g again. It knocked the lamps from our hats, and,
in darkness that could almost be felt, we groped our way back to the
light along the track, getting more badly frightened as we went. The
last stretch of way we ran, holding each other's hands as though we
were not men and miners, but two frightened children in the dark. . . .

[A short time later he learned of the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian
War, and at once determined to enlist.]

I reached New York with just one cent in my pocket, and put up at a
boarding-house where the charge was one dollar a day. In this no moral
obliquity was involved. I had simply reached the goal for which I had
sacrificed all, and felt sure that the French people or the Danish
Consul would do the rest quickly. But there was evidently something
wrong somewhere. The Danish Consul could only register my demand to be
returned to Denmark in the event of war. They have my letter at the
office yet, he tells me, and they will call me out with the reserves.
The French were fitting out no volunteer army that I could get on the
track of, and nobody was paying the passage of fighting men. The end
of it was that, after pawning my revolver and my top-boots, the only
valuable possessions I had left, to pay for my lodging, I was thrown on
the street, and told to come back when I had more money. That night I
wandered about New York with a gripsack that had only a linen duster
and a pair of socks in it, turning over in my mind what to do next.
Toward midnight I passed a house in Clinton Place that was lighted up
festively. Laughter and the hum of many voices came from within. I
listened. They spoke French. A society of Frenchmen having their
annual dinner, the watchman in the block told me. There at last was my
chance. I went up the steps and rang the bell. A flunkey in a
dress-suit opened, but when he saw that I was not a guest, but to all
appearances a tramp, he tried to put me out. I, on my part, tried to
explain. There was an altercation and two gentlemen of the society
appeared. They listened impatiently to what I had to say, then,
without a word, thrust me into the street, and slammed the door in my
face.

It was too much. Inwardly raging, I shook the dust of the city from my
feet and took the most direct route out of it, straight up Third
Avenue. I walked till the stars in the east began to pale, and then
climbed into a wagon that stood at the curb, to sleep. I did not
not