My Troubles With Time by Benson Grayson Page A

regular army officers and those wearing National Guard uniforms.
    As I returned their salutes, I was struck by the fact that the regular army officers appeared to be on cordial terms with those from the National Guard, a sharp contrast to the animosity I had observed at Colonel De Porte’s headquarters. Later, I learned that General Trochu was noted among the senior officers in the Imperial army for the close ties he had with the Socialists and other political critics of the Empire.
    My face reddened as I noticed one of the officers staring at my empty scabbard. I decided not to attempt to explain it, hoping that those who noticed my sword’s absence would ascribe it to a differing tradition in the American army.
    The staff officers excused themselves and the General proceeded to give me a detailed briefing on the state of the French defenses around Paris.
    “With God’s help,” he said as he finished, “We will be able to hold out until Gambetta can send an army to relieve Paris.”
    I recalled wryly from my history classes that Paris would surrender to the besieging German army in just two more months, in January l871. However, it would be foolish to inform Trochu of that fact.
    Searching my mind for something appropriate to say, I heard myself declare in a voice whose confidence astounded me, “The gallant defense of Paris by your forces has won the admiration of the American army no less than that of the other nations of the world.”
    I congratulated myself that it was probably as close to the truth as I could reasonably get. Trochu seemed touched by my words, bowing to me and smiling.
    I realized with a start that since I had arrived in Paris, I was comporting myself with uncharacteristic effectiveness. Apparently, time travel had a salutary effect on my behavior.
    General Trochu then asked with a smile if I had any questions. I considered for a moment what a visiting colonel from the American army might have been likely to say under the circumstances and then asked a couple of what I hoped were appropriate questions.
    Trochu nodded approvingly and replied in detail. As he finished, we were joined by De Grasse, who had left the room for a few minutes. The colonel whispered something to Trochu.
    The General turned to me. “Won’t you join us for lunch?”
    Without waiting for me to respond, he put his arm around my shoulder and guided me to the door. Followed by De Grasse, we walked down the corridor to a large room. In the center was a long table, set for dinner. Standing around at their places awaiting us were some dozen officers.
    “Gentlemen,” said, Trochu, “Colonel Snodgrass has consented to join us for lunch.”
    The general motioned for me to sit down next to him at the head of the table. I did so, and the other officers followed suit.
    Our meal was very similar to what I had been served at Colonel De Porte’s headquarters. The china and silverware were exquisite, the food barely edible. Apparently, the military governor of Paris and his staff shared the privations of the German siege encountered by lower echelons of command.
    Conversation was lively during the meal. I struggled hard to maintain a polite conversation, frequently having to guess at the meaning of comments in French that I could not understand.
    The major topic of conversation was whether Paris could hold out. Several officers asked me my opinion. I tried to keep my answers general. The going was rough and I was relieved when the meal was over, the mandatory toasts finished, and Trochu turned to me and inquired whether there was anything he could do for me.
    This was the moment I had been waiting for, fearful that it would not come.
    “Yes, sir,” I answered, “I would be very grateful if you could have a photographer take a picture of us at the table. I would like to bring it back to the United States with me. It would serve as a testimonial to the warm reception I have received here and to the close relations existing between our