Methuen's Colonial Library
A MODERN LEGIONARY
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME
A FRONTIERSMAN
By Roger Pocock
A
MODERN LEGIONARY
BY
JOHN PATRICK LE POER
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
1904
Colonial Library
A MODERN LEGIONARY
CHAPTER I
On a January morning in the early eighties I found myself in Paris with less than a dozen francs in my purse, or rather my pockets, for I have always had a habit of distributing my money between waistcoat and trousers, so that if one pocket be picked the contents of the others may have a chance of remaining still in my possession.
How I arrived in Paris is easily explained. After two years and a half in a boarding-school I had become so tired of its monotonous routine and, indeed, of the idleness which prevailed there—for the masters never tried to teach, and, naturally, the boys never tried to learn—that I resolved, when the Christmas vacation came to an end, to leave my home in the south of Ireland and seek my fortune through the world. Accordingly, instead of going back to school, I set out for Dublin, whence I started for London by the first boat. In London I spent a day, and then came on to Paris, filled with vague hopes and vaguer misgivings as to my future. Thus it happened that I at the age of sixteen was walking the streets of Paris on the 6th of January 188-.
I considered anxiously what lay before me. I could not go home, even if pride did not forbid. True, I could write for money, having enough to maintain myself until it came, but that would be too great a humiliation. To dig I was not able, and to beg I was ashamed, so I saw but one course open to me—to enlist. Having made up my mind, which I did the more easily as I had been brought up in a garrison town, and like most boys loved to follow the soldiers in their bright uniforms and to march along with head erect, keeping step to the music of the band, I at once set about carrying my resolve into effect. I was not long in beginning. As I walked along the streets I saw a soldier with a gold chevron on his arm, and, going across the road, I addressed him. I did not speak French very well, but had something more than the usual schoolboy knowledge of it, as I had read a good many French books and papers when I should have been at Greek or Mathematics in the study hall. Very soon, therefore, he learned my purpose, and a conversation ensued, somewhat as follows:—
"You are English; is it not so?"
"No; I am Irish, from the south of Ireland."
"Very well, my friend; but you must go to the Foreign Legion, and that will not be very pleasant, you may well believe. Always in Algeria, except when serving in Tonquin and other devil's colonies on the earth."
"I do not mind that; in the English army one has to go to India and South Africa, so what matter?"
"Ah! and you are doubtless without money, and one has to live."
"Let us go in here," said I, pointing to a wine shop. "We can talk better over a glass."
"Good comrade! good comrade!" he cried, slapping me on the shoulder; "I see that you will be a soldier after my own heart. Have no fear," he continued; "I will tell you all, and you may rely on me as a loyal friend."
When we entered the shop my new-found friend asked me whether I should drink eau-de-vie or vin ordinaire, and, on my refusing the brandy, commended my discretion, saying that young soldiers should never touch brandy as it interfered with their chances of promotion, and, moreover, they did not usually have money enough to pay for it. Thereupon he called for eau-de-vie for himself and some wine, rather sour I thought it, for his young friend, and when we had clinked glasses and drunk, our conversation was resumed.
I shall not try to reproduce the dialogue, which would, indeed, be wearisome, as we sat and talked for full two hours, with many repetitions. During this time I drank little, and the sergeant, though he had his glass filled more than once, took no more than he could safely bear. One thing I must say of him, that although he painted the soldier's life in glowing colours yet he always kept me in mind of the fact that he spoke of the French army in general and his own regiment in particular. What he said had no reference to the Foreign Legion. That corps was not to be compared to his. There were in it men who had fled from justice; from Russia, though, indeed, the offences of these were in most cases political; from Germany, and yet many were Alsatians and Lorrainers who wished to become French citizens; from Austria, Belgium, Spain; from every country in the world. And, whatever their crimes had been, they were of a surety being punished, for their stations were on the borders of the great desert, where were sand and sun and tedium so great that an Arab raid was a pleasant relief.
"But there were French soldiers also there, were there not?"
"Oh yes; the zephyrs, the bad ones who could not be reclaimed to duty, to discipline, or even to decency, and who were sent to form what one might call convict battalions in places to which no one wished to send good soldiers—men who respected themselves and the flag."
"But the Foreign Legion could not be always in Algeria, on the borders of the desert?"
"Oh no; there were many of them in Tonquin on active service, and these, of course, were just as well or as ill-off as the regular French troops, but still they were rascals, though, he would confess, very good fighting men. There was a war in Tonquin against great bands of marauders who carried a variety of flags, by the colours of which they were known: I must have heard of the principal ones—the infamous Black Flags, who gave no quarter to the wounded and who mutilated the dead. These were helped by the regular Chinese soldiers, and had among them many Europeans, dogs that they were, who gave them advice and instruction, because these Europeans were Prussians or English who hated the great French Republic and viewed its expansion with dislike and distrust."
"But was there not a good chance of promotion in the Legion?"
"Oh yes; if one did one's duty and willingly obeyed orders and did not get into trouble. Oh yes; there was always justice for the good as well as for the bad. If one was not a corporal in five years there was little use in staying; one could take his discharge and go away."
That decided me. I was sixteen—in five years I should be twenty-one—better spend the time learning experience in the world than in the dull, dreary idleness to which I was accustomed, and which filled me with disgust. I said so to the sergeant. He looked me up and down, and said:
"How old?"
"Sixteen," I replied.
"You cannot enlist; the recruit must be at least eighteen."
I thought a moment. "I will be eighteen; they cannot see the registers of my parish."
"Very well, very well, my son; you are resolved. I will say no more to prevent you—I will help you—you shall be a soldier of the Republic to-morrow."
He kept his word. We spent the day together; he showed me his barrack, his room in it, where to dine and sleep, and leaving me at nine o'clock, with a parting injunction to meet him at eight in the morning at the barrack gate, went away saying:
"Poor devil! poor devil!"
On the following morning at ten minutes to eight I was at the gate. Indeed, I might easily have been there at six, but as the morning was cold and nothing could be gained by being out and about too soon I remained snugly between the sheets until seven. Punctually at eight the sergeant appeared, and we walked towards one another smiling. I asked him to join me at breakfast. He readily consented, and soon we were seated together in a small restaurant before a table at which we appeased the hunger induced by the sharp morning air with eggs, bread and butter, and coffee. Breakfast over, the sergeant asked, as he said, for the last time, if I were still resolved to join the Foreign Legion. I replied that I was, if I should be accepted.
"Very good; we have half-an-hour, let us walk about until it is time to meet the doctor."
While strolling through the streets he gave me much advice. I was to be respectful, alert, step smartly, and, above all, be observant.
"Watch the others," he said, "and you will very soon learn soldiers' manners."
I promised to do so, and reminded him that I had grown two years older in a single night. He smiled, and said encouragingly:
"Good child! good child!—alas! poor devil!"
I asked him what he meant by alluding to me as a poor devil, and again he abused the Foreign Legion with a vocabulary as insulting as it was extensive. I had never heard or read one-tenth of the words, but it was not hard to guess the meaning. I stopped him by laying my hand upon his arm, and said:
"You forget that I may be one of the Foreign Legion before noon."
"True, true; but I do not apply the expressions to you, only to those who are already there." And he pointed with his finger towards the south.
"Very good; but surely not to all? What can you say against the political refugees from Russia?"
"Ah! they are different; they——"
I stopped him again, and said:
"And what can you say against a political refugee from Ireland?"
"Ah, ah! I understand; now I see clearly. Oh, my friend, why did you not tell me yesterday?"
From that moment he believed me, a schoolboy of sixteen, to be a head centre of the Fenians, or at least a prominent member of some Irish league. This belief had consequences shortly afterwards, pleasant and unpleasant, but we live down our sorrows as, unfortunately, we live down our joys.
Well, soon it was time to "meet the doctor," so we went towards the barrack, and passing the gate approached a portion of the square where about twelve men in civil dress were already assembled. I was told that these also were would-be recruits, not all, however, for the Foreign Legion, as some were Frenchmen who volunteered at as early an age as possible instead of waiting to be called up. Not far off a small party of sous-officiers stood, criticising the recruits, and laughing sarcastically at an occasional witticism. These the sergeant joined, and I was at leisure to observe my companions. They were of all sorts and conditions. One, a tall man with white hands, at least I saw that the right one was white, but the left one was gloved, who wore a silk hat, frock coat, and excellently got-up linen, looked rather superciliously at us all. Another, in a workman's blouse and dirt-covered trousers and boots, had his hands in his pockets, and, curving his shoulders, looked intently at the ground. A third, about eighteen, in a schoolboy's cap and jacket, was humming the Marseillaise; he was a French lad who would be a soldier. There was a dark-browed man, a Spaniard as I learnt afterwards, tugging at his small moustache; a few others whom I have forgotten; and, lastly, standing somewhat apart from the crowd, three or four medium-sized, heavily-built men, with the look of the farm about them, and, indeed, the smell of it too, who proved to be Alsatians.
I was still engaged in observing the others when a door was thrown open, and we were all ordered into a large room on the ground floor of a building, over the entrance to which were painted some words which I now forget. Here we had to strip to shirt and trousers, but as there was a stove in the place, and the windows and doors were closed, that did not hurt too much. After a short delay the tall man was summoned, and left the room by a door opposite to that by which we had entered. Others were called afterwards, and I, as it happened, was the last. As I passed out the sergeant—I forgot to mention that he and the other sous-officiers had come in with us, and all had spoken encouragingly to me, having been told that I was a rebel against "perfide Albion"—the sergeant, I say, tapped me on the shoulder, and said:
"Have no fear, be quiet, respectful, attentive, good lad."
I thanked him with a nod and a smile and passed in. I now found myself in a smaller room, where an old soldier with a long grey moustache—I thought at once of the old guard—gruffly bade me take off my shirt and trousers. I did so, and felt a slight shiver—it was January—as I stood naked on the floor. I had scarcely finished shivering when the schoolboy came from the doctor's room looking as happy and proud as a king on his coronation day. It was quite evident that he had been accepted, and already his early dreams of military renown seemed on the point of realisation. Poor devil! as the sergeant said of me. I met him afterwards twice; the first time he was a prisoner under guard for some offence, the second time he was calling out huskily for water in the delirium before death.
As he went towards his clothing I entered the apartment he had just left It was a large white-walled room, with a couple of chairs and tables, a desk and stool, and a weighing machine in a corner, as its chief furniture. A couple of soldiers were present, but evidently the chief personage in the room was a tall, thin man with a hooked nose and sharp grey eyes, whose moustache bristled out on each side. He was dressed in uniform, and wore some decorations, but I cannot recall more than that now. I doubt, indeed, if I ever fully grasped how he was dressed—his eyes attracted my attention so much.
A few questions were asked—my name, age, country, occupation, and others—which were answered by me at once and shortly. I did not forget the sergeant's advice. Then followed a most careful observation of my body. My height and weight were noted, as well as other things which I did not understand. I remember I had to breathe deeply, and then hold my breath as long as I could, to jump, to hop, and to go through every form of work of which the human body or any part of it is capable. My eyes were examined in various ways, and there was not a region of my person left unexplored by the stethoscope or by the bony fingers of my examiner. All the while he called out various words and sentences, just as a tailor calls out while he measures you for a suit of clothes, and a soldier at the desk took them down. The other soldier acted as his chief's assistant, covering my right eye with his hand while the left one was being tested, holding a stick for me to jump and hop over, putting on the weights while I was on the machine, and doing all these things at a nod or other sign from the doctor.
At last the examination was over. The doctor took the sheet of blue paper on which the soldier at the desk had been writing, and, looking alternately at it and at me, seemed carefully considering. I stood erect, hands by my sides, looking steadily and respectfully at him. It was very quiet. After some time he said:
"How old are you?" (in English, with just a trace of an accent). I waited a moment, but that moment was enough.
"Eighteen, sir."
Had I answered on the spot he would have learned the truth. He paused a little, still keeping his eyes on me, and then, slightly lifting his eyelids, asked:
"Seventeen?"
"No, sir," I replied; "eighteen to-day."
"When and where were you born?"
"Seventh of January, sir, in the year ——, and at the town of ——, in the south of Ireland."
He still gazed at me in doubt, but I met his gaze steadily. Suddenly a door opened—not the one through which I had come—and a short, stout, bustling man, dressed in blue coat and red trousers, with a gold-laced cap on his head, came in and, glancing carelessly at me, shook hands warmly with the doctor. In the conversation which ensued it was apparent by their glances and gestures that I had more than my share of their attention. Finally they approached, and the short man asked me my age. I replied as before. Turning sharp round he said with a merry smile, which ended in a short, quick laugh:
"Oh, my friend, he is eighteen; he says so, and who knows better? Would you destroy the enthusiasm of a volunteer by doubting his word? My fine fellow"—this to me—"you will be eighteen before you leave us."
That settled it I was accepted, sent away to dress, and, as I had said to the sergeant, before noon I was a sworn member of the Foreign Legion, sworn in for five years.
The swearing-in was not impressive. All I remember about it is that in a room with a very wide door an officer in a gold-laced cap sat at a table, repeated a form of words which I in turn repeated, holding up my right hand the while, and then I kissed a book tendered to me by a sous-officier. Some questions were asked, and I answered, telling the truth, as, indeed, I had told the truth all through, except about my age, and also except about the insinuation that I was a political refugee.
That night I slept in the barrack. About eighteen or twenty other recruits for the Foreign Legion occupied a large room with me. We were of all countries in Europe, but the Alsatians outnumbered the representatives of any other, and next to them came the Belgians and Lorrainers. A couple of Poles, a Russian, a Hungarian, a Croat, the Spaniard whom I have already mentioned, and myself completed the list. We looked at one another rather suspiciously at first, but after some time we became more sociable, and tried to explain, each in his own execrable French, how we had come to enlist, and it struck me that, if all were to be believed, my comrades were the most unfortunate and persecuted set of honest men that the sun had ever shone upon. I changed my opinion in the morning when I found that the last franc I had, nay the last sou, had been taken from my pockets during the night, but what was the use of complaining? It was a lesson I had to learn, therefore the sooner I learned it the better, and it was well that I learned it at no greater expense than a couple of francs. When we got a blue tunic, red trousers, and kepi, with boots and other things, I sold my civilian clothes to a Jew for one-tenth of their original cost, and that money did not leave my possession without my consent. I did not spend it all upon myself, but neither did I spend it indiscriminately, a jolly Belgian and the Russian had most of the benefit.
A little circumstance occurred which at first gave me great pleasure, though afterwards its effects were rather serious, at least in my opinion at the time. I had not been an hour in the room when the sergeant came and gave me some tobacco and a small bottle of wine. I insisted on his sharing the latter; as for the tobacco, that went in the night along with my money. I saw some very like it afterwards with one of the Poles. When going he shook hands warmly, bade me be of good courage, and was about turning away when someone, an Alsatian, I think, jostled against him. Immediately the flood-gates of his eloquence were opened, he cursed and swore, and that not alone at the cause of his anger but also at others who were near. No reply was made, and he went away, still cursing and fuming with anger. How this event affected me will be told in due course; suffice it to say that, young as I was, I saw that his evident partiality for me and his undoubted contempt for the others would likely bring unpleasant results before long.
In two days our numbers had increased to about thirty, and we were despatched to Algeria under the orders of a sergeant and two corporals. During the journey we learned a little more about discipline, but all that and the journey itself must wait for a new chapter.
CHAPTER II
Let me first describe the sergeant who was in chief command of our party. He was a small, active, sharp-tongued man, wearing a couple of medals and the Cross of the Legion of Honour on his breast, neat in his dress—I believe he would, if it were possible, polish his boots forty times a day—having a constant eye to us, such an eye as a collie has for the flock. When he gave an order, it was clear and abrupt; when he censured, you felt no doubt about his meaning, for tongue and tone and eye and gesture all united to convey contempt and abuse; if he gave ten minutes for a meal, we had to fill our stomachs in that time or go half hungry; and as for accepting a drink from one of us—for some had a little money—he would as soon have thought, he let us know, of accepting a glass of hell-fire from Satan. He was one of those men found in every army in the world—men who cannot live out of barracks, who feel comfortable only in uniform, who look upon civilians as beings to be pitied for not having the military sense, just as the ordinary man pities the blind, the deaf, or the dumb. Such men's minds receive few, and these transient, impressions from outside their own corps. To hear the regiment rated soundly on inspection day is a greater calamity than the cutting off of a squadron by Berbers or the ambushing of half a battalion by Black Flags; in fine, they are soldiers of the regiment rather than of the army.
We were divided into two squads, each under the immediate control of a corporal. My corporal was a jolly, good-humoured fellow, a bit malicious, a Parisian gamin in uniform. He told us terrible stories of the Foreign Legion, and said that we should get through our purgatory if we only lived in it long enough. But in the end he defeated his own object, for, as some tales were obviously untrue, we had no difficulty in persuading ourselves that all were lies. The other corporal, a tall, lank man, seemed to me moody or, perhaps I should say, pensive. However, he had nothing to do with me, so I scarcely observed him.
With regard to the journey, I can only say that we marched from the barrack to a railway station, travelled by train to Marseilles, thence by transport to Oran, where we were handed over by the sergeant to a sous-officier of our own corps. Some incidents and scenes of the journey I must relate, as they show how my military education began. And first I must tell about the unpleasantness which I spoke of in the first chapter.
Of course, a woman was the exciting cause—the match to the gunpowder. Women can't help it; they are born with the desire of getting you to do something for them. The average woman merely gets her husband to support her; she would like to have every other woman in the parish there to see the weekly wages handed over, the wages which, if he were a bachelor, would represent so much fun and frolic and reckless gaiety. But there are women who would incite you to commit murder or to save a life with equal eagerness, just to feel that their influence over you was unbounded. However, this has little to do with the present case, which was merely a casual flirtation and its ending.
At a certain station, which had more than its due share of loungers, our train was stopped for some reason. We were allowed to get out during the delay, and the report quickly spread that a squad or two of recruits for the Foreign Legion had halted at the place. We were soon surrounded by a curious group, many of which passed by no means complimentary remarks upon our personal appearance and the crimes they supposed us to have committed in our own countries before we came, or rather escaped, to France.
In the crowd was a rather handsome woman of about thirty who pretended great fear of us, as if we were cannibals from the Congo. The sergeant, however, reassured her, told her that we were quite quiet under his control—pleasant for us to listen to, wasn't it?—and volunteered to give her all information about us. Well, he gave us information about ourselves too.
He described the Pole as a dirty Prussian who had robbed his employer and then made his escape to Paris. The Spaniard became a South American who had more murders on his soul than a professional bravo of the Middle Ages. The Russian was a Nihilist who had first attempted to blow up the Tsar and afterwards betrayed his accomplices, so that in the Foreign Legion, and there only, could he hope to escape at once justice and revenge. An Alsatian was described as a Hungarian brute: "these Hungarian dogs are so mean, sneaking, filthy, and cowardly"; while the poor Hungarian, who had heard all this, almost at once found himself pointed out as an Austrian, a slave of an emperor who was afraid of Germany. Unfortunately, as it turned out afterwards, I escaped his notice, and what I congratulated myself upon at the time I had reason afterwards to regret.
While the sergeant was thus trying to advance himself—the vain fool!—in the handsome woman's favour and was getting on to his own satisfaction, if not to ours, into the crowd struts a young corporal of chasseurs. As soon as she saw him the woman turned her back upon our sergeant, put her arm affectionately through the corporal's, and brought him, vacuously smiling, down to us to tell the sergeant's stories over again. She muddled them, but that was of course. We never minded anything she said; but weren't we delighted to see our sous-officier so excellently snubbed!
"And where, my dear Marie, did you learn all this?" queried the happy and smiling chasseur.
"Oh, pioupiou told me." And she pointed with the tip of her parasol at the man who a moment before had mentally added her to the list of his conquests. And pioupiou was angry; his cheeks got all white with just a spot of red in the centre, his eyes glared, he twisted his moustache savagely; he turned on us and ordered us back to the carriages. But that was not all: the crowd laughed, Marie laughed, the corporal—another fool—laughed. Some of us laughed, and we paid for all the laughter in the end.
Nothing was said while we were in the station, but as soon as the train was again on the move the sergeant began. The first to feel uncomfortable was the corporal of my squad. He was told that he did not enforce discipline, that he was too free with these rascals, these pigs, that he had no self-respect, that he was ill-bred, and much more to the same effect. We came in for worse abuse, the Hungarian and a Belgian being made special marks for the sergeant's anger because they had been the first to laugh when Marie called him "pioupiou." The abuse was kept up, with occasional intermissions, for over half-an-hour, and no one was sorry when our tormentor sought solace of a more soothing nature in his pipe. It is very hard for men to listen to angry words which they know they cannot resent, and, sooner than have no relief for their pent-up passion, they will vent it on one of themselves, as I found out before long.
We had stopped for ten minutes' interval at a station, and the three sous-officiers had gone to a small refreshment room after ordering us, on various pains and penalties, not to leave our seats. Scarcely were they on the platform when the Belgian, who had been most insulted, began to rail at me. I was astonished. My surprise increased when the others joined with him. I was asked why I should be spared while better men were being treated as dogs and worse than dogs. The visit of my friend, the kindly sergeant who brought me wine and tobacco, was raked up as an instance of favouritism, and the rather violent language which he had applied to others in the barrack room was also recalled. I felt indignant at the injustice but knew not how to reply. Indeed, there was but a small chance of doing so, as all were speaking loudly, and some even shaking their fists at me. At last the Belgian, who had started the affair, struck me lightly on the cheek. This was too much. I jumped at him, had him tightly by the throat with the left hand, and set to giving him the right hand straight from the shoulder as quickly and as strongly as I could. He was altogether taken aback, and, moreover, was almost stunned by my assault, for every blow drove the back of his head against the woodwork of the carriage. Before anyone could interfere I had given him his fill of fighting, and when I was torn off his mouth and nose were bleeding and the skin around both eyes was rapidly changing colour. Before the fight could be renewed the sub-officers returned, and we all sat silent and sullen in our places.
The sergeant at once grasped the situation.
"What, fighting like wolves with one another already! Very well, my fine fellows, it does not end here; to-day the fight and the arrest, to-morrow the inquiry and the punishment."
Thereupon he ordered the men on each side of us to consider themselves our warders. "If they escape, if they fight again, there will be a more severe punishment for you, whose prisoners they are."
"A beautiful way to begin soldiering," he continued, looking alternately at the Belgian and myself; "go on like this, and life will be most happy for you."
At the next station he ordered the Belgian to be transferred to the compartment in which the other squad, under the silent corporal, travelled. When he left, to give orders, I suppose, about the prisoner, the jolly corporal turned to me, and said:
"My worthy fellow, you have begun well; where did you learn to use your hands? No matter, the commandant will talk to you; he will settle all. But, my son, what was it about; did he insult you?"
"It was all the fault of the sergeant," I cried——
"Hold, hold!" interrupted the corporal; "take care, you are foolish to accuse your officer, and, besides, he was not present."
This gave me a hint.
"No; he was not here, and the corporals were not here either."
"Then it was my fault too?"
"Not yours so much as the sergeant's—you merely deserted your post—but he in addition to that abused the men so much before going away that their passion was aroused, and when men are angry they cannot help fighting."
"Yes, yes," said the corporal; "he did abuse people, there is no doubt that he was in bad humour, and would have abused his own brother at the time."
Little more was said, but the corporal was very thoughtful, and evidently was chewing a cud he did not like.
At the first opportunity, it was when we halted for a meal, the corporal took the sergeant aside, and a long conversation ensued. The upshot was that I was taken from my guards and brought by the corporal to where his comrade stood. The latter asked me to tell him the truth about the quarrel, and I spoke as he wished me to. I mentioned everything—the kindness of the first sergeant to me and his abuse of the others, his own harsh treatment of us from the beginning, his wrong and malicious descriptions to the woman—he winced when I mentioned her name—his fearful abuse of the men afterwards, and I took care to point out that I was the one who had been least hurt by his tongue, and I wound up by declaring that, if he and the corporals had not gone away, leaving us without any sous-officier in charge, the affair would not have taken place.
"I believe you have told me the truth," he said. And I knew well that he knew it, for all the time that I was speaking he kept his keen eyes fixed upon mine, and they seemed to read me through and through.
The Belgian and I were almost immediately relieved from arrest, but my opponent received strict orders to stay in the centre of the squad while marching, so that as little chance as possible might be given to the curious to note his bruises. He was furthermore told that for his own sake he had better tell anyone in authority who might chance to make inquiries that he had been suddenly, and when off his guard, assaulted by a drunken man at a wayside railway station. He afterwards did tell this tale when interrogated by an officer, and, as we others corroborated his statement, he escaped all punishment, and so did I. All the same, the sneers and whisperings of my companions during the remainder of the journey were at least as painful to me as his injuries were to the Belgian. In fact, I was more than boycotted by all, and the fact that none of my comrades would associate with me in even the slightest degree was gall and wormwood to the mind of a sensitive youth. How I wished that the first sergeant had not been so kind and the second so sparing of abuse to me. I was glad that in the depot for recruits I was altogether separated from the rest, and I may add now that, when I met some of them afterwards in the East, they seemed to have forgotten all the little annoyances of our first acquaintance.
I wish to say but little now about the rest of the way. The chief thing that remains in my memory is the scene aboard the transport that carried us from Marseilles to Oran. It was so striking that I fancy I shall never forget it.
There were troops of all arms aboard. I need not describe the party I was with, as I have said enough about it already, and of most of the others I can only recall that the various uniforms, the different numbers on the caps, all impressed me with the idea that I belonged to one of the great armies of the world. Having been, as I have already mentioned, brought up in a garrison town I at once noticed distinctions which another might pass over as trivial. I saw, for instance, that all the soldiers of the line did not belong to the same regiment in spite of the strong likeness the various corps showed to one another, and I knew that the same held true of the chasseurs and zouaves. I admired the way in which disorder was reduced to order; the steady composure of those who had no work to do, which contrasted so much with the quick movement and tireless exertion of the men told off for fatigue; the sharp eyes and short, clear orders of the sergeants; and, above all, the calm, assured air of authority of the officer who superintended the embarkation.
While I was noting all this my glance fell on a party of men, about fifty in number, wearing the usual blue tunic and red trousers, who had no mark or number in their caps. Now the Frenchmen of the line had each the number of his regiment on the front of the kepi, and we of the Foreign Legion had grenades on ours. Moreover, these men were set apart from all the rest and were guarded by a dozen soldiers with fixed bayonets. The men seemed sullen and careless of their personal appearance, and when a Frenchman forgets his neatness you may be sure that he has already forgotten his self-respect. Curiosity made me apply for information to the corporal over my squad, and he told me that these were men who for their offences in regiments stationed in France were now being transferred to disciplinary battalions in Algeria, where they would forfeit, practically, all a soldier's privileges and be treated more like convicts than recruits. I at once remembered what the sergeant whose acquaintance I had first made had said about the zephyrs, the men that could not be reclaimed. I saw them often afterwards, and, though in most of the battalions they are not very bad and are treated fairly enough, in others which contain the incorrigible ones the officers and sub-officers have to go armed with revolvers, and the giving out of cartridges, when it can't be helped, is looked upon as the sure forerunner of a murder. Figure to yourself what a hated warder's life would be worth if the convicts in Dartmoor had rifles and bayonets and if the governor had occasionally to serve out packets of cartridges, it being well understood that all—governor, warders, and convicts—are supposed to be transferred to, let us say, Fashoda, where there is now and then a chance of a Baggara raid.
I don't know much about the voyage across the Mediterranean as I was almost, but not quite, sea-sick. It has always been so with me, the gentlest sea plays havoc with my stomach. We got into Oran at about six o'clock in the evening, and our party at once disembarked. We were met on the quay by a sergeant of the Foreign Legion, who showed us the way to a barrack, where we were formally handed over to his control. That night we stayed in the barrack, and I suffered a little annoyance from my comrades, from all of whom I was separated next day, when we were transferred to our depot at a place called Saida. I do not know whether this is to-day the depot for the Foreign Legion or not, as I heard men say that an intention existed on the part of the military authorities to place it farther south. Here I spent some time learning drill, discipline, and all the duties of a soldier, and this was the hardest period of my military life, for my knowledge of French had to be considerably increased before I could quite grasp the meaning of an order, and very often I was abused by a corporal for laziness when I had the best will in the world to do what I was told, if I could only understand it.
CHAPTER III
When we arrived at the depot we were at once divided into small parties, each of which was sent to a company for drill. I was attached to No. 1 Company, and though four others of my comrades came to it with me they did not remain there long. Two of them were Belgians, one an Alsatian, and the fourth a Pole. All spoke French well, and it was very soon seen that they had learned something about drill already in other armies, and, therefore, they were sent almost at once to the battalions on service at the edge of the great desert. Thus it was that I found myself the only member of the detachment in No. 1, and of this I was very glad, for my last experience with them had not been of the most pleasant kind.
And now let me put on record the only complaint I have to make about my life at Saida. On account of my speaking English all agreed that I must be an Englishman, and the Englishman is well hated abroad. Consequently on the drill ground and in the barrack room I was continually addressed by the expressive sobriquet of "English pig." Now "cochon anglais" is not a nice nickname, and though I dared not resent it from the corporals and other sub-officers I made up my mind that from my equals in rank it was not to be endured. There was a big Alsatian in my squad who was most persistent in insulting me, though I had often tried to explain to him that I was neither a pig nor an Englishman. With him, therefore, I resolved to deal, confident that, if I could put a stop to his insolence, the rest would be quiet enough. I determined, as he was my superior in age, strength, weight, and length of arm, that it would be only right to take him unawares and, if possible, finish the business before he could quite understand what I was about. For three or four days after settling this matter in my mind I got no opportunity such as I wished for. Seeing me take the nickname quietly, for I no longer even remonstrated with him, the Alsatian went further than before and raised my anger to boiling point. At last the chance came. As I entered the room one afternoon I noticed lying near the door a rather large billet of wood. The corporal was out, so were most of the men, and those who remained, five or six in number, were lazily lounging in various attitudes about the room. I put aside rifle, belt, and bayonet, for I had just come in from a punishment parade—that is, an extra parade ordered to men for some slight irregularity—and looked straight at the big brute, as if to challenge him.
"Ah, my fine fellow, how do English pigs like punishment parades in this weather?" he began.
"As well," I answered, picking up, carelessly as it were, the billet, "as Alsatian dogs like this." And I brought the heavy block down upon his head with all my strength. The cap, though utterly destroyed, saved his head, but still he was so stupefied by the sudden assault and by the force of the blow that I had time to strike him again and again. The others jumped up quickly and seized me, crying out that the Alsatian was dead. And, indeed, he looked as if he were dead, for his head was covered with blood, and one almost imagined that his brains would protrude through the wounds. However, after some time he came to himself again, and truly no one was better pleased than I, for as I cooled down I began to be fearful of consequences.
When the corporal heard about the affair he told the sergeant, the sergeant went to the captain, and the captain came down to investigate the matter for himself. I told him how I was continually annoyed, and when he asked me why I struck the other when off his guard, I pointed out that to do so gave me the only chance of revenge. He measured us both with his eyes and seemed to agree with me. Anyway, the Alsatian was sent to get his wounds dressed and I was ordered extra drills, extra fatigues, and to remain altogether in barracks for a fortnight.
Now I wondered how I got off so lightly. Well, in the Foreign Legion a fight between men of the same squad is not considered half so serious as one between men belonging to different squads, just as no one minds so much about a fight between brothers as about one between members of separate families. If a soldier of No. 1 squad beats a soldier of No. 2 all the men of No. 2 will look for revenge, and all the men of No. 1 will know that, and, therefore, at any moment thirty or more men may be, to use an expressive phrase, "into" one another with Nature's weapons and anything lying handy that will do a man damage. Sometimes when the quarrel is more serious than usual—as, for instance, when it is about women—bayonets may be used, but, indeed, the soldier very seldom has recourse to his accustomed weapons in a fight with comrades. But if a dispute arises between a battalion of zephyrs and another of the Foreign Legion there is but one way of restoring order—call out the cavalry and the guns.
As the Alsatian and I belonged to the same squad the captain contented himself with punishing me slightly and warning us both against a renewal of the quarrel. The story went around, and I don't believe I was called an English pig ever afterwards except by an Irishman or an Irish-American, who, of course, spoke only in jest.
Our company consisted of from 160 to 200 men. Sometimes it was strong for a week after the arrival of a number of recruits, then again it would go down as a squad or two departed for the regiment. My squad varied, I think, from ten to seventeen, and, taking us all round, we weren't very bad, as soldiers go. What language did we speak? French on the drill ground and on duty and in reply to superior officers; amongst ourselves a Lingua Franca, made up chiefly of French, especially the Argot, but with a plentiful admixture of German, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, and other languages, including in some squads even Russian, Turkish, and Arabic. What I say now refers not merely to the depot but to the Foreign Legion in general: every battalion, every company, I might almost say every squad, had its own peculiarity of idiom; Sapristi and Parbleu gave place often to Caramba, Diavolo, and Mein Gott. In fact, before I was six months in the Legion I could swear fluently in every European language except English; the only English curse they taught me was Goddam.
The sous-officiers were pretty strict with us in the depot, but the punishments were not too severe. The favourite one was to keep you altogether in the barrack and compel you to sleep during the night in your ordinary uniform on a plank bed in the guard room. That was the worst of it, in the day no one minded the confinement to barracks—for what was the use in wandering about a dirty town if one had no money in his pocket, and our pay did not last long?—but in the night the plank bed was not an ideal resting-place. I did not get into much trouble, the row with the Alsatian was my chief offence, and what kept me right was the dread of sleeping in the guard room at night.
We drilled every day except Sunday, but there is no use in telling about that, as drill is the same all the world over. Our drill instructors were certainly eloquent—all had copious vocabularies—and the wealth of abuse and cursing that any of them could expend in an hour's work was, indeed, extraordinary. While I was unable to fully understand I felt angry; by the time I understood every word I was too philosophical to care. Moreover, I am sorry to have to say that I was rapidly acquiring a fairly extensive vocabulary of my own, and every time I heard a curse directed at myself I thought one for the benefit of the drill instructor's soul. It's a tradition in every army just as it is in every navy, fighting and mercantile, that nothing can be got out of men without bad language, and I do believe that there is a good deal of truth in the tradition. One would fancy that skippers and sergeants wish to familiarise their men with the names at least of the lower regions and their ruler, in the firm belief that the men will at some time make the acquaintance of both. That's as it may be; at anyrate we learned a good deal more than our drill from our instructors.
We had a remarkably fine band. It was chiefly composed of Germans, I think, and it does seem strange that ten years after the Franco-Prussian war the majority of a French regimental band should be composed of the sons of the men who crushed Napoleon the Third at Sedan. The band played very often in the square, and every evening that it turned out I felt no desire to leave the barrack. I don't understand music but I like it. In the square the women and children of the depot used to walk about listening, talking and laughing; the officers' wives at one side and the wives of the sous-officiers at another. As for us, we lounged about at a short distance and made remarks, not always in the best taste, about the women of both classes. A good deal of quiet, oh, very quiet, flirtation used to go on, and this gave rise amongst us to rather broad jests and hints. Of course, many people from the town came in also, and these we considered fair game as well. One very fat man, accompanied by a tall, extremely thin woman, evidently his wife—they seemed to have no children—came regularly at least three times a week to listen to the music. If he and his lady knew all the fun they provided for us and the jokes uttered at their expense, I fancy that the square would never see them again. What they did not know did not trouble them, and so they came as long as I remained in the depot and I daresay for long enough after I left it.
A very important consideration with a soldier, as with any other man, is his food. I think we got nearly enough—that is, the fellows who were used to it got enough—but the poor devils who were not used to slops and bread were badly off, especially those who, like myself, had schoolboy appetites. I have seen—this was in the battalion—veterans leaving part of their rations untouched and young soldiers, men under twenty-five, hungry the whole day long. Early in my soldiering I learned the blessed consolation of tobacco. Often when I was more hungry after a meal than before it, the soup and bread rather exciting my stomach than satisfying it, I have smoked till no sensation of emptiness remained. I don't know what a soldier in a Continental army would do without tobacco. Nearly all our scanty pay went to buy it, and, wretched stuff as it was, I have never enjoyed the best Havana as I used to enjoy the delicious smoke when all work and drill for the day were over and the pipe of comfort and blessed forgetfulness made paradise of a barrack room.
We were good enough to one another. If the Spaniard had no tobacco he could generally get some, unless it were too scarce indeed, and then he had to be satisfied with half-a-dozen puffs from every pipe in the room. I say the Spaniard advisedly, for he was always without money; he had such an unfortunate trick of getting into trouble and losing his pay. At the same time I too have had to do with the whiffs when I longed for a pipeful of my own, and when you wanted to feel the taste of the weed in your mouth it was very good to get even them. When tobacco was very scarce with all we had more than one device for getting a smoke; but there, these are only silly things, not that they seemed silly to us at the time.
While at our drill we were the most obedient fellows in the world, so were we too when doing the ordinary work of the soldier. But when the day's labour was done we were not to be ordered about at the will of any sergeant or corporal. Well they knew it too. Why, when a squad in No. 2 Company was bullied—out of hours, be it well understood—by their corporal a strange thing occurred. The corporal was found one afternoon—at least the corporal's body was found—in one of the latrines, and it was quite evident to the doctors that he had been suffocated. Suspicion fell at once upon the squad he commanded, but, and this was the strange thing, every one of them could prove that it was impossible for him to have hand, act or part, in the business, for some were on guard, and others were at drill, and others—rather peculiar, wasn't it?—had been directly under the eyes of the sergeant-major of the company. There was a sentry near the latrine, who, of course, had not left his post, and this man could tell within five minutes the time the corporal entered. He saw no others enter at or about the same time, but that was easily explained: a large hole had been broken through the back of one of the compartments, and half-a-dozen men could easily get through this in as many seconds, and, once in without being observed, the rest was easy. Nobody was ever even court-martialled for the murder, and, though many might be able to guess the names of the murderers, he would be a fool who did his guessing within earshot of even a corporal. One thing is certain, we had a fairly quiet time afterwards while I was in the depot, not that we weren't sworn at and abused just as much on parade—oh yes, we were—but when the quiet time came the sous-officiers had sense enough to leave us to ourselves. Well, it's all over now. The man who carried the business through died in Tonquin—he was a Russian—and he will turn up again in this narrative as ringleader of one of the most exciting incidents of my life.
I did not form any friendships in the depot. True, there were fellows in the squad whom I liked better than others, but I never showed preference even for them. One thing chiefly prevented me from making friends: I was beginning to learn something about the world and its ways, or perhaps I should say about human nature, for with us conventionality was dropped when the belt came off for the last time in the evening and we spoke very freely to one another. If you liked something in a comrade's words or acts you told him so; if you disliked anything you were equally outspoken. Did a thought enter your mind worthy of being communicated, in your opinion, to the rest it made no difference whether it were immoral, or blasphemous, or against the law, or contrary to discipline, out it came, and generally with a garnishment of oaths and obscene expressions. We very seldom spoke of what is good, except to laugh at and revile it. When we saw a woman evidently very fond of her husband we said: "Ah, she is throwing dust in his eyes; she has more than one lover." If we noticed a husband very devoted to his wife, why, it was certain that the devotion was only an excuse for watchfulness. Everything good was looked on with suspicion; everything bad was natural, right, and obviously true.
We were always looking forward to the future. When in the depot we yearned to be with the regiment; afterwards, when with the regiment in the south of Algeria, I found my comrades and myself thinking eagerly of the chances of going to the East. Life in Tonquin could not be so monotonous; there was always fighting going on, and in any case you got the chance of looting on the sly after a battle or even a petty skirmish. This looking forward is, however, common to most men, but we had a special reason for it, inasmuch as we were never comfortable or content, our lives being made up for the most part of work and drill and punishment, with an occasional fight, which wonderfully enlivened the time for those who had not to pay for it.
When we had learned our drill pretty well the officers began to take more interest in us. Don't imagine that they were kind and nice to us, that they complimented us on our smartness and intelligence, or that they even dreamt of standing us a drink in the canteen. Oh no; they were somewhat worse than the sergeants, and if their language was not so coarse it was equally cutting and abusive. By this time, however, we were case-hardened, and, besides, we knew that at last we were leaving the depot for ever, and the excitement induced by the expected change was in itself a source of joy. We who were about to go went around smiling and in good humour with ourselves and all the world. The men who knew that their stay would last for some time longer consoled themselves with the thought that at last it too must come to an end. Simple philosophy, wasn't it? but wonderfully comforting.
We speculated about the battalions, about the stations, about the Arabs, about the Moors, about the war in Tonquin, about everything that we could think of as possibly affecting our after-life. I, mere schoolboy that I was, was one of the most excited, and indulged in the most extravagant fancies and dreamt the most extraordinary dreams.
At last the glorious day came. We were aroused at three o'clock in the morning, had finished breakfast, and were on the parade-ground at a little after four in full marching order. There we were addressed in a farewell speech by the commandant, who called us "my children," as if he cared especially for each and all of us. I had almost to smile, but a smile at such a time would surely entail punishment.
The band played us out of the gate, and off we marched, about 200 strong, all in good health and spirits, for the little station where lay the battalion for which we were designed.
CHAPTER IV
We went altogether by march route to our destination. Every day was like the preceding one, and a short description of any day will do for all. Reveille at four o'clock, then while some pulled down and folded up the tents others cooked the morning coffee, at five or a little after we were en route, at eight usually, but sometimes later, a halt was called for the morning soup; that over, we put our best foot foremost until about eleven or half-past. Now came the pleasantest and sleepiest part of the twenty-four hours. We ate a little, we smoked a little, we slept, or rather dozed, a little, until the bugles warned us at half-past three that another stretch of dry, dusty, throat-provoking road had to be accounted for. On again at four until six or seven or eight, with occasional rests of ten minutes each, and then there was nothing but cleaning up after the evening soup. When all was right and the sentries had been posted for the night you might talk and smoke if you liked, but as a rule you smoked first and fell asleep afterwards.
It was not strange that we, who had been cooped up in the depot so long, enjoyed this march. It seemed to us that we were soldiers at last, not mere recruits, and dust and thirst and other inconveniences were matters to be put up with and laughed at. On the road we often sang; at the end of the midday halt, while we helped one another with knapsack and belts, you might often hear songs of every country from the Urals to the Atlantic. Every man's spirits were high; the long-expected change had worked wonders, and the officers, nay, even the sergeants and the corporals, had little of abuse or swearing for us. True, our sous-officiers were not drill instructors; of all things in the world teaching is the most wearing on the temper, and perhaps that is why there was so great a difference between the sergeants in the depot and the sergeants on the march.
I think we did on an average about three miles an hour. It was good enough too, for there were the rifle and the knapsack to be carried, and the greatcoat and the blanket and the ammunition, and all the other impedimenta of the soldier. The straps of the knapsack galled me a bit, and I soon found out the difference between a march out from barracks for a few hours and a day-after-day tramp through the heat and the dust with the knowledge that you carried your bed and most of your board upon your person. The rest at the end of the hour, for we always halted for ten minutes after a fifty minutes' march, was a great help; and, again, I was a little too proud, or too vain if you like to call it so, to fall out of the ranks while my comrades were steadily marching on. After all, pride or vanity, call it what you will, never hurts a youngster, though it should make him slightly overwork himself in trying to keep up with those who are his seniors in age and his betters in endurance. All the same, when the day's march was over, it was delightful to pull off knapsack, boots and all, and to feel that there were before you eight or nine hours of complete freedom from toil.
One night, however, things were not quite so well with me. It was my turn for guard, and when we halted for the night I with others was turned out of the ranks at once. The first sentries were soon posted, and the remainder of us had a couple of hours in or near the guard tent to enjoy our evening meal. When that was over we all had a smoke, and at nine—we had halted at seven—the reliefs were wanted. I felt very lazy as I got up, took my rifle, and set out with the corporal of the guard to my post. There I remained until eleven, was relieved until one, and went again on sentinel duty until three. At four the usual routine began, and I remember that, after the wakeful night, the day's march seemed very long. When we halted at midday I fell asleep, and when the march was over I forgot to smoke, and, curling myself up in my greatcoat and blanket, became utterly oblivious of all that occurred until the reveille next morning awakened me to another day. I don't remember much of the country through which we passed. Most of the time my ears were more engaged than my eyes, for many a good story was told and many a happy jest passed as we tramped along in the dust and sun. Some fellows told us stories of life in their own countries, and if they did not adhere exactly to the truth, why, that only made the stories better. Others could not see a man or a woman—especially a woman—on either flank but straightway they criticised and joked, and very clever we used to fancy the criticisms and jokes were. Some again were good singers, and these were constantly shouted at to sing, especially the men who sang comic songs. I daresay some of these songs, if not all, were scarcely fit for a drawing-room, but as no ladies were present it did not seem to make much difference. Then we had a bugle march occasionally—say half-a-dozen times a day—and I for one found the bugles wonderfully inspiriting. While the bugles were playing none of us seemed to feel the road beneath our feet; we stopped talking, we almost gave up smoking, the step became more regular, and the ranks closed up. I suppose a musician would call a bugle march monotonous; well, it may be so, but how many men out of 200 are musicians? But we had more music than that. Some of the fellows had brought along musical instruments of small size—tin whistles, flageolets, and such things. Very well they played too. Many were fairly good whistlers, and so there was a variety of means to drive away dull care; indeed, I think we were the jolliest and most careless set in the world. Even when the sun had been very hot and the road more than usually dusty we had always the thought that the end of the annoyance would come when we reached our battalion and that every day brought us nearer to the men who were to take the place of home and country, friends and relations, for five years. We fancied that they would be just like ourselves, and we liked one another too well not to be satisfied.
It was while on this march that I first saw how soldiers are punished when there is no prison near or when it is deemed best to give a short, sharp punishment to an offender. Of course, I refer to cases where the offence does not merit a court-martial. We had halted for the evening near a small village, and some fellows had gone to it, more, I suppose, out of curiosity than because they had any business there. I was not with them, and I never fully learned what occurred but I know there was a woman in the case. Whether she deserted the corporal for the private soldier, or refused to leave the private when his superior made advances to her I cannot tell, but some words passed between the men, and the corporal made a report to the sergeant, who passed it on to the captain. Very few questions were asked; the man was taken to a spot near the guard tent, where he would be directly under the eyes of a sentry, and there he was put, as we termed it, en crapaudine. This is how it was done. First his hands were pinioned behind his back, then his ankles were shackled tightly to each other, afterwards the fastenings of his wrists were bound closely to the ankle bonds, so that he was compelled to remain in a kneeling posture with his head and body drawn back. After some time pains began to be felt in the arms, across the abdomen, and at the knees and ankles. These pains increased rapidly, and at last became intolerable. Yet he dared not cry out, or at least no one would cry out until he could not help it, for the sleeping men ought not to be disturbed, and at the first cry a gag was placed between the teeth. This poor devil did not get much punishment. I think he was en crapaudine for only an hour or so, but, take my word for it, if you place a man in that position for four, five, or six hours, he will be in no hurry to get himself into trouble again. There are other punishments too—the silo, for instance—but I shall not describe these now, as I shall have occasion further on to tell all about them when I am dealing with life in the regiment.
We did not always lie under canvas on the march. Sometimes we halted at a garrison town or at cantonments, and then some, if not all, of us were placed in huts for the night. We saw all kinds of soldiers there. We met zouaves, chasseurs, turcos, spahis, zephyrs, but with none had we much intercourse. This was due to several reasons. We came in hot and tired and with little desire for anything except food and rest, and besides we had to clean up clothes, boots, and arms for the parade and inspection in the early morning. Then the regular French troops, and even, I must admit, the native Algerian soldiers, looked with contempt upon us, and you may be sure that we of the Legion returned the contempt and the contemptuous words with interest. They never went very far in showing their feelings towards our fellows, for we had an ugly reputation; more than once a company or two of Legionaries had made a desperate attack on a battalion even, and it was well known through Algeria that when the Legionaries began a fight there would be, as was often said, "blood upon shirts" before the fight was over. Therefore the others stood rather in awe of our men, and they did not quite like the idea of having anything to do with us, even though we were only recruits on the way to the battalion, for every soldier knows that the recruit is even more anxious to follow the regimental tradition than the veteran. The latter feels that he is part and parcel of the corps and that his reputation is not likely to suffer; the former is only too eager to show that he accepts, wholly and unreservedly, the ideas handed down to him, and, besides, he has not been altogether brought under discipline. Thus, though we saw men in many uniforms we got to know very little about them—indeed, all our information came from the corporals—and I may add here that the corporals impressed upon us that we were never to fight individually with Frenchmen or natives, but that, if a general quarrel took place, we were to remember our duty to the Legion and make it "warm weather" for our opponents. Afterwards on more than one occasion we followed that advice.
Once or twice a little unpleasantness arose amongst ourselves. It never went very far; the others, who were not desirous of seeing their comrades get into trouble, always put an end to the business before any real harm was done. I had nothing to do with any of these disputes save once, when, in the rÔle of peacemaker, I sat with another fellow for more than half-an-hour on an Italian who was thirsting for the blood of a Portuguese. The Portuguese was receiving similar attentions from two others at the opposite side of the tent. It was funny how the thing came about. The Italian had got, somewhere or somehow—I suppose he stole it—a bottle of brandy, and, instead of sharing all round, gave half to his comrade the Portuguese and drank the other half himself. When they returned to the tent they were quarrelling, and evidently drunk. After some time they began to fight, and we left them alone, as they had been so mean about the liquor, until we saw the Italian reaching for his bayonet. Then the rest of us joined in, and the precious pair of rascals, who had forgotten their comrades when they were happy, got something which made them rise in the morning with more aches in the body than they had in the head. They apologised the next day and we forgave them. This was another lesson to me. I saw that when a man got anything outside his ordinary share of good things he was supposed to go share and share alike with the rest of his squad. Many a time afterwards I have seen men who had at one time been of good position at home, and whose relatives could and would send them money, openly show the amount received in tent or hut or barrack room, and we others went out to spend that money when the evening came with just as much belief in our right to do so as if the money had been sent to the squad and not to the man. Well, the rich ones did not lose in the end, for they got many a favour from their comrades which the average soldier would be a fool to expect.
The corporal of my squad on the march south was a rather good fellow. I am not quite sure whether he was a German or an Austrian by birth. He had seen a good deal of Algerian life, and was determined as soon as his term was up to get clear away for ever from Africa. This was not pleasant news. Here was a corporal, a man of over four years' service, whose whole and sole idea it was to leave the Legion and the country. It plainly proved that the life before us was not the most attractive in the world, and the thought often crossed my mind that perhaps I had been a fool to try soldiering in such a corps. With the happy-go-lucky recklessness of youth, however, I quickly got rid of these fancies, and I could console myself that five years would not be long passing, and at the very worst I should have learned more, situated as I was, than if I were to spend the term at school, and at such a school as the one I had been attending.
I got on fairly well with the others of my squad. I have never been inclined to affront people, and I can honestly say that I have never shirked my work, and these qualities, added to a natural cheerfulness of disposition which caused me to look at the bright side of things, helped me very much all through my stay in the Foreign Legion. Indeed, there was only one man who was disliked by all. He was a Pole, a German Pole, I believe, and he had the most sarcastic tongue of all the men I've ever met. His sneering smile was almost as bad as his cutting tongue. While speaking politely he said little things that one could not very well resent, and that, therefore, hurt one the more. It's bad to be an idler, and worse to have a nasty way of openly abusing and insulting people, but the worst gift of God to a man is the gift of sarcasm. The sarcastic man never has a friend. There are, of course, always men who will fawn upon and flatter him, but that will be only through fear of his tongue—even they who most court him rejoice inwardly at his misfortunes. He can't be always lucky, he must take his bad fortune as it comes, and when it does come he cannot help knowing that all who know him are glad.
It was well, I think, for our friend the Pole that the journey did not last a week longer. Somebody or other would be sure to lose his temper, and if one blow were struck, twenty would surely follow, for we all hated him. He said something about a gorilla one day, looking hard all the while at the Italian already mentioned, and it was a wonder that there was no fight. There would have been, I feel sure, but that the bugles sounded the assemble for the last march of the day, and the Italian, who was no beauty, had a few hours of marching to get cool. The Pole was quiet enough for the next couple of days, and by that time we were within six hours' march of our destination.
Before describing the battalion to which I now belonged I must say a few words about the Foreign Legion in general, so that the peculiar characteristics of the corps may be understood. All that I shall mention in this chapter is that one sunny afternoon about four o'clock we marched into camp on the borders of the Sahara amid the cheers of our future comrades, and that within an hour our 200 men were divided amongst the four companies that constituted the 2nd Battalion of the First Regiment of the LÉgion ÉtrangÈre.
CHAPTER V
For centuries the armies of France have had a certain proportion of foreign troops. Readers of Scott will remember the Scottish archers, and there is a regiment in the British army to-day which was at one time a Scottish corps in the service of the Most Christian Kings of France. Almost everyone has heard of the Irish Brigade, a force whose records fill many a bloody and glorious page of European history and whose prowess more than once turned the ebb-tide of defeat into the full flood of victory. It has been computed that almost 500,000 Irishmen died in the French service; and we may well imagine that half-a-million dashing soldiers did not yield up their lives for nothing.
