It was after Bourbaki's defeat in the east of France. The army, broken up, decimated, and
worn out, had been obliged to retreat into Switzerland after that terrible campaign, and it
was only its short duration that saved a hundred and fifty thousand men from certain
death. Hunger, the terrible cold, forced marches in the snow without boots, over bad
mountain roads, had caused us 'francs-tireurs', especially, the greatest suffering, for we
were without tents, and almost without food, always in the van when we were marching
toward 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 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 to fight
took possession 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 sublieutenant 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, when 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?"
