Читать книгу Fort in the Jungle - Percival Christopher Wren - Страница 9

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We soon learned that the Annamese army, known as the Black Flags, and by profession river-pirates and jungle dacoits—together with their allies, a large force of Chinese irregulars, also bandits in time of peace, reinforced, according to our scouts, by regiments of regular soldiers of the Chinese army who were led by white officers—held a strongly fortified position at a place called Quang-Ton. Already one considerable battle had been fought near this place, and, whoever claimed the victory, the enemy undeniably held the ground.

Our camp at Houi-Bap was the nearest French base to this strong enemy position; and with us, besides details, lay a battalion of Tirailleurs Tonkinois, native Annamese troops of the Delta, led by French officers and drilled by French non-commissioned officers.

Our battalion of the Legion had been divided into three companies, one of which occupied the base with its stores of food and munitions, while the other two marched out and operated, for several weeks at a stretch, as flying columns in the enemy country.

In my time at Houi-Bap I played many parts, having been, on different occasions and for varying periods, a cook, for the first and last time in my life; an exterior decorator, with whitewash only; a wood-cutter; a water-carrier; a stone-dresser; a carpenter; a road-navvy and a brick-maker.

A kilometre or so from our fortified barracks, within the stockade of which was quite a strong réduit, a claypit and brick-yard had been constructed, and here, under the guidance of a Sergeant who knew nothing about it, a dozen of us were employed in modelling bricks in clay, and stacking them in the kilns in which they were to be baked.

Nor did we make bricks without straw. While we worked, a section of native soldiers, Tirailleurs Tonkinois, chopped rice-straw for our use, while others carried buckets of water from the brick-yard well, and another section fed the kiln fires with wood.

These Annamese were under the command of a Doi or native Sergeant, who struck me as a remarkably intelligent man, very active, forceful and competent, as well as a good disciplinarian.

Later, I encountered Doi Linh Nghi in a different capacity, came to know him better, to like him very much, and to rank him among my real friends.

I cannot say that I found this aspect of life in the Foreign Legion thrilling or even attractive, for the work was extremely hard and dirty, the climate exceedingly hot and humid. So it was without regret that I learned, one day, that, enough bricks having been made, my Section was to join the Company that was going out on patrol, and was to be left by it at a distant outpost beyond the River Meh-Song at a place called Houi-Ninh.

We fell in, that morning, in full marching order, khaki uniform of cotton drill; rifles and bayonets; a hundred and twenty rounds of ammunition; filled water-bottles; ground-sheets rolled up, tied in a loop like a horse-collar, and worn over the left shoulder; laden knapsacks and haversacks; and a very heavy mâchète in a wooden sheath. The mâchète was both tool and weapon, like a broad thick straight-bladed sword, very sharp, and extremely useful for hacking one’s way through the jungle where there was no path, or the track was so overgrown with creepers, bamboo, bushes, high grass and undergrowth that it was invisible. Incidentally, I once saw a powerful Yunnanese take a man’s head right off with a mâchète, severing the neck as cleanly and neatly as though it had been a cucumber.

On our flank fell in a company of Tirailleurs Tonkinois, their uniform, of the same material as ours, consisting of a kind of vest, shorts, and their own native Muong puttees. They were bare-footed, and they wore round flat bamboo hats like plates, held in place by red cotton bonnet-strings.

These men were armed with carbines which took the same cartridges and bayonets as our own rifles, but were lighter and shorter weapons.

Out, through the great gates of the palisade—which ran right round our barracks, fort, store-sheds and various quarters and buildings, quite a village in itself—out, along the river bank between the rice-fields, and away into the jungle, we marched; far away out into the open country.

And through that open country of the Delta we continued to march, generally over a well-cultivated plain, with here and there villages nestling in clumps of fine trees and surrounded by growths of graceful bamboos. Between the villages, the country was covered with thick and luxuriant vegetation of brightest green, with very tall grass, and with patches of dense jungle and forest. Here and there, small hills broke the usual flatness of the terrain.

In this country, within a few days’ march of Houi-Bap, the villages that were occupied were also, in theory, pacified, and the headman and elders would usually come out, kow-tow, and produce fruit, betel-nut, sugar-cane, milk or tea as peace-offerings to the soldiery.

Those that failed to come out were promptly brought out. For had they not accepted the protection of Madame la République, and had they not now the privilege of paying their taxes into her treasury at Phulang-Thuong?

Occasionally we came upon a village which was merely a charred heap of smoking ruins, this being the work of the exiled Emperor of Annam’s Viceroy, the Annamese General De-Nam, and showed that they had refused to pay taxes to him likewise.

As my friend Doi Linh Nghi pointed out to me, when we talked in camp at night or on the march, it really was a little hard on the unfortunate villagers of this “pacified” zone, that, if they wished to keep the roof over their heads and the crops on their fields, they had to pay taxes twice, a toll of rice and money to their late Emperor in the person of General De-Nam, and also the taxes levied by the French authorities.

As we got further from our base, the spirit of the villagers changed, either their courage being greater or their wisdom less. The gates of the stockades with which the villages were invariably surrounded, would be barred and the place would show no signs of life. The Commander of the column would order the leading section to pull down the great iron-wood beams which, placed one above the other, their ends resting in slots cut in the huge and heavy door-posts, secured the stout resistant iron-wood doors.

The first of such places that we visited caused us some annoyance, for, having entered with bayonets fixed, rifles at the ready, mouths grim, and eyes glaring watchfully, we found—nothing. The place was absolutely empty. The villagers had all departed through some postern in the stockade at the other side of the village and escaped into the dense jungle beyond, where their cattle and other worldly goods were already hidden.

Day after day, week after week, we marched; and now, when approaching villages, were frequently met with a shower of bullets. In such cases the Commander would practise the column in attack drill, skirmishing up to the place and finally carrying it with the bayonet—quite unopposed. The training was good and the assault bloodless, the villages invariably being found to be empty.

It must have been policy rather than cowardice or doubt of the issue that made the Annamese peasants behave so, for each one of these villages was a strong post in itself, quite a jungle fort, surrounded as it frequently was by a deep moat, an embankment, and either a double or triple stockade of very stout bamboo.

In addition to such obstacles, entry into these jungle villages must be made by way of a passage through the embankment and stockades, only sufficiently wide for the domestic buffalo to make his way when he went forth to graze in the morning and returned at eventide.

It seemed to me that when we did have to attack one of these villages, occupied by a well-armed and determined garrison, we should only capture it at considerable cost, the narrow entrances being commanded by loop-holes through which a hot fire could be poured at close range upon the attacking force.

And, in due course, and not before we were extremely glad to see it, we reached the distant outpost of Houi-Ninh, beyond the Meh-Song River which we crossed, one at a time, by a swinging “bridge” of rattan and bamboo.

At Houi-Ninh my section, under Lieutenant Jacot, relieved the garrison; was left behind by the departing column; and remained in occupation until those who had not died of fever were ready to die of boredom.