Front matter (continued 5)

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 up in 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."

After this we had a little peace. We buried our dead outside the ramparts, but we left no mounds to afford shelter to enemies. All the earth that would in ordinary cases form heaps above the graves was taken to strengthen our defences; the plain outside was left as level as before. Was he not a clever captain? As for the enemy's killed and wounded, the uniformed men amongst them took them away under a flag of truce. We never allowed more than twenty-five to be engaged on the work within a hundred yards of the outer face of the fortifications, because we never trusted the Chinese. One thing else we did, we sent out the Annamites to gather all the weapons and ammunition of those who had fallen near the camp. These were of no use to us, but we deprived the enemy of them. Some of the wounded fell out with the Annamite tirailleurs; well, it was so much the worse for the wounded.

When the burials were over and the wounded were going along well, we began to look forward to another attack. The Chinese regulars evidently took the business in hand this time, for there was no attempt to carry the main post or the block-house by assault; now we had to contend with mines. It was very well for us that there were engineers in the garrison; without them we should in all probability have seen most of our defences blown into the air. As it was, the Chinese mined and our engineers countermined. At first the mining was comparatively simple, as far as we were concerned. The Chinese had not the skill of the French sappers, and the result was that we always found out where they were boring, before they even imagined that we could know anything about their operations, but after we had destroyed a few mines, and with them a certain number of men, the underground attack became more skilful and more concealed. On more than one occasion both parties of tunnellers discovered each other at the same time, and the earth was quickly put back by both; we did not want a communication between mine and countermine, for that might give passage to a couple of thousand Chinese and Black Flags into our camp; the enemy did not want to come to close quarters with us, for more than once they had learned that, bayonet to bayonet, the Asiatic stood no chance against the European. I shall not say much about the underground operations, as I am not an engineer; moreover, my duties as sergeant kept me almost always above ground; we allowed the military engineers to direct everything below. Of course, it will be understood that the legionaries, and sometimes the Annamite tirailleurs, furnished the working parties; the regular engineers chiefly concerned themselves with planning the works first and overseeing them afterwards. There is a story of one countermine which, however, I must narrate, as it intimately concerned myself.

Our fellows had cautiously dug forward for a considerable distance. No sound of tunnelling on the side of the Chinese had been heard; as the dénoûment proved, they had been as cautious as we. The working party was tearing down the earth with the sharp edge of the pick, not striking with all their strength. Thus very little noise was made, and, besides, it was enjoined on all who were at work in the mine that talking could not be allowed. The men loyally obeyed orders, even if they had not felt inclined to do so through the spirit of discipline, the knowledge that the others were doing their best to tunnel under the fortification and then blow part of it to pieces prior to a grand attack with rifle and bayonet, would have made them obedient enough. I had gone down into the mine, more out of curiosity than because I had business there; my excuse was that I wished to get the names of the men of my section working in the pit. When I went down, I stayed for a moment or two. While I was holding a whispered conversation with a sub-officer of engineers, a cry from a worker drew our attention. In a moment the engineer saw what had happened, and cried out: "Les Chinois, les Chinois!"

As a matter of fact, the Chinese miners and we were separated only by a thin wall of loose earth; a blow or two struck by I know not which party tumbled this down, and we were all mixed up together, French and Chinese, in the tunnel. All struck out at random. I drew my bayonet, which, of course, I always wore, and dashed the point in the face of a yellow man from outside.

The lamps were extinguished in the struggle that ensued; we were all striking blindly about with pick-axe, shovel, and bayonet; no man knew who might receive his blow. It was a horrible time. In the darkness I heard the cries and oaths and groans; I shoved forward my bayonet, it met something soft; I drew it back and lunged again; again it met the soft, yielding substance, or perhaps the blow was lost on empty air. If I struggled forward, I tripped over a body; if I went back, surely a miner would knock my brains out with his pick. This went on for a short space that seemed an eternity. At last hurrying footsteps and shouts of encouragement and a welcome gleaming of lights told of the arrival of aid. When our comrades came up, we found that all the Chinese able to flee had fled; fourteen of them, however, and eight or nine men of ours, were lying pressed against and on top of one another in a narrow space. All, dead and wounded alike, were carried out; the place was blocked up at once, and the countermine that had taken so much time and work on our part was filled in. When the dead and wounded were examined two legionaries and two engineers were found dead, four legionaries and an Annamite tirailleur wounded, ten Chinese killed outright, four just alive. An ugly list for the small place in which the fight was, but it was the darkness that caused so heavy a casualty list amongst comparatively few combatants. It was a most unpleasant struggle. After that experience I shall never care to fight again in the dark.

For some time afterwards the siege went on in a less exciting way. The enemy had evidently resolved to starve us out. We had, as we thought, enough of stores in the beginning to last until relief came, but when the relief did not make its appearance at or after the time expected, the captain began to have serious misgivings for the future. We were utterly shut off from all communication with the outside world; for all we knew, another disaster might have befallen the French troops, and, if that were the case, there could be no hope of relief in time. A full fortnight had now elapsed since the date that we had confidently set for the coming up of reinforcements; we were all asking one another the reason of the delay. Other questions also arose. Would our comrades come soon? If they did not, would our provisions hold out? Should we be able to fight our way through, in case the post had to be abandoned? There was no thought of surrender, for all understood that it was better to die fighting than to give ourselves up to the diabolical tortures inflicted by the Black Flags and their allies on unlucky prisoners of war.

One day rations were reduced by one half. In some way to make up for this an allowance of native spirit was served out every afternoon, but the brandy and the wine were carefully kept for the use of the sick and wounded. These were by no means few, and when the dead were added to the ineffectives the total reached almost fifty per cent. of the original force. Indeed, after we had been on half-rations for a time, we legionaries formed a skeleton company of skeletons; we were so few and so reduced in weight. But through all we were resolute and, nearly to the last, cheerful. Certainly when the half-rations were further diminished, our spirits markedly sank, but no one expects starving men to show much gaiety.

The soldiers were kept constantly on the alert both by the enemy and by us, their sub-officers. The captain told the sergeants and corporals that the men were to be always engaged in some work or other, as he did not wish to give them time to annoy themselves by thinking. This instruction made me a busy man. I was always on the look-out for little duties for my section, at the same time taking care not to overwork the men, and I tried to be as cheerful as possible with them. My fellows and I got along well together on the whole. I never brought a man before the captain if I could help it, and I let the corporals of the section understand that the squads were not to be sworn at more than was absolutely necessary. At the same time all knew that an order once given had to be at once obeyed.

Things had been going on in this fashion for some time when the enemy again plucked up courage to attack. We were very glad of this, because it showed that they feared the arrival of a French force before they could reduce us to extremity by a mere blockade. The second big fight was a replica of the first one, only that on this occasion the assault on the block-house was more determined than before. It lasted longer too, for we were too few in number to risk fifty or sixty men in a sortie, but, in spite of all, the defence was successfully maintained. Two days afterwards some Annamites captured a Chinese. He was in a state of abject terror when brought before the captain, and on the promise that his life would be spared and liberty given him, he soon told us all he knew of the French movements. We learned then that a strong force was approaching and might be expected almost at any moment; we were also told that a third and last attack was in preparation. This attack, however, and the relief of the post will be told in the next chapter, as they deserve a chapter to themselves.

CHAPTER XVI

It was quite evident that the block-house would have to stand the brunt of the attack this time as before. Now we were rather weak in numbers for the adequate defence of the main position, yet not a single man could be withdrawn from the little garrison of the outside post. Even with the full number of rifles allowed to it the block-house might be taken—taken, that is, in the event of the death or the rendering ineffective of all its men, and that this was by no means an impossibility was proved by the losses in the last fight. Out of twenty-two sub-officers and men only seven were unscathed, and of the others three were slightly, five severely, wounded, and seven killed. With a more desperate and better sustained attack upon more exhausted troops, might not the Chinese fairly hope for complete success?

To make up in some degree for the anticipated loss of the outpost the captain gave orders that all vessels in camp should be filled, that, as these were emptied they should be refilled, and that no soldier should drink out of any vessel except his own water-bottle. All the rest, filled as they were, were placed in a central position in the camp, and this place all were forbidden to approach under pain of death. The sentries on guard had strict orders to allow no one to go near the precious stock of water. The captain said:

"If you do not shoot or bayonet the trespasser, I will drive you forth unarmed to become the prey of the Black Flags."

If their own brothers had dared to approach the water, the sentries would have shot them after hearing that.

A strong party was sent to the block-house, for there was a chance that it might hold out, and in any case the captain resolved that the enemy should not have it for nothing. The lieutenant of my company was in command. I was second; there were two corporals, one an Alsatian, the other a Lorrainer, and twenty men. This was as many as could be conveniently accommodated in the small space. We were all well supplied with ammunition; we carried, every man, three days' provisions. When we paraded before going out, the captain told us that we should hold our ground as well and as long as we could; if we managed to repel one assault, only one, our lives would be saved and the honour of the corps maintained.

Our small party took up its quarters, relieving the others, who were, you may be sure, not sorry to be relieved, and was at once divided into three parts. I commanded one, a corporal each of the others; as for the lieutenant, he was over all, and seemed to be ever watchful and absolutely incapable of feeling fatigue. While one party watched, the rest lay down and slept or tried to sleep. There was no cooking to be done, as our provisions were of the cast-iron pattern—baked bread and cooked meat; as for drink, we had a small allowance of native spirit and as much water as we should want for three days.

For twenty-four hours we were undisturbed, except when once the door was opened and a man looked out. Then a regular fusilade of shots came towards us. We saw that we were fairly cooped up, and that the only chance of our ever leaving the block-house alive lay in the arrival of French troops. We fancied, but this was perhaps imagination, that we could hear firing in the distance; this gave us hope and renewed our courage. Early in the evening of our second day on duty a strong attack was made not only on our post, but on the main position as well. At first this was confined to a hot fire, and four of ours, one the Alsatian corporal, were shot at the loopholes. As night came down, the enemy approached to short range, and even in the dark we were a splendid target for them. All the night they fired, and twice they set the block-house on fire, but volunteers quickly put out the flames, though at a fearful sacrifice of life. As the first beams of the rising sun illuminated the battlefield, the Chinese regulars, followed by a crowd of Black Flags, tried to storm the post. They succeeded in breaking down two upright beams on one side and tried to pour in, but our bayonets soon piled up a heap of bodies in the narrow entrance that they had made. We got a short respite now, and heard with feelings of indescribable joy a steady, well-sustained firing outside the position held by the enemy. Once more, however, the Chinese attacked. With battering rams of wood tipped with iron they broke down a clear half of one wall. Some of the superstructure fell and delayed them for a time, but this they quickly tore away, and the remains of the little garrison, having no longer power to hold the fort or hope of escape, sallied desperately forth, to sell their lives as dearly as possible. The lieutenant leading fell shot between the eyes; the rest of us rushed straight at the Chinese and bore them back. They rallied and again attacked. We fought with the courage of despair. We could make little head against them, but for all that we steadily piled up a rampart of bodies in our front. I heard as I fought the familiar war cry of the legionaries; I shouted out in reply. Just as a Chinese lifted his musket to fell me to the earth, I saw the advancing line of reinforcements. There was a sudden shock, and then came darkness on my eyes, and, when I came to, the block-house, now on fire, was blazing in the sunlight, and I felt a terrible agony in head and limbs and body. But the post had been held and relieved; the enemy were scattered in all directions, with hundreds of pursuers at their heels; there were no more short rations to be dreaded, no more night attacks, nothing now but rest and peace and warm congratulations.

Let me tell the fate of the little guard of the block-house. The lieutenant, both corporals, and eighteen soldiers were dead; two soldiers and I, the sergeant and second in command, were wounded. Both the soldiers died that night; I, the sole survivor, was promoted sergeant-major and recommended for the military medal. Had I been a Frenchman, I should have got the cross and a commission; as it was, I was more than satisfied, for did not I get the rewards won by my comrades as well as by me? For a few days I lay in hospital, and the doctors feared that I might suffer from concussion of the brain as a result of the heavy blow dealt me by the Chinese. However, all bad effects passed away quickly, and I returned to duty on the day that my promotion to the rank of sergeant-major was confirmed. The captain visited me in hospital; he would not allow me to talk, and merely said that he was glad I had survived, and then laughingly told me that "the devil's children had their father's luck." He could be sarcastic on occasion, but I did not mind; I can take a joke as well as another.

After the post had been relieved the remains of the original garrison were transferred to the sea-coast. The march down was exactly similar to all the other marches, except in one important matter, we did not have to break camp hurriedly and run after rapidly vanishing enemies. No; our daily marches were not too long, our nightly rest was unbroken, and, as we approached the coast, we got better quarters and better supplies. The men too had the proud consciousness of a dangerous and difficult duty well done. The other soldiers whom we met used to cook our soup and prepare the camps for us; that's the soldier's way of offering congratulations, and these were the compliments we liked.

When we marched one afternoon into Saigon, I was in very bad health. The reaction after the siege, with its reduced rations, its constant watchfulness, and all the little annoyances that beset a poor devil of a sergeant trying to keep the men of his section content under difficulties, together with the fatigue of the march, made me feel very ill by the time we came to the base. Moreover, I was troubled about the accounts of the company. The sergeant-major who preceded me, and who was killed in the last attack, had left the company's accounts in an unintelligible state; no one could tell whether any man had or had not been paid a piastre since the beginning of the siege, nor could you find out who had drawn occasional rations of wine and extra tobacco. The captain knew nothing; he had been too busy with fighting and looking after stores. I went to him and said that it was not fair to ask me to make up a dead man's accounts. He agreed with me, and asked me what the devil I was going to do about the affair.

"Let the clerks at headquarters settle all," I replied; "it ought to be their business and not mine."

"Very well," said the captain; "but how will you throw the work on their shoulders?"

"Easily enough," I answered; "I need but refuse to accept the books until they are set right."

"But suppose you are ordered to take them and to set them in order yourself?"

"Very well, sir; I will then claim money for every man, dead or alive. When the clerks point out to me that a certain man is dead, I will withdraw his name: in that way I shall give them more trouble than if they were to make up the accounts themselves."

"Do what you like," said the captain; "only pay the survivors—the dead may rest."

I took the hint, and made out the accounts in such a way, that it appeared that all the dead had been paid in full up to the day of death, and that none of the survivors had obtained a centime for months. The paymasters grumbled, and I was called on more than once for an explanation. I could only say that I knew nothing about the men's accounts beyond what they told me.

"But how do you know," asked a commandant one day, "that the dead men were paid in full?"

"I don't know it, sir," I answered; "but I have marked them as paid because I cannot afford time to look for their heirs."

Everybody laughed at this—the idea of a legionary leaving legacies to his relations was too ridiculous. In the end, however, we survivors got nearly all the money we claimed, and everybody was satisfied.

It was easy to see that most of our company were unfit for further duty at the time. Many were in hospital, and those of us who remained in camp were listless and easily fatigued. The medical officers did not like our looks, and it became a current report that we should all be very soon sent back to Algeria. The transport was in harbour on which we were ordered to embark for transportation home—that is, to the legionaries' home, the wastes and sands of Northern Africa. Yet to us these very places seemed like heaven compared with Tonquin: we were all tired of the harassing warfare, the starvation, the marches, and the constant watchfulness. It was fated that I should not return in this vessel, as, only two days before it sailed, I had to go into the military hospital, a place dreaded above all others by soldiers. There I lay with an attack of fever, but my naturally strong constitution shook this off, and in a few weeks I was ready to embark in a hospital ship, with a few hundred others of all ranks and regiments, for Marseilles. I had a relapse while in the Red Sea, and thought for the first time that there was no longer hope for me. What made it worse was that every day a dead body went overboard, and, though the officials tried to keep this fact from us, sick men are too clever and too suspicious to be easily imposed upon. One morning I saw the cot near me empty—a poor marine fusilier had occupied it the day before. I had known that he was sinking rapidly, but still the fact of his death gave me a great shock. I got up with difficulty from my couch and made my way on hands and knees to the companion-ladder, ascended this in the same posture, and at length gained the deck unperceived. I felt the cool breeze of the Mediterranean on my face, and thanked Heaven that I was out of the horrors of Tonquin and the almost worse horrors of the Red Sea. I remember no more until I woke up to find myself back in my cot, with a couple of doctors and an orderly or two around me. The doctors spoke in a friendly way to me, and asked me why I had gone up to the deck. I said that I was restless, and scarcely knew what I was doing, but that the fresh breeze above had done me much good. They then said that very soon we should be at Marseilles and that I should be better off there. I thanked them, promised not to leave my cot again, and they withdrew. As they went, however, I overheard one say—so sharp are sick men's ears: "He will come up again, probably to-morrow." I wondered vaguely whether he doubted my word or whether he was merely alluding to my probable death, but after a time I thought of other things. I made no further attempt to go up on deck; even had I not promised to stay quietly below, I had not strength enough to climb the companion-way again.

A few days after we arrived at Marseilles and were carefully transferred to a large hospital on land. There, I must admit, we received excellent treatment. Not only were the doctors and the orderlies kind and attentive, but the ladies of the town were also extremely good to us. Chaplains also came round the wards frequently, and, of all the places in which I have ever been, the military hospital at Marseilles was one of the best. I could thoroughly appreciate the kindness then, for my health came back quickly from the day I landed from the hospital ship.

One day when I was allowed to get up and go to a convalescent ward for a few hours an orderly came into the room, in a great hurry apparently, and called out my name. I said:

"Here I am. What do you want?"

He replied: "Monsieur le général will be here soon."

"Does he come to tell me that I have been appointed his aide-de-camp?" I inquired, laughing at my own little joke.

"No, my fine fellow," cried a corporal of some line regiment in a corner; "he has come to ask you to be so kind as to marry his daughter, who has a fortune of only one hundred thousand francs."

"Ah," said a cuirassier—I forget his rank, "the request is that our friend the sergeant-major will consent to act as the general's second in a duel with the Tsar of Russia."

A chasseur believed that that was not true, as he had learned from a morning paper that I was to be ambassador to His Holiness the Pope, "who knows," he went on to say, "how moral and virtuous are the lives the legionaries lead, they being, in fact, monks in uniform." This settled the matter; nobody could invent a more improbable—let me say impossible—reason for the general's visit. I was asked continually afterwards how the Pope was. Did he still hold the idea of asking France to give him the sanctified legionaries as a new army? If we went to Rome, should we have to soldier with the Swiss and other guards? And a number of other questions were asked, all of which I answered to the best of my ability, trying in every case to give a "Roland for an Oliver," and often succeeding. I told the chasseur one day that the Pope would not take us of the Legion as his guards; he preferred the chasseurs: by converting them to decent practices he would gain greater glory in heaven. The cuirassier learned that His Holiness would soon send him the shield of faith—he already had the breastplate of caution. The cuirassier did not like this. He indignantly protested that he would rather fight in his shirt sleeves.

"Very well," I answered. "Do as the Austrians do—take off your cuirass in time of war."

He asked me how I knew that. I replied: "Easily enough. I have many Austrian comrades, but I have no French ones. We legionaries are seemingly in the French army, but not, in real truth, soldiers of it." Truth to tell, I was getting a little angry, because all wished to unite against the solitary soldier of the Legion in the room. I let the rest see that I was tired of their jokes, and afterwards they left me alone.

Well, the general came in a short time into the room and called out my name and rank. I stepped forward and stood to attention.

"You the sergeant-major?" he asked, in a tone of surprise.

"Yes, sir."

"Why, you are only a boy. How long have you been in the Legion?"

I told him. Then he asked me a number of questions about my service, to all of which I answered clearly and respectfully.

"You are a young sergeant-major—very young." And he turned to speak to a surgeon. Both looked at me often during this conversation. I maintained always the stiff, erect attitude of the soldier in front of his superior officer.

"You have been recommended for the military medal," at last the general said.

"Yes, sir; my captain told me that he would recommend me for the decoration."

"The recommendation has been confirmed," said the general, "and I have come to give you the medal. I thought," he went on, "that I should meet a veteran, and I find a schoolboy."

I said nothing; indeed, I did not know what to say.

"It does not matter about your age or the length of your service," the general continued; "you have won rank and distinction, and I wish you a prosperous career."

"Thanks, my general."

"Is there anything you want?"

"Yes, my general."

"What is it?"

"A Little Corporal to lead a schoolboy sergeant-major, that is all."

He drew back and looked at me. A susurrus of approbation went through the room. Very little more was said. The general gave me the medal that I had won, paid me a compliment or two, and went away. But the story went round, and what would be hurtful to a Frenchman, who was at once soldier and citizen, was a cause of no offence in a legionary, who was only a soldier. But what I said was liked, and many a present I received afterwards. The French know that the legionary is a soldier pure and simple—well, not always pure, and very seldom simple—and they know that the soldier of the French army who gives up for life the clothes of the pékin and who dreams of nothing except fighting and promotion looks on Napoleon the Great as a terrestrial Archangel Michael. Him would we follow, him would we serve. God grant us another like him, and then——. And the legionaries understood, and wished as warmly as any Frenchman for the advent of another ideal restless man and restless man's idol. The Little Corporal when he was the great commander was bad, let us admit, to many, but he was never bad to the man who served him well. It was not birth or wealth that brought promotion under him but courage and devotion to duty. True, he made mistakes, and these great ones—the imprisonment of the Pope, the invasion of the white Tsar's frozen land, the too early return from Elba were such—but in his mistakes even he was colossal, unapproachable.

It was after this visit and the receipt of the military medal that the jesting conversations began amongst us. However, I have told of them already, and there is no use in going back upon a told story. That does very well in conversation, especially when the glasses are filled and the pipes going merrily, but in writing it is of no account.

Very soon after this I was strong enough, the surgeons said, to cross to Algeria. All the men whose acquaintance I had made were good enough to say that, though they were glad I was able to leave hospital, yet they were sorry to lose my companionship. I thanked them all, told them that I had had a pleasant time, and hoped to meet them again. In this I was sincere. I have very pleasant memories of the hospital, but all the same I wanted to get back to my own comrades.

Shortly after the surgeons had put my name on the outgoing list I left the hospital for the troopship. I was brought to Oran, and there sent again to hospital, but only for a few days. Here I was treated very well indeed by those in charge, and I made a few casual acquaintances, whose comradeship helped very much to pass the dreary time of waiting until the principal surgeon should order me to be sent back to the regiment. I think they kept me longer than was absolutely necessary, and this for two reasons—my youth and the military medal. The surgeons were quite as curious as my hospital companions to hear my story, to learn all about my country and why I left it to join the Legion, how I liked the French service, and every other thing that they could think of. For the first time in my life I was made much of as a man of good service and tried valour; if I gave somewhat exaggerated accounts of the perils I had passed who can blame me? There was no sneering now at the Foreign Legion; oh no! we were in Algeria, la patrie des légionnaires.

At last the surgeon-in-chief told me that I should soon leave the hospital. I thanked him for the information, and said that the only cause of regret at leaving was that I should leave so many good comrades behind.

"Have you been well treated here, sergeant-major?" he asked.

"Very well, sir; so well that I have lost the simple soldier's fear of the hospital."

He laughed, and said: "I am glad. Take the advice of a friend, always seek the surgeon when you are ill or wounded. The old prejudice was, in its time, a just one; nowadays things are different."

I promised that I would do so. At the same time even to-day I fear the surgeon's knife more than an enemy's bayonet or sword or even lance, and the lance is what the infantry man most dreads—that is, of course, of weapons. However, I have not since the day I left the hospital at Oran ever been the occupant of a bed in one, and I sincerely hope that I may never see, as a patient at least, the whitewashed wall of a hospital again.

From Oran I was sent to the depot at Saida, where I remained for some time. I did ordinary duty there as sergeant-major of a company of recruits during the illness of the regular sub-officer, and so learned a good deal more of my new duties than I knew when leaving Tonquin. I was very glad of this, especially as the officers were very decent to me. I was a different man now—a sergeant-major without a moustache but with the military medal—from the young recruit who was sworn at and abused every day by the drill instructors. No swearing or abuse now, only compliments and flirtation and general friendliness. A happy time indeed, too happy to last, as I learned before I was many months older.

I must now tell about my love and my sorrows and how I came to leave the Legion for ever. Truly, I cannot say that I am sorry; truly, I cannot say that I am glad. If the service of the legionary was a hard service, yet it had its consolations; if you did wrong nobody minded—that is, so long as you broke only the ten commandments. Of course, military regulations and the rules of our society were very different things; the first had to be kept if one did not wish for punishment, you had to respect the second, or else lose the respect of your associates, and though boycotting is a comparatively new word yet it denotes an old and universal practice.

And now to tell of my grande passion, its course and its results, the story of which was at one time, and may be even still, a classic tale of the Legion.

CHAPTER XVII

I left the depot one morning with a large party of recruits for a battalion in the inland parts of Algeria. We were about a hundred and eighty strong, and as a lieutenant was the only officer I ranked as second in command. We had two sergeants and eight or nine corporals to help to maintain discipline, but the men acted in a very good way on the march. I can recall no incident worth relating, but I remember one circumstance that made the march very pleasant. As the lieutenant had no brother officer to speak to and was naturally talkative, he had to associate very much with me. It must not be supposed that this diminished the respect in which I was bound to hold his rank; on the contrary, since he made the time pass agreeably for me, I felt more and more disposed to render him all outward signs of honour; and if I did address him as "my lieutenant" as we marched 20 paces ahead of the party, when others were within earshot I fell back on the more respectful "sir." I am sure he noted this, but he said nothing about it. This officer was a most entertaining talker; he was naturally clever, had received a good education, and was full of stories of Paris which were well worth hearing. He saw that I enjoyed his tales of life there, and thus had the best of all incentives to story-telling—a good listener. On the other hand, I told him more than he, as an officer, could learn of the Legion and the men who were in it. I did not trouble about the Alsatians and Lorrainers, who had enlisted solely to gain the rights of French citizens, but I let him know the life-history of more than one of the Russians, Austrians, Germans and Spaniards who filled our ranks. I did more. I allowed him to see the trend of thought in the corps; I told him of our traditions, our jealousies, our loves and our hates; by the time that we arrived at our goal he understood better than most officers the character of the men whom he would have under his command. So the lieutenant and the sergeant-major were good comrades.

When we came to the battalion at the borders of the Great Desert the recruits were distributed amongst the companies, the sergeants and corporals were appointed to sections and squads, the lieutenant took the place of an officer who had died of fever, and so all were settled in the new battalion except myself. The commandant did not know what to do with me; he had enough sub-officers of my rank already, and yet he did not like to put me to any duties except those of the rank I held. This was on account of the military medal. If I had not had that, I should very soon have found myself acting as simple sergeant of a section. However, a way was found out of the difficulty—a way which led me into many sorrows—though these I have never regretted, counterbalanced as they were by so many joys.

There was a woman in the place who kept a canteen. She always remained with this battalion, and where others might starve she waxed wealthy—that is, wealthy for a cantinière. Her husband had been a sergeant of the third company. He had fallen fighting bravely in an obscure skirmish at some desert village, and when he fell he left a wife and baby daughter to the care of his comrades. The story of the pair was never fully known. They were Italians, and both of evidently gentle birth. When I heard about them first I thought of a Romeo and a Juliet giving up all for love, leaving behind family animosities with family riches, and seeking security from all search in the safest retreat in the world—the "legion of the lost ones." All the men saw and admired the heroic self-sacrifice of the gently-nurtured lady who left all to follow the chosen one in such a career, and I am proud to be able to say that during her husband's life and after his death no man ever said in her hearing anything that would bring a blush to her cheeks; in her presence even the most hardened rascal put on the semblance of a gentleman. People say that even the best man has some fault or imperfection of nature. It may be so. At any rate even the worst man has some good, some respect for virtue and honour, even though he possesses them not himself.

After the death of her husband the widow opened a small shop, in which she sold wine, tobacco, and other things that soldiers spend their money on. The officers of the battalion stocked this for her, but in a short time she was able to pay them back, and she insisted on their accepting the money though they did not at all desire repayment. The regimental convoys were allowed to bring her goods as she required them, and the legionaries of her dead husband's battalion loyally spent most of their scanty pay in her canteen.

Whenever anyone received money from friends or relations in Europe her stock would be all cleared off at once, and so by the exercise of a little frugality she was able gradually to put by some money for the little daughter whom she idolised. At the time when I came to the battalion this girl was about fifteen years of age, slight, graceful, lively, bright-eyed, the pet of the battalion. Everyone jested freely with her, she jested freely with everybody, but no one ever thought of saying anything which her mother, a model of virtue, would not like to hear.

I had been but two or three days in my new quarters when an alarm of fire was raised one night, and we all turned out promptly as the cry went around. There was no danger for us, as the huts were one-storeyed and did not contain more than a squad each, but there might be some for the officers, whose quarters were more elaborate, and who, of course, were more isolated. A dozen or a score of men in a hut will all get clear, because some at least will be aroused, and these can pull out their suffocating comrades; a single officer may be smothered in his bed before even the watchful sentry realises the outbreak. When I came out of my quarters, in shirt and drawers, I glanced around, and saw at once that all the cantonment was safe. Then I heard a cry from the direction of the main guard-house that the village was on fire, but this was afterwards proved to be false. I flung on my clothes hurriedly and ran to the guard-house, for I had no assigned place on the parade that was now rapidly forming on the parade-ground, not being sergeant-major of any company, and asked the sergeant of the guard where the fire was.

"Madame's canteen," he replied; "twenty or thirty men have already gone to put it out."

"May I go to help?" (Of course, though I was of higher rank, he was the man in charge of the guard, and could prevent me, if he wished, from going out.)

"Certainly, my sergeant-major."

"Thanks, comrade, thanks." And I ran out and went to the widow's canteen. There I found the whole a mass of flames, and I saw at a glance that there was no hope of saving even the smallest portion of the house or its contents, especially as there was a sad lack of water. I asked a man if the woman and the girl had been saved. He told me that the girl had discovered the fire and awakened her mother, that both had made good their escape, and that then the widow had run back to recover her little store of money, the hiding-place of which no one else knew. "Then," he went on, "the daughter tried to go into the blazing house to bring back her mother, but she was forcibly prevented by some soldiers, and one or two of the legionaries who tried to enter were driven back, severely burned, by the fire and smoke." The flames, indeed, were terrible, all the wine barrels and spirit casks were blazing fiercely; there was no hope of life for anyone in such a hell. The poor widow fell a victim to her desire to regain for her daughter the money she had hoarded with so much anxious care, and nothing remained of her except a few charred bones, which were reverently gathered up and decently interred on the morrow. As for the money, it must have been chiefly in paper, for very little metal could be found in the ashes, and so the poor daughter was left completely alone in the world, without relations, at least as far as she knew, without means, and with only the friendship and the pity of the battalion to look to for aid.

The Italian girl was taken charge of by a sergeant's wife—one of those few noble women, few, I mean, comparatively speaking, who will go anywhere with their husbands, and who furnish in the most abandoned communities examples of unselfish heroism and exalted virtue, which make even men whose knowledge of the sex is confined to its most vicious members have some respect for purity and some doubts as to their favourite axiom: A man may be good, but a woman cannot be. The officers proposed that she should continue as cantinière in place of her mother, and generously offered to put her in a position to do so. As for us sub-officers and simple soldiers, our duty was plain: as soon as she was in a new home and shop, to go there, and there only, with the constant copper, the occasional silver, the God-sent gold. She knew this, the officers knew it; we made no resolutions; and said scarcely anything about the matter amongst ourselves, but all understood that it would be bad for the legionary who bought his wine or brandy elsewhere.

The commandant sent for the four sergeant-majors of the companies and for me, the supernumerary. He asked us how much it would cost to erect a new house. We said that it would cost nothing; the soldiers would build one in their spare time.

"Very well, my friends, very well. How much will it cost to put in a new supply."

We did not answer this at once, but after some time we all agreed that 2000 francs would put in a fairly good stock—that is, if carriage cost nothing.

"Oh, the carriage will be settled; I will see to that," said the commandant. "Now, sergeant-major," he went on, turning to me, "you have no company whose accounts you must make up, will you undertake to look after this business for Mademoiselle Julie?"

"I will do my best, sir, in this matter if you wish it."

"That will do," he replied; "you shall be sergeant-major of the canteen company. Is it not so?"

Every other sergeant-major laughed at me. They were glad that I had been sent to some duty, for a sergeant-major with the military medal is not long employed as simple sergeant, and each man, so long as I was unemployed in my proper rank, would fear for himself and his own position. Thus I became sergeant-major responsible for a canteen and the curious crowd assembled there. Some time afterwards, when the new quarters had been built by the legionaries and the little stock of eau-de-vie, wine, tobacco, and cigars had arrived, there was a grand opening. All the men had been saving up for awhile, and more than half the stock was sold at a good profit on the first evening. The girl was asked to do nothing except to take the money; four men willingly acted as assistants, pouring out the wine and the eau-de-vie, and, indeed, now and then tasting them too, for "you must not muzzle the ox treading out the corn," nor ask a man to help others to good things without occasionally helping himself as well.

One of them took so much brandy that I had to turn him out, a couple of comrades brought him away to his hut, and nothing was said about it, as the poor little cantinière begged him off with tears in her eyes. Just as things were becoming almost too lively the commandant and the other officers came down and entered the little shop. The first intimation we inside had of their arrival was the silence of the men who were laughing, singing, and carousing outside. The commandant put down a couple of gold pieces and asked for two bottles of wine. He and the others took each a sip of this and wished mademoiselle a prosperous business. Then the commandant gave me a strong hint that enough of business had been done for that day, and I promptly shut up shop after his departure. When all had left Giulia and I counted the money. We had a little gold, a good deal of silver, and a great quantity of copper—altogether over fourteen hundred francs. I congratulated her upon the successful evening's trading, and then we went to reckon up the supply still left. We found that at the same rate of sale the two thousand francs would be changed into at least two thousand six hundred, and that surely was excellent profit in an out-of-the-way camp of legionaries where money was rather scarce.

Then Giulia asked me to take a glass of wine and a cigar. I did not refuse. What legionary, what man, indeed, would, when pressed by so lovely a girl? Of late I had seen her constantly, as my management of her affairs and my continual reports about the progress of her new house brought me daily into her society. We always got on well together—fifteen and seventeen don't usually fall out—and my rank and medal brought me favour in her eyes. Moreover, I was very respectful in my words and demeanour. I pitied her misfortune, and my pity was not lessened by the sight of her beauty, and, before I had been three days attending to her affairs, I took more interest in them than I could by any chance take in the accounts of a company. We were very good friends and companions, but there was not a hint, not a suspicion, of love on either side. She was pretty and in trouble, and, therefore, had my sympathy. I was kind and attentive to her, and she was grateful. Voilà tout!

Before I drank the wine I made her put her lips to the glass, which she did, prettily and with a blush.

"You must never ask me to do that again," she said.

"Why, it is the custom of the Legion, ma camarade," I replied. "You are now a legionary; surely you will do as your good comrades do?"

"Well, at least not in the presence of others."

"Very well," I answered; "but always when we are alone?"

"Yes," she whispered; "when we are alone. I trust you." And she put her little hand out to me. I took it, and by a sudden impulse kissed it.

"You may always trust me," I said—"always."

A question now arose as to the disposal of the money. There was no danger from natives, as the new house was inside the lines; there was not much, indeed, from soldiers, as there were sentries near. At the same time I told Giulia that it would be safer to transfer it to some other place. "Can you not," I suggested, "take it to the woman in whose quarters you live?"

"No, no," she replied; "I will take some to give to her—she has been very good to me—but you are in charge, you must keep the greater part."

"I?" I said in astonishment.

"Yes; if you do not, I will leave it here."

"But, Mademoiselle Julie, there are very bad men in every battalion, and someone may break in and steal all."

"Let the sentinels keep watch."

"Ah! a sentinel may be glad to get half."

"I do not care; you are my sergeant-major"—as she said this a rosy flush came up over neck and face and ears—"and it is your duty to keep my money for me. Besides, did I not say that I trust you?"

In the end I had to take twelve hundred francs, though with many misgivings. Giulia told me that she would give two hundred to the sergeant's wife, the rest she would keep herself. Then we locked up the place and departed to our separate quarters, after having made an appointment to meet in the morning, to inspect the stores and see if anything had been touched during the night. Giulia wanted me to take the keys as well as the money, but this I refused to do.

I could scarcely sleep that night on account of the money. I occupied a small room in a long, low-roofed building, given up to the accommodation of sergeants whose domestic arrangements did not include a woman. I barricaded the door, put a glass on the window, so that anyone trying to enter that way might knock it down on a tin basin placed just below, and put a naked bayonet and the box containing the money under my pillow. For all these precautions I spent a wakeful night, and rose in the morning, restless, anxious, and unrefreshed. After the morning coffee I felt better, and laughed to myself at my fears of the night. Who would take the money? surely not one of the sergeants. I did not, I could not, suspect them, but I certainly should not like to trust every man in the battalion; the Legion contains more than a due percentage of desperate ruffians, and our battalion had its fair share of the bad ones.

As I went across the parade-ground to keep my appointment with Giulia at the door of the canteen I met the captain of my company, or at least of the company to which I was attached, though I seldom paraded with it. He noticed the box and asked me what it contained. When I told him he laughed, and said that many a man would be pleased to be so trusted, especially by so beautiful a girl as Mademoiselle la Cantinière. I answered that the trust was pleasant but the responsibility too great; I did not wish to have the safe keeping of twelve hundred francs. "You cannot help it now, my sergeant-major of the canteen, you must undertake all the duties of your position." Then he told me to present his compliments to Mademoiselle Julie, and went away.

I met Giulia at the door. She looked annoyed at having to wait, but when I made her acquainted with the delay caused by meeting the captain her face cleared.

"I thought, mon ami," she said, "that you had forgotten your duty."

"That might be possible; but, Mademoiselle Julie, how could I forget you?"

She curtsied at the compliment, and I noticed the grace of her figure, the beauty of its curves, the wonderful arch of the instep; and I must have looked my admiration, for when she lifted her eyes to meet mine, again the rosy flush came up over her neck and cheeks. "Let us see that all is right within," she said, and opened the door. When we were inside we saw at a glance that everything was as we had left it on the previous evening. "Now let us count the money," I said. In a second Giulia flew into a rage, she stamped her foot upon the ground, she cried out that I wished to insult her, that I thought her mean and suspicious, and finally burst into tears. I laid my hand upon her arm and wished to know what had vexed her; she flung it off with an indignant gesture and bade me go away. I was thunderstruck. I could not tell how I had offended, and was beginning to feel aggrieved. Why should I be told that I had insulted her whom I would not pain for all the world? The more I thought of my conduct towards her, the less reason I could see for her anger and tears. I was wise enough, however, to let her have her cry out: when she had done with weeping she would be reasonable. I was not mistaken.

When she had dried her tears, I asked how I had offended her. She looked, calmly enough now, at me, and said: "Did I not tell you yesterday that I trusted you?"

"Yes," I replied.

"And yet to-day you ask that I should count the money. How can I do so and trust?"

I took off my kepi, bowed, and said: "Pardon me, I was wrong."

"You will never offend me again?"

"Never. And you, you will forgive?"

"Yes; once, but not a second time."

Again she gave me her hand, again I kissed it, then she put her hands upon my shoulders, and said: "My dear friend, if I did not trust you more than you think, I would not be alone with you here."

She asked me to take a glass of wine, voluntarily put the glass to her lips, and then handed it to me. I deliberately turned it round, so that my lips should touch where hers had touched, and drained it to the bottom, looking the while over it at Giulia. She smiled and looked pleased, and then turned away to get some cigars. I had more sense than to offer money. I took the cigars, and said:

"You are a good comrade, Giulia."

It was the first time I had called her by her name. She hesitated a little, and then answered:

"And you too, you will be a good comrade, will you not, Jean?"

"Oui, ma belle." And I bit off the end of a cigar, while she struck a match to light it for me.

Just as I began to smoke there came a knock at the door. I shouted out "Entrez," and the commandant came in. I put down the cigar and stood to attention.

"Everything goes well, is it not?" he asked.

"Yes, monsieur le commandant," Giulia replied; "I can soon repay some of the money advanced by you and the other officers."

"No, my child," the commandant said; "you are the daughter of the regiment now. The battalion must be father and mother to you; we cannot accept repayment."

"But my mother paid back the money given to her by the officers."

"Yes, my dear child; but your mother was not born in the regiment, and though we lent to her we give to you. We gave it, indeed, and did not expect to be repaid. I was a sub-lieutenant then, and I remember all. She insisted, and we were compelled to accept. With you it is different; we will insist, and you must not refuse. How do you like the sergeant-major of the canteen?" he went on. We all laughed at the queer title; no one had ever heard of such a rank.

"Very well, monsieur le commandant."

"Yes, yes; I think he will be good; if he is not, tell me." With that he went away.

"I must be good, Giulia?" I said, as I lit the cigar again.

"Yes; very good, my comrade; you must never offend me again."

"Ah! you do not forget—perhaps you will never forget—and then, what is the good of being forgiven?"

"I will forget; yes, I will never remember, unless you force me to."

I promised that I should never offend her again, and she smiled and said that she believed me.

"Nobody will enter here during the day," I told her, "and I will leave the box here; if I do not I must carry it everywhere with me, and that will be inconvenient."

Giulia asked me why I should carry it about with me, and I told her that I should have no peace or ease of mind while it was out of my sight unless it was in the canteen, which was near so many sentinels. I also mentioned my fears for its safety the previous night and the precautions that I had taken. She was very sorry that I had been so restless, and advised me to leave it in future in the canteen. To this I demurred. I told her that if the box were there, I should be getting up at all hours of the night to come and look at the place, and perhaps I might be shot by a sentry. "But can we not find a hiding-place—some place that nobody could find even in broad daylight?" The idea struck me as a good one. We searched in all directions, and finally decided on an empty box half-full of straw that had contained bottles. By leaving this, of course, without the money, in full view of everybody during the day, no man who might enter at night would dream of searching it. Then I proposed that we should put only the money there every evening and that I should take away the empty box.

"No, my friend, you shall not. Something might happen if the bad ones thought that the box was full; better lose the money than a good friend's life."

"As it pleases you, my comrade; I will obey orders, then I cannot offend."

That evening the canteen did a good trade, so good, indeed, that we—that is, Giulia and I—determined on sending for more wine and eau-de-vie. I went to the commandant in the morning and told him how affairs stood. He was glad to hear my report, and ordered me to make out the order and give it to him to be forwarded. I brought him the written order to a merchant in Oran and handed over eighteen hundred francs in cash. He had the money counted by a clerk, and then told me that he would see that Mademoiselle Julie's order and money were safely transmitted. I saluted and went away.

As day after day passed Giulia and I became all the better friends. We openly showed our liking for each other. We were constantly meeting, sometimes by accident it is true, but oftener by unexpressed design, and, whenever we met, we always stopped to speak. I, being unattached to any company for battalion duties, had plenty of time on my hands; Giulia, of course, had nothing to do until evening, as I took good care that her place was swept and cleaned every morning by legionaries, who were only too glad to do this work for a glass of brandy and an ounce of tobacco apiece; thus we, as it were, could not help meeting so frequently. The others noticed and said nothing; it was tacitly understood at the time through the battalion that we were lovers, and yet we had never even spoken of love, and I had kissed her hand only twice. We were happy together, and that, for the moment, was enough for both.

CHAPTER XVIII

When Giulia and I met next morning at the canteen we found money and goods untouched. She did not ask me to take a glass of wine this time but filled it out, put it to her lips, and gave it to me. I drank the wine, lit a cigar, and asked her if she had any orders. We laughed at this, then she in her pretty way insisted that I was the sub-officer in charge and that her duty was to listen and obey, mine to command. I objected, saying that the lady's wishes had to be considered first. A good deal of harmless chat followed. I smoked the cigar, she deftly rolled a cigarette and lit it from my cigar, our faces were close together, and I told her it was well that cigarette and cigar were between us and also kept our lips engaged. But this was all fun, we had nothing to do; the men of the battalion, at least three companies of them, were out marching with knapsacks and pouches full, the fourth company was up to its eyes in work, some on guard, some cooking, some doing the necessary duties of a camp; I honestly believe that we two were the only idle, careless ones in the cantonment.

As she flung away the end of a cigarette she said: "I have resolved to live here after a few days."

"What!" I cried, "you to stay here alone, beautiful and with money?"

She smiled back, as it were triumphantly, and replied:

"Why not?"

"But you are beautiful."

"Thanks, my comrade."

"And there will always be money in the house."

"It is true."

"And beauty and money, what will they not tempt men to do?"

"I shall have a protector."

This was a blow to me, and she must have seen it, for she said quickly, putting her hand on my arm, that the sergeant and his wife whom she had been staying with since her mother's death would keep house for her.

"Oh," I cried, "I am so glad and I was so sorry."

"I trust you, Jean," she answered; "will you not trust me?" I was not allowed to reply; she put a pretty finger on my lips, and said:

"Yes, I know you trust me; why say to me what I know?"

What pleasant days we had together! What fun and jesting and pretended rebukes! When the sergeant and his wife were installed in one of the rooms over the canteen, I used to stay until the call went for "Out lights," and then I groped my way in the darkness back to my quarters, challenged by every sentry on the road. Soon the battalion got to understand that le jeune was always to be found going to his quarters at a certain hour, and the sentries used to look out especially for me. I, of course, had to answer their challenges and to give my reason for being out at night. I always said:

"Visiting Sergeant M——." As I passed the scoundrels used to say: "Sergeant M——, is he married? Has Madame M—— a friend at her house?" And I dared not say anything in reply, because if I did all the battalion would be laughing at me and somebody else next day.

You must not think that the men wished to hurt anyone's feelings. No; bad as they were, forgetful as they were of the ten commandments, they had no intention, not even the slightest, of offending Giulia or me. Giulia was the pet. Many envied me, I am sure, but they envied me because they thought things; had they known that Giulia and I were merely good friends, good comrades, and that no word of love had ever been said by either of us they would have laughed, and said: "Oh, boy and girl to-day, lover and mistress to-morrow," but that was because, with a lingering taste for good, they had quite given up expecting it here or hereafter. One thing I must say, the legionaries were very quiet in the canteen. They called for their drinks and went outside at once, and there smoked, drank, and sang as best pleased each. Sometimes a man would have no money and would wish for a drink in the morning or a pipeful of tobacco at night. He came to me, and said:

"I want it, my sergeant-major; will you give it me?"

"I can't give it," I used to say, "but I'll ask for it for you, and if you don't pay when you have money I shall have to pay instead and I'll never ask for you again."

They did not always pay, but that was because a man's money was stopped—he was in hospital, perhaps, or in jail—but Giulia and I never minded that; the men who could pay did.

To say the truth, no battalion in the world was so good or so comfortable as ours at that time. The men never drank out of the lines, therefore those who went too far could be easily carried away to bed. There was very little fighting, for no man, indeed, would strike a blow in Mademoiselle Julie's canteen, and if a blow is not struck soon, soldiers forgive and forget easily; moreover, if a man had no money he could get his bit of tobacco and, perhaps, his glass of eau-de-vie without begging for it. Giulia never wrote down the name of a man she gave credit to; she said always: "It is not my honour, but yours, that is at stake." That phrase with us was worth all the ledgers in the world.

One evening I was sitting on the edge of the counter talking about something or other to a corporal who had dropped in for a glass of wine and had asked me to join him in the drink. In spite of the difference in rank I consented, for I knew quite well that the social position that the corporal used to hold was very much higher than my own; as a matter of fact, the man had at one time a commission in the British army, and his father draws to this very day a big pension from the British Government But that is by the way. As we chatted Giulia listened and was interested; we spoke of some affairs of the battalion, and Giulia knew as much as we did of such things. We three were the only persons in the canteen. I had just told Giulia to refill the glasses, and she was about doing so when a man entered, a simple soldier. I did not know him at the time; I found out afterwards that he was a Hessian and bore the reputation of being taciturn and unsociable, thereby rendering himself an object of dislike to all. He called for a glass of brandy and drank it, then for another, which he sipped slowly, and tried to enter into conversation with Giulia. The corporal and I resumed the conversation interrupted by the Hessian's entrance, and Giulia evidently preferred to listen to us rather than to the new-comer. As he noted this he became rather angry, and made some remark about his money being as good as another's, and that canteen girls should be obliging to all customers. Giulia, who had a hot temper, told him at once to finish his drink and to take himself and his money elsewhere. The Hessian drank his brandy, and as he was leaving said that she knew the difference between a simple soldier and a sergeant-major, and if someone had no chevrons on his sleeve he would soon be taught that it was unmannerly to sit on a counter in the presence of a lady. My temper had been gradually rising and this was too much for me. I jumped down from the counter, took off my belt and bayonet, which I handed to Giulia, stripped off my tunic, and told the scamp that there were no chevrons on my shirt. He was astonished, and almost before he could put himself on his defence I had given him in quick succession right and left fists in the eyes. I followed up the attack vigorously, and in less than three minutes all the insolence was taken out of him and he begged for mercy. Then I kicked him out of the canteen and told him never again to enter it, put on my tunic and sat down, this time on a chair.

"I must apologise," I said to Giulia; "I should not have sat on the counter; in one sense he was right. I will not ask pardon for quarrelling, for he offended you too."

"You may sit where you like, my sergeant-major," Giulia replied; "I shall not be offended."

"But I should not sit on the counter."

"Sit where you wish," she repeated; "I shall be satisfied."

"Même sur vos genoux, mademoiselle," said the English corporal, with a smile. Giulia blushed, laughed, and shook her head.

I may finish here about the Hessian. The story was told by him that I had committed an unprovoked assault When the commandant heard this, he sent for me. I told the truth, and my version of the affair was corroborated by Giulia and the corporal. The commandant would take no official notice of the affair, but he privately admonished me that it was very wrong to take off my belt and tunic. "You should not have undressed, even partially," he said, "in the presence of a lady and an inferior." But he gave me no blame for the beating I gave the Hessian.

Here I must explain the military meaning of being undressed. If a man is on duty and wearing a belt and bayonet, he is undressed if he takes them off. Should he be supposed to wear white trousers and white gaiters, he is undressed if he wears red trousers with black leggings. So one can understand that, when the commandant admonished me for being undressed in the presence of Giulia and the corporal, he referred quite as much to the taking off of my belt and bayonet as he did to the taking off of my coat. Soldiers have to be very particular about their clothing and equipments; this is quite right, as it tends to good discipline and order.

When the canteen closed for the evening Giulia and I smoked our cigarettes as usual, while I sipped my glass of wine. We were rather silent, for I was thinking of the quarrel and its probable consequences; what Giulia thought of I cannot tell. At last I finished my cigarette, carefully extinguished the end for fear of fire, and drained my glass. I rose to go. Instead of shaking hands with me across the counter—for she had been sitting inside all the time, whilst I occupied a seat outside—Giulia came round to where I was and for the first time asked me what I thought would happen.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," I replied; "what can happen? I had to do as I did; I surely could not allow any man to misconduct himself here?"

"Yes, yes; but you took off your belt and tunic."

"Oh, that will never be mentioned; why should the scoundrel talk of that?"

"Yes; but he will talk of it, and there will be trouble—trouble for you on my account."

"Well, if there is to be trouble for me I shall not mind it, since it will be on your account; were it on account of any other I should be vexed."

"But you may lose your rank," she insisted.

"I shall not mind, so long as they leave me on duty in the canteen."

"But they may not leave you here; another may come."

"That is true," I answered, "and that is the only thing I am afraid of."

"You would like to stay here with me?" said Giulia, blushing as she spoke.

"Always, always with you," I replied, and, putting my kepi on the counter, I took her in my arms and kissed her full upon the lips.

Then we forgot all about the Hessian and thought only about ourselves. I have no mind to write all about our love story; people who have loved will understand, and those poor wretches who have never known what it is to love passionately and to be as passionately loved could never comprehend, were I to write till Doomsday about Giulia and myself.

At last the time came for parting. Giulia told me that she should not sleep for thinking of what might happen as a result of the quarrel, but I succeeded in calming her fears. "Trust me," I told her; "I took the wisest course, though I did not think of that at the time. If I had allowed the rascal to go away unpunished, the commandant would call me a coward and say that I was unworthy to wear the military medal, and all the officers and men would agree with him. Now the worst that can be said is that I lost my temper and forgot my rank. Even that too will be pardoned, since they will easily see that I could not allow myself to be insulted in your presence without taking instant vengeance for the affront." She grew more composed as I spoke, and I felt more at ease; in comforting Giulia I comforted myself.

I did not get the message that the commandant wished to see me until about three o'clock in the afternoon of the next day. All the morning I had enough to do to prevent Giulia from breaking down; her eyes showed that she had spent a restless night, a night of tears, but as the morning wore on she almost forgot her anxiety in my cheering words and more than cheering kisses. When a sergeant told me that I was wanted at the officers' quarters Giulia broke down completely. I kissed her once more, bade her be of good courage, and gave her over to the sergeant's wife, whose kindness and tender sympathy were of inestimable value to us both. The sergeant's wife was a good woman and deserved a better fate than that which was her lot afterwards; but then, what will you? It is only the good who suffer in this world; the bad are always to be found at the top of the wheel.

Well, the commandant received me as I have already told, and after a kind admonition—how kind these officers that men fear so much can be when they like!—sent me away. I saluted, turned, walked a pace or two, and then set off running at the top of my speed to the canteen. I burst in the door, ran up the stairs, taking three steps at a time, and bounded with a loud cry of joy into the room where Giulia was weeping. I could say nothing, nothing intelligible at all events, but Giulia understood. So did the sergeant's wife, for she discreetly went away and left us to ourselves and our happiness.

Things went on badly for the Hessian. He was always an ill-liked comrade, but this last affair was too bad indeed. All sympathised with Giulia and myself, and the sympathy was not merely on account of the chance a man had of getting tobacco and a glass of spirits when his pockets were empty. Oh no; the legionaries were glad that they could get a little credit, but then they always paid—that is, all paid except the poor devils whose money was stopped for some reason or other—and they were pleased with the canteen, pleased with Giulia, who had been born in the battalion, and I think they were not discontented on account of my position, for was not I a legionary like themselves? So the Hessian was not spoken to, or only spoken to to be cursed; if he replied he was beaten; if he complained, there were plenty to prove that he was a bad comrade and that it was impossible to soldier with him, and, unfortunately for himself, he had been known as an unsociable fellow for a long time. The end was that he volunteered for Tonquin, where there were some of ours still, and his captain was by no means sorry to be rid of him, for one can never know what may occur when a man is deservedly unpopular in the Legion and has not grace or tact enough to get back to favour with his comrades.

As for Giulia and me, life was idyllic. We did not mind the laughing jests of our comrades; they never went too far. There was a leaven of the gentleman in the battalion, and this leaven leavened all the mass. Then the really bad ones were afraid; the example of the Hessian was too fresh in their minds. But, indeed, all were kind and agreeable. That Giulia and I should be lovers had been obvious to all others long before we ourselves thought of being such to one another, and when the legionaries noticed that she lived for me alone, just as all my thoughts were alone hers, they kept their coarse jokes to themselves and were as polite to us as if we were far higher than they in social position. Some of the songs were not of a moral kind, but as the evening concert always took place outside the canteen Giulia was not supposed to hear, and, indeed, when she did hear she did not always understand. When she did comprehend she said nothing; one cannot be a cantinière in the Legion and a prude.

At this time Giulia and I were always together. Certainly while the canteen was open I was outside the counter, often making one of a party of sergeants who came to drink in comrade-like fashion with one another; at other times merely going around to see that there was no disorder—well, no more disorder and abandonment than are reasonable in a canteen where belts are off and tongues wag freely. I very seldom had any trouble, most of the legionaries kept within bounds, and those who felt disposed to give a loose rein to the desire of ardent spirits were prevented from doing so by a constant lack of money. Sometimes, however, when some Russian or Prussian or Austrian had received money from Europe there was a little danger of a free fight, and I, who had been in the encounter at Three Fountains, did not like these things. I had told Giulia about that trouble and she was just as concerned as I, but she was concerned for my safety and my rank, while I was anxious about her shop and herself. Any man can start a row—oh, it is quite easy, I assure you—but it is not every man that can stop one. Besides, I remembered how the huts were torn down at Three Fountains and the Russian's advice to the old soldier sutler: "Take your goods and madame away." The advice about madame seemed especially applicable to Giulia, and yet I knew she would stay by me, and it was my duty to stay by the canteen.

One day the English corporal whom I have mentioned came to the canteen and asked Giulia to take care of some money for him. Giulia refused point-blank, but said that he might speak to me. When I learned what he wished me to do I at once saw the reasonableness of the request, inasmuch as no man would like to keep so large a sum of money as the corporal had in his own possession in a hut. The Englishman had just received from home a Bank of England note for £100, and many a simple soldier would kill him for such a sum. But, one may object, how negociate such a billet in such a place? Oh, no one could do that except the owner, or someone like Giulia, who would change it for him in the regular way of business; but many a man was nearing the end of his five years' service, and a Bank of England note could be easily hidden for a time and in the end changed in Paris. One hundred pounds!—twenty-five hundred francs!—why, it was a fortune.

I said that I would take the note and give him a receipt for it, and that, as he drew money from Mademoiselle Julie, he could give receipts until the full amount was withdrawn. He thanked me, gave me the note, took a receipt, and immediately applied to Giulia in my presence for a hundred francs. She gave him the money at my request and he gave me an acknowledgment. That evening his squad was merry; he had given them fifty francs to spend, the other fifty he spent with his brother corporals.

On the following day he asked me about the stock in the canteen. I told him that there was not at the time enough to justify him in giving a spree to a section, but that in less than a week he could stand treat to the battalion if he liked.

"Oh no; not the battalion, only the company."

"I understand," said I; "I know that you cannot go outside your own company, but I spoke of the battalion merely to show you Mademoiselle Julie's resources."

"I see," the corporal replied; "well, tell me when you are ready, and my comrades shall enjoy an evening's carouse."

Let me now tell about the money. Of course, it was Giulia's, not mine, and she kept it in her money box, which was snugly hidden in her own room in a place that no one knew of except ourselves. Even the sergeant's wife did not know it. She never entered Giulia's room except on invitation. Giulia herself kept the place as it ought to be, sweeping it, dusting the furniture, and having everything as neat and clean as it could be in a palace. Once a week she gave me the key. I went there with a couple of privates—of course, she then took the box away—the legionaries with me removed everything to another place and washed out the room and left it with windows and door open for a couple of hours. They then returned, replaced the furniture, got a couple of drinks, a couple of cigars and a franc, and went away satisfied. But this is mere domestic economy.

Giulia also kept the receipt for the hundred francs. But, one will say, why not transact the business without troubling me? Well, the amount was so large and the money was so strange that she wished me to settle everything for her, as I was, in her opinion, the one man in the world who knew everything and was always right. Again, she knew how much I prized her trust, and so was glad to pay me a delicate compliment. Moreover, we were so closely united to each other now that it would seem to so gentle and confiding, yet high-spirited a girl as she was a breach of faith for her to engage in such a transaction without my knowledge and consent. Yet when I asked Giulia why she had not taken the money from the corporal at once, she only answered: "I don't know; but I would not." Then she kissed me, and said: "I will never take anything, unless you know about it and are satisfied."

What a sum of happiness the events, even the very words, of our lives made at this time! Ah, well! the sum was soon to be added up, and the total not exceeded, for ever.

About five days after my last conversation with the English corporal the new stock arrived. It had cost altogether about two thousand francs, and we—that is, Guilia and I—were sure to make at least five or six hundred francs profit. When we ordered the stuff we expected that it would last for some time, but now, knowing the corporal's resources and intention, we settled that it would all be sold within a week. We were not disappointed; in fact, the day after it arrived we had to send an order for a similar quantity to our agent at Oran.

"I see that the new goods have arrived," said the Englishman to me as I met him on the parade-ground.

"Yes," I replied. "I have been looking for you. If you tell me now how much you want I can get it, and you can write out the receipt."

"Thanks, my sergeant-major; but you are a man of experience in these things. You were at Three Fountains; is it not so?"

"Yes," I answered, laughing.

"Then will you tell me how much I ought to have for the entertainment of my company?"

"Oh, five hundred francs will do well, but seven or eight hundred will really be a generous amount to spend."

"Let me be very generous then; get me a thousand."

"Very well; but remember there will be change left. Let your squad understand that they will have the spending of that, so shall you have sentries guarding your sleep."

"You are right, my sergeant-major, you are right; I am obliged to you for the hint. Will not Mademoiselle Julie give us a glass of wine, so that we may clink our glasses together?"

"Oh, certainly. Nobody amongst the officers troubles about the canteen. One can generally get a glass of eau-de-vie or vin ordinaire at any reasonable hour. The commandant knows that no man is given more than he can safely bear, and what is the use of being strict in such a place as this?"