Not long after the end of the little war my company and another were
ordered on garrison duty to a place which we called, for what reason
I know not, Three Fountains. I never saw three springs in the place;
of course, there was an oasis but whether this, before being walled
in, had really been divided into three separate wells I cannot say.
Probably the name was a fanciful one given by a soldier and taken up by
his comrades.
Alongside us lay about five or six hundred Turcos. They did not like
us and we did not care overmuch for them, so you might imagine that
here were pretty grounds and opportunity for a quarrel. Not so, indeed;
they kept away from us, for they knew well what would happen should
one of them dare to enter our lines. We gave them a wide berth, for
the African is always--like the Asiatic and the American and the
European--ripe for treachery to men of another race and colour. No; the
races did not fight, but we of the higher breed,--how angels and devils
must laugh when people speak of higher breeds!--had a very pretty fight
amongst ourselves.
It came about in an unusual way, but for the invariable cause. There
was a Portuguese in No. 4 Company who loved a girl--a Cooloolie girl
who had followed him in all his marches and campaignings. A Cooloolie,
I may explain, is the offspring of a Turkish father and an Arab or
Christian mother, and as a rule when a Cooloolie woman gives herself to
a man she does it in a thorough manner and without any reservation save
one--the woman's right to change her mind. And this lassie did change
her mind, and of her own accord made love to a Greek who belonged to
my company, as handsome and well-formed a man as I have ever had the
good fortune to see, and a downright good soldier. Certainly I should
not care to see him too near my knapsack--brushes and such things have
a strange knack of disappearing--but I know very well that he was a
right man in a fight and a trump to spend his money when he had it.
He did not have it often, and when he had you generally heard next
morning that an officer's tent had been visited--yes, visited is a good
word--by someone not invited.
Well, the Cooloolie girl flung over the Portuguese, with bad words
and worse insinuations, and openly followed the Greek around, like
a dog after its master. And Apollo, of course, who probably did not
care a button about the woman, must go here and there, head up, with
smiling face, cheery talk, and queer jests. He visited every corner of
the camp: first the part where we, his own company lay; then, still
followed by the woman, the Turcos, who showed their white teeth and
grinned and muttered: by Jove, he was a handsome man, and she, though
rather dusky and stout, looked a perfect beauty in such a place, remote
from civilisation; last of all he came towards us through the company
of his predecessor in the Cooloolie girl's favour. Flesh and blood,
least of all the hot blood of a Peninsular, could not stand it; with a
hoarse cry and an awful oath the Portuguese rushed at the Greek, but
Apollo was quite prepared. Slipping aside he struck the poor devil
full under the ear at the base of the skull and sent him headlong to
the earth, senseless. Apollo, seeing that his opponent did not rise,
calmly walked to his own quarters, the girl now hanging upon his arm
and uttering all the endearing words she could think of, looking up the
while into his face as one entranced. None of the men of No. 4 Company
interfered. It was a common thing enough for two men to quarrel about
a woman, and, though they must have felt sore that their comrade had
been worsted, still that was no reason why outsiders should interfere.
The matter would have been settled by the interested parties for
themselves had it not been for the devilish desire of creating mischief
that always possessed Nicholas the Russian. Indeed, Nicholas loved
mischief like a woman.
Now Nicholas was a man who often had money and spent it like a
gentleman, a soldier, and a rascal. He never got all that was sent to
him, any more than the Crown gets all the revenues collected in its
name: to greasy palms coins will always stick. If 1000 francs were his
due--sent by friends, of course--he reckoned himself lucky to be able
to spend half. This time he must have received a more than ordinary
sum, for instead of following the custom of the Legion and showing us,
his comrades, a little bit of paper, which the commandant would cash
next day, so that we, his good comrades, the men who liked and loved
him, might know exactly how much drink and other things to be had for
money each might fairly reckon on, he said:
"Our comrade, Apollo I mean, has taken the girl; let us be good
comrades to him; let us take the two cabarets to-morrow, and keep all
the drink and all the tobacco and all the cigars for ourselves, and
give the happy pair a right good wedding."
He pulled his moustache as he spoke, and then, turning his eyes round
the squad, he showed devilment and fun enough in them to entice the
ordinary good man to break not only the laws of God but to do a still
more risky thing--to break the laws of his society.
The word was passed around quickly that the Russian would be a good
friend to all the company, and not merely to his own section or his
own squad. Everybody was happy; we forgot squad distinctions and shook
hands with one another and handed freely round our tobacco, for was not
to-morrow the glorious day when _eau-de-vie_ and wine and cigars and
tobacco were to be had by every one of us, even without the asking? Ah!
the good Russian, the worthy comrade! Ah! the handsome Greek! Ah! the
wise woman, who knows the company to select her lover from! Ah! you,
good soldier, of another squad it is true; shall we not drink and smoke
together to-morrow and curse the pigs of No. 4? How they will groan and
curse and envy us to-morrow! Good-night, brave comrade; good-bye till I
see you again to-morrow!
The morrow came, with its drills and fatigues and duties. Some of ours
were for guard, others for camp picket; how they envied us who were
free for all the fun of the evening! The last meal was over, the last
duty for the day done, when Nicholas and Le Grand and I went out to
negotiate with the two cabaret keepers of the place.
Let me say something here about Le Grand. He was the biggest man in the
battalion, some fellows said in the Legion, but there were others who
denied this; anyway he was a fine, strapping Dubliner, whose real name
I do not care to give. He was in my company, but not in my squad, not
even in my section, so he and I passed each other when we met with a
friendly "English pig!" "Irish pig!" "Go to the devil!" "Yes, yes; have
you any tobacco?" "Yes; here, do not forget me to-morrow." Another word
and we separated.
But let me pay here my tribute to the comrade of whom I shall more
than once have occasion to speak. He was brave--I learned that on the
battlefield, I have it not by hearsay; he was generous--I learned
that many a time when we were together in Tonquin; he was kind and
honest--that is, honest for a soldier--to all he met with, and his only
fault was hastiness of temper, which made him knock you down one moment
and, with the corresponding virtue, pick you up the next. But he never
struck a boy, he never struck a veteran whose limbs and features showed
the effects of war, he would die of thirst sooner than take a drop of
water from the hot-tongued youngster in the fight who had the desire
to go forward and the weariness of the rifle and pack, and the moist
heat of socks and the dull, heavy, deadly pain of pouches at the sides.
I do not know where you are to-day, Le Grand; wherever you are take a
little, a very little, tribute from one of your comrades. Great as was
your frame, our liking and love for you were greater.
Well, we walked slowly, as befitted men bent on so important a mission,
down to the collection of mud huts where the sutlers were. Nicholas,
as the giver of the feast, had the centre, Le Grand was on his right,
and I, the youngest and least of the three, supported the Russian on
the left. We did not speak, but Nicholas now and then laughed, while
a constant smile, cynical, sarcastic, and malicious, was on his lips.
The Russian was evidently calculating on the fun he would have, for he,
if no one else did, forecasted accurately the result. He was paying,
and paying for a purpose; excitement was to him the breath of life;
he had no fear of consequences; if he were punished he would take his
punishment with that calm ease of manner which was the despair of all
his superiors from the commandant down.
The first cabaret we visited was kept by a retired soldier--a man
who had spent most of his life in Algeria, who had in fact, almost
forgotten France. An ugly, old Kabyle woman, whom, I daresay, he had
picked up a young girl in some forgotten desert raid, lived with him,
cooked his meals, and helped to swindle us poor fellows out of the
wretched pittance we were paid.
When we entered the host came forward, smiling, gloating I should say,
on Nicholas. The fellow evidently knew about the money. The Russian
came straight to the point.
"How much, _mon vieux_, for all in this hole?"
"What! all?"
"Well, you may leave out madame and the domestic furniture. How much, I
ask you, for the hut, the drink, the tobacco, the glasses, the tables
and forms, and all the rest of your property?"
"Well, well, I do not understand."
"Let us go to the Jew then," said Nicholas to Le Grand.
"Very well."
"What do you say, my friend?" This to me.
"A Jew can't swindle more than this old ruffian."
We turned to leave.
"No, no, no; I will sell all," cried the sutler.
"Very well," said Nicholas; "show me all you have, and quickly. I will
make an offer; if you take it I will pay the money at once."
The sutler showed us what he had: so much brandy, the strongest in
France, he said--so much wine; how beautiful, would we not take a
glass?--so much tobacco, and so on; he praising and Nicholas critically
valuing as the goods were shown. When everything had been shown
Nicholas offered 500 francs for all.
"Oh no, not at all; that would ruin me."
"Very well; let us go to the Jew."
As we were passing out he ran out after Nicholas, and said:
"Six hundred."
"Five," said Nicholas.
The sutler shook his head.
"Give me five hundred and fifty and take all, in the name of the devil."
"For the last time, five hundred."
"Oh, you have a hard heart, very hard for so young and brave a soldier."
The temptation was too great; he would not let us go to the Jew, so he
accepted. The money was paid, and Nicholas gave the old soldier and his
wife ten minutes to get out their personal belongings, leaving me on
guard to see that nothing else went out by mistake.
A similar scene, Le Grand afterwards told me, took place in the Jew's.
At anyrate, in about a quarter of an hour Nicholas came back alone,
having left our comrade to watch the other sutler's departure, and told
me that he was going away to summon the rest.
"Fill a couple of glasses for ourselves first," he said; "I want to
give the Jew time to get his things away."
The old soldier cocked his ears.
"You have bought the Jew's stuff too, my boy?"
"Yes," said Nicholas; "my company will drink, this evening. Get madame
and your property to a safe distance, as there may be trouble."
The old man took the hint and hurried away; he was too experienced a
soldier not to easily guess what would happen when a poor and thirsty
company looked on at the carousal of a rich and happy one.
Well, down came the company, laughing, clapping one another on the
back, jumping about, for all the world looking partly like schoolboys
out for an unexpected and unhoped-for holiday, partly like a commando,
as the Dutch say, from the lower regions. There was not room for all
in the huts, but the barrels were quickly rolled out and broached with
due care, for who would spill good liquor? There was no scrambling or
pushing; in spite of the excitement every man waited good-humouredly
for his turn, for was there not enough for all? Eight or ten of us
selected by Nicholas were filling the glasses; a man came to me and
asked for brandy, I gave him a glassful, he drank, passed on to a
second and got a ration of wine, and then went off to the place where
the tobacco was distributed, giving way to another. This went on
continuously until all had received an allowance of brandy and another
of wine and a third of tobacco, and then Nicholas, this time also
accompanied by Le Grand and me, went for the _nouveaux mariés_, as
he called them. We brought them down in triumph, Apollo smiling and
bowing, the Cooloolie girl beaming with happiness, Nicholas as solemn
as a judge, Le Grand and I breaking our sides with laughter. Such
cheering and such compliments! Such a babel of tongues! The soldiers
were all shouting out, every man, or almost every man, in his own
tongue, and those words I caught and understood did not certainly err
on the score of modesty. Nicholas amidst renewed cheering handed an
immense vessel of wine to the lady; she drank some and passed it to
Apollo, who drained it to the bottom.
When the cries had somewhat subsided Nicholas made a short speech.
He alluded in graceful terms to the happy pair, and hoped that their
children's children would in the years to come follow the flag in the
old Legion, in the old regiment, in the old battalion, above all, in
the old company. He praised the company; he said we could fight any
other company on the face of the earth; as, he concluded by saying,
our well-loved comrade has taken, and will keep, the woman he wants
without asking any man's permission, so we have taken, and will keep
for ourselves, the liquor in the camp.
He spoke in a loud tone, so that certain men of the other company might
hear. These were looking enviously on at the orgy, and were quite near
enough to make out the general tenor of his remarks. And Nicholas meant
them to hear his words. He was no fool, and he knew what his speech
would provoke; he was no coward, when the fight came, he stood up to
his work like a man; he was no liar, for at the investigation he told
exactly what he had done, and kept back only his purpose in doing it.
I may mention here that there were no _sous-officiers_ and no soldiers
of the first class at the carousal. We were all men of the second
class, who neither hoped nor wished for promotion, therefore we were
quite careless as to what might happen.
Very soon the fellows of No. 4 Company began to come out of their
quarters by twos and threes. As we saw them approaching we raised our
voices, we shouted, sang, danced, cried out toasts, and did everything
in our power to make them at once angry and jealous. The Cooloolie
was in the centre, seated in Apollo's lap, the Greek himself having
improvised a sort of arm-chair out of the staves and ends of an empty
barrel. Even then things might not have been too bad, but nothing can
keep a woman quiet, especially when her tongue is loosened with wine.
She called to the men of No. 4 to go and fetch the Portuguese, and we
all laughed. She openly and without shame showered kisses and other
endearments on her lover, and the laughter was redoubled. She called
out to the poor, thirsty and tantalised devils outside the charmed
circle that her old sweetheart was--well, let me leave her words to
the imagination of those who have ever listened to an angry, reckless
woman's tongue--and she ended by saying that the Portuguese was only a
fair sample of his comrades. The men of No. 4 were now all around us,
and those of us who, like myself, had partaken only sparingly of the
wine began to scent a fight. There was no premeditation, I believe,
on the part of the others; indeed, the only man who desired to make
trouble from the beginning was Nicholas the Russian, and truly he got
his wish gratified to the full. A few bad words passed between some of
theirs and some of ours, a blow was struck and replied to; in a moment
a wild rush towards the combatants was made by all. A general melee
ensued, and in a second almost, as it seemed, a little spot of ground
was covered with the struggling, twisting, writhing bodies of four
hundred angry, swearing men.
As I was running down to where the press of fighting was, I came full
tilt against a man of No. 4. He and I staggered and almost fell from
the shock. Luckily I had a half-empty bottle in my hand, and though
when he recovered himself he almost made me totter with a swinging blow
on the chest, yet I sent him fairly down with an ugly stroke of the
bottle across the head.
The next man I crossed tumbled me fairly over. What followed
immediately afterwards I do not know. The next thing I remember is that
I was standing on a table, striking out on all sides with the leg of
a chair. A sudden rush on the part of the men of No. 4 drove back our
company, the table was overturned, and I found myself sprawling on the
ground, trying as best I could to regain my feet. Our fellows rallied
and pushed back the others, and a tacit armistice took place. Not for
long, though. The others got together in a mass, we formed up in a
circle round the barrels and the tobacco, and the fight re-commenced.
And the Cooloolie woman was the best combatant of all, for though she
herself did not do more than claw a man or two, who broke away at once,
not wishing to hurt a woman beloved by men of both companies, yet
with her cries and execrations she lashed them and us into a fury of
fighting which made all men perfect devils. I have seen worse fighting,
but then we had weapons. This fight was really the most savage save
one, which I shall speak of afterwards, for there was no care of
hurting comrades, there was no hanging back in the rush, there was no
yielding of even a foot in the defence, and all the while the white
guards looked on in horror, and the Turcos crept back to their part of
the encampment with deadly terror in their hearts.
Half-a-dozen times we stopped for a moment or two to take breath. Then
one of ours would rush at a man of No. 4, or one of No. 4 would come
with an oath against a man of ours, and in a second the fray would be
re-commenced. The officers and the _sous-officiers_, the guard and the
picket, tried to separate us. It was all in vain; they might just as
well have tried to pull apart two packs of wolves. Moreover, half of
the soldiers brought down to quell the trouble belonged to ours, and
half to No. 4, and the commanding officer was very much afraid that
these might join in the fight, and they carried arms and ammunition.
But, you will say, why not use the Turcos? Ah, that would never
do. The commanding officer might succeed in putting an end to the
disturbance with their assistance, it is true, but the consequences
which were sure to follow were too serious, for the Turcos would never
afterwards be safe from an attack. All the legionaries, not merely the
men of the companies in the camp, but all the legionaries throughout
Algeria, would resent the interference of the native troops, and
heaven only knows what scenes of bloodshed might arise in unexpected
quarters, and from trivial causes. Had there been even half-a-company
of Frenchmen in camp all would have been well, but the nearest French
soldiers, a squadron or two of chasseurs, lay a few kilometres away.
To them, however, a mounted messenger was sent, and when we were
almost weary of fighting, and began to think it time to look after the
wounded--the place looked like a battlefield where regular weapons
had been employed--we heard the trumpets of the cavalry and saw not
a hundred yards away the long line of horsemen thundering down with
raised swords at the charge. Before the chasseurs we broke and fled,
but they were on us too soon for safety, and many a man went down
before the charge.
As I was running to a hut a sergeant of chasseurs overtook me.
Instinctively I jumped aside and lifted my right arm to protect my
head. It was no use; down came the flat of the heavy sabre on my
shoulder, and almost at the same time the charger's forequarter
struck me sideways on the breast. I fell, and wisely remained quiet
and motionless on the ground until the charge had passed. I then got
up and reached the hut, which I found almost packed with men of both
companies, whose appetite for fighting had altogether disappeared.
In a short time we were all prisoners. My company was marched to the
north side of the camp and No. 4 to the south, and we lay out all the
night; and nights are very cold in these warm countries--the more so by
contrast with the heat of the day.
Now about the casualties. I cannot tell the exact number killed
outright in the quarrel or charge, or of wounded who afterwards
died, but it was certainly not less than a score. More than 100 were
seriously injured, and there was not a man of all the fighters without
several ugly marks on his body. The Greek, who had fought well until,
as I heard, a blow of a stone brought him insensible to the ground, had
his brains knocked out by a horse's hoof; the Portuguese, we learned,
died in hospital of his hurts. As for the Cooloolie girl--well, what
would you expect? She wept for a week, and then took to herself a
new lover out of the many who sought her favour, for your famous or
notorious woman does not long lack suitors.
How we made up the quarrel and escaped severe punishment--heaven knows
we punished ourselves enough as it was--must be told in a new chapter.