ar with pure
consciences and clean hands."]

CHAPTER XX.

CALAIS, _February 10th._

At 4 o'clock p.m. on Wednesday I took my departure from Paris, leaving,
much with the feelings of Daniel when he emerged from the lions' den,
its inhabitants wending their way to the electoral "urns;" the many
revolving in their minds how France and Paris were to manage to pay the
little bill which their creditor outside is making up against them; the
few--the very few--still determined to die rather than yield, sitting in
the cafes on the boulevard, which is to be, I presume, their "last
ditch." Many correspondents, "special," "our own," and "occasional," had
arrived, and were girding up their loins for the benefit of the British
public. Baron Rothschild had been kind enough to give me a pass which
enabled me to take the Amiens train at the goods station within the
walls of the city, instead of driving, as those less fortunate were
obliged to do, to Gonesse. My pass had been signed by the proper
authorities, and the proper authorities, for reasons best known to
themselves--I presume because they had elections on the brain--had
dubbed me "Member of the House of Commons, rendering himself to England
to assist at the conferences of the Parliament." I have serious thoughts
of tendering this document to the doorkeeper of the august sanctuary of
the collective wisdom of my country, to discover whether he will
recognise its validity.

The train was drawn up before a shed in the midst of an ocean of mud. It
consisted of one passenger carriage, and of about half a mile of empty
bullock vans. The former was already filled; so, as a bullock, I
embarked--I may add, as an ill-used bullock; for I had no straw to sit
on. At St. Denis, a Prussian official inspected our passes, and at
Gonesse about 200 passengers struggled into the bullock vans. We reached
Creil, a distance of thirty miles, at 11.30. I and my fellow-bullocks
here made a rush at the buffet. But it was closed. So we had to return
to our vans, very hungry, very thirsty, very sulky, and very wet; for it
was raining hard. In this pleasant condition we remained until 9 o'clock
on Thursday; occasionally slowly progressing for a few miles; then
making a halt of an hour or two. Why? No one--not even the guard--could
tell. All he knew was, that the Prussians had hung out a signal ordering
us, their slaves, to halt, and therefore halt we must. We did the forty
miles between Creil and