This information immediately aroused their curiosity and they showered questions on him in regard the customs of the wild creature. Vodry then entertained them with the tale of how Paul had left his distant home, thousands of miles away and crossed the ocean to fight for La Belle France. He generally finished by saying: "Perhaps you would like to see him; he accompanied me on my way over, but as a general thing he does not like to come into a house so he remained outside while I came in."
Then without waiting for an answer he would step to the door and loudly hail the American. Paul would quickly appear from around some out-house or hay stack. Hi appearance would be far different from that which he presented at roll call. A slouch hat filled with feathers waved around his head in graceful confusion, a silver gray poncho blanket covered his uniform, outside of which was wrapped his revolver and bowie knife. Several daubs of wet brick dust and blue pencil marks adorned his face. In response to Vodry's call he would bound in with a yell that made the windows in the farm house rattle. He saluted the farmer with a vigorous shake of the hand and gracefully kissed the hand of the good dame of the house and her daughters, if she happened to have any, then stolidly walking around the kitchen he would examine all different utensils and instruments with an absorbing interest as if he never saw such things before. While observing him both with awe and admiration for his devotion to France, they would exclaim, "What a good child, what a brave fellow," etc., etc.
Finding that the time for action had arrived, Paul would approach the farmer and while ringing his hand, would say in broken French: "Cognac bon, cognac bon." The enthusiastic and sympathetic mistress of the house would immediately say:
"Ah, the poor boy wants a drop of cognac! Get him some father!" The reluctant farmer procured a big bottle and a very diminutive glass known as the "petit verre," which held about a thimbleful. Paul would congratulate the good dame on her keen perception. At this period Vodry would generally object saying:
"It is not good to give him cognac as the Americans can not control themselves when they take liquor."
His objections were over ruled and the farmer presented Paul with a miserable little glass full to the brim. This Paul insisted that the matron should drink first and on its being replenished he more emphatically insisted that the farmer should drink before him. While the farmer was drinking, Paul generally secured the bottle as if to relieve him from its charge while drinking. The moment he secured it he gave a wild whoop and placing it to his lips took a seemingly long swig, after which he executed a fantastic war dance around the kitchen to the alarm of the farmer and his worthy family who were only to glad to see him disappear through the door, Vodry remaining to remonstrate with them in regard to their folly in having given fire- water to this untutored child of the forest. He assured them that if he could procure the liquor he would return it, and then shouldering his bag of potatoes expressed the most profound sorrow at the occurrence. He would not proceed far until he was waylaid by Paul who was concealed in some hedge or dyke and the two conspirators resumed their way to the camp. That evening Paul's mess enjoyed the much cherished coffee and cognac so dear to every French heart.
The Gardes Mobiles, a large number of which were in this part of France, were regiments formed of clerks, lawyers, merchants and other citizens, many of whom volunteered and were formed into an army to assist the regulars and Franc-tireurs in repelling the invasion. They were brave fellows but unsophisticated in the ways of war. They were well supplied with nice blankets and abundance of provisions as they were never camped far from their native places. This branch of the service was looked upon by the fight-worn and weather beaten Franc- tireurs as their lawful prey. To be camped near one of them was looked upon as a direct gift from above. At such times the Franc-tireurs never thought of cutting wood for themselves. They frequently changed their dirty and dilapidated blankets for the fresh warm ones of the inexperienced Mobiles.
Hares abound in this part of France and many of them helped to make soup for the freebooters. So frequently had the shots been heard and needless alarms raised that a strict order was given out that there was to be no firing unless at an enemy. One day Paul was doing duty as a sentinel on an outpost, when a large, fat hare appeared on a little hillock not thirty yards from where he stood. Before he remembered about the order he had raised his rifle and sent a bullet crashing through its body. Paul had no time to pick up the hare before he saw the relief advancing on "double quick." So he stood on his post, saluted the officer in command, and in reply to his inquiry said that his gun had gone off accidentally. The officer scrutinized him closely, then looking around soon discovered the cause of the accident. He sent a soldier for the hare, examined it, and placed Paul under arrest, at the same time remarking "that for an accidental discharge of a gun it had a most remarkable effect and that only an American could cause such an accident." After a few hours detention in the guard house, Paul was allowed his liberty. Being the only foreigner, he was a favorite in the company and many of his escapades were overlooked, if a Frenchman had been guilty of the same he would have been severely punished. The captain of Paul's company at this time was an officer whose voice was very weak, and he could never finish a command in the same pitch he had started. He invariably broke down, and the command which was commenced in a stentorian voice was ended in a hoarse whisper. This peculiarity often caused the Franc-tireurs to smile. One morning the company was ready to march; the captain, mounted on a powerful horse, was at their head. Wheeling about and drawing his sword he gave the orders: "Attencion compagnie! En evant." He then suddenly broke down and paused to recover his breath and Paul in a low undertone and in exact imitation of the captain, added the word that ought to follow, "Mar-r-che!"
This drew forth a smothered laugh from the whole company. The captain turned fiercely around and demanded to know who it was that mimicked him. Dead silence prevailed. He gave them a lecture on the respect due to an officer and stated that the next offender of this kind would be severely punished; then added: "I can't find out who it was, but on my soul I believe it was that sacre American."
After this the company took part in many engagements through Normandy, principally at St. Roumain, Beuzeville, Yvetot, Rouen and Bulbec. The company suffered severely and in the last battle were a mere handful. There they lost their brave lieutenant Boulonger, who was shot through the breast. Paul and a party of his companions were detailed to convey the body to Havre, his home, where he was well known and respected. Here Paul saw for the first time in his life the French military burial Mass. This was the most solemn ceremony he had ever witnessed. The great cathedral was draped in crape, which added to the already somber appearance of the surroundings. The coffin of the lieutenant was carried on the shoulders of four Franc-tireurs and deposited on a bier near the altar. The soldiers then retired and joined their comrades. Every gun was polished and every bayonet shone as the Franc-tireurs and about four hundred of the mobiles and regulars marched with military precision into the cathedral. No soldier's cap was removed, while the citizens stood around with bare heads. An officer occupied a position on the steps of the altar and with unsheathed sword faced the soldiers, then standing in the body of the church. He gave orders in a loud voice at intervals during the service and his commands sounded strangely through the echoing arches of the cathedral. At the order "restez armes," the iron shod butts of the muskets dropped together on the stone floor, reminding those present of the stern realities of war and the sweet consolations of religion.