Jules Ferry hailed us and asked a ride.  They were going to see the fight.  We took them all in:  we had in our wagon Rochefort, Ferry and Favre; the others took seats as the wagons came up.  We left them on a sort of platform which had been built for them upon the pedestal of the famous knee-breeches-and-cocked-hat statue of the First Napoleon, which was replaced by the Roman-togaed one upon the Column Venodme.  The first-mentioned statue had even then been toppled over and carted away.  We went on to the top of the hill of Courbevoie, whence, however, we were promptly ordered back.  From our station farther in the rear, lying down in our wagons, we watched the bombs and the smoke of the musketry rising over the hill.  The French were beating the Prussians back with great slaughter, as we heard from couriers constantly sent in.

Suddenly, Dr. Sarazin rode into our midst and shouted, “Ambulance Americaine, en avant!” Putting spurs to his horse, he galloped down the road, we following at a brisk trot.  Halfway to Rueil he drew up and said, “Pass that windmill, turn to the right, and you will be on the field.”  We plunged on through potato-patches and vineyards, our hearts in our mouths.  As we drew past the windmill, which was on a knoll in the descent from Mont Valerien, we came upon the French reserves, massed by regiments behind the artillery and mitrailleuses which lined the crest of the hill we were on.  Just behind them were Trochu and his staff.  An aide-de-camp galloped toward us as we approached, and told us to take down our flags, shouting that we would draw fire.  He had to tell us that only once:  our flags came down like a shot.  The fight was going on in the valley just beneath us.  The sun was setting, the windows of Mont Valerien shimmered with its slanting rays, the green woods grew darker, and the blue smoke curled lazily over the combatants.  Away in the distance the aqueduct of Marly ran in gray relief against the red of the evening sky.  From this aqueduct, as we learned afterward, King William, the crown prince, Moltke and Bismarck were watching the struggle.  Our little red-legged liners had pushed the Germans across the open space and were pressing them in the wood.  We grew excited, and the boys began making for the crest of the hill among the artillery, when one of our party, a well-known American here in Paris, cried out, “Gentlemen, as a clergyman and father of a family, I forbid you to go any farther forward and risk your lives.”  Whereupon Mr. William Bowles, aroused, but in his usual manner in moments of excitement—­namely, with his hands in his vest pockets and his eyes beaming through his gold spectacles—­observed, “Gentlemen, oh that be d——­d!  As an American and your captain, I command you to follow me.”  And we followed him, singing at the tops of our voices, “While we were marching through Georgia.”