roads, had caused us
_francs-tireurs_ especially the greatest sufferings, for we were without
tents and almost without food, always in front when we were marching
towards Belfort, and in the rear, when returning by the Jura. Of our
little band that had numbered twelve hundred men on the first of
January, there remained only twenty-two pale, thin, ragged wretches,
when we at length succeeded in reaching Swiss territory.

There we were safe and could rest. Everybody knows what sympathy was
shown to the unfortunate French army, and how well it was cared for. We
all gained fresh life, and those who had been rich and happy before the
war, declared that they had never experienced a greater feeling of
comfort than they did then. Just think. We actually had something to eat
every day, and could sleep every night.

Meanwhile, the war continued in the East of France, which had been
excluded from the armistice. Besancon still kept the enemy in check, and
the latter had their revenge by ravaging the _Franche Comte_. Sometimes
we heard that they had approached quite close to the frontier, and we
saw Swiss troops, who were to form a line of observation between us and
them, set out on their march.

That pained us in the end, and as we regained health and strength the
longing for fighting laid hold of us. It was disgraceful and irritating
to know that within two or three leagues of us, the Germans were
victorious and insolent, to feel that we were protected by our
captivity, and to feel that on that account we were powerless against
them.

One day, our captain took five or six of us aside, and spoke to us about
it, long and furiously. He was a fine fellow that captain. He had been a
sub-lieutenant in the Zouaves, was tall and thin, and as hard as steel,
and during the whole campaign he had cut out their work for the Germans.
He fretted in inactivity and could not accustom himself to the idea of
being a prisoner and of doing nothing.

"Confound it!" he said to us, "does it not pain you to know that there
is a number of Uhlans within two hours of us? Does it not almost drive
you mad to know that those beggarly wretches are walking about as
masters in our mountains, where six determined men might kill a whole
spitful any day? I cannot endure it any longer, and I must go there."

"But how can you manage it, Captain?"

"How? It is not very difficult! Just as if we had not done a thing or
two within the last six months, and got out