It is late June 1792. A hot summer's day, not far from Paris. The fierce beat of a drum accompanies thousands of feet marching towards the capital

A young man wearing the blue and white colors of his home city takes off his trichorn and wipes sweat from his brow.

He and his comrades have been walking for three weeks,

covering almost 500 miles.

They're from Marseille on the south coast Coast and are heading north for Paris.

Like most of those he's marching with, the young man has never visited the capital before.

But now he has good cause.

Three years since the revolution began,

France is now at war with Austria and Prussia.

The Minister of War has called for volunteer soldiers

from the provinces to come to Paris to join the revolutionary army. And though the King opposes

them, there is nothing the increasingly unpopular monarch can do to stop these Federé or volunteer soldiers from pouring to Paris from all over the country.

Yet it's an absurdly long walk from Marseille,

and this man's body is breaking down

before he has gone near a battle.

Blisters are burning on his feet,

and the summer sun is beating down relentlessly.

He tips the water god attached to his belt to his lips, knowing it is futile.

It's been empty for hours. He's sweaty, dehydrated, and

dizzy with fatigue, but he forces himself to keep up with the rhythm of the marching men

around him as they enter a patch of woodland.

It's cooler in the shade of the trees, but the young volunteer is still struggling.

...