During the early months of the war, Corporal R. J. Mullins, of the
2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade, was among those who helped to stem the
flood of Germans advancing on Paris. He is a slight, boyish figure,
with merry, laughing eyes, and in spite of two serious wounds from
shell-fire manages to-day to cram as much vitality into his life as any
six ordinary men. I met him in hospital, where he related to me the
following curious experiences.
One evening his regiment was ordered to attack a château which
the German General Staff was known to have occupied the previous
night. No enemy soldier, however, was found there when the British
arrived--nothing except signs of a hasty evacuation. On the table were
the remains of an interrupted meal, some of the pictures had been
removed, and everything of value in the mansion had been taken away.
Mullins and his companions had been marching for several days in rough
campaigning conditions, and almost the first thing the corporal did
on entering the fine _salle à manger_ was to fling himself into an
arm-chair beside the gas fire of imitation logs.
"Everything's been cleared out," exclaimed one of his comrades. "The
Germans have left nothing."
"And what if they had?" asked the corporal.
"We've strict orders not to loot, and I'm going to see them carried
out."
"But there's orders _and_ orders," responded the other.
"Anyhow, it's all the same," returned Mullins. "There's going to be no
looting if I can help it."
Thereupon the rifleman sat down beside his companion, and for several
minutes they smoked together. Then, all of a sudden, they heard the
whistle sounding the fall-in outside, and both prepared to go. Mullins
snatched his cap hastily from a Louis XV. sideboard that covered half
the length of the room, and to his amazement several secret drawers
opened. In some curious manner his cap had touched a knob, thereby
releasing a concealed spring. The drawers were full of wondrous
treasures of early French art--vases and cups of silver-gilt or gold,
studded with precious stones and other valuables. Before him lay wealth
and treasure enough, probably for a King's ransom.
Very thoughtfully the corporal closed the drawers again, leaving
everything exactly in order as he had found it. After all, orders
_were_ orders--but what a chance for the German Crown Prince!
By this time his comrades had all fallen in, and already he could
hear the steady tramp, tramp of their footsteps marching away in the
distance.
As he scrambled hastily out of the door of the château, Mullins
realized that he was alone, and that in his hurry he had somehow taken
the wrong road. There was no one to be seen anywhere, and he could no
longer hear the regiment. A few minutes later he was stumbling along
through the grounds of the house, groping his way in the darkness,
trying to find the highway. Presently he discerned that he was in a
field enclosed by a high wooden fence, and went hurrying across it.
Right out in the open he collided with some heavy object, only to
recoil in horror as the thing moved and snorted. Its back was wet--wet
with what the corporal later discovered to be blood. The animal,
wounded probably by malevolent design, rose to its feet, its long horns
and huge bulk shaping through the darkness as the form of a bull.
Conceiving Mullins to be one of its tormentors, the bull first lashed
its tail angrily against its sides and then galloped full pelt after
him. By this time Mullins had reached the side of the corral, and
crouched there, hoping that the darkness would cover him. But he was
mistaken. The bull charged down upon him with lowered head, and drove
its horns deep into the fencing on each side of the horrified man's
head. There it remained fixed just long enough to give Corporal Mullins
time to crawl out and scramble over the corral, glad to find himself
still alive and uninjured. An hour afterwards he rejoined his regiment.