We would of course have much preferred not to be separated from the place of attack by a long, serpentine strip of water, which, swollen by the recent melting of the snow, added materially to the defence of our adversaries. It goes without saying that we possessed neither artillery to protect our passage nor boats to effect it. In pursuits such as now occupied us, a train of artillery could only be an encumbrance, and the river which flowed sometimes in a valley, and sometimes between high, steep banks, made it almost a certainty that we should get a thorough wetting before we reached the other side. We knew that the General had sent the necessary men to measure the depth of that barrier of water, and to see if we should have the good luck to find a place for fording it. In default of this, we should be forced to make use of our temporary bridges, but we did not wish to count absolutely on them. In making war, one can usually tell best what to do on the spur of the moment. While waiting for the necessary information to be brought in for making such preparations as were possible, and for the night to come, fully half a day must elapse. The General had thought that crossing at night was less dangerous. Little Jacques, grown up, had no longer a horror of shadows, and even liked to utilize them. When we had considered, found great fault with, and speculated upon the meditated expedition, we returned to our conversation of the preceding night. The General had had the imprudence to speak to us of _two_ stories; we had heard one; what about the other? Captain Robert,—the officer with whom the General sometimes quarrelled, perhaps because he felt that he had an especial partiality for him,—being slyly urged on by the rest of us, had the indiscretion to ask him for it. “Oh, as to that one, my children, you must not insist,” said the General. “It is only a story of childhood, which has none of the qualities which made the other acceptable to grown men. I have no taste for failures,—you will cause me to be guilty of one.” “General,” replied the obstinate captain, “you have just called us your children, therefore a child’s story is quite suitable for us. It will rejuvenate us. Children are amused by everything, you know, and if by chance your second tale is a trifle more gay than the first, very well,—we shall enjoy it.” “Gay!” responded the General, “I don’t know about that. However, it is not a tragedy. But you shall see. You wish it,—so here goes!” * * * * * “Perhaps all of you here are not fond of the water,” began the General, casting a significant glance at the river which had preoccupied our thoughts. “That depends on circumstances,” responded the captain; “water is very good, but there are times when one would rather do without it.”