It was quite evident that the block-house would have to stand the
brunt of the attack this time as before. Now we were rather weak in
numbers for the adequate defence of the main position, yet not a single
man could be withdrawn from the little garrison of the outside post.
Even with the full number of rifles allowed to it the block-house
might be taken--taken, that is, in the event of the death or the
rendering ineffective of all its men, and that this was by no means
an impossibility was proved by the losses in the last fight. Out of
twenty-two sub-officers and men only seven were unscathed, and of the
others three were slightly, five severely, wounded, and seven killed.
With a more desperate and better sustained attack upon more exhausted
troops, might not the Chinese fairly hope for complete success?
To make up in some degree for the anticipated loss of the outpost the
captain gave orders that all vessels in camp should be filled, that, as
these were emptied they should be refilled, and that no soldier should
drink out of any vessel except his own water-bottle. All the rest,
filled as they were, were placed in a central position in the camp,
and this place all were forbidden to approach under pain of death. The
sentries on guard had strict orders to allow no one to go near the
precious stock of water. The captain said:
"If you do not shoot or bayonet the trespasser, I will drive you forth
unarmed to become the prey of the Black Flags."
If their own brothers had dared to approach the water, the sentries
would have shot them after hearing that.
A strong party was sent to the block-house, for there was a chance
that it might hold out, and in any case the captain resolved that the
enemy should not have it for nothing. The lieutenant of my company was
in command. I was second; there were two corporals, one an Alsatian,
the other a Lorrainer, and twenty men. This was as many as could be
conveniently accommodated in the small space. We were all well supplied
with ammunition; we carried, every man, three days' provisions. When
we paraded before going out, the captain told us that we should hold
our ground as well and as long as we could; if we managed to repel one
assault, only one, our lives would be saved and the honour of the corps
maintained.
Our small party took up its quarters, relieving the others, who were,
you may be sure, not sorry to be relieved, and was at once divided into
three parts. I commanded one, a corporal each of the others; as for
the lieutenant, he was over all, and seemed to be ever watchful and
absolutely incapable of feeling fatigue. While one party watched, the
rest lay down and slept or tried to sleep. There was no cooking to be
done, as our provisions were of the cast-iron pattern--baked bread and
cooked meat; as for drink, we had a small allowance of native spirit
and as much water as we should want for three days.
For twenty-four hours we were undisturbed, except when once the door
was opened and a man looked out. Then a regular fusilade of shots came
towards us. We saw that we were fairly cooped up, and that the only
chance of our ever leaving the block-house alive lay in the arrival
of French troops. We fancied, but this was perhaps imagination, that
we could hear firing in the distance; this gave us hope and renewed
our courage. Early in the evening of our second day on duty a strong
attack was made not only on our post, but on the main position as well.
At first this was confined to a hot fire, and four of ours, one the
Alsatian corporal, were shot at the loopholes. As night came down,
the enemy approached to short range, and even in the dark we were a
splendid target for them. All the night they fired, and twice they set
the block-house on fire, but volunteers quickly put out the flames,
though at a fearful sacrifice of life. As the first beams of the rising
sun illuminated the battlefield, the Chinese regulars, followed by
a crowd of Black Flags, tried to storm the post. They succeeded in
breaking down two upright beams on one side and tried to pour in, but
our bayonets soon piled up a heap of bodies in the narrow entrance that
they had made. We got a short respite now, and heard with feelings
of indescribable joy a steady, well-sustained firing outside the
position held by the enemy. Once more, however, the Chinese attacked.
With battering rams of wood tipped with iron they broke down a clear
half of one wall. Some of the superstructure fell and delayed them
for a time, but this they quickly tore away, and the remains of the
little garrison, having no longer power to hold the fort or hope of
escape, sallied desperately forth, to sell their lives as dearly as
possible. The lieutenant leading fell shot between the eyes; the rest
of us rushed straight at the Chinese and bore them back. They rallied
and again attacked. We fought with the courage of despair. We could
make little head against them, but for all that we steadily piled up
a rampart of bodies in our front. I heard as I fought the familiar
war cry of the legionaries; I shouted out in reply. Just as a Chinese
lifted his musket to fell me to the earth, I saw the advancing line of
reinforcements. There was a sudden shock, and then came darkness on my
eyes, and, when I came to, the block-house, now on fire, was blazing in
the sunlight, and I felt a terrible agony in head and limbs and body.
But the post had been held and relieved; the enemy were scattered in
all directions, with hundreds of pursuers at their heels; there were no
more short rations to be dreaded, no more night attacks, nothing now
but rest and peace and warm congratulations.
Let me tell the fate of the little guard of the block-house. The
lieutenant, both corporals, and eighteen soldiers were dead; two
soldiers and I, the sergeant and second in command, were wounded.
Both the soldiers died that night; I, the sole survivor, was promoted
sergeant-major and recommended for the military medal. Had I been a
Frenchman, I should have got the cross and a commission; as it was,
I was more than satisfied, for did not I get the rewards won by my
comrades as well as by me? For a few days I lay in hospital, and the
doctors feared that I might suffer from concussion of the brain as a
result of the heavy blow dealt me by the Chinese. However, all bad
effects passed away quickly, and I returned to duty on the day that
my promotion to the rank of sergeant-major was confirmed. The captain
visited me in hospital; he would not allow me to talk, and merely said
that he was glad I had survived, and then laughingly told me that "the
devil's children had their father's luck." He could be sarcastic on
occasion, but I did not mind; I can take a joke as well as another.
After the post had been relieved the remains of the original garrison
were transferred to the sea-coast. The march down was exactly similar
to all the other marches, except in one important matter, we did not
have to break camp hurriedly and run after rapidly vanishing enemies.
No; our daily marches were not too long, our nightly rest was unbroken,
and, as we approached the coast, we got better quarters and better
supplies. The men too had the proud consciousness of a dangerous and
difficult duty well done. The other soldiers whom we met used to cook
our soup and prepare the camps for us; that's the soldier's way of
offering congratulations, and these were the compliments we liked.
When we marched one afternoon into Saigon, I was in very bad health.
The reaction after the siege, with its reduced rations, its constant
watchfulness, and all the little annoyances that beset a poor devil
of a sergeant trying to keep the men of his section content under
difficulties, together with the fatigue of the march, made me feel very
ill by the time we came to the base. Moreover, I was troubled about
the accounts of the company. The sergeant-major who preceded me, and
who was killed in the last attack, had left the company's accounts in
an unintelligible state; no one could tell whether any man had or had
not been paid a piastre since the beginning of the siege, nor could you
find out who had drawn occasional rations of wine and extra tobacco.
The captain knew nothing; he had been too busy with fighting and
looking after stores. I went to him and said that it was not fair to
ask me to make up a dead man's accounts. He agreed with me, and asked
me what the devil I was going to do about the affair.
"Let the clerks at headquarters settle all," I replied; "it ought to be
their business and not mine."
"Very well," said the captain; "but how will you throw the work on
their shoulders?"
"Easily enough," I answered; "I need but refuse to accept the books
until they are set right."
"But suppose you are ordered to take them and to set them in order
yourself?"
"Very well, sir; I will then claim money for every man, dead or alive.
When the clerks point out to me that a certain man is dead, I will
withdraw his name: in that way I shall give them more trouble than if
they were to make up the accounts themselves."
"Do what you like," said the captain; "only pay the survivors--the dead
may rest."
I took the hint, and made out the accounts in such a way, that it
appeared that all the dead had been paid in full up to the day of
death, and that none of the survivors had obtained a centime for
months. The paymasters grumbled, and I was called on more than once
for an explanation. I could only say that I knew nothing about the
men's accounts beyond what they told me.
"But how do you know," asked a commandant one day, "that the dead men
were paid in full?"
"I don't know it, sir," I answered; "but I have marked them as paid
because I cannot afford time to look for their heirs."
Everybody laughed at this--the idea of a legionary leaving legacies to
his relations was too ridiculous. In the end, however, we survivors got
nearly all the money we claimed, and everybody was satisfied.
It was easy to see that most of our company were unfit for further duty
at the time. Many were in hospital, and those of us who remained in
camp were listless and easily fatigued. The medical officers did not
like our looks, and it became a current report that we should all be
very soon sent back to Algeria. The transport was in harbour on which
we were ordered to embark for transportation home--that is, to the
legionaries' home, the wastes and sands of Northern Africa. Yet to us
these very places seemed like heaven compared with Tonquin: we were
all tired of the harassing warfare, the starvation, the marches, and
the constant watchfulness. It was fated that I should not return in
this vessel, as, only two days before it sailed, I had to go into the
military hospital, a place dreaded above all others by soldiers. There
I lay with an attack of fever, but my naturally strong constitution
shook this off, and in a few weeks I was ready to embark in a hospital
ship, with a few hundred others of all ranks and regiments, for
Marseilles. I had a relapse while in the Red Sea, and thought for the
first time that there was no longer hope for me. What made it worse was
that every day a dead body went overboard, and, though the officials
tried to keep this fact from us, sick men are too clever and too
suspicious to be easily imposed upon. One morning I saw the cot near
me empty--a poor marine fusilier had occupied it the day before. I had
known that he was sinking rapidly, but still the fact of his death gave
me a great shock. I got up with difficulty from my couch and made my
way on hands and knees to the companion-ladder, ascended this in the
same posture, and at length gained the deck unperceived. I felt the
cool breeze of the Mediterranean on my face, and thanked Heaven that
I was out of the horrors of Tonquin and the almost worse horrors of
the Red Sea. I remember no more until I woke up to find myself back in
my cot, with a couple of doctors and an orderly or two around me. The
doctors spoke in a friendly way to me, and asked me why I had gone up
to the deck. I said that I was restless, and scarcely knew what I was
doing, but that the fresh breeze above had done me much good. They then
said that very soon we should be at Marseilles and that I should be
better off there. I thanked them, promised not to leave my cot again,
and they withdrew. As they went, however, I overheard one say--so sharp
are sick men's ears: "He will come up again, probably to-morrow." I
wondered vaguely whether he doubted my word or whether he was merely
alluding to my probable death, but after a time I thought of other
things. I made no further attempt to go up on deck; even had I not
promised to stay quietly below, I had not strength enough to climb the
companion-way again.
A few days after we arrived at Marseilles and were carefully
transferred to a large hospital on land. There, I must admit, we
received excellent treatment. Not only were the doctors and the
orderlies kind and attentive, but the ladies of the town were also
extremely good to us. Chaplains also came round the wards frequently,
and, of all the places in which I have ever been, the military hospital
at Marseilles was one of the best. I could thoroughly appreciate the
kindness then, for my health came back quickly from the day I landed
from the hospital ship.
One day when I was allowed to get up and go to a convalescent ward for
a few hours an orderly came into the room, in a great hurry apparently,
and called out my name. I said:
"Here I am. What do you want?"
He replied: "Monsieur le général will be here soon."
"Does he come to tell me that I have been appointed his aide-de-camp?"
I inquired, laughing at my own little joke.
"No, my fine fellow," cried a corporal of some line regiment in a
corner; "he has come to ask you to be so kind as to marry his daughter,
who has a fortune of only one hundred thousand francs."
"Ah," said a cuirassier--I forget his rank, "the request is that our
friend the sergeant-major will consent to act as the general's second
in a duel with the Tsar of Russia."
A chasseur believed that that was not true, as he had learned from a
morning paper that I was to be ambassador to His Holiness the Pope,
"who knows," he went on to say, "how moral and virtuous are the lives
the legionaries lead, they being, in fact, monks in uniform." This
settled the matter; nobody could invent a more improbable--let me say
impossible--reason for the general's visit. I was asked continually
afterwards how the Pope was. Did he still hold the idea of asking
France to give him the sanctified legionaries as a new army? If we went
to Rome, should we have to soldier with the Swiss and other guards?
And a number of other questions were asked, all of which I answered
to the best of my ability, trying in every case to give a "Roland for
an Oliver," and often succeeding. I told the chasseur one day that
the Pope would not take us of the Legion as his guards; he preferred
the chasseurs: by converting them to decent practices he would gain
greater glory in heaven. The cuirassier learned that His Holiness would
soon send him the shield of faith--he already had the breastplate of
caution. The cuirassier did not like this. He indignantly protested
that he would rather fight in his shirt sleeves.
"Very well," I answered. "Do as the Austrians do--take off your cuirass
in time of war."
He asked me how I knew that. I replied: "Easily enough. I have many
Austrian comrades, but I have no French ones. We legionaries are
seemingly in the French army, but not, in real truth, soldiers of it."
Truth to tell, I was getting a little angry, because all wished to
unite against the solitary soldier of the Legion in the room. I let the
rest see that I was tired of their jokes, and afterwards they left me
alone.
Well, the general came in a short time into the room and called out my
name and rank. I stepped forward and stood to attention.
"You the sergeant-major?" he asked, in a tone of surprise.
"Yes, sir."
"Why, you are only a boy. How long have you been in the Legion?"
I told him. Then he asked me a number of questions about my service, to
all of which I answered clearly and respectfully.
"You are a young sergeant-major--very young." And he turned to speak
to a surgeon. Both looked at me often during this conversation. I
maintained always the stiff, erect attitude of the soldier in front of
his superior officer.
"You have been recommended for the military medal," at last the general
said.
"Yes, sir; my captain told me that he would recommend me for the
decoration."
"The recommendation has been confirmed," said the general, "and I have
come to give you the medal. I thought," he went on, "that I should
meet a veteran, and I find a schoolboy."
I said nothing; indeed, I did not know what to say.
"It does not matter about your age or the length of your service," the
general continued; "you have won rank and distinction, and I wish you a
prosperous career."
"Thanks, my general."
"Is there anything you want?"
"Yes, my general."
"What is it?"
"A Little Corporal to lead a schoolboy sergeant-major, that is all."
He drew back and looked at me. A susurrus of approbation went through
the room. Very little more was said. The general gave me the medal that
I had won, paid me a compliment or two, and went away. But the story
went round, and what would be hurtful to a Frenchman, who was at once
soldier and citizen, was a cause of no offence in a legionary, who
was only a soldier. But what I said was liked, and many a present I
received afterwards. The French know that the legionary is a soldier
pure and simple--well, not always pure, and very seldom simple--and
they know that the soldier of the French army who gives up for life
the clothes of the pékin and who dreams of nothing except fighting
and promotion looks on Napoleon the Great as a terrestrial Archangel
Michael. Him would we follow, him would we serve. God grant us
another like him, and then----. And the legionaries understood, and
wished as warmly as any Frenchman for the advent of another ideal
restless man and restless man's idol. The Little Corporal when he
was the great commander was bad, let us admit, to many, but he was
never bad to the man who served him well. It was not birth or wealth
that brought promotion under him but courage and devotion to duty.
True, he made mistakes, and these great ones--the imprisonment of the
Pope, the invasion of the white Tsar's frozen land, the too early
return from Elba were such--but in his mistakes even he was colossal,
unapproachable.
It was after this visit and the receipt of the military medal that the
jesting conversations began amongst us. However, I have told of them
already, and there is no use in going back upon a told story. That does
very well in conversation, especially when the glasses are filled and
the pipes going merrily, but in writing it is of no account.
Very soon after this I was strong enough, the surgeons said, to cross
to Algeria. All the men whose acquaintance I had made were good enough
to say that, though they were glad I was able to leave hospital, yet
they were sorry to lose my companionship. I thanked them all, told them
that I had had a pleasant time, and hoped to meet them again. In this I
was sincere. I have very pleasant memories of the hospital, but all the
same I wanted to get back to my own comrades.
Shortly after the surgeons had put my name on the outgoing list I left
the hospital for the troopship. I was brought to Oran, and there sent
again to hospital, but only for a few days. Here I was treated very
well indeed by those in charge, and I made a few casual acquaintances,
whose comradeship helped very much to pass the dreary time of waiting
until the principal surgeon should order me to be sent back to the
regiment. I think they kept me longer than was absolutely necessary,
and this for two reasons--my youth and the military medal. The surgeons
were quite as curious as my hospital companions to hear my story, to
learn all about my country and why I left it to join the Legion, how I
liked the French service, and every other thing that they could think
of. For the first time in my life I was made much of as a man of good
service and tried valour; if I gave somewhat exaggerated accounts of
the perils I had passed who can blame me? There was no sneering now
at the Foreign Legion; oh no! we were in Algeria, _la patrie des
légionnaires_.
At last the surgeon-in-chief told me that I should soon leave the
hospital. I thanked him for the information, and said that the only
cause of regret at leaving was that I should leave so many good
comrades behind.
"Have you been well treated here, sergeant-major?" he asked.
"Very well, sir; so well that I have lost the simple soldier's fear of
the hospital."
He laughed, and said: "I am glad. Take the advice of a friend, always
seek the surgeon when you are ill or wounded. The old prejudice was, in
its time, a just one; nowadays things are different."
I promised that I would do so. At the same time even to-day I fear the
surgeon's knife more than an enemy's bayonet or sword or even lance,
and the lance is what the infantry man most dreads--that is, of course,
of weapons. However, I have not since the day I left the hospital at
Oran ever been the occupant of a bed in one, and I sincerely hope that
I may never see, as a patient at least, the whitewashed wall of a
hospital again.
From Oran I was sent to the depot at Saida, where I remained for some
time. I did ordinary duty there as sergeant-major of a company of
recruits during the illness of the regular sub-officer, and so learned
a good deal more of my new duties than I knew when leaving Tonquin. I
was very glad of this, especially as the officers were very decent to
me. I was a different man now--a sergeant-major without a moustache but
with the military medal--from the young recruit who was sworn at and
abused every day by the drill instructors. No swearing or abuse now,
only compliments and flirtation and general friendliness. A happy time
indeed, too happy to last, as I learned before I was many months older.
I must now tell about my love and my sorrows and how I came to leave
the Legion for ever. Truly, I cannot say that I am sorry; truly, I
cannot say that I am glad. If the service of the legionary was a
hard service, yet it had its consolations; if you did wrong nobody
minded--that is, so long as you broke only the ten commandments. Of
course, military regulations and the rules of our society were very
different things; the first had to be kept if one did not wish for
punishment, you had to respect the second, or else lose the respect of
your associates, and though boycotting is a comparatively new word yet
it denotes an old and universal practice.
And now to tell of my _grande passion_, its course and its results, the
story of which was at one time, and may be even still, a classic tale
of the Legion.