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_.