"The little grandson and his nurse are coming here on Tuesday next for a month; they will only occupy one bedroom, so there will still be the best bedroom and a very good attic, and half of my bed if little Mary Susan Marguerite dares trust herself with me"
Although Mr. Hamerton had always taken great interest in politics, he never wished to play an active part in them; from time to time he wrote a political article about some cause he had at heart, or some wrong which he wished to see redressed, or again on some obscure point which his experience of two countries might help to clear up, but he never consented to supply regular political correspondence to any newspaper. Having had rather a lengthened connection with the "Globe," he was offered the post of war-correspondent, which he declined.
He has passed over many interesting incidents of this wartime in "Round my House," although he has given a few. One of the most striking was certainly his guiding a Garibaldian column en reconnaissance across the bed of the river Ternin, on a bitterly cold day, mounted on his spirited little Cocote, who showed quite a martial mettle, and may well have felt proud of leading a number of great cavalry horses. She took no harm from her cold bath, but her master, whose legs had been in the icy water (on account of her small height) up to the thighs, was not so fortunate: he caught a serious chill, accompanied with fever and pains, which confined him to the house over a week. He mentions in the book our anxiety when the spy mania was at its height, and the workmen had almost decided to attack us in a body, but he refrains from detailing how, day after day, when the "hands" congregated in the village inns after dinner in the twilight, we used to take our children by the hand and pass, with hearts in anguish for their safety, but with as confident a countenance as we could command, before their infuriated groups; never knowing whether some fatal blow would not be dealt from the next group or the one following. The men stood on the door-steps, or in the very middle of the road, awaiting us with lowering brows and sullen looks of suspicion, when with sinking hearts and placid faces we stopped to say a few words to one of our present enemies to whom we had formerly rendered some help in illness or destitution. The truth is, they generally looked somewhat ashamed on such occasions, and always answered politely, but without the frank and pleased looks of other days, when they were proud of our notice and interest; they would rather have done without it now, especially in the company of their fellow-conspirators against our safety. I dare say the innocent unconcern of our children, who laughed and played freely in their happy ignorance of danger, proved our best safeguard, but still every night after reaching home we could not help thinking—"How will it be to-morrow?"
Just at the beginning of the hostilities, my husband had deprecated the rashness of the French people, which was blinding them to the unprepared state of their army, and to its numerical inferiority when compared with the German force. But when he saw that, although the King of Prussia had said that the war was not directed against the French people, he was still carrying it on unmercifully after the fall of Napoleon III., his sympathies with the invaded nation grew warmer every day, and he did all that was in his power to spare from invasion that part of the country where we lived, and which we knew so well. He put himself in communication with General Bordone,—Garibaldi's aide-de-camp (Garibaldi himself being very ill at that time),—and explained how Autun might be surprised by roads which had been left totally unguarded. He made a careful map of the country about us for Garibaldi, and shortly after, outposts were placed according to his directions, so as to prevent the enemy from reaching Autun by these parts, without resistance.
He used to go to Autun with Cocote almost every night for news, and met there with Garibaldian officers whom he often drove to inspect the outposts, and they gave him the password for the sentinels on his way home. One night, however, he had remained even later than usual, having taken an officer to a very distant outpost, and when he reached the road leading to La Tuilerie, the password had been changed, and he was detained in spite of all he could say to be allowed to proceed on his way. He would have submitted easily to the discomfort of a few hours in the guard-room had it not been that he realized how anxious I must be, and when he heard the order of march given to a patrol, he asked to be allowed to join it as it was going his way, observing that the soldiers would have the power of shooting him if he attempted to run away.
The permission was granted, and he set off on foot, in the midst of the patrol, followed by his dog, Cocote having been left at the inn.
It was freezing hard, and the snow lay deep on the ground; the march was a silent one—the men having been forbidden to talk—and it was a miracle that Gilbert's dog escaped with its life, for every time it barked or growled it was threatened with instant death. His master, however, artfully represented that in case enemies were hidden in the ditches or behind the hedges bordering the road, "Tom" would soon dislodge them and help in their capture. This seemed to pacify the men, together with the prospect (no less artfully held out) of a glass of rum each when they reached La Tuilerie.
It was a weary march for Gilbert and an anxious watch for me, and as soon as I heard the joyful bark of our dog announcing his master's return, I hastened downstairs and made a great blaze for the half-frozen patrol and its prisoner, and served to them all some hot grog which was duly appreciated.
I have no doubt it seemed hard to the poor soldiers to leave the seats by the leaping flames to resume their slippery march in the creaking snow, but they did it promptly enough, somewhat cheered by the renewed warmth they were carrying away with them.
Mr. Hamerton has described in "Round my House" how he watched the battle which took place at Autun, from our garret window. With the naked eye we could only see the dark lines of soldiers without being able to follow their strategical movements; but to my husband, with the help of his telescope, every incident was instantly revealed, and he communicated them to us in succession as they occurred.