t are you for us, or against?" I cried. "Wall, I ain't on no side."
"See here!" I cried in a rage; "those who are not for us are against us.
Any one of those fellows you see round here would shoot you at once if I
told him to, and if you don't clear out in double quick time, by God I
will!" And at this he made himself scarce forthwith, "nor does he come
again into this story."

Then I went down the street, and as a large supply of ammunition came to
us from our friends, with the aid of a student of the Ecole
Polytechnique, I distributed it to the mob. I had principally boxes of
percussion-caps to give. I mention this because that young man has gone
into history for it, and I have as good a right to a share in this
extremely small exploit as he. Besides, though not wounded by the foe, I
got a bad cut on my hand from a sharp paving-stone, and its scar lasted
for many years.

I had that day many a chance to knock over a _piou-piou_ or shoot a
soldier, as Field said, but I must confess that I felt an invincible
repugnance to do so. The poor devils were, after all, only fighting
unwillingly against us, and I well knew that unless they came over to our
side all would be up with us. Therefore it was our policy to spare them
as much as possible. I owe it to Field to state that through all the
stirring scenes of the Revolution he displayed great calmness and
courage.

All at once we heard a terrible outcry down the street. There was a
tremendous massing of soldiers there, and to defend that barricade meant
death to all defenders. I confess that I hesitated _one instant_, and
than rushed headlong to join the fight. Merciful God! the troops had
fraternised with us, and they were handing over their muskets to the mob,
who were firing them in the air.

The scene was terribly moving. My men, who a minute before had expected
to be shot, rushed up, embraced and kissed the soldiers, wept like
children--in short, everybody kissed and embraced everybody else, and all
my warriors got guns, and therewith I dismissed them, for I knew that the
war was now about at an end.

There was a German-French student named Lenoir, and he, with Field and I,
hearing that there was sharp work at the Tuileries, started thither in
haste. And truly enough, when we got there, the very devil was loose,
with guns firing and the guard-house all in a blaze. The door was burst
open, and Field and I were among the very first who entered. We behav