CHAPTER XIII.
_December 6th._ I am by no means certain that I should be a hero at the Equator, but I am fully convinced that I should be an abject coward at the North Pole.
Three mornings ago I stood for two hours by the Ambulances de la Presse, and my teeth have not ceased to chatter ever since.

I pity the unfortunate fellows who had to keep watch all night on the plateau of Villiers more than those who were put out of their misery the day before.

When it is warm weather, one views with a comparative resignation the Prussian batteries, and one has a sort of fanatical belief that the bombs will not burst within striking distance; when the thermometer is below zero, one imagines that every cannon within four miles is pointed at one's head.

I do not know how it may be with others, but on me cold has a most unheroic effect.

My legs become as wilful as those of Mrs.Dombey's titled relative, and it is only by the strongest effort of mind over matter that I can prevent them carrying me beyond the reach of cannon-balls, bullets, and shells.