he ranks, and we were
informed, first in Italian and then in French, that we were about to
receive our arms, and each one was ordered to stand forth as his name
was called.

The wagons containing the arms now came up, and the call began. Each
received a cartouche-box, a sabre, a bayonet, and a musket. We put
them on as well as we could, over our blouses, coats or great-coats,
and we looked, with our hats, our caps, and our arms, like a veritable
band of banditti. My musket was so long and heavy that I could
scarcely carry it; and the Sergeant Pinto showed me how to buckle on
the cartouche-box. He was a fine fellow, Pinto.

So many belts crossing my chest made me feel as if I could scarcely
breathe, and I saw at once that my miseries had not yet ended.

After the arms, an ammunition-wagon advanced, and they distributed
fifty rounds of cartridges to each man. This was no pleasant augury.
Then, instead of ordering us to break ranks and return to our lodgings,
Captain Vidal drew his sabre and shouted:

"By file right--march!"

The drums began to beat. I was grieved at not being able to thank my
hosts for their kindness, and thought that they would consider me
ungrateful. But that did not prevent my following the line of march.

We passed through a long winding street, and soon found ourselves
without the glacis, and near the frozen Rhine. Across the river high
hills appeared, and on the hills, old, gray, ruined castles, like those
of Haut-Bas and Geroldseck in the Vosges.

The battalion descended to the river-bank, and crossed upon the ice.
The scene was magnificent--dazzling. We were not alone on the ice;
five or six hundred paces before us there was a train of powder wagons
guarded by artillerymen on the way to Frankfort. Crossing the river we
continued our march for five hours through the mountains. Sometimes we
discovered villages in the defiles; and Zebede, who was next to me,
said:

"As we had to leave home, I would rather go as a soldier than
otherwise. At least we shall see something new every day, and, if we
are lucky enough ever to return, how much we will have to talk of!"

"Yes," said I; "but I would like better to have less to talk about, and
to live quietly, toiling on my own account and not on account of
others, who remain safe at home while we climb about here on the ice."

"You do not care for glory," said he; "and yet glory is something."

And I answered him:

"Glory is not for s