.OTk0.NjQ0NDU

Joining the French Legion. Yet attached to the Polish Lancers. right margin: 1

After a few days spent in San Sebastian, I determined upon commencing my journey into Navarre, to join, if possible, the French Legion which I understood was to be met with either in that province or in Lower Aragon.

Here I concluded the purchase of a horse and mule, paying of course for my whistle. I also secured the services of an Aragonese as a servant, one Manuel Arteiza, as big a rascal as his country ever produced, but an excellent criado, and honest I do believe to me, although at war with the rest of the world. My intention had been to have gone round by Santanda & Bilboa, and so by the Ebro and Logroño into Aragon or Navarre.* A foul wind, which had lasted many days and promised to continue foul as many more, however prevented the Chasse-Marées from putting to sea. I therefore lost patience and started off one morning at daylight by Passages and ? to Bayonne. From there skirting the Pyrennees, I passed Toulouse, Pau, & Oleron, from which last place I provided myself with a guide and extra mule, in order to cross the somewhat hazardous Mountain pass of Urdos into Spain. An unusually severe winter & great quantities of snow rendered the passage exceedingly difficult, and I was strongly urged to wait for more favorable weather. This however with my usual obstinacy, only determined me the more strongly to proceed, and one evening I found myself and caravan halting at the miserable Inn in Urdos which is the last civilized halting place, before entering the pass of the mountains. Here we heard alarming accounts of the difficulties we were to enter upon in the morning. The paths, bad enough in all times, were now completely blocked & hidden by snow, the least deviation from them would perhaps bring us down a precipice. The wolves also were down from the mountains in great numbers, and many tales of devoured travellers and other horrors, were poured into our ears. Manuel, scratched his head, opened his mouth, ejaculating Jesus Maria — Jesus Maria while my Oleron guide, albeit an old smuggler, and used to the Mountain passes all his life, shrugged his shoulders, and it required an extra dollar or two to induce him to undertake the journey.

A bota of brandy was added to our stock and other creature comforts provided, and leaving directions to Manuel to call me an hour before daylight, I turned in.

Next morning when I rose, I found the guide and Manuel preparing the chocolate and frying some ham and eggs. The people of the house snoring in their different beds in the kitchen from one of which the daughter of the house, too lazy to rise, was pointing out the locale of the different articles required. Into her hands as she lay half asleep, I was requested to pay the cuenta, and with a mumbled prayer for our safety from the old landlord & landlady in one corner we sallied out.

It was a piercingly cold morning, the sky clear and bright with countless stars. The lofty Pyrenees frowned over head, their snowy sides reflecting the brightness of the sky, while the snow clad ground appeared studded with scintillating jewelry. Borne by the wind we could plainly