6*38 SKETCHES IN THE TRENCHES. 



and generous heart. She hums the Marseilloise as she goes, and 

 every now and then salutes with an air of mock gravity the balls 

 that are passing over her. Suddenly she stops, it is to administer a 

 dram from the tri-coloured keg slung across her shoulder,, to a 

 wounded sapper whom they are carrying to the rear. Poor fellow, 

 his right arm is dreadfully shattered, but his spirit is unsubdued. 

 " Vive la France!" he exclaims, as he drinks off the dram. " J'ai 

 perdu le bras mais je gagnerais la croix." At every turn working 

 parties are encountered with their firelocks slung some repairing the 

 cpatilcmens injured by the projectiles from the garrison others 

 transporting to (f la tete desappe," gabions, sand-bags, and fascines : 

 from the nature of the ground and the weight of their burthen, they 

 advance slowly and with difficulty. All at once they halt, as if by 

 magic ; the cry of " Gare la bombe ! " is heard, and immediately all 

 hands throw themselves on the ground. The danger past, they arise 

 laughing and resume their march. Parties belonging to the 

 " Compagnies d' administration," are stationed in all parts of the 

 trenches with litters, to convey such as are wounded to the " am- 

 bulance" But what is that unarmed soldier about? The two 

 baskets he carries are filled with round shot of every calibre, and 

 even with howitzer and mortar shells. To what purpose are their 

 singular contents destined ? An order of the day promised to every 

 soldier a reward who should bring in to the great park of artillery 

 projectiles of any kind. It is this reward which this brave fellow 

 is labouring for in the very teeth of danger, and which he destines to 

 the relief of a wounded brother in the hospital the fact is historical. 

 As we proceed we meet groups of foreign officers and amateurs in 

 their national uniforms, some even "en mufti" viewing the opera- 

 tions of the siege with a critical eye. Among them you easily dis- 

 tinguish the civilian, in spite of the fancy uniform in which he has 

 rigged himself out: his countenance betrays to the keen observer 

 that he is out of his element. But then it will be something to say, 

 <f I made the siege of Antwerp," and to sport on the strength of it a 

 moustache, and to assume an <{ air sabreur" among his country 

 cousins. A captain of engineers in his foraging cap, and with a cigar 

 in his mouth, is walking along as coolly as if he were in the citadel 

 of Metz that he has so recently left ; he is closely followed by two 

 sappers carrying the measuring chain and his graphometer. The 

 citadel vomits around him a shower of projectiles, while he with most 

 imperturbable sang froid takes notes, without wasting a thought on 

 his head, which oftentimes overtops the parapet. On the right there 

 is a battery executing its fire with as much precision and as much 

 coolness as if the artillerymen were practising in a polygon. After 

 every shot, the officer commanding the battery springs upon the 

 parapet to observe the effect of the fire. At length we have reached 

 the head of the sap, or rather the descent to the ditch ; the enemy, 

 who perceives the intention of the besiegers, keeps up a most vigorous 

 and destructive fire death in a hundred forms is showered down 

 upon the working parties. A young lieutenant, with a watch in his 

 hand, has his eyes fixed on the index ; the work commenced at such 

 a time he knows must be finished by such an hour, and he encourages 



