The next important event of my life in Tonquin was the first battle of
Lang-Son. This was, to put it bluntly, a defeat for our troops and a
really creditable victory for our enemies. Of course, reasons are given
by the beaten side for every mishap. "Rank bad luck," for instance,
unknown and unforeseen difficulties of country, unsuspected numerical
superiority of the victors--anything and everything except a fair and
straight admission of an honest beating in open warfare. Now these
are all nonsense. Why should a general talk of "rank bad luck"? If he
ascribes a defeat to this, may not people fairly ascribe his victories
to good luck, and that alone? As for saying that the lie of the land
was not known, that is merely a confession of ignorance, and worse--of
carelessness in using his mounted men and his scouts. That an enemy
may succeed in massing a great number of men at a given point without
the knowledge or even suspicion of his opponent is quite conceivable;
is it not what every general who knows his business tries to do? Read
the history of any campaign and you will find that all the decisive
actions were won by a swift and secret concentration of troops against
an important place held by comparatively weak numbers. If I were a
general, I should try to divide my enemy's forces and concentrate
my own. Ah, when a man is beaten let him say so honestly; let him
point out, if he wishes, how his opponent out-manoeuvred him; and let
him, in the name of all the gods, say nothing about luck, and, above
all, be discreetly silent about anything that might hint at his own
carelessness or the worthlessness of his scouts.
Now, let me try to show how our defeat came about. But first let me
again say that the enemy beat us fairly and squarely in the engagement;
that we retreated is good enough proof of that. Well, in the first
place, the generals and the other officers firmly believed that the
Black Flags and their allies would never be able to stand up against
either our rifle fire or our charge. They had good reason, I admit, for
assuming this. Unfortunately, they never reckoned on having to fight
regular troops, officered and disciplined by Europeans, and it was
these regular troops, well armed, well drilled, well led, and showing
an amount of courage and staying power which one does not usually
attribute to Asiatics, that drove us off the field. There were Black
Flags and other barbarians in the fight, but these we could have easily
first stalled off with the rifle and afterwards cut to pieces with the
bayonet: it was really the men in uniforms who won the fight.
In the second place, we soldiers had learned to depend implicitly on
our commanders. They had led us so well that we had as much confidence
in their foresight and military skill as they had in our courage and
steadfastness. The day before we were driven from Lang-Son no man
even dreamt that our generals could be ignorant of anything occurring
within a radius of a hundred miles; that a numerous and well-appointed
army was within striking distance without their knowledge seemed, or
would seem, if such a thing entered our minds, the fancy of a fool or
the vain imagining of a coward. When the fight was going on we were
surprised at the gallant manner in which our foes stood up against us.
After a time, when more than once we had hurled them back with the
bayonet, we recognised that we were dealing with the most formidable
force that we had yet encountered. They gave us bullet for bullet,
thrust for thrust. They were good men, and when the bayonets crossed
they fought quietly and earnestly, and died without a murmur, almost
without a groan. They could never hold out long against us in a
charge--they were too light--and, another point to be noted, though
the Asiatic will face death by the hands of the executioner with far
more stoicism than the European, in the press of the battle the white
man's enthusiasm is infinitely better than the yellow man's contempt of
death. But in the firing they more than held their own, they were more
numerous, their ammunition was evidently plentiful, and, to tell the
plain truth, in spite of our bayonet charges they fairly shot us off
the field.
To put the matter in a nutshell: we were defeated because our generals
did not know the kind and the number of troops opposed to them. Let
me add, our overweening confidence in our own prowess gave way to
something very different as we saw ourselves slowly but surely forced
back, and noted that the bayonet was not used to gain ground for a
fresh advance but merely to drive back for a moment a too closely
pressing enemy. At the same time it is but justice to admit that
the defence was a good one. We retired, undoubtedly, but we showed
no confusion beyond that certain amount that always shows on a
battlefield, nay, even at a peaceful review.
I must now go on to my own part in the unlucky fight. After the first
repulse my battalion had been constantly engaged in covering the rear
of the retreat. On our right flank some French line regiment was busy
in the same way. All the other troops, as far as I could judge--but
a corporal sees very little of a battle outside the part borne in it
by his own company--had been withdrawn, and were hard at work getting
ready a new line of defence, while we who were just in front of the
enemy kept them back in order to gain time. At last we could scarcely
hold them at bay, and the order was given that our battalion should
retire by companies. Nos. 2 and 4 quickly left the firing line; No. 1
was the next to leave, and my company poured in as hot a fire as we
could until the order was given to run at top speed to the rear. I,
as luck had it, had just loaded. I fired deliberately at a white man
I saw about three hundred yards away cheering on the enemy, and saw
him fall. I then turned and ran as fast as I could after my comrades.
These were now some distance in advance, but as I went along I saw a
good path leading slightly away from the point where the company would
naturally fall into ranks again for another volley or two at the enemy
and to allow the men time to regain their breath. This path, though
slightly diverging from my route, at any rate would bring me away from
the enemy, and I could, when at a safe distance from the Chinese, cut
across country to rejoin my squad. I was running through rice-fields,
and I knew that I could vastly increase my speed on the path. My one
object at the time was to get away; I had no desire to fall, wounded or
unwounded, into my pursuers' hands. I therefore turned and fled along
the path, which ran by the side of a small stream.
As I ran, I noticed that the ground on the other side of the path
gradually rose and at length formed a fairly high mound. This,
however, I did not mind; every step took me further from the savages.
I gradually slackened speed as my breath gave out, and instinctively
flung away the cartridge, that I had fired at the white officer and put
my hand into the pouch at my right side for a fresh one. Just as my
thumb and forefinger closed on a cartridge, a sudden apparition met my
gaze. I was rounding a corner, and there, not twenty yards away, was a
Chinaman, evidently as astonished as I at the rencontre. I have never
been so frightened in my life as at this totally unexpected meeting
with an enemy in such a place. I had no power to take the cartridge
from the pouch and fit it into the rifle. I was thunderstruck; I felt
an awful horror of impending death. The Chinaman--he seemed a giant in
my eyes--hastily tucked the butt of his gun into his right armpit and
fired. I ducked instinctively, and at once knew that he had missed.
The awkward way he fired and the sudden movement on my part had saved
my life. In a second I had a cartridge in the rifle and the rifle at
my shoulder; the Chinaman dropped his weapon and fled. Now the pathway
was quite straight and level for a distance of about two hundred yards.
There was no means of making a hasty escape to one side or the other;
on the right ran the stream, on the left stood up a mound about eight
or nine feet high. I saw, therefore, that I could let my man go a good
distance without firing at him. This I desired, for my rifle kicked
a little. When he was about a hundred and fifty yards away I aimed
carefully at the back of his knee, pulled the trigger, and probably
took him fairly in the small of the back. He flung up his arms, reeled,
and fell face downwards in the water, and lay there quite still. I was
satisfied. I felt a natural and yet an unreasonable anger with the man
who had sought to take my life--natural, because every man hates those
who attack him; unreasonable, because why should not he try to do to
me as I should have tried to do to him were the positions changed? But
soon my anger gave place to caution. I reloaded and clambered up the
bank, determined to leave the path, as I could not know that other
Chinese might not stop my way with better success than the first. After
crossing through some low shrubs and brushwood the sound of volleys
quickly repeated led me to the company. I fell into my proper place.
Nobody said anything except the captain--a new man not with us a
month--who sarcastically asked if I had seen a ghost.
We gradually fell back towards the new line of defence. The regulars
attacking wasted no time, and pushed us rather rapidly along. At last
a staff officer came with a message to our captain, and we hurriedly
poured a heavy fire into the advancing enemy, then we all turned and
ran towards the point whither the captain led us. We got a good start
and covered the ground quickly; at a little line of small trees and
underwood lay safety. As we straggled into this we were ordered to
face about and lie down. We saw the Chinese regulars coming along with
hoarse cries of joy, not extended in skirmishing order, but in dense
masses of men, who pressed and struggled to the front.
A bugle call rang out, and suddenly a horrible rattle of musketry
began. The enemy were fairly caught. Every rifle of ours was blazing
away at about two hundred yards' range at the easy target they
presented. In a moment, as it seemed to me, the attack withered away.
Where a minute before were triumphant soldiers rushing in pursuit
of a fleeing foe, one saw now nothing but prostrate bodies on the
ground. Many, no doubt, flung themselves down as the first shots rang
out, but the vast majority must have been swept into eternity by our
fire. But this was not all. Our guns began, and even those who were a
thousand yards away felt staggered in their advance. For ten minutes
we heard nothing but the rattle of musketry, the booming of the guns,
the noise of the shells as they hurtled through the air, and then
the explosions a thousand yards away. The cries and shrieking of the
wounded were unheard and unheeded. If the enemy had driven us from
the field and could fairly claim a victory, we in the end taught them
such a lesson surely as defeated never before taught their conquerors.
That last firing more than equalised losses, and, better still, gave
us the bitter-sweet of vengeance, and restored the old feeling of
self-confidence that had been so rudely shaken on that day.
This was really the close of the battle. In various parts firing
still went on, but an attack in force by either side was manifestly
impossible. The Chinese regulars had been too much cut up towards the
close of the fighting; as for us, there was only one course to be
taken--retreat towards our base in order to prevent being outflanked.
The new line of defence had served its purpose. It was not strong
enough, nor were we numerous enough, to withstand an attack in force
on the morrow, especially as our opponents were strong enough to hold
us in front while flanking columns got round even to our rear. After
an hour's rest, which we badly wanted, the order was given to retire,
and for seven hours we struggled on, angry, weary and hungry. At last
we formed a little camp; some rice and brandy were served out--we had
no soup or coffee--and so, in bad humour with ourselves, the enemy, and
our rations, we lay down on the ground to forget in sleep discomfort
and defeat.
Luckily, the enemy did not press their advantage as they should. We
were soon reinforced, and when we had recovered from the fatigue of the
fight and the retreat, we again tried conclusions with them with better
success. The story of the second battle of Lang-Son will be told in
due course. I must now narrate an incident that occurred between the
battles, while we were still retreating and somewhat pressed by the foe.
First, it must be understood that my battalion formed part of the
rear-guard. There were French soldiers of several corps and native
levies as well, and I may say here that the Frenchmen showed as much
steady courage in retiring before overwhelming masses of the enemy as
they usually show of gallantry and _élan_ in a charge. I can never
again believe that the Frenchman is good only when advancing; given
capable officers, he is a perfect soldier at all points. This retreat
proved the fact. We were half starved; there was the continual fear
of being wounded and left to the merciless Black Flags; for all that,
while the legionaries were furious and occasionally downcast, though
doing their duty like brave men, the men of the line, the zouaves,
the marine fusiliers, the chasseurs--and I believe the rear-guard
had men of all these--were, after the first feeling of anger and
disappointment, cheerful, making light of difficulties, almost gaily
prophesying a speedy revenge.
Now one evening my battalion halted after a weary, heart-breaking tramp
during the day. We had had little food, and that unsuitable, for some
time. In my squad was a man whose country I have good reasons for not
mentioning; suffice it to say that he came from a land lying on the
eastern frontier of France. I shall call him Jean, though that was not
his name. All the day he was saying: "Quelle misère, quelle misère!"
until we were sick of the words, and I told him, rather roughly I am
sorry to say, to keep his troubles to himself. When we came into camp
great precautions were adopted to prevent surprise, and I may detail
these so that everything may be quite plain. Moreover, they will show
how careful our officers were.
Now, as I have often mentioned, a battalion has four companies.
Normally a company has two hundred and fifty men, but at this time the
strongest company of my battalion numbered only about a hundred and
sixty. In the camp the battalion lay in square, so that each company
had one side of the square to protect in case of attack, and had to
furnish all the guards and outlying pickets on that side. My company
lay on the side nearest the enemy, or, as I should rather say, nearest
the quarter whence an attack would most probably come.
When the company was halted and faced outwards, a corporal and his
squad--say seventeen all told--were detached to furnish the inner
sentries. Of these eight men were posted at intervals about fifty paces
from the main body; the corporal and the eight reliefs lay half-way
between them and the company. Thus every soldier was on sentry for two
hours at a time, and then had two hours to rest as well as he could on
the bare ground. This squad constituted the guard.
Now two squads with their respective corporals, having an officer
or sergeant in chief command, formed the outlying pickets of the
company or, if you wish, of one side of the square encampment. Half of
each squad acted as sentries about seventy-five yards from the inner
line of watching men; between the two lines of sentries the reliefs
of the outlying pickets rested. The sentries of the guard stood up,
the sentries of the outlying pickets lay down; no glint of buckle or
bayonet was allowed to show. It was next to impossible to surprise the
camp, even if the darkness should prevent the outer line of sentinels
from seeing the approach of an enemy, by placing their ears to the
ground they could easily hear the tread of any considerable body
of troops, and it would require a very considerable body of men to
surprise effectively--that is, to annihilate--about six hundred good
soldiers, who knew how useless it was to ask for quarter from such
enemies. I hope I have made this matter clear: military men, I know,
will understand, and I hope that others may be able to comprehend it
too.
My squad was for outlying picket that night, and as it contained only
fifteen men I had to borrow one from the corporal of the next squad
for duty. This happened to be the one in which Le Grand was, and I
asked for him. My request was granted, and Le Grand was attached for
twelve hours to my little party. The sub-lieutenant of the company
was in charge of the picket, and having led us out to our places he
ordered the other corporal and me to post the first sentries. I posted
eight men, amongst them Jean, who was still suffering from melancholy,
and returned to the spot where the reliefs were to lie. Nicholas, Le
Grand, and I lay near one another on the ground and began a whispered
conversation in English, a language that the Russian spoke with great
purity and ease. In the course of this I mentioned to Le Grand the
strange way in which Jean had been speaking all the day, and Nicholas
volunteered to tell us the poor fellow's strange story. I can only give
the merest outline of it. I wish I could tell it just as I heard it
that night, but Nicholas was a born storyteller; indeed, he was clever
in all things.
I must try to give it in my own words.
Jean had been a light cavalryman in the army of his own country, which
bordered on France. He was, in his own words, a _mauvais sujet_, always
getting into trouble. He could not resist the charms of female society,
and many a dreary hour he passed in prison for staying away from his
duties because he could not tear himself away from some newly-found
angel. Things in the end came to such a pass that his life in barracks
became unbearable, as his comrades had now turned against him. A
cavalryman's horse must be attended to, and if the rider be absent
his comrades have to do extra work. Now extra work is merely a cause
of extra swearing when the proper man for the duty is ill or absent
on leave, or even absent without permission once in a while, but when
a man is continually staying out and then getting sent to cells the
affair is altogether different. In no army will soldiers stand that. It
is quite enough, men say, for each to groom and feed his own charger,
but it is very unfair that a soldier, his own work done, should be
ordered to do the work of another who is away enjoying himself or
paying for his pleasure in the guard-room. So Jean had been rather
roughly disciplined by his fellow-soldiers, and this punishment did him
so much more good than any inflicted by the officers that for nearly
two months he was a fairly steady soldier. Seeing this, the other
fellows became again friendly with him, never, indeed, having borne
malice, and only desiring that he should do his share of the work.
Well, one night a big gamble was carried on in the barrack-room. Some
recruits had come in for training, and two or three of these were
fairly well off. The old soldiers thought that card-playing would
tend to a more equal distribution of the money, and preparations
were accordingly made for a wakeful night. A few bottles of brandy
and wine were smuggled in, and when all the lights were out blankets
were judiciously placed over the windows, the lower edge of the
door, and even the keyhole, so that by no accident might the game be
interrupted. Then some candles were lit, and after the men had been
cordially invited to drink, some game or other was begun, and, as was
natural, the more equable distribution of the money began. Now Jean was
a very good card-player, and the little pile of silver and coppers at
his corner of the table steadily increased, and when the little party
broke up at reveille, his head was heavy with sleep and his pockets
with money. He got through the duties of the day as well as he could,
and when evening came dressed to go out, just merely, as he said to
Nicholas afterwards, for a walk and a glass of wine. Of course, he took
all his money with him: that was an obvious precaution.
Soon after passing through the gate he met a lady whose acquaintance
he had made some time before. She was pretty and clever, knew how to
dress, and was by no means averse to the society of a handsome light
cavalryman whose pockets were well lined and whose reputation for
generosity in his dealings with the fair sex was so well established as
our friend's.
The pair had ever so much to say to each other, and Jean admitted that
he had a little money, sent to him by a rich aunt, he said, who would
some day die and leave him a nice little property--oh, merely a few
thousand shillings a year. (I use the word shillings as it gives no
clue to Jean's country.) "How good she was!" said the pretty girl. "And
I," she went on; "oh, you would never guess what I am doing now." Jean
guessed, and guessed, and guessed again. It was all no use; he had to
pay for a pair of gloves before his curiosity would be gratified. Then
she told him that a certain rich bachelor, a Government official, had
gone for a cure to some watering-place and had left her in sole charge
of his domicile until his return.
"Oh," said Jean, "I guessed the rich man, and yet I had to pay for the
gloves."
"True, my friend, very true indeed," she answered; "but you did not
guess the visit to the baths, and is not that, my handsome fellow, the
most important thing?"
There was no denying this. Surely it must rejoice youth and health to
find age and pain so careful, so thoughtful, for self and others!
Jean was generous; he could well afford to be, as he had won a
large sum, for a soldier; the girl, to give her her due, was not
too exacting. An idyllic life was lived by both in the beautifully
furnished house of Dives Senex for almost a week. Jean went out only
at dark, and then merely for a walk around the unfrequented parts of
the town for an hour. As he wore the old man's clothes, which fitted
fairly well, there was little danger of his being recognised. At last
the dreaded morning came when Jean should leave the house. He knew that
sharp punishment awaited him at the barracks, but he had made up his
mind to make a bold bid for liberty. This time he feared the anger of
his comrades more than a court-martial, for he had been guilty of the
unpardonable sin of winning money and spending it without the aid of
the other troopers, while all the work of barrack-room and stable was
left to them. He knew very well that the consequences would be ugly,
and he determined to desert from his corps, more from fear of the squad
court-martial than of the regular one presided over by an officer. Of
course, his desertion was nothing--that is common in all armies--but
Jean's plan of deserting was unique. I at least have never heard of a
similar case.
Now the town in which Jean's regiment lay was not very far from the
French frontier. At this place there was a debatable ground about a
hundred yards wide, and on each side a line of sentries, French on
the west, Jean's countrymen on the east. Jean had quite made up his
mind to cross to French territory; he believed that, if he could only
get there and get a few kilometres away from the frontier, the French
authorities would not trouble themselves to capture him and send him
back. Moreover, desertion, as I have already had occasion to mention,
is not an extraditable offence. The difficulties were to get to the
frontier, to cross it safely, and to travel some distance into France.
Well, Jean knew that at a certain hour that day his regiment would be
out of barracks for cavalry drill. He also knew a way of getting into
his quarters without passing any men of his own regiment on duty. An
infantry guard lay at a certain gate. They would in all probability let
him pass; he could then cross the infantry parade ground, go under an
archway or through a gate--I am not quite certain about this--and enter
the cavalry barracks. Once there he would act as circumstances required.
To make as certain as possible of passing the guard, he bought a
blue envelope, put a sheet of paper inside, fastened the edges, and
wrote the address of some high officer upon it, and then placed the
seemingly official document between his belt and tunic. Anybody
would thus mistake him for an orderly carrying a despatch, and so no
one would think of interfering. Thus prepared he easily passed the
infantry guard, nodding genially to some of the men, and made his way
across the parade ground to the entrance to the cavalry quarters. Here
he was in luck; no one was about except a couple of recruits doing
sentry duty--one at the stables, the other about fifty yards away.
Jean was not recognised by either, and, going to his room, put on his
sword, and dressed himself as if for general parade. He then went
down to the stables, saddled his charger, which was the only animal
in the place, mounted, and rode back the way he came. Again he passed
without suspicion the infantry guard at the gate, and soon found
himself smartly trotting towards the frontier. He was in high spirits.
Everything had gone so well, surely luck would not desert him now.
As he neared the frontier he trotted towards a guard-house on the
side of the road. The sentry near the door looked carelessly at him
as he came up, the sergeant did not condescend to come forward to
meet him: he was evidently only a light cavalryman sent with some
ridiculous message or other from the town. When only a few yards from
the guard-house, instead of pulling up and delivering the blue envelope
which he now held in his hand, he flung it on the ground, and driving
the spurs into his horse's sides he passed the astonished sentry and
galloped into the debatable land. A gap in the hedge allowed him into
the fields that bordered the road. He heard as he went through the
report of a rifle behind, but the sudden turn saved him. He now went
towards the French line at a spot about equidistant from two French
sentries, and as he did so he lowered his head to his horse's neck. The
French sentries also fired and missed. You can scarcely blame them;
their surprise must have been so great when they saw a presumably mad
light horseman invading single-handed the sacred soil of France. In
less time than it takes to tell Jean was through the second line of
guards and careering wildly across country, taking hedges, streams and
ditches like the winning jockey of the Grand National. A few scattered
bullets whizzed about his ears, but rider and horse were untouched. He
was now safe from the fire of his fellow-countrymen, and the French
sentinels probably did not want to hit him; his escapade, serious
though it might be for the others, was only a good joke to them.
Moreover, a private soldier must be very bad-minded indeed when he
tries to shoot another private, though of a different army, who has
evidently got into trouble and is seeking to escape. Certain things
excite compassionate feelings amongst men of all armies--amongst the
simple soldiers, I mean. As for the sergeants and corporals, the
thoughts of the chevrons they have and those they hope for make them
dead to all feelings of pity for a man in trouble.
After some time Jean began to feel somewhat at ease. He pulled up under
cover of a small wood and began to consider his next move. If he could
only get rid of the uniform he fancied he should be comparatively safe.
This had to be done quickly, as he was not more than three miles from
the frontier, and the French cavalry would soon be on his track. While
he was thinking he glanced around to see if he were observed, and
saw an old man, evidently of the farming class, looking at him with
surprise. Jean determined to appeal for aid, and going towards the
peasant frankly told his story. The peasant smiled at first and then
laughed heartily.
"My good friend," said he, "take off the saddle and bridle and put them
here," at the same time pointing to a place where the underwood was
very thick. Jean did so, and the old man carefully concealed them.
"Now lead your horse by the mane to that field where you see the cows
grazing, and return."
Jean obeyed.
"Now come to my house"--he pointed it out--"in ten minutes: no one will
be within. You will find clothes on a chair, but be sure to take away
again your uniform, belts and sword--they would be of no use to me;
hide them where they will not be likely to be found."
Jean did as he was told. He found some old clothes on the chair
just inside the door; on a table were some bread and milk. He drank
the latter and pocketed the former when he had put on the disguise,
and then flung all his military clothing and equipments into a
stagnant pool. On that day he did not travel far, but found a secure
hiding-place until the darkness should allow him to go his way in
safety. During the night he tramped about twenty-five kilometres,
keeping his eyes and ears on guard, but only once was he in danger.
He heard the footfalls of horses at a distance and left the road. Two
mounted gendarmes passed, and after a short interval Jean resumed his
journey. At daybreak again he sought and found a hiding-place, and
there slept for some hours. When he awoke he felt hungry and thirsty,
and resolved to try to buy something at a farmhouse that was visible
about five hundred yards away. As Jean spoke good French he anticipated
no difficulty on the score of language, and, having some silver in his
pockets, there surely ought to be no difficulty in the way of obtaining
supplies. When he went to the farmhouse he was met by an old woman, who
at once pitied the tired wayfarer with the handsome face and the ragged
clothes; she gave him bread and meat and a glass of wine, refusing all
payment. She was so good and looked so trustworthy that Jean told her
his story, omitting, however, all mention of women, and explaining
that his desertion was due altogether to the tyranny of the officers.
The good old woman pitied him the more for his sad tale; she even gave
him a suit of fairly good clothing belonging to her son, at the time
serving with his regiment. How the women of Europe love and honour the
soldier and pity his misfortunes! There the army has hostages from all
homes. She even pressed money on him, but this he refused to take. He
had money enough in his pocket to carry him a good way towards Paris,
and, even if he had to tramp a bit of the way, with his new clothing he
felt independent and free from care.
In the end Jean entered Paris, and immediately volunteered for the
Foreign Legion. At once he was accepted, and after a short time in
Algeria was sent to Tonquin. There he was taken into my battalion, and
handed over to me to help to make up the number of the squad. And now
he was amongst us, calling out every moment the unlucky words: "Quelle
misère, quelle misère!"
Nicholas took up a longer time in telling this story than I, but you
must remember that the Russian was very clever and had the story at
first-hand. I have only given the general outline; most of the details
have been forgotten by me after so many years.
Well, at last the sub-lieutenant in charge of both squads of the
outlying picket ordered the reliefs to be posted. I took Nicholas the
Russian, Le Grand the Irishman, and six others of various nationalities
to relieve the half-squad that had done sentry duty for the previous
two hours. I remember I put Le Grand in place of poor Jean. When
we--that is, I, the corporal, and the eight men relieved--came back
to the lying-down place I dismissed quietly the men, of course only
from duty, not from the place, and lay down on my back, shut my eyes,
and began to muse. Almost before I felt it I was in a half-doze, when
suddenly the report of a rifle caused me to jump up. As I opened my
eyes I saw, so quickly did the alarm arouse me, the falling body of a
man. I hurriedly called out the names of the reliefs--the men relieved
were now the reliefs--all answered except Jean.
"I think, my corporal," said an Alsatian, "that he has shot himself."
The whole camp was roused; the sub-lieutenant ran down and called me
to account for the alarm. I went over to the prone figure, passed my
hand across the face, and found it at once warm and wet. Poor Jean, as
we saw when dawn came, had blown away the top of his head. There was
no enemy, it was true, but I fancy the legionaries did not sleep any
more that night; a dead comrade in the camp is worse, a thousand times
worse, than a living foe outside.
Now I won't moralise over this. Jean, as I have called him, was a good
comrade, especially when he had money; he was fickle, but so were all,
amongst the women; he chose to shoot himself, that was his business and
not mine. And that is all that I, his corporal, have to say.