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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