And with a mighty roar
Of triumph and of pow'r
They swept round my Tow'r
Wrathfully.

And higher up they rose still and higher,
Till I felt
My sick soul before their ire
Sink and melt;
And then their cruel force,
Without pity or remorse,
Brought before me many a corse
Where I knelt.

In the face of every pale sheeted ghost,
Through the haze
Of my tears, features long loved and lost
Met my gaze.
They swept past me, one by one,
Darling faces I had known,
Loves and hopes dead and gone
In past days.

Just so much was given of power
To Life's sea;
It coald beat against my Tower,
Trouble me;
But my Tower of strength stands fast,
Defying every blast,
And while my soul shall last
It shall be.

AGAIN, HOW TO MAKE SOLDIERS.

ADMITTED into the ranks of the French army,*
the route which I received at the office of the
minister for war informed me that I was allowed
five days for the march from Paris to Provins,
where the Eighth Lancers was garrisoned, and
that I should receive one franc a day for
subsistence and travelling expenses. As I did not
fancy a five days' march, I easily obtained
permission to go to Provins by rail (paying my own
fare), and arrived there, a day before I was
expected. The sergeant (or maréchal des logis,
as he is called in the cavalry) mounting guard
at the barracks, on receiving my route, showed
that he knew about me, for he said, "You are
the Englishman?"
* See page 444.

"Well," I replied, "I am not really English.
I have been in England a great many years, and
it appears that Monsieur the Procureur-Impérial
has succeeded in nicknaming me."

"The procureurs are mountebanks," said the
sergeant, with a laugh, and directed a man on duty
to take me to the major of the regiment, who,
when he had asked his questions, informed me
that I was "Young Soldier No. 3282;" that I
belonged to the fourth squadron; and that I had
better get my hair cut at once. He bade me
write a few lines from dictation, to see what
degree of education I possessed, and then told
the man to take me to the sergeant-major of the
fourth squadron.

I found the sergeant-major of the fourth squadron
a tall handsome fellow of five-and-twenty,
busily engaged teaching a poodle to smoke. He
ceased on my entrance, and desired me to be
seated, then examined my papers. Had we both
been princes, his manner could not have been
more courteous. He asked only the necessary
questions, and then gave me a little advice,
which I afterwards found very useful. He
told me that it was the custom of all recruits
to pay their footing, and advised me to do so,
at the first hint from my comrades. When I
proposed giving twenty francs, he told me to
beware of being ostentatious. Many poor
recruits could give only a franc, or two; and if
I gave five, that would buy sufficient wine to
treat the squadron. He then called an old
veteran named Bèss, and desired him to see to
my bed, introduce me to the rest, and be my
camarade protecteur.

Bèss soon suggested the way to the canteen.
"There! that door. Remark that the price
of everything is marked up at the door, and
that there's no credit given; all ready money
down. But if you are hungry, just sniff
that rata that's cooking. Sapristi! what d'ye
say, heine? One portion of rata six sous,
heine?"

Bèss's look was irresistible. With the first
dish put on table, was served a bit of chalk, with
which my companion immediately scored down
the price of everything served. Hardly had we
tasted our soup, when a friend of Bèss's came in
and joined us, sitting down at his invitation as
a matter of course, and before our repast was
over we were a jolly little party of eight. When
the reckoning was made, to my astonishment
one of the party insisted on paying half, and
did; the non-payers as they left the canteen saying
to me and the other disburser, "With the
right of revenge, comrade."And here I learnt
the first law of comradeship:— that no soldier can
eat or drink at the canteen alone. I often
observed afterwards, that if a man dared sit alone,
without special authorisation from the doctor,
any comrade seeing him would upset his wine
or his dishes. Hence, when the rare sight of a
drunken man presents itself, it may be safely
argued that his fellow cannot be far off. It
is a standing joke that French soldiers get
drunk either by pairs, or by fours, sixes, and
eights.

Bèss now took me by the shoulder, and,
marching me into the long room, called out,
"Fixe!" the French word for Attention! Then
he said, "Lancers! here is a Blanc bec Bleu!"
(Bleu is a nickname given to all recruits, and
blanc bec means white beaked.) "He appears
to be a good sort of fellow, and is willing to go
to water immediately."

Going to water, Bèss had told me, meant
fetching wine; so, seeing a water-pitcher on a
table, I took it to the canteen, had it filled with
wine, and presented it to the corporal of the
room, who insisted on my drinking before him,
and then passed the jug round. The last few
drops were poured on my head, and I was
then told that I could address everybody as Tu
and camarade, so that I should be spoken to in
the same way.