Now the town in which Jean's regiment lay was not very far from the French frontier. At this placethere was a debatable ground about a hundred yards wide, and on each side a line of sentries, French on the west, Jean's countrymen on the east. Jean had quite made up his mind to cross to French territory; he believed that, if he could only get there and get a few kilometres away from the frontier, the French authorities would not trouble themselves to capture him and send him back. Moreover, desertion, as I have already had occasion to mention, is not an extraditable offence. The difficulties were to get to the frontier, to cross it safely, and to travel some distance into France.
Well, Jean knew that at a certain hour that day his regiment would be out of barracks for cavalry drill. He also knew a way of getting into his quarters without passing any men of his own regiment on duty. An infantry guard lay at a certain gate. They would in all probability let him pass; he could then cross the infantry parade ground, go under an archway or through a gate—I am not quite certain about this—and enter the cavalry barracks. Once there he would act as circumstances required.
To make as certain as possible of passing the guard, he bought a blue envelope, put a sheet of paper inside, fastened the edges, and wrote the address of some high officer upon it, and then placed the seemingly official document between his belt and tunic. Anybody would thus mistake him for an orderly carrying a despatch, and so no one would think of interfering. Thus prepared he easily passed the infantry guard, nodding genially to some of the men, and made his way across the parade ground to the entrance to the cavalry quarters. Here he was in luck; no one was about except a couple of recruits doing sentry duty—one at the stables, the other about fifty yards away. Jean was not recognised by either, and, going to his room, put on his sword, and dressed himself as if for generalparade. He then went down to the stables, saddled his charger, which was the only animal in the place, mounted, and rode back the way he came. Again he passed without suspicion the infantry guard at the gate, and soon found himself smartly trotting towards the frontier. He was in high spirits. Everything had gone so well, surely luck would not desert him now.
As he neared the frontier he trotted towards a guard-house on the side of the road. The sentry near the door looked carelessly at him as he came up, the sergeant did not condescend to come forward to meet him: he was evidently only a light cavalryman sent with some ridiculous message or other from the town. When only a few yards from the guard-house, instead of pulling up and delivering the blue envelope which he now held in his hand, he flung it on the ground, and driving the spurs into his horse's sides he passed the astonished sentry and galloped into the debatable land. A gap in the hedge allowed him into the fields that bordered the road. He heard as he went through the report of a rifle behind, but the sudden turn saved him. He now went towards the French line at a spot about equidistant from two French sentries, and as he did so he lowered his head to his horse's neck. The French sentries also fired and missed. You can scarcely blame them; their surprise must have been so great when they saw a presumably mad light horseman invading single-handed the sacred soil of France. In less time than it takes to tell Jean was through the second line of guards and careering wildly across country, taking hedges, streams and ditches like the winning jockey of the Grand National. A few scattered bullets whizzed about his ears, but rider and horse were untouched. He was now safe from the fire of his fellow-countrymen, and the French sentinels probably did not want to hit him; his escapade, serious though it might be for the others, was only a good joke to them. Moreover, a private soldier must be very bad-minded indeed whenhe tries to shoot another private, though of a different army, who has evidently got into trouble and is seeking to escape. Certain things excite compassionate feelings amongst men of all armies—amongst the simple soldiers, I mean. As for the sergeants and corporals, the thoughts of the chevrons they have and those they hope for make them dead to all feelings of pity for a man in trouble.
After some time Jean began to feel somewhat at ease. He pulled up under cover of a small wood and began to consider his next move. If he could only get rid of the uniform he fancied he should be comparatively safe. This had to be done quickly, as he was not more than three miles from the frontier, and the French cavalry would soon be on his track. While he was thinking he glanced around to see if he were observed, and saw an old man, evidently of the farming class, looking at him with surprise. Jean determined to appeal for aid, and going towards the peasant frankly told his story. The peasant smiled at first and then laughed heartily.
"My good friend," said he, "take off the saddle and bridle and put them here," at the same time pointing to a place where the underwood was very thick. Jean did so, and the old man carefully concealed them.
"Now lead your horse by the mane to that field where you see the cows grazing, and return."
Jean obeyed.
"Now come to my house"—he pointed it out—"in ten minutes: no one will be within. You will find clothes on a chair, but be sure to take away again your uniform, belts and sword—they would be of no use to me; hide them where they will not be likely to be found."
Jean did as he was told. He found some old clothes on the chair just inside the door; on a table were some bread and milk. He drank the latter and pocketed the former when he had put on the disguise, and then flungall his military clothing and equipments into a stagnant pool. On that day he did not travel far, but found a secure hiding-place until the darkness should allow him to go his way in safety. During the night he tramped about twenty-five kilometres, keeping his eyes and ears on guard, but only once was he in danger. He heard the footfalls of horses at a distance and left the road. Two mounted gendarmes passed, and after a short interval Jean resumed his journey. At daybreak again he sought and found a hiding-place, and there slept for some hours. When he awoke he felt hungry and thirsty, and resolved to try to buy something at a farmhouse that was visible about five hundred yards away. As Jean spoke good French he anticipated no difficulty on the score of language, and, having some silver in his pockets, there surely ought to be no difficulty in the way of obtaining supplies. When he went to the farmhouse he was met by an old woman, who at once pitied the tired wayfarer with the handsome face and the ragged clothes; she gave him bread and meat and a glass of wine, refusing all payment. She was so good and looked so trustworthy that Jean told her his story, omitting, however, all mention of women, and explaining that his desertion was due altogether to the tyranny of the officers. The good old woman pitied him the more for his sad tale; she even gave him a suit of fairly good clothing belonging to her son, at the time serving with his regiment. How the women of Europe love and honour the soldier and pity his misfortunes! There the army has hostages from all homes. She even pressed money on him, but this he refused to take. He had money enough in his pocket to carry him a good way towards Paris, and, even if he had to tramp a bit of the way, with his new clothing he felt independent and free from care.
In the end Jean entered Paris, and immediately volunteered for the Foreign Legion. At once he was accepted, and after a short time in Algeria was sentto Tonquin. There he was taken into my battalion, and handed over to me to help to make up the number of the squad. And now he was amongst us, calling out every moment the unlucky words: "Quelle misère, quelle misère!"
Nicholas took up a longer time in telling this story than I, but you must remember that the Russian was very clever and had the story at first-hand. I have only given the general outline; most of the details have been forgotten by me after so many years.
Well, at last the sub-lieutenant in charge of both squads of the outlying picket ordered the reliefs to be posted. I took Nicholas the Russian, Le Grand the Irishman, and six others of various nationalities to relieve the half-squad that had done sentry duty for the previous two hours. I remember I put Le Grand in place of poor Jean. When we—that is, I, the corporal, and the eight men relieved—came back to the lying-down place I dismissed quietly the men, of course only from duty, not from the place, and lay down on my back, shut my eyes, and began to muse. Almost before I felt it I was in a half-doze, when suddenly the report of a rifle caused me to jump up. As I opened my eyes I saw, so quickly did the alarm arouse me, the falling body of a man. I hurriedly called out the names of the reliefs—the men relieved were now the reliefs—all answered except Jean.
"I think, my corporal," said an Alsatian, "that he has shot himself."
The whole camp was roused; the sub-lieutenant ran down and called me to account for the alarm. I went over to the prone figure, passed my hand across the face, and found it at once warm and wet. Poor Jean, as we saw when dawn came, had blown away the top of his head. There was no enemy, it was true, but I fancy the legionaries did not sleep any more that night; a dead comrade in the camp is worse, a thousand times worse, than a living foe outside.
Now I won't moralise over this. Jean, as I have called him, was a good comrade, especially when he had money; he was fickle, but so were all, amongst the women; he chose to shoot himself, that was his business and not mine. And that is all that I, his corporal, have to say.
CHAPTER XIV
Alittletime after the suicide of Jean we found ourselves in a position to attempt the recapture of Lang-Son. We went forward cautiously, doing at most ten kilometres a day. Then even at the end of a day's march we were in fit condition for a battle, in case the enemy elected to attack us in the evening or during the night. As we again went forward our spirits rose. We were extremely glad to have done with the constant retirement in front of the enemy; of all things in the world the most disheartening is a withdrawal after a defeat. A victory means hard work, and a pursuit harder, but a retreat is the hardest of all. I am not speaking of the glory of victory or the disgrace of defeat. Like most soldiers I think only of my private troubles and the troubles of my comrades, and I can assure the reader that, when a battalion is falling back on the base, supplies are bad and insufficient, anxiety on the part of all is heart-breaking, an attack in force is always to be expected, and no one can safely say that those who have beaten his side once may not do so again and more decisively. Even in a pursuit, when the rations are short, one feels that the enemy is suffering more than himself, and the thought that the battalion is pressing on their rear, giving them no peace or ease or quietness, adds a zest to the bad and scanty food which makes it palatable and satisfying. Let no one run away with the idea that we simple soldiers did not feel the sting of defeat—indeed, we felt it, and sorely too—but while one can forgive himself for a disaster, he finds it very hard to forgive the enemy for following it up. It is bad enough to be driven off a stricken field;it is infinitely worse to be harassed afterwards. War is like gambling: if you win first, even though you lose afterwards, you like to keep on playing the game; but if you lose in the beginning, you will at once imagine that the game is not worth the candle. The young soldier who in his first battle tastes the bitterness of defeat and endures the hardships of the hurried march, the wakeful rest under arms, the wretched food, the dirt and worse than dirt, the continual strain upon the nerves, and all things else which are the portion of the conquered, will see war divested of all its seeming glory; his voice at least will never be for war.
The Black Flags and their allies, the Chinese regulars, gave us very little trouble on our march towards Lang-Son. What little fighting did take place on the way cannot be described by me, as my battalion had nothing to do with it. Annamite tirailleurs with some French soldiers and legionaries formed the first line of the advance. They easily overcame all the opposition offered to them; it was only when the grand assault in force had to be made that we others came into the fighting line. While advancing rations again were both good and sufficient; occasionally too we got an allowance of wine or brandy, and these extra rations pleased us very much, for it is wonderfully easy to make soldiers happy. Our guards and pickets were just as well set and kept as ever—our officers were taking no risks—and God help the man of ours who slept at his post. We acquiesed cheerfully in this; and in any case we were so accustomed to exact discipline and perfect precautions against surprise that constant guard and picket-mounting seemed as natural as getting one's morning coffee or evening soup. Since we did not march much any day there was always a fairly long time in camp, and when we entered camp in the evening, the men who had been up the night before lay down and rested while the others, who had had, thanks to their comrades' watchfulness, a good night's rest, lit the fires and cooked the evening mealand performed all the other duties that soldiers have to do in the field. This had a good effect upon all; it was just as if one man said to another: "You watched last night while I slept in safety, I will now work while you rest in comfort and wait for your soup." The officers, I am sure, noted this and were glad: anything that makes soldiers better comrades tends also to make them better fighting men.
At last the day came when we were within striking distance of the enemy. All ranks were satisfied. We knew that very soon the disgrace of the last action would be wiped away, and we in the ranks were just as eager to clean the slate as our officers. I do not think that many were thinking of gaining promotion or distinction in the fight. The important thing was to show to all the world, or at least to that part of it which was interested in the campaign, that our reverse was but an accident of war and its effects only temporary. Again, we all desired satisfaction for the torments and annoyances of the retreat; these were too recent to be easily forgotten.
The battle was begun, as usual, by the artillery. They, however, were not long the only men engaged, for very soon after the cannonade had begun the long lines of infantry were extended to right and left. My company was in the right attack, and we went gaily forward in skirmishing order until a man or two fell. Then we opened fire at a pretty long range at the place where the cloud of smoke told us that our friends the enemy lay. This firing did not delay the advance. On the contrary, it hastened it, for now we fired and ran forward, fired again and made another dash towards the front. Indeed, our officers and sergeants had a good deal of work to keep us from going along too quickly, and in the end we corporals were commanded to cease firing and to devote our attention exclusively to keeping our squads well in hand, so that the line might advance evenly and the men be brought up in sound wind andcondition to the point where the bayonets would be fixed for the final charge. Of course, I know you will say that the corporals should have been doing this from the very outset, but it is very hard for a man to carry a rifle and cartridges without making some use of them. Why, I have seen officers, and those of high rank too, take the rifle of a dead man and half-a-dozen cartridges from his pouch in order to have the satisfaction of firing a few shots at the enemy. It is human nature, or rather the nature of soldiers in a fight; one likes to feel that he is doing something on his own account to help his comrades and to hurt the foe.
Well, the officers and the sub-officers worked well together, and the men, to give them their due, obeyed orders willingly, especially when the excitement of the first firing had passed away and they had settled down to the steady work of the advance. When we came within about four hundred yards of the entrenchments the rushes succeeded one another more rapidly, and men went a greater distance between shots. Thus we gradually approached, until finally we were all ordered to lie down and fix bayonets. As we did so the supports joined the fighting line—they were somewhat blown with the last race forward—and so we lay about eighty yards or less from the enemy's position, firing as quickly as possible. The Chinese regulars and the Black Flags were not remiss either in their volleys. A hail of bullets crossed the zone between us, but their fire slowly slackened, especially as a very storm of shells was falling towards their rear. Their supports, we saw, could not easily come up. At length the guns in our rear ceased shelling the position; at the same time the fire had greatly diminished in front. The commandant saw that the time had come, and at the sound of the charge we sprang up, ran at the regulationpas gymnastiquetowards the trenches, and, when about twenty yards away, rushed at the top of our speed, with the usual charging cry of "Kill, kill," at the fortifications,which had been already so badly damaged by the guns. In a few seconds we were in and using the bayonet with deadly earnestness and a grim determination to wash away in blood the memory of our recent defeat. The Black Flags flung down their weapons and ran out at the back of the entrenchments, but the Chinese regulars fought very well indeed. Well as the Chinese fought they could not long stand up against us. I have already mentioned that they are very light; indeed, I doubt if the average weight is much more than seven stone and a half. Then they can stand bayoneting without shrinking, but they are by no means quick in using the bayonet themselves; again, if a Chinaman gets you on the ground he will drive his weapon home six or seven times more than are needed, and will never notice your comrade coming along, quietly, with lowered head and levelled bayonet to attack. It seems to me that the Chinese go into a fight with something ugly to foreigners to meet, but altogether unlike what we Europeans call courage; they just go in, they kill, they are killed, and that is all there is about it. Yet they are not cowards; if they are, why did they not run like the Black Flags? And they will charge wounded men with spirit, if I may use the word in that connection; and with just as much steady calmness they will await the onset of the foreign devils when they rush the mound, get into the ditch and slay, and, not yet slaked with blood, rush out at the rear of the entrenchments with bloody bayonets, and loot and murder and rapine in their minds.
We got in, and in a few moments not a man was left standing up in the trenches. We looked around. What was the next thing to do? "No. 1 Company, remain here," shouted the commandant as he tried to staunch the blood that ran down the left side of his face from an ugly sabre slash on the temple; "the other companies advance." We three companies got out at the rear of the field fortifications and awaited orders again. "Go up that hill, captain"—this to my captainfrom the commandant—"and help the soldiers of the line to carry it." "Yes, my commandant," said the captain. We turned towards the right and looked at the little hill. It was about three hundred yards only from level ground to crest; the top was fortified, but only slightly; the soldiers of the line were half-way up on their side, but they were meeting with a very gallant resistance. The rifles above showed no signs of slackening; a heavy, dense smoke covered the crest of the hill; midway down you saw the spirts of flame and little smoke clouds where the French were going up. That smoke quickly disappeared, for the men never fired twice in the same spot. We ran at first up the hill, and were not noticed; very soon we went more easily, as the hill grew steeper and the rifles above began to pay us attention. Then we fired upwards in return, but our bayonets were fixed, and we knew very well that in these alone lay any chance of success. How could we hit men above us whom we could not see? It was impossible, but we could, and did, send bullets so near their heads that aiming down was almost as fruitless for them as aiming up was for the soldiers of the line and ourselves.
As we went along an officer ran up almost to the top, waving his sword, and crying out to the men to follow. We went a little more quickly. Just as he reached a point about ten paces from the outer face of the entrenchments he fell, shot through the heart. A great cry arose from us; we sprang up, disregarding all cover, and madly raced for the summit of the little hill. Volley after volley was fired at us, but with little damage. Take my word for it, when the Asiatic sees the European charging with bayonet on rifle-barrel his aim is not quite so good as usual, and in any case his best is not much. So we rushed, and when we came to the little fortification we had small difficulty in getting in; by that time the French soldiers of the line had crowned the height on their side and were over the entrenchments. We were almost shoved back by the fugitivesrunning from the Frenchmen, but we steadied ourselves and gave them the bayonet, until at last they were all down, and the soldiers of the line and the legionaries alone stood facing one another on the little hill with ugly curses and bloody steel. Not that they cursed us or we them; only when you are using the bayonet, and for a while afterwards, your language is a real reflex of your thoughts.
It was the Frenchmen who really carried the hill; we had only come in towards the end to their assistance. So we left them on the ground that they had so gallantly won, and, going down the side nearest the remnants of our opponents, we looked for more work, more excitement, more glory, and more revenge. And we found them all very soon.
We had scarcely reached the bottom of the hill when a crowd of Chinese regulars, with some Black Flags who had not run away, charged us with loud cries and imprecations. We met them fairly and squarely, and pushed them at the point of the bayonet a few yards back. They were reinforced, and by sheer weight of numbers made us for a time give way. Our officers fought like devils; truth to tell, though we did not like them, we could not help admiring their courage in a fight. The captain was down, so was the sub-lieutenant, the lieutenant had been wounded at the beginning of the battle; the one sergeant who was left took up the command and led us back from a short retreat in an ugly rush against the enemy. I saw a Black Flag carrying a standard in his left hand, while he cut all around at our fellows with the sword in his right. I determined to have that flag, or at least to make a bold try for it, and went with levelled bayonet at the barbarian. He cut down a man of ours as I came, and had not time to parry my thrust with his sword, and failed to do so with the staff of the banner. He took the point fairly in the left side, and I had only just time to get my weapon back when he delivered a furious slash atmy head. Receiving this on the middle of the rifle-barrel I thrust a second time, and sent him fairly to the ground. Reversing my rifle—that is, holding it at the left side instead of the right—I stabbed straight down, and pinned his right hand to the ground. Pressing then on the rifle with my left hand, so that he could not free his sword arm, I plucked away the banner with my right. Nicholas at the time shouted out: "Look out, corporal, look out." And, looking up, I saw half-a-dozen Black Flags coming straight at me. I flung the banner on the ground, pulled my bayonet out of the savage's hand, and, just in time, got into a posture of defence. The first man I stopped with a lunge in the face just between the eyes, but the others would have killed me were it not that now the squad came to my assistance. Nicholas and the others soon finished the half-dozen who had attacked me, but others came up too, and very soon about a dozen of us were desperately resisting a desperate attack. They outnumbered us by about four to one, but we were heavier, steadier, and, above all, quicker with the bayonet. All the same, man after man of ours went down till half our number lay dead or dying on the ground. Luckily, Le Grand noticed our difficulty and, calling together six or eight men of his own squad, came to our assistance. Le Grand and his comrades took the Black Flags in the flank; the new assailants overwhelmed them; they gave way sullenly at first, but in the end broke and fled, leaving more than half their number on the field. I was happy in retaining the banner, but I almost at once learned how dear that banner was to me. A cry from Le Grand made me turn round, and I saw Nicholas lying on the ground and a wounded Black Flag cutting at him with a sabre, while the poor Russian did his best to ward off the blows with his hands. As I looked, a Spaniard of Le Grand's squad drove his bayonet up to the rifle-muzzle three times in quick succession into the body of the wounded savage who was trying tokill our good comrade. I ran to Nicholas and, laying down rifle and captured flag, asked him how he felt, was he badly wounded, and without waiting for an answer began to bind his wounded arms and hands. He shook his head sadly.
"It is no use, my comrade; I have got worse than that."
Indeed he had, for his left side was torn open. Nicholas nodded his head towards a dead Black Flag, and we saw at once the weapon that had inflicted so horrible a wound. It was shaped somewhat like a bill-hook, but could be used for thrusting as well as cutting, about four inches of the end being shaped like a broad-bladed knife, the remainder of the steel rather resembling a narrow-bladed hatchet. The poor Russian, in spite of the severe wound, had managed to kill his enemy. I am glad he did so, for, had the barbarian been only wounded, I should have been sorely tempted to finish the work, and though one may kill a helpless man without pity when "seeing red" or to avenge a friend, yet afterwards the thought of such slaughter is unpleasant. After some time we stopped the bleeding, and were glad to be able to give him a good long drink, and then to refill his own water bottle with the few drops still remaining in the bottoms of ours. We left him only when we had to rejoin the company. The sergeant who now commanded it asked me gruffly where I had been. I showed him the captured banner, and in a few words told of the desperate fight made by the Black Flags to regain it. He seemed satisfied, and asked how many men I had lost.
"Nine," I replied.
He counted us, and said: "Nine lost and nine left; that is rather serious; a banner is not worth so many men."
But you may be sure that it would have been worth a whole section in the sergeant's eyes, had he taken it.
There was little more fighting to be done that day. All along the line the French had been successful, and already linesmen, chasseurs, zouaves, legionaries, and tirailleurs were bivouacking in Lang-Son. My battalion searched out its wounded and brought them to an appointed spot; you may be sure that poor Nicholas was carried as gently as possible to the place. I went back for him before I thought of looking for anyone else, even an officer. He was lying quietly where we had left him, and I found that already he had drunk all the water in the bottle. Luckily, as I was going back, I passed the dead body of a white officer of our opponents; he was dressed in a yellow tunic and trousers, with tan boots; his white helmet lay a foot or so from his head; a heavy, fair moustache curled outwards on both cheeks; his jaw had fallen, and his wide-open blue eyes were staring upwards at the sky; at least a dozen gashes showed red upon the body, and a bloody sword in one hand, an empty revolver in the other, were evidence that his death had been amply paid for. A white man fights well when he knows that there is no quarter for him. Luckily, as I have said, I came across this body, for slung round the right shoulder and resting at the left hip was a leather bottle. I took this, and was glad to find that it was more than half full of brandy and water.
"A share, corporal," said a comrade.
"No," I answered; "all for Nicholas."
"Pardon me, corporal; I forgot."
Nicholas thanked me with a glance and a nod. With some rifles and a couple of greatcoats we made a fairly good litter, and bore him to the quarter where the surgeons were working in their shirt sleeves. There we left him with the attendants and went out to bring in others. When I was leaving the hospital, if I may call it so, for the last time, as every wounded man had been brought in, Nicholas beckoned to me. I went over, and he whispered:
"I am dying. I make you the heir to all I possess. Very little—but still all; here it is."
He pressed a small bag into my hand. I said:
"Not at all, good comrade; you will want it when you recover, or at least to get better attendance and a few delicacies in hospital."
"No, my friend; I am leavingla gamelle. Take it and I shall be pleased. Try to see me in the morning; to-morrow evening it will be too late."
He forced the little bag again into my hand. I had to take it, but I resolved to see him in the morning and to return it if he were still alive, though I could not help feeling an ugly presentiment that my poor friend was really dying and that the best friend I had in the little world of the Foreign Legion was about to leave me for ever.
After soup had been served out to all the men the sergeant, who still commanded the company, told me that I was wanted at the hospital. I, thinking only of Nicholas, said that I should go thither at once.
"Do you know, corporal," said he, "where it is?"
"Certainly, yes," I answered. "Did I not help to bring many wounded there to-day?"
"Of whom are you thinking?" he asked.
"Nicholas, the prince, you understand. Do you not remember Three Fountains?"
"Very well—too well, indeed," the sergeant replied; "but it is not the Russian who desires to see you, it is the captain." Calling to a hospital attendant passing at the time he inquired if the man were going to the officers' hospital. He was not going there, but would pass it on his way to his own destination.
"Go with him," said the sergeant to me; "he will show you the place. Ask for our captain."
I went away with the hospital orderly, and was shown the officers' hospital quarters by him. On giving name, company, and battalion—they saw my rank upon my sleeve—I was told to wait until the surgeon-in-charge could be told that I wished to see a patient. Very soonthe surgeon came. He asked me quite abruptly whom I desired to see. I told him with military directness, but respectfully, and he said that I might be brought to where the captain lay. I went there with an orderly. The captain had a wound on the right arm not of much account; it certainly did not keep him in hospital, but, as he had been knocked down and stunned by a blow of a musket-butt on the left temple, the surgeons would, and did, detain him for awhile. Several times while I was with him he put his hands to his head and swore a little. But, of course, that was none of my business. He asked me about the banner I had taken—"not, you must remember," said he, "that that was very useful or very creditable."
I told the story, and especially laid stress on the facts that poor Nicholas had warned me of the first attack and that he was now dying in the simple soldiers' hospital.
"You are sorry?" he queried.
"Very; he was my good comrade."
"Had he much money?"
"He gave me all." And I showed the little bag.
"How much?"
I counted, and replied:
"One thousand four hundred and fifty francs, twenty or thirty piastres."
"You are rich."
"My captain, he will share with me if he lives, and if he dies I am the poorer by a friend."
"Pouf! a sergeant does not want friends amongst the simple soldiers."
"No, my captain, nor enemies; but I am not a sergeant."
"You are; the commandant will announce it to-morrow. He was with me an hour ago."
"Thanks, my captain; I did not see a ghost this time."
"Ah, you remember! What made you look so pale that day?" I told him, and his only remark was:
"It might have frightened a man, and you are only a boy. How old are you?"
"Oh, in truth," I said, "not yet seventeen."
"But you are over eighteen in the records."
"That, my captain, is my official age."
"Very well, very well; it has nothing to do with me."
After awhile the captain said:
"Who was Nicholas? What was he?"
I answered truly that I did not know—that nobody knew—that he had often plenty of money, and was a good comrade.
"We could not fail to see, my captain," I went on, "that he had been in a high position once; there is, indeed, a story that he commanded a company of Russian guards at Plevna, but no one knows with certainty. He did not tell, and we did not like to inquire." Then I asked the captain for permission to leave the company for half-an-hour in the morning.
"Why do you ask that?"
"I want to see Nicholas; he will be disappointed if I do not go to see him."
"Perhaps he will be dead."
"I think not so."
"Perhaps he will ask for his money."
"I mean to offer it to him."
The captain smiled, and said:
"You are a strange legionary; you do not care for money."
"On the contrary, my captain, I do like money and what it buys; but Nicholas is my friend."
"You may go; stay away an hour if you like. Tell the sergeant that I, the captain, have given you permission."
"A thousand thanks, my captain."
After some further questions and answers the captain ordered me to go. I saluted, and was just turning to leave when he called me back. Pointing to a cigar-boxon a rickety table, he told me to give it to him. I did so. He opened it and took out two cigars.
"Give that to monsieur the prince, with his captain's compliments, and keep this for yourself. Tell him, sergeant"—he laid stress upon the word—"that I am sorry for his misfortune and proud to have had such a man in my company. Say to him exactly what I have said to you."
"Yes, my captain," I answered, saluted again, thanked him for the cigars, and went away. Let me say here, though it does somewhat anticipate events, that the captain was my good friend afterwards, and more than once broke my fall when I got into trouble. The death of Nicholas deprived me of a good comrade. By it I gained a friend in a higher position, but I would any day have surrendered the captain's good will if by so doing I could regain the companion of the barrack-room and the canteen.
When I got back to the company, I reported my return at once to the sergeant. He asked me what the captain wanted me for, and I told him that the officer had questioned me about the affair of the banner and about Nicholas. I said nothing of the money or the cigars.
"Did he tell you anything?"
"Yes; he said that I was to be sergeant to-morrow."
"Indeed," said the sergeant.
"I suppose, sergeant, I may thank you for a favourable report about to-day's fight."
"I only told the truth," said the sergeant, "and I always liked you when I was corporal of the squad."
Then I told him about the captain's permission to me to absent myself for an hour in the morning so that I might pay a visit to Nicholas.
"You must tell that," he replied, "to the sub-lieutenant in charge; an officer has been sent to us from another company."
"Very well," said I. "Where is he?"
He brought me to the sub-lieutenant's quarters. I told the officer of my permission; he was satisfied. Before I went he asked about the captain's wounds and a few questions of curiosity about Nicholas. I told him all I knew about the captain and almost nothing about my comrade. As I was leaving, the sergeant drew my attention to the fact that I had omitted speaking about my promotion.
"You captured a flag, you say?"
"Yes, sir; and there was a hard fight to retain it."
"And the commandant will promote you sergeant to-morrow?"
"Monsieur le capitaine said so, sir."
"Very good, very good; somebody must be sergeant, I suppose, and why not you as well as another? You may withdraw."
As we went away I asked the sergeant if there were any place where I could get a drink of wine or brandy.
"Certainly, yes—if you have money, my comrade."
"Come then," I said, "let us go there together."
He brought me to a small hut, where I had to pay a stiff price for his brandy and my wine, and when he saw that I had plenty of money he unbent and congratulated me more than once on my promotion. He ended by borrowing twenty francs, which I willingly lent; of course, he forgot to repay me.
The next morning on parade the commandant praised me a little and ordered me to take over the duties of No. 1 section. The sergeant who had borrowed the twenty francs from me the day before was appointed sergeant-major, and the corporal of a squad of No. 2 was made sergeant of that section. When we were dismissed, I reminded the new sergeant-major of my permission to visit Nicholas. He remembered the money I had shown the evening before and promptly brought me up before the sub-lieutenant in temporary command of the company, in order that I might report my intention of taking advantage of the leave given meby the captain. The sub-lieutenant offered no opposition. As I was going away the sergeant-major, no doubt remembering that I was comparatively rich—that is, rich for a sergeant of legionaries—told me that he would take care that my section was all right during my absence.
"Many thanks," I said; "perhaps monsieur le sergent-majeur would wet the promotion in the evening."
"But yes, but yes, with pleasure. Do not hurry, you will be back in good time; sometimes the sergeant-major is a better friend than a simple sub-lieutenant." He was right, and we both knew it.
I went across as quickly as I could to where the field hospital for the wounded of the right attack lay. I had little difficulty in finding Nicholas; he visibly brightened at seeing me, and, when I tried to shake hands, he put his finger on my sleeve, where the single gold chevron was that a sergeant of a section wears.
"It pleases me," he whispered; "but don't be too ambitious, other men have lost all through ambition."
I said nothing. I was glad that he was pleased, but I cannot tell how sorry to see him weak, worn out, and, as one may say, with the dews of death already gathering on his forehead. He could not speak, even in a low tone, he could only whisper; I had to bend down to catch his words.
He asked about a few men of the squad, and I told him who were dead, who dying, who still in the ranks. He was anxious too about Le Grand, and was very glad to hear that the latter had gone through the fight without even a scratch, though he had had one narrow escape.
"Le Grand," I said to Nicholas, "had to take a dead man's helmet."
"Why, why?" he eagerly whispered.
"Because his own was cut in two by a sabre-stroke. Had the cut been downwards, Le Grand would be alongside you to-day."
"I am glad he escaped so well; I like him."
After a little more conversation I was told that my visit must end.
"Who is chiefly with you, Nicholas?" I asked.
He nodded towards an attendant. I went to this man and gave him a hundred francs.
"Be good to my comrade," I said.
"Yes; yes," he replied, astonished at such a gift from a mere sergeant of legionaries; "I will do all I can, but that, alas! is little."
"I know," I answered, "there is no hope; but smooth the way for him as well as you can to Eternity."
He promised with many oaths that he would do so. I don't know whether or not he kept his word, but I really do think that the unexpected money, and still more the unexpected amount of it, made him a good friend to the last to my poor comrade.
So Nicholas the Russian passes out of my story. I never saw him afterwards, for that evening my company left Lang-Son for an outside station about ten miles from the place. Some time afterwards a legionary of No. 2 Company told me that he had been in hospital with Nicholas, and that the Russian had died about four o'clock in the afternoon of the day I visited him, and was buried in the evening of the same day. He is out of the turmoil of the world now, and I wonder, had he in early youth understood life as he learned it in the Foreign Legion, would he have "played the game" in the same way? One never knows. Perhaps he would have lived and died that wretched nonentity, the respectable member of society—the Pharisee who has neither courage to do evil nor heart to do good—but who lives his life out in constant endeavour to equate God and the devil, to balance, for his own benefit of course, his duty to his fellow-man and his so-called duty to himself; perhaps he unknowingly thought at the end as the Dying Stockrider spoke:
"I've had my share of trouble, and I've done my share of toil,And life is short, the longest life a span,I care not now to tarry for the corn or for the oilOr the wine that maketh glad the heart of man.For gifts misspent, and chances lost, and resolutions vain'Tis somewhat late to trouble: this I know—I would live the same life over if I had to live again,And the chances are, I go where most men go."
Anyway, whatever he was to others, he was good friend and good comrade to me, and if no one else regrets, I regret.
Amice mi, vale, vale, vale!
CHAPTER XV
Oneevening the sergeants and corporals were ordered to forewarn the men that the battalion would leave the neighbourhood of Lang-Son early the following morning. Where we were going we did not know; indeed, I believe that even the commandant himself was unaware of our destination when he ordered the battalion to hold itself in readiness for a march. When the morning parade had been inspected—we, of course, paraded in full marching order—the commandant ordered us to stand at ease. While thus waiting in the ranks, an officer of the staff came and gave a written paper to the commandant. Shortly afterwards the staff-officer went away, and we were marched off in column of fours for some place or other, where, we—sub-officers and men—knew not, nor did we care. Restlessness is the chief characteristic of the soldier; he stagnates in garrison, or, if he doesn't, he avoidsennuiby illegitimate amusements—excitements, I should say, that sooner or later get him into trouble.
I am ashamed to confess that I was as happy as the others as we tramped along. Of course, I was sorry for Nicholas, and as I spent the money he had left me with the other sergeant and the sergeant-major of the company, I felt that all the fun and gaiety that money can produce cannot make up for the loss of a good comrade. I took care to do as Nicholas would wish me towards my late associates, the corporals, and my former associates, the simple soldiers—they were not forgotten when the money was spent. Of course, I did not go outside my section, and I took good care thatmy former squad, the squad I had soldiered in ever since I was sent from the depot to a battalion, first as soldier of the second class in the little trouble with the Arabs in Algeria, in the big trouble at Three Fountains, in the troopship, at Noui-Bop; then as soldier of the first class till the end of the vengeance at a place I have not named—you may be sure it gets scant mention in the official records; then as corporal in the defeat at Lang-Son and the retreat afterwards, and at the second battle, when we recaptured the town:—oh no, I did not forget the men who were what Xenophon would call my table-companions; for their part, they thanked me but little, but we all understood.
There is no use in detailing our life for the next few weeks. We were always marching, now to the north, anon to the west, then a sudden turn to east, perhaps, or south or back towards the north again. It was all one; we looked for the enemy; we did not find him. At last a momentous order came for us. We were much reduced in strength, and the general commanding-in-chief determined to send most of the battalion to the sea coast and, if the doctors should recommend, back to Algeria. I don't think that we mustered six hundred of all ranks at the time, possibly we did not exceed five hundred. When I tell you that we were constantly receiving batches of fresh men—almost every troopship brought out a hundred or two hundred soldiers of the Foreign Legion—you will be surprised at this; but then the country is bad for Europeans, and we were always in the fighting line of the battles and on tramp here, there, and everywhere between them. Anyway, the commandant asked for volunteers to form a company to be left behind, and officers as well as men were asked to come forward.
"First," said the commandant, "I want a captain."
All the captains stepped out He selected mine. I forgot to state that my captain had been sent back toduty, as soon as the surgeons found that the blow on the head had produced only temporary ill-effects.
"Now," said the commandant, "a lieutenant."
Forward stepped every officer of that rank. The sub-lieutenant—now a lieutenant—who had come out with my company, thevieux militairewho had risen from the ranks, the man who was good at fighting and better at pillage, the man who could overlook much if you were a good looter and handed him over a decent percentage of your gains, the man with the piercing eye, the hooked nose, the spike-like grey moustache was taken on the spot. I believe this selection gave the old soldier immense pleasure. "Ah," I can fancy him saying to himself, "the commandant knows better than to take boys fresh from school." Everybody under forty was to him a boy fresh from school, except, be it noted, Nicholas. He did not understand Nicholas, but he was too old a soldier, too experienced in the Legion, not to know the ruined nobleman, the dangerous man, when he met him. A sub-lieutenant was selected in turn, a mere boy who had been sent to us for some little peccadillo, some little indiscretion, probably in connection with a senior officer's wife. Then a sergeant-major was taken, an Alsatian from No. 3. The sergeants were now called on for volunteers, and, just as we all stepped forward, a French officer of chasseurs approached the commandant to speak with him.
"Select your own sergeants and corporals, captain," the commandant cried out to my captain; "the doctor will select the men, for I assume that all will volunteer."
The captain promptly selected the two sergeants of his own company. I was delighted. I, a boy of less than seventeen, as the captain knew, though in the records of the battalion I was approaching nineteen, found myself senior sergeant of a company that was evidently to be a separate unit for some time. How I mentally thanked the officer of chasseurs for his timely intervention, for I felt sure that the commandant would nothave selected me. The corporals were quickly chosen as the captain took all his own corporals who had not been seriously wounded and who did not show signs of breaking down, the others were taken by him from corporals of other companies after a hasty walk down the line of volunteers. He was a clever man, that captain of mine: all the outside corporals he selected were fair-haired. I have already mentioned that such men can stand hardships better than the black-haired ones.
When the commandant had finished his chat with the chasseur, he said:
"All men in the front ranks"—we were drawn up in column of companies—"that wish to volunteer, step one pace to the front; all men in the rear ranks that wish to volunteer, step one pace to the rear. March."
All stepped forward or backward, as the case might be; the commandant went down the right flank and saw all the companies opened out.
"Very well,mes enfants, since you all volunteer, the doctor will make a selection."
The doctor examined every man. As he marched down the ranks he cast out almost half, one glance told him that these could not be accepted, wounds and disease and semi-starvation and hardship had worn them out; the rest he carefully examined in the afternoon, and, to cut the matter short, next morning the commandant and other officers and other sub-officers and other soldiers said good-bye to a fairly strong company—we were more than two hundred and twenty all told—and started on their march to the coast. We felt sad as our comrades went away. In twenty-four hours we had forgotten them, as, undoubtedly, they had forgotten us. Wrong! you say; well, the soldier who can't forget will die of brooding over his memories.
In a day or two a few Annamite tirailleurs and eight or ten French engineers had came into camp. The chief officer of the tirailleurs brought a message forour captain, and in accordance with this we pushed forward about seventy or eighty miles and seized a strong position, right, as one may say, in the heart of the enemy's country. This we proceeded to fortify, the engineers superintending, the legionaries working, and the Annamites out on all sides to give us notice of any movements against our little post on the part of our foes. These, however, allowed us to finish the little fortification in peace; once it was finished, we cared not a jot for them. We had brought along a good deal of supplies; more of every kind that the country produced were collected from all sides; ammunition was plentiful, so why should we care?
This was my captain's first separate command, and he had a nice little force to help him to keep the post. First, there were the legionaries, two hundred and twenty seasoned soldiers; then about a hundred and eighty native levies under French officers; last, a really admirable demi-squad of engineers. No artillery, of course; but who wants artillery when he has enough of rifles? My captain did not, and he was really a clever man. Not that guns and gunners have not their uses—oh, they have—but they are wanted with brigades and divisions for big battles; they are useless, they are worse than useless, to small parties on the trail of the enemy or holding some out-of-the-way position which may have to be abandoned at a minute's notice. In a retreat, when you are burdened with guns, one or two things must be done—destroy the artillery, and so produce a bad effect on the men; keep it, and by so doing slow down your march in swampy ground. We were all glad that no guns had been sent to us. We were quite confident that we could maintain our ground with the rifle alone; then, if we really had to withdraw, we felt more confident of cutting our way through with steady bayonet fighting than if we had to depend on the spasmodic assistance of artillery in a retreat.
When the little fortification was finished to the satisfaction of the captain and the sergeant in command of the engineers, the little force was divided into four parts. Every part had a special duty every day. If No. 1 were employed guarding the camp for the twenty-four hours, No. 2 would be out in the day gathering stores of all kinds and getting information; No. 3 would be cooking and doing the other work of the camp, except guarding it; and No. 4 would be quietly resting. Thus every part had three days' work for one day of rest, but, be it well understood, every man was on guard-duty only one night in four. Every party, I may mention, had one-fourth of the legionaries and one-fourth of the Annamite tirailleurs. As for the engineers, they examined the fortifications every day, and did nothing then but cook and eat, mend and wash their clothing, and lie about and smoke. The officers commanding the parties were the lieutenant and the sub-lieutenant of the legionaries, the lieutenant and the sub-lieutenant of the native levies, while the captain exercised a general supervision over all, especially the entrenchments, the engineers, and the stores.
Things went on well and pleasantly for some time. In fact we were all getting tired of the monotony—that is, all except the Annamites, who were quite satisfied—and we sergeants and corporals especially were desirous of some excitement. This we got, and in full measure. That everything may be understood I must give a brief description of the post—the fortified encampment I may call it.
The main post was almost rectangular in shape, but a little way out from one corner stood a block-house, its nearest angle pointing towards an angle of the fort. This block-house was built with the intention of protecting the portion of the camp nearest to it, and also in order to prevent the enemy from taking up a commanding position within less than half musket-shot of our quarters. Furthermore, it dominated aspring from which a stream flowed in close proximity to the main fortification. This was very necessary, for the Black Flags have no compunction about poisoning "foreign devils." The block-house had two storeys, and was generally occupied by about twenty men, detached, of course, from the party on guard for the day. It was rather exposed on the two sides away from the main position, but being well and solidly built no one dreamed that it could ever be in any great danger. Well, it was; but that came afterwards, and will be dwelt on in due course. As for the big position being in danger, everyone scouted the thought. Ah, it's well for men that they are generally fools!
Well, the time came at last when the Black Flags came to visit us. The first token of their arrival in force was given by the cutting off of a squad of Annamite tirailleurs; the second, firing at long range on a party of legionaries; the third, the burning of a couple of villages. I suppose they thought that the people in these hamlets were friendly to us; they were, indeed, friendly, but so they would have been to any men who carried arms. The poor people who remain quietly at home and take no part in fighting always suffer most. We took their property and paid them for it, at least our officers did; the Black Flags came, took their money, their women, and often their lives, and then set fire to their wretched habitations. In war both sides live very much, if not altogether, on the country. You can imagine how pleasant that is for the cultivators and others who seek to continue the occupations which can be profitable only in time of peace. Well, cowards sow and brave men reap.
After the burning of the villages we scouted much more cautiously. Up to the first appearance of the Black Flags the Annamites were often by themselves, but afterwards we never went in smaller parties than thirty, of whom two-thirds were legionaries. So long as we had the natives, we could not very well be surprised; and so long as they had us with them, they knew that they would not be asked to bear the brunt of the fighting, if the enemy only showed himself in force.
One day I was in command of a small party that cautiously felt its way towards the north-east, where a village had been seen burning the night before. I had two weak squads of my section and a dozen natives, in all we were about thirty-five rifles. As we went slowly on, the corporal of the tirailleurs gave me to understand that there was danger ahead. I did not thank him for the information—I knew as much myself—but, as the ground was fairly open, I determined to push on a little farther. At the same time I took the precaution of sending a couple of men to reinforce the little party guarding each flank, and four to the corporal of legionaries who commanded the advance-guard. Scarcely had these soldiers reached their respective destinations, when heavy firing began in front, followed almost at once by scattered shots on the right. The Annamite tirailleurs came back at once, the legionaries did not retreat so quickly; they fired as they retreated, and showed no signs of panic. I steadied the natives by telling them very plainly that the man who moved without orders would be at once shot. When they understood this, they stood up to their fight fairly well.
As the outlying squads closed on my command, I asked the corporal who had led and the legionary of the first class who had commanded on the right, what they thought of the attack. The corporal said it seemed serious; the soldier of the first class, that we ought to move off to the base at once, as many men were trying to creep round to our rear. Now both of these might be depended on. The corporal was a man of much service; the other a Prussian who had found life in his own country too exciting, but who was a good soldier in all respects on active service; in garrison, of course, it was different. I fell back, therefore,showing a bold front, keeping the Annamites and six legionaries together—the latter to hold the former—and leaving all the other legionaries to fight in skirmishing order as we went away. A few of ours were wounded, and these the natives had to carry, but we managed to withdraw for more than half-a-mile without any serious casualty. Then a legionary was shot through the heart; an Annamite was sent for his rifle and ammunition, and the retreat went on as before. Once only did the enemy attempt to rush us. I hurried to the right with tirailleurs and legionaries when I saw them nearing for the charge, but our rifle fire was so effective that no man reached our bayonets.
Not very long afterwards the lieutenant of my company came up with about forty men, two-thirds of whom were legionaries. He at once took over the chief command, and had little difficulty in getting us all back to camp. I fancy, however, that the Black Flags could have done a great deal of harm to us if they had tried more resolutely to come to close quarters, for they outnumbered us certainly by six to one. They made only faint-hearted attempts to rush us, and every time they tried that game, we concentrated our fire on the men concentrated for the charge. They made a great mistake in massing themselves together, for our bullets could not fail to find a man or men amongst them in the too close formation they assumed. We, on the contrary, kept a very open formation in the firing line, but behind there were always two little squads ready to hurry up to the part where there was any danger of a serious attack. For my part, I was glad to see that the lieutenant practised the same tactics as I; in the first place, it was a sort of compliment to me; and in the second, no one could blame the sergeant for doing what the officer, a most experienced fighter, did. To end this portion of my story, I may say that the little party got back safely to the fortification with the loss of three legionaries and one Annamite tirailleurkilled and about seven or eight wounded severely enough to go into hospital. There were other men wounded, but their wounds did not count—they were only bullet-grazings or flesh wounds.
When we were safely inside the little post, the captain ordered us to see first to our wounded and then to hold ourselves in readiness to go to any part of the defence where we might be required. The Black Flags, however, did not press the attack; evidently they were only part of the enemy who meant to assault our position, probably a few hundred sent out for raiding purposes.
Nothing of any importance occurred for two or three days. We knew that the Black Flags were closing round us; in fact, we could not go five hundred yards from the camp without being fired on, but that gave us no uneasiness. Ammunition and stores were plentiful, the block-house made our water supply safe, our friends were only a hundred miles away, and we guessed that very soon a general or other high officer would come to inspect the post, and, of course, such people are always accompanied by at least a couple of thousand men. A gold-laced cap and an escort are not a sufficient outfit for a general; you must, to satisfy hisamour propre, give him an army as well. One thing must be noted here. Though the block-house commanded the spring from which arose the rivulet that ran by the outer side of the fortification, yet the captain was not satisfied. He feared that in spite of all vigilance the well might be poisoned or polluted, so that orders were given that no water was to be taken into camp until four hours after sunrise. By that time all poisons that might have been deposited in the spring during the dark hours would be washed away, and a fatigue-party would have examined the stream carefully for dead bodies of men or animals. As I shall not allude to this again, I must tell here that on several occasions we found putrid bodies in the stream. We always took them out on the spot, and the men would take no water from theparts below where they were found for at least twenty-four hours. If the carcasses were got in the spring itself, a couple of engineers and two or three legionaries went out and cleansed it.
At last we recognised that regular siege was being laid to our position. The Black Flags, assisted by a fair number of Chinese regulars—we knew these by their uniforms—had possession of every natural vantage-point around the camp. In some places, the nearest enemies were fifteen hundred yards away from the outer face of the entrenchments, in one or two the ground permitted them to come with safety as near as six or seven hundred yards. The average distance between the opposing forces was, I believe, about a thousand yards. They did not carry round a big fortified line—that would be too much trouble and would require a large number of soldiers to man it at all points—but they selected six or eight places of natural strength, erected forts upon them, and crowded these forts with defenders. The intervals between these were held by constantly moving bands, numbering anything from half-a-dozen to a hundred.
For some time the fighting was desultory. We did not fire at them unless they came within easy range, for there was no use in throwing away ammunition, and, besides, it would be a good thing if they would only learn to despise us. They knew our strength to a man. If they saw or believed that we were short of cartridges, they would surely reckon us a certain prey. At the same time they would be doubtful of the success of a mere blockade, as our stores were plentiful, and any day might bring a relieving force. As for us, we eagerly desired a grand attack. We had enough of men to provide all parts of the entrenchment with a sustained rifle fire, and even if they did get up to our fortifications we trusted to our bayonet work too much to have any fear of the issue. Moreover, since the second battle of Lang-Son and ourselection to remain behind when our comrades went down to the coast, we had conceived, unconsciously, I believe, a very high idea of our prowess both as individual soldiers and as a company.
The grand attack which we had been expecting and praying for—I mean that we should have prayed for, if we ever prayed—was delivered at last. For a couple of days and nights the enemy kept up a brisk fire, giving us no rest. To this we made but little reply. The Black Flags became bolder every hour, and on the second day of the fusilade some were so contemptuous of our fire that they crawled up to within less than two hundred yards of the entrenchments to burn their powder. Our arrangements for the second night did credit to the captain. He divided his little force into two parts. The first of these kept watch and ward from sunset until half-past one in the morning; the second, which had been resting with rifles by their sides, took up guard duty in turn until six. Thus, along the entrenchments half the men, clad in greatcoats, were standing up, looking out for any movement of the enemy, while the other half, wrapped up in greatcoats and blankets, lay down only a yard away from their watching comrades. Thus half the rifles in garrison were ready for instant use; the remaining half could be in action in thirty seconds. Our captain was clever—I have always said so, and I will always assert it; other captains are creatures of routine, and will do the same thing in a fortified post in the enemy's country as they were in the habit of doing in a quiet town in the heart of France. Routine, so admirable in time of peace, is a thing rather to be neglected in time of war.
The moiety to which I was attached lay down just behind the men on guard from sunset to half-past one. Then we were called to take our turn of duty. I had only dozed off once or twice while lying down, but for all that I was as wakeful as if I had slept for a week, when I turned out of the blanket and stood upin my greatcoat in the chilly air. Very soon I had the men under my charge at their posts. First, the lieutenant came round to ask in an undertone if all were ready within and if all seemed right outside; then the captain visited me and bade me pass the word up and down my command that the attack, if made at all, would be made within an hour, or an hour and a half at most, and that all should be thoroughly on their guard, for on every man's rifle a good deal depended. I, standing at the centre of my section, told the men on my right and left what the captain had said, each of them whispered the message to his next man, and so the words went down the ranks. After this all was quiet; the men seemed like so many bronze statues, but one knew that every eye was peering out intently into the blackness and that every ear was straining to catch the lightest sound. As for me, I looked now to the front, then to the right, and then towards the left; I neither saw nor heard anything which could betoken the approach of an enemy.
We were nearly an hour so waiting, watching, and listening, and the constant strain had just begun to tell upon the nerves, when from the eastern side of the camp a report of a rifle came. Almost at once this was followed by a constant fire, not firing by volleys, be it well understood, but a well kept-up fire on both sides, never ceasing, but swaying, as it were, up and down, as now the reports came almost all together, now they came in twos and threes, or in dozens and in scores. The eastern side was not engaged long when the northern and southern ones joined in. A moment afterwards the red spirts came to us out of the darkness of the night. We replied, and a hot fusilade was well maintained without and within. The block-house garrison was also hotly engaged. They had little trouble with two faces, for the fronts of them were swept by the fire from the nearest angle of the fort, but on the other faces their work was far harder than ours.As was obvious afterwards, when the light came and gave us the advantage, the Black Flags had tried to catch the main position unawares, if possible, but at least to give its garrison enough to do. The chief object was to win the block-house; that captured, we others could be poisoned out. I afterwards learned that in the block-house there were two engineers and twenty-one legionaries, the whole being commanded by the sergeant-major I spoke of, the Alsatian who came from No. 3. They were good men; one engineer and seven legionaries, all simple soldiers, were killed; almost all the others were wounded, but even wounded men who could stand remained at their posts, and those others who had to stay out of the fight loaded their rifles and the rifles of the dead, and passed them to the fighting men, so that two shots often went through a loophole when, in the Black Flags' minds, only one should be expected. They were good men; I am proud of having soldiered with such.
But one attempt was made to rush the fort. This occurred at the angle where the fire from the two sides swept the ground in front of two faces of the block-house. I don't believe that the enemy dreamt of taking our place by storm, but one thing was certain, the attack in force took away all aid for the block-house from the main position and made the men outside dependent altogether on themselves. That the determined attack on the little garrison outside, weakened as it was by death and wounds, did not succeed was due, first to their determined resistance, and secondly to the fact that, just as the attack became fiercest, the light became good enough for us to see our foes, to reckon their strength, and then to allow our captain to withdraw men from the two sides that were but feebly fired at to the others where the firing was practically point-blank. The sudden reinforcement overpowered the attack. A rapid and unexpected sally by fifty or sixty legionaries with fixed bayonets relieved the pressure round the block-house. The little garrison received from the sortie party a dozen men as reinforcements, the rest returned, and that really finished the engagement. A few shots still continued to be exchanged, but the firing after the sally was of no account—a man killed or wounded on either side "did not count in the tale of the battle."