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[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.