On a beautiful summer morning we marched down to the quay to join the
transport that was to carry us and five or six hundred others to our
destination in the East. All was bustle, excitement, and confusion
for some time, but matters quickly arranged themselves, and, when the
last of the stores had been safely stowed away, we marched in single
file up the gangway and stood to attention by squads on the deck. Each
squad was led off by its corporal to the place assigned to it, and in
a short time our quarters looked for all the world like a barrack on
shore, save that one saw no bed-cots there. Our rifles and equipments
were put in their proper places, the roll was called below for the last
time, we were reported "all present and all correct," and then we were
allowed to troop up on deck, to get our last glimpse of the land that
many of us would never see again. As the ship cast off, we raised a
cheer which was responded to by the people on the quay, a band ashore
struck up the Marseillaise, the Frenchmen first, and then we others
of the Legion took up the refrain, and thus amid cheering, singing,
and waving of helmets and handkerchiefs we started on our voyage to
Tonquin. There were not many friends of those aboard weeping on the
quay; we legionaries had none, and the Frenchmen were zephyrs--that is,
men of bad character who had been assigned to convict battalions, and
their friends, no doubt, were not over sad about their departure. There
were some ladies and children who were affected, but they belonged
to the officers--the sub-officers and the men had no friends, no
relations, no home, one might say, save the barrack, the cantonment
hut, the tent, or, as at the time, the troopship. Well, so much the
better: having nothing to lose but life, and that as a rule a wretched
one, we should be the more reckless when recklessness was needed, and
the French generals took care that we, the zephyrs and the legionaries,
were put in the fighting line as much as possible and that the good
men, the respectable soldiers, should only come into the fray when the
burden of the fight was over and when we others were so spent with
toil that reliefs were absolutely necessary. Let no one misunderstand
me. I do not wish to convey that the French soldier or officer shirks
danger; on the contrary, I believe Frenchmen to be amongst the most
daring soldiers in the world and the most cheerful under hardships, but
the generals did not see any good in putting worthy citizens, future
fathers of respectable families, into the most dangerous positions
when they had ready to their hands men who bore so bad a reputation
as the zephyrs and the legionaries gathered from every country under
the sun. They were quite right in this, but all the same we might
sometimes, just once in a while, have been allowed to dawdle along with
the reserve instead of being continually on the jump where the bullets
were. Of course, though we grumbled, we were proud too that the most
difficult and most dangerous work fell to our share.
For the first couple of days out I was very sea-sick, but the horrible
_mal-de-mer_ in the end passed off, and I was able to take an interest
in things around me as before. I don't mean to say much of the life
aboard. Such a tale would be only a recital of troubles and grievances,
but troops on a transport cannot expect a very pleasant time. One thing
we were glad of--there were no women and children aboard. The veterans
told us why we should rejoice at this, and any man who has travelled on
a troopship with women and their babies will easily guess the reason.
The worst part of the voyage was while we were going through the Red
Sea. There one loathed his morning coffee and growled at his evening
soup. The dull, deadly, oppressive heat in that region almost killed
us. We lay around, unable almost to curse, and the soldier who finds
himself too weak to do that, must be in a very bad way indeed. Only
once in the Red Sea did we show signs of life. It was when a French
troopship passed us on her way home with sick and wounded from the
war. The convalescents crowded on her deck and raised a feeble shout.
We cheered heartily in reply, and we kept up the cheering until it was
impossible for them any longer to hear. We pitied them, poor devils.
How they must have in turn pitied us, going as we were to the wretched
land where they had left behind health and many good comrades, and
where we too should pay our quota of dead and receive our quota of
wounds and illness. Anyway the sight of them roused us for a time, but
we quickly fell back into the languor induced by the excessive heat.
Here let me make a remark which may be of interest to many. We
legionaries had men, as I have already said more than once, from
every country in Europe, and from some outside of it, and one might
imagine that men of different nations would be differently affected
by the heat, aggravated, as it was, by cramped quarters and wretched
food. Well, I cannot single out any country whose natives endured the
discomfort better or worse than the others, but there were undoubtedly
two classes of men aboard, one of which was far more lively, far less
given to grumbling, and altogether possessed of more buoyancy and
resilience of temperament than the other. These were the men of fair
complexion. All the fair-haired, blue-eyed soldiers seemed to be able
to withstand bad conditions of living more easily and better than their
dark-complexioned comrades. I offer no explanation of the fact, but I
noted during the voyage for the first time, and afterwards I had many
opportunities of confirming my original impression, that fair men are
superior to dark ones in endurance and in everything connected with
war except the actual fighting; with regard to that, complexion does
not count. I have noticed in fever hospitals that the black moustaches
far outnumbered the reddish ones; in a field hospital there was never
such a disparity. I cannot say that other observers agree with me. I
merely put on record a thing that I noticed and that produced a deep
impression on me, but I never mentioned it to my comrades, nor shall I
now write down the various speculations with regard to men and nations
that I was led by it to indulge in. All I say is: I thank my stars that
my moustache is rather red--that seems to me a token of endurance, if
not of strength.
In due time we arrived off Singapore, and put in there. I must now
mention a few incidents of our stay in that harbour; they were, indeed,
the chief events of the voyage.
The reason why we put into Singapore was that coal had run short, and
the captain of the troopship did not like to go on to Saigon with
the small supply left. Those of us who did not know that Singapore
belonged to Great Britain soon learned the fact, and more than one
eagerly desired to get clear of the ship to land, and thus regain his
freedom. Now, I am no apologist for desertion. I think it a mean and
cowardly crime, but, if there be any excuse for it, surely many of
ours must be held excused. Remember that we were foreigners in the
French service, that many of ours had had good reason to flee from
justice in their own countries, that we all had a bad reputation with
our officers and our French comrades, and, above all, that recent
events--the fight at Three Fountains and the morbidly suggestive mound
at the east side of the camp there; the ugly fear of a horrible desert
station and the intolerable heat of the Red Sea--had made many men
think anxiously, constantly, longingly of getting away, at a stroke as
it were, from ugly memories and gloomy forebodings begotten of them.
Men don't desert from their colours without grave reason. Even the
most flighty man will think twice and thrice before taking the risk of
the court-martial that awaits detection or recapture. Moreover, in our
case sentries with loaded rifles were on duty at all points; one would
imagine that not even a rat could leave the ship unnoticed.
Well, the vessel was brought near the wharf and two gangways were run
out, one for the coolies carrying in the full baskets, the other for
the coolies going out with the empty ones. These coolies carried their
baskets on their heads, as you often see women carrying loads in other
countries. As each one passed the bunker he tipped the contents of his
basket in, and then went under a little archway, and crossed out by the
second gangway for a new load. Now there was one man of my company--a
Bulgarian--who was under confinement for some slight offence against
discipline, and, as the heat was almost unbearable, he had been brought
up by the guard--acting with the commandant's permission, be it well
understood--and allowed to sit under this archway during the heat of
the day. I was the nearest sentry to him, being placed at the outgoing
gangway, and one of my orders was to watch this man. Like many other
orders I remembered this one only in order to be able to repeat it to
the officer of the day, and never imagined that there was any necessity
of caring more about it. I was mistaken.
As the coolies passed under the archway, a good deal of coal dust
accumulated there. This dropped from the baskets, which they often
carried mouth downward in their hands, when empty. The prisoner had a
vessel of water, and this he carefully mixed with coal dust until he
had enough to stain all his body black. I must mention that part of
his little apartment was screened off from view by a half-partition,
and while in this recess he could be seen only by the coolies as they
passed through. Here he undressed and carefully blackened his person,
and then, watching a favourable opportunity when my attention was
completely taken up by a dispute on the quay, he throttled a coolie
passing through, forcibly seized his basket, gave him--as payment, I
suppose--a knock-down blow on the point of the jaw, and started for the
gangway. This he gained unperceived by me. Half-a-dozen steps carried
him ashore, and once on British soil he was safe from all arrest. He
flung the basket on the ground, and at once ran at his utmost speed
towards the town. A cry from those on shore called my notice to the
running man, and I knew at once, by his size and carriage, that the
Bulgarian had escaped. The moaning of the coolie, who was rapidly
coming to after the sudden and savage assault on him, was another
intimation that I had of the escape. I was put under arrest at once,
and kept in close confinement until we reached Saigon, but the officer
in command did not punish me further. The ingenuity displayed by
the deserter was so evident, that no one blamed me very much for
being taken off my guard and allowing a wrong man to go ashore, and,
moreover, as we neared Tonquin, all thought more and more of the
fighting and less and less of punishing a man who was not flagrantly in
the wrong. Of course, there was no chance of recapturing the Bulgarian;
he had reached foreign soil, and there is no act of extradition
affecting men guilty of merely military offences. It was well for him,
however, that my eyes were turned towards the dispute on the quay; all
the blackening would scarcely have deceived me, and I should have shot
him dead on the gangway before he could have time to reach the land.
For all that I was glad that he got safely away, for, though a man will
do his duty no matter how disagreeable it may be, yet he is not at
all sorry when he misses the chance of doing such duty as mine would
have been, had I noticed the runaway in time. Further on I shall have
occasion to mention the case of another deserter, a man who deserted
from a certain European army to French soil, and it was strange--oh,
very strange--that neither the French nor the other sentries could
hit him at less than a hundred yards' range, while he was making a
desperate rush across the strip of undefined territory that marked the
frontier.
Some other incidents occurred at Singapore, but, as I was under arrest,
I can only speak of them as I heard about them from my comrades. After
the Bulgarian's escape a far stricter watch was kept--double sentries
were posted--but to a determined man nothing is impossible. More than
one was found absent at morning roll call, and at last it became
evident that, in some cases at least, connivance on the part of a pair
of sentries had permitted the escape. If a man once got down into the
water, he was practically free. Certainly a shark--and sharks do abound
in these waters, and especially in the harbours, where they pick up all
sorts of garbage--might cross his path, but there was not much danger,
as the distance to the land was so small. No one of ours, as far as
we could know, was caught in such a way. One, however, was caught by
something almost as bad, but I must give a new paragraph to describing
the hero of the tale before I begin the story about him.
The man I refer to I have already mentioned in connection with the
negotiations between the companies after the fight at Three Fountains.
He was the Italian that held the same leading place in the deputation
from No. 4 Company as Nicholas the Russian did in ours. Without
education--I don't believe that he could write his name--he possessed
a fund of shrewdness and a faculty of quick observation that made him
more than the equal of scholars--and many men of good education were
in our ranks. Not at all desirous of a quarrel, he was pre-eminently
one to avoid fighting with, for in a row he forgot all about his own
safety and seemed not to care what hurt he received so long as he
hurt his enemy, and any weapon that lay at hand would be used by him
without hesitation at the time or remorse or shame afterwards. A smart,
clean, active soldier; yet he was always getting into trouble and
disgrace, now with his corporal, at another time with the sergeant of
the section, but never with the officers. Fellows said that he belonged
either to the Mafia or the Camorra, but opinions were divided as to
whether he came to the Legion to avoid arrest by the Italian Government
for crimes committed in the course of business or punishment from his
association for treachery or some other offence against their laws.
Anyway he was with us, and though not liked, still respected; though
we did not fear him, yet we took good care to let him alone. He was
not a man--to his credit be it said--who interfered with others. Why,
then, should others interfere with him? About five feet five in height,
of carriage alert rather than steady, with quick, black eyes, dark
complexion, small, black moustache, regular features and even, white
teeth, he was certainly one to attract anyone's attention, especially
a woman's. He was very cynical with regard to the sex, not valuing
woman's fondness much, but, all the same, so long as he was a girl's
lover he allowed no poaching on his preserves. He sang well--French
songs as well as Italian--and played on more than one musical
instrument, his favourite one being a small flageolet, and with this
he lightened more than one weary hour for us on shipboard. He never
told anyone, I believe, of his intention to desert. I fancy he was too
cautious for that. When he did go, no sentry connived at the business,
for, even had our men been doing duty, not one of us cared so much for
the Italian as to risk a court-martial for his sake.
I must here remark that the legionaries had been relieved of sentry
duty, as so many of them had gone away without even bidding good-bye
to anyone. The French soldiers, the zephyrs, were now doing all this
duty; and they did it so well, I must admit, that no man got clear
away while they were on the watch--at least until the Italian left
the ship--but his absence was not a long one. All our coal had been
taken in, and the vessel had moved away from the wharf out into the
harbour, so that it lay about 200 yards from shore. The sentries must
have thought that no man would be so mad as to attempt to swim such a
distance, since the water was full of sharks, and in all probability
their vigilance had decreased. The morning after the ship had moved out
the Italian did not answer at roll call, and it was at once assumed,
and truly, that he had escaped, and, as no cry from the water had
been heard by the men on duty, that he had got safely to land. Before
the hour of departure the French consul came off in his own boat, to
see the officers of the ship and of the troops. This, of course, was
natural, but everyone was surprised to see him, as soon as he gained
the deck, rush forward with malicious joy in his eyes to greet the
commandant.
"Ah, mon commandant, I have a present for you."
"Thanks, thanks, my friend; how you are good!"
"A most charming present. I bring you a friend whom you most earnestly
desire to see."
Leaning over the side he shouted out some orders to his sailors, and
they, going under an awning at the stern, carried out the Italian
bound hand and foot. How the commandant cursed him; how the Frenchmen
smiled and jeered; how we, his comrades, felt sad that our worthy
comrade should have been caught almost on the threshold of liberty!
_Camaraderie_ overcame all other feelings, and we pitied the poor
wretch, for we guessed that a court-martial would have little mercy
on a soldier, especially a soldier of the Legion, captured in the act
of deserting from his company while on the way to the seat of war. As
for the Italian, he was calm and collected, but, if he were free and
had a knife and were within striking distance of the commandant, that
officer would surely have had an end put to his cursing on the spot. In
a moment the Italian was brought aboard and at once sent down to the
prisoners' quarters, where he found several comrades, myself among the
number, eagerly speculating on the noise and confusion above.
As soon as the guard had gone away someone asked the Italian what the
noise on deck was about. He answered sharply:
"About a better man than you--about me."
None of us cared to put any further questions; Cecco was in very bad
humour indeed. However, in about ten minutes he told us all, saying he
had slipped over the side of the vessel when four sentries had come
close enough to chat--this, you must remember, meant only the approach
to one another of two posts, as all sentries had been doubled--that he
had been in the water for about three minutes when he came close to
a boat, which he boarded; that, like a fool, he made himself and his
intention known before he found out the character of his hosts; that he
was at once seized, and was told, when bound, that the boat belonged
to the French consul and therefore he was still on French territory.
"The rest you know," said he, "or can guess." We were sorry, and told
him so. He thanked us graciously enough, and hoped we might have
better luck in our enterprises than he had had in his, and, in reply
to a question as to what he thought would happen, he said at first
that he did not know and he did not care, but he would dearly like to
have the commandant at his mercy just long enough to kill him. "Listen
carefully," he went on. "I shall be shot in all probability, but they
will give me a chance of saying a prayer and making my confession
before I die. The commandant will also be shot, but he will get no
notice, and, unless he be very lucky indeed, no priest will be present
to send him absolved from sin into the presence of God." For the rest
of the voyage the Italian and we got on well together. He got the best
of the dinner, not that he thanked us or that we wanted thanks; he knew
why we did it, and we should have been very bad soldiers indeed if we
did not do a little to keep up the spirits of a man doomed, as we knew
him to be, to a sudden and early death.
Let me anticipate once more. After our arrival at Saigon, Cecco was
court-martialled, openly insulted the officers composing the court, was
sentenced to death, and shot the following morning. And the commandant
was shot in the back in a little skirmish in Tonquin--a brilliant
little affair that would have brought him promotion had he lived. It
may have been an accident, but there was at least a dozen Italians in
the company immediately behind him, and in the heat of action bullets
do occasionally go astray. How do I know that he was shot in the back?
Well, I don't _know_, but I suspect for two reasons: first, there was a
sort of investigation, which naturally led to nothing; and, secondly,
the Italian's words came back to my mind directly I heard of the
commandant's death. After all, is it not bad enough for an officer to
punish a man or to get him punishment? Why should he swear at the poor
devil and abuse him as if he had no spirit, no sense of shame, no soul?
Any man will take his punishment fairly and honestly, if he believes
that he has deserved it; no man will stand abuse without paying in full
for it when he gets his chance, for abuse is not fair to the man who
is waiting for his court-martial. But all, or nearly all, officers are
either fools or brutes.
Another thing that happened at Singapore Le Grand told me afterwards.
In the early days of desertion a fellow--I think he was a Belgian--came
to Le Grand and proposed that they should go away together.
"I am," said the Belgian, "a baker by trade; you speak English well and
can teach me. Let us go together. You will interpret for me and I will
work for both. We shall get enough of money in six months to carry us
to the United States, and there we shall separate as soon as I know
enough of the language to make myself understood."
"No," replied Le Grand; "I volunteered for the war, and I mean to see
what fighting means in Tonquin. Moreover, if I went away now, no one I
care about would ever have any respect for me again. It is bad enough
with me as it is; I will do nothing to make it worse. The most people
can allege against me now is folly; no one shall ever be able to charge
me with cowardice as well."
Many times the baker renewed his entreaties to Le Grand to go away. Le
Grand would not: he knew that hardships--perhaps sickness or wounds or
death--lay before him, but better anything than self-reproach and loss
of self-respect. Le Grand was right in his own way, because he was, and
is (for he is still alive and in a good position), a gentleman; the
Belgian baker was wise too in his generation and according to his own
lights. He slipped off before the Frenchmen were ordered to supply all
the guards. No one knows whether he fell a prey to the sharks or not,
and, I may add, no one--not even Le Grand--cares.
The only other important thing that was told to me was that our fellows
and the zephyrs became rather dangerous to one another. From the
beginning we were not too amiable, but when the commandant put us--at
least the other legionaries, for I was at the time in the prisoners'
quarters on account of the Bulgarian's escape--to do most of the
duties about the ship and put Frenchmen only on sentry, so that no
more men of the Legion might desert, things rapidly came to a head.
The commandant was lucky in two respects--the voyage to Saigon was
short, and a French war vessel accompanied the transport. Had there
been a twenty days' voyage without an escort the decks would have been
washed red with blood, for, be it remembered, though the average
French soldier can conduct himself with propriety in almost any place,
the zephyr is a military convict pure and simple. No matter how bad we
were, the zephyrs were worse. Well, let me put it in another way: the
zephyrs aboard were the bad characters of the French army; we others,
the legionaries, were the bad characters of all the other armies of
Europe. They, the zephyrs, had no chance of regaining their characters
in their own country, where their misdeeds were known; our fellows
had started, each with a clean sheet, on joining an alien army. Thus
our reputation as a body was bad, but no man had any very ugly charge
against his name; the zephyrs were bad by man, by squad, by company,
and by battalion. However, they are really amongst the finest fighting
men in the world; some people, indeed, say that the zephyrs are second
only to the legionaries.
There was no fight. The big war-vessel lay not so far away, and
all knew what its shells could do. Strange that we met these very
zephyrs afterwards, and our companies and theirs, certainly aided by
others, did a hard afternoon's bayonet-work together. We were friends
after that, so much so that I believe that one battalion, and that a
battalion of zephyrs, is the only one of the French army to speak with
liking--all, of course, speak with respect, unless at a distance--of
the Foreign Legion. But everything to its own place.
At last we reached Pingeh--a fine harbour. I was set free, as well as
all other prisoners save the Italian, and we disembarked, happy again
at the change, to take our share in the war against the Black Flags,
thinking more of the relief from the cramped quarters than of any
dangers that lay before us.