte; but the further advance of the enemy towards these heights was arrested by a flank attack from Selency, and at the same time the farmstead of Bois des Roses was carried. The French again withdrew on Fayet. There, at Francilly, and in the northern copses, they still held their own at half-past one, while at that hour, on the German side, all three brigades had been brought up into the fighting-line. The Army-Reserve had arrived from Ham at Roupy, but General von Goeben, who from the latter place had been watching the slow progress of the 16th Division, had already sent it at eleven o'clock through Séraucourt to the support of that Division. Colonel von Boecking (commanding the Army-Reserve), with his three battalions, three squadrons, and two batteries, advanced from Séraucourt against Contescourt. Hastening forward with the cavalry, he brought his artillery promptly into action; and then the 41st Regiment, immediately on its arrival, passed to the attack. The battalion of the 19th Regiment which was already on the spot, joined in the fighting, and the enemy with the loss of many prisoners, was at one o'clock driven out of Contescourt and of Castres as well, towards the heights of Grugies. Against these heights the fire of the artillery, which had gradually been increased to thirty guns, was now directed. Bent on further disputing the position, General Lecomte brought up several battalions from the brigades of Pittié and Aynès for the reinforcement of the Brigade Gislain. The East-Prussian Regiment (41st) succeeded, nevertheless, by half-past two o'clock, in hurling the enemy by an outflanking attack from the heights into the hollow in front of Grugies. Colonel von Boecking's vigorous attack made itself felt throughout the whole front of fight. With a view to renewing a general advance, General von Barnekow had ordered up his last reserves from Essigny, when towards three o'clock the Brigade Pittié unexpectedly pushed forward an attack along the railway line. Its right scourged by artillery fire from Castres, it found its left taken at unawares by the charge of five squadrons of reserve cavalry from the Urvilliers hollow. Simultaneously Colonel von Hartzberg advanced with the 32nd Brigade, and drove the enemy back to Moulin de Tout Vent. The Brigade Foerster, south of Grugies, had still held out stubbornly, although now seriously threatened on the right from Giffécourt, as well as by the 12th Cavalry Division on its left flank. Its left flank now completely uncovered by the retreat of the Brigade Pittié, and its last strength exhausted by a long struggle, the brigade found itself finally forced to evacuate its long-held position. The 31st Brigade advanced along the railway-line as far as the sugar-factory, and Colonel von Boecking drove the last French detachments out of Grugies. He then prepared with his artillery the attack upon Moulin de Tout Vent. Against these heights the 41st Regiment, the battalions already ordered up from Essigny, and the 32nd Brigade advanced to a concentric attack. The French did not prolong their resistance, and indeed were already in retreat. The entire German fighting line, with the 12th Cavalry Division on its right, moved forward on the town, which was now reached by the fire of the artillery posted at Gauchy. The cavalry repeatedly broke in on the retreating hostile bodies; and the railway-station and suburb, in which was found only the rear-guard of the XXth French Corps, was occupied after a short struggle. Whilst on the southern section of the battle-field the action took this turn, on the northern side the attacks were also being pushed. By two o'clock the 28th Regiment advancing from Roupy by the road from Ham had carried the farmstead of L'Epine de Dallon; and almost simultaneously Count von der Groeben's infantry came up to renew the offensive. Whilst on the right some companies of the 4th and 44th Regiments opposed the advance of French detachments from the larger copse, Major von Elpons with six companies of the Crown Prince Grenadiers, advanced from Holnon and Selency upon Francilly, and, notwithstanding the hot fire of the defenders, forced an entrance into this very straggling village, in which many prisoners were made. As, however, the East-Prussian Regiment then advanced further south of the Roman road, it had in its turn to sustain a formidable attack. To cover its threatened line of retreat, the Brigade Michelet once more advanced from Fayet, and the Brigade Pauly also marched from Gricourt upon Moulin Coutte. This position, which had in the meantime been strengthened by artillery, was, however, obstinately held by the 44th Regiment, and when the Grenadier companies poured in leftward towards the Roman road, the enemy's attack was here also repulsed. Meanwhile the 29th Brigade, followed by the 30th, had already advanced in the direction of St. Quentin, the 33rd Regiment on its right and the 65th Regiment on the left. The latter regiment now took complete possession of the larger copse, and forty-eight guns were brought up on both sides of the road from Savy. The further advance of the infantry was effected in column of companies and on an extended line, because of the heavy shell fire of the French. The Brigades of Lagrange and Isnard did not await the shock, but at four o'clock retired on St. Quentin with the loss of one gun. Their artillery once more took up a position at Rocourt, but at five o'clock had to abandon it abruptly, and the French now confined themselves to the defence of the barricaded accesses into the St. Martin suburb of St. Quentin. Six Prussian batteries were brought up against these, and the 29th Brigade for some time maintained a stationary fire fight on the strongly held buildings and gardens; but presently several companies from Rocourt established themselves in the suburb, in which street-fighting was still continued, even after Lieutenant-Colonel von Hüllessem had succeeded in crossing the canal bridge and entering the town itself. By four o'clock, General Faidherbe had already the conviction that the XXIIIrd Corps would probably be unable to hold its ground. In this event his choice was limited to the alternative of a night retreat, or of being shut up in St. Quentin. He had not yet formed a decision, when he met in the town General Lecointe, who reported that he had abandoned the defence of the left bank of the Somme. Thanks to the resistance still maintained by the XXIIIrd Corps on the north, the XXIInd was enabled to retire unmolested on Le Cateau. The Commanding General now ordered General Paulze d'Ivoy to retire on that place, but the latter only received the order at six in the evening, when the brigades of the right wing--Pauly's and Michelet's--had already started of their own accord for Cambrai. The more obstinately the two remaining brigades now defended the suburb of St. Martin, the more ominous for them must prove the result of the action. Attacked in rear by the battalions of Colonel von Boecking, the greater portion were made prisoners. The 41st Regiment alone took prisoners 54 officers and 2260 men, besides capturing 4 guns. General Faidherbe himself only escaped the same fate by the help of the inhabitants. The action ended at half-past six in the evening, and the troops passed the night in the town and in the captured villages. The hard-won victory had cost the Germans 96 officers and 2304 men; 3000 wounded Frenchmen were found on the battle-field, and the number of unwounded prisoners exceeded 9000. According to theory, the pursuit should invariably clinch the victory--a postulate assented to by all, and particularly by civilians; and yet in practice it is seldom observed. Military history furnishes but few instances, such as the famous one of Belle Alliance. It requires a very strong and pitiless will to impose fresh exertions and dangers upon troops who have marched, fought and fasted for ten or twelve hours, in place of the longed-for rest and food. But even given the possession of this will, the question of pursuit will yet depend on the circumstances under which the victory has been won. It will be difficult of execution when all the bodies on the field of battle, as at Königgrätz, have become so intermixed that hours are required to re-form them into tactical cohesion; or when, as at St. Quentin, all, even the troops last thrown into the action, have become so entangled that not one single tactically complete body of infantry remains at disposition. Without the support of such a body, cavalry at night will be seriously detained before every obstacle and each petty post of the enemy, and thus alone its exertions will rarely be repaid.[75] General von Goeben did not pursue the defeated enemy till the following day. His advanced cavalry ranged up to the suburb of Cambrai and the glacis of Landrecies, without meeting with any resistance, and merely brought in some hundreds of stragglers. The Infantry Divisions followed to within four miles of Cambrai. Against this fortress nothing could be undertaken through want of siege material, and there was no military advantage to be derived in extending further north. Among the news to hand it was reported that a considerable portion of the French Army of the North had retired upon Lille, Douai and Valenciennes. As fresh enterprises on its part were consequently not to be expected, General von Goeben brought his force back to the Somme, where towards the end of the month it took up rest quarters between Amiens and St. Quentin. On the Lower Seine, the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg entered Rouen with the XIIIth Corps on the 25th, after having encountered on the march only a few franctireurs. Although General Loysel had increased his force to a strength of nearly 30,000 by reinforcements from Cherbourg, he had remained entirely inactive. General von Goeben had in view the transfer to the Army of the Somme of that portion of the Ist Corps still about Rouen; but this was disapproved of by telegram from the supreme Head-quarter, which on political grounds ordered its continued retention there. FOOTNOTES: [74] Companies of the Crown Prince's Grenadier Regiment (the 1st of the Prussian line), and of the East Prussian Infantry Regiment No. 44, belonging respectively to the 1st and 3rd Brigades, 1st Division, Ist Army Corps. [75] Moltke, although not quite inexperienced in the practical conduct of war on a large scale, would scarcely have ventured to express himself as above, if he had studied the teachings of _The Soldier's Pocket-Book_. The distinguished author of that profound and accurate treatise writes of pursuits in quite a different tone. "You have won a great battle," writes Lord Wolseley, "and the enemy are in full retreat; run after him; hammer him with guns; charge him with cavalry; harass him with mounted infantry; pass round his flanks, and keep pushing him and hitting him from morning until night. Caution is out of place when you have a beaten army before you. Wellington never delivered any crushing blow, _because he failed to pursue_." OCCURRENCES IN THE SOUTH-EASTERN SEAT OF WAR UP TO 17TH OF JANUARY. SIEGE OF BELFORT.--In the south-eastern theatre of war, the forces detailed to operate against Belfort had been only gradually brought together under cover of the XIVth Army Corps. The town is surrounded by a bastioned enceinte. The citadel has a wide command, built as it is on lofty rocks, which, to increase the development of fire, are encircled by successive tiers of works in terrace-formation. On the left bank of the Savoureuse, newly constructed lines of defence protected the suburb and railway station. On the high adjacent ridge to the north-east the forts of La Miotte and La Justice, with the enclosing lines connecting them with the main fortress, formed a spacious intrenched camp. Hostile occupation of the lofty eminences of the two Perches (Hautes and Basses) would certainly endanger the whole defensive position, dominating as they did even the citadel from the south at a distance of only 1100 yards, and whence the works on the left bank of the river could be brought under fire. But two forts of masonry had been constructed on the Perches before the advent of the enemy, and further to strengthen the defence the nearest copses and villages, as for instance Pérouse and Danjoutin, had been intrenched. The fortress was by no means deficient in bomb-proof accommodation. Its armament consisted of 341 heavy guns, and it was provisioned for five months. When immediately after the opening of the campaign, the VIIth French Corps vacated Alsace, only about 5000 Gardes-Mobiles remained in Belfort, but its garrison, increased by calling in National Guards, now exceeded 17,000. The vigilant Commandant, Colonel Denfert, laid great stress on the maintenance in force of the environs in his front. The advanced posts were every day assigned to fresh operations, which the artillery of the fortress had to cover at extreme ranges. On the opposite side, General von Tresckow (commanding 1st Reserve Division) had available at the outset, a force of not more than twenty weak battalions of Landwehr, five squadrons and six field-batteries, in all barely 15,000 men. He had at first to confine himself to a mere investment. The troops, intrenched in the villages round a wide circumference, had to repel many sorties. Orders were received from the supreme Headquarter to set about the regular siege of the place. General von Mertens was charged with the direction of the engineer operations, and Lieut.-Col. Scheliha with that of the artillery attack. The difficulties of the undertaking were obvious. The rocky nature of the soil could not but increase the labour of throwing up earthworks, and the cold season was approaching. The attack could be carried on successfully only from the south against the main work--the formidable citadel. Only fifty heavy guns were available for the time, and the infantry strength was not sufficient to efficiently invest the place on all sides. In these circumstances, there devolved on General von Tresckow the task of attempting the reduction of Belfort by a mere bombardment. Towards this purpose the attack was chiefly directed from the west, in which quarter, after the enemy's garrison had been driven out of Valdoye, the infantry occupied Essert and Bavilliers, as well as the adjacent wooded heights. On December 2nd seven batteries were constructed on the plateau between these two villages by 3000 men, under cover of two battalions. The hard-frozen ground added to the difficulties of the work; yet, notwithstanding the moonlight night, the operations would appear to have escaped the attention of the besieged. When on the following morning the sun had dispersed the fog and made visible the objects, fire was opened. The fortress replied at first but feebly, but afterwards with increasing vigour from the entire line of works, even from Forts La Miotte and La Justice at a range of 4700 yards, and the losses in the trenches were considerable. Four more batteries in front of Bavilliers were armed, and on the fall of La Tuilerie the infantry pressed on to within 170 yards of the enemy's most advanced trenches. The artillery fire caused a conflagration in the town; but the ammunition was soon exhausted, whilst the lofty citadel maintained unchecked an effective fire, and repeated sorties on the part of the garrison had to be repelled. It was now clear, since no decisive result had followed the methods hitherto resorted to, that only by a regular attack could that be attained. On the south Colonel von Ostrowski on December 13th had carried the French positions of Adelnans and the wooded heights of Le Bosmont and La Brosse. On the eastern point of the latter two batteries, and on its northern skirt four additional batteries had been thrown up, not without great difficulty arising from thaw having made the ground a swamp. On January 7th, fifty guns opened fire. The superiority of the artillery of the attack was soon manifest. Fort Bellevue suffered severely, and notably the fire from Basses Perches was entirely silenced. But it was of grave importance that the village of Danjoutin, strongly garrisoned and intrenched by the enemy, stood in the way of a further advance. During the night of the 8th January seven companies attacked this position, and also from the northward at the same time took possession of the railway-embankment. With empty rifles the Landwehr hurled themselves against the enemy in the face of a hot fire, and charged along the village street up to the church. The supports hastening from the fortress were driven back at the railway-embankment, but the fight about the buildings in the southern quarter of the village lasted till towards noon. Of the defenders, twenty officers and 700 men were taken prisoners. Typhus and small-pox had broken out in Belfort; and in the besieging force also the number of the sick reached a considerable figure, caused by arduous work in inclement weather. Most of the battalions could only muster 500 men, and this weakness led General von Tresckow to devote half his force to the lighter duty of protecting the investment from without, principally towards the south. * * * * * Trustworthy intelligence estimated the French strength at Besançon at 62,000. Although hitherto entirely inactive, this force now seemed in strong earnest to press on to the relief of the hard-pressed fortress by the line of the Doubs. On this line was the fortified château of Montbéliard, held by one German battalion, and armed with heavy guns. Between the Doubs and the Swiss frontier about Delle stood General Debschitz with eight battalions, two squadrons, and two batteries, and General von Werder concentrated the XIVth Corps at Noroy, Aillevans, and Athésans, to oppose with all his strength any interruption of the siege of Belfort. From January 5th onwards there ensued a series of engagements in front of Vesoul, as the result of which the enemy advanced from the south and west to within four miles of that town. There could be no doubt that very considerable forces were engaged in this advance. East also of the Ognon, the enemy's posts were advanced beyond Rougemont, although in lesser force. In these actions 500 prisoners were made; and it was at once evident that besides the XVIIIth, the XXIVth and XXth Corps also formed part of Bourbaki's army; a circumstance which threw a sudden light upon a totally changed phase of the war. TRANSFER OF THE FRENCH ARMY OF THE EAST TO THE SOUTH-EASTERN SEAT OF WAR, END OF DECEMBER.--As had been expected by the supreme Headquarter at Versailles, about the beginning of January an attempt had been made to bring about combined action on the part of Generals Chanzy and Bourbaki. As we have already seen, the advance of the former had been thwarted by Prince Frederick Charles on the Loir, and Bourbaki had actually made preparations for an advance by Montargis to the relief of Paris. But he delayed its execution until the 19th December, when the IInd German Army had already returned to Orleans from its expedition to Le Mans. General Bourbaki had now to realize that the IInd Army would fall on the flank of his projected movement, and he thus the more readily concurred in another plan, devised by the Delegate de Freycinet, and approved of by the Dictator Gambetta. This was for the XVth Corps to remain about Bourges and to cover that town in intrenched positions about Vierzon and Nevers; the XVIIIth and XXth were to proceed to Beaune by railway, and, when raised to a strength of 70,000 by an union with Garibaldi and Crémer, to occupy Dijon. The newly-formed XXIVth Corps was also to be moved by railway from Lyons to Besançon, where, with the forces already there, a strength of 50,000 would be attained. In co-operation with the "invincibles of Dijon," it then would be easy to raise the siege of Belfort "without even striking a blow." It was expected that the mere existence of this mass of considerably above 100,000 men would avert any attacks upon the Northern fortresses; in any case, there was the certainty of severing the enemy's various lines of communication, and the later prospect also of combined action with Faidherbe. The railway transport of Bourbaki's army from the Loir to the Saône had already commenced by December 23rd. In the absence of all preparations, many interruptions and breaks-down in the traffic naturally occurred, and the troops suffered severely from the intense cold and from being insufficiently cared for. When Chagny and Châlons sur Saône had been reached, and it was ascertained that the Germans had already evacuated Dijon, it was decided to again entrain the troops so as to bring them nearer to Besançon; whence arose a fresh delay, and it was only in the beginning of the new year that the Army of the East stood in readiness between Dijon and Besançon. The XVth Corps was now also ordered thither, but fourteen days were required for its transportation. The comprehensive plan of M. Freycinet, and his sanguine expectations, were essentially favoured by the circumstance that the transfer of those great bodies of troops to a remote section of the field of war had remained concealed for a fortnight from the IInd Army, as well as from the XIVth Corps, and consequently from the chief Head-quarter. Rumours and newspaper articles had no doubt given somewhat earlier hints, but General von Werder's telegram of January 5th was the first really authentic announcement by which it was known beyond doubt that the Germans now stood face to face with an entirely altered aspect of the military situation. In Versailles the appropriate dispositions and arrangements were promptly made, and steps taken for the formation of a new Army of the South. There was available for this purpose the IInd Corps at Montargis, and half of the VIIth under General von Zastrow at Auxerre, which during this period of uncertainty had been constantly moving to and fro between the Saône and Yonne, according as the one or the other quarter appeared to be threatened. The chief command of these two Corps, to which was afterwards added that of the XIVth, was entrusted to General von Manteuffel. General von Werder could not be immediately reinforced, and for a time the XIVth Corps was thrown upon its own resources. Notwithstanding their superiority of strength, the French did more manoeuvring than fighting. General Bourbaki aimed at outflanking the left wing of the XIVth Corps, and thus entirely cutting it off from Belfort. On January 5th the XVIIIth Corps advanced by Grandvelle, and the XXth by Echenoz le Sec, on Vesoul; but, as we have seen, they there met with opposition, and as the XXIVth Corps sent to the right to Esprels learned that Villersexel was occupied by the Germans, Bourbaki determined upon a still more easterly and circuitous route. On the 8th the two Corps of the left wing marched off to the right, the XVIIIth to Montbozon, the XXth to Rougemont; the XXIVth went back to Cuse. At the same time General Crémer received orders to move from Dijon on Vesoul. On the 9th the XXIVth and XXth Corps were at Vellechevreux and Villargent on the Arcey-Villersexel road, while the head of the XVIIIth Corps reached Villersexel and Esprels. General von Werder had no alternative but to follow this sideward movement in all haste. He ordered the Baden Division to Athésans, the 4th Reserve Division to Aillevans, and Von der Goltz's Brigade to Noroy le Bourg. The trains were put in march to Lure. ACTION OF VILLERSEXEL, January 9th.--Accordingly at seven in the morning the Reserve Division was sent on from Noroy to Aillevans, and began bridging the Ognon to admit of the continuation of the march. A flanking detachment of the 25th Regiment sent to the right, was fired on near Villersexel, and the attempt to carry the stone bridge at that place failed shortly after. The French with two and a half battalions occupied the town, situated on a height on the further bank of the river. Shortly afterwards reinforcements came up on the German side. Two batteries opened fire upon the place and upon the still advancing bodies of the enemy. The 25th Regiment crossed the river by the suspension bridge and broke into the walled park and into the château. At one o'clock the French were driven out of the town with the loss of many prisoners, and a pause in the fighting ensued. The Prussian force during the fighting had been seriously threatened on its flank by the advance from Esprels of the 1st Division of the French XVIIIth Corps, with the artillery-reserve. General von der Goltz, however, opposed it by occupying the village of Moimay. He also sent to Villersexel nine companies of the 30th Regiment, to relieve the 25th Regiment there, so as to allow the latter to rejoin its own Division in the further march. His combined brigade was eventually to form the rear-guard of the whole movement. General von Werder, who observed the considerable force in which the French were advancing on Villersexel from the south, concluded that there was less to be gained by forcing his own passage across the Ognon than by opposing that of the French, since the river covered his line of approach to Belfort. He therefore recalled the infantry already issuing to the southward from the town, and withdrew the batteries to the northern side of the river. Here the main body of the 4th Reserve Division took up a defensive position, and the Baden Division was called in on its march at Arpenans and Lure, as a much-needed reinforcement to the former. It was already evening when large columns of the French advanced on Villersexel and shelled the town. Favoured by the darkness, they penetrated into the park and château, from which the German garrison had already been withdrawn; and as the general condition of things did not seem to necessitate the occupation of Villersexel, the responsible officers ordered the evacuation of the town. Though hard pressed by the enemy, this movement had been nearly completed, when orders arrived from General von Werder to hold the town. At once four battalions from the Reserve Division advanced to the renewed attack. The 25th Regiment turned about at the bridge over the Ognon and joined them. The Landwehr rushed into the ground floor of the straggling château, but the French defended themselves in the upper floors and the cellars. On the staircase and in the passages of the already burning buildings there ensued a hot and changeful combat, and the fight was maintained in the streets. Not till the General in command took the matter in hand, and himself ordered it to be broken off, were dispositions made at one o'clock in the morning for a gradual retirement, which was completed by three. The Reserve Division then recrossed the bridge at Aillevans, and occupied St. Sulpice on the right. General von der Goltz had held Moimay until evening. Of the XIVth Corps only 15,000 had been engaged, of whom 26 officers and 553 men had fallen. The French losses amounted to 27 officers and 627 men; and they also left behind in the hands of the Germans 700 unwounded prisoners. The French troops which chiefly took part in the operations were the XVIIIth and XXth Corps; the XXIVth Corps, on account of the fighting in its rear, had suspended its march to Arcey through Sevenans. Detachments of the gradually incoming XVth Corps advanced from southward in the direction of Belfort. On the morning of January 10th, General von Werder massed his Corps in the vicinity of Aillevans, ready to engage the enemy should the latter attempt an advance through Villersexel. But no attack was made, and so the march could be resumed that same morning. As a matter of fact, the French with three Corps were as near to Belfort as the Germans were with three Divisions. To cover the departure the Reserve Division took up a position at Athésans, and on the following day all the forces reached and occupied the line of the Lisaine. On the right wing about Frahier and Chalonvillars stood the Baden Division; in the centre, the Reserve Brigade between Chagey and Couthenans; on the left, the Reserve Division at Héricourt and Tavey. On the south, General von Debschitz stood in observation at Delle, and Colonel von Bredow at Arcey; towards the west Colonel von Willisen was at Lure with the detachment of eight companies, thirteen squadrons, two batteries, which had come up from Vesoul. General von Werder had in fact, succeeded in interposing his force between the enemy and Belfort. The French commander, under the intoxicating impression of a victory, had resigned himself to inactivity. "General Billot," he reported to the Government at Bordeaux, "has occupied Esprels and maintains himself there." We know that he was never attacked there at all, and that he did not succeed in driving away General von der Goltz from the vicinity of Moimay. "General Clinchant has carried Villersexel with extraordinary dash;" but the fight of the 9th was, as regards the Germans, maintained with only a portion of the XIVth Corps, to cover the right flank of the main body on its march. Whilst, then, this movement of the latter was prosecuted with the utmost energy, the French army remained passive for two days, ready for action and in the confident expectation that the enemy described as beaten, would come on again to fight for the supremacy. Not until the 13th did the XXIVth Corps advance on Arcey, the XXth on Saulnot, and the XVIIIth follow to Sevenans. The XVth was to support an attack on Arcey by way of Ste. Marie. General von Werder had utilized this interval, while the troops were hastening forward, in ascertaining the eligibility of the Lisaine position and in a consultation with General von Tresckow in rear of it. A detailed inspection showed that at Frahier the Lisaine, there but an unimportant streamlet, flows through a broad grassy hollow, and thence to Chagey through steep wooded slopes. About Héricourt the valley opens out into a wide plain, which is however commanded by the rocky heights of Mont Vaudois. Lower down the wooded heights line the river as far as Montbéliard, which with the Allaine brook forms a strong point of support and the extremity of the line. The wooded character of the plain west of the Lisaine would necessarily increase the assailants' difficulties in the deployment of large infantry masses and a strong artillery line. It is true that during the prevailing severe cold the river was everywhere frozen over; but only two high-roads led through the forest into the valley from the direction by which the French army was advancing, one to Montbéliard, the other to Héricourt. The other accesses were narrow, hollow roads rendered difficult of use by frost. General von Tresckow had already armed the most important points with siege guns, the castle of Montbéliard with six, and the neighbouring height of La Grange Dame with five heavy cannon. Seven were placed on Mont Vaudois and near Héricourt; besides these, twenty-one others commanded the valley of the Allaine southward as far as Delle. All the troops that could be spared from the investing force were also withdrawn from before Belfort. Still there remained the important consideration that the available forces might not suffice to entirely cover the whole of the Lisaine line. The right wing was the locally weakest portion of the whole position, but here there was the least to be apprehended, the enemy's main attack, since the many needs of the numerous but inadequately equipped French army made the nearest possible vicinity of one of the railroads a necessity. The Vesoul line by way of Lure was broken in many places, and the Besançon line led towards the strong left wing. The country north of Chagey might therefore more weakly be held, and a reserve was formed of the largest part of the Baden Division, which was distributed in rear of the centre and left about Mandrevillars, Brévilliers and Charmont. The respite accorded by the enemy was turned to account with the utmost zeal in the construction of rifle-pits and of battery emplacements, the establishment of telegraph and relay lines, the improvement of roads and the replenishment of supplies and ammunition. _January 13th._--On the morning of the 13th the advanced posts of the 3rd Reserve Division were now attacked at Arcey, Ste. Marie and Gonvillars. They were instructed to withdraw before a superior force, but to hold their own long enough to compel the deployment of the hostile columns. The combat with French artillery coming up at wide intervals was therefore prolonged for a considerable time; then, after a three hours' resistance, a new position was taken up behind the Rupt brook, and the retirement on Tavey delayed until four in the afternoon. The advanced guard of General von der Goltz, after a whole brigade had deployed against it, also took up a position at Chavanni on a parallel front with that at Couthenans. Before the Allaine front the French did not succeed in driving General von Debschitz's advanced posts out of Dasle and Croix. _January 14th._--On the 14th General von Willisen with fifty dismounted Dragoons drove back the enemy advancing on Lure, and then retired with his detachment on Ronchamp. The French army did not yet on this day undertake a serious attack. It stood with the XVth, XXIVth, and XXth Corps, closely concentrated opposite the German left and centre at a distance of scarcely four-and-a-half miles. The German right was supposed by General Bourbaki to rest upon Mont Vaudois. His plan was to cross the Lisaine in force above this point of support, and by thus turning the hostile flank to facilitate a frontal attack. The XVIIIth Army Corps and the Division Crémer were assigned to this service. A drawback to this judicious arrangement was, that the two above-mentioned bodies designed by the officer in supreme command to open the fight on the 14th, would have the longest distance to march to their task. On this day the leading troops of the XVIIIth Army Corps barely succeeded in reaching the vicinity of Lomont through difficult hill and woodland region, and Crémer's Brigade[76] had only then begun to advance from Vesoul. A postponement to the 15th was thereupon determined. On the German side, a general attack by the greatly superior enemy was hourly expected, and General von Werder felt himself bound to send by telegraph to Versailles a representation of the extreme seriousness of his position. The rivers, being frozen over, were passable, and the duty of covering Belfort deprived him of freedom of movement and endangered the existence of his corps. He earnestly prayed that the question should be weighed, whether the investment of Belfort should continue to be maintained. In the supreme Head-quarter it was considered that any further retirement of the XVth[77] Army Corps would have the immediate effect of raising the siege of Belfort, and causing the loss of the considerable material which had been provided therefor; that it was impossible to foresee where such further retirement would end; and that it could but delay the co-operation of the army advancing by forced marches under General von Manteuffel. At three o'clock on the afternoon of 15th January a positive order was despatched to General von Werder to accept battle in front of Belfort. He was, as was only fair, relieved of the moral responsibility of the consequences of a possibly disastrous issue. But before this order reached him, the General had already come to the same resolution. FOOTNOTES: [76] Slip of the pen for "Division." [77] So in text; a slip of the pen, or printer's error, for the XIVth Corps, which von Werder commanded. There was no XVth Corps in 1871. BATTLE ON THE LISAINE. (January 15th to 17th.) _January 15th._--On the morning of the 15th of January, two Divisions of the French XVth Corps, strengthened by artillery, advanced on Montbéliard; a third followed in reserve. The East-Prussian Landwehr battalions, which had pushed forward to the Mont Chevis Farm and Ste. Suzanne, held their position for a long time, advanced on their part to the attack, and drove the heads of the enemy's columns back upon the Rupt brook. But when the latter in the afternoon deployed in greater force along the edge of the wood, the Landwehr advanced posts were at two o'clock ordered back to the left bank of the Lisaine. The town of Montbéliard, entirely commanded by the surrounding heights, was also voluntarily evacuated, only its fortified castle being held. But east of Montbéliard General von Glümer with the 1st Baden Brigade had taken up a position, and had brought up four field-batteries alongside the siege guns on the plateau of La Grange Dame. Towards the close of the day the French, after a continuous but ineffective bombardment from eight batteries, took possession of the town, but did not make any further advance. Neither had they prospered in their attempt to cross the Lisaine at Béthoncourt. An officer and sixty men, who had sought cover within a walled graveyard from the sharp fire of the defenders, were taken prisoners. Further to the north the French XXIVth Corps continued to advance, but it was two o'clock before its columns were able to deploy from the wood. Four battalions did, indeed, succeed in taking possession of the village of Bussurel on the western bank of the Lisaine, but their further advance was frustrated by the fire of the defenders in cover behind the railway embankment, and by that of the Baden battalions and batteries brought up from the main reserve. Héricourt, on the great high road from Besançon and only little more than four miles from Belfort, became a point of special importance in the German fighting line. Here in front of the Lisaine the right wing of the 4th Reserve Division struck the enemy. The little wooded knoll of Mougnot, which forms a sort of bridge-head to the narrow gorge through which the road passes, had been fortified by the pioneers with abatis, battery emplacements and rifle-pits, the town in its rear prepared for defence, and the base of the heights on either of its sides faced with artillery. Four East-Prussian Landwehr battalions were in touch on the right with the Reserve Brigade, which held the slope of Mont Vaudois as far as Luze. About ten o'clock the French deployed their artillery on the bare heights close to the line of approach in the vicinity of Trémoins. Upon their infantry advancing leftwards through Byans, the German detachment which till then had been left in Tavey fell back on Héricourt in reserve, and the enemy's first attack on Mougnot was shattered by the resistance of its defenders, and by the fire of sixty-one guns on the further bank of the river. The attempt was not repeated that day, and the French confined themselves to a heavy but ineffective cannonade. According to the instructions issued by General Bourbaki, the XXth Corps was to await the result of the great outflanking movement which was to be carried out by General Billot with the XVIIIth Corps and Crémer's Division. As, however, these had not yet put in an appearance, the Army-Reserve had to be brought up leftward to Coisevaux to protect General Clinchant's flank. The orders from the Army Head-quarter had not reached the XVIIIth Corps until midnight. It had moreover to accomplish a difficult march by deeply snowed-up woodland paths. This entailed crossings, not only between the flank columns of its 1st and 3rd Divisions, but even with the Division Crémer at Lyoffans. This Division had only by dint of the greatest exertion reached Lure during the night, and could not get further on to Béverne until nine in the morning. A fresh delay was occasioned by the order to bring up in front of the infantry the artillery--even the reserve artillery which was marching in the very rear; and thus it happened that the XVIIIth Corps did not succeed in deploying two of its Divisions opposite Luze and Chagey till between 12 and 2 in the afternoon. The 1st Division occupied Couthenans with one battalion, and brought up five batteries on the reverse slope of the heights to the north of that place. But the fire from the opposite bank prevented their further progress, and in a short time several of the batteries had but two guns left fit for action, although the Germans, in view of the difficulty of replenishment, used their ammunition as sparingly as possible. At three o'clock there was a pause in the artillery fight, which however was resumed energetically on the arrival of reinforcements, when the artillery of the XXIVth Corps coming from Byans took part in it. An infantry attack on a large scale was not yet attempted. There was scarcely more vigour in the advance of the 3rd Division against Chagey, which was occupied only by a Baden battalion; yet it was from here that the outflanking movement of the German right wing by turning Mont Vaudois was to be gone upon. The wood reached to the first houses of the village, and the only difficulty was the climb up the steep face of the height. Two French battalions suddenly burst from the gorge south of it, and drove in the Baden outposts; the further attack was to have been supported from Couthenans on the south, but the infantry advancing from thence found itself forced to turn back by the fire from the opposite bank. Only by a renewed effort did the Zouaves succeed in entering Chagey, where a stubborn fight raged in and around the houses. Meanwhile two Baden battalions came up, who, at five o'clock, drove the enemy out of the village back into the wood. Fresh reinforcements hastened to the support of the latter from the reserve near by, the short winter's day was over, and here during the night the French attempted nothing further. The 2nd Division of the French Corps had only advanced as far as Béverne, the cavalry had not moved from Lyoffans. The Division Crémer, despite its late arrival at Lure, had continued the march in the early morning. After the above-mentioned crossings and resultant delays the 1st Brigade advanced on Etobon, and there at noon it engaged in a fight with a Baden detachment under the command of General von Degenfeld. When the 2nd Brigade also came up, the 1st moved forward through the Bois de la Thure, with intent to cross the Lisaine above Chagey. Parts of the roads had first to be made practicable by the pioneers, involving considerable delay. The 2nd Brigade then followed in the dark, having left a detachment in observation at Etobon. A fresh collision with some Baden detachments determined General Crémer to extinguish all the watch-fires. His troops remained under arms throughout the hard winter night. On the German side, all the troops not on guard duty found shelter in the neighbouring villages, the pioneers only being kept at work with their pickaxes. The actions had cost both sides about 600 men, without bringing about any decisive result; but every day was a gain to the defenders. General Von Werder, on the heights north of Héricourt, had received constant reports regarding the course of the fighting from the General Staff officers sent out in various directions, by which he was able to regulate the abstraction from the reserves of reinforcements to the fighting line. The diminution of the ammunition was a cause of anxiety, since a consignment announced from Baden had not yet arrived. General Bourbaki informed his Government that he had taken Montbéliard, it was true without the castle, had occupied the villages on the west bank of the Lisaine, and that he would attack on the 16th. He had learned from General Billot that the German right wing extended considerably beyond Mont Vaudois, whence he inferred that important reinforcements had reached the enemy, whose strength he estimated at 80,000 to 100,000 men. Nevertheless he anticipated a fortunate issue for the outflanking operation by fetching a yet wider compass to the left. _January 16th._--At half-past six on the morning of the 16th the Germans again stood to arms in the positions of the previous day. The French again began the attack with their right wing. From the loopholed houses they fired on the Landwehr company holding the castle of Montbéliard, causing some loss among the latter as well as among the gunners. The summons to surrender was disregarded, and the fire of the fortress artillery was used to such good purpose against two batteries which showed themselves on the neighbouring height, that these were obliged to retire, leaving behind them two guns. Neither could they advance from a new position they had taken up at the farm of Mont Chevis, and where they had been reinforced by three batteries, against the fire from La Grange Dame, although the cannonade continued until dark. No attempt was made from Montbéliard to pierce the German line. Further to the left the reinforced 1st Division of the French XVth Corps advanced on Béthoncourt. At one o'clock the fire of its artillery from Mont Chevis and Byans obliged a Baden battery to limber up, and it was then directed on the village. Large bodies had been massed in the neighbouring forest, from out which at three o'clock they advanced. General Glümer had meantime despatched reinforcements to the threatened front. Two determined attempts pushed close up to the village were frustrated by the destructive artillery and rifle fire of the defenders. A third attack made with a whole brigade at four o'clock, was not permitted even to approach. The losses on the French side were considerable, and the snowy field was strewn with the fallen. Some unwounded prisoners were also taken. One Division of the XXIVth French Corps had taken up a covered position in the woods behind Byans, and as it had already occupied Bussurel on the previous day, the German defensive position here in the rear of the railway embankment appeared to be threatened from the immediate vicinity. The General in command therefore sent General Keller with two Baden Fusilier battalions and one heavy battery from Brévilliers in this direction. The latter joined the two batteries which had been engaged on the slope of the hill since morning. The fire of five of the enemy's batteries was soon silenced by the unerring projectiles from the German guns. At noon the French artillery retired from Byans, leaving there also two guns, which could only be brought away later. The infantry, one Division strong, had only threatened to pierce the line, without proceeding to carry out the attempt. The XXth Corps brought up two Divisions against the line Héricourt--Luze. A thick fog covered the valley, and the early cannonade was at first scarcely answered by the Germans. To obtain some insight into the intentions of the enemy, two companies advanced to the height west of St. Valbert, and surprised the enemy moving up from Byans with so rapid a fire that he turned back. But soon after, at half-past nine, several battalions burst out from Tavey against the Mougnot. Two attacks were frustrated by the steady resistance of the Landwehr battalions, and a third attempt directed against the southern exit from Héricourt did not succeed. About four o'clock fresh masses of infantry again gathered against the Mougnot, but coming under fire from Mont Salamou, they shrank from further attacks, and confined themselves till evening to an ineffective cannonade. At Chagey two Divisions of the XVIIIth Corps found themselves face to face with the Germans. They did not attempt anything. The little spirit with which on January 16th the action along the whole front from Montbéliard to Chagey was conducted, pointed to the conclusion that the French were everywhere awaiting the issue of the scheme of out-flanking the German right wing. This task now devolved on General Crémer. The 2nd Division of the XVIIIth Corps joined him at Etobon. Two Divisions advanced thence on Chenebier, where General von Degenfeld stood with two battalions, two batteries, and one squadron. There could be no doubt as to the result. At eleven o'clock the Division Penhoat of the XVIIIth Corps advanced to encompass the place on the west and north, and the Division Crémer, for the purpose of barring the defenders' line of retreat on Belfort, advanced on the south, where the wood of La Thure covered his approach. The batteries of both Divisions were brought up in the afternoon on its northern edge, where they opened fire. After they had been in action for two hours, the infantry masses advanced from three sides. Under General Crémer's personal leading the Baden Fusiliers were driven from the southern to the northern part of the village, and as his encompassment therein through the wood of Montedin was practicable, General von Degenfeld, after an obstinate resistance, at three o'clock was obliged to take up his retreat in a northerly direction through Frahier. Thence he again turned south-east and took up a position in front of Chalonvillars, about the high-lying windmill of Rougeot, where, at six o'clock, he was joined by Colonel Bayer with reinforcements. The French did not pursue; the Division Crémer, which had lost 1000 men, retired, on the contrary, into the wood of La Thure, while Penhoat's Division confined itself to the occupation of Chenebier. Thus the German line of defence was nowhere broken on this day; still, its extreme right wing had been driven back to within little more than three miles of Belfort. The fortress celebrated the success of the French arms by a victory-salute, but made no serious sortie on the investing forces, weakened as they were by the despatch of reinforcements; and the latter, on their side, quietly continued the construction of batteries. General von Werder, anxious above all things to re-establish the fighting position on his right wing, could however only gather in as a general reserve four battalions, four squadrons, and two batteries, bringing up these from the least exposed places and even from Belfort, to Brévilliers and Mandrevillars. At eight o'clock in the evening General Keller was ordered to retake Chenebier. On this errand he left Mandrevillars with two Baden battalions, reached Moulin Rougeot at midnight, and found Frahier already occupied by Colonel Bayer. _January 17th._--On this morning eight battalions, two squadrons, and four batteries were assembled in Frahier. Three of the battalions advanced on the northern, three on the southern part of Chenebier; the others remained in reserve at the windmill, where also three 15 cm. cannon were to be stationed. At half-past four a.m. the first column, advancing in dead silence, surprised an outpost of the enemy's at Echevanne, but it was unavoidable that its rifle fire should make the French in Chenebier aware of the danger by which they were menaced. In the wood north of the village, the Germans met with serious resistance; and the danger that in the darkness and the dense undergrowth the troops might fall on each other obliged their withdrawal to the outer edge of the wood. The other column, advancing in the valley of the Lisaine, had quickened its pace from Moulin Colin as soon as the first shots were heard. The 2nd battalion of the 4th Baden Regiment rushed with cheers into the southern part of Chenebier, where a great confusion ensued. But daybreak showed that the heights on the west of the village were strongly occupied, and that columns of all arms were approaching from Etobon. At 8.30 Colonel Payen had to resolve on retirement from the half-conquered village, carrying with him 400 prisoners, and on taking up a position at the Bois de Féry, to cover the road to Belfort through Chalonvillars. At the same time the right column, strengthened by a battalion from the reserve, renewed the attack on the wood, and after a struggle which lasted for two hours with heavy losses on both sides, at last took possession of it. But the attempt to penetrate into the barricaded and strongly-defended village was vain. A destructive fire met every attack; a single round of mitrailleuse fire, for instance, struck down twenty-one men of the Baden assailants. At three o'clock in the afternoon General Keller therefore assembled his troops at Frahier, where they were supported by four batteries. With such inferior strength, and after failing in this attempt, it was useless to think of driving back the enemy beyond Chenebier; the only course to pursue was to hinder his further advance on Belfort. And this object was fully accomplished; the French did not pursue. Instead of out-flanking the German right, they seemed chiefly concerned for their own left. They defended Chenebier stoutly, but gave up all further offensive movements. While awaiting the expected success of the out-flanking movement, General Bourbaki's intention seems to have been merely to occupy the enemy along his front and to hold him fast where he stood. Even during the night the Germans were alarmed at Béthoncourt and before Héricourt, while they, on their part, disturbed the French at Bussurel and in the Bois de La Thure. The infantry fire went on for hours, and numerous detachments had to spend the bitter winter's night under arms. In the morning two Divisions of the XVIIIth French Corps advanced on Chagey and Luze, but their batteries, although supported by the artillery of the Army Reserve, they could not advance against those of the Germans, and repeated attacks on those villages were unsuccessful. After one o'clock a cannonade only was maintained here. In front of Héricourt also there was an exchange of shell fire, and Bussurel, held by the French, was set on fire. To drive the French out of Montbéliard, the town was fired on from La Grange Dame and from the Château, but ceased when the inhabitants begged forbearance on the assurance that the place was evacuated, which subsequently proved not quite true. Ten battalions of the French XVth Corps advanced from the woods in the forenoon, and tried to push on past Montbéliard, but suffered severely from the flanking fire of the heavy guns at La Grange Dame, and only a handful got into the valley of the Lisaine. The western exits from Montbéliard, and the heights immediately behind it, remained in French possession, but the offensive movements ceased at about two in the afternoon. Further to the south, General von Debschitz's posts in front of Allaine had easily repulsed the French assailants. On the German side there was now the conviction that no further attack would be attempted. The condition of the French troops, not yet inured to war, was, in fact, very critical. They had been obliged to bivouac in the bitterly cold nights, sometimes under arms, and for the most part without food. Their losses were not inconsiderable, and the superior officers whom the commanding General assembled at three in the afternoon, in the neighbourhood of Chagey, expressed their objections to a yet more extensive outflanking attempt to the left, since supplies would be utterly impossible, and the risk would be entailed of the Germans seizing the line of the communications of the army through Montbéliard. Then came the news that the heads of General von Manteuffel's Corps had already reached Fontaine-Française, and were also approaching Gray. In these circumstances General Bourbaki considered he must resolve on a retreat. He telegraphed to the Government that by the advice of his generals, and to his deep regret, he had been compelled to take up a position further in the rear, and only hoped that the enemy might follow him. Hence this experienced general could have felt no doubt that his army, its attack on the Lisaine, once gone to wreck, could only escape from a very critical position by an immediate retreat. _January 18th._--This morning the Germans were under arms in their positions of the previous day, the French still in full force before the whole front. It was significant that they were busy in the construction of earthworks. They had evacuated Montbéliard the evening before in disorderly retreat, and now held the country west of the place in strength and entrenched. During this day nothing occurred but a cannonade and small skirmishes. General Keller having been reinforced came up on the right, and as the enemy retired to Etobon he was able to re-occupy Chenebier in the afternoon. Further north, Colonel von Willisen again marched on Ronchamp. In the centre Coutenans was taken possession of, and the enemy driven out of Byans by artillery fire; but on the other hand the Germans could not yet penetrate the belt of forest. On the southern bank of the Allaine General von Debschitz's detachments drove the enemy back beyond the line Exincourt-Croix. In the three days' fighting on the Lisaine the Germans lost 1200, the French from 4000 to 5000 men. In spite of much necessary detaching, and of the threatening proximity of the enemy, the siege-works against Belfort were uninterruptedly carried on, and as soon as the complement of the investing forces was again made up, General von Werder followed the retiring French to Etobon, Saulnot and Arcey. THE ARTILLERY ATTACK ON PARIS. (January, 1871.) In the place of the IInd Corps, which had been assigned to the German Army of the South, there had come up into the Paris front the Ist Bavarian Corps, of which Gambetta had said, "The Bavarians no longer exist." It had made so good use of its time of rest in quarters south of Longjumeau that by the beginning of the New Year it was already restored to a strength of 17,500 men, with 108 guns. It was positioned on both banks of the Seine between the VIth Prussian Corps and the Würtemberg Division. The Würtembergers reached from Ormesson to the Marne, from which river the Saxons extended rightward to the Sausset brook, so as to narrow the front of the Guard Corps now that the Morée was frozen over and afforded no cover. The duty of watching so vast a place of arms as Paris had made great demands on the endurance of the troops. The French had gradually so extended their entrenchments outwards from Villejuif and Bruyères, that they threatened to outflank the IInd Bavarian Corps. To thwart such a flank attack the VIth Corps was obliged to keep a strong force constantly in readiness at L'Hay. It need not be said that the supporting troops on the south front could nowhere be safe from the fire of the heavy fortress guns, nor the foreposts from that of the Chassepôts. The latter consequently often could not be relieved for several days, and the relief was usually effected at night. The less the success of the French arms in the open field, the more lavish were they in the expenditure of ammunition from their works. Mont Valérien hurled its giant shells to a distance of from four to five miles, but this incessant cannonade, to the din of which the ear was soon accustomed, did little damage. THE ARTILLERY ATTACK ON THE SOUTHERN FRONT.--Till Mont Avron was taken, the Germans had only been able to oppose field guns to French fortress artillery. But early in January their preparations were at last so far forward that seventeen batteries, long since completed, could be armed with heavy guns against the south front of Paris. A battery stood apart on the left flank in the park of St. Cloud to the north of Sèvres; four were close together on the steep slope of the height west of the Château Meudon; five on the edge of the plateau of Moulin de la Tour, where the mill, serving to guide the aim of the enemy, had been blown up. Four more batteries occupied a lower position between Fontenay and Bagneux. Two, between Chevilly and La Rue, served as protection against a flank movement from Villejuif, with the field artillery of the IInd Bavarian and VIth Corps. Dressing-stations were prepared, and intermediate depôts were supplied with reserve ammunition from the great magazines at Villacoublay. Under Generals von Kameke[78] and Prince Hohenlohe[79] Colonels von Rieff and von Ramm conducted the artillery attack, General Schulz commanded the engineer attack. The men served twenty-four hours in the batteries, and then had two days' rest. The officers had but one day's rest. The heavy guns were brought up on January 3rd, by day, into the batteries which lay covered, without any interference; into all the others during the night, after the enemy's outposts had been driven in. Thus on the morning of the 4th 98 guns were ready to open fire: of these 28 were directed on Issy, 28 on Vanves, and 18 on Montrouge, 10 against the emplacements between the first two forts. But a thick fog hid every object, and it was not till January 5th at 8.30 in the morning, that the signal shot was given for opening fire. _January 5th._--The enemy promptly replied. There were in Fort Valérien 106 guns, in Issy 90, in Vanves 84, and in Montrouge 52; there were about 70 in the sectors of the enceinte concerned and at Villejuif, 16-cm. guns for the most part; so the attack at first was heavily taxed. But when at about noon all its batteries came into action, the situation gradually improved and the greater accuracy of the German fire told. Fort Issy had almost entirely ceased firing by two o'clock, nine guns were dismounted in Vanves, and its garrison had lost thirty men; only Montrouge still replied with vigour. The fire was now taken up by the guns of the enceinte, but the forts never again gained the upper hand of the attack. Some gunboats appearing about Point du Jour very soon had to retire. The field artillery of the IInd Bavarian and VIth Corps also co-operated so energetically that no attack was attempted from the works at Villejuif, nor was a single shot fired on the batteries at Bagneux. A number of wall-pieces and long-range Chassepôts taken from the enemy did such good service that the French abandoned more and more of their rayon. The German outposts took possession of the trenches of Clamart, and in the course of the night reversed them against the defence. Only a couple of 15-cm. shells were thrown into the city itself as a serious warning; the first thing to be done was to batter down the outworks, and for some few days the firing was exclusively directed on these. A stubborn return fire came from Montrouge and from a mortar-battery in a very advantageous position behind the high railway embankment to the east of Issy; and especially from the south front of the enceinte, nearly four and a half miles long in a straight line. Foggy weather on some days necessitated the suspension or entire cessation of firing. But meanwhile the foreposts had advanced to within 815 and 490 yards of Forts Issy and Vanves respectively. New batteries were constructed further forward, and armed with thirty-six guns from those evacuated in rear. _January 10th._--The French garrison meanwhile was again displaying great activity. On January 10th it succeeded in the dark hours in surprising the weakly-held post of Clamart. Three battalions were now posted in the place, and a shelter-trench some 1300 yards long was dug connecting Clamart with Châtillon.[80] _January 13th._--The IInd Army of Paris was still outside the city on the east and north fronts from Nogent to Aubervillers. After some small alarms, on the evening of the 13th strong bodies advanced from Courneuve and Drancy against Le Bourget under cover of a heavy fire from the forts. But the troops in occupation there were on the alert, and being soon reinforced by several companies, repulsed the attempts of the French to storm it, repeated as they were until two o'clock in the morning. _January 14th._--On this day the French made a renewed sortie on Clamart with 500 marine infantry and several battalions of National Guards. These last assembled at the adjacent railway-station with a great deal of noise, and their approach was reported about midnight. The fight lasted a full hour, and ended with the retreat, or rather flight, of the assailants. Patrols followed them close up to the trenches of Issy. The ranges were so great that hitherto the fire from the enceinte was not yet subdued. Battery No. 1, lying isolated in the Park of St. Cloud, suffered most, being fired upon from two bastions of the enceinte, from Point du Jour, and from Mont Valérien. The steep cliff behind the battery facilitated the aim of the enemy. Its parapet was repeatedly shattered, and it was only the most zealous devotion which enabled the struggle to be continued at this point. The enemy also concentrated a heavy fire on batteries Nos. 19 and 21, pushed forward into a position specially threatening to Fort Vanves. The long-range fire from the enceinte dropped from a high angle close behind the parapet, breaking through the platforms, and inflicting serious injuries on a great many gunners. The powder-magazines blew up in two of the batteries, and both the battery commanders and several other superior officers were wounded. On the east front of Paris, the fifty-eight German guns remaining there after the reduction of Mont Avron were opposed by 151 of the enemy. The former nevertheless soon proved their superiority; the forts only occasionally came into action; the French withdrew their outposts up to the works, and altogether vacated the peninsula of St. Maur. By degrees the heavy siege-guns could be removed from their previous positions to the Morée brook. The forts on the south front had meanwhile suffered severely. The ruin in Issy was visible to the naked eye; fires broke out there repeatedly, and the powder-magazine had to be cleared out at great risk in the night of January 16th. Fort Vanves had lost seventy men; it opened fire usually every morning, but soon became silent. Montrouge, on the contrary, on some days still fired over 500 rounds from eighteen guns. But here, too, the casemates no longer afforded any shelter, and one of the bastions lay a heap of ruins. In spite of the steady fire from the enceinte, a part of Paris itself was disturbed by the 15-cm. shells. An elevation of 30 degrees, obtained by a special contrivance, sent the projectiles into the heart of the city. From 300 to 400 shells were fired daily. Under the pressure of "public opinion" the Government, after repeated deliberations, decided once more on a new enterprise in force, to be directed this time against the German batteries about Châtillon. The collective superior commanders agreed, indeed, that sorties could promise no success without the co-operation of a relieving army from the outside; but, on the 8th, Gambetta had announced the "victory" of the Army of the North at Bapaume, and further had promised that both the Armies of the Loire should advance. Hereupon General Trochu advised that at least the moment should be awaited when the investing army before Paris should be weakened by having to detach anew part of its strength; but he was opposed by the other members of the Government, especially by Monsieur Jules Favre. That gentleman declared that the Maires of Paris were indignant at the bombardment, that the representatives of the city must be allowed some insight into the military situation, and, above all, that negotiations ought long since to have been entered into. Finally, on January 15th, it was determined that the German lines should be broken through at Montretout, Garches, and Buzanval. While confusion and dissensions thus prevailed in Paris, the unity of the German nation, under the Emperor William, was solemnly proclaimed at Versailles. FOOTNOTES: [78] Previously commanding the XIVth Infantry Division. [79] Previously commanding the artillery of the Guard Corps, the well-known military author, best known in England as "Prince Kraft." The slight ambiguity in the text may be removed by the more specific statement that General von Kameke was Chief Director of the Engineer attack, Prince Kraft Chief Director of the Artillery attack on Paris as a whole. On the south front Colonel von Rieff commanded the siege artillery, Major-General Schulz was Engineer-in-chief. On the north and east fronts within the Army of the Meuse Colonels Bartsch and Oppermann had the corresponding commands. Colonel von Ramm is nowhere mentioned in the official distribution of the respective staffs. [80] A casual reader might perhaps infer from these curt sentences, that the French, having possessed themselves by surprise of the weak German post of Clamart, placed in it a garrison of three battalions. The facts were, that the French battalion was scarcely in possession of Clamart when it abandoned village and redoubt; whereupon, to guard against any future attempt on the place on the part of the French, the Germans occupied the village with three battalions and the redoubt with two companies; and further to ensure the security of the position, since it was one of some importance, connected it with Châtillon in the manner described. BATTLE OF MONT VALÉRIEN. (January 19th.) The sortie was planned to take place on January 19th. On that day, as we have seen, General Faidherbe advanced as far as St. Quentin on the way to Paris, and the army which was to make the sortie stood on the eastern and northern fronts of the capital. The attempt to break through was, however, made in the opposite direction. But in fact, the peninsula of Gennevilliers was now the only ground on which large masses of troops could still be deployed without being exposed for hours while they were being assembled, to the fire of the German artillery. Two days previously the mobilized National Guards had already relieved the three Divisions of the sortie-Army from the positions they had held; and those Divisions, collectively 90,000 strong, were to move to the attack in three columns simultaneously. General Vinoy on the left, supported by the fire from the enceinte, was to carry the height of Montretout; General Bellemare in the centre was to push forward through Garches; General Ducrot on the right by way of the Château of Buzanval. The attack was set to begin at six in the morning, but blocks occurred at the bridges of Asnières and Neuilly, as no specific orders had been issued for regulating the crossing. When at seven o'clock the signal to advance was made from Mont Valérien, only the advance of General Vinoy's force was ready, the other columns had not yet deployed, and the last detachments tailed back as far as Courbevoix. Before they had reached their rendezvous-points the left wing was already marching on St. Cloud with fifteen battalions. These at first met only isolated posts and patrols, eighty-nine men in all, who rushed into the open gorge of the redoubt of Montretout, and there made a stand for some time; they then fought their way out with great bravery, but some of them were taken prisoners. There, and in the northern part of St. Cloud, the French promptly prepared for defence. The centre column under General Bellemare also took possession without difficulty of the height of Maison du Curé. Not till now, at nearly nine o'clock, did the first supports of the German forepost line appear on the scene. Till within a short time the observatories had been able to report nothing but "thick fog;" but reports from the right and left wings announced that a serious attack was threatened on the whole front from St. Cloud to Bougival. The Vth Corps was now alarmed, and General von Kirchbach betook himself to the 9th Division. On the German right, in the park of St. Cloud, stood the 17th Brigade; on the left, behind the Porte de Longboyau, the 20th; the other troops of the Corps marched from their quarters in Versailles and the villages to its north, to Jardy and Beauregard. The Crown Prince ordered six battalions of the Guard Landwehr and a Bavarian Brigade to Versailles, and himself rode to the Hospice of Brezin; the King went to Marly. The French meanwhile had seized the foremost houses of Garches, and made their eastward way here and there through the breaches in the wall into the park of the Château of Buzanval. The 5th Jäger Battalion, supported by single companies of the 58th and 59th Regiments, hurried forward and drove the enemy back out of Garches, occupied the cemetery on its north, and still reached the advanced post of La Bergerie just at the right time. The other bodies under General von Bothmer (commanding 17th Brigade, 9th Division, Vth Corps), by order from the commanding General, maintained a stationary fight on the skirts of the park of St. Cloud, to gain time. About half-past nine they repulsed an attack by Bellemare's column, arrested the advance of the enemy along the Rue Impériale of St. Cloud, and themselves took the offensive from the Grille d'Orleans and the Porte Jaune. Five French battalions unsuccessfully assaulted La Bergerie. A section of Engineers tried with great devotion to demolish the wall surrounding the court, but the frozen dynamite did not explode, and the Jägers held the position steadfastly throughout the day. The attacks of the French had hitherto been undertaken without assistance from their artillery. The batteries of General Vinoy's advance had been seriously delayed by crossing with the centre column, and were now detained at Briqueterie to meet the contingency of a repulse. General Bellemare's batteries tried to get up the slope of the height of Garches, but the exhaustion of the teams made it necessary to take up a position at Fouilleuse. Meanwhile the batteries of the German 9th Division came up by degrees, and by noon thirty-six guns had opened fire. In St. Cloud a hot street-fight was going on. Only General Ducrot on the French right wing had opened the battle with his strong force of artillery, which came into position on both sides of Rueil. The tirailleurs then advanced and made their way through the park of Buzanval to its western boundary-wall, but were driven back by the 50th Fusilier Regiment which had hastened forward. At half-past ten the chief attack ensued at this point, supported by part of the central column. It found only an under-officer's post at Malmaison, but at the eastern exit from Bougival near La Jouchère and Porte de Longboyau, it encountered the already reinforced line of posts of the 20th Infantry Brigade. General von Schmidt (commanding 10th Infantry Division) still held back at Beauregard the reserve of the 10th Division. A murderous fire from the well-covered German infantry broke the onset of the French, and converted it by mid-day into a stationary fire fight, in which the German artillery also took part with great effect. Two batteries of the 10th Division at St. Michel were reinforced by two Guard batteries brought up from St. Germain to Louvenciennes; a third came into action near Chatou and forced an armour-plated train halted at the railway station north of Rueil to retire rapidly to Nanterre. Four batteries of the IVth Corps finally opened fire from Carrières, heedless of the fire of Valérien, and shelled the dense masses of hostile infantry halted in rear of Rueil. At two o'clock the French decided on renewing the attack. When two of their batteries had shelled Porte de Longboyau a brigade marched on that point, and a second on the western wall of the park of the Château Buzanval; a third followed in support. Not less bold than unsuccessful was the attempt of a section of Engineers, one officer and ten men, to blow up part of the wall; they all fell together. The attacking columns had advanced to within 200 paces, when thirteen German companies at the moment met them, broke and stopped their rush by pouring fire into them at short range, and presently routed the hostile columns in disorder, in spite of the devoted exertions of the officers. The French, however, still found a strong protection in the park-wall, which had been prepared for defence with great skill and with the utmost rapidity; and the advance of several companies from Brezin and La Bergerie on this wall was repulsed with heavy loss. But the strength of the French attack was already broken. So early as three o'clock a movement of retreat was observable in their left wing, and as dusk fell the French centre began to withdraw from the heights of Maison du Curé. When Colonel von Köthen pursued, with a small force, several battalions indeed fronted, and even threatened a sharp counter-attack; but timely support arrived from La Bergerie, Garches, and Porte Jaune, and, backed by the fire of the batteries, the pursuit was followed up. The King's Grenadiers drove back the enemy to the vicinity of Fouilleuse. The Germans, however, had not yet succeeded in repossessing themselves of the Montretout redoubt. The chief hindrance arose from their having been unable to advance through the town of St. Cloud. As, however, the possession of this position was indispensable for the protection of the right wing, General von Kirchbach gave orders that it was to be retaken either that evening or early next morning. General von Sandrart (commanding 9th Infantry Division) decided on immediate action, and at eight that evening five battalions went forward on this duty. Only a few French were found in the redoubt and were taken prisoners; but in the town the struggle was severe. Finally the Germans had to restrict themselves to blockading the houses held temporarily by the enemy. The French also clung to the outer park-wall of Buzanval throughout the night. The Guard Landwehr and the Bavarian Brigade were therefore assigned quarters in Versailles, to form a strong reserve at hand in case of need on the following day. The remainder of the troops withdrew into their former quarters. At half-past five General Trochu had issued the order for a retreat. He perceived that the prolongation of the struggle could afford no success, especially as the National Guards were becoming insubordinate. The brave defenders of St. Cloud were forgotten in these directions. They did not surrender till the day after, when artillery was brought against the houses they occupied. And the park-wall was not relinquished till the following morning. The French attack of January 19th was wrecked even before it had reached the main position of the defenders. The reserves in readiness on the German side had not needed to be brought into action. The Vth Corps alone had driven back an enemy of four times its own strength. It lost 40 officers and 570 men; the loss of the French in killed and wounded was 145 officers and 3423 men, besides 44 officers and 458 men taken prisoners. When the fog lifted at about eleven o'clock on the morning of the 20th, their long columns were seen retreating on Paris across the peninsula of Gennevilliers. PROSECUTION OF THE ARTILLERY ATTACK ON PARIS UP TO THE ARMISTICE. After the repulse of this last struggle for release on the part of the garrison, the extension of the artillery attack to the north front of the defensive position was now determined on. The siege guns no longer needed against the minor French fortresses and on the Marne had been parked for this object at Villiers le Bel. The Army of the Meuse had prepared abundant material for the construction of batteries, and had collected a waggon park of above 600 vehicles. Twelve batteries had already been built in the lines between Le Bourget and the Lake of Enghien, the arming of which followed, for the most part, under cover of night. On January 21st eighty-one heavy guns were ready for action, and Colonel Bartsch opened fire at nine that morning on Forts La Briche, Double Couronne, and de l'Est. The forts, which opposed the attack with 143 heavy guns, replied vigorously, and on the following day the thick weather prevented the German batteries from resuming their fire till the afternoon. But the ground in front was abandoned by the French, and the outposts of the Guards and IVth Corps took possession of Villetaneuse and Temps Perdu. During the nights the fire was directed on St. Denis, with every endeavour to spare the Cathedral, and many conflagrations occurred. By the 23rd the vigorous prosecution of the cannonade had materially subdued the fire of the defence. La Briche was wholly silenced, and the other forts only fired occasional salvos. During the night of the 25th four batteries were advanced to within 1300 and 950 yards respectively of the enemy's main works. The engineer attack also could now be undertaken, and a series of new batteries was constructed, which, however, were never used. The effect of this bombardment of only six days' duration was decisive. The forts had suffered extraordinarily. In contrast to those of the south front they were destitute of the powerful backing of the enceinte, and they lacked, too, bomb-proof shelter. The provisional bomb-proofs were pierced by shells, the powder-magazines were in the greatest danger, and the garrisons had nowhere any more cover. The inhabitants of St. Denis fled to Paris in crowds, and the impaired immunity from storm of the sorely battered works was an insuperable obstacle to a longer maintenance of the defence. This northern attack cost the Germans one officer and 25 men; the French stated their loss at 180. The fire of the forts on the east front was kept under, and the Würtemberg Field Artillery sufficed to prevent the enemy from renewing his foothold on the peninsula of St. Maur. The south front meanwhile suffered more and more from the steady bombardment. The enceinte and the sunken mortar batteries behind the ceinture railway were still active, but in the forts the barracks were reduced to ruins, partly battered in and partly burnt down, and the garrisons had to take shelter in the emptied powder-magazines. The covered ways could no longer be traversed safely, the parapets afforded no protection. In Vanves the embrasures were filled up with sandbags; in the southern curtain of Issy five blocks of casemates had been pierced by shells penetrating the shielding walls. Even the detached gorge-walls of Vanves and Montrouge were destroyed, forty guns were dismounted, and seventy gun carriages wrecked. The whole condition of France, political and military, and above all the situation in Paris, was such as to cause the Government the gravest anxiety. Since the return of Monsieur Thiers from his diplomatic tour, it was certain that no mediatory interposition by any foreign power could be expected. The distress of the capital had become more and more severe. Scarcity and high prices had long borne heavily on its population; provisions were exhausted, and even the stores of the garrison had been seriously encroached on. Fuel was lacking in the lasting cold, and petroleum was an inefficient substitute for gas. When the long-deferred bombardment of the south side of Paris was had recourse to, the people took refuge in the cellars or fled to the remoter quarters of the city; and when it was also begun on the northern side the inhabitants of St. Denis crowded into the capital. The great sortie of the 19th had proved a total failure, and no relief was to be hoped for from outside since Gambetta had sent news of the disaster at Le Mans. The Paris Army, of whose inactivity he complained, was reduced to a third of its original strength by cold, sickness, and desertion, and the heart taken out of it by repeated miscarriages. Its horses had to be slaughtered to provide meat for the inhabitants, and General Trochu declared any further offensive movements to be quite hopeless; the means even of passive resistance were exhausted. Hitherto the Government had been able to keep the populace in good humour by highly-coloured reports, but now the disastrous state of affairs could no longer be concealed. All its projects were now denounced. There was a large class of people in Paris who were but little affected by the general distress. Numbers of civilians had been armed for the defence of their country and were fed and well paid by the authorities, without having too much to do in return. They were joined by all the dubious social elements, which found their reckoning in the disorganized situation. These had been quite satisfied with the condition which the 4th of September had created, and a little later they displayed themselves in the hideous form of the Commune. Already some popular gatherings had been dispersed only by force of arms, and even a part of the National Guard were not free from mutinous tendencies. The revolutionary clubs, too, supported by the press, clamoured for further enterprises, even a sortie _en masse_ of all the inhabitants of Paris. Thus the feeble Government, dependent as it was on popular favour alone, was under pressure from the impossible demands of an ignorant mob on the one hand, and, on the other, the inexorable force of actual facts. There was absolutely no expedient possible but the capitulation of the capital; every delay intensified the necessity, and enforced the acceptance of harder terms. Unless all the railways were at once thrown open for the transport of supplies from a very wide area, the horrors of famine would inevitably fall on a population of more than two million souls; and later it might not be practicable to cope with the emergency. Yet no one dared utter the fatal word "capitulation," no one would undertake the responsibility for the inevitable. A great council of war was held on the 21st. In it all the elder Generals pronounced any further offensive measures to be quite impossible. It was proposed that a council of the younger officers should also be held, but no decision was arrived at. As, however, some one must be made answerable for every misfortune, General Trochu, originally the most popular member of the Government, was dismissed from his position as Governor, and the chief military command was entrusted to General Vinoy. General Ducrot resigned his command. All this did nothing to improve the situation, so on the 23rd, Monsieur Jules Favre made his appearance at Versailles to negotiate in the first instance for an armistice. On the German side there was readiness to meet this request; but of course some guarantee had to be forthcoming that the capital, after having been reprovisioned, would not renew its resistance. The surrender of the forts, inclusive of Mont Valérien and the town of St. Denis, as well as the disarmament of the enceinte was demanded and acceded to. Hostilities were to be suspended on the evening of the 26th, so far as Paris was concerned, and all supplies to be freely given. A general armistice of twenty-one days was then to come in force on the 31st of January, exclusive, however, of the departments of Doubs, Jura, and Côte d'Or, and the fortress of Belfort, where for the time operations were still being carried on, in which both sides were hopeful of success. This armistice gave the Government of National Defence the time necessary for assembling a freely-elected National Assembly at Bordeaux, which should decide whether the war should be continued, or on what conditions peace should be concluded. The election of the deputies was unimpeded and uninfluenced even in the parts of the country occupied by the Germans. The regular forces of the Paris garrison, troops of the line, marines, and Gardes-Mobiles, had to lay down their arms at once; only 12,000 men and the National Guard were allowed to retain them for the preservation of order inside the city. The troops of the garrison were interned there during the armistice; on its expiry they were to be regarded as prisoners. As to their subsequent transfer to Germany, where every available place was already overflowing with prisoners, the question was postponed in expectation of a probable peace. The forts were occupied on the 29th without opposition. There were taken over from the Field Army of Paris 602 guns, 1,770,000 stand of arms, and above 1000 ammunition waggons; from the fortress 1362 heavy guns, 1680 gun-carriages, 860 limbers, 3,500,000 cartridges, 4000 hundred-weight of powder, 200,000 shells, and 100,000 bombs. The blockade of Paris, which had lasted 132 days, was over, and the greater part of the German forces which had so long stood fast under its walls, was released to end the war in the open field. THE OPERATIONS OF THE ARMY OF THE SOUTH UNDER GENERAL VON MANTEUFFEL. The two Army Corps under General von Manteuffel consisted altogether of fifty-six battalions, twenty squadrons, and 168 guns. When it arrived at Châtillon sur Seine on January 12th, the IInd Corps was on the right, and the VIIth on the left on an extension from Noyers Montigny of about forty-five miles. One brigade, under General von Dannenberg, which had already several times been in contact with portions of the French Army of the Vosges, was pushed forward to Vilaines and was charged with the duty of covering the right flank. Several good roads led from the quarters specified in the direction of Dijon; to Vesoul, on the contrary, there were only bad tracks deep in snow over the southern slope of the wild plateau of Langres. The Commander-in-Chief, nevertheless, chose this direction, that he might as soon as possible afford General von Werder at least indirect assistance by approaching in the rear of the enemy threatening his brother-officer. The march had to pass midway between the towns of Dijon and Langres, both points strongly occupied by the French. Wooded heights and deep ravines separated the columns and precluded mutual support; each body had to provide for its individual safety in every direction. The troops had previously undergone severe fatigues, and badly as they needed rest not one halt-day could be granted, nor could the evil plight of their boots and the horses' shoes be in any way remedied. On January 14th the march was begun in a thick fog and bitter cold, along roads frozen as smooth as glass. The maintenance of supplies required special attention, and at first the 8th Brigade had to be left behind to secure the all-important railway-line Tonnerre--Nuits--Châtillon, until connections could be established by way of Epinal. On the very first day's march the advanced guard of the VIIth Corps had a fight before Langres. A force from the garrison of 15,000 men was driven in on the fortress with the loss of a flag, and a detachment had to be left behind in observation of the place. Under cover of it the VIIth Corps marched past the fortress next day, while the IInd advanced to the Ignon Brook. The weather changed during the night of the 15th. As a change from fourteen degrees of frost there came storm and rain. The water lay on the frozen roads, and it was with the greatest difficulty that the VIIth Corps reached Prauthoy, and the IInd Moloy, closing in to the left. On the 18th the left wing advanced South-East on Frettes and Champlitte, the right assembled at Is sur Tille, and its advanced guard, after a march of thirty-one miles, reached the bridges at Gray. On the flank and rear of the Corps there had been some trivial fighting, but the cruel march across the mountains had been accomplished, and the cultivated valley of the Saône was reached. General von Manteuffel had already received news of the satisfactory course of the first day's fighting on the Lisaine. Later telegrams from General von Werder reported that the French Army of the East would probably be obliged to retire under difficulties, and the German commander at once determined to cut off its retreat by advancing to the Doubs below Besançon. The defeated French army was still numerically greatly superior to the German force. The troops had to be again called upon for severe exertions. They were required once more to cross a thinly-populated mountainous region, where it would be a matter of great difficulty to procure food and the shelter needful during the bitter winter nights. Strong hostile forces had to be left in the rear at Langres, Dijon, and Auxonne, and that under very insufficient observation. However, in spite of every obstacle the advance in this new direction was begun on the 19th. The first difficulty would have been the crossing of the Saône, here very deep and about sixty-six yards wide, and full of drifting ice, had not the advanced guard of the IInd Corps found Gray abandoned by the French and both the bridges uninjured; whereupon it occupied the town. The head of the VIIth Corps crossed the river by the intact railway-bridge at Savayeux, and by a pontoon bridge thrown across by the pioneers higher up. On the following day both Corps advanced in a southerly direction, the VIIth to Gy, the IInd to Pesmes. Here the latter also now crossed the Ognon after driving off by artillery fire a French detachment which tried to oppose the construction of the bridges. On the 21st, at half past two, the advanced guard of the IInd Corps found Dôle occupied by the enemy. General von Koblinski (commanding 5th Infantry Brigade) attacked at once. In spite of a violent street-fight in which the townspeople took part, the Grenadiers of the 2nd Regiment made their way through the town and on the further side seized a train of 230 waggons of provisions and military necessaries, intended for Besançon and left standing in the railway-station. While the Doubs was thus crossed by the IInd Corps at this point, so the VIIth Corps opened itself a passage across the Ognon at Marmay and Pin. General von Werder had been instructed to follow close on the heels of the retreating enemy, and while the latter still maintained his position on the front of the XIVth Corps, the 2nd Baden Brigade on the right wing had advanced to Etobon, while Colonel von Willisen with his twelve squadrons had moved out beyond Lure. On the left, Colonel von Zimmermann with the East-Prussian Landwehr had driven the French out of Ste. Marie. These detachments everywhere found cast-away arms and portions of equipment, and hundreds willingly gave themselves up as prisoners. During the next few days General von Werder effected a general left-wheel to the south. The right wing held Villersexel, and it was the left wing only that met the enemy in great masses at L'Isle sur le Doubs, and afterwards at Clerval and Baume les Dames. General Bourbaki had withdrawn from the Lisaine on the 18th. The XXIVth Corps only was left on the left bank of the Doubs, with orders to defend toward the north the defiles in the steep mountain-paths of the Lomont range eastward of Clerval; all the other troops withdrew between the Doubs and the Ognon, with the Division Crémer as rearguard. The Ognon might have formed a natural protection for the right flank of the French army, and orders had been given for the destruction of all the bridges over it; but we have seen how little they had been obeyed. On the 21st the XVth and XXth Corps arrived in the neighbourhood of Baume les Dames, the XVIIIth at Marchaux; and here, having the stronghold of Besançon close at his back, General Bourbaki desired to await for the present the further movements of the enemy. In order that his forces should still muster in full strength, the commandant of Besançon was instructed to send forward to Blamont all the battalions of Mobiles-Guards he could spare so as to relieve the XXIVth Corps. Nine battalions of mobilized National Guards had actually previously reached Besançon, which might have been substituted as desired, but they came armed with Enfield rifles, for which there was no ammunition in the fortress. Thus they would there only have added to the mouths to be filled, and General Rolland had simply sent them back again. The Intendant-General declared it impossible any longer to bring up the supplies ordered by him for the maintenance of the army; but what proved decisive was the news received this day that not only was the line of the Ognon lost, but that the Germans had already crossed the Doubs. Under these circumstances the French Commander-in-Chief determined to continue his retreat on Besançon and there cross to the southern bank of the Doubs, so as not to be compelled to give battle with the river in his rear. The trains were sent off during the night, but above all things the XVth Corps was ordered at once to occupy Quingey with a whole division, and defend that position to extremity, in order to keep open the communications of the Corps with the interior. All the other Corps were to concentrate round Besançon, even the XXIVth, which consequently gave up the defence of the Lomont passes. General Bourbaki reported his situation to the Minister of War, who held out hopes of supporting him with the portion of the XVth Corps still remaining on the Loire. Assistance could have been more quickly and effectually given from Dijon. The Government had assembled there a very considerable force to replace the Division Crémer gone to join the Army of the East, for the defence of the ancient capital of Burgundy and to constitute a point of support to the operations of General Bourbaki. A Corps of 20,000 men was assigned to the local defence; a very inappropriately-named Army of the Vosges, more than 40,000 strong, was to do duty in the field. But this was of little effect in hindering the toilsome advance of the Germans over the mountains. The detachments in observation allowed themselves to be driven in by General von Kettler (commanding 8th Infantry Brigade), who followed the movement of both Corps on the right flank; and they retired on Dijon. Colonel Bombonnel, stationed at Gray, urgently begged for reinforcements to enable him to defend the passages of the Saône; his applications were refused because Dijon was in too great peril, and it was not till the Prussians had already crossed the river that "General" Garibaldi began to move. He set out on the 19th in three columns in the direction of Is sur Tille, where there still remained only part of the (German) 4th Infantry Division. But he advanced little more than four miles. Garibaldi subsequently confined himself to watching reconnoitring parties which advanced to meet him from the heights of Messigny, and he then retired on Dijon with his troops marching to the strains of the Marseillaise. Nevertheless, the enemy was held in too small estimation in General Manteuffel's headquarter, when General von Kettler was simply ordered to go and take Dijon. The greatest care had been bestowed in strengthening the place. Numerous earthworks, and other erections specially constructed for defence protected it to the northward; more especially had Talant and Fontaine les Dijon been transformed into two detached forts and armed with heavy guns which commanded all the approaches on that side. The whole constituted a position which could be held against a much larger force than the five and a half battalions of the 8th Brigade with which General Kettler advanced to the attack. FIGHTING AT DIJON, JANUARY 21ST AND 22ND.--This force had reached Turcey and St. Seine, and on the 21st advanced in two columns from the west on Dijon, still distant some fourteen miles. Major von Conta from Is sur Tille on the north was approaching with a small reinforcement. The "Franctireurs de la Mort," the "Compagnie de la Revanche," and other volunteer bands as well as Mobiles-Guards were without much difficulty driven out of the villages on the way, and beyond the deep ravine of the Suzon; the village of Plombieres on the right, which was defended with spirit, was stormed, and Daix was carried on the left; but in front of the fortified position of the French, and within reach of the fire of their heavy batteries, the bold advance was forced to come to a stand. Major von Conta had also pushed on with continuous fighting, but failed to effect a junction with the brigade before dark. General von Kettler, recognizing the overwhelming superiority of the French, finally restricted himself to repulsing their sorties. The French lost seven officers and 430 men in prisoners alone; but the fighting also cost the brigade nineteen officers and 322 men. The troops had performed a severe march in bad weather along heavy roads, and had not been able to cook either before or after the fight; the ammunition could only be replenished from a convoy which was expected next day. Nevertheless General von Kettler did not hesitate to remain for the night in the positions he had gained immediately in front of the enemy, and then to seek shelter-quarters in the nearest villages. The French allowed him to do so without any serious opposition. Inactivity so utter caused General von Kettler the suspicion that the main body of the enemy had probably withdrawn by Auxonne to the support of the Army of the East, and he determined to bring it back on Dijon by a renewed attack. On the 23rd at eleven o'clock, by a flank march along the enemy's front, after his advanced guard had routed a detachment of Gardes-Mobiles, he reached the farm of Valmy on the Langres road, and advanced with his two batteries against the walled and strongly-held village of Pouilly. Here, as was almost always the case when engaged in the defence of buildings, the French made a stout resistance. The 61st Regiment had to storm each house in turn, and it was not till the château was in flames that the strong body of defenders who had taken refuge in the upper floors, surrendered. Beyond this place the enemy were found deployed in an entrenched position between Talant, which had been converted into a fort, and a large factory-building on the high-road. Here the advance was checked till the remainder of the regiment came up from Valmy, and the defenders at various points were driven back on the suburb. It was evident that the French were still at Dijon in full force, and the object of the undertaking had therefore been attained. But now unfortunately a tragic episode occurred, for the storming of the factory was absolutely insisted on--a great building, almost impregnable against infantry unaided. When all the senior officers had been killed, a first-lieutenant, whose horse had been shot and he himself wounded, took the command of the 2nd battalion. No sooner had the 5th company, only forty strong, advanced from the neighbouring quarry, than it came under a hot fire from all sides. The leader was at once wounded, and the sergeant who carried the colour fell dead after a few steps; so did the second-lieutenant and the battalion adjutant, who had again raised the standard. It was passed from hand to hand, carried first by the officers then by the men; every bearer fell. The brave Pomeranians[81] nevertheless rushed on the building, but there was no entrance anywhere on that side, and at last the under-officer retreated on the quarry with the remnant of the little band. Here, for the first time, the colour was missed. Volunteers went out again in the darkness to search for it, but only one man returned unwounded. It was not till afterwards that the French found the banner, shot to ribbons, in a pool of blood under the dead. This was the only German colour lost throughout the war, and only thus was this one lost. The enemy took prisoners eight officers and 150 men, and the brigade sustained a fresh loss of sixteen officers and 362 men. It mustered at Pouilly, and remained under arms till eight o'clock to meet possible pursuit; only then were quarters taken in the neighbouring villages. OPERATIONS OF THE ARMY OF THE SOUTH.--The commission to take Dijon could not be executed; but the bold advance of this weak brigade cowed the hostile army into inactivity, so that General von Manteuffel was able to pursue his march unopposed. He had given to both his corps as their objective the enemy's line of retreat south of Besançon. From this fortress there were but few roads to the south of France available for troops, through the riven and rugged regions of the western Jura. The most direct connection was by the road and railway to Lons le Saulnier, on which Quingey and Byans were the most important barriers. Further to the east, but by a wide détour, a road runs by Ornans, Salins and Champagnole to St. Laurent and Morez. Several ways, however, radiate from Besançon and converge in Pontarlier, by using the passes peculiar to this range, called "Cluses," which pierce transversely the mountain chains and afford the valleys intercommunication. From Pontarlier one road only runs past Mouthe, and along the Swiss frontier in awkward proximity thereto. _January 22nd._--On this day the advanced guard of the 13th Division marched from Audeux to St. Vit, and after breaking up the railway and plundering a number of loaded waggons, down the riverside to Dampierre. On the way four bridges over the Doubs were found uninjured and were taken possession of. The advanced guard of the 14th Division moved from Emagny to observe Besançon. The IInd Corps closed on Dôle and pushed reconnoitring parties across the river. _January 23rd._--The concentric movement of all the bodies of the German army was continued. General Debschitz, approaching from the north, in passing Roches found only the abandoned camping ground of the French XXIVth Corps. The 4th Reserve Division occupied L'Isle without opposition, and met no resistance till it reached Clerval and Baume. On the Ognon the Baden Division drove the French out of Montbozon. In the centre of the army the VIIth Corps pushed the advanced guard of the 14th Division forward on Dannemarie, near Besançon. A fight ensued there in the form only of a cannonade which lasted till night. The 13th Division, again, which had crossed the Doubs at Dampierre, advanced on Quingey. For want of rolling stock it had been possible to forward only one French brigade by railway, and the last trains were received at the Byans station with Prussian shells. These troops were in so bad case that they were unable even to place outposts. They abandoned Quingey almost without a struggle, and their hurried retreat on Besançon and beyond the Loue, stopped the advance of reinforcements already on the way. Thus 800 prisoners and a train of 400 convalescents fell into the hands of the Prussian advanced guard, who at once broke up the railway at Abbans-dessous. On the right wing, the head of the IInd Corps advanced by the valley of the Loue on the southern bank. Several cuttings on this road had been prepared for defence, but were found undefended. It was at Villers Farlay that it first encountered a strong body of the enemy. On the evening of this day, of the French forces the XXth Corps was on the north and the XVIIIth on the west of Besançon, at the distance of about four miles. Cavalry, artillery and the train were passing through the town or encamped on the glacis of the fortress. The XXIVth Corps was on the march thither, and the 2nd and 3rd Divisions of the XVth were in possession of the southern bank of the Doubs about Baume and Larnod; but the 1st Division had not succeeded in holding Quingey. Thus the most direct and important line of communications of the French army was cut, and its position, by this fresh mischance, seriously compromised. Impracticable projects and counsels from Bordeaux poured in freely, but did not mend matters; and on the 24th General Bourbaki summoned the superior officers to a council of war. _January 24th._--The Generals declared that they had scarcely more than half their men under arms, and these were more inclined to fly than to fight. General Pallu alone thought he might answer for the men of the army reserve. The Intendant-General reported that, without trenching on the magazines of the place, the supplies in hand would last for four days at most. General Billot was in favour of attempting to fight a way through to Auxonne, but he declined to take the command in chief which was offered him. The exhaustion of the troops and their evidently increasing insubordination gave little hope of the success of offensive operations. So there was no alternative but to retire on Pontarlier, as the Commander-in-Chief had proposed. This recourse, even, was seriously threatened. To relieve himself from pressure on the north, General Bourbaki ordered the XXIVth Corps to advance once more and hold the Lomont passes. On the south the XVth was to defend the deep mountain-ravine of the Loue, and General Crémer was more especially to cover the retreat of the army on the right flank, which was most seriously threatened. For this difficult task, in addition to his own Division, a Division of the XXth Corps and the army reserve as the most trustworthy troops were placed under his command. The XVIIIth and the remainder of the XXth were to await marching-orders at Besançon. In the German Head-quarter, where of course the plans of the French could not be known, various possibilities had to be reckoned with. If the French remained at Besançon there would be no need to attack them there; the place was not suited for the accommodation of a large army, and its supplies could not long hold out. That they would again attempt to advance northwards was scarcely likely; by doing so they would be cutting loose from all their resources, and must encounter the larger part of the XIVth German Corps on the Ognon. An attempt to break through to Dijon seemed more possible. But this would be opposed at St. Vit by the 13th Division, at Pesmes by Colonel von Willisen's detachment, and finally by General von Kettler. Thus a retreat on Pontarlier seemed the most likely course; and to hinder their further march from that place would in the first instance be the duty of the IInd Corps, while in the meantime the VIIth was observing the enemy massed in Besançon, and opposing his sorties on both sides of the river. The Commander-in-Chief therefore confined himself to giving general directions to his Generals, expressly authorizing them to act on their own judgment in eventualities which could not be foreseen. General von Werder was instructed to advance by Marnay, and to place the 14th Division in touch with the Baden Division and Von der Goltz's Brigade, and then to distribute these bodies along the right bank of the Doubs. The 4th Reserve Division restored the bridges at L'Isle and Baume, and crossed over to the left bank. Colonel von Willisen was to join the VIIth Corps to supply its lack of cavalry. The IInd Corps was assembled behind Villers Farlay. _January 25th._--Reconnaissances on a large scale were arranged for next day. The reconnaissance of the VIIth Corps resulted in a sharp fight at Vorges. The head of the IInd Corps met the enemy in front of Salins and at Arbois, but found that the latter had not yet reached Poligny. _January 26th._--The advanced guard of the IInd Corps advanced on Salins. The fronts of the high-perched forts of St. André and Belin near the town, looked toward Switzerland, but their fire commanded also on flank and rear the plain to the south and west on the enemy's line of march. Salins constituted a strong barrier on the road to St. Laurent, and as long as it was held would cover the line of retreat of columns marching from Besançon to Pontarlier. The two field-batteries of the advanced guard could, of course, do little against the heavy guns of the forts; but the Fusiliers of the 2nd Regiment advanced in rushes of small detachments up the narrow ravine, scaled its rugged faces, and, supported by the two Grenadier battalions, forced their way, about half-past two, into the railway-station and suburb of St. Pierre; but with the loss of 3 officers and 109 men. Soon after General von Koblinski arrived by way of St. Thiébaud with the 42nd Regiment. As in consequence of the representations of the Mayor the commandant refrained from bombarding the town, the advanced guard was able to take up its quarters therein; the main body of the 3rd Division retreated from under the fire of the forts on Mouchard, and the defile remained closed again to further penetration. It was necessary to turn it by the south. In that direction the 4th Division had already marched to Arbois, its head further forward up to Pont d'Héry; it found Poligny and Champagnole on the right still unoccupied. The VIIth Corps reconnoitred both banks of the Doubs, and found the enemy in strong positions at Busy and at Vorges. The 4th Reserve Division advanced along the southern bank as far as St. Juan d'Adam, near Besançon; the remainder of the XIVth Corps marched on Etuz and Marnay. General von Kettler's report of the fighting on the 21st and 23rd determined General von Manteuffel to make a renewed attempt on Dijon. He detailed to this duty General Hann von Weyhern (commanding 4th Infantry Division, IInd Corps), placing him in command of the 8th Brigade, with Colonel von Willisen's troops and Degenfeld's Baden Brigade. On the French side, General Bressoles had started on the 24th, in obedience to orders, to take renewed possession of the passages of the Doubs and the Lomont defiles. He had, in the first instance, turned against Baume with d'Aries' Division; but as he did not succeed even in driving the German outposts out of Pont les Moulins, he retired to Vercel. In consequence of this, on the morning of the 26th, Carré's Division, which had found the passes of the Lomont unoccupied, also moved to Pierre Fontaine. Comagny's Division had already retreated to Morteau, and was making its way unmolested to Pontarlier. General Bourbaki was greatly disturbed by this failure of his right wing; more perhaps than was needful, since, in fact, only one German division stood north of him, which at most could drive his rearguard on Pontarlier, while the main force of the enemy threatened him far more seriously on the west. He nevertheless ordered a renewed advance, on the 26th, of the XXIVth Corps, which was now to be supported by the XVIIIth. But the march through Besançon of the latter, through streets covered with ice, took up the whole of the day which should have been devoted to the attack, so that nothing came of the scheme. The Army Reserve had reached Ornans, and stood there in readiness. The two other Divisions advanced on the road to Salins, but heard while on the march that the Germans had just carried that place. They then occupied in Déservillers and Villeneuve d'Amont, the roads leading from thence to Pontarlier. The War Minister, meanwhile, had decisively refused permission for the general retreat of the army, without any regard to the imperative necessities of the case. The military dilettanteism which fancied it could direct the movements of the army from Bordeaux is characterized in a telegram of the afternoon of the 25th. Monsieur de Freycinet gives it as his "firm conviction"[82] that General Bourbaki, if he would concentrate his troops, and, if necessary come to an understanding with Garibaldi, would be strong enough to fight his way out, "either by Dôle, or by Mouchard, or by Gray, or by Pontailler" (north of Auxonne). The choice was left to him. Still more amazing was the further suggestion that if indeed the state of the army prohibited a long march, it should be embarked on the railway at Chagey, under the eye, no doubt, of the pursuing enemy. Such communications could only avail to shatter the brave commander's self-confidence. The disastrous reports which poured in from all sides, and the state of the troops which he had seen for himself as the XVIIIth Corps marched through the town, crushed his last hope and led him to attempt his own life. The Commander had of course to bear the blame of the total failure of a campaign planned by Freycinet; his dismissal from the command was already on its way. General Clinchant was appointed in his stead, and under these disastrous circumstances took the command of the army. All the Generals were, no doubt, extremely reluctant to bring their weary and dispirited troops into serious contact with the enemy. Every line of retreat was closely threatened, excepting only that on Pontarlier. The new Commander-in-Chief had no choice but to carry out the plans of his predecessor. He at once ordered the further march. He himself proceeded to Pontarlier. In that strong position he hoped to be able at least to give the troops a short rest. No large bodies of the Germans had been met with so far, the ammunition columns had got safely through, and if the defiles of Vaux, Les Planches, and St. Laurent could be reached and held in advance of the enemy there was still a possibility of escape to the southwards. On the evening of the 27th, the Division Poullet was at Levier, nearest to the Germans; the two other Divisions under General Crémer, with the XVth and XXth Corps, were écheloned on the road from Ornans to Sombacourt; the XVIIIth Corps alone was on the eastern road through Nods. The XXIVth, in a miserable condition, had reached Montbenoît with its head at Pontarlier; two Divisions were still in Besançon. On this same day General von Fransecky collected the main body of the IInd Corps at Arbois, and reinforced General du Trossel's posts at Pont d'Héry. The XIVth Corps relieved the 14th Division of the VIIth Corps at St. Vit; the latter advanced to the right of the 13th Division into the Loue angle, which the French had already abandoned. On the north, General von Debschitz held Blamont and Pont du Roide, while General von Schmeling watched Besançon from St. Juan, and General von der Goltz marched on Arbois to form a reserve. _January 28th._--Suspecting that the French were already on the march by Champagnole on St. Laurent, General Fransecky, to cut off from them that line of retreat, advanced on the following day in a southerly direction with the IInd Corps. General du Trossel reached Champagnole without opposition, and thence sent his cavalry along the road to Pontarlier. Lieutenant-Colonel von Guretzky arrived at Nozeroy with a squadron of the 11th Dragoons, and found the place occupied; but he made prize of fifty-six provision-waggons and the military-chest, taking the escort prisoners. The 5th and 6th Brigades advanced on Poligny and Pont du Navoy. The 13th Division of the VIIth Corps, having been relieved at Quingey by the Baden troops, assembled at La Chapelle, while the 14th advanced on Déservillers. Its head found no enemy in Bolandoz, although his camp-fires were still smouldering; so that the main hostile army was not overtaken on that day. General Clinchant had in fact moved his Corps closer on Pontarlier. But it soon became evident that supplies were not procurable for any long stay there. General Crémer received orders that night to move forward at once to Les Planches and St. Laurent with three cavalry regiments standing already on the road to Mouthe. The mountain-roads were deep in snow, but by forced marching he reached the points designated on the following afternoon. The XXIVth Corps and a brigade of the Division Poullett followed next day, and the latter also occupied with two battalions the village of Bonneveaux at the entrance to the defiles of Vaux. On the evening of the 28th the rest of the French army stood as follows: the XVIIIth Corps was behind the Drugeon at Houtaud close before Pontarlier; the 1st Division of the XVth had advanced over the brook to Sombacourt, the 3rd Division was in the town. On the left the 2nd and 3rd Divisions of the XXth Corps held the villages from Chaffois to Frasne, and on the right the army reserve occupied Byans. General von Manteuffel had ordered for the 29th a general advance on Pontarlier, where at last the French must certainly be found. _January 29th._--Of the IInd Corps General Koblinsky had set out from Poligny in the night. When he reached Champagnole and had assembled the whole of the 5th Brigade he moved forward therefrom at about seven o'clock. General du Trossel with the 7th Brigade also reached Censeau without finding the enemy. On the right Colonel von Wedell marched from Pont du Navoy on Les Planches with four battalions of the 6th Brigade. He found only dismounted troopers, posts probably left by General Crémer which were easily dispersed by the Jägers. Detachments were then sent out in different directions, and everywhere met with scattered troops; but at Foncine le Bas the head of the XXIVth Corps was found, and Colonel von Wedell now blocked the last line of retreat which had remained to the French. With the rest of the IInd Corps General von Hartmann marched unopposed on Nozeroy. The 14th Division of the VIIth Corps had not received the order to advance on Pontarlier till somewhat late; it did not start from Déservillers until noon, and only reached Levier at three o'clock, where, at the same hour, the head of the 13th Division also arrived from Villeneuve d'Amont, the state of the roads having greatly delayed its march. The advanced guard of three battalions, half a squadron, and one battery, had met only stragglers on the way, and General von Zastrow commanded it to push forward to the Drugeon brook. In the forest on the left of the road closed detachments of the enemy were retiring on Sombacourt, and Major von Brederlow with the 1st battalion of the 77th Regiment turned off to attack that village lying on the flank. The 2nd company under Captain von Vietinghof dashed into it through Sept Fontaines with loud cheers, and was at once closely surrounded by strong bodies of the enemy; but the other companies soon came to its assistance. The first Division of the XVth French Corps was here completely routed without the Army Reserve close at hand in Byans having come to its support. Fifty officers, including two generals, and 2700 men were taken prisoners; ten guns, seven mitrailleuses, forty-eight waggons, 319 horses and 3500 stand of arms fell into the hands of the Hanoverian battalion[83] which was left in occupation of Sombacourt. The rest of the advanced guard had meanwhile approached Chaffois, where the road opens out from the mountains into the wide valley of the Drugeon. That village, as we have seen, was occupied by the 2nd Division of the XXth Corps. Colonel von Cosel passed at once to the attack. Three companies of the 53rd Regiment surprised the French field-posts and took possession of the first houses of the village, but then the whole mass of the French XVIIIth Corps barred his further progress. By degrees all the available forces had to join in the fighting, and also reinforcements had to be brought up from the main body of the 14th Division. The fight lasted with great obstinacy for an hour and a half, when suddenly the French ceased firing and laid down their arms. They claimed that an armistice had already been agreed on. Monsieur Jules Favre had, in fact, telegraphed to Bordeaux at a quarter-past eleven on the night of the 28th, that an armistice of twenty-one days had been concluded, without adding, however, that, with his consent, the three eastern departments had been excluded from its operations. The information, in this imperfect form, was transmitted to the civil authorities by the Delegation at 12.15 of the 29th; but Monsieur Freycinet did not forward it to the military authorities, whom the matter principally concerned, till 3.30 in the afternoon. Thus could General Clinchant in all good faith transmit to General Thornton, in command of the Divisions at Chaffois, a message which, as regarded the Army of the East, was altogether incorrect. The latter at once sent his staff officer to the Prussian advanced guard, which was still in action, who demanded the cessation of the firing in recognition of the official communication. General von Manteuffel had received in Arbois at five in the morning, full particulars from the supreme Head-quarter of the terms of the armistice, according to which the army of the South was to prosecute its operations to a final issue. An army order announcing this to all the troops was at once sent out, but did not reach the VIIth Corps till evening. Nothing was known there of any armistice; however, the tidings might be on the way, and General von Zastrow granted the temporary cessation of hostilities, and even sanctioned the release of his prisoners, but without their arms. Chaffois, with the exception of a couple of farmsteads, remained in possession of the 14th Division, which found such quarters there as might be; the 13th occupied the villages from Sept Fontaines back to Déservillers. _January 30th._--In full confidence in the news from the seat of Government, General Clinchant, on the 30th, suspended the movements of his army. The newly-appointed Commander of the XXIVth Corps, General Comagny, also gave up his intended attempt to cut his way with 10,000 men at Foncine through Colonel von Wedell's weak brigade. The other Corps, after the unfortunate course of the fighting on the previous evening, had drawn in close on Pontarlier; but detachments of cavalry were sent out on the roads to Besançon and St. Laurent, to establish a line of demarcation and also to keep up communications with the fortress and with Southern France. On receiving the army order at about eleven o'clock, General Zastrow gave notice to the enemy in his front of the resumption of hostilities, but restricted his immediate demands to the complete evacuation of Chaffois, which was complied with. Otherwise the Corps remained inactive where it was. Of the IInd Corps General du Trossel had set out very early from Censeau, but the appearance of a French flag of truce, and his fear of offending against the law of nations, here too occasioned considerable hesitation. The forest of Frasne was not clear of the French till evening. Lieutenant-Colonel von Guretzky made his way into the village with quite a small force, and took prisoners twelve officers and 1500 men who held it, with two colours. The 5th Brigade then also moved up into Frasne; the rest of the Corps occupied the same quarters as on the previous day. A flag of truce had presented itself at Les Planches, but Colonel von Wedell had simply dismissed the bearer. The outposts of the XIVth Corps did the same. On the north of Pontarlier, General von Schmeling advanced to Pierre Fontaine, General von Debschitz to Maiche. _January 31st._--Early in the morning of this day the French Colonel Varaigne made his appearance at General von Manteuffel's head-quarters at Villeneuve, with the proposal that a cessation of hostilities for thirty-six hours should be agreed upon, till the existing condition of uncertainty should be removed; but this proposal was refused, as on the German side there were no doubts whatsoever. Permission was granted for the despatch of an application to Versailles, but it was at the same time explained that the movements of the Army of the South would not be suspended pending the arrival of the answer. On this day, however, the IInd Army Corps marched only to Dompierre on a parallel front with the VIIth, its advanced guard pushing forward on the Drugeon to Ste. Colombe and La Rivière. Thence, in the evening, a company of the Colberg Grenadiers crossed the steep mountain ridge and descended on La Planée, where it took 500 prisoners. A right-flank detachment of two battalions and one battery under Lieutenant-Colonel Liebe marched unopposed up the long pass of Bonnevaux to Vaux, and took prisoners 2 officers and 688 men. The enemy then abandoned the defile of Granges Ste. Marie and retired to St. Antoine in the mountains. The Corps had found every road strewn with cast-away arms and camp utensils, and had taken in all 4000 prisoners. Of the VIIth Corps, as soon as the enemy had been informed of the resumption of hostilities, the 14th Division bent leftward on the Drugeon and up to La Vrine, whence a connection was effected with the 4th Reserve Division of the XIVth Corps in St. Gorgon. The 13th Division advanced to Sept Fontaines. Pontarlier was now completely surrounded, and General von Manteuffel fixed February 1st for the general attack thereon. The IInd Corps was to advance from the south-west, the VIIth from the north-west; General von der Goltz was to establish himself in front of Levier in reserve. Meanwhile the French Commander-in-Chief had conceived doubts whether everything was quite right with the communications from his Government. All the mountain-passes leading to the south were now lost, and an escape in that direction was no longer to be hoped for. General Clinchant had already sent rearward the baggage and ammunition columns, the sick and worn-out men, through La Cluse under shelter of the forts of Joux and Neuv. And when in the afternoon a message from Bordeaux brought the intelligence that in fact the Army of the East had been excluded from the armistice, the Commander-in-Chief summoned his generals to a council of war. Every General present declared that he could no longer answer for his troops. General Clinchant himself therefore went out the same evening to Les Verrières, to conclude negotiations he had already opened, in virtue of which on the following day, February 1st, the army was to cross the Swiss frontier by three roads. To cover this retreat, the Army Reserve was to hold Pontarlier till all the baggage-trains should have passed La Cluse, while the XVIIIth Corps was to take up a covering position between the two forts. Defensive works there were at once set about. What of the XVth Corps on the way by Morez had failed in getting through with the cavalry was to try to cross into Switzerland at any available point. _February 1st._--When the advanced guard of the IInd Corps now advanced on Pontarlier from Ste. Colombe, it met with but slight resistance at the railway station. The Colberg Grenadiers took possession of the town without a struggle, and captured many prisoners, but then found the road on the further side entirely blocked by guns and waggons. They could pass beyond on either side of the road only with difficulty through deep snow. Just in front of La Cluse the road winds between high rocky precipices into the wide basin of the Doubs, completely commanded by the isolated fortalice of Joux perched on the solid rock. On debouching into the open the foremost companies were received by a hot fire. Four guns, dragged up thither with the greatest exertions, could make no head against the heavy guns of the fort, and the French themselves here passed to the attack. The Colberg Fusiliers had meanwhile climbed the heights to the left, followed by the 2nd Battalion of the Regiment and a battalion of the 49th Regiment, which drove the French out of the farmsteads on the rifted upland. The steep cliff on the right was also scaled, several rifle sub-divisions of the 49th climbed the acclivity up to La Cluse, and the Colberg Grenadiers advanced to the foot of Fort Neuv. To take the strong fortalices by storm was obviously impossible, and furthermore because of the nature of the ground the fugitive enemy could scarcely be overtaken in force. Of the French, 23 officers and 1600 men were taken prisoners, with 400 loaded waggons; of the Germans, 19 officers and 365 men had fallen, mostly of the Colberg Regiment. The troops spent the night on the field of the fighting. As no large force could come into action at La Cluse, General von Fransecky had ordered the main body of the Corps to march further southward to Ste. Marie. To avoid the necessity of crossing the steep chain of the Jura, General von Hartmann first betook himself to Pontarlier to avail himself of the better roads from thence, but his progress was stopped, the fight at La Cluse having assumed unexpected proportions. The VIIth Corps and the 4th Reserve Division, which had reached the Doubs at noon, were equally unable to get at the enemy. During the whole day the French columns were crossing the Swiss frontier. The Army Reserve in Pontarlier was at the beginning swept away by the tide of baggage-waggons and drivers, and only joined the XVIIIth Corps on reaching La Cluse. During the night they both followed the general line of retreat. Only the cavalry and the 1st Division of the XXIVth Corps reached the neighbouring department of l'Ain to the southward, the latter force reduced to a few hundred men. There crossed the frontier on to Swiss soil some 80,000 Frenchmen. General Manteuffel had transferred his headquarters to Pontarlier. There, in the course of the night, he first heard through Berlin of the convention arranged between General Clinchant and Colonel Herzog of the Swiss Confederation. General von Manteuffel had achieved the important success of his three weeks' campaign by hard marching and constant fighting, although there had been no pitched battle since that of the Lisaine. These marches, indeed, had been such as none but well-seasoned troops could have accomplished under bold and skilful leadership, under every form of fatigue and hardship, in the worst season and through a difficult country. Thus two French armies were now prisoners in Germany, a third interned in the capital, and the fourth disarmed on foreign soil. FOOTNOTES: [81] Men of the 2nd Battalion, 61st Regiment, 8th Brigade, 4th Division, IInd Corps, which Corps consisted exclusively of Pomeranians. [82] "Conviction bien arrêtée." [83] The 77th Hanoverian Fusilier Regiment, of which this was the 2nd battalion, belonged to the 25th Brigade, 13th Division, VIIth (Westphalian) Army Corps. GENERAL HANN VON WEYHERN'S MARCH ON DIJON. It only remains to cast a backward glance on the advance on Dijon, with the conduct of which General Hann von Weyhern was charged on January 26th. On that same day Garibaldi received instructions there to take energetic measures against Dôle and Mouchard. To support him, the Government, indefatigable in the evolution of new forces, was to put in march 15,000 Gardes-Mobiles under General Crouzat from Lyons to Lons le Saulnier, and a XXVIth Corps in course of formation at Châtellerault was to be sent from thence to Beaune. As it was beyond doubt that General von Manteuffel had moved with a strong force on the communications of the Army of the East, the specific order was transmitted on the 27th to the Commander of the Army of the Vosges, to leave only from 8000 to 10,000 men in Dijon and to advance at once with his main force beyond Dôle. But the General was always greatly concerned for the safety of Dijon; he occupied the principal positions on the slopes of the Côte d'Or and detached a small force to St. Jean de Losne, behind the canal of Bourgogne. Of 700 volunteers who had marched on Dôle, no trace was ever found there. Langres had shown more energy; several and often successful attacks on small outpost companies and etappen troops had been made from it from time to time. General Hann von Weyhern's purpose of attacking Dijon from the south had to be abandoned, because the bridge over the Saône at St. Jean de Losne had been destroyed. He therefore on the 29th crossed the river at Apremont, and on the 31st assembled his detachments at Arc sur Tille. Here again General Bordone, the Chief of the general staff of the Army of the Vosges, vainly insisted that an armistice was in force. On the 31st General von Kettler marched with an advanced guard on Varois. To cut off the enemy's communications with Auxonne a left-flank detachment made itself master of the bridge over the Ouche at Fauverney. The first shells drove the French back on their intrenched position on the line St. Apollinaire--Mirande. When the attempt to establish an armistice failed, General Bordone determined to evacuate Dijon in the course of the night and retire upon assured neutral ground. Thus, on February 1st, the head of the advanced guard found the position in front of the city abandoned, and General von Kettler marched in without encountering any opposition, just as the last train of French troops moved out of the railway-station. Sombernon and Nuits were also occupied on the 2nd. OCCUPATION OF THE DEPARTMENTS OF THE DOUBS, JURA, AND CÔTE D'OR. Nothing now remained for General von Manteuffel but to establish the military occupation of the three Departments which he had won, and to guard them from without. General Pelissier was still in the open field within their bounds, having reached Lons le Saulnier with the 15,000 Gardes-Mobiles who had come up from Lyons and had been joined by the battalions sent back from Besançon by General Rolland, by no means an insignificant force numerically, but practically of no great efficiency. The commanders were recommended to retire and avoid further bloodshed; and they did so, as soon as some detachments of the IInd German Corps advanced on Lons le Saulnier and St. Laurent. Others occupied Mouthe and Les Allemands, where were found twenty-eight field-guns which had been abandoned by the French. As a measure of precaution, the Swiss frontier was watched by eight battalions. The fortalices of Salins, the little fortress of Auxonne, and Besançon, were kept under observation from the eastward. Although the Department of Haute-Marne was included in the armistice, the commandant of Langres had refused to recognize the authority of his Government. So this place had to be invested, and probably besieged. General von der Goltz was promptly ordered to advance once more on it, and General von Krenski was already on the march thither with seven battalions, two squadrons and two batteries, and a siege train from Longwy, which he had brought to capitulate on January 25th, after a bombardment of six days' duration. But it was not called into requisition at Langres. General von Manteuffel aimed at no further tactical results; he was anxious to save his troops from further losses, and to afford them all possible relief after their exceptional exertions. Not till now were the baggage-waggons brought up, even those of the superior staff officers having been necessarily left behind during the advance into the Jura. The troops were distributed for the sake of comfort in roomy quarters, but in readiness for action at any moment, the IInd Corps in the Jura, the VIIth in the Côte d'Or, the XIVth in the department of the Doubs. But the siege of Belfort was still to be vigorously carried on. PROSECUTION OF THE SIEGE OF BELFORT. Immediately after the battle on the Lisaine the forces investing Belfort were increased to 27 battalions, 6 squadrons, 6 field batteries, 24 companies of fortress artillery, and 6 companies of fortress pioneers; 17,602 infantry, 4699 artillerymen, and 1166 pioneers, in all 23,467 men, with 707 horses and 34 field-guns. The place was invested on the north and west by only a few battalions, and the main force was assembled to the south and east. On January 20th the eastern batteries opened a heavy fire on Pérouse. Colonel Denfert concluded that an attack was imminent, and placed four battalions of his most trusted troops in the village, which had been prepared for an obstinate defence. At about midnight, two battalions of the 67th Regiment advanced from Chêvremont on the Haut Taillis wood without firing a shot. Once inside it there was a determined struggle, but the French were driven back on the village, and the pioneers immediately intrenched the skirt of the wood towards Pérouse under a heavy fire from the forts. Half an hour later two Landwehr battalions advanced from Bessoncourt to the copse on the north of the village. They were received with a heavy fire, but made their way onward over abatis, pits and wire-entanglements, driving the enemy back into the quarries. A stationary fight now ensued, but the 67th presently renewed the attack, and without allowing themselves to be checked by the earthworks forced their way into Pérouse. They took possession of the eastern half of the straggling village at about half-past two, and the detachment defending the quarries, finding itself threatened, retreated. At five o'clock, Colonel Denfert abandoned the western part of the village, which was now completely occupied by the Germans. The losses on the German side were 8 officers and 178 men; the French left 5 officers and 93 men prisoners. _January 21st to 27th._--The next day the construction of the first parallel was undertaken, extending about 2000 yards from Donjoutin to Haut Taillis. Five battalions and two companies of Sappers were employed in this work, and were undisturbed by the French; but the rocky soil prevented its being constructed of the prescribed width. General von Tresckow considered that he might thus early succeed in carrying both the Perches forts by a determined assault. Two half redoubts with ditches more than three yards deep cut perpendicularly in the solid rock, casemated traverses and bomb-proof blockhouses in the gorge, afforded protection to the defenders. Each work was armed with seven 12-cm. cannon, and they were connected by trenches, behind which reserves were in readiness. On the right flank this position was protected by a battalion and a sortie-battery in Le Fourneau; on the left the adjacent wood was cleared, cut down to a distance of 650 yards, and wire-entanglements between the stumps formed an almost impenetrable obstacle. In front the gentle slope of the ridge was under the cross-fire of the two forts. When on the previous evening of the 26th the construction of the parallel was sufficiently advanced to allow of its being occupied by larger detachments, the assault was fixed for the 27th. Two columns, each of one battalion, one company of Sappers, and two guns, passed to the attack at daybreak on that morning. Two companies of Schneidemühl's Landwehr Battalion advanced against the front of Basses Perches and threw themselves on the ground within from 65 to 110 yards of the work. A sub-division of sharp-shooters and a few pioneers reached the ditch and unhesitatingly leaped in; the two other (Landwehr) companies, going round the fort by the left, got into its rear, and here too the men jumped into the ditch of the gorge. But the French who had been driven out of their shelter-trenches were now assembled, and the battalion from Le Fourneau came up. All the forts of the place opened fire on the bare and unprotected space in front of the parallel, and an attempt of reinforcements to cross it failed. The 7th Company of the Landwehr Battalion was surrounded by greatly superior numbers, and after a brave struggle was for the most part made captive. Most of the men in the ditch were still able to escape. The advance of the right column against Hautes-Perches also failed. It had to cross 1100 yards of open ground. The encompassment of the fort was attempted, but it was impossible to force through the abatis and other obstacles under the destructive fire of the enemy. This abortive attempt cost 10 officers and 427 men; and the slower process of an engineer attack had to be resumed. _January 28th to February 15th._--As the approaches to the forts progressed the flying sap could be carried forward about 330 yards every night unopposed by the enemy. In spite of all the difficulties caused by the nature of the soil, on February 1st the second parallel was thrown up at half distance from the Perches. As the Fort of la Justice was a special hindrance to the operations, two new batteries had to be constructed to the east of Pérouse against it. Four mortar-batteries on the flanks of the parallel now directed their fire on the Perches at very short range. Three batteries were also constructed in the Bois des Perches to fire on the citadel, and one on the skirt of the wood near Bavilliers against the defences of the city. Henceforward 1500 shells a day were fired on the fortress and its outworks. But further the prosecution of the attack became more and more difficult. The withdrawal of General Debschitz had seriously reduced the working strength of the besieging force. There were only nine battalions for the exhausting service in the trenches. Specially serious was the heavy loss in pioneers, and two fresh companies had to be brought up from Strasburg. The bright moonlight illuminating the fields of snow far and wide made it impossible to proceed with the flying saps. Sap-rollers had to be used; the heads of the saps had to be protected by sandbags and the sides by gabions, while the earth for filling had often to be brought from a long distance in the rear. On the head of all this, on February 3rd, a thaw set in, and the water from the heights filled the trenches, so that all communication had to be carried on across the open ground. Torrents of rain damaged the finished works; the parapet of the first parallel gave way altogether in places, and the banquette was washed away. The bottomless tracks made the arming of the batteries unspeakably difficult, and the teams of the columns and field artillery had to be employed in bringing up the ammunition. Many guns had become useless by overheating, while the enemy understood, by rapidly running out their guns, firing, and then running them back again, how to interrupt the work. Not merely was it necessary to continue the shelling of the Perches during the night, but a brisk rifle fire had to be kept up against them. Only now and then did the batteries newly placed in the parallels succeed in entirely silencing the guns of Hautes Perches. Epaulments had to be erected against Fort Bellevue and the defences of the railway-station, and Fort des Barres resumed activity. That under such exertions and the abominable weather the health of the troops suffered severely, need not be said; the battalions could often only muster 300 men for duty. Meanwhile, however, the artillery of the attack had unquestionably become very much superior to that of the defence, and, in spite of every obstacle, the saps were pushed on to the edge of the ditch of Les Perches. On February 8th, at one in the afternoon, Captain Roese had gabions flung into the ditch of Hautes Perches, sprang into it with five sappers, and rapidly scaled the parapet by the steps hewn in the scarp. He was immediately followed by the trench guard, but only a few of the French were surprised in the casemated traverses. The situation of the garrison of the forts had in fact become extremely difficult. Ammunition had to be brought up under the enemy's fire, water could only be had from the pond at Vernier, and cooking could only be done inside the works. Colonel Denfert had already given orders to bury the material. Unseen by the besiegers the guns of which the carriages could still be moved had been withdrawn, and only one company left in each fort, which in case of a surprise was to fire and fly. Nothing was to be found in the abandoned work but wrecked gun-carriages and four damaged guns. This fort was at once reversed so that its front faced the fortress, but at three o'clock the latter opened so heavy a fire on the lost positions that the working parties had to take shelter in the ditches. The garrison in Basses Perches attempted some resistance, but under cover of a reserve it soon retired to Le Fourneau, leaving five guns and much shattered material. Here also the fire of the place at first compelled the working parties to break off, but four 15-cm. mortars were at length brought into the fort, and two 9-cm. guns were placed on the spur of the hill to the westward, which directed their fire on Le Fourneau and Bellevue. During the night of the 9th the two works were connected by a shelter-trench 680 yards long, and thus the third parallel was established. The position was now such that the attack could immediately be directed on the citadel, and on it the batteries in the Bois des Perches and presently those in the second parallel opened fire. Moitte, Justice, and Bellevue were shelled simultaneously. General von Debschitz had returned, so that the investing corps was thus again brought up to its full strength, and all the conditions were improved by the return of the frost. By the 13th ninety-seven guns were ready in the third parallel. The town had suffered terribly from the prolonged bombardment. Nearly all the buildings were damaged, fifteen completely burnt down, and in the adjoining villages 164 houses had been destroyed by the defenders themselves. The fortifications showed not less visible indications of serious damage, particularly the citadel. The hewn-stone facing of its front-wall had crumbled into the ditch. Half of the mantleted embrasures had been shattered, the expense powder magazines had been blown up, and a number of casemated traverses pierced. The guns in the upper batteries could only be reached by ladders. The garrison, of its original strength of 372 officers and 17,322 men, had lost 32 officers and 4713 men, besides 336 citizens. The place was no longer tenable; besides there now came the news that the army from which alone relief was to be expected, had laid down its arms. Under these circumstances General von Tresckow summoned the commandant after a defence so brave to surrender the fortress, with free withdrawal for the garrison, this concession having the sanction of his Majesty. The French Government itself authorized the commandant to accept these terms. Colonel Denfert, however, insisted that he must be given a more direct order. To procure this an officer was sent to Basle, pending whose return there was a provisional armistice. On the 15th a convention was signed at Versailles, which extended the armistice to the three departments which till then had been excluded from it, and also to Belfort; but the 1st article demanded the surrender of that place. After the conclusion of the definitive treaty, the garrison, in the course of the 17th and 18th, with its arms and trains, left the precincts of the fortress and withdrew by way of L'Isle sur Doubs and St. Hippolyte into the country occupied by French troops. The march was effected in detachments of 1000 men at intervals of 5 km., the last of which Colonel Denfert accompanied. The supplies which remained in the fortress were conveyed in rear of the departing troops in 150 Prussian proviant waggons. At 3 o'clock in the afternoon of February 18th Lieutenant-General von Tresckow entered the place at the head of detachments from all the troops of the investing corps. There were found 341 guns, of which 56 were useless, 356 gun-carriages, of which 119 were shot to pieces, and 22,000 stand of arms, besides considerable supplies of ammunition and provisions. The siege had cost the Germans 88 officers and 2049 men, 245 of whom were released from imprisonment by the capitulation. Immediately was set about the work of restoring and arming the fortress, and of the levelling of the siege works. THE ARMISTICE. On the basis of the agreement of January 28th a line of demarcation was drawn, from which both parties were to withdraw their outposts to a distance of 10 km. The line ran south from the mouth of the Seine as far as the Sarthe, crossed the Loire at Saumur, followed the Creuse, turned eastward past Vierzon, Clamécy and Chagny, and then met the Swiss frontier, after bending to the north of Châlons sur Saône and south of Lons le Saulnier and St. Laurent. The two departments of Pas de Calais and du Nord, as well as the promontory of Havre, were particularly excluded. The fortresses still held by French troops in the districts occupied by the Germans were assigned a rayon in proportion to their importance. In carrying out the details of the agreement a liberal interpretation was in most instances allowed. The arrangements had the sanction of those members of the Government of National Defence who were in Paris; while the delegates at Bordeaux, who had hitherto conducted the war, at first held aloof, and indeed, as yet had not been made acquainted with the detailed conditions. Gambetta, it is true, allowed the suspension of operations, but could not give the commanders more precise instructions. General Faidherbe was thus without orders with regard to the evacuation of Dieppe and Abbeville. General von Goeben, however, refrained from taking immediate possession of these places. On the west of the Seine, the Grand Duke was forced to proclaim that the non-recognition of the line of demarcation would be followed by an immediate recommencement of hostilities. The commandant of the garrison at Langres also raised difficulties, and only withdrew within his rayon on February 7th, as did General Rolland later at Besançon. Auxonne was at first unwilling to give up control of the railway. Bitsch, which had not been worth the trouble of a serious attack, repudiated the convention; the investment had therefore to be strengthened, and only in March, when threatened with a determined attack, did the garrison abandon its peak of rock. Nor did the volunteers acquiesce at once, and there were collisions with them at various points. But after the conditions were finally settled, no more serious quarrels occurred between the inhabitants and the German troops during the whole course of the armistice. All the German corps before Paris occupied the forts lying in their front, more specifically the Vth took over Mont Valérien, and the IVth the town of St. Denis. Between the forts and the enceinte there lay a neutral zone, which civilians were allowed to cross only by specified roads placed under control of German examining troops. Apprehensive as it was of the indignation of the populace, the French Government had hesitated so long to utter the word "capitulation," that now, even with the resumption of free communication, Paris was threatened with an outbreak of actual famine. The superfluous stores in the German magazines were therefore placed at the disposal of its authorities. The respective chief-Commands, the local Governments-General, and the Etappen-Inspections received instructions to place no difficulties in the way of the repair of the railways and roads in their districts, and the French authorities were even allowed to make use, under German supervision, of the repaired railroads which the invaders used to supply their own army. Nevertheless, the first provision-train only arrived in Paris on February 3rd, and it was the middle of the month before the French had succeeded in remedying the prevalent distress in the capital. The German prisoners were at once given up. The surrender of arms and war-material followed by degrees, also the payment of the 200 million francs war-contribution imposed on the city. But it was still doubtful if the party of "war to the bitter end" in Bordeaux would fall in with the arrangements made by the Paris Government, and whether the National Assembly about to be convened would finally ratify the conditions of peace imposed by the conquerors. The necessary measures in case of the resumption of hostilities were therefore taken on the French as well as on the German side. The distribution of the French forces at the establishment of the armistice was not favourable. By General Faidherbe's advice the Army of the North was wholly disbanded, as being too weak to face the strength opposing it. After the XXIInd Corps had been transported by sea to Cherbourg, the Army of Brittany under General de Colomb was composed of it, the XXVIIth and part of the XIXth Corps, and, including Lipowski's volunteers, Cathelineau's and other details, its strength was some 150,000 men. General Loysel with 30,000 ill-armed and raw Gardes-Mobiles remained in the trenches of Havre. General Chanzy, after his retreat on Mayenne, had made a movement to the left, preparatory to a new operation with the IInd Army of the Loire from the Caen base, which, however, was never carried out. The XVIIIth, XXIst, XVIth, and XXVIth Corps stood between the lower Loire and the Cher from Angers to Châteauroux, in a strength of about 160,000 men strong, the XXVth under General Pourcet was at Bourges, and General de Pointe's Corps at Nevers. The Army of the Vosges had withdrawn southward of Châlons sur Saône, and the remains of the Army of the East assembled under General Crémer at Chambéry as the XXIVth Corps. The total of all the field-troops amounted to 534,452 men. The volunteers, even those most to be relied on, were dismissed, and the National Guard was designated as for the present "incapable of rendering any military service." In the depôts, the camps of instruction, and in Algiers there were still 354,000 men, and 132,000 recruits were on the lists as the contingent for 1871, but had not yet been called up. In case the war should be persisted in, a plan for limiting it to the defensive in the south-east of France was under consideration, for which, however, according to the report sent on February 8th by the Committee of Inquiry to the National Assembly, scarcely more than 252,000 men in fighting condition were available. The fleet, besides, had given up so considerable a number of its men and guns for service on land, that it was no longer able for any great undertaking at sea. On the German side the first consideration was to reinforce the troops to their full war-strength, and replenish the magazines. The forts round Paris were at once armed on their fronts facing the enceinte. In and between these were 680 guns, 145 of which were captured French pieces; more than enough to keep the restless population under control. A part of the forces previously occupied in the siege, being no longer required, were removed, in order that the remaining troops should have better accommodation. Besides, it seemed desirable to strengthen the IInd Army, which had in its front the enemy's principal force. In consequence the IVth Corps marched to Nogent le Rotrou, the Vth to Orleans, and the IXth, relieved there, to Vendôme; so that now the quarters of this army extended from Alençon to Tours, and up the Loire as far as Gien and Auxerre. The Ist Army was in the north with the VIIIth Corps on the Somme, and the Ist on both sides of the Lower Seine; in the south the Army of the South occupied the line of demarcation from Baume to Switzerland, and the country in the rear. At the end of February the German field-army on French soil consisted of:-- Infantry 464,221 men with 1674 guns. Cavalry 55,562 horses. Troops in garrison:-- Infantry 105,272 men with 68 guns. Cavalry 5681 horses. ------- Total 630,736 men and 1742 guns. Reserve forces remaining in Germany:-- 3288 officers. 204,684 men. 26,603 horses. Arrangements were so made, that in case of a recommencement of hostilities, the strongest resistance could be made at all points. The armistice had nearly reached its end, and the troops had already been more closely collected to be ready to take the initiative of the offensive towards the south, when the Chancellor of the Confederation announced the extension of the armistice to the 24th, which was again prolonged to midnight on the 26th. Considerable difficulties had arisen from the differences of opinion with regard to the election of the National Assembly, between the Government in Paris and the Delegation at Bordeaux. The Germans wished to see carried out the choice, not of a party, but of the whole nation, expressed by a free suffrage. But Gambetta had ruled, in violation of the conditions of the armistice, that all who after December 2nd, 1851, had held any position in the Imperial Government should be ineligible to vote. It was not till the Parisian Government had obtained a majority by sending several of its members to Bordeaux, and after the dictator had resigned on February 6th, that the elections proceeded quickly and unhindered. The deputies duly assembled in Bordeaux by the 12th, the appointed day. M. Thiers was elected chief of the executive, and went to Paris on the 19th with Jules Favre, determined to end the aimless war at any cost. Negotiations for peace were opened, and after five days' vigorous discussion, when at last on the German side the concession to restore Belfort was made, the preliminaries were signed on the afternoon of the 26th. France bound herself to give up in favour of Germany a part of Lorraine, and the province of Alsace with the exception of Belfort, and also to pay a war indemnity of five milliards of francs. The evacuation of the districts in occupation of the German armies was to begin immediately on the ratification of the treaty, and be continued by degrees in proportion as the money was paid. While the German troops remained on French soil they were to be maintained at the charge of the country. On the other hand all requisitioning on the part of the Germans was to cease. Immediately on the first instalment of evacuation the French forces were to retire behind the Loire, with the exception of 20,000 men in Paris and the necessary garrisons in the fortresses. After the ratification of these preliminaries, further terms were to be discussed in Brussels, and the return of the French prisoners would begin. The armistice was prolonged to March 12th; but it was in the option of either of the belligerent powers to end it after March 3rd by giving three days' notice. Finally, it was stipulated that the German Army should have the satisfaction of marching into Paris, and remaining there till the ratification of the treaty; but would be restricted to the section of the city from Point du Jour to the Rue du Faubourg St. Honoré. The entry was made on March 1st, after a parade at Longchamps before his Majesty of 30,000 men, consisting of 11,000 of the VIth, 11,000 of the IInd Bavarian, and 8000 of the XIth Army Corps. On the 3rd and 5th of March this force was to have been relieved by successive bodies of the same strength, but M. Thiers succeeded by March 1st in getting the National Assembly at Bordeaux to accept the treaty, after the deposition of the Napoleonic dynasty had been decreed. The exchange of ratifications took place in the afternoon of the 2nd, and on the 3rd the first instalment of troops of occupation marched out of Paris back into its quarters. THE HOMEWARD MARCH OF THE GERMAN ARMY. By the IIIrd Article, the whole territory between the Seine and the Loire, excepting Paris, was to be evacuated with as little delay as possible by the troops of both sides; the right bank of the former river, on the other hand, was only to be cleared on the conclusion of the definitive treaty of peace. Even then the six eastern departments were still to remain in German possession as a pledge for the last three milliards; not, however, to be occupied by more than 50,000 men. The marching directions were drawn up in the supreme Headquarter, with a view as well to the comfort of the troops as to the reconstitution of the original order of battle, and the possibility of rapid assembly in case of need. The forces detailed for permanent occupation of the ceded provinces marched thither at once. The Reserve and Landwehr troops at home were to be disbanded, as well as the Baden Division, which, however, for the present was to remain there as a mobilized force. The Governments-General in Lorraine, Rheims, and Versailles were to be done away with, and their powers taken over by the local Commanding-Generals. In the maintenance of order in the rear of the army, the VIth and XIIth Corps, as well as the Würtemberg Field Division, were placed at the direct disposition of the supreme Headquarter. By March 31st the Army had taken full possession of the new territory assigned to it, bounded on the west by the course of the Seine from its source to its mouth. The Ist Army was in the departments of Seine-Inférieure and Somme, the IInd in front of Paris in the departments of Oise and Seine et Marne, the IIIrd in the departments of Aube and Haute Marne, the Army of the South in the districts most lately hostile. The forts of Paris on the left bank were given up to the French authorities; the siege park and the captured war material had been removed. In consideration of the desire of the French Government that the National Assembly might be allowed as early as possible to sit at Versailles, the supreme Headquarter was removed to Ferrières, even sooner than had been agreed. On March 15th his Majesty left Nancy for Berlin. All the troops that were left before Paris were placed under the command of the Crown Prince of Saxony, and General von Manteuffel was nominated Commander of the Army of Occupation. At the moment when France had freed herself by a heavy sacrifice, an enemy of the most dangerous character appeared from within, in the Commune of Paris. The 40,000 men left there proved themselves unequal to the task of keeping the rebellious agitation under control; which even during the siege had on several occasions betrayed its existence, and now actually broke out in open civil war. Large masses of people, fraternizing with the National and Mobile Guards, possessed themselves of the guns and set themselves in armed resistance to the Government. M. Thiers had already, by March 18th, summoned to Versailles such regiments as could still be trusted, to withdraw them from the disquieting influence of party impulses, and for the protection of the National Assembly there. The French capital was a prey to revolution, and now became an object of pillage by French troops. The Germans could easily have put a speedy end to the matter, but what Government could allow its rights to be vindicated by foreign bayonets? The German Commanders consequently limited themselves to forbidding at least within their own districts any movement of disturbance, and to preventing all further ingress into Paris from outside. The disarmament operations which had commenced were interrupted; the troops of the IIIrd Army were drawn closer to the forts, and the outposts were replaced along the line of demarcation, whereon 200,000 men could now be collected within two days. The authorities in Paris were also warned that any attempt to arm the fronts facing the Germans would be followed by the immediate bombardment of the city. The insurgents however, were fully occupied in destroying and burning, and in executing their commanders in the interior of Paris. They did not turn against their foreign enemy, but against the Government chosen by the nation, and prepared for an attack on Versailles. The high officers of State there, bound by the conditions of the armistice treaty, were almost defenceless; meanwhile the Germans were prepared and willing to allow a reinforcement of 80,000 French troops to be moved up from Besançon, Auxerre and Cambrai, the transport of whom would be furthered by the German troops in occupation of the districts through which they would have to pass. The release of the prisoners on the other hand was temporarily restricted. These were, for the most part, disciplined regulars; but they might not improbably join the hostile party, so in the first instance only 20,000 troops of the line were set free. On April 4th General MacMahon advanced with the Government troops against Paris, and entered the city on the 21st. As he was then engaged for eight days in barricade fighting, and as great bands of fugitives threatened to break through the German lines, the IIIrd Army was ordered to take closer order. The outposts advanced almost to the gates of the city, and barred all communication through them until, at the end of the month, Paris was again in the control of the French Government. In the meantime, the negotiations commenced in Brussels and continued in Frankfort were making rapid progress, and on May 10th the definitive treaty of peace based on the preliminaries was signed. The mutual ratification followed within the appointed time of ten days. * * * * * Thus a war, carried on with such a vast expenditure of force on both sides, was brought to an end by incessant and restless energy in the short period of seven months. Even in the first four weeks eight battles were fought, under which the French Empire crumbled, and the French Army was swept from the field. Fresh forces, numerous but incompetent, equalized the original numerical superiority of the Germans, and twelve more battles needed to be fought, to safeguard the decisive siege of the enemy's capital. Twenty fortified places were taken, and not a single day passed on which there was not fighting somewhere, on a larger or smaller scale. The war cost the Germans heavy sacrifice; they lost 6247 officers, 123,453 men, 1 colour, 6 guns. The total losses of the French were incalculable; in prisoners only they amounted to:-- In Germany 11,860 officers, 371,981 men. In Paris 7,456 " 241,686 " Disarmed in Switzerland. 2,192 " 88,381 " ------ ------- 21,508 officers, 702,048 men. There were captured 107 colours and eagles, 1915 field-guns, 5526 fortress guns. Strasburg and Metz, which had been alienated from the Fatherland in a time of weakness, were recovered, and the German Empire had risen anew. THE END. APPENDIX. APPENDIX. MEMORANDUM ON THE PRETENDED COUNCIL OF WAR IN THE WARS OF KING WILLIAM I. In the accounts of historical events, as they are handed down to posterity, mistakes assume the form of legends which it is not always easy subsequently to disprove. Among others is the fable which ascribes, with particular zest and as a matter of regular custom, the great decisions taken in the course of our latest campaigns, to the deliberations of a council of war previously convened. For instance, the battle of Königgrätz. I can relate in a few lines the circumstances under which an event of such far-reaching importance had birth. Feldzeugmeister Benedek had, in his advance to the northward, to secure himself against the IInd Prussian Army marching on the east over the mountains of Silesia. To this end four of his Corps had one after another been pushed forward on his right flank, and had all been beaten within three days. They now joined the main body of the Austrian Army, which had meanwhile reached the vicinity of Dubenetz. Here, then, on June 30th, almost the whole of the Austrian forces were standing actually inside the line of operations between the two Prussian armies; of which the Ist was already fighting its way to Gitschin, designated from Berlin as the common point of concentration, and the IInd had also advanced close on the Upper Elbe; thus they were both so near that the enemy could not attack the one without the other falling on his rear. The strategic advantage was nullified by the tactical disadvantage. In these circumstances, and having already lost 40,000 men in previous battles, General Benedek gave up the advance, and during the night of June 30th began his retreat on Königgrätz. The movement of six Army Corps and four Cavalry Divisions, marching in only four columns, which were necessarily very deep, could not be accomplished in the course of a single day. They halted very closely concentrated between Trotina and Lipa; but when on July 2nd they still remained there, it was owing to the extreme fatigue of the troops, and the difficulty, nay, impossibility, of withdrawing so large a body of men beyond the Elbe, under the eyes of an active enemy and by a limited number of passages. In fact, the Austrian general could no longer manoeuvre; he had no alternative but to fight. It is a noteworthy fact that neither his advance on Dubenetz nor his retreat on Lipa was known to the Prussians. These movements were concealed from the IInd Army by the Elbe, and the cavalry of the Ist was a mass of more than 8000 horse collected in one unwieldy Corps. The four squadrons attached to each Infantry Division were of course not able to undertake reconnoissances, as subsequently was later done in 1870 by a more advantageous plan of formation. Thus in the Royal head-quarters at Gitschin nothing certain was known. It was supposed that the main body of the hostile army was still advancing, and that it would take up a position with the Elbe in its front and its flanks resting on the fortresses of Josephstadt and Königgrätz. There were, then, these alternatives--either to turn this extremely strong position, or attack it in front. By the adoption of the first the communications of the Austrian Army with Pardubitz would be so seriously threatened that it might probably be compelled to retreat. But to secure the safety of such a movement our IInd Army must relieve our Ist and cross over to the right bank of the Elbe. And in this case the flank march of the latter close past the enemy's front might easily be interfered with, if passages enough across the river had been prepared by him. In the second case, success could only be hoped for if an advance of the IInd Army on the right flank of the enemy's position could be combined with the attack in front. For this it must be kept on the left bank. The separation of the two armies, which was for the present intentionally maintained, allowed of either plan being followed; but mine was the serious responsibility of advising his Majesty which should be chosen. To keep both alternatives open for the present, General von Herwarth was ordered to occupy Pardubitz, and the Crown Prince to remain on the left bank of the Elbe, to reconnoitre that river as well as the Aupa and the Metau, and to remove all obstacles which might oppose a crossing in one or the other direction. At length, on July 2nd, Prince Frederick Charles was ordered, in the event of his finding a large force in front of the Elbe, to attack it at once. But, on the evening of that day, it came to the knowledge of the Prince that the whole Austrian Army had marched to and was in position on the Bistritz; and in obedience to instructions received, he at once ordered the Ist Army and the Army of the Elbe to assemble close in front of the enemy by daybreak next morning. General von Voigts-Rhetz brought the news at eleven o'clock in the evening to the King at Gitschin, and his Majesty sent him over to me. This information dispelled all doubts and lifted a weight from my heart. With a "Thank God!" I sprang out of bed, and hastened across to the King, who was lodged on the other side of the Market Place. His Majesty also had gone to rest in his little camp-bed. After a brief explanation on my part, he said he fully understood the situation, decided on giving battle next day with all three armies in co-operation, and desired me to transmit the necessary orders to the Crown Prince, who was at once to cross the Elbe. The whole interview with his Majesty lasted barely ten minutes. No one else was present. This was the "Council of War" before Königgrätz. General von Podbielski and Major Count Wartensleben shared my quarters. The orders to the IInd Army were drawn up forthwith and despatched in duplicate by two different routes by midnight. One, carried by General von Voigts-Rhetz, informed Prince Frederick Charles of all the dispositions; the other was sent direct to Königinhof. In the course of his night-ride of above twenty-eight miles, Lieutenant-Colonel Count Finckenstein had to pass the rayon of the Ist Army Corps, which was furthest to the rear. He handed to the officer on duty a special letter to be forwarded immediately to the general in command, ordering an immediate assemblage of his troops and an independent advance, even before orders should reach him from Königinhof. The position of the Austrians on July 3rd had a front of not more than 4-3/4 miles. Our three armies advanced on it in an encompassing arc of about twenty-four miles in extent. But while in the centre the Ist and IInd Corps of the Ist Army stood before daylight close in front of the enemy, on the right wing General von Herwarth had to advance on the Bistritz from Smidar in the dark, by very bad roads, above nine miles; and on the left, the orders from the Royal head-quarter could not even reach the Crown Prince before four in the morning. It was therefore decided that the centre would have to maintain a detaining engagement for several hours. Above all, a possible offensive on the part of the enemy must here be met, and for this the whole IIIrd Corps and the cavalry corps stood ready; but the battle could only be decided by the double flank attack by both the flanking armies.[84] I had ridden out early to the heights in front of Sadowa with my officers, and at eight o'clock the King also arrived there. It was a dull morning, and from time to time a shower fell. The horizon was dim, yet on the right the white clouds of smoke showed that the heads of the Ist Army were already fighting some way off, in front of the villages on the Bistritz. On the left, in the woods of Swip, brisk rifle-firing was audible. Behind the King, besides his staff, were his royal guests, with their numerous suites of adjutants, equerries, and led horses, in number as many as two squadrons. An Austrian battery seemed to have selected them to aim at, and compelled him to move away with a smaller following. Soon afterwards, with Count Wartensleben, I rode through the village of Sadowa, which the enemy had already abandoned. The advanced guard of the 8th Division had massed its guns behind the wood under cover of the sharpshooters who had been sent forward, but many shells fell there from a large battery in front of the exits from the copses. As we rode further along the road we admired the coolness of a huge ox, which went on its way, heedless of the shot, and seemed determined to charge the enemy's position. The formidable array of the IIIrd and Xth Austrian Corps' Artillery opposite the wood prevented any attempt to break through it, and I was in time to countermand an order which had been given to do so. Meanwhile, further to the left, General von Fransecky had vigorously passed to the offensive. After a sharp struggle he had driven the enemy out of the Swip woods, and come through to the further side. Against him he had the IVth Austrian Corps; but now the IInd and part of the IIIrd Austrian Corps turned on the 7th Division; 57 battalions against 14. In the thick brushwood all the bodies had become mixed, personal command was impossible, and, in spite of our obstinate resistance, isolated detachments were taken prisoners, and others were dispersed. Such a rabble rushed out of the wood at the very moment when the King and his staff rode up; his Majesty looked on with some displeasure,[85] but the wounded officer, who was trying to keep his little band together, at once led it back into the fight. In spite of heavy losses the division got firm possession of the northern side of the wood. It had drawn on itself very considerable forces of the enemy, which were subsequently missing from the positions which it was their duty to have defended. It was now eleven o'clock. The heads of the Ist Army had crossed the Bistritz, and taken most of the villages on its further bank; but these were only the enemy's advanced posts, which he had no intention of obstinately holding. His Corps held a position behind, whence their 250 guns commanded the open plain which had to be crossed for the delivery of a further attack. On the right, General von Herwarth had reached the Bistritz, but on the left nothing was yet to be seen of the Crown Prince. The battle had come to a standstill. In the centre the Ist Army was still fighting about the villages on the Bistritz; the cavalry could not get forward, and the artillery found no good position to occupy. The troops had been for five hours under the enemy's lively fire, without food, to prepare which there had been no time. Some doubt as to the issue of the battle existed probably in many minds; perhaps in that of Count Bismarck, as he offered me his cigar case. As I was subsequently informed, he took it for a good sign that of two cigars I coolly selected the better one. The King asked me at about this time what I thought of the prospects of the battle. I replied, "Your Majesty to-day will not only win the battle, but decide the war." It could not be otherwise. We had the advantage in numbers,[86] which in war is never to be despised; and it was certain that our IInd Army must finally appear on the flank and rear of the Austrians. At about 1.30 a white cloud was seen on the height, crowned with trees, and visible from afar, on which our field-glasses had been centred. It was indeed not yet the IInd Army, but the smoke of the fire which, directed thereon, announced its near approach. The joyful shout, "The Crown Prince is coming!" ran through the ranks. I sent the wished-for news to General von Herwarth, who meanwhile had carried Problus, in spite of the heroic defence of the Saxons. The IInd Army had started at 7.30 in the morning; only the Ist Corps had delayed till about 9.15. The advance by bad roads, in part across the fields, had taken much time. The hill-road stretching from Horenowes to Trotina, if efficiently held, could not but be a serious obstacle. But in its eager pressure on Fransecky's Division the enemy's right wing had made a wheel to the left, so that it lay open to some extent to the attack on its rear now impending. The Crown Prince's progress was not yet visible to us, but at about half-past three the King ordered the advance of the Ist Army also. As we emerged from the wood of Sadowa into the open we found still a part of the great battery which had so long prevented us from debouching here, but the teams and gunners lay stretched by the wrecked guns. There was nothing else to be seen of the enemy over a wide distance. The Austrian retreat from the position grasped by us on two sides, had become inevitable, and had, in fact, been effected some time before. Their admirable artillery, firing on to the last moment, had screened their retreat and given the infantry a long start. The crossing of the Bistritz seriously delayed the advance, especially of the cavalry, so that only isolated detachments of it yet came up with the enemy. We rode at a smart gallop across the wide field of battle, without looking much about us on the scene of horror. Finally, we found our three armies which had at last pushed on into a circumscribed space from their several directions, and had got much mixed. It took twenty-four hours to remedy the confusion and re-form the bodies; an immediate pursuit was impossible, but the victory was complete. The exhausted men now sought resting-places in the villages or the open field as best they might. Anything that came to hand by way of food was of course taken; my wandering ox probably among the rest. The death-cries of pigs and geese were heard; but necessity knows no law, and the baggage-waggons were naturally not on the spot. The King, too, remained at a hamlet on the field. Only I and my two officers had to journey some twenty-four miles back to Gitschin, where the bureaux were. We had set out thence at four in the morning, and had been fourteen hours in the saddle. In the hurry of departure no one had thought of providing himself with food. An Uhlan of the 2nd Regiment had bestowed on me a slice of sausage, bread he had none himself. On our way back we met the endless train of provision and ammunition waggons, often extending all across the road. We did not reach our quarters till midnight. There was nothing to eat even here at this hour, but I was so exhausted that I threw myself on my bed in great-coat and sash, and fell asleep instantly. Next morning new orders had to be prepared and laid before his Majesty at Horitz. The Great King[87] had needed to struggle for seven years to reduce the might of Austria, which his more fortunate and also more powerful grandson[88] had achieved in as many weeks. The campaign had proved decisive in the first eight days from June 27th to July 3rd. The war of 1866 was entered on not as a defensive measure to meet a threat against the existence of Prussia, nor in obedience to public opinion and the voice of the people: it was a struggle, long foreseen and calmly prepared for, recognized as a necessity by the Cabinet, not for territorial aggrandizement or material advantage, but for an ideal end--the establishment of power. Not a foot of land was exacted from defeated Austria, but she had to renounce all part in the hegemony of Germany. The Princes of the Reich had themselves to blame that the old Empire had now for centuries allowed domestic politics to override German national politics. Austria had exhausted her strength in conquests south of the Alps while she left the western German provinces unprotected, instead of following the road pointed out by the course of the Danube. Her centre of gravity lay outside of Germany; Prussia's lay within it. Prussia felt her strength, and that it behoved her to assume the leadership of the German races. The regrettable but unavoidable exclusion of one of them from the new Reich could only be to a small extent remedied by a subsequent alliance. But Germany has become immeasurably greater without Austria, than it was before with Austria. But all this has nothing to do with the legends of which I am telling. One of these has been sung in verse, and in fine verse too. The scene is Versailles. The French are making a sortie from Paris, and the generals, instead of betaking themselves to their fighting troops, are assembled to consider whether head-quarters may safely remain any longer at Versailles. Opinions are divided, no one dares speak out. The Chief of the General Staff, who is above all called on to express his views, remains silent. The perplexity seems to be great. Only the War Minister rises and protests with the greatest emphasis against a measure so injurious from a political and military point of view as a removal. He is warmly thanked by the King as being the only man who has the courage to speak the truth freely and fearlessly. The truth is that while the King and his whole escort had ridden out to the Vth Army Corps, the Marshal of the household, in his over-anxiety, had the horses put to the royal carriages, and this became known in the town; and indeed may have excited all sorts of hopes in the sanguine inhabitants. Versailles was protected by four Army Corps. It never entered anybody's head to think of evacuating the town. I can positively assert no Council of War was ever held either in 1866 or 1870--71. Excepting on the march and on days of battle, an audience was regularly held by his Majesty at ten o'clock, at which I, accompanied by the Quartermaster-General, laid the latest reports and information before him, and made our suggestions on that basis. The Chief of the Military Cabinet and the Minister of War were also present, and while the head-quarters of the IIIrd Army were at Versailles, the Crown Prince also; but all merely as listeners. The King occasionally required them to give him information on one point or another; but I do not remember that he ever asked for advice concerning the operations in the field or the suggestions I made. These, which I always discussed beforehand with my staff officers, were, on the contrary, generally maturely weighed by his Majesty himself. He always pointed out with a military eye and an invariably correct estimate of the situation, all the objections that might be raised to their execution; but as in war every step is beset with danger, the plans laid before him were invariably adopted. FOOTNOTES: [84] viz. The IInd Army, commanded by the Crown Prince of Prussia, which was to strike the Austrian right flank and right rear; and the Army of the Elbe, commanded by General Herwarth von Bittenfeld, which was to strike the Austrian left flank. [85] I have a history of the war, published at Tokio, in the Japanese language, with very original illustrations. One of these has for its title, "The King scolding the Army." [MOLTKE.] [86] During a long peace the sphere of action of the War Minister's department and the General Staff were not distinctly defined. The providing for the troops in peace was the function of the former, and in war time a number of official duties which could be superintended by the central authorities at home. Thus the place of the Minister of War was not at head-quarters, but at Berlin. The Chief of the General Staff, on the other hand, from the moment when the mobilization is ordered, assumes the whole responsibility for the marching and transport already prepared for during peace, both for the first assembling of the forces, and for their subsequent employment, for which he has only to ask the consent of the Commander-in-Chief--always, with us, the King. How necessary this disjunction of the two authorities is, I had to experience in June, 1866. Without my knowledge the order had been given for the VIIth Corps to remain on the Rhine. It was only by my representations that the 16th Division was moved up into Bohemia, and our numerical superiority thus brought up to a decisive strength. [MOLTKE.] [87] Frederick the Great. [88] Wilhelm was not the grandson, but the great-grand-nephew of Frederick the Great. The term is very rarely used in the wider sense of "descendant;" but Frederick was childless. ORDERS OF BATTLE OF THE FRENCH AND GERMAN ARMIES IN THE FIRST PERIOD OF THE FRANCO-GERMAN WAR. ORDER OF BATTLE OF THE FRENCH ARMIES. ORDER OF BATTLE OF THE "ARMY OF THE RHINE." Commander-in-Chief: The Emperor Napoleon III. Major-General: Marshal Le Boeuf. Aide-Major-General: General Dejean. Chiefs of Staff: Generals Jarras and Lebrun. Commanding Artillery: General Soleille. Commanding Engineer: General Coffinières de Nordeck. Aides-de-camp to the Emperor: Generals Prince de la Moscawa, de Castlenau, Count Reille, Viscount Pajol. THE IMPERIAL GUARD. General Bourbaki. Chief of Staff: General d'Auvergne. Commanding Artillery: General Pé-de-Arros. _1st Infantry Division_: General Deligny. 1st Brigade: General Brincourt. Chasseurs of the Guard. 1st and 2nd Voltigeurs of the Guard. 2nd Brigade: General Garnier. 3rd and 4th Voltigeurs of the Guard. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder batteries, one mitrailleuse battery. _2nd Infantry Division_: General Picard. 1st Brigade: General Jeanningros. Zouaves of the Guard (two battalions). 1st Grenadiers of the Guard. 2nd Brigade: General Poitevin de la Croix. 2nd and 3rd Grenadiers of the Guard. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder batteries, one mitrailleuse battery. _Cavalry Division_: General Desvaux. 1st Brigade: General Halma du Frétay. Guides. Chasseurs of the Guard. 2nd Brigade: General de France. Lancers of the Guard. Dragoons of the Guard. 3rd Brigade: General du Preuil. Cuirassiers of the Guard. Carabiniers of the Guard. _Reserve Artillery_: Colonel Clappier Four horse-artillery batteries. 1ST CORPS. Marshal MacMahon, afterwards General Ducrot. Chief of Staff: General Colson. Commanding Artillery: General Forgeot. _1st Infantry Division_: General Ducrot. 1st Brigade: General Moreno. 13th Chasseur battalion. 18th and 96th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de Postis du Houlbec. 45th and 74th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder batteries and one mitrailleuse battery. _2nd Infantry Division_: General Abel Douay, afterwards General Pellé. 1st Brigade: General Pelletier de Montmarie. 16th Chasseur battalion. 50th and 78th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Pellé. 1st regiment of Zouaves. 1st regiment of Turcos. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder batteries, one mitrailleuse battery. _3rd Infantry Division_: General Raoult. 1st Brigade: General L'Heriller. 8th Chasseur battalion. 2nd Zouave regiment. 36th Line regiment. 2nd Brigade: General Lefèvre. 2nd regiment of Turcos. 48th Line regiment. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder batteries, one mitrailleuse battery. _4th Infantry Division_: General de Lartigue. 1st Brigade: General Frabonlet de Kerléadec. 1st battalion of Chasseurs. 3rd Zouave regiment. 56th Line regiment. 2nd Brigade: General Lacretelle. 3rd regiment of Turcos. 87th Line regiment. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder batteries, one mitrailleuse battery. _Cavalry Division_: General Duhesme. 1st Brigade: General de Septeuil. 3rd Hussar regiment. 11th Chasseur regiment. 2nd Brigade: General de Nansouty. 2nd and 6th Lancer regiments. 10th Dragoon regiment. 3rd Brigade: General Michel. 8th and 9th Cuirassier regiments. _Reserve Artillery_: Colonel de Vassart. Two 4-pounder batteries. Two 12-pounder batteries. Four horse-artillery batteries. 2ND CORPS. General Frossard. Chief of Staff: General Saget. Commanding Artillery: General Gagneux. _1st Infantry Division_: General Verge 1st Brigade: General Letellier-Valazé. 3rd battalion of Chasseurs. 32nd and 55th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Jobivet. 76th and 77th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _2nd Infantry Division_: General Bataille. 1st Brigade: General Pouget. 12th battalion of Chasseurs. 8th and 23rd Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Fauvart-Bastoul. 66th and 67th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _3rd Infantry Division_: General Laveaucoupet. 1st Brigade: General Doens. 10th battalion of Chasseurs. 2nd and 63rd Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Michelet. 24th and 40th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _Cavalry Division_: General Lichtlin. 1st Brigade: General de Valabrèque. 4th and 5th regiments of Chasseurs. 2nd Brigade: General Bachelier. 7th and 12th regiments of Dragoons. _Reserve-Artillery_: Colonel Baudouin. Two 4-pounder batteries. Two 12-pounder batteries. Two mitrailleuse batteries. 3RD CORPS. Marshal Bazaine, afterwards General Decaen. Chief of Staff: General Manèque. Commanding Artillery: General de Rochebouet. _1st Infantry Division_: General Montaudon. 1st Brigade: General Aymard. 18th Chasseur battalion. 51st and 62nd Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Clinchant. 81st and 95th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _2nd Infantry Division_: General de Castagny. 1st Brigade: General Cambriels. 15th Chasseur battalion. 19th and 41st Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Duplessis. 69th and 90th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _3rd Infantry Division_: General Metman. 1st Brigade: General de Potier. 7th Chasseur battalion. 7th and 29th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Arnaudeau. 59th and 71st Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _4th Infantry Division_: General Decaen. 1st Brigade: General de Brauer. 11th Chasseur battalion. 44th and 60th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Sanglé-Ferrières. 80th and 85th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _Cavalry Division_: General de Clérembault. 1st Brigade: General de Bruchard. 2nd, 3rd, and 10th Chasseur regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de Maubranches. 2nd and 4th Dragoon regiments. 3rd Brigade: General de Juniac. 5th and 8th Dragoon regiments. _Reserve Artillery_: Colonel de Lajaille. Two 4-pounder batteries. Two 12-pounder batteries. Four horse-artillery batteries. 4TH CORPS. General de Ladmirault. Chief of Staff: General Desaint de Martille. Commanding Artillery: General Laffaile. _1st Infantry Division_: General de Cissey. 1st Brigade: General Count Brayer. 20th Chasseur battalion. 1st and 6th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de Golberg. 57th and 73rd Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _2nd Infantry Division_: General Rose. 1st Brigade: General Bellecourt. 5th Chasseur battalion. 13th and 43rd Line Regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Pradier. 64th and 98th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _3rd Infantry Division_: General de Lorencez. 1st Brigade: General Pajol. 2nd Chasseur battalion. 15th and 33rd Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Berger. 54th and 65th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _Cavalry Division_: General Legrand. 1st Brigade: General de Montaigu. 2nd and 7th Hussar regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de Gondrecourt. 3rd and 11th Dragoon regiments. _Reserve-Artillery_: Colonel Soleille. Two 4-pounder batteries. Two 12-pounder batteries. Two horse-artillery batteries. 5TH CORPS. General de Failly. Chief of Staff: General Besson. Commanding Artillery: General Liédot. _1st Infantry Division_: General Goze. 1st Brigade: General Grenier. 4th Chasseur battalion. 11th and 46th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Nicolas. 61st and 86th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _2nd Infantry Division_: General de l'Abadie d'Aydroin. 1st Brigade: General Lapasset. 14th Chasseur battalion. 49th and 84th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de Maussion. 88th and 97th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _3rd Infantry Division_: General Guyot de Lespart. 1st Brigade: General Abbatucci. 19th Chasseur battalion. 17th and 27th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de Fontanges de Couzan. 30th and 68th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _Cavalry Division_: General Brahaut. 1st Brigade: General Pierre de Bernis. 5th and 12th Chasseur regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de la Mortière. 3rd and 5th Lancer regiments. Division-Artillery. One battery of horse-artillery. _Reserve-Artillery_: Colonel de Salignac-Fénelon. Two 4-pounder batteries. Two 12-pounder batteries. Two horse-artillery batteries. 6TH CORPS. Marshal Canrobert. Chief of Staff: General Henri. Commanding Artillery: General de Berkheim. _1st Infantry Division_: General Tixier. 1st Brigade: General Péchot. 9th Chasseur battalion. 4th and 10th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Le Roy de Dais. 12th and 100th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _2nd Infantry Division_: General Bisson. 1st Brigade: General Noël. 9th and 14th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Maurice. 20th and 30th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _3rd Infantry Division_: General La Font de Villiers. 1st Brigade: General Becquet de Sonnay. 75th and 91st Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Colin. 93rd Line regiment. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _4th Infantry Division_: General Levassor-Sorval. 1st Brigade: General de Marguenat. 25th and 26th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de Chanaleilles. 28th and 70th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _Cavalry Division_: General de Salignac-Fénelon. 1st Brigade: General Tilliard. 1st Hussar regiment. 6th Chasseur regiment. 2nd Brigade: General Savaresse. 1st and 7th Lancer regiments. 3rd Brigade: General de Béville. 5th and 6th Cuirassier regiments. Division-Artillery. Two batteries of horse-artillery. _Reserve-Artillery_: Colonel de Montluisant. Two 4-pounder batteries. Two 12-pounder batteries. Four batteries of horse-artillery. 7TH CORPS. General Félix Douay. Chief of Staff: General Renson. Commanding Artillery: General Liègard. _1st Infantry Division_: General Conseil-Dumesnil. 1st Brigade: General Le Norman de Bretteville. 17th Chasseur battalion. 3rd and 21st Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Maire. 47th and 99th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, two mitrailleuse batteries. _2nd Infantry Division_: General Liébert. 1st Brigade: General Guiomar. 6th Chasseur battalion. 5th and 37th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de la Bastide. 53rd and 89th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _3rd Infantry Division_: General Dumont. 1st Brigade: General Bordas. 52nd and 72nd Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Bittard des Portes. 82nd and 83rd Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _Cavalry Division_: General Ameil. 1st Brigade: General Cambriel. 4th Hussar regiments. 4th and 8th Lancer regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Jolif du Coulombier. 6th Hussar regiment. 6th Dragoon regiment. Division-Artillery. One battery of horse-artillery. _Reserve Artillery._ Two 4-pounder batteries. Two 12-pounder batteries. Two batteries horse-artillery. RESERVE CAVALRY. _1st Division_: General du Barrail. 1st Brigade: General Margueritte. 1st and 3rd regiments Chasseurs d'Afrique. 2nd Brigade: General de Lajaille. 2nd and 4th regiments Chasseurs d'Afrique. Division-Artillery. Two batteries of horse-artillery. _2nd Division_: General de Bonnemains. 1st Brigade: General Girard. 1st and 2nd Cuirassier regiments. 2nd Brigade: 3rd and 4th Cuirassier regiments. Division-Artillery. Two batteries of horse-artillery. _3rd Division_: General Marquis de Forton. 1st Brigade: General Prince J. Murat. 1st and 9th Dragoon regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de Grammont. 7th and 10th Cuirassier regiments. Division-Artillery. Two batteries of horse-artillery. GREAT ARTILLERY RESERVE. General Cann. Chief of Staff: Colonel Laffont de Ladébat. 13th Field-Artillery regiment. Eight 12-pounder batteries. 18th Field-Artillery regiment. Eight batteries of horse-artillery. Three mountain batteries. _Note_.--The 6th Corps (Canrobert), when ordered to Metz from Châlons, left there three line regiments, its cavalry division, and reserve artillery. The battle of Wörth divided the original Army of the Rhine into two parts, one of which is generally known as "The Army of Metz," and the other, with additions, became "The Army of Châlons." Their respective "Orders of Battle" follow:-- ORDER OF BATTLE OF THE ARMY OF CHÂLONS. Commander-in-Chief: Marshal MacMahon, Duke of Magenta, afterwards General de Wimpfen. Chief of Staff: General Faure. Commanding Artillery: General Forgeot. Commanding Engineer: General Dejean. Intendant-General: Rousillon. 1ST CORPS. General Ducrot. Chief of Staff: Colonel Robert. Commanding Artillery: General Frigola. _1st Infantry Division_: General Wolff. 1st Brigade: General Moreno. 13th Chasseur battalion. 18th and 96th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de Postis du Houlbec. 45th Line regiment. 1st Zouave regiment. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _2nd Infantry Division_: General Pellé. 1st Brigade: General Pelletier de Montmarie. 16th Chasseur battalion. 50th and 74th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Gandil. 78th Line regiment. 1st regiment of Turcos. 1st "marching" regiment. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _3rd Infantry Division_: General L'Heriller. 1st Brigade: General Carteret-Trécourt. 8th Chasseur battalion. 2nd Zouave regiment. 36th Line regiment. 2nd Brigade: General Lefébvre. 2nd regiment of Turcos. 48th Line regiment. 1st battalion of Franctireurs of Paris. Division-Artillery. Two 4 pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _4th Infantry Division_: General de Lartigue. 1st Brigade: General Fraboulet de Kerléadec. 1st Chasseur battalion. 3rd regiment of Tirailleurs (Turcos). 56th Line regiment. 2nd Brigade: General de Bellemare. 3rd Zouave regiment. 2nd "marching" regiment. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _Cavalry Division_: General Duhesme; after August 25, General Michel. 1st Brigade: General de Septeuil. 3rd Hussar regiment. 11th Chasseur regiment. 2nd Brigade: General de Nansouty. 2nd and 6th Lancer regiments. 10th Dragoon regiment. 3rd Brigade: General Michel. 8th and 9th Cuirassier regiments. _Reserve Artillery_: Colonel Grouvell. Two 4-pounder batteries. Two 12-pounder batteries. Four batteries of horse-artillery. 5TH CORPS. General de Failly. Chief of Staff: General Besson. Commanding Artillery: General Liédot. _1st Infantry Division_: General Goze. 1st Brigade: General Grenier, later General Saurin. 4th Chasseur battalion. 11th and 46th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Baron Nicolas-Nicolas. 61st and 86th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _2nd Infantry Division_: General de l'Abadie d'Aydrein. 1st Brigade: General Lapasset. (With the army of Metz.) 2nd Brigade: General de Maussion. 88th and 97th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _3rd Infantry Division_: General Guyot de Lespart. 1st Brigade: General Abbatucci. 19th Chasseur battalion. 17th and 27th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de Fontanges de Couzan. 30th and 68th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _Cavalry Division_: General Brahaut. 1st Brigade: General Viscount Pierre de Bernis. 5th and 6th Chasseur regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de la Mortière. 3rd and 5th Lancer regiments. Division-Artillery. One battery of horse-artillery. _Reserve Artillery_: Colonel de Salignac-Fénelon. Two 4-pounder batteries. Two 12-pounder batteries. Two batteries of horse-artillery. 7TH CORPS. General Félix Douay. Chief of Staff: General Renson. Commanding Artillery: General Liègard. _1st Infantry Division_: General Conseil-Dumesnil. 1st Brigade: General Morand, afterwards General la Brettevillois. 17th Chasseur battalion. 3rd and 21st Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General St. Hilaire. 47th and 99th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, two mitrailleuse batteries. _2nd Infantry Division_: General Liébert. 1st Brigade: General Guiomar. 6th Chasseur battalion. 5th and 37th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de la Bastide. 53rd and 89th Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _3rd Infantry Division_: General Dumont. 1st Brigade: General Bordas. 52nd and 72nd Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Bittard des Portes. 82nd and 83rd Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _Cavalry Brigade_: General Ameil. 1st Brigade: General Cambriel. 4th Hussar regiment. 4th and 8th Lancer regiments. 2nd Brigade: General du Coulombier (appointed). Division-Artillery. One battery of horse-artillery. _Reserve-Artillery_: Colonel Aubac. Two 4-pounder batteries. Two 12-pounder batteries. Two batteries of horse-artillery. 12TH CORPS. General Lebrun. Chief of Staff: General Gresley. Commanding Artillery: General d'Ouvrier de Villegly. _1st Infantry Division_: General Grandchamp. 1st Brigade: General Cambriels. 1 Chasseur marching battalion. 22nd and 34th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de Villeneuve. 58th and 72nd Line regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _2nd Infantry Division_: General Lacretelle. 1st Brigade: General Bernier Maligny. 14th, 20th, and 30th Line regiments. 2nd Brigade: General Marquisan. 3rd and 4th marching regiments. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, two mitrailleuse batteries. _3rd Infantry Division_: General de Vassoigne. 1st Brigade: General Reboul. 1st and 2nd regiments of marine infantry. 2nd Brigade: General Martin de Paillières. 3rd and 4th regiments of marine infantry. Division-Artillery. Two 4-pounder, one mitrailleuse battery. _Cavalry Division_: General de Salignac-Fénelon. 1st Brigade: General Savaresse. 1st and 7th Lancer regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de Béville. 5th and 6th Cuirassier regiments. 3rd Brigade: General Leforestier de Vendeune. 7th and 8th Chasseurs. _Reserve Artillery_: Colonel Brisac. Two 4-pounder batteries. Two 12-pounder batteries. Two batteries of horse-artillery. RESERVE CAVALRY. _1st Reserve Cavalry Division_: General Margueritte. 1st Brigade: General Tillard. 1st and 2nd Chasseurs regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de Galiffet. 1st, 3rd and 4th Chasseurs d'Afrique. Division-Artillery. Two batteries of horse-artillery. _2nd Reserve Cavalry Division_: General de Bonnemains. 1st Brigade: General Girard. 1st Hussar regiment. 47th Chasseur regiment. 2nd Brigade: General de Brauer. 2nd and 3rd Cuirassiers. ORDER OF BATTLE OF THE ARMY OF METZ. Commander-in-Chief: Marshal Bazaine. Chief of Staff: General Jarras. Commanding Artillery: General Soleille. Commanding Engineer: General Viala. THE IMPERIAL GUARD. General Bourbaki (afterwards General Desvaux). Chief of Staff: General d'Auvergne. Commanding Artillery: General Pé-de-Arros. (Detail as above.) 2ND CORPS. General Frossard. (Detail as above with the exception of the 3rd Division (Laveaucoupet's) detached to garrison duty.) 3RD CORPS. General Decaen, afterwards Marshal Le Boeuf. (Detail as above.) 4TH CORPS. General de Ladmirault. (Detail as above.) 6TH CORPS. Marshal Canrobert. (Detail as above, with the exception that the Corps when ordered up to Metz, left behind at Châlons three infantry regiments, its cavalry division, its reserve artillery, and division artillery of the 2nd Division.) LAPASSET'S BRIGADE (from attached 5th Corps). General Lapasset. 14th Chasseur battalion. 49th and 84th Line regiments. RESERVE CAVALRY. _1st Reserve Cavalry Division_: General du Barrail. 1st Brigade: General Margueritte. (Vide Army of Châlons.) 2nd Brigade: General de Lajaille. 2nd Regiment of Chasseurs d'Afrique. (The 4th regiment of Chasseurs d'Afrique remained at Châlons.) Division-Artillery. Two batteries of horse-artillery. _2nd Reserve Cavalry Division_: General de Forton. 1st Brigade: General Prince J. Murat. 1st and 9th Dragoon regiments. 2nd Brigade: General de Grammont. 7th and 10th Cuirassier regiments. GREAT ARTILLERY RESERVE. (As above, less six batteries detached to the 6th Corps.) ORDER OF BATTLE OF THE GERMAN ARMIES ON 1ST AUGUST, 1870. Commander-in-Chief: H.M. the King of Prussia. King's aides-de-camp: General von Boyen; Lieut.-General von Treskow; Major-General von Steinäcker; Colonel Count Lehndorff; Lieut.-Colonel Prince Radziwill; Lieut.-Colonel Count Waldersee; Major von Alten. Chief of Staff: General Baron von Moltke. Quarter-Master General: Lieut.-General von Podbielski. Divisional Chiefs of Staff: Lieut.-Colonel Bronsart von Schellendorf; Lieut.-Colonel von Verdy du Vernois; Lieut.-Colonel von Brandenstein. Inspector-General of Artillery: General von Hindersin. Inspector-General of Engineers: Lieut.-General von Kleist. Commissary-General: Lieut.-General von Stosch. I. ARMY. Commander-in-Chief: General von Steinmetz, afterwards General von Manteuffel. Chief of Staff: Major-General von Sperling. Quartermaster-General: Colonel Count von Wartensleben. Commanding Artillery: Lieut.-General Schwartz. Commanding Engineer: Major-General Biehler. 7TH CORPS--WESTPHALIA. Infantry-General von Zastrow. Chief of Staff: Colonel von Unger. Commanding Artillery: Major-General von Zimmermann. Commanding Engineer: Major Treumann. _13th Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Glümer. 25th Brigade: Major-General Baron v. d. Osten Sacken. 1st Westphalian Infantry regiment, No. 13. Hanoverian Fusilier regiment, No. 73. 26th Brigade: Major-General Baron v. d. Goltz. 2nd Westphalian Infantry regiment, No. 15. 6th Westphalian Infantry regiment, No. 55. Attached to Division: 7th Westphalian Jäger battalion. 1st Westphalian Hussar regiment, No. 8. Five batteries (two heavy, two light, and one horse-artillery) of the 7th field-artillery regiment. 2nd Field-pioneer company, 7th corps, with entrenching tool-column. 3rd Field-pioneer company, 7th corps. _14th Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Kamecke. 27th Brigade: Major-General von François. Lower Rhine Fusilier regiment, No. 39. 1st Hanoverian Infantry regiment, No. 74. 28th Brigade: Major-General von Woyna. 5th Westphalian Infantry regiment, No. 53. 2nd Hanoverian Infantry regiment, No. 77. Attached to Division: Four batteries (two heavy and two light) of the 7th Westphalian field-artillery regiment. Hanoverian Hussar regiment, No. 15. 1st Field-pioneer company, 7th corps, with light bridging-train. _Corps-Artillery_: Colonel von Helden-Sarnowski. Two Horse artillery, two light, and two heavy field-batteries of the 7th Field-artillery regiment. Artillery Ammunition columns. Infantry " " " Pontoon " The 7th Westphalian train-battalion. 8TH CORPS--RHINE PROVINCES. Infantry-General von Goeben. Chief of Staff: Colonel von Witzendorff. Commanding Artillery: Colonel von Kamecke. Commanding Engineer: Lieut.-Colonel Schulz. _15th Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Weltzien. 29th Brigade: Major-General von Wedell. East Prussian Fusilier regiment, No. 33. 7th Brandenburg Infantry regiment, No. 60. 30th Brigade: Major-General von Strubberg. 2nd Rhine Province Infantry regiment, No. 28. 4th Magdeburg Infantry regiment, No. 67. Attached to Division: 8th Rhine Province Jäger battalion. King's Hussar regiment (1st Rhine), No. 7. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of 8th Field-Artillery regiment. 2nd Field-pioneer company, 8th corps, with entrenching tool-column. _16th Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Barnekow. 31st Brigade: Major-General Count Neidhardt v. Gneisenau. 3rd Rhine Province Infantry regiment, No. 29. 7th Rhine Province Infantry regiment, No. 69. 32nd Brigade: Colonel von Rex. Hohenzollern Fusilier regiment, No. 40. 4th Thüringian Infantry regiment, No. 72. Attached to Division: 2nd Rhine Hussar regiment, No. 9. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of 8th Field-artillery regiment. 1st Field-pioneer company, 8th corps, with light bridging-train. 3rd Field-pioneer company, 8th corps. _Corps Artillery_: Colonel von Broecker. Two batteries of horse-artillery, two heavy and two light field batteries, of the 8th Field-artillery regiment. Artillery, Infantry, and pontoon columns belonging to the 8th Field-artillery regiment. The 8th, Rhenish, train-battalion. 3RD CAVALRY DIVISION. Lieut.-General Count v. d. Gröben. 6th Cavalry Brigade: Major-General von Mirus. Rhine Prov. Cuirassier regiment, No. 8. " " Uhlan regiment, No. 7. 7th Cavalry Brigade: Major-General Count zu Dohna. Westphalian Uhlan regiment, No. 5. 2nd Hanoverian Uhlan regiment, No. 14. One battery of horse-artillery of the 7th Westphalian Field-artillery regiment. 1ST CORPS--EAST PRUSSIA. Cavalry-General Baron von Manteuffel. Chief of Staff: Lieut.-Colonel v. d. Burg. Commanding Artillery: Major-General von Bergmann. Commanding Engineer: Major Fahland. _1st Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Bentheim. 1st Brigade: Major-General von Gayl. Crown Prince's Grenadier regiment (1st East Prussian), No. 1. 5th East Prussian Infantry regiment, No. 41. 2nd Brigade: Major-General von Falkenstein. 2nd East Prussian Grenadier regiment, No. 3. 6th " " Infantry regiment, No. 43. Attached to Division: East Prussian Jäger battalion, No. 1. Lithuanian Dragoon regiment, No. 1. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of 1st East Prussian Field-artillery regiment. 2nd Field-pioneer company, 1st corps, with entrenching tool-column. 3rd Field-pioneer company, 1st corps. _2nd Infantry Division_: Major-General von Pritzelwitz. 3rd Brigade: Major-General von Memerty. 3rd East Prussian Grenadier regiment, No. 4. 7th " " Infantry regiment, No. 44. 4th Brigade: Major-General von Zzlinitzki. 4th East Prussian Grenadier regiment, No. 5. 8th " " Infantry regiment, No. 45. Attached to Division: East Prussian Dragoon regiment, No. 10. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of 1st, East Prussian, Field-artillery regiment. 1st Field-pioneer company, 1st corps, with light bridging-train. _Corps-Artillery_: Colonel Junge. Two batteries of horse-artillery } Two light field-batteries } of 1st, East Prussian, Two heavy " " } Field-artillery regiment. Artillery and Infantry ammunition, and pontoon columns belonging to 1st Field-artillery regiment. The 1st East Prussian train-battalion. 1ST CAVALRY DIVISION. Lieut.-General von Hartmann. 1st Cavalry Brigade: Major-General von Lüderitz. Queen's Cuirassier regiment (Pomeranian), No. 2. 1st Pomeranian Uhlan regiment, No. 4. 2nd " " " No. 9. 2nd Cavalry Brigade: Major-General Baumgarth. East Prussian Cuirassier regiment, No. 3. " " Uhlan regiment, No. 8. Lithuanian " " No. 12. One battery of horse-artillery of the 1st, East Prussian, Field-artillery regiment. II. ARMY. Commander-in-Chief: Cavalry-General H.R.H. Prince Frederic Charles of Prussia. Chief of Staff: Major-General von Stiehle. Quartermaster-General: Colonel von Hertzberg. Commanding Artillery: Lieut.-General von Colomier. Commanding Engineer: Colonel Leuthaus. GUARD CORPS--GENERAL. Cavalry-General H.R.H. Prince August of Würtemberg. Chief of Staff: Major-General von Dannenberg. Commanding Artillery: Major-General Prince Kraft of Hohenloh Ingelsingen. Commanding Engineer: Lieut.-Colonel Bogun von Wangenheim. _1st Guard-Infantry Division_: Major-General von Pape. 1st Brigade: Major-General von Kessel. 1st regiment of Foot Guards. 3rd " " " 2nd Brigade: Major-General Baron von Medem. 2nd regiment of Foot Guards. Guard Fusilier regiment. 4th regiment of Foot Guards. Attached to Division: Guard Jäger battalion. " Hussar regiment. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of Guard field-artillery regiment. 1st Field-pioneer company of the Guard with light bridging-train. _2nd Guard-Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Budritzki. 3rd Brigade: Colonel Knappe von Knappstaedt. 1st Guard Grenadier regiment (Emperor Alexander's). 3rd " " " (Queen Elizabeth's). 4th Brigade: Major-General von Berger. 2nd Guard Grenadier regiment (Emperor Francis'). 4th " " " (Queen's). Attached to Division: Guard Rifle battalion. 2nd Guard Uhlan regiment. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of Guard field-artillery regiment. 2nd Field-pioneer company of the Guard with entrenching tool-column. 3rd Field-pioneer company of the Guard. _Guard-Cavalry Division_: Lieut.-General Count v. d. Goltz. 1st Brigade: Major-General Count von Brandenburg I. Regiment of the Guard du Corps. Guard Cuirassier regiment. 2nd Brigade: Major-General H.R.H. Prince Albert of Prussia. 1st Guard Uhlan regiment. 3rd " " " 3rd Brigade: Major-General Count von Brandenburg II. 1st Guard Dragoon regiment. 2nd " " " _Corps-Artillery_: Colonel von Scherbening. Three batteries of horse-artillery } Two light field-batteries } of the Guard Two heavy " " } field-artillery regiment. Artillery ammunition, Infantry ammunition, and pontoon columns of the Guard field-artillery regiment. Guard train-battalion. 3RD CORPS--BRANDENBURG. Lieut.-General von Alvensleben II. Chief of Staff: Colonel von Voigts-Rhetz. Commanding Artillery: Major-General von Bülow. Commanding Engineer: Major Sabarth. _5th Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Stülpnagel. 9th Brigade: Major-General von Döring. Leib.-Grenadier regiment (1st Brandenburg), No. 8. 5th Brandenburg Infantry regiment, No. 48. 10th Brigade: Major-General von Schwerin. 2nd Brandenburg Grenadier regiment, No. 12. 6th Brandenburg Infantry regiment, No. 52. Attached to Division: Brandenburg Jäger battalion, No. 3. 2nd Brandenburg Dragoon regiment, No. 12. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of the Brandenburg Field-artillery regiment, No. 3. 3rd Field-pioneer company, 3rd corps. _6th Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General Baron von Buddenbrock. 11th Brigade: Major-General von Rothmaler. 3rd Brandenburg Infantry regiment, No. 20. Brandenburg Fusilier regiment, No. 35. 12th Brigade: Colonel von Bismarck. 4th Brandenburg Infantry regiment, No. 24. 8th Brandenburg Infantry regiment, No. 64. Attached to Division: 1st Brandenburg Dragoon regiment, No. 2. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of the Brandenburg field-artillery regiment, No. 3. 2nd Field-pioneer company, 3rd corps, with entrenching tool-column. _Corps-Artillery_: Colonel von Dresky. Two batteries of horse-artillery } of the Brandenburg Two heavy field-batteries } field-artillery regiment, Two light " " } No. 3. 1st Field-pioneer company, 3rd corps, with light bridging-train. Artillery ammunition, Infantry ammunition, and pontoon columns of the Brandenburg field-artillery regiment, No. 3. Brandenburg train battalion. 4TH CORPS--SAXON PROVINCES AND ANHALT. Infantry-General von Alvensleben I. Chief of Staff: Colonel von Thile. Commanding Artillery: Major-General von Scherbening. Commanding Engineer: Lieut.-Colonel von Eltester. _7th Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Grosz von Schwarzhoff. 13th Brigade: Major-General von Vorries. 1st Magdeburg Infantry regiment, No. 26. 3rd Magdeburg Infantry regiment, No. 66. 14th Brigade: Major-General von Zychlinski. 2nd Magdeburg Infantry regiment, No. 27. Anhalt Infantry regiment, No. 93. Attached to Division: Magdeburg Jäger battalion, No. 4. Westphalian Dragoon regiment, No. 7. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of the Magdeburg field-artillery regiment. 2nd Field-pioneer company, 4th corps, with entrenching tool-column. 3rd Field-pioneer company, 4th corps. _8th Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Schöler. 15th Brigade: Major-General von Kessler. 1st Thüringian Infantry regiment, No. 31. 3rd " " " No. 71. 16th Brigade: Colonel von Scheffler. Schleswig-Holstein Fusilier regiment, No. 86. 7th Thüringian Infantry regiment, No. 96. Attached to Division: Thüringian Hussar regiment, No. 12. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of the Magdeburg field-artillery regiment, No. 4. 1st Field-pioneer company, 4th corps, with light bridge-train. _Corps-Artillery_: Colonel Crusius. Two batteries of horse-artillery } of the Magdeburg Two light field-batteries } field-artillery Two heavy " " } regiment, No. 4. Artillery ammunition, infantry ammunition, and pontoon columns belonging to Magdeburg field-artillery regiment, No. 4. Magdeburg train-battalion, No. 4. 9TH CORPS--SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN AND HESSE. Infantry-General von Manstein. Chief of Staff: Major Bronsart von Schellendorf. Commanding Artillery: Major-General Baron von Puttkammer. Commanding Engineer: Major Hutier. _18th Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General Baron von Wrangel. 35th Brigade: Major-General von Blumenthal. Magdeburg Fusilier regiment, No. 36. Schleswig Infantry regiment, No. 84. 36th Brigade: Major-General von Below. 2nd Silesian Grenadier regiment, No. 11. Holstein Infantry regiment, No. 85. Attached to Division: Lauenburg Jäger battalion, No. 9. Magdeburg Dragoon regiment, No. 6. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of Schleswig-Holstein field-artillery regiment, No. 9. 2nd Field-pioneer company, 9th corps, with entrenching tool-column. 3rd Field-pioneer company, 9th corps. _Hessian Division_ (_25th_): Lieut.-General Prince Louis of Hesse. 49th Brigade: Major-General von Wittich. 1st Infantry regiment (Body Guard). 2nd " " (Grand Duke's). 1st (Guard) Jäger battalion. 50th Brigade: Colonel von Lynker. 3rd Infantry regiment. 4th " " 2nd Jäger battalion. (25th) Cavalry Brigade: Major-General Baron von Schlotheim. 1st Reiter regiment (Guard Cheveauxlegers). 2nd " " (Leib Chevauxlegers). One battery of horse-artillery. Five field-batteries (two heavy, three light). Pioneer company with light field bridge-train. _Corps-Artillery_: Colonel von Jagemann. One battery of horse-artillery } of the Schleswig-Holstein Two light field-batteries } field-artillery Two heavy " " } regiment, No. 9. 10TH CORPS--HANOVER, OLDENBURG, AND BRUNSWICK. Infantry-General von Voigts-Rhetz. Chief of Staff: Lieut.-Colonel von Caprivi. Commanding Artillery: Colonel Baron v. d. Becke. Commanding Engineer: Lieut.-Colonel Cramer. _19th Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Schwartzkoppen. 37th Brigade: Colonel Lehmann. East Frisian Infantry regiment, No. 78. Oldenburg Infantry regiment, No. 91. 38th Brigade: Major-General von Wedell. 3rd Westphalian Infantry regiment, No. 16. 8th " " " No. 57. Attached to Division: 1st Hanoverian Dragoon regiment, No. 9. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of Hanoverian field-artillery regiment, No. 10. 2nd Field-pioneer company, 10th corps, with entrenching tool-column. 3rd Field-pioneer company, 10th corps. _20th Infantry Division_: Major-General von Kraatz-Koschlan. 39th Brigade: Major-General von Woyna. 7th Westphalian Infantry regiment, No. 56. 3rd Hanoverian Infantry regiment, No. 79. 40th Brigade: Major-General von Diringshofen. 4th Westphalian Infantry regiment, No. 17. Brunswick Infantry regiment, No. 92. Attached to Division: Hanoverian Jäger battalion, No. 10. 2nd Hanoverian Dragoon regiment, No. 16. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of Hanoverian field-artillery regiment, No. 10. 1st Field-pioneer company, 10th corps, with light bridge-train. _Corps-Artillery_: Colonel Baron v. d. Goltz. Two batteries of horse-artillery } of Hanoverian field-artillery Two heavy field-batteries } regiment, No. 10. Two light " " } Artillery and Infantry ammunition columns belonging to Hanoverian field-artillery regiment, No. 10. Hanoverian train-battalion, No. 10. 12TH CORPS--KINGDOM OF SAXONY. Infantry-General H.R.H. the Crown Prince of Saxony, afterwards Prince George. Chief of Staff: Lieut.-Colonel von Zeschwitz. Commanding Artillery: Major-General Köhler. Commanding Engineer: Major Klemna. _1st Infantry Division, No. 23_: Lieut.-General H.R.H. Prince George of Saxony, afterwards Major-General von Montbé. 1st Brigade, No. 45: Major-General von Craushaar. 1st (Leib) Grenadier regiment, No. 100. 2nd (King William of Prussia) Grenadier regiment, No. 101. Rifle (Fusilier) regiment, No. 108. 2nd Brigade, No. 46: Colonel von Montbé. 3rd Infantry regiment (Crown Prince's), No. 102. 4th " " No. 103. Attached to Division: 1st Reiter regiment (Crown Prince's). Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of 12th field-artillery regiment. 2nd company of 12th Pioneer battalion with entrenching tool-column. 4th company of 12th Pioneer battalion. _2nd Infantry Division, No. 24_: Major-General Nehrhoff von Holderberg. 3rd Brigade, No. 47: Major-General Tauscher. 5th Infantry regiment (Prince Frederic August's), No. 104. 6th Infantry regiment, No. 105. 1st Jäger battalion (Crown Prince's), No. 12. 4th Brigade, No. 48: Colonel von Schulz. 7th Infantry regiment (Prince George's), No. 106. 8th " " No. 107. 2nd Jäger battalion, No. 13. Attached to Division: 2nd Reiter regiment. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of 12th field-artillery regiment. 3rd company of 12th Pioneer battalion with light bridge-train. _Cavalry Division, No. 12_: Major-General Count Lippe. 1st Cavalry Brigade, No. 23: Major-General Krug von Nidda. Guard Reiter regiment. 1st Uhlan regiment, No. 17. 2nd Cavalry Brigade, No. 24: Major-General Senfft von Pilsach. 3rd Reiter regiment. 2nd Uhlan regiment, No. 18. Attached to Division: One battery of horse-artillery of 12th field-artillery regiment. _Corps-Artillery_: Colonel Funcke. One battery of horse-artillery } Three light field-batteries } of the 12th Three heavy " " } field-artillery regiment. Artillery and Infantry ammunition, and pontoon columns of the 12th field-artillery regiment. 12th train-battalion. 5TH CAVALRY DIVISION. Lieut.-General Baron von Rheinbaben. 11th Cavalry Brigade: Major-General von Barby. Westphalian Cuirassier regiment, No. 4. 1st Hanoverian Uhlan regiment, No. 13. Oldenburg Dragoon regiment, No. 19. 12th Cavalry Brigade: Major-General von Bredow. Magdeburg Cuirassier regiment, No. 7. Altmark Uhlan regiment, No. 16. Schleswig-Holstein Dragoon regiment, No. 13. 13th Cavalry Brigade: Major-General von Redern. Magdeburg Hussar regiment, No. 10. 2nd Westphalian Hussar regiment, No. 11. Brunswick Hussar regiment, No. 17. Attached to Division: Two batteries horse-artillery. 6TH CAVALRY DIVISION. Lieut.-General H.S.H. Duke William of Mecklenburg-Schwerin. 14th Cavalry Brigade: Major-General Baron von Diepenbroick-Grüter. Brandenburg Cuirassier regiment, No. 6 (Emp. Nicholas I. of Russia). 1st Brandenburg Uhlan regiment, No. 3 (Emperor of Russia). Schleswig-Holstein Uhlan regiment, No. 15. 15th Cavalry Brigade: Major-General von Rauch. Brandenburg Hussar regiment, No. 3 (Zieten's Hussars). Schleswig-Holstein Hussar regiment, No. 16. Attached to Division: One battery of horse-artillery. 2ND CORPS--POMERANIA. Infantry-General von Fransecky. Chief of Staff: Colonel von Wichmann. Commanding Artillery: Major-General von Kleist. Commanding Engineer: Major Sandkuhl. _3rd Infantry Division_: Major-General von Hartmann. 5th Brigade: Major-General von Koblinski. Grenadier regiment: King Frederic William IV. (1st Pomeranian), No. 2. 5th Pomeranian Infantry regiment, No. 42. 6th Brigade: Colonel v. d. Decken. 3rd Pomeranian Infantry Regiment, No. 14. 7th Pomeranian Infantry regiment, No. 54. Attached to Division: Pomeranian Jäger battalion, No. 2. Neumark Dragoon regiment, No. 3. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of the 2nd Pomeranian field-artillery regiment. 1st Field-pioneer company, 2nd corps, with light bridge-train. _4th Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General Hann von Weyhern. 7th Brigade: Major-General du Trossel. Colberg Grenadier regiment (2nd Pomeranian), No. 9. 6th Pomeranian Infantry regiment, No. 49. 8th Brigade: Major-General von Kettler. 4th Pomeranian Infantry regiment, No. 21. 8th Pomeranian Infantry regiment, No. 61. Attached to Division: Pomeranian Dragoon regiment, No. 11. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of Pomeranian field-artillery regiment, No. 2. 2nd Field-pioneer company, 2nd corps, with entrenching tool-column. 3rd Field-pioneer company, 2nd corps. _Corps-Artillery_: Colonel Petzel. Two batteries of horse-artillery } of the Pomeranian Two light field-batteries } field-artillery Two heavy " " } regiment, No. 2. Artillery and infantry ammunition and pontoon columns of Pomeranian field-artillery regiment, No. 2. Pomeranian train-battalion, No. 2. III. ARMY. Commander-in-Chief: Infantry-General H.R.H. the Crown Prince of Prussia. Chief of Staff: Lieut.-General von Blumenthal. Quartermaster-General: Colonel von Gottberg. Commanding Artillery: Lieut.-General Herkt. Commanding Engineer: Major-General Schulz. 5TH CORPS--POSEN AND LIEGNITZ. Lieutenant-General von Kirchbach. Chief of Staff: Colonel v. d. Esch. Commanding Artillery: Colonel Gaede. Commanding Engineer: Major Owstein. _9th Infantry Division_: Major-General von Sandrart. 17th Brigade: Colonel von Bothmer. 3rd Posen Infantry regiment, No. 58. 4th " " " No. 59. 18th Brigade: Major-General von Voigts-Rhetz. King's Grenadier regiment (2nd West Prussian), No. 7. 2nd Lower Silesian Infantry regiment, No. 47. Attached to Division: 1st Silesian Jäger battalion, No. 5. 1st Silesian Dragoon regiment, No 4. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of the Lower Silesian field-artillery regiment, No. 5. 1st Field-pioneer company, 5th corps, with light bridge-train. _10th Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Schmidt. 19th Brigade: Colonel von Henning auf Schönhoff. 1st West Prussian Grenadier regiment, No. 6. 1st Lower Silesian Infantry regiment, No. 46. 20th Brigade: Major-General Walther von Montbary. Westphalian Fusilier regiment, No. 37. 3rd Lower Silesian Infantry regiment, No. 50. Attached to Division: Kurmark Dragoon regiment, No. 14. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of field-artillery regiment, No. 5. 2nd Field-pioneer company, 5th corps, with entrenching tool-column. 3rd " " " " _Corps-Artillery_: Lieut.-Colonel Köhler. Two batteries of horse-artillery } of the Lower Silesian Two light field-batteries } field-artillery Two heavy " " } regiment, No. 5. Artillery and infantry ammunition, and pontoon columns of field-artillery regiment, No. 5. Lower Silesian train-battalion, No. 5. 11TH CORPS--HESSE, NASSAU, SAXE-WEIMAR, &C. Lieut.-General von Bose. Chief of Staff: Major-General Stein von Kaminski. Commanding Artillery: Major-General Hausmann. Commanding Engineer: Major Crüger. _21st Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Schachtmeyer. 41st Brigade: Colonel von Koblinski. Hessian Fusilier regiment, No. 80. 1st Nassau Infantry regiment, No. 87. 42nd Brigade: Major-General von Thiele. 2nd Hessian Infantry regiment, No. 82. 2nd Nassau Infantry regiment, No. 88. Attached to Division: Hessian Jäger battalion, No. 11. 2nd Hessian Hussar regiment, No. 14. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of Hessian field-artillery regiment, No. 11. 1st Field-pioneer company, 11th corps, with light bridge-train. _22nd Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Gersdorff. 43rd Brigade: Colonel von Kontzki. 2nd Thüringian Infantry regiment, No. 32. 6th " " " No. 95. 44th Brigade: Major-General von Schkopp. 3rd Hessian Infantry regiment, No. 83. 5th Thüringian " " No. 94. Attached to Division: 1st Hessian Hussar regiment, No. 13. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of Hessian field-artillery regiment. 2nd Field-pioneer company, 11th corps, with entrenching tool-column. 3rd Field-pioneer company, 11th corps. _Corps-Artillery_: Colonel von Oppeln-Bronikowski. Two batteries of horse-artillery } Two light field-batteries } of Hessian field artillery Two heavy " " } regiment, No. 11. Artillery and Infantry ammunition, and pontoon columns of 11th field-artillery regiment. Hessian train-battalion, No. 11. 1ST BAVARIAN CORPS. Infantry-General Baron von der Tann-Rathsamhausen. Chief of Staff: Lieut.-Colonel von Heinleth. Director of Field-Artillery: Major-General von Malaisé. Director of Engineers: Lieut.-Colonel Riem. _1st Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Stephan. 1st Brigade: Major-General Dietl. Infantry body-guard regiment. Two battalions of 1st Infantry regiment (King's). 2nd Jäger battalion. 2nd Brigade: Major-General von Orff. 2nd Infantry regiment (Crown Prince's). Two battalions of 11th Infantry regiment (v. d. Tann). 4th Jäger battalion. Attached to Division: 9th Jäger battalion. 3rd Chevauxlegers regiment (Duke Maximilian's). Two 4-pounder and two 6-pounder batteries. _2nd Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General Count Pappenheim. 3rd Brigade: Major-General Schumacher. 3rd Infantry regiment (Prince Charles of Bavaria). Two battalions of 12th Infantry regiment (Queen Amalie of Greece). 1st Jäger battalion. 4th Brigade: Major-General Baron von der Tann. 10th Infantry regiment (Prince Louis). Two battalions of 13th Infantry regiment (Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria). 7th Jäger battalion. Attached to Division: 4th Chevauxlegers regiment (King's). Two 4-pounder and two 6-pounder batteries. Cuirassier Brigade: Major-General von Tausch. 1st Cuirassier regiment (Prince Charles of Bavaria). 2nd " " (Prince Adalbert). 6th Chevauxlegers regiment (Grand Duke Constantine Nicolajusitch). One battery of horse-artillery. _Brigade of Reserve-Artillery_: Colonel Bronzetti. 1st Division. Two 6-pounder, one 4-pounder battery. } 2nd " Two 6-pounder batteries. } 42 guns. 3rd " Two 6-pounder batteries. } 1st Field-Engineer Division. 2ND BAVARIAN CORPS. Infantry-General von Hartmann. Chief of Staff: Colonel Baron von Horn. Director of Field-Artillery: Major-General Lutz. Director of Field-Engineering: Lieut.-Colonel Fogt. _3rd Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Walther. 5th Brigade: Major-General von Schleich. 6th Infantry regiment (King William of Prussia). Two battalions of 7th Infantry regiment (Hohenhausen). 8th Jäger battalion. 6th Brigade: Colonel Borries von Wissell. Two battalions of 14th Infantry regiment (Hartmann). 15th Infantry regiment (King John of Saxony). 3rd Jäger battalion. Attached to Division: 1st Chevauxlegers regiment (Emperor Alexander of Russia). Two 4-pounder and two 6-pounder batteries. _4th Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General Count von Bothmer. 7th Brigade: Major-General von Thiereck. Two battalions of 5th Infantry regiments (Grand Duke of Hesse). 9th Infantry regiment (Werde). 6th Jäger battalion. 8th Brigade: Major-General Maillinger. 3rd battalion of 1st Infantry regiment. 3rd " " 5th " " 1st " " 7th " " 3rd " " 11th " " 3rd " " 14th " " 5th Jäger battalion. Attached to Division: 10th Jäger battalion. 2nd Chevauxlegers regiment. Two 4-pounder and two 6-pounder batteries. Uhlan Brigade: Major-General Baron von Mulzer. 1st Uhlan regiment (Archduke Nicholas of Russia). 2nd Uhlan regiment (King's). 5th Chevauxlegers regiment (Prince Otto's). One battery of horse-artillery. Brigade of Reserve Artillery: Colonel von Pillement. 1st Division: One 4-pounder horse-artillery battery. Two 6-pounder field batteries. 2nd Division: Two 6-pounder field batteries. 3rd Division: Two 6-pounder field batteries. 2nd Field-Engineer Division. WÜRTEMBERG DIVISION. Lieut.-General von Obernitz. Chief of Staff: Colonel von Friebig. 1st Brigade: Major-General von Reitzenstein. 1st Infantry regiment (Queen Olga) (two battalions). 7th " " (two battalions). 2nd Jäger battalion. 2nd Brigade: Major-General von Strakloff. 2nd Infantry regiment (two battalions). 5th " " (King Charles's battalion). 3rd Jäger battalion. 3rd Brigade: Major-General Baron von Hügel. 3rd Infantry regiment (two battalions). 8th " " " 1st Jäger battalion. Cavalry Brigade: Major-General Count von Scheler. 1st Reiter regiment (King Charles) (four squadrons). 2nd " " (King William) (two " ). 4th " " (Queen Olga) (four " ). _Artillery._ 1st Field-artillery Division: Two 4-pounder and one 6-pounder batteries. 2nd Field-artillery Division: Two 4-pounder and one 6-pounder batteries. 3rd Field-artillery Division: Two 4-pounder and one 6-pounder batteries. BADEN DIVISION.[89] Lieut.-General von Beyer. Chief of Staff: Lieut.-Colonel von Leszczynski. 1st Brigade: Lieut.-General du Jarrys Baron La Roche. 1st Leib Grenadier regiment. Fusilier battalion of 4th Infantry regiment. 2nd Grenadier regiment (King of Prussia). Combined (3rd) Brigade: Major-General Keller. 3rd Infantry regiment. 5th " " Attached to Division: 3rd Dragoon regiment (Prince Charles). Four batteries (two heavy, two light). Company of pontooners with light bridge-train and entrenching tool-column. Cavalry Brigade: Major-General Baron La Roche-Starkenfels. 1st Leib Dragoon regiment. 2nd Dragoon regiment (Margrave Maximilian). One battery of horse-artillery. _Corps-Artillery._ Two heavy and two light field batteries. 4TH CAVALRY DIVISION. Cavalry-General H.R.H. Prince Albert of Prussia. 8th Cavalry Brigade: Major-General von Hontheim. West Prussian Cuirassier regiment, No. 5. Posen Uhlan regiment, No. 10. 9th Cavalry Brigade: Major-General von Bernhardi. West Prussian Uhlan regiment, No. 1. Thüringian Uhlan regiment, No. 6. 10th Cavalry Brigade: Major-General von Krosigk. 2nd Leib Hussar regiment, No. 2. Rhine Province Dragoon regiment, No. 5. Two batteries of horse-artillery. 6TH ARMY CORPS--SILESIA. Cavalry-General von Tümpling. Chief of Staff: Colonel von Salviati. Commanding Artillery: Colonel von Ramm. Commanding Engineer: Major Albrecht. _11th Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Gordon. 21st Brigade: Major-General von Malachowski. 1st Silesian Grenadier regiment, No. 10. 1st Posen Infantry regiment, No. 18. 22nd Brigade: Major-General von Eckartsberg. Silesian Fusilier regiment, No. 38. 4th Lower Silesian Infantry regiment, No. 51. Attached to Division: 2nd Silesian Jäger battalion, No. 6. 2nd Silesian Dragoon regiment, No. 8. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of the Silesian field-artillery regiment, No. 6. 3rd Field-pioneer company, 6th corps. _12th Infantry Division_: Lieut.-General von Hoffmann. 23rd Brigade: Major-General Gündell. 1st Upper Silesian Infantry regiment, No. 22. 3rd " " " " No. 62. 24th Brigade: Major-General von Fabeck. 2nd Upper Silesian Infantry regiment, No. 23. 4th " " " " No. 63. Attached to Division: 3rd Silesian Dragoon regiment, No. 15. Four batteries (two heavy, two light) of the Silesian field-artillery regiment, No. 6. 1st Field-pioneer company, 6th corps, with light bridge-train. 2nd Field-pioneer company, 6th corps, with entrenching tool-column. _Corps-Artillery_: Colonel Arnold. Two batteries of horse-artillery } of the Silesian Two light field-batteries } field-artillery Two heavy " " } regiment, No. 6 Artillery and Infantry ammunition, and pontoon columns of Silesian field-artillery regiment. Silesian train battalion, No. 6. 2ND CAVALRY DIVISION. Lieut.-General Count Stolberg-Wernigerode. 3rd Cavalry Brigade: Major-General von Colomb. Silesian Leib Cuirassier regiment, No. 1. Silesian Uhlan regiment, No. 2. 4th Cavalry Brigade: Major-General Baron von Barnekow. 1st Leib Hussar regiment, No. 1. Pomeranian Hussar regiment (Blucher's Hussars), No. 5. 5th Cavalry Brigade: Major-General von Baumbach. 1st Silesian Hussar regiment, No. 4. 2nd " " " No. 6. Two batteries of horse-artillery. FOOTNOTES: [89] Subsequently many changes in the commands. THE END. LONDON: PRINTED BY GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, LIMITED, ST. JOHN'S HOUSE, CLERKENWELL, E.C. [Illustration: Map of the Franco-German War of 1870-71. Litho. W. Greve, Berlin. James R. Osgood, McIlvaine & Co., Publishers, 45 Albemarle St., London, W.] * * * * * Transcriber's Notes Obvious punctuation and accent errors repaired. Note that it was customary to write a captial "E" without an "accent aigu" and this has been retained. There are two distinct rivers "Loir" and "Loire" so no attempt has been made to consider one as a typo of the other. Hyphen removed: "left[-]ward" (page 34), "franc[-]tireur(s)" (pages 70, 281, 428), "gun[-]boats" (page 121), "grave[-]yard" (page 110, twice), "night[-]fall" (pages 276, 294), "re[-]captured" (page 195), "re[-]organized" (page 40), "re[-]organization" (page 25), "sand[-]bags" (page 362), "side[-]ward" (page 298), "St.[-]Menges" (page 92). Hyphen added: "battle[-]field" (page 212), "grape[-]shot" (page 53), re[-]opening (page 208). The following words appear both with and without hyphens and have not been changed: "counter[-]stroke(s)", "mid[-]day", "out[-]flank", "rear[-]guard", "re[-]cross(ed)", "re[-]provisioned", "sharp[-]shooters". Page 29: "committeed" changed to "committed" (already committed themselves). Pages 32, 321: "l" changed to "L" (Villers L'Orme, L'Epine de Dallon). Page 49: "Pont a Mousson" changed to "Pont à Mousson". Page 57: "to" changed to "of" (the small leaderless bodies of). Page 71: "of" added to "a halt on this side of the Meuse". Page 159: "beleagured" changed to "beleaguered" (had been beleaguered in Metz). Page 174: "Wolfganzen" changed to "Wolfgantzen". Page 178: "D" changed to "d" (d'Aurelle de Paladines). Page 191: "Ist" changed to "1st" (1st Cavalry Division). Page 195: Missing "t" added (observe towards Courcelles). Page 248: "Chatres" changed to "Chartres". Page 291: "Sleswig" changed to "Schleswig". Page 304: "Divison" changed to "Division" (The 14th Division). Page 315: "Sérancourt" changed to "Séraucourt". Page 325: "occupapation" changed to "occupation" (Hostile occupation). Page 346: "approach" changed to "approaching" (columns of all arms were approaching). Page 351: "Vannes" changed to "Vanves". Page 365: "Côte d'or" changed to "Côte d'Or". Page 414: "General von Herwath" changed to "General von Herwarth". Page 415: "fnrther" changed to "further" (further to the left). Page 415: "intentiou" changed to "intention" (which he had no intention). Page 417: "soene" changed to "scene" (The scene is Versailles). Page 418: "Versailes" changed to "Versailles". Page 429: "Guyot de l'Lespart" changed to "Guyot de Lespart". Page 436: "Connt" changed to "Count" (Count von Brandenburg). Page 442: "Fonr" changed to "Four" (Four batteries).