About this time there were signs of a disturbance amongst the
semi-savage tribes that hold the oases on the borders of the great
desert. These are not, and I daresay never will be, brought completely
under subjection. They are to the French in Algeria what the hill
tribes of the Himalayas are to the British in Hindostan. They are
by nature, proud, fierce, suspicious; by religion, contemptuous of
Christian dogs; by habit, predatory. They are fairly well armed,
indeed, they make their own weapons and ammunition. When they go on the
warpath there is always more trouble than one would expect, considering
their numbers; they are so elusive, so trained to forced marches, so
dashing in attack and swift in retreat, that the Government has to
allow at least three men for every Arab. If a general could corner
them and get well home with the bayonet after the usual preliminaries
of shell firing and musketry, or if the rascals would only come on and
have done with it, a quarter of the number would suffice. But these
pleasant things don't occur--I mean pleasant for the man with the
modern rifle--at least, if they do, it is only when all the oases of
the district have been seized, and then the Arabs may prefer to hazard
all on a big fight, but as a rule they bow to destiny and surrender.
Well, one morning we noticed the commandant and other officers
jubilant and smiling, and very soon the news got down to us through
the _sous-officiers_ that our battalion was for active service. How
delighted we were! All punishments in the battalion were at once
remitted; we had no more to suffer for the affair of the Alsatian; and
the other squad, which had treated Alsatian number two in a similar
manner, was also included in the pardon.
We were not long getting ready for the march. The day after the good
news came the battalion tramped out of cantonments nearly 1100 strong,
every man in good condition, and with 150 cartridges in his pouches.
A significant order was given on the parade ground, when we formed
up for the last time in column of companies. We were told to break
open each man a packet of cartridges and to load. We did so, and the
commandant addressed us, and gave us fair warning that he could not
permit _accidents_--he laid great stress on the word and repeated it
more than once--he told us that if an _accident_ did occur it would
be bad for the man whose rifle should be found to be discharged; he
quoted the Bible to us, saying something about "a life for a life and
a tooth"--yes, I think it was a tooth--"for a tooth." The old soldiers
understood, and we others learned the meaning before we came to the
first halting-place.
The fact is, in every regiment, and nowhere more than in the Foreign
Legion, there are unpopular officers and sub-officers, and there are
feuds amongst the men, and what is easier than to loose off a rifle
accidentally and, accidentally as it were, hit the man you dislike? In
action the thing is done far more commonly than people suppose--and
that is the safest time to do it; but after a fight, when all the men's
rifles are foul, and when a cartridge can be flung away as soon as
used, a bullet is sometimes sent through a tent on the off-chance of
hitting the right man within. So the commandant was justified when he
warned and threatened us about accidents.
We marched about twenty-five kilometres every day, and did it
cheerfully. We did not mind the country through which we passed, for
all our thoughts were turned to the work before us. The veterans were
in good humour. What advice they gave! "When the Arab charges you, mon
enfant, or when you charge the Arab, which is better, thrust at his
face the first time and at his body the second." "But why?" "Ah, my
boy, give him the bayonet in the body and still he will strike; give
it to him in the head, and then you can finish with a second stroke.
And, again, the glint of the bayonet will disturb his aim, and, even
should you miss with the first thrust, you can always get your weapon
back and send it home before he recovers--of course, that is if you are
quick enough. Moreover, the Arab expects you to lunge at his body, and
you must always, if you are a good soldier, disappoint your enemy. Then
there is no protection for his face; but a button or a piece of brass,
even a secretly-worn cuirass, may turn your point and leave you at his
mercy."
We eagerly drank in all this and similar hints from the men of
experience. The old soldiers were delighted. We were all as happy as
schoolboys out for a holiday; we endured the heat and dust without
muttering a complaint; nay, even old quarrels were forgotten, and the
man who would not look at his detested comrade a month before now
helped him with his knapsack or offered some tobacco, with a friendly
smile.
When the halt was called in the evening, the sentries were posted,
the fires lit, the little tents put up, the messes cooked for the
squads; but very soon the air of bustle and activity gave place to
an appearance of quiet ease. When the last meal of the day was over,
and the rifles, bayonets, straps, clothes, and everything else had
been cleaned, we lay about the camp in small parties, here two or
three, there half-a-dozen, yonder a full squad. Again we listened to
the _vieux soldats_; we made them repeat their stories of war and
pillage; we eagerly questioned them about the chances of loot. Some
of our fellows had fought in the Russo-Turkish war of '78; Nicholas,
whom I have mentioned, was believed to have commanded a company of
Russian guards at the siege of Plevna, and, though he never said in
so many words that he had even carried a rifle and knapsack in that
war, he told us stories of it that could be told only by an onlooker,
and it was easy to see that he was a man of birth and education, and,
judging by the money with which his purse was often filled--not for
long though, as he was a prince to spend--of wealth as well. It was
during this march that I learned for the first time the privileges
of a soldier as the soldier conceives them--I mean his chances when
the fighting is over and the enemy's camp, village, or town is in his
hands. Perhaps I had best say nothing or, if anything at all, but
little of them. One thing I may mention; it is foolish for people to
suppose that fighting men of to-day are at all different from their
compeers of yore--the only change is that the rapine and the pillage
are not boasted of so openly--but there is just as little of the spirit
of Christianity in a so-called civilised army as there used to be in
a legion of Julius Cæsar, perhaps even less. Many people will regret
this, and yet you always find the goody-goodies and even the women
loudest in crying out for war to avenge the wrongs, or fancied wrongs,
of their country or to acquire new territory and new trade. I say this:
if the women of the world only once realised to the full what war means
to the women of the losers they would throw all their weight into the
scale of peace. And remember, armaments are such to-day that no nation
is absolutely safe from invasion; social questions, the relations
between capital and labour, the currency, slave labour amongst whites,
even in the United States--most happily situated of all countries--the
eternal feud between whites and blacks in the South--any of these may
at any moment cause a war worse than a war of invasion, because more
bitter, more relentless, more capable of leaving a heritage of hate.
Who is the more to be blamed: the rigid moralist at home who admits
that most wars are the devil's work but proclaims that the war which he
favours and shouts for is really blessed by God; or the soldier who,
after dreary weeks or months of weary marching, with broken boots or no
boots at all during the day, and chilling nights with only a tattered
greatcoat or a ragged blanket to save him from the dew, with the
memory upon him of hunger and thirst, of dust and fatigue, of constant
knowledge that any moment may see him a corpse or a maimed weakling on
the ground, forgets the Ten Commandments and even his natural humanity
when the final charge has been successful and the chance has at last
come for, in part at least, repaying himself, as soldiers have since
war began repaid themselves, for toil and trouble and danger in the
conquered town? Blame the man who does wrong if you will, but blame
more the foolish people who, fancying that rapine and pillage can never
stalk abroad in their own happy land, let loose the dogs of war upon
their neighbours. The Carthaginian maids and matrons acclaimed their
returning heroes; the day came when the Roman legionaries taught those
very maids and matrons the real meaning of war. How proud the Roman
women were of their gallant warriors when the gorgeous triumph unfolded
itself on the long road to the Capitol! With what different feelings
did they look on war as the news came that Attila had forced his way
into the rich plains of Lombardy; or, even before that, with what
agonised apprehension did they not look forth from the walls at the
red glare in the sky that told of the presence of Hannibal? We abuse
Turks and Arabs, Filipinos and Chinese, the Baggara from the desert
and the tribal mountaineers from the borders of Afghanistan because,
forsooth, they do not make war as Christianity dictates. And what about
the allied armies in China of late? They were Christians--by repute
at least; but what were they in reality? Just a little worse than the
Boxers, that is all. Do I blame them? No; I know the temptations; I
know how quickly the soldiers of Christian, so-called Christian, armies
are taught to forget the Ten Commandments. I am not surprised, nor do
I feel called upon to censure. I shall leave the casting of stones to
the people who are always strong to resist their passions, especially
those passions which soldiers feel and yield to most readily--lust of
others' property, which your virtuous stockbroker will never allow to
enter into his bosom; lust of strong drink, which never affects the
shouters for war in the streets; lust of--well, another lust which need
not be spoken of here, as I have already hinted more than enough of it
and its consequences.
However, I've done with moralising. We young soldiers heard, and heard
with an awakening of delight, of pleasurable anticipation, the things
that might happen when the fighting for the day was done. And war does
not seem all war. You've got to cook and eat, to forage and drink, to
mount guard or sleep, just as if you were back in cantonments, and the
daily routine soon grows upon a man--at any rate it soon grew upon me.
At last we joined the general. We were the first of his reinforcements,
and very soon, as others arrived, the defensive gave place to the
offensive. I can't tell about the progress of the little campaign; all
I know is our share of it, and for me that was quite enough. For a few
weeks we were cornering the enemy, seizing a well here, a caravan of
provisions there, and having slight brushes, in which a dozen or two
men killed and wounded represented our losses. The Arabs, having been
beaten back by the men originally attacked, did not seem to care to
give the general a good stand-up fight now that his forces had been
increased, and after some time we began to fancy that they were merely
holding out for good terms and would at last surrender in the usual
way. Not that we grew careless about our guards, pickets, and vedettes,
discipline prevented that, and luckily, for when all the oases had been
seized and garrisoned except one, the Arabs, in desperation I believe,
determined to throw all upon the hazard of a battle. This was my first
real experience of fighting, for I don't count it fighting to advance
in skirmishing order and fire at constantly moving figures half-a-mile
away. I judged their opinion of us by ours of them, and, indeed, we
never even ducked the head, for we could not fear bullets at such a
range.
Our cavalry had been pushed forward to locate the enemy and hold him if
possible. My company and two companies of native infantry and three or
four guns were sent in support, and the main body, coming along slowly
and laboriously owing to difficulties of transport, moved in our rear,
the flanks well protected by outlying horse. One evening when we were
about fifteen kilometres in front of the general--too far, of course,
but some officers do so want to distinguish themselves when they get a
separate command--the chasseurs d'Afrique and the spahis rode back upon
us. They reported the enemy in a strong position at the last oasis left
to them, about twelve kilometres away, and our commanding officer sent
back the news at once, halting meanwhile for instructions. He acted
somewhat wisely too in getting us to throw up a sort of fortification
on a piece of rising ground. A circular trench was dug; the stuff taken
out formed a weak rampart; a biscuit or two and a glass of brandy
were served out to every man; and then we lay down on the hard ground
without a tent or even a blanket for shelter or covering. The horsemen
fell back on the main body; their work was done, and they would be
worse than useless in a night attack.
Most of the night passed quietly, and I, who had done two hours
sentry-go before midnight without seeing or hearing anything which
could disquiet me, began to hope that the savage devils would wait to
be attacked. About an hour before sunrise the corporal in charge of
the outlying picket called me for another turn of duty. I arose from
where I lay, took my rifle from the ground, and prepared to set out for
my post, about eighty paces in front. I was to relieve Nicholas the
Russian. As I took his place he whispered: "Look out, young one; the
dangerous hour!"
When the corporal and his party went away I gazed intently into the
darkness towards the south. I knew by experience gained in many a night
watch that very soon the sun would, as it always seemed to me, born and
bred in a northern land, jump up on the horizon and send his welcome
arrows of light across shrub and rock and sand. Once the light came
the sudden rush in upon the camp would be impossible; the modern rifle
would stave off all attack; spear and bayonet would clash together only
when our leaders saw that the time had come when we should be on the
rush and the enemy on the run.
As I gazed I fancied that there was a movement in my front. I could
not at the time, nor can I now, though I am a man of wider experience
to-day, swear that I actually saw anything, but that an impalpable,
strange, indefinite change was coming over the blackness of the desert,
I neither doubted nor misunderstood. Raising my rifle to my shoulder,
quietly and cautiously as one does whose own body may be in a second
the target for countless bullets, I aimed steadily at the blackest
part of the blackness and fired. As I turned to run to the picket an
awful shriek rang out, telling me that my bullet had found a billet,
and then, while I ran shouting: "Aux armes, aux armes!" a hideous,
savage cry ran in a great circle all about the camp. When I closed on
the picket the corporal was giving his orders: "One volley, and run
for the camp." The volley was fired, and we all ran madly back to the
entrenchments, crying: "Aux armes, les ennemis!" not, indeed, to warn
our comrades of their danger, but to let them know that we were the men
of the outlying picket fleeing to camp and not the mad vanguard of the
attack. We got inside the little rampart, helped over by willing arms,
and at once the crash of musketry began. Our men had their bayonets
fixed; for a double purpose this--for defence if the Arabs came home
in the charge, to lower the muzzle if only shooting were necessary.
Luckily our firing became so successful that the Arabs stopped to
reply, and, you may take my word for it, when a charging man halts to
fire he is already weakening for retreat.
Well, we kept the enemy at a safe distance till the blessed sun sprang
up and turned the chances to our side. Yet still they hung around, and
a dropping fire was maintained on both sides. They did not now surround
the little camp; they had all collected in almost a semicircle on
the southern side. While the desultory firing went on our commandant
eagerly turned his gaze from time to time towards the north, and he
was at last rewarded. He sent orders to give a ration of brandy to
every man--the rascal! He had seen the glint of lance heads on the
horizon, and he wanted to take a little of the pursuer's glory from the
cavalrymen. Glory, glory! what follies are committed in thy name! The
brandy was given out, the news went around that the horse were coming
up at the gallop, the men looked with blood-lust in their eyes at the
lying-down semicircle to the south, the commandant flung off jacket,
belt, scabbard, keeping only sabre and pistol, and with a wild cheer
and cries of "Kill, kill!" we rushed from the camp straight at the
enemy. They were not cowards. They gave us a wild, scattered fire, and
then, flinging away their rifles and flintlocks, came daringly, with
loud cries of "Allah!" to meet us. And in their charge they covered a
greater distance than we did in ours, for they came along every man
at racing speed, and their line grew more and more irregular, whereas
we, disciplined and trained to move all as one man, easily fell into
the regulation _pas gymnastique_, and so went forward a solid, steady,
cheering line, officers leading, and clarions at our backs sounding the
charge.
As we neared one another a great shout went up from us. Nicholas
the Russian, who was my front-rank man, dashed forward and stabbed
a yelling demon rushing at him with uplifted spear. I ran into his
place, and saw almost at once a dusky madman, with a short, scanty
beard, coming straight at me with murder in his eyes. I remembered
the advice given by the _vieux soldats_, and as he raised his sword I
plunged my bayonet with all my force into his face. He half reeled, he
almost fell, and as he recovered again I lunged and struck him fair
and full on the breast bone. Again he reeled, yet still he tried to
strike; I thrust a third time, and now at his bare neck; the spouting
blood followed out the bayonet as I drew it forth and back to strike
again. Before I had time to do so the Arab fell, a convulsive tremor
passed over his body, the limbs contracted, the eyes opened wide to
the sky, the jaw fell, and for the first time I saw my enemy lie
stark and cold in death before me. I stood watching, with a curious
feeling at my heart, the body that lay so strangely still upon the
sand. I felt no desire that life should return to the corpse, nor did
I feel at all inclined to drive my weapon home again; it seemed to
me that my assailant and the dead were not one and the same, and the
animosity which I had felt for the living foe was lost, nay, utterly
extinguished, in wonder at the awful change my handiwork had produced.
Remember, I was only a boy, and I had taken that which no man can
restore. Many times since have I looked without a shudder, almost
without a thought, on the face of my dead foeman, but on that morning
in the desert my mind was shocked by the new experience.
Suddenly I heard a trumpet and a cry. I looked towards the right; the
spahis were riding at top speed with levelled lances on the foe. Our
men were scattered, fighting in squads and parties over the plain,
driving the Arabs back. The press of battle had gone beyond me. In a
moment the horsemen swept into the Arab ranks; the lances rose and fell
with terrible significance as the mass rolled on. Our work was over;
the cavalry so rushed and harried the fleeing enemy that the rebellion
was practically at an end, for that time of course, before noon. When
the main body came up the chiefs were in our camp, prepared to accept
any terms offered by the general. These were hard enough. All arms to
be surrendered, a heavy fine to be paid, their villages to be kept in
our possession till all the petty fortifications should be dismantled.
Yes; my company kept a village and an oasis, and I fancy that the next
generation of Arabs was whiter than their forbears. But that is war;
and the people--the goody-goodies and the stockbrokers and the foolish
women--who believe that honour dwells in the heart of a soldier on
active service will lament our wickedness and get ready for the next
occasion when they can send off their own soldiers to war, glorious
war!