When the Russian had finished his statement a few questions were asked of him, not in the nature of a cross-examination, but for the evident purpose of clearing up matters that were not quite understood by the hearers. He answered these with readiness and to the point, preserving always the bearing and language of an aristocrat, with the tone and temper of a simple soldier in presence of his superiors. When they had done with him the commandant questioned first Le Grand and then me, but we merely corroborated our comrade's story. Not that there was at the time anydoubt in our minds that Nicholas had desired a fight and had paid for the gratification of his desire, but who can give evidence of what has passed in another's mind, and who would betray a generous comrade?
At last the commandant sent us away, and we returned under escort to the place where our company lay under guard, hungry, thirsty, without change of clothing, and every man aching all over, and cursing as the effects of the fight began to make themselves felt. The other men crowded around us to learn what had happened. Nicholas, in the centre of a ring of eager, interested listeners, told exactly, without change, addition or omission, in a loud voice so that all might hear, the tale of the inquiry. All were satisfied so far, many, indeed, gave up their preconceived beliefs, and thought that the Russian's account of the affray and what led up to it was "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." We, Le Grand and I, confirmed the account, we made no secret of our belief that all would yet be well, we swore it was the woman who led our good friends of No. 4 to assault us, and surely no one could blame us for defending ourselves.
After some time Nicholas called Le Grand and me apart, and we held a consultation for nearly a quarter of an hour. The others marked us, they noted the earnest words and persuasive gestures of the Russian, they watched the eager, attentive looks of Le Grand and me. When we had settled the matter to our own satisfaction apparently Nicholas led the way to the centre of the little camp—prison I should call it, for the sentries looked inwards and not outwards. In a moment, as it seemed, every man that was able to drag himself forward was in a group around our little party. Nicholas waited until a hush fell upon the meeting, and then addressed them somewhat in the words that follow. I have no doubt about the essence of what he said, but I cannot hope to reproduce the eloquent language, the expressive features, the seductivetones, above all, the general air of the born orator that Nicholas assumed. From time to time he appealed to Le Grand or to me for confirmation of his words. There was, indeed, no necessity, the men were at his will before he had spoken for two minutes.
In brief, this was what he said:
"My comrades, we have had an ugly quarrel with our fellow-soldiers of No. 4, and we cannot, I think, blame them for attacking us, nor can they with justice blame us for defending ourselves. But there is no doubt about the real origin of the affair. The woman used to belong to one of theirs; she chose, as she had a right to do—that everyone admits—to give up her lover in their company and to give herself to a man of ours. Well, we must acknowledge that she and the Greek were not discreet, and I will confess that, for my own part, I did not act with discretion either, but what could I do when I had money in my pocket but spend it with my companions of the encampment and the battlefield? If there had been no jealousy about a woman, we should have had a peaceful, enjoyable evening; if there had been no money in the company, the jealousy would have been settled by a fair fight between the rivals in the usual way that we all understand and appreciate, without four or five hundred men being drawn into the quarrel. We are under guard and are sure of punishment; in all respects they are faring, and will fare, no better than we. Let us try, now that the Greek is dead and the Portuguese, as I hear, is dying, to become reconciled to our comrades of No. 4. Trust me, if we can settle the matter amongst ourselves, so that all may understand that we shall not renew the quarrel, the officers will be only too glad to have an excuse for passing over the affair as lightly as possible. What I recommend then is this: let a deputation of four be appointed from amongst us; let us ask permission to visit the prison camp of No. 4; let us ask them to appoint four of their number toconfer with us; believe me, we shall soon, for the sake of the men of both companies, come to a satisfactory arrangement, and we all shall be friends again, and, indeed, be better friends than ever before, because we have learned to respect one another."
The Russian's proposal was agreed to on the spot. Someone said that Nicholas ought to be chief of our embassy, but this he would not agree to. He would be a member, if they wished, but only with the same rights and the same responsibilities as the others. Le Grand, a Hungarian, and I were chosen as his partners in the delicate business, and some way or other we all seemed to be satisfied that our troubles would soon come to an end.
The first thing to be done was to get permission to go across, under escort be it well understood, to the prisoners of No. 4. This was obtained by the aid of our sergeant-major. He must have spoken very strongly to the commandant, for the latter came down to us in a great hurry, asked Nicholas point-blank whether we were serious in the attempt to settle the affair amicably, and if he thought we had any chance of succeeding. Things were bad enough, heaven knows, as they were, but it was rather risky to keep nearly 400 fighting men without their weapons and ammunition in the very centre of the scene of the recent operations. Had the Kabyles attacked the camp on the night after the quarrel, they would have slaughtered us, the unarmed ones, like sheep, and in all probability would have easily carried with a rush the little fortification that had been set up around the huts. Therefore the commandant was only too glad to get a chance to put us under arms again, if he could only believe that we would not use them against one another. The quarrel was an ugly thing, but that could be explained, and we should in any case receive punishment, but a disaster to his command would spell ruin for his chances of promotion. Hewas pleased, therefore, when Nicholas laid his hand upon his heart and promised upon his honour—yes, he said upon his honour—that we would do our best to settle matters, that we would in no way again raise the anger of the men of No. 4, and, finally, that he was himself prepared to apologise for his part in the affair. This expression, I am sure, the commandant took to refer to the buying up of all the drink and the tobacco; we, who knew better, remembered the irritating speech that the Russian had made after thenouveaux mariéshad pledged each other.
Well, after a little hesitation he let us go across. We were escorted this time by the men of our own company—soldiers of the first class, who had taken no part in the fight, and soldiers of the second class who had been either on guard or on camp picket. The escort was under the command of our sergeant-major, and I am sure that he was sent so that the commandant might get a trustworthy account of the negotiations. We could not object to any arrangement; we were very well satisfied to get the chance of making it up again with our fellow-soldiers, for, as I have already said, the nights are cold in Algeria, and we feared that news of the quarrel might have already spread amongst the Kabyles, and we knew that the exposed position in which we were placed left us completely at their mercy, should they make up their minds to attack. Moreover, the soldier, even in a peaceful country, hates to be deprived of his weapons and his belts; how much more then did we, in a hostile land, dislike the deprivation of them!
When we arrived at the cordon of sentries around No. 4 Company we were halted, and Nicholas, standing slightly in advance of us, his fellow-ambassadors, told them why we came and asked them to be so kind as to appoint four men of theirs to confer with us, so that the dispute might be settled and the companies be at peace with each other again. He waslistened to with attention, and when he had finished his message he said that we four should wait, with the sergeant-major's kind permission, for half-an-hour to give them time to deliberate and, if they should agree to the proposal, to select their delegates.
Before the half-hour was over the men of No. 4 Company had made up their minds to accept the proposal, and at once appointed four of theirs to arrange matters with us. Two of the four were Alsatians, one a Lorrainer, and the fourth, and, indeed, the most important—their Nicholas, as I may say—a bronzed, sharp-eyed and sharp-witted Italian. As soon as these ambassadors were nominated, our sergeant-major took the eight of us away a short distance from the escort and told us that we might speak freely, as he and the sergeant-major of No. 4 would be the only listeners, and they would in every way respect our confidence. The second sergeant-major said the same thing: "Speak freely," he continued, "and, for the love of God, settle the affair for ever. It is not pleasant to see so many brave soldiers without arms in such a region; who knows when the Kabyles will attack?" The hint was not lost upon us, and I believe that the seven others felt, as I did, that the sooner we were again good friends and under arms the better.
Nicholas made the first speech, and said in almost the same words what he had already told the commandant. He did this, I believe, purposely. Our sergeant-major was very attentive, and Nicholas guessed, as all did, that he would make a report to the officers, and it would be just as well that the statement made then at this meeting should be on all-fours with the statement made previously at the tribunal. But he went further. He explained that he had made up his mind to give a good evening to his company when money came to him from Europe, and surely no one would blame him for that. Then he went on to say that he was truly sorry for the affray and for any language oracts of his that might have brought it about. Had he but remotely guessed what would be the result, he would have burned the money sooner than let it be the cause of strife between companies which had been so lately fighting side by side against the enemy and which had never before fallen out with each other. For his own part, he hoped and prayed that the former good relations might once more exist between us, and he believed that they would, and that we should respect one another more than ever on account of the gallantry which No. 4 Company and his own had displayed in that unfortunate struggle. Many other things he said to the same effect, and when he had finished it was easy to see that all, with the exception of the Italian, were satisfied. Not that the Italian desired to prolong the disagreement, but he saw—what his fellow-delegates either did not see, or, for the sake of peace, pretended not to see—that Nicholas had deliberately resolved, when the money arrived, to get up a quarrel between the companies through pure devilment and love of excitement. The Italian wanted to show clearly to all that he at least understood and was determined to publish his opinion, and it must be admitted that he was quite within his rights in doing so, though it would have been more discreet on his part to keep his thoughts, for the moment any way, to himself. He developed his plan of attack in a Socratic manner.
"Why," he questioned the Russian (I may mention that all through he ignored the rest of us), "why did you not spend the money with all?"
"Because I never go outside my company," replied Nicholas.
"Very good; but why did you buy up all the drink in the two cabarets? Why did you not leave some in one of them for us?"
"Because I thought that all would be scarcely enough for my own comrades, and one thinks only of his own."
"True," continued the Italian; "but then why didyou not give us notice that you were taking all for yourself and your companions?"
"Because I thought that such a notice would be an insult and would certainly provoke a quarrel, a thing which I was most anxious to avoid."
A low muttering of approval followed this, but Cecco only smiled like one unconvinced. I was looking at Nicholas at the time; truly he had the air and bearing of one who would suffer martyrdom rather than tell a lie. He puzzled me. For a moment I almost believed him innocent, he seemed so calm and steadfast, his manner was so open and ingenuous. Here, a stranger might remark, is an upright, God-fearing man, whose heart knows no guile, whose mind is lofty and self-respecting, whose bosom swells with love and friendship for his fellow-man. Cecco's comrades seemed almost to believe, but the Italian was too cunning, too experienced in the world—above all, too full of knowledge of his own rascality—to be convinced.
"Well, well, well," he said; "we were insulted, and you best of all know it. Shall we not have even an apology? There cannot," he went on, "be an excuse. No matter about the woman and her fickleness; no matter about the wine and the tobacco; what can be said of the ugly words spoken of us, the comrades of the Portuguese?"
"Ah," replied Nicholas in a tone of contrition and with an assumption of sorrow that would have deceived Vidocq himself, "that is what wounds me. I, alas! have been indiscreet. I confess that I was overjoyed when I saw around me my comrades happy and free from care, and that in a moment of excitement I said things which were altogether wrong and uncalled for. Let me beg your forgiveness for my offence, and, as an evidence of my regret and a proof of your forgiveness, let us spend, both companies together, the remainder of the money sent to me by a kind friend in my own country."
The admission that the Russian still had money, and enough too to provide fun and pleasure for both companies, was quite sufficient to settle the whole affair. Even Cecco was satisfied, as he remarked: "What was the use of abusing one another for a thing that could not be undone, when it was so much better to shake hands and clink glasses and be good friends as of old?"
"What indeed?" assented the Lorrainer. "What indeed?" said we all.
We shook hands earnestly and gladly with one another, and each quartette departed to its own company. All were pleased to hear the report. The men of No. 4, indeed, cheered Nicholas as loudly as we did. The commandant was satisfied; he knew well that the men were only too glad to become reconciled, but he took care when the rest of the Russian's money was spent that it was spent in the encampment and that half-a-squadron of chasseurs were standing by their saddled horses until the last man had gone quietly home to quarters. They were not wanted, indeed, but the cunning fox was taking no chances, as a serious renewal of the fight would, if not at once put down, be bad for his military reputation.
So we became friends again. But we suffered a little, and judged it best to volunteer for the war in Tonquin, for the soldier going on active service, especially as a volunteer, generally gets his punishments remitted, and is received back again into the favour of his superiors.
CHAPTER IX
Ofcourse, the affair did not altogether end with the reconciliation of the companies. Punishment had to be awarded to both, and as ours was the more guilty one we received more than the men of No. 4. As so many were included it was obviously impossible to punish us in any of the ordinary ways, but we got extra drills, extra duties, unnecessary most of them, and in addition each of the companies had to furnish all the guards and pickets for the little camp on alternate days. This relieved the Turcos and those of our men who had not been in the fight, but it was very hard for us others to do double drill and double fatigue, let us say on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays to be on sentry or on picket during the day and to sleep in our clothes, with only a greatcoat to cover us, during the night. And even then there was no chance of sleeping much, for when night fell one of the sections was on guard and outlying picket for two hours, and then the other relieved the first for the next two. Thus, if my section went on duty at eight o'clock in the evening after, be it well understood, doing our fair share of guard and camp-picket work from eight in the morning, we were relieved at ten for a little rest, went on again at midnight, and were relieved at two; took up the duty once more at four, and remained on until six, and then we had two hours to get our morning coffee and clean up our things to come off guard at eight. You might think that it was hardest on the officers, sergeants, and corporals; but no, only one officer and one-third of thesous-officiersmounted guard on any morning, so that all of these got fivenights in bed out of every six, whereas we, the troublesome ones, got only one night in every two.
We bore it well enough, however, though I must admit that we used bad language occasionally, but, as there were so many of us included in the punishment, no one minded it so much as if he were the only delinquent. It helps a man wonderfully to bear hardship and disgrace when he sees many others undergoing the same misfortunes as himself, and this is the rule even though he does not wish evil to his comrades in distress. One man on a sinking raft will in all probability go mad before it takes its final plunge beneath the waves; a dozen men similarly situated will have less fear of the great deep and the great unknown, because each is, as it were, consoled by the knowledge that others too must pass through the grim portals of death at the same time and place and by the same means as he. Thus it was that, though we grumbled and cursed one minute, the next we laughed and rallied one another; and we had, moreover, one great consolation—we knew that the story would rapidly run through the Legion, and that our good comrades, 8000 in number, would laugh with fierce delight when they heard of the encounter and its causes, and would admire and envy the men who had the spirit and the devilment to provide such a relief fromennuiin the little camp on the border of the desert. We eagerly figured to ourselves how they would gloat over the story of the Cooloolie girl and her lovers—the handsome Greek and the passionate Portuguese; we knew how they would envy Nicholas and his money; we felt quite certain that the story would go down to succeeding legionaries with embelishments, as was natural, and finally become one of the best-loved traditions of the corps. It is still too early to call it a tradition; but, take my word for it, the fight between the two companies at Three Fountains is talked of to-day in many a barrack-room, in many a lonely village round an oasis in the Sahara, over manya camp and watch fire, in many a canteen and cabaret, where thevieux soldatspull their grey moustaches and tell the eager-eyed recruits over theeau-de-vieand thevin ordinairethe wonderful story of what happened when a Cooloolie girl changed her lover and a Russian prince, in exile and disgrace, received thousands of francs from a friend, "most likely a woman,mes enfants," in Europe and spent it as a soldier should. Ay, even the officers are proud of the story to-day, and, when they go to France on leave, our little escapade is told in the family circle and to all the friends and relations who are continually asking for tales ofces affreux légionnaires.
I had almost forgotten another part of our punishment. While all the others turned out for parade without knapsacks, those of us who had been in the affray had to appear in heavy marching order, as English soldiers say—that is, with all ourbuffleterie, knapsack, and pouches on our persons. In fact, looking at us one would imagine that we were just about to start on a campaign. Another thing was that Nicholas, Le Grand, and I, as to all appearance the ringleaders in the affair, were not allowed to stir out of the camp or even to go much through it; a sergeant or a corporal would quickly order us back to our own quarters, if we were seen at any distance from them. Moreover, we three lost all our pay; but that made little difference, it was not much anyway, and our comrades gave us as much tobacco as we wanted and as much wine as we really cared about or they could spare.
While we were thus getting a foretaste of purgatory, into the camp one sultry afternoon rode the colonel of the regiment. That evening he spent in talking to the officers and examining some sergeants and corporals, who were believed to have most knowledge of the quarrel and of those engaged in it, especially the corporals who commanded the squads in which the Russian, Le Grand, and I were. Le Grand, I have already said, did not belong to our squad, not even to our section.Next morning at six a company of Turcos relieved No. 4 Company, which had been on guard and outlying picket all the night, and at seven, immediately after the morning coffee, the two companies of legionaries were formed up in line first and inspected, and then in column of sections, No. 1 section of mine being the front, and No. 2 of No. 4 Company the rear, of the half-battalion. While in this formation we were addressed by the colonel of the regiment. I cannot give a detailed account here of what he said; all I remember is that he abused, threatened and cursed us for nearly half-an-hour. We did not mind that, however, as we were case-hardened enough already; but what we did mind was the Parthian shaft he let fly as he turned to leave the ground: "Remember, remember well, that all the punishment has not been endured; when the commandant is satisfied I shall wish to be satisfied too." To say truth, then, he frightened us.
When we were dismissed from parade, we indulged in many gloomy speculations as to the extra punishment awaiting us. We knew, or rather guessed, two things at once—first, that the extra fatigues and guards would soon be discontinued, for our officers were not likely to make us disgusted with our duties, because we should then become careless, and who could foretell what danger might arise from the inattention of a sentry or the unwilling response to orders on the part of an advance-guard? Secondly, we quite understood that very soon we should turn our backs on Three Fountains, where everything kept us from forgetting the dispute and the fight, especially the little mound at the eastern side of the camp, that marked the last resting-place of the Greek and the Portuguese and our other comrades who had fallen—an ugly reminder of an ugly fray. As soon, therefore, as other white troops could be sent to our camp we should pack and march—the question was, whither? Now, there are many bad stations in the south of Algeria. There are places where one may oftennot wash his face and hands for a week, so scarce is water there. To do the French Government justice, these places are usually held by native troops who do not mind thirst and dirt so much as Europeans, but it was well known that white men had on more than one occasion been sent to such stations and kept there until they almost despaired of ever becoming civilised again. Moreover, in these spots there is a great lack of other things besides water; there is no wine save that which comes to the officers; there is only the tobacco sold to one by the Government. Worst of all, a woman must be very much in love or very ugly before she will consent to follow a man thither. These are the suicide stations, if I may call them so—the stations where a shot rings out in the night and all rush to arms, fearing an attack of Touareks or Kabyles, but when dawn comes there is only a dead sentry making black the yellow sand at a post. When one man shoots himself an epidemic seems to set in; men hear every day in hut or tent or guard room the ill-omened report; soon they go about looking fearfully at one another, for no one knows but that he is looking into the eyes of a comrade who has made up his mind to die. The corporal counts his squad, "fourteen, fifteen—ah! there were sixteen yesterday," so he says; he thinks: How long until I have only fourteen, and who will be the next man to quitla gamelle?
We thought of all these things during the day, and we noted, more with anxiety than relief, that for us there were no drills or fatigues. My company was, indeed, warned to be ready to relieve the Turcos on guard at eight o'clock in the evening, but we were allowed to lounge about our quarters and talk with one another all the day. The different squads kept to themselves; a grave crisis either dispels all squad distinctions or accentuates them, and it was the latter that took place on this occasion. We ate our meals in gloomy silence, but in the intervals between them we speculated incessantly on what the colonel meant by saying that when the commandant had punished us he would take care to punish us too. Though we thought of everything that might occur, yet we were not satisfied; the indefiniteness of the threat was its chief terror. If one knows with certainty the worst, why, one can prepare to meet it, but when some fate, terrible but not tangible, certain but not understood, hangs over a man or a number of men courage is apt to ooze out at the finger ends. Talk of the sword of Damocles, that was nothing;—it simply meant death at some uncertain time—why, we all have such swords over our heads, and yet we eat and drink and sleep, we pray and curse, we laugh and weep, we hurt or help our neighbour, we gain or spend, as if life were the one thing safe and sure, safe and sure for ever. No one thinks much of his future beyond the grave; it is the future on this side of the Styx that we most earnestly dwell on. Why, even the man condemned to death thinks far less of what may happen to his soul, if he believes that he has a soul, when it leaves the body, than of the years of gladness and fellowship with men that the law is about to take from him. The uncertainty and the suspense united made us discontented and gloomy; we spoke to one another, it is true, but not in the old and pleasant way. There was not much cursing or swearing—we had gone beyond such solace or relief—but there was plenty of morose ill-humour, and as forbonne camaraderie, there was less of it in a company than there had been the day before in a single squad.
After the evening soup Nicholas nodded to me to come over to him. I was not sorry to go across the little space between us; he was the first who had even been commonly polite to me that day. When we were together he spoke in a low tone and in English—I may remark here that Nicholas was very well educated and spoke at least half-a-dozen languages with purity and ease—asking me what I intended to do.
"Nothing," I replied. "I see nothing that I can do."
"Nothing?" he queried.
"Nothing. And you?"
"Oh! I," said he, "do not intend to stay in Algeria any longer; my physician orders me to a warmer climate somewhere in the East."
"Yes," he went on; "I fancy that Tonquin will suit my present ailment; anyway, better see life along with the others who are now campaigning there than stagnate in a desert hole."
"You do not mean——" I began, but he interrupted me.
"Yes, I do mean it; and I know that they will be only too glad to get such volunteers as we are."
"They" (by "they" he meant the military authorities) "know very well that we shall be trying to escape from the fire to the frying-pan, and that we shall have only two things to depend upon to get us out of the latter—valour and good conduct. So we shall be the very best of soldiers, because, while others have merely to keep their good reputation, we shall have to earn ours over again. Trust me, they will be glad to accept us as volunteers for the war, and, listen, I know these French, when we volunteer they will almost altogether forgive us. They are very hard and strict, especially with us, and they are too nice about their honour, and they stand overmuch on ceremony and punctilio, but they are really generous, often more generous than just. When they find us trying to retrieve our good name they will give us every opportunity to do so. We shall have many vacancies in the ranks, it is true, and many a good comrade will not answer at the evening roll call, but it will be well with the survivors. In any case, I am tired of soldiering here. Why should I not see the world, not as I saw it before," he smiled sadly, as I thought, when he said this, "but as millions of men have seen it—a nameless unit in a crowd? After all, many of Cæsar's legionaries had happier lives than Cæsar."When he ceased speaking there was silence between us for some moments. Then he asked:
"And you, young one, what will you do?"
"I will volunteer," I answered; "there surely cannot be worse fighting in Tonquin than there was here at Three Fountains a short while ago."
He smiled, and said: "Was it not good practice for war? Was it not better than all the drill in the world?"
"Yes," I replied; "if someone got a thousand francs every week, we should be the finest fighting men on the earth. I mean those of us who did not go out there," and I nodded towards the mound on the eastern side of the camp. He shook his head. "Say nothing about that; it is all over now. I do not mind your saying what you think to me alone, but do not, I ask you, speak too freely to our comrades. They will soon forget everything, if they are not constantly reminded of things."
After some further conversation we separated.
I said nothing to the others about our resolve, as I wished that the Russian should be the first to explain matters to our comrades. I had more than one reason for doing this. In the first place, Nicholas, as he was known in the corps—what his real name and rank were we never learned—was my senior in age and experience; in the second, he was a man of infinitely greater influence than I or any other in the company, partly on account of his money and generosity, but still more because of his manner, bearing, and unconscious air of authority; moreover, he was the clearest and most convincing speaker I have ever heard. Again, he had brought us into trouble and had done a good deal to get us out of it; to him, therefore, all looked for further deliverance. I felt sure that, when he told the rest of his intention, all of ours, and probably all of No. 4 Company, would volunteer along with him. It would be much better for us if companies volunteered instead ofmerely men or squads or sections. The greater the number going of their own accord to the war, the more lenient would our officers be; and, furthermore, no man would be likely to be sent amongst strangers—we should probably all soldier together. Should Nicholas and I go out by ourselves, we should be transferred with bad reputations to a company already in Tonquin, and for that neither he nor I had any liking. If all volunteered, we might still remain an unchanged unit, even though in a new battalion, and one must never forget that when a man has been for some time living and working and fighting, yes, and looting, and perhaps doing worse, along with certain companions, he has a feeling ofcamaraderie, of yearning for their society, which makes it very hard for him to leave them, though it must be acknowledged that a soldier easily makes new friends and new attachments wherever he goes.
Nicholas did not ponder long before he announced his intention of volunteering for Tonquin. I don't think it took the others much by surprise, perhaps because recent events had prepared them for anything, perhaps because the Russian's acts, no matter how strange they might appear in another man, were only ordinary, natural, and to be expected in him. Any way they merely nodded or smiled, and at first no one asked for an explanation. This, however, the Russian gave of his own accord.
"You know,mes camarades," he began, "that the colonel is very angry with us and that he has it in his power to make things very uncomfortable for those who have displeased him. Now I do not care to stay under his command if I can get away from it, and there is but one course, as far as I know, by which I can avoid his anger and perhaps regain the reputation of being a good soldier and one not likely to disgrace the flag. There is, as we all are aware, a war against savages going on at this moment in Tonquin. I mean to volunteer to go thither; it will be easier to campaignagainst Black Flags, who will kill me if they can and whom I will kill if I am able, than to suffer in a camp of hell in the desert, where one cannot resist nor even complain. Better, far better, will it be to march and fight, even to starve and die, like a soldier in an enemy's country than to live a life worse than a convict's in some one of those awful cantonments where even the native soldiers are discontented and restless. You all have heard, as I have, of the woes of poor soldiers in such places. The officers and sub-officers are hard enough here—I mean no offence to our own corporal, he has always been good comrade to his squad—but there they are veritable demons, there they carry revolvers by day and by night, and, if a sergeant should lose his temper and shoot a simple soldier, there is no redress, there is no punishment, unless the dead man's comrades themselves take a just vengeance on the murderer. And then there will be executions and deprivation of pay, and the last state of the company will be worse than the first. Again, in those places, where not even our poor amusements and relaxations are possible, where one can enjoy neither wine nor the society of women, men go mad and men commit suicide, and men deliberately break the laws in sheer despair, and, worst of all, men die lingering deaths from settled melancholy, thinking always, as they cannot help thinking, of home and former friends and the pleasant, happy days of youth. But I, for my part, will not, if I can avoid those places, go thither to starve, to mope, to rot alive, and to die—hopeless, friendless—for there men are not friends but only associates—with a curse upon my lips and heavy anger with God and man in my heart. No; rather will I volunteer for Tonquin. There I shall be, if no better, at least no worse than thousands of others who are fighting bravely, and are ready, if need be, to bravely die."
When Nicholas stopped speaking an Alsatian said: "I too will volunteer." That was all; Alsatians are notinclined to talk much, but they are good, hardworking, steadfast men in action. If you are fighting and an Alsatian is your comrade, your rear-rank man let us say, don't be a bit afraid to go forward, the Alsatian will be always there, backing you up. They are not men who are anxious to lead a bayonet charge, but they won't refuse to follow, and where they go they generally stay, for just as they don't begin an advance they won't, on the other hand, begin a retreat. Put a Parisian, a Gascon, or a Breton at the head of a company of Alsatians and you have practically resurrected a company of the Old Guard.
There was some confused talking after this. Nicholas, the Alsatian, and I kept out of the conversation, smoking our pipes in quiet contemplation of the rest; the corporal of the squad was seated on his camp-cot, a cigarette between his lips, looking with a cynical smile at the Russian. At last it was decided—all the squad would volunteer. As soon as the corporal found that we were unanimous he seized his kepi and ran out of the hut without uttering a word save:Bons soldats, bons camarades. We learned afterwards that he rushed straight off to the captain and told him of our decision. This was welcome news, as all the officers were chafing and fuming because they had not been selected for the front. I may here mention that our corporal was the first to gladden the captain's heart and bring him some hope of gaining glory and promotion, and, when the captain got the chance of giving promotion, our corporal exchanged the two red chevrons on his sleeve for the single gold one of a sergeant.
Well, when the others heard of this, there was much earnest conversation and still more earnest gesticulation in the little camp. All were excited; the desire to get away from the punishment stations, the eager wish for change, the natural impulse of soldiers to put into practice the teaching of the drill-ground and the manœuvres, all combined to render the men anxiousto follow the example of our squad. Before we went on duty that night my company had volunteered to a man, and, when we dismounted guard in the morning, we were not a whit surprised to find ourselves relieved by native troops, for that told us that we had guessed aright and that No. 4 Company, our friends and erstwhile foes, had thrown in their lot with us and would be ourcompagnons d'armes et de voyage. We were very glad of that. Together we were a half battalion, a weak one, it is true—the mound on the east and the hospital held so many of our comrades—but still strong enough to demand and command respect.
While we were enjoying our morning soup the officers of the company came round. How different everything was then compared with the day before! The captain, a bronzed, heavy-moustached man, whose military career had not been very successful—he was a good soldier and a good officer, but he had made the great mistake of falling in love, as asous-lieutenant, with his colonel's wife, and the colonel, now a general, had not forgotten—was in great good humour. He remembered our crime, only to laugh at it, and said that the men who could give so good an account of themselves against the heroes of No. 4 were just the soldiers he wished to lead into action. He told us to be very careful. If we misconducted ourselves again the company might be distributed amongst the four battalions of the other regiment of the Legion, and that would be bad for us and bad for him as well. "Let us only be allowed to remain together," he said. "We shall all go out to Tonquin, and then there will be plenty of excitement, and promotion must come." He was thinking, I suppose, of his own disappointments. It must be very hard on a man to be passed in the race by others who were boys at school when he was wearing a sword; why, the commandant of the battalion was younger than he. The other officers were also pleased; the lieutenant a handsome fellow of twenty-five or so, was anxious toget his company; the sub-lieutenant, a stern, hard-featured man of forty, who had risen from the ranks, was quite satisfied to go to a place where he might have a chance of picking up unconsidered trifles. Ah!ces vieux militairesare the quietest and most thorough-going pillagers in the world. Nothing comes amiss to them—they could teach even Cossacks how to loot—and how they manage to keep this loot and get it safely home to wife or mistress—for they have always a woman on their private pay-sheet—I cannot for the life of me imagine. They do it, however, and they are not only in the Foreign Legion or in the French army—you will find them in every army, nay, in every regiment in the world.
Well, the sergeants and corporals were well pleased too. They kept us for all that under strict discipline until the day we found ourselves aboard the transport at Marseilles. But I am anticipating.
At about five o'clock in the evening both companies were paraded and inspected just as on the day before, but there was a great change in the colonel's manner. He was not over friendly with us, but he did not abuse or threaten. He called us sharply to attention, and then said: "Every man in the front rank who wishes to volunteer for Tonquin will march one pace to the front; every man in the rear rank who wishes to volunteer for Tonquin will march one pace to the rear. Volunteers, march!" At once the ranks separated. All in front stepped one pace forward; all in the rear took one pace backward. He walked down between the ranks, saw that all had volunteered, took up his former position in front of us, and ordered us back to our original formation. "All have volunteered. I am well satisfied. Dismiss the parade, monsieur le commandant."
For some time after we were busy getting ready to leave Three Fountains, and no one was sorry when we presented arms to a detachment of zephyrs that cameto take our place. As soon as they had returned the compliment we fell into marching array in columns of fours, wheeled to the left, passed by the flank of the zephyrs, saluted the Turcos of the main guard at the gate, and stepped out on our first march northward. Truly, we were glad to leave behind the cantonment of Three Fountains and its associations. Always fond of change, we dropped our sadness, the sadness which one cannot choose but feel when leaving behind for ever even one's temporary home. Before we had finished the first league spirits were as high, laughter as gay, jests as plentiful as on my very first march, when with the other two hundred recruits I went from the depot to the battalion. Normally the two companies should be about five hundred strong, but death and the doctor detained so many that I do not believe we were quite four hundred all told. However, at the depot, which we reached in good time, doing a fair day's march every day, we received additions to our numbers—self-styled recruits, really men who had learned more than a little of soldiering in other armies, and whom ill-luck or bad character or desire of French citizenship had driven or induced into the Foreign Legion.
At the depot we received our outfit for the East. The kepi was exchanged for the white helmet, lighter underclothing was served out to us, all clothing and footwear was renewed, and I may say without boasting that when, fully five hundred strong, we paraded for the last time before entraining for Oran, in order to hear the farewell address of the depot commandant, we presented as smart and soldier-like an appearance as any commanding officer could wish to see. The depot commandant made a short speech, shook hands with our commanding officer, wished him and usbon voyage et prompt retour, and then, with the band at the head of the column, we marched out of the gate, saluting the guard as we passed, amidst the ringing cheers of the veterans and recruits left behind. When we were safelyin the train all discipline was at an end: we shouted, cheered, laughed and sang, and so began our journey to the land where more than half my comrades lie—as quiet as the Greek and the Portuguese under the little mound on the eastern side of the mud huts ofTrois Fontaines.
CHAPTER X
Ona beautiful summer morning we marched down to the quay to join the transport that was to carry us and five or six hundred others to our destination in the East. All was bustle, excitement, and confusion for some time, but matters quickly arranged themselves, and, when the last of the stores had been safely stowed away, we marched in single file up the gangway and stood to attention by squads on the deck. Each squad was led off by its corporal to the place assigned to it, and in a short time our quarters looked for all the world like a barrack on shore, save that one saw no bed-cots there. Our rifles and equipments were put in their proper places, the roll was called below for the last time, we were reported "all present and all correct," and then we were allowed to troop up on deck, to get our last glimpse of the land that many of us would never see again. As the ship cast off, we raised a cheer which was responded to by the people on the quay, a band ashore struck up the Marseillaise, the Frenchmen first, and then we others of the Legion took up the refrain, and thus amid cheering, singing, and waving of helmets and handkerchiefs we started on our voyage to Tonquin. There were not many friends of those aboard weeping on the quay; we legionaries had none, and the Frenchmen were zephyrs—that is, men of bad character who had been assigned to convict battalions, and their friends, no doubt, were not over sad about their departure. There were some ladies and children who were affected, but they belonged to the officers—the sub-officers and the men had no friends, no relations, no home, one mightsay, save the barrack, the cantonment hut, the tent, or, as at the time, the troopship. Well, so much the better: having nothing to lose but life, and that as a rule a wretched one, we should be the more reckless when recklessness was needed, and the French generals took care that we, the zephyrs and the legionaries, were put in the fighting line as much as possible and that the good men, the respectable soldiers, should only come into the fray when the burden of the fight was over and when we others were so spent with toil that reliefs were absolutely necessary. Let no one misunderstand me. I do not wish to convey that the French soldier or officer shirks danger; on the contrary, I believe Frenchmen to be amongst the most daring soldiers in the world and the most cheerful under hardships, but the generals did not see any good in putting worthy citizens, future fathers of respectable families, into the most dangerous positions when they had ready to their hands men who bore so bad a reputation as the zephyrs and the legionaries gathered from every country under the sun. They were quite right in this, but all the same we might sometimes, just once in a while, have been allowed to dawdle along with the reserve instead of being continually on the jump where the bullets were. Of course, though we grumbled, we were proud too that the most difficult and most dangerous work fell to our share.
For the first couple of days out I was very sea-sick, but the horriblemal-de-merin the end passed off, and I was able to take an interest in things around me as before. I don't mean to say much of the life aboard. Such a tale would be only a recital of troubles and grievances, but troops on a transport cannot expect a very pleasant time. One thing we were glad of—there were no women and children aboard. The veterans told us why we should rejoice at this, and any man who has travelled on a troopship with women and their babies will easily guess the reason. The worst partof the voyage was while we were going through the Red Sea. There one loathed his morning coffee and growled at his evening soup. The dull, deadly, oppressive heat in that region almost killed us. We lay around, unable almost to curse, and the soldier who finds himself too weak to do that, must be in a very bad way indeed. Only once in the Red Sea did we show signs of life. It was when a French troopship passed us on her way home with sick and wounded from the war. The convalescents crowded on her deck and raised a feeble shout. We cheered heartily in reply, and we kept up the cheering until it was impossible for them any longer to hear. We pitied them, poor devils. How they must have in turn pitied us, going as we were to the wretched land where they had left behind health and many good comrades, and where we too should pay our quota of dead and receive our quota of wounds and illness. Anyway the sight of them roused us for a time, but we quickly fell back into the languor induced by the excessive heat.
Here let me make a remark which may be of interest to many. We legionaries had men, as I have already said more than once, from every country in Europe, and from some outside of it, and one might imagine that men of different nations would be differently affected by the heat, aggravated, as it was, by cramped quarters and wretched food. Well, I cannot single out any country whose natives endured the discomfort better or worse than the others, but there were undoubtedly two classes of men aboard, one of which was far more lively, far less given to grumbling, and altogether possessed of more buoyancy and resilience of temperament than the other. These were the men of fair complexion. All the fair-haired, blue-eyed soldiers seemed to be able to withstand bad conditions of living more easily and better than their dark-complexioned comrades. I offer no explanation of the fact, but I noted during the voyage for the first time, and afterwards I had many opportunities of confirming my original impression, that fair men are superior to dark ones in endurance and in everything connected with war except the actual fighting; with regard to that, complexion does not count. I have noticed in fever hospitals that the black moustaches far outnumbered the reddish ones; in a field hospital there was never such a disparity. I cannot say that other observers agree with me. I merely put on record a thing that I noticed and that produced a deep impression on me, but I never mentioned it to my comrades, nor shall I now write down the various speculations with regard to men and nations that I was led by it to indulge in. All I say is: I thank my stars that my moustache is rather red—that seems to me a token of endurance, if not of strength.
In due time we arrived off Singapore, and put in there. I must now mention a few incidents of our stay in that harbour; they were, indeed, the chief events of the voyage.
The reason why we put into Singapore was that coal had run short, and the captain of the troopship did not like to go on to Saigon with the small supply left. Those of us who did not know that Singapore belonged to Great Britain soon learned the fact, and more than one eagerly desired to get clear of the ship to land, and thus regain his freedom. Now, I am no apologist for desertion. I think it a mean and cowardly crime, but, if there be any excuse for it, surely many of ours must be held excused. Remember that we were foreigners in the French service, that many of ours had had good reason to flee from justice in their own countries, that we all had a bad reputation with our officers and our French comrades, and, above all, that recent events—the fight at Three Fountains and the morbidly suggestive mound at the east side of the camp there; the ugly fear of a horrible desert station and the intolerable heat of the Red Sea—had made many men think anxiously, constantly, longingly of getting away, at a stroke as it were, from uglymemories and gloomy forebodings begotten of them. Men don't desert from their colours without grave reason. Even the most flighty man will think twice and thrice before taking the risk of the court-martial that awaits detection or recapture. Moreover, in our case sentries with loaded rifles were on duty at all points; one would imagine that not even a rat could leave the ship unnoticed.
Well, the vessel was brought near the wharf and two gangways were run out, one for the coolies carrying in the full baskets, the other for the coolies going out with the empty ones. These coolies carried their baskets on their heads, as you often see women carrying loads in other countries. As each one passed the bunker he tipped the contents of his basket in, and then went under a little archway, and crossed out by the second gangway for a new load. Now there was one man of my company—a Bulgarian—who was under confinement for some slight offence against discipline, and, as the heat was almost unbearable, he had been brought up by the guard—acting with the commandant's permission, be it well understood—and allowed to sit under this archway during the heat of the day. I was the nearest sentry to him, being placed at the outgoing gangway, and one of my orders was to watch this man. Like many other orders I remembered this one only in order to be able to repeat it to the officer of the day, and never imagined that there was any necessity of caring more about it. I was mistaken.
As the coolies passed under the archway, a good deal of coal dust accumulated there. This dropped from the baskets, which they often carried mouth downward in their hands, when empty. The prisoner had a vessel of water, and this he carefully mixed with coal dust until he had enough to stain all his body black. I must mention that part of his little apartment was screened off from view by a half-partition, and while in this recess he could be seen only by the coolies asthey passed through. Here he undressed and carefully blackened his person, and then, watching a favourable opportunity when my attention was completely taken up by a dispute on the quay, he throttled a coolie passing through, forcibly seized his basket, gave him—as payment, I suppose—a knock-down blow on the point of the jaw, and started for the gangway. This he gained unperceived by me. Half-a-dozen steps carried him ashore, and once on British soil he was safe from all arrest. He flung the basket on the ground, and at once ran at his utmost speed towards the town. A cry from those on shore called my notice to the running man, and I knew at once, by his size and carriage, that the Bulgarian had escaped. The moaning of the coolie, who was rapidly coming to after the sudden and savage assault on him, was another intimation that I had of the escape. I was put under arrest at once, and kept in close confinement until we reached Saigon, but the officer in command did not punish me further. The ingenuity displayed by the deserter was so evident, that no one blamed me very much for being taken off my guard and allowing a wrong man to go ashore, and, moreover, as we neared Tonquin, all thought more and more of the fighting and less and less of punishing a man who was not flagrantly in the wrong. Of course, there was no chance of recapturing the Bulgarian; he had reached foreign soil, and there is no act of extradition affecting men guilty of merely military offences. It was well for him, however, that my eyes were turned towards the dispute on the quay; all the blackening would scarcely have deceived me, and I should have shot him dead on the gangway before he could have time to reach the land. For all that I was glad that he got safely away, for, though a man will do his duty no matter how disagreeable it may be, yet he is not at all sorry when he misses the chance of doing such duty as mine would have been, had I noticed the runaway in time. Further on I shallhave occasion to mention the case of another deserter, a man who deserted from a certain European army to French soil, and it was strange—oh, very strange—that neither the French nor the other sentries could hit him at less than a hundred yards' range, while he was making a desperate rush across the strip of undefined territory that marked the frontier.
Some other incidents occurred at Singapore, but, as I was under arrest, I can only speak of them as I heard about them from my comrades. After the Bulgarian's escape a far stricter watch was kept—double sentries were posted—but to a determined man nothing is impossible. More than one was found absent at morning roll call, and at last it became evident that, in some cases at least, connivance on the part of a pair of sentries had permitted the escape. If a man once got down into the water, he was practically free. Certainly a shark—and sharks do abound in these waters, and especially in the harbours, where they pick up all sorts of garbage—might cross his path, but there was not much danger, as the distance to the land was so small. No one of ours, as far as we could know, was caught in such a way. One, however, was caught by something almost as bad, but I must give a new paragraph to describing the hero of the tale before I begin the story about him.
The man I refer to I have already mentioned in connection with the negotiations between the companies after the fight at Three Fountains. He was the Italian that held the same leading place in the deputation from No. 4 Company as Nicholas the Russian did in ours. Without education—I don't believe that he could write his name—he possessed a fund of shrewdness and a faculty of quick observation that made him more than the equal of scholars—and many men of good education were in our ranks. Not at all desirous of a quarrel, he was pre-eminently one to avoid fighting with, for in a row he forgot all about his own safetyand seemed not to care what hurt he received so long as he hurt his enemy, and any weapon that lay at hand would be used by him without hesitation at the time or remorse or shame afterwards. A smart, clean, active soldier; yet he was always getting into trouble and disgrace, now with his corporal, at another time with the sergeant of the section, but never with the officers. Fellows said that he belonged either to the Mafia or the Camorra, but opinions were divided as to whether he came to the Legion to avoid arrest by the Italian Government for crimes committed in the course of business or punishment from his association for treachery or some other offence against their laws. Anyway he was with us, and though not liked, still respected; though we did not fear him, yet we took good care to let him alone. He was not a man—to his credit be it said—who interfered with others. Why, then, should others interfere with him? About five feet five in height, of carriage alert rather than steady, with quick, black eyes, dark complexion, small, black moustache, regular features and even, white teeth, he was certainly one to attract anyone's attention, especially a woman's. He was very cynical with regard to the sex, not valuing woman's fondness much, but, all the same, so long as he was a girl's lover he allowed no poaching on his preserves. He sang well—French songs as well as Italian—and played on more than one musical instrument, his favourite one being a small flageolet, and with this he lightened more than one weary hour for us on shipboard. He never told anyone, I believe, of his intention to desert. I fancy he was too cautious for that. When he did go, no sentry connived at the business, for, even had our men been doing duty, not one of us cared so much for the Italian as to risk a court-martial for his sake.
I must here remark that the legionaries had been relieved of sentry duty, as so many of them had gone away without even bidding good-bye to anyone. TheFrench soldiers, the zephyrs, were now doing all this duty; and they did it so well, I must admit, that no man got clear away while they were on the watch—at least until the Italian left the ship—but his absence was not a long one. All our coal had been taken in, and the vessel had moved away from the wharf out into the harbour, so that it lay about 200 yards from shore. The sentries must have thought that no man would be so mad as to attempt to swim such a distance, since the water was full of sharks, and in all probability their vigilance had decreased. The morning after the ship had moved out the Italian did not answer at roll call, and it was at once assumed, and truly, that he had escaped, and, as no cry from the water had been heard by the men on duty, that he had got safely to land. Before the hour of departure the French consul came off in his own boat, to see the officers of the ship and of the troops. This, of course, was natural, but everyone was surprised to see him, as soon as he gained the deck, rush forward with malicious joy in his eyes to greet the commandant.
"Ah, mon commandant, I have a present for you."
"Thanks, thanks, my friend; how you are good!"
"A most charming present. I bring you a friend whom you most earnestly desire to see."
Leaning over the side he shouted out some orders to his sailors, and they, going under an awning at the stern, carried out the Italian bound hand and foot. How the commandant cursed him; how the Frenchmen smiled and jeered; how we, his comrades, felt sad that our worthy comrade should have been caught almost on the threshold of liberty!Camaraderieovercame all other feelings, and we pitied the poor wretch, for we guessed that a court-martial would have little mercy on a soldier, especially a soldier of the Legion, captured in the act of deserting from his company while on the way to the seat of war. As for the Italian, he was calm and collected, but, if he were free and had a knifeand were within striking distance of the commandant, that officer would surely have had an end put to his cursing on the spot. In a moment the Italian was brought aboard and at once sent down to the prisoners' quarters, where he found several comrades, myself among the number, eagerly speculating on the noise and confusion above.
As soon as the guard had gone away someone asked the Italian what the noise on deck was about. He answered sharply:
"About a better man than you—about me."
None of us cared to put any further questions; Cecco was in very bad humour indeed. However, in about ten minutes he told us all, saying he had slipped over the side of the vessel when four sentries had come close enough to chat—this, you must remember, meant only the approach to one another of two posts, as all sentries had been doubled—that he had been in the water for about three minutes when he came close to a boat, which he boarded; that, like a fool, he made himself and his intention known before he found out the character of his hosts; that he was at once seized, and was told, when bound, that the boat belonged to the French consul and therefore he was still on French territory. "The rest you know," said he, "or can guess." We were sorry, and told him so. He thanked us graciously enough, and hoped we might have better luck in our enterprises than he had had in his, and, in reply to a question as to what he thought would happen, he said at first that he did not know and he did not care, but he would dearly like to have the commandant at his mercy just long enough to kill him. "Listen carefully," he went on. "I shall be shot in all probability, but they will give me a chance of saying a prayer and making my confession before I die. The commandant will also be shot, but he will get no notice, and, unless he be very lucky indeed, no priest will be present to send him absolved from sin into the presence of God." For therest of the voyage the Italian and we got on well together. He got the best of the dinner, not that he thanked us or that we wanted thanks; he knew why we did it, and we should have been very bad soldiers indeed if we did not do a little to keep up the spirits of a man doomed, as we knew him to be, to a sudden and early death.
Let me anticipate once more. After our arrival at Saigon, Cecco was court-martialled, openly insulted the officers composing the court, was sentenced to death, and shot the following morning. And the commandant was shot in the back in a little skirmish in Tonquin—a brilliant little affair that would have brought him promotion had he lived. It may have been an accident, but there was at least a dozen Italians in the company immediately behind him, and in the heat of action bullets do occasionally go astray. How do I know that he was shot in the back? Well, I don'tknow, but I suspect for two reasons: first, there was a sort of investigation, which naturally led to nothing; and, secondly, the Italian's words came back to my mind directly I heard of the commandant's death. After all, is it not bad enough for an officer to punish a man or to get him punishment? Why should he swear at the poor devil and abuse him as if he had no spirit, no sense of shame, no soul? Any man will take his punishment fairly and honestly, if he believes that he has deserved it; no man will stand abuse without paying in full for it when he gets his chance, for abuse is not fair to the man who is waiting for his court-martial. But all, or nearly all, officers are either fools or brutes.
Another thing that happened at Singapore Le Grand told me afterwards. In the early days of desertion a fellow—I think he was a Belgian—came to Le Grand and proposed that they should go away together.
"I am," said the Belgian, "a baker by trade; you speak English well and can teach me. Let us go together. You will interpret for me and I will work forboth. We shall get enough of money in six months to carry us to the United States, and there we shall separate as soon as I know enough of the language to make myself understood."
"No," replied Le Grand; "I volunteered for the war, and I mean to see what fighting means in Tonquin. Moreover, if I went away now, no one I care about would ever have any respect for me again. It is bad enough with me as it is; I will do nothing to make it worse. The most people can allege against me now is folly; no one shall ever be able to charge me with cowardice as well."
Many times the baker renewed his entreaties to Le Grand to go away. Le Grand would not: he knew that hardships—perhaps sickness or wounds or death—lay before him, but better anything than self-reproach and loss of self-respect. Le Grand was right in his own way, because he was, and is (for he is still alive and in a good position), a gentleman; the Belgian baker was wise too in his generation and according to his own lights. He slipped off before the Frenchmen were ordered to supply all the guards. No one knows whether he fell a prey to the sharks or not, and, I may add, no one—not even Le Grand—cares.
The only other important thing that was told to me was that our fellows and the zephyrs became rather dangerous to one another. From the beginning we were not too amiable, but when the commandant put us—at least the other legionaries, for I was at the time in the prisoners' quarters on account of the Bulgarian's escape—to do most of the duties about the ship and put Frenchmen only on sentry, so that no more men of the Legion might desert, things rapidly came to a head. The commandant was lucky in two respects—the voyage to Saigon was short, and a French war vessel accompanied the transport. Had there been a twenty days' voyage without an escort the decks would have been washed red with blood, for, be it remembered, though the averageFrench soldier can conduct himself with propriety in almost any place, the zephyr is a military convict pure and simple. No matter how bad we were, the zephyrs were worse. Well, let me put it in another way: the zephyrs aboard were the bad characters of the French army; we others, the legionaries, were the bad characters of all the other armies of Europe. They, the zephyrs, had no chance of regaining their characters in their own country, where their misdeeds were known; our fellows had started, each with a clean sheet, on joining an alien army. Thus our reputation as a body was bad, but no man had any very ugly charge against his name; the zephyrs were bad by man, by squad, by company, and by battalion. However, they are really amongst the finest fighting men in the world; some people, indeed, say that the zephyrs are second only to the legionaries.
There was no fight. The big war-vessel lay not so far away, and all knew what its shells could do. Strange that we met these very zephyrs afterwards, and our companies and theirs, certainly aided by others, did a hard afternoon's bayonet-work together. We were friends after that, so much so that I believe that one battalion, and that a battalion of zephyrs, is the only one of the French army to speak with liking—all, of course, speak with respect, unless at a distance—of the Foreign Legion. But everything to its own place.
At last we reached Pingeh—a fine harbour. I was set free, as well as all other prisoners save the Italian, and we disembarked, happy again at the change, to take our share in the war against the Black Flags, thinking more of the relief from the cramped quarters than of any dangers that lay before us.
CHAPTER XI
Whenwe arrived at Pingeh, the port of Saigon, the zephyrs disembarked first, and we followed. Straightway most of us were marched off to a camping-field where tents and other impedimenta were awaiting us, and in a short time we had formed a fairly creditable camp. Those of ours who were kept behind on the quay were employed in sorting out our baggage as the coolies carried the troopship's load ashore. Considering that all except the officers carried their belongings on their backs, this was not hard work, and most of them were satisfied, but the dozen or so left on guard over the ammunition cases brought out by the transport were not at all lucky, as they got no meal, not even a cup of coffee, for fully twelve hours. That's always the way. Your ordinary officer can't understand why everybody is not satisfied when he is. If the captain has a good lunch and a better dinner, the simple soldier may tighten his belt and put a bit of tobacco between his teeth—that is good enough for him. Well, there are officers who care for their men, but they are so few that, if you know a hundred captains, you may easily reckon the good ones on the fingers of a hand. Some are inclined to be good, but though physically brave they are morally cowards; they cannot stand the sneering of those who look upon the men as mere instruments for gaining decorations and promotion, and it is so very easy to acquire the habit of doing as most of your equals do. It is wrong—oh! I who have felt it know how wrong it is!—for a man who has rank and a better lot than others to forget the responsibility attached to his position, to let the men under him understand hourby hour and day by day and week by week how little he cares for their comfort, to swear at the sick, to sneer at the wounded, to order the dead to be thrown any way into a trench, and to abuse the burial party because they did not cover the carcasses quickly enough. War is war, as an Alsatian in my company used to say; but why should a man, or rather men, come into camp for the night after a long march, and perhaps a sharp fight, to be sworn at and abused by the officers who, for their own sakes even, should try to make things cheerful for all? But again I am digressing.
We spent about a week at Saigon, under canvas all the time. Of course, we got our share of inspection; first the chief officer—I forget now who he was, not that he was at all worth remembering—then the medical officer, then a quartermaster—the best of all, for he supplied deficiencies in clothing. I must say this: when a French soldier goes on campaign he is well fitted out—they took from us every article that showed any signs of wear, and a new one was at once issued. At first we thought that we should have to pay out of our scanty means for the new supplies. We were only too glad to find that, instead of taking our money under false pretences, as they do in other armies, our pay was increased, and we were told, and truly told, that the increase would last while we were on active service. Take my word for it, no matter how bad the officers may be, the French Government is the best in the world to its troops on active service. If men suffer, it is not the fault of those in Paris; put the blame rather on the underlings—I mean the commandants and the captains. But, remember, what I have just said I have said only of the Republic—of the monarchy and the empire I know nothing.
Another reason for this delay was that the French, if they can by any chance do it, keep men quiet on land for some days after a voyage. This is very sensible. No man gets what I may call his land legs until sometime after he has come ashore from a transport, where space is small and men are many, where food is wretched, and water mawkishly warm and suspiciously sweet. The rest did us good; the new clothing and the extra pay put us in good humour. When at last we put on our knapsacks for the march into the interior, we were altogether different from the 500 semi-mutinous scarecrows who had landed from the troopship only six or seven days before.
Every man had 150 rounds of ball cartridge in his pouch; all rifles were loaded; we were evidently to be kept on thequi vivefrom the earliest possible moment; talking in the ranks was often stopped without any visible cause; the sentries were visited half-a-dozen times a night; discipline was in all respects as strict as it could be; and we were made to understand, as if we had learned nothing in Algeria, that we were in front of a cautious, skilful, and sometimes daring, enemy, and that every man was responsible for his own and his comrades' lives.
Now I have no intention of writing a history of the war in Tonquin. I shall merely give details of the most important events of my life there, and of these the first in order was the battle of Noui-Bop.