Having concluded his studies, he was appointed an officer in the artillery, and sent to Metz.  It then became his turn to help the boy who had to mount after him.  He held out his hand to his younger brother.  He economized the modest pay of an artillery lieutenant, and, thanks to him, Ossian became an officer like Scipio.  While Scipio, detained by duties belonging to his position, remained at Metz, Ossian was incorporated in an infantry regiment, and went to Africa.  There he saw his first service.

Scipio and Ossian were Republicans.  In October, 1851, the 16th of the line, in which Ossian was serving, was summoned to Paris.  It was one of the regiments chosen by the ill-omened hand of Louis Bonaparte, and on which the coup d’etat counted.

The 2d of December arrived.

Lieutenant Ossian Dumas obeyed, like nearly all his comrades, the order to take up arms; but every one round him could notice his gloomy attitude.

The day of the 3d was spent in marches and counter-marches.  On the 4th the combat began.  The 16th, which formed part of the Herbillon Brigade, was told off to capture the barricades of the Rues Beaubourg, Trausnonain, and Aumaire.  This battle-field was formidable; a perfect square of barricades had been raised there.

It was by the Rue Aumaire, and with the regiment of which Ossian formed part, that the military leaders resolved to begin action.

At the moment when the regiment, with arms loaded, was about to march upon the Rue Aumaire, Ossian Dumas went up to his captain, a brave and veteran officer, with whom he was a favorite, and declared that he would not march a step farther, that the deed of the 2d of December was a crime, that Louis Bonaparte was a traitor, that it was for them, soldiers, to maintain the oath which Bonaparte violated; and that, as for himself, he would not lend his sword to the butchery of the Republic.

A halt was made.  The signal of attack was awaited; the two officers, the old captain and the young lieutenant, conversed in a low tone.

“And what do you want to do?” asked the captain.

“Break my sword.”

“You will be taken to Vincennes.”

“That is all the same to me.”

“Most certainly dismissed.”

“Possibly.”

“Perhaps shot.”

“I expect it.”

“But there is no longer any time; you should have resigned yesterday.”

“There is always time to avoid committing a crime.”

The captain, as may be seen, was simply one of those professional heroes, grown old in the leather stock, who know of no country but the flag, and no other law but military discipline.  Iron arms and wooden heads.  They are neither citizens nor men.  They only recognize honor in the form of a general’s epaulets.  It is of no use talking to them of political duties, of obedience to the laws, of the Constitution.  What do they know about all this?  What is a Constitution; what are the most holy laws, against three words which a corporal may murmur into the ear of a sentinel?  Take a pair of scales, put in one side the Gospels, in the other the official instructions; now weigh them.  The corporal turns the balance; the Deity kicks the beam.