Before describing the battalion to which I now belonged I must say a few words about the Foreign Legion in general, so that the peculiar characteristics of the corps may be understood. All that I shall mention in this chapter is that one sunny afternoon about four o'clock we marched into camp on the borders of the Sahara amid the cheers of our future comrades, and that within an hour our 200 men were divided amongst the four companies that constituted the 2nd Battalion of the First Regiment of theLégion étrangère.
CHAPTER V
Forcenturies the armies of France have had a certain proportion of foreign troops. Readers of Scott will remember the Scottish archers, and there is a regiment in the British army to-day which was at one time a Scottish corps in the service of the Most Christian Kings of France. Almost everyone has heard of the Irish Brigade, a force whose records fill many a bloody and glorious page of European history and whose prowess more than once turned the ebb-tide of defeat into the full flood of victory. It has been computed that almost 500,000 Irishmen died in the French service; and we may well imagine that half-a-million dashing soldiers did not yield up their lives for nothing.
In the time of the great Napoleon there were many foreign brigades in the grand army. Everybody has read of the famous Polish lancers who time and again shattered the chivalry of Prussia, Austria, and Muscovy in those combats of giants, when kingdoms were the prizes and marshalships and duchies mere consolations for the less lucky ones. These Poles were magnificent fools. Poniatowski and his riders clung to Napoleon, led the way in his advances, covered the rear in his retreats, and all the while the cynical emperor had little, if any, thought of restoring the ancient glories of Poland, and thus repaying the country for the valour and devotion of her sons. Other foreign cavalry he had as well, but they became more or less mixed with the native Frenchmen, and thus do not stand out so boldly to our mental vision as the Poles. Chief amongst the great emperor's foreign infantry brigades was the Irish one. Indeed, to this one alone of them an eagle wasentrusted, and it may do no harm to remark here that that eagle, much as it was coveted by certain enemies, was never lost, and was handed back to French custody when the Irish Brigade ceased to exist as an independent body after the final defeat at Waterloo. Most of the brigade, not caring for the monarchy after having so long and so faithfully served the empire, took advantage of the offer made to them of taking service under the British monarch, and were incorporated in various regiments of the British army. Indeed, in the late twenties and early thirties of the nineteenth century it was by no means uncommon to meet in Irish villages a war-worn veteran who had been in most of the great European battles—Jena, Austerlitz, Borodino, Waterloo—and had finished his soldiering under the burning suns of Hindostan.
In the Crimea, again, a foreign legion, somewhat like the legion formed by the British Government for the same campaign, was amongst the troops sent out by Napoleon the Third. I know very little about this corps, but I am quite sure that it got its full share, and more, of danger, hard work, and privations. Anyway the Crimean campaign, except for a few battles, was more a contest against nature than against the enemy.
In the Franco-Prussian war we next find mention of the Legionaries. At the battle of Orleans, when that city was captured by the Prussians, the Foreign Legion and the Pontifical Zouaves covered the French retreat. When we learn that out of 1500 of the former only 36 remained at the end of the day there will be little need to ask where were the Legionaries during the rest of the war. It must be remembered also, that the 1500 men who fought and fell outside Orleans were the remains of the Legionaries brought from Algeria, and that their comrades left behind were amongst the most distinguished of those who quelled the rebellion of the Kabyles in the year '71. It is only just to mention that the Pontifical Zouavescovered themselves with glory at this fight; they went into action along with the Legion on the 11th of October 1870, 370 strong, of whom only 17 survived the day.
The Foreign Legion, as I knew it, consisted, as I believe it still consists, of two regiments, each containing four battalions. As a battalion numbers 1000 men the total strength of the service soldiers may be put at 8000. In addition there are depot men, including band, drill instructors, and recruits; but I have said enough about the depot already, so I shall now confine myself altogether to the service soldiers.
Every battalion is divided into four companies, and thus a company contains, approximately, 250 officers, sub-officers, and soldiers. The officers are three—captain, lieutenant, and sub-lieutenant. Next comes the sergeant-major of the company, a sub-officer who keeps the accounts. There are two sergeants, one for each of the two sections into which the company is divided, and under them a number of corporals in command of squads, every squad being, be it understood, a distinct unit in the economy of the section to which it belongs. The men are divided into two classes, the first and the second, and from the first class are chosen the corporals as vacancies arise.
The uniform consists of kepi with a brass grenade in front, blue tunic with black belt, red trousers, or white, according to the season. With the red trousers go black gaiters, with the white ones white spats, somewhat like those worn by Highland soldiers in the British army. The knapsack, greatcoat, and other impedimenta are rather heavy, especially when 150 rounds of ball cartridge are included. I don't know the exact weight, but I remember that I used to feel an ugly drag on my shoulders at the end of a day's march. The pouch for ammunition at the side also pressed heavily against the body, and we often wishedthat those who had the arrangement of a man's equipment should wear it on the march, day in day out, if only for a month. There might be some common-sense displayed by them after that. But in all ages and nations a man's accoutrements—I use the word in the most general sense—have been decided on by tailors and good-for-nothing generals—oh, there are plenty of them in every army in the world—and, worst of all, by women, who twist and turn the said generals around their little fingers. Look at a private soldier of any army when standing at attention in full marching order; you are pleased with the sight; his head is erect, his straightened shoulders seem easily to support the heavy pack behind; the twin pouches look so beautifully symmetrical. Ask that soldier how he feels at the end of a thirty-mile march. If he isn't a liar, he will tell you that the rifle is rather heavy, but he doesn't mind that; that the pack galls a bit, but that's to be expected; and that the pouches weighted with ammunition have given him a dull, heavy pain in each side just above, he imagines, where the kidneys are, and if that pain could be avoided he would think little of all the rest. Many a time I have taken the packets of cartridges from the pouches before we had gone a quarter of a mile and stowed them away between the buttons of my tunic—there they had ribs and breast bone to rest against. Why don't the people whose business and interest it is to get the best out of the private soldier give the private soldier a chance? But they won't. Of all the humbugs on the face of God's earth the military officer of, say, twenty years' service is the worst.
The soldier of the second class wore no decoration on his sleeve, the soldier of the first class had a red chevron, the corporal wore two red chevrons, the sergeant a single gold one, and the sergeant-major two gold ones. It was a good thing to be a soldier of the first class, not because you wore a chevron or got extra pay, but because, when a charge was made against youby sergeant or corporal, the officers would listen carefully to your defence, and you generally got what the second-class man rarely got—a fair chance as well as a patient hearing.
Squad etiquette was rather peculiar. You were assigned to a squad, and on entering were made free, as I may say, of the mess, and how you got on afterwards with your enforced comrades depended largely on yourself. You might be very well liked, or thoroughly disliked, but violent likes and dislikes were rather uncommon. As a rule, you had just a little trouble in asserting your right to a fair share, and that always, of what was going. If you had a dispute with another your comrades looked on and listened; if you came to blows they prevented the affair from going too far; and unless the corporal was a brute he allowed his squad to arrange their own affairs out of working hours in their own way. But you dared not form friendships with men outside the squad; if you did you were set upon and punished in every way by your comrades, and your friend was served in the same way by his. Let me give an instance. A rather nice, quiet fellow, an Alsatian, was in my squad at a place called Zenina when we received a new draft of recruits from the depot. Amongst these was another Alsatian, who came from the same place as my comrade, and, as was natural, the two became fast friends. Under the circumstances nothing was said at first, and had either asked for a transfer to his friend's squad all would have been well. After some time, however, the comrades of both began to object. Why, we asked one another, should Schmidt openly abandon us and our genial company for a man who should by right be good comrade with others? Well, Schmidt was abused, and bore the abuse calmly; he got only half a share at meals, and still did not go further than a meek protest; he came back after seeing his chum, and found all his kit flung outside the door of the hut, his rifle fouled, his bayonet covered with saltwater, his straps dirty, and his buckles dull; still he bore with all. Next evening he went to visit his friend, and, while he was absent, we formed a soldiers' court-martial and tried him. One man represented the accuser, another took the part of Schmidt, but the result was quite evident from the first. He was found guilty of neglecting his duties as a comrade, and as he had openly abandoned his squad and thereby shown his contempt for it, at the same time exposing us to the derision of all the battalion, it was high time that the squad should adequately punish him and thus vindicate its character.
The chief difficulty was about the punishment. It was first proposed that we should put himen crapaudinefor a night, seizing and binding him while all in the cantonments were asleep, and releasing him in the morning before the reveille. However, it was pointed out that the corporal would not be likely to permit that, and, if he did permit it, Schmidt might report the matter and get the corporal into trouble. Now the corporal was a good fellow. He swore at us and abused us and would allow not even a sullen muttering in reply, but he would not, if he could help it, of course, get a man into trouble with the sergeant or the captain or the commandant. Occasionally he would find a bottle of wine, half-a-bottle of brandy, or a score or two of cigarettes in his corner. He said nothing, and as soon as the bottle was empty he did not have anything more to do with it: it was removed without a word by some one of us and quietly, I may say unostentatiously, deposited where its presence need not be accounted for by any of our squad.
After a good deal of talking we finally settled on a plan. What it was will appear in a short time. That night we could not do as we had resolved, for the corporal came in at an early hour in the evening as drunk and as abusive as a man could be. He rolled against me, and cursed me for a dirty, drunken pig, who could not carry his liquor like a soldier. He stood tottering in his corner of the room, and gave out morebad language than he had ever done before. And we were not quiet. He got quite as much as he gave; we described for his benefit our conceptions of his father and his mother—his father was a dog and his mother the female of the same species—we attributed to himself all the bad qualities that we could think of; we even called him coward, and dared him to report us at once to the sergeant or the captain. He knew, and we knew, that if he did so his arrest would at once follow and that the chevrons on his arm would not be worth one of the brass buttons on his tunic. We overpowered him with abuse at length, and he fell asleep muttering curses and threats, which were altogether forgotten in the morning.
Next evening the chance came. The corporal had taken a hint that it would be just as well for him for his own sake to have some appointment that would keep him away until the last moment before roll call. I may admit that when he woke in the morning he looked, and I suppose felt, very ill, and even refused his morning coffee when it was first offered to him. I took the coffee then from the man who had offered it, and, while all the rest, as it had been arranged, turned their backs, poured into it nearly a quarter of a pint of brandy. He saw what I was doing and took the mixture from me. Smelling it carefully first, he swallowed a little; liking the taste, he swallowed some more; and in less than two minutes he handed back the empty vessel to me, with a wink and a nod of the head that told me how delightful had been the little surprise prepared for him.
As he was going out another man held out his hand with a couple of cigarettes. "Thanks, my comrade, how you are kind!" said thesous-officier.
When he came in for soup, I again poured some brandy from the bottle into a tin cup in such a way that the corporal saw but the rest did not, being discreetly engaged. He did not wait to have it carriedto him, he came swiftly round, took the cup, and drained it at a gulp. Then somebody left six or eight cigarettes near the corporal's bedplace, and all walked out except the corporal and myself. I went to the door, looked out, came back to my own bunk, took out a bottle of wine nearly three-quarters full and the tin cup, walked over to the corporal, filled the cup to the brim, and dutifully offered it to my superior officer. He drank, and returned the empty cup to me. Filling it for myself, I finished the contents, and then asked him for a cigarette—just one. The corporal gave it me, and I began the conversation.
"Bad for us others if you lost the chevrons, corporal."
"Why? Why? what did I say last night?"
"Oh, nothing to speak about; but, corporal——" Then I stopped and looked straight at him.
"Well, my comrade, what do you wish to say?"
Now he was afraid; he began to fear something hidden by the kindness.
"But, my corporal, could you not make an appointment now, so that after the evening soup you would be engaged until roll call—away from this place and in good company?"
"Oh yes, yes; that is easy."
"And your comrade might like to smoke and drink a little; if so, my corporal, after the evening soup, when we others leave the room, look behind your knapsack."
"Good comrade; but will anything happen?"
"Yes; a man will go to hospital for a week."
"To hospital?"
"Yes."
"Only to hospital?"
"My honour; only to hospital."
"And for a week?"
"Well, perhaps for ten days."
"But only to hospital?"
"Have I not pledged my honour?"
"Very good; I will see my good friend Jean this evening. But you, you will remember, only the hospital."
After the evening soup, as all were going out, he called me.
"It is settled, my comrade; only the hospital?"
"But yes," I answered.
"Not this?" said the corporal, fingering a bayonet.
I shook my head.
"Not this?" and he touched the butt of a rifle.
I answered as before.
"And only hospital; word of honour?"
"Word of honour," I replied.
"Be it so then; I am well content."
Then he looked behind his knapsack and found half-a-bottle of brandy, a bottle of wine, and six cigars. He turned, put out his hand to me, and said:
"You are my good comrade. Have no fear; if there should be trouble, it is you, it is you that I will save." I laughed and shook his hand; he gave me a cigar, and the next moment was sorry for his generosity.
Schmidt went off after the evening soup to see his chum.
"Very well, very well," we said to one another. Lots were quickly drawn—we had not a son amongst us to toss with—and Nicholas the Russian, Guillaume the Belgian, Jean Jacques from Lorraine, and I were chosen as executioners of justice. The others lounged outside in different places, all anxious to let us know in good time of the arrival of the condemned. About an hour after soup we were warned that he was coming towards the hut. At once the blanket which was ready was laid on the ground directly inside the door, and each man stood at his corner waiting for the victim. The others outside gaily saluted him, and the fool did not suspect the unusual courtesy; he was humming an air to himself as he stepped through the doorway on to the blanket. In a second we had raised it at the corners; he stumbled and fell, in a limp heap, in thebottom. We jerked the blanket upward, and crash came his head against the roof of the hut. We let go at the word of command, given by the Russian; flop went his body against the floor. Again and again this was repeated, till our arms were tired, and the others who had crowded in and had been excited by the fun swore that he had not been punished sufficiently and that they would take our places. I was glad enough to surrender my corner to an Italian, for, indeed, my arms were weary, and my feelings—I was only a boy, you must remember—were shocked at the sight of the unresisting and almost insensible bit of humanity in the blanket.
After a short time the Russian said the game should stop, and we, the other appointed dispensers of punishment, backed him up. Some grumbled, but Nicholas, to give him his due, was not a man to be turned from his purpose, and his reputation was such that nobody was very anxious to fall out with him. So the blanket was dropped for the last time, pulled from under the Alsatian, replaced on his bed, and we all went out, leaving the wretched fellow groaning on the ground. After a short talk we came back, gave him a drink, put him to bed, and prepared to meet the corporal on his return.
The corporal came in a little before roll call.
"What's wrong?" he asked as he heard the moaning of the Alsatian. Nobody answered. The corporal went across to the injured man's cot and again inquired. The poor devil told him as well as he could, and thesous-officierat once ordered us all not to leave the hut until his return. He went out, and came back in a few minutes with the sergeant of the section. There is no need in telling all about the inquiry that followed; suffice it to say that the corporal was the only man sleeping in the room that night—the Alsatian was in hospital and we others under guard.
Of course, our conduct was approved of throughout the battalion. Regimental tradition is dearer than justice, and we were regarded as good soldiers and good comrades who had merely vindicated our honour. But thearmy tradition is: when a charge is made and proved, punish. Officersmaysympathise, but theymustpunish. Therefore we of the squad, corporal and Alsatian excepted, were sentenced to do extra drill every day for a month and sleep in our clothes under guard every night. It was a hard punishment. The weather was hot, we had little change of underclothing, and when we lay down on the planks for the night with the shirts and drawers on that we had worn during the day our sleep was restless, fitful, and uneasy. It is a wonder we did not mutiny; however, that would be going too far, so we counted the days and nights that intervened until we should be free soldiers again. The Alsatian was transferred from the hospital to another battalion, and I came across him again, and was glad to find that he bore no malice; indeed, he admitted that we were justified in acting as we had done and that it was his own fault, as he had not asked for a transfer.
The incident I have related will give some idea of my life in the corps. I shall have soon to relate another story, which will show that jealousy might arise between companies as well as in a squad.
CHAPTER VI
Aboutthis time there were signs of a disturbance amongst the semi-savage tribes that hold the oases on the borders of the great desert. These are not, and I daresay never will be, brought completely under subjection. They are to the French in Algeria what the hill tribes of the Himalayas are to the British in Hindostan. They are by nature, proud, fierce, suspicious; by religion, contemptuous of Christian dogs; by habit, predatory. They are fairly well armed, indeed, they make their own weapons and ammunition. When they go on the warpath there is always more trouble than one would expect, considering their numbers; they are so elusive, so trained to forced marches, so dashing in attack and swift in retreat, that the Government has to allow at least three men for every Arab. If a general could corner them and get well home with the bayonet after the usual preliminaries of shell firing and musketry, or if the rascals would only come on and have done with it, a quarter of the number would suffice. But these pleasant things don't occur—I mean pleasant for the man with the modern rifle—at least, if they do, it is only when all the oases of the district have been seized, and then the Arabs may prefer to hazard all on a big fight, but as a rule they bow to destiny and surrender.
Well, one morning we noticed the commandant and other officers jubilant and smiling, and very soon the news got down to us through thesous-officiersthat our battalion was for active service. How delighted we were! All punishments in the battalion were at once remitted; we had no more to suffer for the affair of the Alsatian; and the other squad, which had treatedAlsatian number two in a similar manner, was also included in the pardon.
We were not long getting ready for the march. The day after the good news came the battalion tramped out of cantonments nearly 1100 strong, every man in good condition, and with 150 cartridges in his pouches. A significant order was given on the parade ground, when we formed up for the last time in column of companies. We were told to break open each man a packet of cartridges and to load. We did so, and the commandant addressed us, and gave us fair warning that he could not permitaccidents—he laid great stress on the word and repeated it more than once—he told us that if anaccidentdid occur it would be bad for the man whose rifle should be found to be discharged; he quoted the Bible to us, saying something about "a life for a life and a tooth"—yes, I think it was a tooth—"for a tooth." The old soldiers understood, and we others learned the meaning before we came to the first halting-place.
The fact is, in every regiment, and nowhere more than in the Foreign Legion, there are unpopular officers and sub-officers, and there are feuds amongst the men, and what is easier than to loose off a rifle accidentally and, accidentally as it were, hit the man you dislike? In action the thing is done far more commonly than people suppose—and that is the safest time to do it; but after a fight, when all the men's rifles are foul, and when a cartridge can be flung away as soon as used, a bullet is sometimes sent through a tent on the off-chance of hitting the right man within. So the commandant was justified when he warned and threatened us about accidents.
We marched about twenty-five kilometres every day, and did it cheerfully. We did not mind the country through which we passed, for all our thoughts were turned to the work before us. The veterans were in good humour. What advice they gave! "When theArab charges you, mon enfant, or when you charge the Arab, which is better, thrust at his face the first time and at his body the second." "But why?" "Ah, my boy, give him the bayonet in the body and still he will strike; give it to him in the head, and then you can finish with a second stroke. And, again, the glint of the bayonet will disturb his aim, and, even should you miss with the first thrust, you can always get your weapon back and send it home before he recovers—of course, that is if you are quick enough. Moreover, the Arab expects you to lunge at his body, and you must always, if you are a good soldier, disappoint your enemy. Then there is no protection for his face; but a button or a piece of brass, even a secretly-worn cuirass, may turn your point and leave you at his mercy."
We eagerly drank in all this and similar hints from the men of experience. The old soldiers were delighted. We were all as happy as schoolboys out for a holiday; we endured the heat and dust without muttering a complaint; nay, even old quarrels were forgotten, and the man who would not look at his detested comrade a month before now helped him with his knapsack or offered some tobacco, with a friendly smile.
When the halt was called in the evening, the sentries were posted, the fires lit, the little tents put up, the messes cooked for the squads; but very soon the air of bustle and activity gave place to an appearance of quiet ease. When the last meal of the day was over, and the rifles, bayonets, straps, clothes, and everything else had been cleaned, we lay about the camp in small parties, here two or three, there half-a-dozen, yonder a full squad. Again we listened to thevieux soldats; we made them repeat their stories of war and pillage; we eagerly questioned them about the chances of loot. Some of our fellows had fought in the Russo-Turkish war of '78; Nicholas, whom I have mentioned, was believed to have commanded a company of Russian guards at the siege of Plevna, and, though he neversaid in so many words that he had even carried a rifle and knapsack in that war, he told us stories of it that could be told only by an onlooker, and it was easy to see that he was a man of birth and education, and, judging by the money with which his purse was often filled—not for long though, as he was a prince to spend—of wealth as well. It was during this march that I learned for the first time the privileges of a soldier as the soldier conceives them—I mean his chances when the fighting is over and the enemy's camp, village, or town is in his hands. Perhaps I had best say nothing or, if anything at all, but little of them. One thing I may mention; it is foolish for people to suppose that fighting men of to-day are at all different from their compeers of yore—the only change is that the rapine and the pillage are not boasted of so openly—but there is just as little of the spirit of Christianity in a so-called civilised army as there used to be in a legion of Julius Cæsar, perhaps even less. Many people will regret this, and yet you always find the goody-goodies and even the women loudest in crying out for war to avenge the wrongs, or fancied wrongs, of their country or to acquire new territory and new trade. I say this: if the women of the world only once realised to the full what war means to the women of the losers they would throw all their weight into the scale of peace. And remember, armaments are such to-day that no nation is absolutely safe from invasion; social questions, the relations between capital and labour, the currency, slave labour amongst whites, even in the United States—most happily situated of all countries—the eternal feud between whites and blacks in the South—any of these may at any moment cause a war worse than a war of invasion, because more bitter, more relentless, more capable of leaving a heritage of hate. Who is the more to be blamed: the rigid moralist at home who admits that most wars are the devil's work but proclaims that the war which he favours and shouts foris really blessed by God; or the soldier who, after dreary weeks or months of weary marching, with broken boots or no boots at all during the day, and chilling nights with only a tattered greatcoat or a ragged blanket to save him from the dew, with the memory upon him of hunger and thirst, of dust and fatigue, of constant knowledge that any moment may see him a corpse or a maimed weakling on the ground, forgets the Ten Commandments and even his natural humanity when the final charge has been successful and the chance has at last come for, in part at least, repaying himself, as soldiers have since war began repaid themselves, for toil and trouble and danger in the conquered town? Blame the man who does wrong if you will, but blame more the foolish people who, fancying that rapine and pillage can never stalk abroad in their own happy land, let loose the dogs of war upon their neighbours. The Carthaginian maids and matrons acclaimed their returning heroes; the day came when the Roman legionaries taught those very maids and matrons the real meaning of war. How proud the Roman women were of their gallant warriors when the gorgeous triumph unfolded itself on the long road to the Capitol! With what different feelings did they look on war as the news came that Attila had forced his way into the rich plains of Lombardy; or, even before that, with what agonised apprehension did they not look forth from the walls at the red glare in the sky that told of the presence of Hannibal? We abuse Turks and Arabs, Filipinos and Chinese, the Baggara from the desert and the tribal mountaineers from the borders of Afghanistan because, forsooth, they do not make war as Christianity dictates. And what about the allied armies in China of late? They were Christians—by repute at least; but what were they in reality? Just a little worse than the Boxers, that is all. Do I blame them? No; I know the temptations; I know how quickly the soldiers of Christian, so-called Christian, armies are taught to forget theTen Commandments. I am not surprised, nor do I feel called upon to censure. I shall leave the casting of stones to the people who are always strong to resist their passions, especially those passions which soldiers feel and yield to most readily—lust of others' property, which your virtuous stockbroker will never allow to enter into his bosom; lust of strong drink, which never affects the shouters for war in the streets; lust of—well, another lust which need not be spoken of here, as I have already hinted more than enough of it and its consequences.
However, I've done with moralising. We young soldiers heard, and heard with an awakening of delight, of pleasurable anticipation, the things that might happen when the fighting for the day was done. And war does not seem all war. You've got to cook and eat, to forage and drink, to mount guard or sleep, just as if you were back in cantonments, and the daily routine soon grows upon a man—at any rate it soon grew upon me.
At last we joined the general. We were the first of his reinforcements, and very soon, as others arrived, the defensive gave place to the offensive. I can't tell about the progress of the little campaign; all I know is our share of it, and for me that was quite enough. For a few weeks we were cornering the enemy, seizing a well here, a caravan of provisions there, and having slight brushes, in which a dozen or two men killed and wounded represented our losses. The Arabs, having been beaten back by the men originally attacked, did not seem to care to give the general a good stand-up fight now that his forces had been increased, and after some time we began to fancy that they were merely holding out for good terms and would at last surrender in the usual way. Not that we grew careless about our guards, pickets, and vedettes, discipline prevented that, and luckily, for when all the oases had been seized and garrisoned except one, the Arabs, in desperation Ibelieve, determined to throw all upon the hazard of a battle. This was my first real experience of fighting, for I don't count it fighting to advance in skirmishing order and fire at constantly moving figures half-a-mile away. I judged their opinion of us by ours of them, and, indeed, we never even ducked the head, for we could not fear bullets at such a range.
Our cavalry had been pushed forward to locate the enemy and hold him if possible. My company and two companies of native infantry and three or four guns were sent in support, and the main body, coming along slowly and laboriously owing to difficulties of transport, moved in our rear, the flanks well protected by outlying horse. One evening when we were about fifteen kilometres in front of the general—too far, of course, but some officers do so want to distinguish themselves when they get a separate command—the chasseurs d'Afrique and the spahis rode back upon us. They reported the enemy in a strong position at the last oasis left to them, about twelve kilometres away, and our commanding officer sent back the news at once, halting meanwhile for instructions. He acted somewhat wisely too in getting us to throw up a sort of fortification on a piece of rising ground. A circular trench was dug; the stuff taken out formed a weak rampart; a biscuit or two and a glass of brandy were served out to every man; and then we lay down on the hard ground without a tent or even a blanket for shelter or covering. The horsemen fell back on the main body; their work was done, and they would be worse than useless in a night attack.
Most of the night passed quietly, and I, who had done two hours sentry-go before midnight without seeing or hearing anything which could disquiet me, began to hope that the savage devils would wait to be attacked. About an hour before sunrise the corporal in charge of the outlying picket called me for another turn of duty. I arose from where I lay, took my rifle from the ground, and prepared to set out for mypost, about eighty paces in front. I was to relieve Nicholas the Russian. As I took his place he whispered: "Look out, young one; the dangerous hour!"
When the corporal and his party went away I gazed intently into the darkness towards the south. I knew by experience gained in many a night watch that very soon the sun would, as it always seemed to me, born and bred in a northern land, jump up on the horizon and send his welcome arrows of light across shrub and rock and sand. Once the light came the sudden rush in upon the camp would be impossible; the modern rifle would stave off all attack; spear and bayonet would clash together only when our leaders saw that the time had come when we should be on the rush and the enemy on the run.
As I gazed I fancied that there was a movement in my front. I could not at the time, nor can I now, though I am a man of wider experience to-day, swear that I actually saw anything, but that an impalpable, strange, indefinite change was coming over the blackness of the desert, I neither doubted nor misunderstood. Raising my rifle to my shoulder, quietly and cautiously as one does whose own body may be in a second the target for countless bullets, I aimed steadily at the blackest part of the blackness and fired. As I turned to run to the picket an awful shriek rang out, telling me that my bullet had found a billet, and then, while I ran shouting: "Aux armes, aux armes!" a hideous, savage cry ran in a great circle all about the camp. When I closed on the picket the corporal was giving his orders: "One volley, and run for the camp." The volley was fired, and we all ran madly back to the entrenchments, crying: "Aux armes, les ennemis!" not, indeed, to warn our comrades of their danger, but to let them know that we were the men of the outlying picket fleeing to camp and not the mad vanguard of the attack. We got inside the little rampart, helped over by willing arms, and at once thecrash of musketry began. Our men had their bayonets fixed; for a double purpose this—for defence if the Arabs came home in the charge, to lower the muzzle if only shooting were necessary. Luckily our firing became so successful that the Arabs stopped to reply, and, you may take my word for it, when a charging man halts to fire he is already weakening for retreat.
Well, we kept the enemy at a safe distance till the blessed sun sprang up and turned the chances to our side. Yet still they hung around, and a dropping fire was maintained on both sides. They did not now surround the little camp; they had all collected in almost a semicircle on the southern side. While the desultory firing went on our commandant eagerly turned his gaze from time to time towards the north, and he was at last rewarded. He sent orders to give a ration of brandy to every man—the rascal! He had seen the glint of lance heads on the horizon, and he wanted to take a little of the pursuer's glory from the cavalrymen. Glory, glory! what follies are committed in thy name! The brandy was given out, the news went around that the horse were coming up at the gallop, the men looked with blood-lust in their eyes at the lying-down semicircle to the south, the commandant flung off jacket, belt, scabbard, keeping only sabre and pistol, and with a wild cheer and cries of "Kill, kill!" we rushed from the camp straight at the enemy. They were not cowards. They gave us a wild, scattered fire, and then, flinging away their rifles and flintlocks, came daringly, with loud cries of "Allah!" to meet us. And in their charge they covered a greater distance than we did in ours, for they came along every man at racing speed, and their line grew more and more irregular, whereas we, disciplined and trained to move all as one man, easily fell into the regulationpas gymnastique, and so went forward a solid, steady, cheering line, officers leading, and clarions at our backs sounding the charge.
As we neared one another a great shout went up fromus. Nicholas the Russian, who was my front-rank man, dashed forward and stabbed a yelling demon rushing at him with uplifted spear. I ran into his place, and saw almost at once a dusky madman, with a short, scanty beard, coming straight at me with murder in his eyes. I remembered the advice given by thevieux soldats, and as he raised his sword I plunged my bayonet with all my force into his face. He half reeled, he almost fell, and as he recovered again I lunged and struck him fair and full on the breast bone. Again he reeled, yet still he tried to strike; I thrust a third time, and now at his bare neck; the spouting blood followed out the bayonet as I drew it forth and back to strike again. Before I had time to do so the Arab fell, a convulsive tremor passed over his body, the limbs contracted, the eyes opened wide to the sky, the jaw fell, and for the first time I saw my enemy lie stark and cold in death before me. I stood watching, with a curious feeling at my heart, the body that lay so strangely still upon the sand. I felt no desire that life should return to the corpse, nor did I feel at all inclined to drive my weapon home again; it seemed to me that my assailant and the dead were not one and the same, and the animosity which I had felt for the living foe was lost, nay, utterly extinguished, in wonder at the awful change my handiwork had produced. Remember, I was only a boy, and I had taken that which no man can restore. Many times since have I looked without a shudder, almost without a thought, on the face of my dead foeman, but on that morning in the desert my mind was shocked by the new experience.
Suddenly I heard a trumpet and a cry. I looked towards the right; the spahis were riding at top speed with levelled lances on the foe. Our men were scattered, fighting in squads and parties over the plain, driving the Arabs back. The press of battle had gone beyond me. In a moment the horsemen swept into the Arab ranks; the lances rose and fell with terrible significanceas the mass rolled on. Our work was over; the cavalry so rushed and harried the fleeing enemy that the rebellion was practically at an end, for that time of course, before noon. When the main body came up the chiefs were in our camp, prepared to accept any terms offered by the general. These were hard enough. All arms to be surrendered, a heavy fine to be paid, their villages to be kept in our possession till all the petty fortifications should be dismantled. Yes; my company kept a village and an oasis, and I fancy that the next generation of Arabs was whiter than their forbears. But that is war; and the people—the goody-goodies and the stockbrokers and the foolish women—who believe that honour dwells in the heart of a soldier on active service will lament our wickedness and get ready for the next occasion when they can send off their own soldiers to war, glorious war!
CHAPTER VII
Notlong after the end of the little war my company and another were ordered on garrison duty to a place which we called, for what reason I know not, Three Fountains. I never saw three springs in the place; of course, there was an oasis but whether this, before being walled in, had really been divided into three separate wells I cannot say. Probably the name was a fanciful one given by a soldier and taken up by his comrades.
Alongside us lay about five or six hundred Turcos. They did not like us and we did not care overmuch for them, so you might imagine that here were pretty grounds and opportunity for a quarrel. Not so, indeed; they kept away from us, for they knew well what would happen should one of them dare to enter our lines. We gave them a wide berth, for the African is always—like the Asiatic and the American and the European—ripe for treachery to men of another race and colour. No; the races did not fight, but we of the higher breed,—how angels and devils must laugh when people speak of higher breeds!—had a very pretty fight amongst ourselves.
It came about in an unusual way, but for the invariable cause. There was a Portuguese in No. 4 Company who loved a girl—a Cooloolie girl who had followed him in all his marches and campaignings. A Cooloolie, I may explain, is the offspring of a Turkish father and an Arab or Christian mother, and as a rule when a Cooloolie woman gives herself to a man she does it in a thorough manner and without any reservation save one—the woman's right to change her mind. Andthis lassie did change her mind, and of her own accord made love to a Greek who belonged to my company, as handsome and well-formed a man as I have ever had the good fortune to see, and a downright good soldier. Certainly I should not care to see him too near my knapsack—brushes and such things have a strange knack of disappearing—but I know very well that he was a right man in a fight and a trump to spend his money when he had it. He did not have it often, and when he had you generally heard next morning that an officer's tent had been visited—yes, visited is a good word—by someone not invited.
Well, the Cooloolie girl flung over the Portuguese, with bad words and worse insinuations, and openly followed the Greek around, like a dog after its master. And Apollo, of course, who probably did not care a button about the woman, must go here and there, head up, with smiling face, cheery talk, and queer jests. He visited every corner of the camp: first the part where we, his own company lay; then, still followed by the woman, the Turcos, who showed their white teeth and grinned and muttered: by Jove, he was a handsome man, and she, though rather dusky and stout, looked a perfect beauty in such a place, remote from civilisation; last of all he came towards us through the company of his predecessor in the Cooloolie girl's favour. Flesh and blood, least of all the hot blood of a Peninsular, could not stand it; with a hoarse cry and an awful oath the Portuguese rushed at the Greek, but Apollo was quite prepared. Slipping aside he struck the poor devil full under the ear at the base of the skull and sent him headlong to the earth, senseless. Apollo, seeing that his opponent did not rise, calmly walked to his own quarters, the girl now hanging upon his arm and uttering all the endearing words she could think of, looking up the while into his face as one entranced. None of the men of No. 4 Company interfered. It was a common thing enough for two men to quarrel abouta woman, and, though they must have felt sore that their comrade had been worsted, still that was no reason why outsiders should interfere. The matter would have been settled by the interested parties for themselves had it not been for the devilish desire of creating mischief that always possessed Nicholas the Russian. Indeed, Nicholas loved mischief like a woman.
Now Nicholas was a man who often had money and spent it like a gentleman, a soldier, and a rascal. He never got all that was sent to him, any more than the Crown gets all the revenues collected in its name: to greasy palms coins will always stick. If 1000 francs were his due—sent by friends, of course—he reckoned himself lucky to be able to spend half. This time he must have received a more than ordinary sum, for instead of following the custom of the Legion and showing us, his comrades, a little bit of paper, which the commandant would cash next day, so that we, his good comrades, the men who liked and loved him, might know exactly how much drink and other things to be had for money each might fairly reckon on, he said:
"Our comrade, Apollo I mean, has taken the girl; let us be good comrades to him; let us take the two cabarets to-morrow, and keep all the drink and all the tobacco and all the cigars for ourselves, and give the happy pair a right good wedding."
He pulled his moustache as he spoke, and then, turning his eyes round the squad, he showed devilment and fun enough in them to entice the ordinary good man to break not only the laws of God but to do a still more risky thing—to break the laws of his society.
The word was passed around quickly that the Russian would be a good friend to all the company, and not merely to his own section or his own squad. Everybody was happy; we forgot squad distinctions and shook hands with one another and handed freely round our tobacco, for was not to-morrow the gloriousday wheneau-de-vieand wine and cigars and tobacco were to be had by every one of us, even without the asking? Ah! the good Russian, the worthy comrade! Ah! the handsome Greek! Ah! the wise woman, who knows the company to select her lover from! Ah! you, good soldier, of another squad it is true; shall we not drink and smoke together to-morrow and curse the pigs of No. 4? How they will groan and curse and envy us to-morrow! Good-night, brave comrade; good-bye till I see you again to-morrow!
The morrow came, with its drills and fatigues and duties. Some of ours were for guard, others for camp picket; how they envied us who were free for all the fun of the evening! The last meal was over, the last duty for the day done, when Nicholas and Le Grand and I went out to negotiate with the two cabaret keepers of the place.
Let me say something here about Le Grand. He was the biggest man in the battalion, some fellows said in the Legion, but there were others who denied this; anyway he was a fine, strapping Dubliner, whose real name I do not care to give. He was in my company, but not in my squad, not even in my section, so he and I passed each other when we met with a friendly "English pig!" "Irish pig!" "Go to the devil!" "Yes, yes; have you any tobacco?" "Yes; here, do not forget me to-morrow." Another word and we separated.
But let me pay here my tribute to the comrade of whom I shall more than once have occasion to speak. He was brave—I learned that on the battlefield, I have it not by hearsay; he was generous—I learned that many a time when we were together in Tonquin; he was kind and honest—that is, honest for a soldier—to all he met with, and his only fault was hastiness of temper, which made him knock you down one moment and, with the corresponding virtue, pick you up the next. But he never struck a boy, he never struck a veteran whose limbs and features showed the effectsof war, he would die of thirst sooner than take a drop of water from the hot-tongued youngster in the fight who had the desire to go forward and the weariness of the rifle and pack, and the moist heat of socks and the dull, heavy, deadly pain of pouches at the sides. I do not know where you are to-day, Le Grand; wherever you are take a little, a very little, tribute from one of your comrades. Great as was your frame, our liking and love for you were greater.
Well, we walked slowly, as befitted men bent on so important a mission, down to the collection of mud huts where the sutlers were. Nicholas, as the giver of the feast, had the centre, Le Grand was on his right, and I, the youngest and least of the three, supported the Russian on the left. We did not speak, but Nicholas now and then laughed, while a constant smile, cynical, sarcastic, and malicious, was on his lips. The Russian was evidently calculating on the fun he would have, for he, if no one else did, forecasted accurately the result. He was paying, and paying for a purpose; excitement was to him the breath of life; he had no fear of consequences; if he were punished he would take his punishment with that calm ease of manner which was the despair of all his superiors from the commandant down.
The first cabaret we visited was kept by a retired soldier—a man who had spent most of his life in Algeria, who had in fact, almost forgotten France. An ugly, old Kabyle woman, whom, I daresay, he had picked up a young girl in some forgotten desert raid, lived with him, cooked his meals, and helped to swindle us poor fellows out of the wretched pittance we were paid.
When we entered the host came forward, smiling, gloating I should say, on Nicholas. The fellow evidently knew about the money. The Russian came straight to the point.
"How much,mon vieux, for all in this hole?"
"What! all?"
"Well, you may leave out madame and the domestic furniture. How much, I ask you, for the hut, the drink, the tobacco, the glasses, the tables and forms, and all the rest of your property?"
"Well, well, I do not understand."
"Let us go to the Jew then," said Nicholas to Le Grand.
"Very well."
"What do you say, my friend?" This to me.
"A Jew can't swindle more than this old ruffian."
We turned to leave.
"No, no, no; I will sell all," cried the sutler.
"Very well," said Nicholas; "show me all you have, and quickly. I will make an offer; if you take it I will pay the money at once."
The sutler showed us what he had: so much brandy, the strongest in France, he said—so much wine; how beautiful, would we not take a glass?—so much tobacco, and so on; he praising and Nicholas critically valuing as the goods were shown. When everything had been shown Nicholas offered 500 francs for all.
"Oh no, not at all; that would ruin me."
"Very well; let us go to the Jew."
As we were passing out he ran out after Nicholas, and said:
"Six hundred."
"Five," said Nicholas.
The sutler shook his head.
"Give me five hundred and fifty and take all, in the name of the devil."
"For the last time, five hundred."
"Oh, you have a hard heart, very hard for so young and brave a soldier."
The temptation was too great; he would not let us go to the Jew, so he accepted. The money was paid, and Nicholas gave the old soldier and his wife ten minutes to get out their personal belongings, leaving me on guard to see that nothing else went out by mistake.
A similar scene, Le Grand afterwards told me, took place in the Jew's. At anyrate, in about a quarter of an hour Nicholas came back alone, having left our comrade to watch the other sutler's departure, and told me that he was going away to summon the rest.
"Fill a couple of glasses for ourselves first," he said; "I want to give the Jew time to get his things away."
The old soldier cocked his ears.
"You have bought the Jew's stuff too, my boy?"
"Yes," said Nicholas; "my company will drink, this evening. Get madame and your property to a safe distance, as there may be trouble."
The old man took the hint and hurried away; he was too experienced a soldier not to easily guess what would happen when a poor and thirsty company looked on at the carousal of a rich and happy one.
Well, down came the company, laughing, clapping one another on the back, jumping about, for all the world looking partly like schoolboys out for an unexpected and unhoped-for holiday, partly like a commando, as the Dutch say, from the lower regions. There was not room for all in the huts, but the barrels were quickly rolled out and broached with due care, for who would spill good liquor? There was no scrambling or pushing; in spite of the excitement every man waited good-humouredly for his turn, for was there not enough for all? Eight or ten of us selected by Nicholas were filling the glasses; a man came to me and asked for brandy, I gave him a glassful, he drank, passed on to a second and got a ration of wine, and then went off to the place where the tobacco was distributed, giving way to another. This went on continuously until all had received an allowance of brandy and another of wine and a third of tobacco, and then Nicholas, this time also accompanied by Le Grand and me, went for thenouveaux mariés, as he called them. We brought them down in triumph, Apollo smiling and bowing, the Cooloolie girl beaming with happiness, Nicholas assolemn as a judge, Le Grand and I breaking our sides with laughter. Such cheering and such compliments! Such a babel of tongues! The soldiers were all shouting out, every man, or almost every man, in his own tongue, and those words I caught and understood did not certainly err on the score of modesty. Nicholas amidst renewed cheering handed an immense vessel of wine to the lady; she drank some and passed it to Apollo, who drained it to the bottom.
When the cries had somewhat subsided Nicholas made a short speech. He alluded in graceful terms to the happy pair, and hoped that their children's children would in the years to come follow the flag in the old Legion, in the old regiment, in the old battalion, above all, in the old company. He praised the company; he said we could fight any other company on the face of the earth; as, he concluded by saying, our well-loved comrade has taken, and will keep, the woman he wants without asking any man's permission, so we have taken, and will keep for ourselves, the liquor in the camp.
He spoke in a loud tone, so that certain men of the other company might hear. These were looking enviously on at the orgy, and were quite near enough to make out the general tenor of his remarks. And Nicholas meant them to hear his words. He was no fool, and he knew what his speech would provoke; he was no coward, when the fight came, he stood up to his work like a man; he was no liar, for at the investigation he told exactly what he had done, and kept back only his purpose in doing it.
I may mention here that there were nosous-officiersand no soldiers of the first class at the carousal. We were all men of the second class, who neither hoped nor wished for promotion, therefore we were quite careless as to what might happen.
Very soon the fellows of No. 4 Company began to come out of their quarters by twos and threes. As we saw them approaching we raised our voices, we shouted,sang, danced, cried out toasts, and did everything in our power to make them at once angry and jealous. The Cooloolie was in the centre, seated in Apollo's lap, the Greek himself having improvised a sort of arm-chair out of the staves and ends of an empty barrel. Even then things might not have been too bad, but nothing can keep a woman quiet, especially when her tongue is loosened with wine. She called to the men of No. 4 to go and fetch the Portuguese, and we all laughed. She openly and without shame showered kisses and other endearments on her lover, and the laughter was redoubled. She called out to the poor, thirsty and tantalised devils outside the charmed circle that her old sweetheart was—well, let me leave her words to the imagination of those who have ever listened to an angry, reckless woman's tongue—and she ended by saying that the Portuguese was only a fair sample of his comrades. The men of No. 4 were now all around us, and those of us who, like myself, had partaken only sparingly of the wine began to scent a fight. There was no premeditation, I believe, on the part of the others; indeed, the only man who desired to make trouble from the beginning was Nicholas the Russian, and truly he got his wish gratified to the full. A few bad words passed between some of theirs and some of ours, a blow was struck and replied to; in a moment a wild rush towards the combatants was made by all. A general melee ensued, and in a second almost, as it seemed, a little spot of ground was covered with the struggling, twisting, writhing bodies of four hundred angry, swearing men.
As I was running down to where the press of fighting was, I came full tilt against a man of No. 4. He and I staggered and almost fell from the shock. Luckily I had a half-empty bottle in my hand, and though when he recovered himself he almost made me totter with a swinging blow on the chest, yet I sent him fairly down with an ugly stroke of the bottle across the head.
The next man I crossed tumbled me fairly over.What followed immediately afterwards I do not know. The next thing I remember is that I was standing on a table, striking out on all sides with the leg of a chair. A sudden rush on the part of the men of No. 4 drove back our company, the table was overturned, and I found myself sprawling on the ground, trying as best I could to regain my feet. Our fellows rallied and pushed back the others, and a tacit armistice took place. Not for long, though. The others got together in a mass, we formed up in a circle round the barrels and the tobacco, and the fight re-commenced. And the Cooloolie woman was the best combatant of all, for though she herself did not do more than claw a man or two, who broke away at once, not wishing to hurt a woman beloved by men of both companies, yet with her cries and execrations she lashed them and us into a fury of fighting which made all men perfect devils. I have seen worse fighting, but then we had weapons. This fight was really the most savage save one, which I shall speak of afterwards, for there was no care of hurting comrades, there was no hanging back in the rush, there was no yielding of even a foot in the defence, and all the while the white guards looked on in horror, and the Turcos crept back to their part of the encampment with deadly terror in their hearts.
Half-a-dozen times we stopped for a moment or two to take breath. Then one of ours would rush at a man of No. 4, or one of No. 4 would come with an oath against a man of ours, and in a second the fray would be re-commenced. The officers and thesous-officiers, the guard and the picket, tried to separate us. It was all in vain; they might just as well have tried to pull apart two packs of wolves. Moreover, half of the soldiers brought down to quell the trouble belonged to ours, and half to No. 4, and the commanding officer was very much afraid that these might join in the fight, and they carried arms and ammunition. But, you will say, why not use the Turcos? Ah, that would never do. Thecommanding officer might succeed in putting an end to the disturbance with their assistance, it is true, but the consequences which were sure to follow were too serious, for the Turcos would never afterwards be safe from an attack. All the legionaries, not merely the men of the companies in the camp, but all the legionaries throughout Algeria, would resent the interference of the native troops, and heaven only knows what scenes of bloodshed might arise in unexpected quarters, and from trivial causes. Had there been even half-a-company of Frenchmen in camp all would have been well, but the nearest French soldiers, a squadron or two of chasseurs, lay a few kilometres away. To them, however, a mounted messenger was sent, and when we were almost weary of fighting, and began to think it time to look after the wounded—the place looked like a battlefield where regular weapons had been employed—we heard the trumpets of the cavalry and saw not a hundred yards away the long line of horsemen thundering down with raised swords at the charge. Before the chasseurs we broke and fled, but they were on us too soon for safety, and many a man went down before the charge.
As I was running to a hut a sergeant of chasseurs overtook me. Instinctively I jumped aside and lifted my right arm to protect my head. It was no use; down came the flat of the heavy sabre on my shoulder, and almost at the same time the charger's forequarter struck me sideways on the breast. I fell, and wisely remained quiet and motionless on the ground until the charge had passed. I then got up and reached the hut, which I found almost packed with men of both companies, whose appetite for fighting had altogether disappeared. In a short time we were all prisoners. My company was marched to the north side of the camp and No. 4 to the south, and we lay out all the night; and nights are very cold in these warm countries—the more so by contrast with the heat of the day.
Now about the casualties. I cannot tell the exact number killed outright in the quarrel or charge, or of wounded who afterwards died, but it was certainly not less than a score. More than 100 were seriously injured, and there was not a man of all the fighters without several ugly marks on his body. The Greek, who had fought well until, as I heard, a blow of a stone brought him insensible to the ground, had his brains knocked out by a horse's hoof; the Portuguese, we learned, died in hospital of his hurts. As for the Cooloolie girl—well, what would you expect? She wept for a week, and then took to herself a new lover out of the many who sought her favour, for your famous or notorious woman does not long lack suitors.
How we made up the quarrel and escaped severe punishment—heaven knows we punished ourselves enough as it was—must be told in a new chapter.
CHAPTER VIII
Nobodywas surprised when, on the morning after the affray, a corporal of chasseurs and half-a-dozen men came to escort Nicholas, Le Grand, and me to the commandant's quarters in the camp. Nicholas had his head swathed in rags, and limped more than slightly with the left foot; Le Grand showed a beautiful pair of black eyes and confessed to a racking headache. Every part of my body felt its own particular pain, my right eye was closed up, and I had an ugly cut on the forehead, the scar of which still remains. When we arrived at the place of inquiry, we found every officer in the camp, our own officers and those of the chasseurs and Turcos, assembled around the commandant. For a few moments there was silence, while they eyed us and we looked steadily at the commandant. At last this officer spoke, slowly and in a quiet tone: "The affair of yesterday was serious, indeed serious." He fixed his gaze on Nicholas. "You, I hear, bought all the drink and tobacco from the sutlers. Did that lead to the quarrel?"
Nicholas saluted respectfully and asked permission to make a statement. When it was accorded he began to tell all the story, just, indeed, as it happened, or almost as it happened. In narrating the dispute between the rivals he placed all the blame upon the Greek, for he knew at the time that the Greek was dead and therefore could not be punished. He said nothing, however, about certain encouragement that Apollo had received before and during his vainglorious parade through the camp with his new love on his arm; nor did he mention certain sarcastic expressions concerning the Portuguese which he himself had uttered in the hearing of the Cooloolie girl; also, he seemed to forget that these very expressions were used most frequently and with most infuriating effect by her when she was sitting, almost lying indeed, in the Greek's arms just before the fight. No; he told the truth, but not all the truth, and he told everything in so open and candid a way that Le Grand and I were almost deceived. He let fall the nickname Apollo, as it were by accident, and then, turning respectfully to the captain of chasseurs, who could not be supposed to know the man, he explained: "We called him so, monsieur le capitaine, because he was so handsome." "Quite true, quite true," acquiesced the commandant; "he was a veritable Apollo." Afterwards we heard that the cavalry officers went to see the Greek as he lay stripped in the hut of the dead, and, although the face was disfigured out of all human semblance by the horse's hoof, yet the beautiful curves and splendid proportions of his body, marked even as it was by countless bruises, proved that the nickname was well deserved.
One good effect was produced by Nicholas' statement. Everything was so honest and straightforward, so natural and true-seeming, that anything he might afterwards say was likely to be believed. Moreover, though the officers had not seen the parade of the lovers through the camp, yet they had evidently heard of it; and, again, thesous-officierscould be brought to prove the truth of that part of the story.
When the Russian was asked about the buying of the sutlers' property for the use of only one company, he again begged leave to make a rather long statement, partly, he admitted, about himself, but chiefly about the customs of the corps. He said that without such a statement the business could not be clearly and thoroughly understood by the officers, especially by those officers who did not belong to the Legion. Again leave was granted to him to tell his story in his ownway, and the commandant was graciously pleased to allow Le Grand and me to stand at ease; he even said to Nicholas: "You need not stand altogether to attention, make gestures if you wish, speak freely, just as if you were telling a story to your friends." Nicholas bowed with a courtier's grace; he wore no kepi, being a prisoner at the tribunal; the chasseurs looked at one another in astonishment, wondering at the aristocratic air that could not be concealed even under a private soldier's tunic or by a bruised and battered face. Ah! little they knew of the wrecked lives, the lost souls, that came to us from every country in Europe, that made the Foreign Legion, if I may say so, a real cemetery of the living.
Nicholas explained that, when a man had money, he was bound by all the rules of the corps to spend it with the men of his squad; that, when the money was more than usually plentiful, he was supposed to entertain his section; that, in the rare cases when thousands of francs—how the chasseurs opened their eyes at this!—were in a man's possession, all the rules of regimental etiquette obliged him to spend the money royally and loyally with his comrades of the company. Beyond the company one could not go. Were one as rich as a Rothschild one could not do more than give a few francs to a man of another company if he were a fellow-countryman—all, or nearly all, had to be spent with one's comrades of the company. Our officers recognised the truth of this, they understood our unwritten laws, and again Nicholas added to his reputation for veracity. But he said nothing at all about giving a percentage to the sergeant-major, nor about the taxes levied by the sergeant of the section and the corporal of the squad. The sergeant-major, who was present, looked relieved when this part of the Russian's statement came to an end—for were not two hundred francs of the Russian's money in his pocket at the time? Nicholas knew what to tell and what to keep back; therewould be no use in alluding to the money which he was practically compelled to give to his superior officers; it would only cause anger at the time and produce trouble and a heavier punishment for us afterwards.
Nicholas went on to state that he had received a large amount of money from a friend in Europe, and that he had at once resolved to pay for a good spree for his comrades. For a joke he called the affair a weddingdéjeunerin honour of the Greek and the Cooloolie girl. He thought—at least he said he thought—that the other company would not mind; they knew the rules of the Legion as well as he; a little fun about the new connection ought to hurt nobody except the Portuguese. But, poor, misguided fellow that he was, he had never calculated the damage that might be done by a woman's tongue; he, simple, ignorant baby, thought that we should have a couple of hours of jollity and drinking and that then all would go quietly back to quarters. He had always held the men of No. 4 in great respect; he would, indeed, be the last in the world to insult them, or in the slightest degree to make little of the company. He admitted with sorrow—the hypocrite—that his action had been injudicious—it would have been all right only for the woman; he had paid for drink and tobacco, but not for insults to any man or men of No. 4; it was the woman who insulted people; he did not want to fight with anybody, least of all with the men of No. 4, but, when his company became engaged in an affray, he would have been indeed a bad comrade, nay, a coward, had he remained out of the fight. We wished for only the drink and the tobacco; we soldiers had no desire but to enjoy ourselves in peace and quietness in the evening after the hard work of a hot and dusty day; we had no malice, not even now did we harbour evil thoughts, towards our fellow-soldiers of No. 4; but what will you? who can stop a woman's tongue?—we could not even expostulate with her without insulting our goodcomrade Apollo; if she drove the others to attack us by her ugly words, were we, men not afraid of death, to tamely surrender? That, they all knew, was impossible. Without actually saying it he flung the whole blame for the fight on the woman's shoulders. I thought at first that this was not quite fair, but I soon saw that Nicholas was really doing his best to save us all. Everybody knew the wild way she spoke and acted before the first blow was struck, but Nicholas knew quite well that nobody would hold her accountable for her language, while everybody would admit that the men of No. 4 had reasonable grounds for attacking us, and, of course, we when attacked were quite justified in defending ourselves. This was what the Russian was aiming at all along: to put the blame on the Cooloolie girl, who in the first place could not be court-martialled for a soldiers' quarrel, and in the second would most undoubtedly be sympathised with for the loss of her lover. At the same time, a case of extenuating circumstances was made out for No. 4 Company, and we, the attacked party, who did not apparently seek to provoke an attack, would be adjudged guiltless of offence because we merely resisted. It was a splendid plan—it saved us—but we had, in addition to becoming reconciled with our comrades and getting some punishment, to volunteer for the war. That, however, will be told of in its own time and place.