My first impression of the room was of the roaring fire in the large fireplace. It threw out so much heat that for the first time since sunset, I was not cold. In front of me was a large desk, covered with papers. A flickering candle cast a dim light on the papers.
Seated at the desk was a thin man in a blue uniform resembling Colbert’s. His head was shaven and beneath his beaked nose was a thin military moustache. He sat so erect and so silently that he might have been a statue.
The major walked to the desk, saluted and said, “Sir, may I present Colonel Maynard Snodgrass of the Army of the United States of America.
Colonel Snodgrass,” he said, turning to me, “May I present Colonel Henri De Porte, commander of the south-eastern sector of the defenses of Paris.”
I stepped forward to stand beside Colbert, saluted and said, “I am honored to meet you, Colonel De Porte.”
The Colonel stood and saluted me. “I welcome you in the name of the garrison of Paris,” he said. “How are things at Gambetta’s headquarters? Do you carry any message from him?”
Leon Gambetta, I recalled, had become provisional president of France when Napoleon III abdicated. In October l870, Gambetta had escaped from the besieged capital by balloon to lead the resistance to the invading Germans from his new headquarters in southern France.
“I regret to say, Colonel, that I have not had the pleasure of visiting President Gambetta’s headquarters. I was sent by the American Army to observe the war. I flew directly here from the United States in my balloon, a new, experimental model. I expected to fly over Paris and then return directly to America without stopping. I set down in Paris only because my balloon was damaged by German fire and it is necessary for me to repair it.”
“I am sorry,” De Porte said softly, more to himself than to me. “I had hoped that Gambetta was sending an army to break the siege and relieve us. No matter. The garrison of Paris will hold out until help comes.”
I recalled from my history books that Paris had finally been forced to surrender in January l871, but decided it would be foolish of me to inform De Porte of that fact. I stood there silently as De Porte struggled to regain his composure.
After a few seconds, he lifted his head and turned to me. “In any event, your arrival here is most welcome. I would like to thank you for your assistance. I am informed that today my troops would have been defeated by the Germans except for your timely intervention and leadership.” He saluted me and bowed.
I bowed in return. “It was my great pleasure to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with your men,” I said. “They are gallant soldiers.”
“They try,” the Colonel said sadly. “Most of them are members of the National Guard. I wish we had more time to train them. They do what they can against the Germans, but they’re not as good as my old regiment.”
He looked at me and felt compelled to explain further. “I had the honor to be,” he said with obvious pride, “a Colonel in the Imperial Army. When the Emperor abdicated, I gave my allegiance to the Republic.”
DePorte then turned to Colbert. “Please make sure,” he said, “that Colonel Snodgrass is made most comfortable.”
Turning back to me, the Colonel added, “I will send a messenger to notify General Trochu, the Military Governor of Paris, of your arrival. I expect that he will want to meet with you. In the meantime, I would be honored if you would dine with me and the officers of my staff tonight. We will do our best to make you as comfortable as possible.”
Under the circumstances, I interpreted DePorte’s invitation as a command. I smiled my agreement, bowed and followed Colbert out of the room.
The Major led me to a nearby room. Make yourself comfortable,” he said. “Let me know if there is anything you need. We normally eat around 7. I will come and get you then.”
I thanked him and looked about the room as he left, shutting the door behind him. It was beautifully decorated, with fine furniture. A large canopy bed occupied most of one wall. Unfortunately, any pleasure I might have felt from occupying such a fine room was dispelled by the temperature, which seemed close to freezing and by the darkness. The large fireplace designed to heat it was bereft of any fire and the chamber was illuminated by a single small candle.
Using the pitcher of water and the wash basin to clean myself prior dinner was, I decided, foolish under the circumstances. I spent the next half hour huddling in my coat and blowing on my hands in a futile effort to keep them warm as I waited for Colbert to return.
His arrival caught me by surprise. I was looking at my wrist watch to ascertain the time when I became aware that he had entered the room silently and was staring at me.
“Is that a time piece on your wrist?” he asked. “May I look at it?”
With a shock, I realized that I had been monumentally stupid. While I was wearing clothing painstakingly prepared to appear normal to people in the nineteenth century, I had neglected to replace my battery-operated wristwatch. If Colbert examined my watch and was able to decipher its advanced technology, it could have incalculable consequences on the future history of the world.
“That’s what it’s supposed to be,” I said derisively. Something the scientists at the War Department are experimenting on. Unfortunately, the damn thing doesn’t work.”
As I said this, I quickly put my hand into my pocket to conceal the watch, wryly recalling a science fiction story I had read while I was in high school. It involved a time traveler to ancient Rome who had thoughtlessly connected his electric razor to a wall socket without checking to determine if it was direct or alternate current, thus changing history to erase Rome’s discovery of electric power.
Fortunately, Colbert did not press the matter of the watch. “Colonel De Porte and his staff are awaiting the pleasure of your company at dinner,” he said. “Will you please follow me.”
He led me into the corridor, which was so dark that I almost tripped several times. I followed him, touching the wall to guide my steps, till we reached a large room, illuminated by a score of candles.
As my eyes became adjusted to the light, I saw De Porte seated at the head of a long table. He arose, as did the dozen or so men seated with him, and extended his hand to shake mine.
“It’s very good to have you join us for dinner, Colonel Snodgrass,” he said, “Let me introduce you to my officers.”
He proceeded to rattle off their names. As he did so, each one in turn came up to me, saluted, bowed, and shook my hand. A few of them were dressed in regular army uniforms resembling his. The majority, whom I learned later were officers of the National Guard, wore makeshift uniforms.
The introductions complete, De Porte motioned me to sit down next to him in the place of honor at his right. The National Guard officer seated on my other side, a Captain Gerard, explained to me in rather good English that in peacetime he was a professor of English Literature at the University of Paris. I gathered that he had been placed next to me to help translate my comments for the other officers, none of whom spoke more than a word or two of English.
Everything on the table from the china to the tablecloth and napkins was of the finest quality, except for the food. The meal consisted of a watery soup, a stew of vegetables and a few pieces of tough meat, and some stale bread.
“The quality of the food is not what we would have wished to offer you,” De Porte explained. “The siege makes it difficult for us to eat as we did before the war.”
I nodded sympathetically and attempted to cover the taste of the food with a sip of wine. I found it delicious and drained my glass.
Captain Gerard nodded approvingly. “Fortunately,” he remarked in a low voice, the owner of this house left behind him a well-stocked wine cellar. It makes it easier to get down the horse meat.”
I looked at him surprised, but said nothing. Although I was still hungry, I tried to avoid getting any of the meat in my fork as I finished up the stew. As I did so, I noticed De Porte staring angrily at Gerard. The Captain, in the midst of translating into English some comments by one of the other officers saw my face and turned to look at De Porte.
“I’m afraid the Colonel is annoyed because I let spill the fact that the stew contains horse meat,” he said with a shrug as he turned back to me.
When orderlies removed the dishes, I thought the meal over. However, they brought in several bottles of champagne and proceeded to fill glasses which were placed in front of each of the diners.
“Gentlemen,” said De Porte, rising to his feel, “I give you a toast to our honored guest, Colonel Maynard Snodgrass of the Army of the United States.”
The others at the table all rose to their feet and drained their glasses.
They looked at me and I gathered it was my turn to offer a toast. My previous experience left me uncertain as to what protocol required. Trying to play safe, I raised my glass and said, “To the gallant defenders of Paris, who have earned by their courage the admiration of the world.”
As I drained my glass, I looked anxiously at their faces. Apparently my toast sufficed. De Porte and the other officers smiled and the Colonel delivered an elaborate toast to the people of the United States.
After several more toasts, the champagne on top of the wine I had consumed left me feeling tipsy. I felt relieved when Colonel De Porte arose and indicated that the evening’s festivities were over. With considerable effort, I was successful in getting to my feet and bidding good night to my fellow diners. My efforts to confine this to shaking hands was only partially successful; several of the officers, also somewhat the worse for our consumption of champagne, embarrassed me by first embracing me and then kissing me on both cheeks.
Colbert led me back to my room, saluted me and said goodnight.
As he left he told me that he would be on duty during the night and that his orderly would awaken me for breakfast. The room was freezing. Getting into the bed fully dressed except for my boots, I wrapped the heavy quilt on it around me. The champagne I had drunk had its effect; I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
I was awakened the next morning by a loud knocking at the door. Sunlight streamed into the room. I got out of bed slowly, feeling very stiff and sore and with a bad hangover. Passing my hand over my face, I realized I badly needed a shave. I shrugged. There was nothing I could do about it. I had left my electric razor at home for obvious reasons and had neglected to buy a straight razor before setting out in the time machine.
Opening the door, I found myself face to face with a soldier, one of the orderlies who had helped serve the dinner the night before. He saluted and spoke rapidly in French, his words so slurred that I had difficulty in grasping his meaning. After some concentration, I gathered he was informing me he was Colbert’s orderly and that it was essential that I go with him at once if I wished to eat.
I was too hungry to delay and risk missing breakfast. Pausing only to hurriedly put on my boots, I followed him out of the room without taking time to wash or smooth my clothes, ruffled from sleeping all night in them.
The orderly led me to the same room in which I had dined the night before. There were no others eating, although the used plates and silverware on the table showed that others had eaten there before my arrival.
I was offered no choice. The orderly silently brought out a mug of steaming dark liquid and a piece of dark bread. The liquid tuned out when I tasted it to be a type of ersatz coffee, the bread was tasteless and so hard as to virtually defy chewing. I was about to complain when I realized that this was what the defenders of Paris had been reduced to eating as their regular fare because of the German siege. It revealed to me the extent that Colonel De Porte and his officers had gone to entertain me as well as they had the previous night.
I finally managed to get the bread down with the aid of the so-called coffee and found I was still hungry. The orderly was nowhere in sight, but I heard sounds of conversation in the next room, which I assumed was the kitchen. I thought of going there to request more food, but concluded it would be unfair to do so when food was in such short supply.
Leaving the dining room, I decided to see what it was like outside, and if I was free to leave the building. The sentry on duty looked at me curiously, but made no move to stop me. I proceeded down the street, taking pains to remember landmarks so that I could find my way back.
Turning one corner, I recognized the street as the one on which the shed housing my time machine was located. The moment might be opportune, I realized, for me to attempt to repair the damage the machine had suffered and to return to my own time without further delay.
After several minutes of anxious searching, I found the shed.
Entering it, however, was more difficult. As I strode to the shed, I was stopped by an armed militiaman, posted there to guard it. He brandished his gun, saying something to me in French that I gathered was a warning that no one was permitted to enter without authorization.
I was about to retreat when I recalled that I had passed myself off successfully to his officers as an American colonel.
“Haven’t you been taught to salute officers?” I snapped at him, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “I am a colonel and the apparatus you are guarding is mine. Get out of my way or I’ll have you shot for insubordination!”
He gave me a grudging salute, a sullen expression on his face, and I pushed past him and entered the shed. I was pleased to find the time machine in the same condition as I had left it.
Doffing my uniform coat, I opened the door of the time machine and took out the emergency repair kit I had brought with me. I unscrewed the control panel concealing the wiring and carefully inspected the fuses and the batteries.
As I had feared, several of the fuses had been burned out in a futile effort to protect the batteries from the strains I had placed upon them. The spare parts I had brought with me did not include the necessary replacement parts, but with some effort I put in a jury-rigged series of circuits which I thought would probably give me a reasonable chance of success in having the time machine return homeward safely at reduced speed.