young man in a brown jacket, called a "carmagnole," worn de rigueur at
that period, was making his way to Carentan. When drafts for the army
were first instituted, there was little or no discipline. The
requirements of the moment did not allow the Republic to equip its
soldiers immediately, and it was not an unusual thing to see the roads
covered with recruits, who were still wearing citizen's dress. These
young men either preceded or lagged behind their respective
battalions, according to their power of enduring the fatigues of a
long march.

The young man of whom we are now speaking, was much in advance of a
column of recruits, known to be on its way from Cherbourg, which the
mayor of Carentan was awaiting hourly, in order to give them their
billets for the night. The young man walked with a jades step, but
firmly, and his gait seemed to show that he had long been familiar
with military hardships. Though the moon was shining on the meadows
about Carentan, he had noticed heavy clouds on the horizon, and the
fear of being overtaken by a tempest may have hurried his steps, which
were certainly more brisk than his evident lassitude could have
desired. On his back was an almost empty bag, and he held in his hand
a boxwood stick, cut from the tall broad hedges of that shrub, which
is so frequent in Lower Normandy.

This solitary wayfarer entered Carentan, the steeples of which,
touched by the moonlight, had only just appeared to him. His step woke
the echoes of the silent streets, but he met no one until he came to
the shop of a weaver, who was still at work. From him he inquired his
way to the mayor's house, and the way-worn recruit soon found himself
seated in the porch of that establishment, waiting for the billet he
had asked for. Instead of receiving it at once, he was summoned to the