Soon afterwards some important changes took place in the battalion.
We were ordered to prepare a draft of four hundred officers and men
for the East, and in lieu of these we received a corresponding number
of recruits and veterans sent home. The changes in the officers were
many, for, in addition to those who went as a matter of course with
the draft, others volunteered for foreign service and were accepted.
As far as I was concerned, the officer most to be regretted was the
adjutant. The man who went was always kind and had ever a pleasant word
for Giulia and for me; the one who replaced him was destined to be our
greatest enemy. We could not guess this at the time, and naturally
thought that all things would go on as usual, but it was not long
before we were cruelly undeceived.
The new adjutant was a stout, thick-set man of about thirty-five years.
He had seen a good deal of service both in Algeria and Tonquin, and was
undoubtedly a very smart soldier and a most capable man for performing
the duties of his rank. That is all one can say in his favour. He
was harsh, even tyrannical; he never spared a man's feelings, and
his tongue could cut like a whip-lash. All the legionaries, from
sergeant-major down to simple soldier, feared and hated him; before he
had been in the battalion a fortnight we, who had been the most joyous
and careless fellows on earth, every man pleased with himself and with
his comrades, became the most sullen and dogged lot in the world. There
was just as much drinking as ever, but the singing, the _camaraderie_,
the easy give-and-take feeling that used to prevail, were all gone.
Moreover, the men drank more brandy and less wine, and, as I pointed
this out to Giulia, I said:
"Carissima, there will be bad work soon; somebody's blood will flow,
and then there will be an execution."
She shuddered as she replied: "How I wish that that bad man were sent
away! Before he came we were all happy, now I, even I, am gloomy and
troubled; I am oppressed by some foreboding that I cannot understand."
I could enter into her feelings, for I too had anxious thoughts, not
for Giulia or myself, indeed, but for the other legionaries. I felt
that an outbreak of some kind would occur, but the chief trouble was
to persuade myself that it would be merely a rash act on the part of
one man, who would free all from tyranny and take the punishment by
himself, but as the days wore on I, who knew the Legion by heart,
could see that there was a far greater chance of a number of men being
concerned in the _émeute_. One thing delayed action, the newcomers and
the rest had not sufficiently fraternised--four hundred strangers are
too many for any battalion to assimilate quickly.
One morning half-a-dozen men were having a nip of brandy each at a
little window at the back of the canteen; I was standing a little
apart, and Giulia was passing out the glasses. Suddenly the new
adjutant came round the corner and sternly asked the meaning of giving
out drink at such an hour. Nobody could reply. We all knew that the
commandant winked at the business, we all knew too that the canteen
should not be open at that time, but then no harm had ever come of it,
no man ever got more that one _petite verre_, and surely that would
rather help a man than hurt him if he wanted it. But how could I, the
one chiefly addressed, say all that? Oh no; I had to be silent and
take my abuse as best I could, and truly the adjutant was abusive. He
was still speaking like a brute when Giulia, with flushed cheeks and
sparkling eyes, broke in, and said:
"The sergeant-major has nothing to do with it, it is I alone who am to
blame."
The adjutant saluted her politely and replied that he understood that
I was in military charge of the canteen, but, even had I nothing to
do with it, I was acting in a most disgraceful fashion when I allowed
these pigs to get drunk so early in the morning.
"The soldiers are not pigs," answered Giulia, "and they are not drunk;
no man ever gets more than a _petite verre_ at this hour."
"Then it is usual to supply drink so soon," the scoundrel said; "ah!
the commandant must hear of this."
Then he took my belt and bayonet and sent me to my own room, to remain
there under arrest; as for the others, he merely wrote down their names
and ordered them away. When they had gone--it was long afterwards that
I learnt this--he tried to begin a conversation with Giulia, but he had
scarcely uttered an endearing word when she put down the window and
walked away. She was right, and the scoundrel was wrong, but he made
her and me suffer for it.
Just as I was expecting my morning coffee, I heard a tap at the door,
and cried "Come in." Giulia entered carrying a tray with coffee and
rolls and butter. I took the tray from her and put it on the floor.
There was no table, of course; in a bachelor sergeant's room nothing,
indeed, but the camp-bed and a shelf or two for my equipments. Then I
kissed her, and said:
"You spoke bravely this morning; I am glad of it I should like to say
what you said, but they would punish me."
"Are you pleased?" she asked.
"Yes, carissima mia; and all the battalion will be pleased when they
hear about it."
"I do not care about the battalion if you are content."
"Yes, yes, ma belle; I am very content. Is he not a rascal?"
"Oh," said Giulia, "I hate him; all the trouble comes from him;
somebody must kill him or we shall never again have peace."
"Somebody will kill him," I answered; "you may rest assured of that."
"But not you, not you," she cried; "promise me, not you."
"Certainly not," I replied; "why should I kill him when there are so
many others who have more grievances than I? Moreover, I have no desire
to be shot; I am too happy here with you to wish to leave you. Heaven
for me is here."
She was satisfied with this, and insisted on my tasting the coffee.
"Is it nice?" she asked.
I smiled, and said that it was very nice.
"Does it taste well?"
"Oh yes; I never drank any coffee I liked so well."
The truth is, Giulia had put a glass of _eau-de-vie_ into the coffee,
and I felt that I wanted it after the scene in the morning. How kind,
how thoughtful she was! I told her so over and over again before she
left, and when she did go, she said with a pretty way of command that
she had:
"Expect me in an hour, and do not lose your temper with anyone until I
come back; there is trouble enough already."
I promised and she went away.
Giulia, as she had promised, came back in an hour. She brought me a
little wine, for she knew that very soon I should be in front of the
commandant, and a glass of wine does summon up one's courage. A glass
of wine before an interview, a glass of brandy before a battle--that is
sound sense. Very soon a couple of soldiers of my own rank came for
me. I gave them the remainder of the liquor, and they were very pleased.
"I hope you won't get into serious trouble," said the Alsatian.
"Not at all," chimed in the Spaniard; "he'll get off, but there must be
no more drinking out of hours."
"I will take care of that," said Giulia; "will you tell your
companies?" They promised to do so, and we three went away, I in the
centre without belt or bayonet, and Giulia followed, after locking
the door of my room. When we came before the commandant one of the
escort took off my kepi. The adjutant was present, looking as stiff
and unimpressionable as a block of wood. When the accusation was read
out I was asked if I had anything to say. I replied that I had not.
The commandant considered and considered and considered. He walked up
and down for a few moments, then stood still for a second or two, and
resumed his walk. After about five minutes he said:
"You are young, you have the military medal; I do not like to punish
you." Here the adjutant interposed and asked permission to make a
statement. When this was granted, he raked up the whole story of the
quarrel at Three Fountains, as if everyone did not know about it. He
laid stress upon the fact that I had been one of the ringleaders in
that affair, and ended by asking was such an one as I fit to look after
a canteen. Then the commandant said:
"When you came first to the battalion there was a sergeant-major in
every company, and I could not find a place for you. Most commandants
would have made you simple sergeant of a section. Will you now consent
to give up one chevron and become sergeant? If you do, I will say no
more about this affair." I jumped at the offer, the more readily as
nothing was said about taking me from the society of Giulia.
"Very well," said the commandant; "present yourself here to-morrow
morning with only one chevron on your sleeve."
My kepi, belt and bayonet were returned to me. Having put them on, I
saluted and walked away a free man again.
Giulia was waiting for me a short distance off. I told her all about
the matter as we walked towards my quarters. When we arrived there I
said:
"Get your scissors and cut off the chevron."
"No, no," she cried; "I will never cut it off."
"Then give me your scissors and I will do it."
But she would not give her scissors for that purpose. So I had to take
off my tunic, and with the point of a little Spanish knife which I used
for cutting tobacco--these Spanish knives are very handy little things,
for one cannot always wear a bayonet, and one never knows how trouble
may arise--I ripped the upper chevron from my sleeve. I laid it on my
camp-bed. Giulia took it, kissed it, and put it in her bosom.
"I would not cut it off," she said, "but I will sew it on again, when
the time comes." That time never came.
Giulia went away to see about some things in the canteen. In less than
five minutes she was back again, looking as angry as a tigress at bay.
When she grew a little composed, she told me that the sergeant who
stayed with his wife in the room over the bar had been appointed to
the charge of the place and that I was to be assigned to his section
in No. 4 Company in the morning. This was most unpleasant news, but I
comforted her by saying that it really made no difference, except that
I could not now go to see her at the canteen except during the hours
when it was open, but that I should do my best to see her as often as
possible outside duty hours. "They cannot separate us anyway," I said;
"you are all in all to me and I am all in all to you." So she relieved
her sorrow by a good cry, and then sat, quite quiet, on my lap. After
all, the great thing was that nobody could part us altogether.
Next morning things turned out as Giulia had said. I was posted for
duty to the first section of No. 4 Company instead of the sergeant
whose wife had given shelter and protection to Giulia after her
mother's death, and he was assigned to look after the canteen. I very
soon fell into the routine duties of a sergeant. The section was handed
over to me in first-class order and temperament save for one thing--the
soldiers were discontented with the tyranny of the adjutant. This did
not affect me much, as they were more or less inclined to look upon me
as a martyr, and my reduction in rank was a fresh source of ill-humour,
showing, as it did, another proof of the mischievous malevolence of
the adjutant. I took, or pretended to take, the matter easily. I did
my duty as it should be done during what one may call business hours,
but when the work of the day was over I was good comrade to all. It was
lucky that I made so many friends at the time; I wanted them--every
one--very soon.
While I was acting as sergeant, the adjutant made several attempts
to get into the good graces of Giulia, but she repulsed him on every
occasion. At last he asked her point-blank why she would not even
acknowledge his salute, and she told him bluntly that she disliked him
and that she wished him in Tonquin or in his grave--anywhere, so long
as he was out of the battalion. Now Giulia was passionate even for an
Italian, and as she spoke she raised her voice, unthinkingly, indeed,
and some soldiers going with a corporal to relieve the sentries heard
what she said as they passed by. The adjutant saw that they heard; he
knew that he was hated by all, and he felt that in a couple of hours
the whole battalion would be secretly enjoying his rebuff. With a curse
he turned on his heel. Afterwards he neglected Giulia but paid more
than enough of attention to me. He cursed me openly on parade, he found
fault with every man in my section, not a buckle was bright, not a
strap was clean, the greatcoats were badly folded, the bayonets were
dull and the rifles were foul. In short, every fault that a man can
find was found by him, but, be it well understood, only in the absence
of the captain and other officers of the company. When the adjutant had
charge of the parade and the sergeants commanded the companies, then
the men of my section knew that a bad quarter of an hour awaited them.
The other legionaries noted this too. They were glad, because it was
quite obvious now that the majority of the battalion might endure the
adjutant's harshness patiently, for were not the men of No. 1 section
of No. 4 Company the really aggrieved ones? It was tacitly understood
in the battalion that the avenger would come from us.
All this time Giulia and I met every afternoon just before the opening
of the canteen, and afterwards for ten minutes or so when the canteen
was closed for the day. While the place was open I was always to be
found there, unless I was on guard or had some duty to perform that
kept me away. The other sergeants had easy lives. Every extra piece
of work was passed on to me by the adjutant, and let me say here that
the adjutant is the worst enemy a sub-officer can have. It's bad to
be disliked by the commandant, because he will block promotion; the
captain's enmity is hard to bear, because he can snarl three or four
times a day; but the adjutant can play the very devil with a man in a
thousand ways. Imagine asking a man who has made a slight mistake in
making out the orders of the day:
"Can you read and write?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well," comes the reply before more than a hundred soldiers, "take
care in future to read and write correctly. Go back to your place, you
stupid pig."
And as the man departs he is suddenly ordered to halt and face
right-about, and then asked:
"Who promoted you sergeant?" And before he has time to answer, the
remark is made, loudly enough to be over all the parade:
"There is not a man in the camp less fitted to wear the gold chevron
than you. To your place, rascal!"
If Giulia happened to be passing through the parade ground it was
worse. The abuse I received--and remember there is no redress in the
Legion unless one settles matters for himself with an unexpected bullet
or bayonet-thrust, and then there will be an execution--the abuse, I
say, that I received made my blood often almost boil with rage. I could
not have endured it but for the sweet company of Giulia; with her in
the evening I forgot the wrongs and insults of the day. Truly there
is no solace for a troubled spirit like the society of the loving and
beloved one; her sweet sympathy more than makes up for all.
The sergeant of No. 2 section of my Company was a German Pole, a
good-humoured fellow, ready for any fun, except when the adjutant's
eyes were fixed upon him, but withal a good soldier. His time was
nearly up, and he meant to go to Paris, and there make a living
somehow, when he should be at last done with the Foreign Legion. He and
I were on very friendly terms, and, indeed, I was oftener with him than
with any other sergeant of the corps. One evening--it was almost his
last evening with us--he drank more than was good for him, and awoke in
the morning with a headache and a sick stomach. I saw that he could not
drink his morning coffee, and asked him if he would not like a glass of
_eau-de-vie_.
"Yes," he replied; "but one cannot get that now, this cursed adjutant
has spoiled all."
"Never mind," I answered, "I will get it for you."
"Take care, my comrade, you will get into more trouble, and are not
things bad enough with you already?"
"So bad," I said, "that they cannot be worse." And I took my kepi and
sallied forth. As luck would have it Giulia was sitting at the open
window of her bedroom, and when I beckoned to her she came out on the
cantonment square to meet me. I told her that a poor devil was ill and
wanted some brandy.
"All right," she said, "I will get some and give it to you at your own
quarters."
I returned, told the Pole that he should soon receive some medicine,
and waited for Giulia at the door. Now either the adjutant must have
observed all this, or some scoundrel must have told him about it, for
just as I turned into the bachelor sergeants' quarters with the drink
and Giulia went away again towards the canteen, the adjutant came
running up at the top of his speed, crying out: "Halt, halt, sergeant;
what have you got there?" I was forced to deliver up the little flask.
He uncorked it, smelled, and said:
"Very well, very well, consider yourself a prisoner. Ah, Mademoiselle
Giulia," he went on, "what excuse can your lover make now?"
"Go away, Giulia," I said.
"Silence; to your room, rascal!" roared the angry adjutant.
"Good-bye, my well-beloved," said Giulia. "Out of my way, pig" (this to
the adjutant). And she walked across the square with the air and tread
of an empress.
The adjutant gnashed his teeth and bit his moustache with rage; he
hissed rather than said to me:
"You, rascal, shall pay for this, and this payment, understand well,
is only the first; others are sure to come afterwards." I turned on my
heel and entered my apartment.
The Pole was very sorry, and would, I believe, have told about his part
in the affair, but I pointed out, as others also did, that there was
no use in his getting into trouble, as by so doing he could not help
me in the least. Everyone saw quite plainly that I should certainly
be reduced to the rank of corporal, if not lower, and all were, or
professed to be, sorry for my misfortune. To cut the tale short, I may
as well say at once that I got my choice of resigning my position as
sergeant of a section and becoming a mere corporal of a squad or of
going before a court-martial. Of course I resigned, for the offence
of obtaining liquor at a wrong hour after the previous warning could
not be overlooked, and, as likely as not, a court-martial might send
me back to the ranks, a thing I had no desire for. The first time I
passed the adjutant with the two red chevrons on my sleeve instead of
the single gold one he smiled with an unholy joy, but the smile changed
to a scowl as he saw the kiss of welcome that I received from Giulia at
the door of the canteen.
It was well for all the other squads in the section that I was
reduced. They were now treated not worse, certainly, than the rest of
the legionaries, but my little squad of sixteen men had to bear the
brunt of the adjutant's anger. I was very concerned at this, and told
Giulia. She--clever and good girl--at once found out a means of in part
compensating them, but she did not tell me, and she strictly warned
them not to tell me either. They--poor devils--were only too glad to
keep her counsel, and it was by a mere accident that I learned the
truth afterwards. Her plan was this: She told the men of my squad that
they could come to the canteen with or without money and that they need
not be afraid of a refusal on her part to supply them, as far as they
could reasonably expect, with drink and tobacco. Now a legionary will
stand a good deal of abuse during the day if he knows that brandy and
other comforts await him for nothing in the evening; and, moreover, it
was evident to all that no one was especially aimed at except me, and
that, when No. 7, let us say, of the squad was told that he was a dirty
pig, he was merely getting the benefit of remarks that were really
meant for me. When the adjutant had done abusing the men one by one he
gathered, as it were, all the abuse together and hurled it at my head,
and often those rough legionaries, smarting as they were under their
own vexations, used to feel for me more than for themselves. I said
to them one day after the devil had left the hut, where he had kicked
about our equipments, swearing that we did not know the meaning of good
order, that I would never report any man for anything: "No matter how
bad we may be," I continued, "we are abused and sworn at. We are all
punished for the evil we do and the evil that we don't even think of."
"I hope," said a simple soldier, a Sicilian, "that the devil will be
dead soon."
He looked significantly at me, and then at the others, but, as I said
nothing, the implied proposal went by the board. But we all began to
think seriously from that day forth.
Many a stolen interview I had with Giulia when all in the cantonments
were asleep. I could rarely see her now, for the adjutant found me
plenty of work for my leisure time, and I took care to be in the hut
every evening lest there should be a fight amongst the comrades of the
squad. One must not imagine that they were bad comrades to one another.
On the contrary, they were very good indeed, but when men are angry at
being abused and sworn at without cause and without mercy they will
easily quarrel among themselves. So I watched the squad carefully,
and more than once stopped a dispute that might have suddenly led to
a general fight, and very soon the simple soldiers saw that I was
taking care of them for their sakes as well as for my own. At first
they were inclined to resent this, but common-sense prevailed, and they
acknowledged--tacitly only, of course--that I was in the right.
One night about twelve o'clock I was speaking to Giulia at the little
window at the back of the canteen. We had been talking for half-an-hour
of various matters and the time had passed quickly for both. I was
about kissing her good-night when I heard a step behind me. In a second
I was out of Giulia's arms and had faced about. Instinctively my hand
sought my left side, where the bayonet was.
"Who is there?" said the well-known voice of the adjutant.
"Caporal Le Poer de la quatrième compagnie, monsieur," I replied.
"What are you doing here? Why are you not with your squad? Who is in
charge at the hut?"
I said nothing, for I had nothing to say. I almost felt the chevrons
take flight from my arm. I had sense enough, however, to take my hand
from the hilt of the bayonet. Things were bad enough as they were.
The adjutant marched me to where a sentinel was on duty. He gave me
in charge to this man and went to the guard-hut. Very soon a corporal
and two men of the guard arrived, and I was taken to the prisoners'
quarters, to rest as well as I could on a plank bed until morning. When
I was brought before the commandant the charges were read out against
me of having been absent without leave or necessity from the hut where
my squad lay, of having left no one in charge while I was away, and of
going to the canteen in the middle of the night. The commandant looked
very serious, and, I daresay, so did I. What I had done was good to
do, but bad to be charged with doing. Any other officer coming upon me
as the adjutant had come would have passed on and not minded; even the
commandant, I am sure, would pretend not to see. But when the charge
was made and its truth admitted, then discipline compelled that proper
notice should be taken of it. I was not sent before a court-martial.
I was permitted to resign both chevrons, and so I went back to my
company a simple soldier of the second class.
I said to Giulia as we talked that evening at the end of the counter in
the canteen--the other legionaries, I must mention, were decent enough
to keep out of earshot--that I should be very careful now, as I had no
more chevrons to lose, and an ugly punishment was sure to follow the
next charge. "But for you, carissima," I went on, "I should volunteer
again for Tonquin." Giulia at this began to weep quietly, but I soon
reassured her. I told her that I would never go anywhere willingly
unless she came with me, and then she quickly dried her tears.
"You must take good care, Jean, of everything, and above all things,
you must never allow yourself to lose your temper. Yes," she continued,
"no matter what is said to you, no matter how hard it may be to bear,
control yourself and all will be well. Come every evening, and I will
comfort you for all the troubles and insults of the day."
I promised faithfully to follow her advice, and though oftentimes it
was hard to keep my temper, yet the remembrance of my promise and the
thought that every minute that passed brought the time of our next
meeting nearer made me feel, if not supremely happy, at least well
content to endure with outward equanimity the curses, epithets and
abuse that were my daily lot. I had one other consoling thought, some
day surely the devil would be struck down by an irritated man, and he
would in all probability be taken away in the midst of his sins. That
was the constant prayer of the legionaries of the battalion. May he
die, and die soon, and may he go safely home to his father, who is in
hell.
Now that I was as low as I could be in the Legion, the adjutant,
sergeants and corporals led me a terrible life. There was no work too
hard or too dirty for me; I did twice as much camp-cleaning as any
other; my spare time was encroached upon; and I found myself almost
every night a prisoner in the guard-house. The adjutant had the right
of making me what one may call a prisoner at large for a week, and
longer, at a time. All he had to do was to pretend to find fault with
me for laziness, though I was an active soldier; for dirt, though I
was a clean one; for carelessness, though I, for my own sake as well
as for Giulia's, was the most careful soldier in the battalion. Then,
when all the day's duties were over I could not go, as others went, to
the canteen. I had to report myself at the guard-room and enter the
prisoners' quarters, where I might stretch myself on the plank bed in
the clothes which I had worn all the day, until the call went next
morning to summon me to another dreary round of hard work and hurtful
words. No one must wonder that the sergeants and corporals ill-treated
me; the adjutant would have ill-treated them, if they had shown me any
signs of favour or even of fair-play. Moreover, it's the way of the
world to kick the man that's down, and human nature is the same in the
Legion as elsewhere.
I should have become quite reckless but for the love and kindly
sympathy of Giulia. With her I almost forgot my sorrows, and the firm
assurance I had that nothing could lower me in her eyes, and that
no man in all the world could steal her heart from me, was my great
safeguard in the moments, and they were many, of temptation. The rest
of the legionaries watched with interest the conduct of the adjutant;
they felt that some time or other the crisis would arrive; it was
agreed on all sides that I was the predestined avenger.