It would have done you good to see us getting over that muddy, jagged,
rutty old turnpike that leads off from the south of the Bois de Boulogne
toward St. Cloud and Versailles. Since writing my last, I had been to
Paris _par ballon monté,_ and was now returning in the _diligence_ that
took five American ladies and a couple of war correspondents, all
friends of WASHBURNE, away from the temptation of eating horse-flesh in
the beleaguered city, to such edibles as the rapacity of the German
appetite had left undevoured in the neighborhood of the old "stamping
grounds" of Louis XVI. We were not a jolly party. It rained in torrents,
and our little driver perched upon the box in front smoked the most
infernal tobacco I ever smelt. Moreover, the horses were not lively
steeds. They were rather safe than otherwise, and not given to running
away. Although the driver addressed himself to their flanks, between
each puff of smoke, with a pointed stick, they didn't rear and plunge so
as to frighten the ladies, and that was a point gained, albeit we had
leisure to count the pickets in the fences as we dragged toward our
destination. One of our lady passengers came from Connecticut, and she
talked with a nutmeg dialect that made her garrulity oftentimes quite
spicy. We two sat back to back, and when the vehicle lurched heavily her
chignon took me "amidships" (if I may be permitted the expression) with
a concussion that felt like the impact of a muffled ball from a
six-pound field howitzer. "Goodness gracious, dew git eout of the way
and give me some room, man!" she would exclaim as our wagon plunged into
a three-foot "gore" and the coachee plied his pointed ramrod with
increased vigor to the attenuated haunches of the insensible beasts.
"My dear madam, you will perceive that I cannot 'git' any further
without climbing upon the back of my companion in front." Lord knows I
would have given a hundred francs to be out of her reach; but we had
been all ticketed and labelled through under the same "pass," and there
was no such thing as dissolving partnership _now._
"Ugh!" she muttered, putting her handkerchief to her nose, "and that
horrid smoke too!" But the imperturbable director of our flight took no
heed, and drew away at his clay idol with unabated satisfaction. 'Twas
thus we jogged on for five weary hours, "OLD CONNECTICUT" charging head
foremost at my spinal column with a frequency and momentum that made me
believe, finally, she did it on purpose. Three miles out from St. Cloud
we found the road completely blocked up with artillery wagons, and saw
large masses of troops moving through the fields on either side. It
still rained incessantly, and the forlornness of the situation was no
wise relieved by the distant booming of guns, and the sucking sound of
the wheels in the mud.
"Oh, my!" sail a thin, squeaky voice on the back seat. "I believe they
are coming this way. Do let us get out, SARAH. I would rather die on the
road than be murdered in such a sepulchre as this."
She referred to a battalion of the Landwehr that had just denied into
the road, not a hundred yards in front of us.
"Stop your sniffling back there!" peevishly exclaimed "OLD CONNECTICUT."
"It would serve you right if they bayonetted you;" and she added
emphasis to her expostulation by planting her chignon between my
shoulder-blades with terrific force.
I felt at once that either my back or my gallantry would have to give
way; so I took a bond of fate, and sacrificed the latter on the spot.
"That'll do--that'll do," I remonstrated. "No more of that; if you want
to knock the brains out of that haystack on the back of your head, why,
knock away; but spare my bones, if you please."
I looked around, and she looked around with such suddenness as to bring
her nose in contact with the brim of my hat, and force the tears from
her eyes. She started to her feet, and I verily believe would not have
postponed hostilities a moment, had not the door of the _diligence_ just
then been opened, and a Prussian officer demanded to see our papers. I
paraded the "documents," and he said they were "good;" but he also said
that we must make up our minds to halt here until the following morning,
as there was a movement of the troops, and no vehicles would be
permitted to pass this point.
_Gaudeamus!_ I could have sworn, but my wrath sailed away when I saw
what a volcano was working in the bosom of "OLD CONNECTICUT." She didn't
strike the officer, or utter a single complaint in his hearing, but sat
down as if she had been a spile driven through the top of the coach, and
let the vinegar run out of her eyes in pure impotency of speechless
rage.
"SARAH'S" companion on the back seat broke forth afresh, and again
wanted to know as to the probability of our being charged upon and put
to the sword. I couldn't hear "SARAH'S" answers to these harrowing
questions, but it seemed to me as if she were trying to throttle her
timid friend into a perfect sense of security. Whatever she did had the
desired effect, and I heard no more from the "back seat."
It was nightfall ere the several members of our little colony composed
themselves to await in such tranquillity as they could command, the
ordeal of sleeping, sitting bolt upright in a French _diligence,_ upon a
dark, tempestuous night, and surrounded on all sides by the dreadful
presence of "red-handed war." The last thing I remember ere the drowsy
god "MURPHY" sent his fairies to weave their cobwebs about my eyelids,
was "OLD CONNECTICUT." She didn't look like the battering-ram that she
was. She had taken that chignon for a pillow, and fastened it to the
back of the seat. Her head was thrown back; her chin had fallen, and at
the extreme tip of her thin red nose a solitary tear glistened like a
dew-drop on a beet. Once, about midnight, she awoke me by her snoring,
but I gave the old gal's chignon a hitch, and it was all right again.
Yours, somniferously,