impossible to transport provisions, and we had nothing save what we carried in our haversacks at starting.  We had to sleep on the soaked ground, in pitiless storms.  Many men were carried away and drowned in crossing the swollen torrents.  Our clothes were never dry.  And the worst of it was, after six weeks of such work, we felt that we were no nearer to the object for which we had been sent up than we were when we started.

“It was true that we had destroyed many of their little villages, but as these generally consisted of but a few houses, only rough buildings that could be rebuilt in a few days, the gain was not a substantial one.  We had, of course, killed some of the Vaudois, but our loss had been much heavier than theirs, for, active as our men were, they were no match in speed for these mountaineers, who were as nimble as their own goats, knew everything of the country, and could appear or disappear, as it seemed to us, almost by magic.  It was a wretched business, and once or twice, when our parties were caught in the narrow ravines, they were overwhelmed by rocks thrown down from above; so that, on the whole, we lost almost as many men as we should have done in a pitched battle, gaining no credit, nor having the satisfaction that we were doing good service to France.

“I hope I may never be employed in a business like that again.  It was not only the Vaudois that we had to fight, for, seeing that at first we were pushing forward steadily, the Duke of Savoy, under whose protection they lived, sent six hundred regular troops to assist them, and these, who were well commanded, adopted the same tactics as the peasants, avoiding all our attempts to bring on an engagement, and never fighting except when they had us to great advantage.

“As a rule, our men were always dissatisfied when they received orders to fall back, but I think that there was not a man among us but was heartily glad, when we were recalled to rejoin Catinat at Pignerolle.”

The expedition, however, although altogether unsuccessful in rooting out the Vaudois, created such terrible devastation in the mountains and valleys that the Irish name and nation will long remain odious to the Vaudois.  Six generations have since passed away, but neither time nor subsequent calamities have obliterated the impression made by the waste and desolation of this military incursion.

“You were at Blenheim, were you not, Captain O’Donovan?”

“Yes.  A tough fight it was, and a mismanaged one.  I was in the Earl of Clare’s regiment, which, with Lee and Dorrington’s battalions, was stationed with the force in Oberglau in the centre of our position.  It seemed to us, and to our generals, that our position was almost impregnable.  It lay along a ridge, at the foot of which was a rivulet and deep swampy ground.  On the right of the position was the village of Blenheim, held by twenty-seven battalions of good French infantry, twelve squadrons,