Presently, seven officers stepped out, marched up, fell in behind my
prisoner, and extended the hilts of their swords to me. "Keep 'em," I
ordered, dryly; "you'll give 'em to my C.O. Now let's move off, and be
sharp!"
"May I beg leave to tell my men they will not be shot?" the Captain
asked.
"Very well," I told him; "but don't be long about it."
He went towards his docile crowd and gave them the welcome assurance.
Evidently they had been taught that the French give no quarter. I
wished he would make a speech, for the whole point for me was to gain
time so that supports might arrive. Back he came, and I was in a sweat
with the perspiration oozing from my temples. When was he going to see
that there were only four men, one N.C.O., and my anxious self on the
premises?
Having placed my quartette of Chasseurs and the sergeant on guard at
the ward end of the archway, so as to prevent any of the rats in the
trap peeping out, I went with a thumping heart to the outer door and
took a glance up the road. Hurrah! My platoon had crept up along the
ditches. "Up with you!" I shouted, and, screening myself round the
corner of the gateway, added, in a lower tone, "Do not look surprised."
Then, aloud, I yelled: "Prisoners' escort! About-turn!"
It would never do to give the German officers a chance of realizing how
enormously their men outnumbered mine, so I quickly returned to where
the _Hauptmann_ and his subalterns stood in a disconsolate group.
"You remain with me, gentlemen," I told them. "Make your men form fours
and file out."
"Right! Fours! March!"
When the last four passed out--the whole of the idiots leaving their
rifles and bayonets in the yard, of course--I ordered "Halt," and with
the eight specimens of Hunnish officerdom swinging behind me in step,
moved deliberately to the head of the column.
The enemy being now disarmed, I could afford a little more bluff;
besides, through an extraordinary piece of luck, there were just
enough survivors of my platoon left to make up the exact regulation
number for a prisoners' escort.
"Quick march!" I ordered.
Off we moved, the Captain by my side, the lieutenants following
respectfully three paces behind.
On the way towards the bridge, I thought I detected from the corner of
my eye the _Hauptmann_ giving me, once or twice, a sidelong glance. I
pretended, however, not to see, looking steadily in front, watching
anxiously for my supports. Here they are! The Colonel has caught sight
of us and is advancing rapidly at the head of the battalion.
I heaved a deep sigh, which did not escape the Captain's attention, for
he turned to me inquiringly.
"Allow me to introduce you to my commanding officer," I said, with a
graceful smile, the full irony of which he probably did not fathom.
I do not think that particular Bavarian has made out to this day how
it all came to pass. Let him try and tackle the mystery on the sunny
Mediterranean shore, where chivalrous France affords captive officers
ample and comfortable leisure.
So far as I understand it, the man thought superior forces had
surrounded the castle, leaving no chance of escape. Feeling entrapped
and labouring under the delusion that any further attempt at defence
would be futile, his anxiety to save his men became uppermost in his
mind. As to the men themselves, when they saw their captain surrender
and heard no officer order anything, discipline made them remain
inactive. The moment the Captain's command to "ground arms" rang out,
discipline caused them to lay their rifles down without further thought
or ado. One of them, whom I asked what induced them to throw their
hands up, replied, as if astounded at the question: "Why, we were
ordered to."
But what about the seven subalterns? Of course, they could not see
through walls, and discipline, I imagine, made them "follow their
leader" like the men.
If so, discipline be hanged! It is a comfort to think that had a
French officer been weak enough to behave as their chief did in
similar circumstances, there would have been someone there to blow his
brains out and lead the company to a sortie. But what is the use of
moralizing? Leopards do not change their spots. Besides, a gift horse
should not be looked in the mouth, and the _Hauptmann_ did me, at any
rate, a good turn.
Before taking leave of him that evening I inquired what he thought of
Alpine Chasseurs. His reply is worth recording, the first words so
unexpected from one of the inventors of "frightfulness," the last ones
eulogistic, after all.
"To begin with," he declared, "your artillery is diabolical. The use of
such weapons ought to be prohibited. It is murder! As to your men, they
are extraordinary. The way they creep along is inimitable. Hardly has
one got a glimpse of them than--_houp-là!_ they are on the top of you."