"Say, mister, I hear that you are the man who saved me this morning, and
I tell you I am very much obliged to you. I am going home now, and if
you ever catch me in that darn water, I'll give you leave to drown me.
Before going, I wish to present you some token of my esteem and regard."
Paul assured him that he required nothing, stating that the knowledge he had saved his life was sufficient reward in itself. The persistent individual was not satisfied. He slipped his hand in his pocket and drew forth a pocket-book, from which he extracted a dilapidated looking fifty-cent note. Fervently pressing it into Paul's hand, he said:
"You take that and remember me."
Paul was surprised at the liberal present, but quickly recovering, he said to the departing excursionist: "Hold on, my friend, you are forgetting something." Carefully counting forty-nine cents from a handful of change he drew out of his pocket, he handed it to the rescued man and remarked: "I could not think of taking a cent more than your life is worth."
On another occasion, Paul succeeded in rescuing a young lady who was being rapidly carried out to sea and who would certainly have been drowned but for his aid. In his struggles to get her ashore, he was compelled two or three times to grasp her roughly by the hair. When landed, she was unconscious and in that state was conveyed to her hotel. Paul met a friend of the lady on the beach and inquired, how Miss — ———— was getting along. "Oh very well," was the response; "but she is a very curious young lady."
"How is that?" asked Paul.
"Well, when I visited her this morning I remarked that she ought to be very grateful to you for saving her life. 'I am,' she hesitatingly answered. 'But I think he might have acted a little more gentlemanly and not caught me by the hair. I have a frightful headache.'"
There is an old saying, "That if you wish to make enemy of a man, just save his life or lend him money." Paul's experience convinced him that the saying was true. Many and many a person has he saved from a watery grave, who never even took the trouble to seek him out and thank him.
In the Fall of 1869 Paul lost everything he had in the world by a great fire at Cape May and he left there heavy hearted and disgusted with business. Soon after, his father died and the home was very, very lonely. When the estate was settled up, Paul's old love for travel and adventure came strongly back to him. The Franco-Prussian war broke out. He believed that it was the opportunity that he was looking for. He embarked from New York to Liverpool, thence to Havre, where he presented himself at the Hotel de Ville and offered his services as an American volunteer. At this time the French military authorities were not accepting volunteers as readily as they did later on, so Paul had much difficulty in getting rolled in the service as a Franc-tireur. A few days after he had landed in Havre, he was marching away with a chassepot rifle on his shoulder and a knap-sack and blanket on his back. His uniform consisted of a black tunic with yellow trimmings, blue pants with wide red stripe along the side, a red sash bound around the waist, over which circled the belt which supported his sabre, bayonet and revolver. It also held an arm, the only one of the kind in his company, viz: a bowie knife which he had carried from America. Shoes, leather gaiters and kepi or cap completed the uniform. The company was about sixty strong, all picked men and Paul was the only foreigner in the lot. It was known as la Deuxieme Compagnie Franc-tireurs du Havre. The only visible difference between the regular and the irregular army was the lack of regulation buttons on the latter, and that they had no commissary department and had to provision themselves as they went. Their pay was thirty sous (cents) per day and they received their salary every morning. Out of this they were supposed to support themselves. Notwithstanding this small pay it was the highest given to any body of troops in the French army, as the regulars received but six cents per day, but the Government furnished them with provisions. The company was divided into six messes of ten men each. One of the ten had to act as cook when it came his turn, while others were told off to visit the farm houses in the vicinity of the camp to purchase the necessary provisions. At this time Paul's knowledge of French was very limited; but the Marschal de Logis, a petty officer and a Havre pilot named Vodry could speak English after a fashion. They acted as interpreters for him and gave him instructions in French. In the few weeks the company was camped near Havre, Paul acquired a little knowledge of the most necessary words and learned thoroughly to understand the commands given in French. He was instructed in the manual of arms by the Marschal de Logis. The command from his instructor such as "portez armes," "armes a gauche," "a droit" sounded strangely in Paul's ears. During his previous military career with the freebooting revolutionists of Mexico, there had been no drill whatever. Before the orders arrived to proceed to the front, he was sufficiently acquainted with the commands and terms to pass muster with any in the company. While still in camp, the news of the fall of Sedan was received and the tireurs were hurried forward to the vicinity of Paris on which the Prussians were rapidly advancing. Their first engagement was at Creteil. They did skirmishing for the army of General Vinoy, who had about fifteen thousand men. This was on the 11th of Dec., 1870. The engagement opened early in the morning by the Franc-tireurs and skirmishers on the hills of Mely. They were soon dislodged by the powerful artillery fire of the enemy and retreated to Charenton. Five of Paul's company were killed in the engagement and several wounded. After this they were engaged almost daily in skirmishing and light engagements around Paris. During those stirring times all was pleasant confusion. Paul knew nothing of what was going on, except through the reports of his comrades and they were but half understood; but that they were being slowly and surely driven back was apparent to him. In many of the engagements with the enemy, while several of their skirmishes were successful, he noticed that the tireurs never pursued them in the direction in which they retired. One day near Evereux the company to which Paul belonged saw a balloon coming towards them and a cloud of dust on the road far below showed them that a party of Uhlans were pursuing. At the time the balloon was rapidly descending. The company was ordered into ambush on each side of the road, while the Uhlans with upturned eyes and the occasional popping of a carbine at the balloon, dashed along the road unconscious of the hidden enemy. As they rode past the ambush, the order was given to fire. Twenty riderless horses dashed madly up and down the road, while the balance of the Uhlans sought safety in flight. The balloon descended but a short distance from thee scene of the engagement and was found to contain a man named Du Norof. He had with him dispatches from Paris which was then besieged. Their next engagement was at Martes. They were then under command of General Mocquard, a brave soldier who was always seen well to the front mounted on a little wiry Arab steed. Soon after this engagement the company, to which many new faces had been added to fill up the gaps caused by the shot and shells of the enemy, was joined to the Arme de la Loire.
On the 7th of October, the Franc-tireurs skirmished and opened the engagement at Tourey. This struggle lasted from seven in the morning until noon and many of their number bit the dust. Here for the first time Paul saw the Turcos, a French-African regiment, who distinguished themselves during the fight. Forty-seven prisoners were conveyed from the field by the survivors of Paul's company. On the 9th of October the great battle of Orleans commenced, which lasted for two days. The battle was a desperate one, and losses on both sides were great. The enormous armies engaged in this battle, the marching and counter-marching so rapid, and the deafening roar of the artillery, all added to confuse Paul, and he did not know that the army was in retreat until told by one of his companions. From that time until January, '71, the Franc-tireurs were engaged in many skirmishes and harassed the enemy whenever an opportunity presented itself. But they were slowly and surely driven back by the great and well disciplined army of Germany until they crossed the Seine and found themselves in the Department of Seine Inferieure, that was then invaded by the advance corps of the enemy. Notwithstanding all the scenes of carnage that Paul witnessed, and the dangers surrounding them, he has remarked that those were the happiest days of his life; free from all business troubles and with no property on earth except that contained in his knapsack. The old spirit of mischief that deeply imbued his nature was continually asserting itself, and he was always happy, no matter how somber were his surroundings. Notwithstanding all the dangers he had passed through, he only received two slight wounds, which quickly healed on his healthy body. In the part of France they were now encamped the peasants were rich though very economical. They had a holy horror of the Franc- tireurs, and when they heard of a company approaching, orders were given to the sturdy servant girls to convey all poultry to a place of safety. The place selected was generally the bedroom of the farm house, where the fowls roosted in tranquility on the head and foot of the bed while the disappointed Franc-tireurs searched in vain for material for their soup. As before stated, when the Franc-tireurs camped, parties were detailed to purchase provisions for the different messes. Two would go after bread and beef, two after coffee, sugar, etc., and yet another two after potatoes and vegetables. The last detail was always the favorite of Paul and his friend Vodry, the pilot. The majority of French peasants generally believed Americans were wild Indians. Paul and his friend utilized this belief to their own advantage in this fashion: Taking a sack with them they would depart for one of the surrounding farm houses; concocting a scheme on their way that invariably met with success. Before reaching the house they separated, Vodry going in advance with the sack. When he entered the kitchen of the spotlessly clean Normandy farm house, he would politely remove his cap and in a most courteous and insinuating manner inform the inmates that he was from the Franc-tireur's camp, and came for the purpose of purchasing some pommes de terre (potatoes). At the announcement that he was a Franc-tireur, his reception was never cordial; but knowing that they were compelled by the government to sell provisions to this branch of the army, as a general thing they sullenly complied with the request. Vodry's good manners and pleasing address usually caused them to relent. While the potatoes were being gingerly measured out, he would have them interested in some story of the war, which would invariably end up with the query: "By the way, did you know that we had an American in our company?"