Читать книгу A Modern Legionary - John Patrick Le Poer - Страница 7

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We went altogether by march route to our destination. Every day was like the preceding one, and a short description of any day will do for all. Reveille at four o'clock, then while some pulled down and folded up the tents others cooked the morning coffee, at five or a little after we were en route, at eight usually, but sometimes later, a halt was called for the morning soup; that over, we put our best foot foremost until about eleven or half-past. Now came the pleasantest and sleepiest part of the twenty-four hours. We ate a little, we smoked a little, we slept, or rather dozed, a little, until the bugles warned us at half-past three that another stretch of dry, dusty, throat-provoking road had to be accounted for. On again at four until six or seven or eight, with occasional rests of ten minutes each, and then there was nothing but cleaning up after the evening soup. When all was right and the sentries had been posted for the night you might talk and smoke if you liked, but as a rule you smoked first and fell asleep afterwards.

It was not strange that we, who had been cooped up in the depot so long, enjoyed this march. It seemed to us that we were soldiers at last, not mere recruits, and dust and thirst and other inconveniences were matters to be put up with and laughed at. On the road we often sang; at the end of the midday halt, while we helped one another with knapsack and belts, you might often hear songs of every country from the Urals to the Atlantic. Every man's spirits were high; the long-expected change had worked wonders, and the officers, nay, even the sergeants and the corporals, had little of abuse or swearing for us. True, our sous-officiers were not drill instructors; of all things in the world teaching is the most wearing on the temper, and perhaps that is why there was so great a difference between the sergeants in the depot and the sergeants on the march.

I think we did on an average about three miles an hour. It was good enough too, for there were the rifle and the knapsack to be carried, and the greatcoat and the blanket and the ammunition, and all the other impedimenta of the soldier. The straps of the knapsack galled me a bit, and I soon found out the difference between a march out from barracks for a few hours and a day-after-day tramp through the heat and the dust with the knowledge that you carried your bed and most of your board upon your person. The rest at the end of the hour, for we always halted for ten minutes after a fifty minutes' march, was a great help; and, again, I was a little too proud, or too vain if you like to call it so, to fall out of the ranks while my comrades were steadily marching on. After all, pride or vanity, call it what you will, never hurts a youngster, though it should make him slightly overwork himself in trying to keep up with those who are his seniors in age and his betters in endurance. All the same, when the day's march was over, it was delightful to pull off knapsack, boots and all, and to feel that there were before you eight or nine hours of complete freedom from toil.

One night, however, things were not quite so well with me. It was my turn for guard, and when we halted for the night I with others was turned out of the ranks at once. The first sentries were soon posted, and the remainder of us had a couple of hours in or near the guard tent to enjoy our evening meal. When that was over we all had a smoke, and at nine—we had halted at seven—the reliefs were wanted. I felt very lazy as I got up, took my rifle, and set out with the corporal of the guard to my post. There I remained until eleven, was relieved until one, and went again on sentinel duty until three. At four the usual routine began, and I remember that, after the wakeful night, the day's march seemed very long. When we halted at midday I fell asleep, and when the march was over I forgot to smoke, and, curling myself up in my greatcoat and blanket, became utterly oblivious of all that occurred until the reveille next morning awakened me to another day. I don't remember much of the country through which we passed. Most of the time my ears were more engaged than my eyes, for many a good story was told and many a happy jest passed as we tramped along in the dust and sun. Some fellows told us stories of life in their own countries, and if they did not adhere exactly to the truth, why, that only made the stories better. Others could not see a man or a woman—especially a woman—on either flank but straightway they criticised and joked, and very clever we used to fancy the criticisms and jokes were. Some again were good singers, and these were constantly shouted at to sing, especially the men who sang comic songs. I daresay some of these songs, if not all, were scarcely fit for a drawing-room, but as no ladies were present it did not seem to make much difference. Then we had a bugle march occasionally—say half-a-dozen times a day—and I for one found the bugles wonderfully inspiriting. While the bugles were playing none of us seemed to feel the road beneath our feet; we stopped talking, we almost gave up smoking, the step became more regular, and the ranks closed up. I suppose a musician would call a bugle march monotonous; well, it may be so, but how many men out of 200 are musicians? But we had more music than that. Some of the fellows had brought along musical instruments of small size—tin whistles, flageolets, and such things. Very well they played too. Many were fairly good whistlers, and so there was a variety of means to drive away dull care; indeed, I think we were the jolliest and most careless set in the world. Even when the sun had been very hot and the road more than usually dusty we had always the thought that the end of the annoyance would come when we reached our battalion and that every day brought us nearer to the men who were to take the place of home and country, friends and relations, for five years. We fancied that they would be just like ourselves, and we liked one another too well not to be satisfied.

It was while on this march that I first saw how soldiers are punished when there is no prison near or when it is deemed best to give a short, sharp punishment to an offender. Of course, I refer to cases where the offence does not merit a court-martial. We had halted for the evening near a small village, and some fellows had gone to it, more, I suppose, out of curiosity than because they had any business there. I was not with them, and I never fully learned what occurred but I know there was a woman in the case. Whether she deserted the corporal for the private soldier, or refused to leave the private when his superior made advances to her I cannot tell, but some words passed between the men, and the corporal made a report to the sergeant, who passed it on to the captain. Very few questions were asked; the man was taken to a spot near the guard tent, where he would be directly under the eyes of a sentry, and there he was put, as we termed it, en crapaudine. This is how it was done. First his hands were pinioned behind his back, then his ankles were shackled tightly to each other, afterwards the fastenings of his wrists were bound closely to the ankle bonds, so that he was compelled to remain in a kneeling posture with his head and body drawn back. After some time pains began to be felt in the arms, across the abdomen, and at the knees and ankles. These pains increased rapidly, and at last became intolerable. Yet he dared not cry out, or at least no one would cry out until he could not help it, for the sleeping men ought not to be disturbed, and at the first cry a gag was placed between the teeth. This poor devil did not get much punishment. I think he was en crapaudine for only an hour or so, but, take my word for it, if you place a man in that position for four, five, or six hours, he will be in no hurry to get himself into trouble again. There are other punishments too—the silo, for instance—but I shall not describe these now, as I shall have occasion further on to tell all about them when I am dealing with life in the regiment.

We did not always lie under canvas on the march. Sometimes we halted at a garrison town or at cantonments, and then some, if not all, of us were placed in huts for the night. We saw all kinds of soldiers there. We met zouaves, chasseurs, turcos, spahis, zephyrs, but with none had we much intercourse. This was due to several reasons. We came in hot and tired and with little desire for anything except food and rest, and besides we had to clean up clothes, boots, and arms for the parade and inspection in the early morning. Then the regular French troops, and even, I must admit, the native Algerian soldiers, looked with contempt upon us, and you may be sure that we of the Legion returned the contempt and the contemptuous words with interest. They never went very far in showing their feelings towards our fellows, for we had an ugly reputation; more than once a company or two of Legionaries had made a desperate attack on a battalion even, and it was well known through Algeria that when the Legionaries began a fight there would be, as was often said, "blood upon shirts" before the fight was over. Therefore the others stood rather in awe of our men, and they did not quite like the idea of having anything to do with us, even though we were only recruits on the way to the battalion, for every soldier knows that the recruit is even more anxious to follow the regimental tradition than the veteran. The latter feels that he is part and parcel of the corps and that his reputation is not likely to suffer; the former is only too eager to show that he accepts, wholly and unreservedly, the ideas handed down to him, and, besides, he has not been altogether brought under discipline. Thus, though we saw men in many uniforms we got to know very little about them—indeed, all our information came from the corporals—and I may add here that the corporals impressed upon us that we were never to fight individually with Frenchmen or natives, but that, if a general quarrel took place, we were to remember our duty to the Legion and make it "warm weather" for our opponents. Afterwards on more than one occasion we followed that advice.

Once or twice a little unpleasantness arose amongst ourselves. It never went very far; the others, who were not desirous of seeing their comrades get into trouble, always put an end to the business before any real harm was done. I had nothing to do with any of these disputes save once, when, in the rôle of peacemaker, I sat with another fellow for more than half-an-hour on an Italian who was thirsting for the blood of a Portuguese. The Portuguese was receiving similar attentions from two others at the opposite side of the tent. It was funny how the thing came about. The Italian had got, somewhere or somehow—I suppose he stole it—a bottle of brandy, and, instead of sharing all round, gave half to his comrade the Portuguese and drank the other half himself. When they returned to the tent they were quarrelling, and evidently drunk. After some time they began to fight, and we left them alone, as they had been so mean about the liquor, until we saw the Italian reaching for his bayonet. Then the rest of us joined in, and the precious pair of rascals, who had forgotten their comrades when they were happy, got something which made them rise in the morning with more aches in the body than they had in the head. They apologised the next day and we forgave them. This was another lesson to me. I saw that when a man got anything outside his ordinary share of good things he was supposed to go share and share alike with the rest of his squad. Many a time afterwards I have seen men who had at one time been of good position at home, and whose relatives could and would send them money, openly show the amount received in tent or hut or barrack room, and we others went out to spend that money when the evening came with just as much belief in our right to do so as if the money had been sent to the squad and not to the man. Well, the rich ones did not lose in the end, for they got many a favour from their comrades which the average soldier would be a fool to expect.

The corporal of my squad on the march south was a rather good fellow. I am not quite sure whether he was a German or an Austrian by birth. He had seen a good deal of Algerian life, and was determined as soon as his term was up to get clear away for ever from Africa. This was not pleasant news. Here was a corporal, a man of over four years' service, whose whole and sole idea it was to leave the Legion and the country. It plainly proved that the life before us was not the most attractive in the world, and the thought often crossed my mind that perhaps I had been a fool to try soldiering in such a corps. With the happy-go-lucky recklessness of youth, however, I quickly got rid of these fancies, and I could console myself that five years would not be long passing, and at the very worst I should have learned more, situated as I was, than if I were to spend the term at school, and at such a school as the one I had been attending.

I got on fairly well with the others of my squad. I have never been inclined to affront people, and I can honestly say that I have never shirked my work, and these qualities, added to a natural cheerfulness of disposition which caused me to look at the bright side of things, helped me very much all through my stay in the Foreign Legion. Indeed, there was only one man who was disliked by all. He was a Pole, a German Pole, I believe, and he had the most sarcastic tongue of all the men I've ever met. His sneering smile was almost as bad as his cutting tongue. While speaking politely he said little things that one could not very well resent, and that, therefore, hurt one the more. It's bad to be an idler, and worse to have a nasty way of openly abusing and insulting people, but the worst gift of God to a man is the gift of sarcasm. The sarcastic man never has a friend. There are, of course, always men who will fawn upon and flatter him, but that will be only through fear of his tongue—even they who most court him rejoice inwardly at his misfortunes. He can't be always lucky, he must take his bad fortune as it comes, and when it does come he cannot help knowing that all who know him are glad.

It was well, I think, for our friend the Pole that the journey did not last a week longer. Somebody or other would be sure to lose his temper, and if one blow were struck, twenty would surely follow, for we all hated him. He said something about a gorilla one day, looking hard all the while at the Italian already mentioned, and it was a wonder that there was no fight. There would have been, I feel sure, but that the bugles sounded the assemble for the last march of the day, and the Italian, who was no beauty, had a few hours of marching to get cool. The Pole was quiet enough for the next couple of days, and by that time we were within six hours' march of our destination.

Before describing the battalion to which I now belonged I must say a few words about the Foreign Legion in general, so that the peculiar characteristics of the corps may be understood. All that I shall mention in this chapter is that one sunny afternoon about four o'clock we marched into camp on the borders of the Sahara amid the cheers of our future comrades, and that within an hour our 200 men were divided amongst the four companies that constituted the 2nd Battalion of the First Regiment of the Légion étrangère.