General Meade. Are you acquainted with him?”
My heart sank as I realized that De Grasse was eager for a detailed conversation with me about his acquaintances in the Union Army. This was the last thing on my mind. Not only did I need to concentrate all my energy on staying on the horse, but I had no knowledge of Meade other than what I could recall from the books on the Civil war that I had read.
To admit the truth, that Meade had died some 75 years before my birth, was not something I was about to do.
“To my regret, I did not,” I said. “My service was in the West.”
“Then you knew General Grant there,” De Grasse went on.
Before I could think of a reply, providence intervened. De Grasse suddenly pulled his horse up short in front of a large stone building. As I followed suit, much less skillfully, I saw that it was guarded by uniformed sentries. From the number of officers entering and leaving the building, I realized we had reached our destination, the headquarters of General Trochu, Military Governor of Paris.
De Grasse dismounted, returned the salute of the sentries, and handed the reins of his horse to one of them. He turned and motioned to me to dismount. With considerable difficulty I succeeded in getting off my horse without falling flat on my face and joined De Grasse. Together we entered the building.
As we strode rapidly down the corridor of what appeared to originally have been a palace, I unconsciously moved to place my hand on the hilt of my dress sword. To my amazement, my hand hit the scabbard where the sword hilt should have been.
I stopped and looked down. The scabbard was empty; my sword had somehow disappeared. I was sure I recalled the sword being in the scabbard when I mounted the horse; all I could think of was that somehow it had fallen out of the scabbard during the gallop to Trochu’s headquarters.
The sword, a replica of a Union officer’s dress sword, had cost me several hundred dollars, which I could ill afford to lose. It had taken me almost an hour of cajoling and pleading with the owner of the store at which I had obtained my uniform to persuade him to agree to refund all but a small part of the sword’s purchase price if I returned it in good shape.
My concentration upon the problem of my missing sword was interrupted by De Grasse. Becoming aware that I was no longer at his heels, he had reversed his rapid progress down the hall, and was now tapping me on the shoulder. “Please,” the Colonel implored, “General Trochu is expecting us. We cannot keep him waiting. “
I put my hand over the vacant scabbard to conceal the sword’s absence and followed De Grasse. We reached the end of the corridor and stopped at an office guarded by two sentries. The staff aide seated at the desk just outside the office door rose and saluted us.
“General Trochu will see you now.” he said. Clearly, De Grasse had not exaggerated Trochu’s eagerness to see me. I hoped fervently my meeting with him would go well.
De Grasse stood back, permitting me to enter first. I did so and was immediately struck by the size of the room and by the ornate furniture it contained. To one side of the immense fireplace stood a large map stand. It had been placed where the maps could be more easily viewed by the light from the floor-to-ceiling windows which ran along the side of the room. Gathered around the map stand were several officers.
Hearing us enter, they turned around. One of the officers strode forward to greet me, his handed extended.
“I am General Louis Trochu,” he said to me in French as I shook his hand, “It is an honor to welcome the distinguished emissary of the American Army. You are the first foreign visitor we have had the opportunity to entertain since the siege began.”
“The honor is all mine,” I answered, hoping that my response was suitable.
Trochu introduced me to the staff officers who had been studying the map board with him. The group was evenly divided between
My heart sank as I realized that De Grasse was eager for a detailed conversation with me about his acquaintances in the Union Army. This was the last thing on my mind. Not only did I need to concentrate all my energy on staying on the horse, but I had no knowledge of Meade other than what I could recall from the books on the Civil war that I had read.
To admit the truth, that Meade had died some 75 years before my birth, was not something I was about to do.
“To my regret, I did not,” I said. “My service was in the West.”
“Then you knew General Grant there,” De Grasse went on.
Before I could think of a reply, providence intervened. De Grasse suddenly pulled his horse up short in front of a large stone building. As I followed suit, much less skillfully, I saw that it was guarded by uniformed sentries. From the number of officers entering and leaving the building, I realized we had reached our destination, the headquarters of General Trochu, Military Governor of Paris.
De Grasse dismounted, returned the salute of the sentries, and handed the reins of his horse to one of them. He turned and motioned to me to dismount. With considerable difficulty I succeeded in getting off my horse without falling flat on my face and joined De Grasse. Together we entered the building.
As we strode rapidly down the corridor of what appeared to originally have been a palace, I unconsciously moved to place my hand on the hilt of my dress sword. To my amazement, my hand hit the scabbard where the sword hilt should have been.
I stopped and looked down. The scabbard was empty; my sword had somehow disappeared. I was sure I recalled the sword being in the scabbard when I mounted the horse; all I could think of was that somehow it had fallen out of the scabbard during the gallop to Trochu’s headquarters.
The sword, a replica of a Union officer’s dress sword, had cost me several hundred dollars, which I could ill afford to lose. It had taken me almost an hour of cajoling and pleading with the owner of the store at which I had obtained my uniform to persuade him to agree to refund all but a small part of the sword’s purchase price if I returned it in good shape.
My concentration upon the problem of my missing sword was interrupted by De Grasse. Becoming aware that I was no longer at his heels, he had reversed his rapid progress down the hall, and was now tapping me on the shoulder. “Please,” the Colonel implored, “General Trochu is expecting us. We cannot keep him waiting. “
I put my hand over the vacant scabbard to conceal the sword’s absence and followed De Grasse. We reached the end of the corridor and stopped at an office guarded by two sentries. The staff aide seated at the desk just outside the office door rose and saluted us.
“General Trochu will see you now.” he said. Clearly, De Grasse had not exaggerated Trochu’s eagerness to see me. I hoped fervently my meeting with him would go well.
De Grasse stood back, permitting me to enter first. I did so and was immediately struck by the size of the room and by the ornate furniture it contained. To one side of the immense fireplace stood a large map stand. It had been placed where the maps could be more easily viewed by the light from the floor-to-ceiling windows which ran along the side of the room. Gathered around the map stand were several officers.
Hearing us enter, they turned around. One of the officers strode forward to greet me, his handed extended.
“I am General Louis Trochu,” he said to me in French as I shook his hand, “It is an honor to welcome the distinguished emissary of the American Army. You are the first foreign visitor we have had the opportunity to entertain since the siege began.”
“The honor is all mine,” I answered, hoping that my response was suitable.
Trochu introduced me to the staff officers who had been studying the map board with him. The group was evenly divided between
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