Fortified both by nature and by art, its situation
is exceedingly strong. In time of peace, in
consequence of its fertile soil, its salubrious
air, and its mild climate, Rugen is a delightful
retreat. In time of war, it is an important
post, a natural citadel, a formidable fortress,
whose possession has been purchased at the
expense of many a bloody fight. During
the campaign of 1807, this island was comprised
in their sphere of operations by the
corps commanded by Marshal Davoust, and
was occupied by an infantry regiment of the
line, and by several companies of sappers and
miners. The regiment, of course, had a dog—
a black and white poodle—named Capucin—
not because he was born in a Capuchins'
convent in Italy (which would have been a quite
sufficient reason), but in allusion to the copper
or iron rings by which a gun-barrel is fastened
to its stock. The dog's short bark might
perhaps have been thought to resemble the
snappish report of a musket.

In consequence of a change in the plan of
operations ordered by Napoleon the First, the
island had to be suddenly evacuated, to carry
out a movement in retreat abandoning the
whole line of the Pomeranian coast. Every
post, every man, was withdrawn; but in such a
hasty way that they forgot an advanced sentinel
perched on the top of a hillock which
commanded the entrance of the port of Rugen.
This sentinel was a young soldier named
Firmin Bonard, who had scarcely been three
years in the service. At present, a soldier who
has served three years is considered quite a
veteran; at that time, troopers who could
reckon three, five, seven, and even nine, years
of service, were still called conscripts. Now,
Bonard the soldier and Capucin the dog
happened to be particularly good friends, bound by
the strongest ties of mutual attachment.

The corporal of the post had planted Firmin
as sentinel on the hillock exactly at midnight.
The latter therefore calculated on being relieved
at two in the morning, and also that
from two till five he would have three good
hours to doze and slumber in the corps-de-garde.
So Firmin Bonard beguiled the time
by anticipating this supreme indulgence, also
by thoughts of his village steeple, of his aged
curé's ancient housekeeper, of the haystack
where he used to play at hide-and-seek, and
sundry other recollections. In this way the
minutes slipped slowly by, and the two hours'
guard were drawing to a close.

All at once he heard a slight noise. He
listened. "It is the corporal coming to relieve
guard?" he thought, and prepared to
utter the formal "Qui vive?" But the sound,
which resembled that of human footsteps,
was soon followed by complete silence. "I
couldn't be mistaken!" he said to himself.
"Besides, my time must now be up." He
listened again, still more attentively. Almost
immediately, he heard the barking of a dog, who
came running forward in his direction. On
recognising Capucin's voice, the sentinel looked
round him anxiously. Perceiving nothing which
threatened an attack, he wondered what could
be the meaning of this nocturnal visit. Before
he had time to consider the matter, the animal
had climbed the hill and was jumping up his legs.
"It's you, Capucin. Very good. You got
tired of waiting there; and I am tired of standing
here. The air is keen, and I am terribly
sleepy. You should have brought the corporal
with you. His watch must have stopped. He
ought to sell it for old iron and buy a new one."

Capucin's answer was a frenzied bark and a
series of mad leaps around his friend.

"I understand," said Firmin, smiling. "You
are asking me to dance to warm myself. It's
a pity you are not provided with the password
and a musket."

Capucin continued to bark, running right
and left like a creature possessed. Finding all
these manœuvres useless, he ran up to the
soldier, pulled him by the coat, and tried hard
to pull him away, renewing his efforts with
such violence that he tore the soldier's uniform.
Firmin, considering this proof of affection more
troublesome than pleasant, lost his temper, and
gave poor Capucin a kick. The dog, howling
at finding himself so cruelly maltreated and
misunderstood, retreated to a few paces'
distance; but soon returned, heedless of his friend's
unkind treatment. All he did now, was to look
forgiveness and lick the soldier's hands.

"Be quiet, will you? And take yourself off,"
said Firmin, harshly, as he threatened him with
the butt of his gun, to drive him away. Capucin,
finding he could do no good, unwillingly
made up his mind to depart. He arrived just in
time to go on board with the last detachment of
the corps.

At four o'clock he began to lose patience.
Discipline forbade his quitting the post; but
hunger, which drives the wolf out of the wood,
compelled him to forget the Code Militaire.
He left his station, and went to the guard-house,
muttering to himself: "If anybody deserves to
be shot for this, it is not I, but the corporal,
who doesn't know his business, and keeps a
sentinel on guard six hours at a time."

In the guard-house, not a creature! The only
supposition he could form was, that the regiment
had gone to occupy another part of the
island. He shouldered his gun and stalked
off across country in search of the regiment.
On the way, he fell in with a farmer ploughing
a field. "Can you tell me," he asked him, "in
which direction the French have marched?"

"They are gone away," was the startling
reply. "They embarked at two this morning,
stepping lightly and without uttering a word,
in consequence of an order received from the
emperor."

"Gone away, leaving me behind! I shall be
reported as a deserter! Confound that cor-
poral; he has been my ruin. I now understand
what poor Capucin meant. It is not the death
I fear, so much as the disgrace."

"Don't take on in that way," said the farmer,
in a consolatory tone of voice. "Shrieking
never set a broken bone. Stay here, and make
the best of a bad business. If the French