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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -</style> -<title>THE WAGES OF VIRTUE</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="The Wages of Virtue" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Percival Christopher Wren" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1916" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="41652" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2012-12-17" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="The Wages of Virtue" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="The Wages of Virtue" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="wages.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta content="2012-12-18T19:43:43.279715+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41652" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="Percival Christopher Wren" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="2012-12-17" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -<style type="text/css"> -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="the-wages-of-virtue"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">THE WAGES OF VIRTUE</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> -included with this eBook or online at -</span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: The Wages of Virtue -<br /> -<br />Author: Percival Christopher Wren -<br /> -<br />Release Date: December 17, 2012 [EBook #41652] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE WAGES OF VIRTUE</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container coverpage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 46%" id="figure-10"> -<span id="cover"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Cover" src="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Cover</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">THE -<br />WAGES OF VIRTUE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY -<br />PERCIVAL CHRISTOPHER WREN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">LONDON -<br />JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="left pfirst"><span class="small">FIRST EDITION . . . November, 1916 -<br />Reprinted . . . . . December, 1916 -<br />Reprinted . . . . . May, 1917 -<br />Reprinted . . . . . September, 1917 -<br />Reprinted (2/-) . . January, 1920 -<br />Reprinted (3/6) . . April, 1925 -<br />Reprinted . . . . . September, 1925 -<br />Reprinted (2/-) . . November, 1925 -<br />Reprinted (3/6) . . December, 1925 -<br />Reprinted . . . . . March, 1926 -<br />Reprinted (2/-) . . August, 1926 -<br />Reprinted (3/6) . . October, 1926 -<br />Reprinted (2/-) . . January, 1927 -<br />Reprinted (3/6) . . March, 1927 -<br />Reprinted (2/-) . . March, 1927 -<br />Reprinted (2/-) . . June, 1927 -<br />Reprinted (3/6) . . June, 1927 -<br />Reprinted (2/-) . . February, 1928 -<br />Reprinted (3/6) . . May, 1928</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst"><em class="italics medium">BY THE SAME AUTHOR</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst"><span class="medium">BEAU GESTE -<br />BEAU SABREUR -<br />THE WAGES OF VIRTUE -<br />STEPSONS OF FRANCE -<br />THE SNAKE AND THE SWORD -<br />FATHER GREGORY -<br />DEW AND MILDEW -<br />DRIFTWOOD SPARS -<br />THE YOUNG STAGERS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">All rights reserved</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container dedication"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">TO -<br />THE CHARMINGEST WOMAN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">CONTENTS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#prologue">Prologue</a></p> -<ol class="upperroman simple"> -<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#soap-and-sir-montague-merline">Soap and Sir Montague Merline</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#a-barrack-room-of-the-legion">A Barrack-Room of the Legion</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#carmelita-et-cie">Carmelita et Cie</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-canteen-of-the-legion">The Canteen of the Legion</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-trivial-round">The Trivial Round</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#le-cafard-and-other-things">Le Cafard and Other Things</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-sheep-in-wolf-s-clothing">The Sheep in Wolf's Clothing</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-temptation-of-sir-montague-merline">The Temptation of Sir Montague Merline</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-cafe-and-the-canteen">The Café and the Canteen</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#the-wages-of-sin">The Wages of Sin</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#greater-love">Greater Love...</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -<p class="left pfirst"><a class="medium reference internal" href="#epilogue">Epilogue</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span class="medium">"Vivandière du régiment,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="medium">C'est Catin qu'on me nomme;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="medium">Je vends, je donne, je bois gaiment,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="medium">Mon vin et mon rogomme;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="medium">J'ai le pied leste et l'oeil mutin,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="medium">Tintin, tintin, tintin, r'lin tintin,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="medium">Soldats, voilà Catin!</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"><span class="medium">"Je fus chère à tous nos héros;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="medium">Hélas! combien j'en pleure,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="medium">Ainsi soldats et généraux</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="medium">Me comblaient à tout heure</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="medium">D'amour, de gloire et de butin,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="medium">Tintin, tintin, tintin, r'lin tintin</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="medium">D'amour, de gloire et de butin,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="medium">Soldats, voilà Catin!"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"><span class="medium">BÉRANGER.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="prologue"><span class="large">PROLOGUE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Lord Huntingten emerged from his little -green tent, and strolled over to where Captain -Strong, of the Queen's African Rifles, sat in the -"drawing-room." The drawing-room was the space under -a cedar fir and was furnished with four Roorkee chairs -of green canvas and white wood, and a waterproof -ground-sheet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do wish the Merlines would roll up," he said. -"I want my dinner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not dinner time yet," remarked Captain Strong. -"Hungry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," answered Lord Huntingten almost -snappishly. Captain Strong smiled. How old Reggie -Huntingten always gave himself away! It was the -safe return of Lady Merline that he wanted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Captain Strong, although a soldier, the conditions -of whose life were almost those of perpetual Active -Service, was a student--and particularly a student of -human nature. Throughout a life of great activity he -found, and made, much opportunity for sitting in the -stalls of the Theatre of Life and enjoying the Human -Comedy. This East African shooting-trip with Lord -Huntingten, Sir Montague, and Lady Merline, was -affording him great entertainment, inasmuch as -Huntingten had fallen in love with Lady Merline and did not -know it. Lady Merline was falling in love with -Huntingten and knew it only too well, and Merline loved -them both. That there would be no sort or kind of -"dénouement," in the vulgar sense, Captain Strong -was well and gladly aware--for Huntingten was as -honourable a man as ever lived, and Lady Merline just -as admirable. No saner, wiser, nor better woman had -Strong ever met, nor any as well balanced. Had there -been any possibility of "developments," trouble, and -the usual fiasco of scandal and the Divorce Court, he -would have taken an early opportunity of leaving the -party and rejoining his company at Mombasa. For -Lord Huntingten was his school, Sandhurst and lifelong -friend, while Merline was his brother-in-arms and -comrade of many an unrecorded, nameless expedition, -foray, skirmish, fight and adventure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Merline shouldn't keep her out after dusk like -this," continued Lord Huntingten. "After all, Africa's -Africa and a woman's a woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Merline's Merline," added Strong with a faint -hint of reproof. Lord Huntingten grunted, arose, and -strode up and down. A fine upstanding figure of a -man in the exceedingly becoming garb of khaki cord -riding-breeches, well-cut high boots, brown flannel -shirt and broad-brimmed felt hat. Although his hands -were small, the arms exposed by the rolled-up -shirtsleeves were those of a navvy, or a blacksmith. The -face, though tanned and wrinkled, was finely cut and -undeniably handsome, with its high-bridged nose, -piercing blue eyes, fair silky moustache and prominent -chin. If, as we are sometimes informed, impassivity -and immobility of countenance are essential to -aspirants for such praise as is contained in the term -"aristocratic," Lord Huntingten was not what he -himself would have described as a "starter," for never -did face more honestly portray feeling than did that of -Lord Huntingten. As a rule it was wreathed in smiles, -and brightly reflected the joyous, sunny nature of its -owner. On those rare occasions when he was angered, -it was convulsed with rage, and, even before he spoke, -all and sundry were well aware that his lordship was -angry. When he did speak, they were confirmed in the -belief without possibility of error. If he were -disappointed or chagrined this expressive countenance -fell with such suddenness and celerity that the fact of -so great a fall being inaudible came as a surprise to the -observant witness. At that moment, as he consulted -his watch, the face of this big, generous and lovable -man was only too indicative of the fact that his soul -was filled with anxiety, resentment and annoyance. -Captain Strong, watching him with malicious affection, -was reminded of a petulant baby and again of a big -naughty boy who, having been stood in the corner for -half an hour, firmly believes that the half-hour has long -ago expired. Yes, he promised himself much quiet -and subtle amusement, interest and instruction from -the study of his friends and their actions and -reactions during the coming weeks. What would -Huntingten do when he realised his condition and position? -Run for his life, or grin and bear it? If the former, -where would he go? If, living in Mayfair and falling -in love with your neighbour's wife, the correct thing -is to go and shoot lions in East Africa, is it, conversely, -the correct thing to go and live in Mayfair if, shooting -lions in East Africa, you fall in love with your -neighbour's wife? Captain Strong smiled at his whimsicality, -and showed his interesting face at its best. A -favourite remark of his was to the effect that the -world's a queer place, and life a queer, thing. It is -doubtful whether he realised exactly how queer an -example of the fact was afforded by his being a soldier -in the first place, and an African soldier in the second. -When he was so obviously and completely cut out for -a philosopher and student (with relaxations in the -direction of the writing of Ibsenical-Pinerotic plays -and Shavo-Wellsian novels), what did he in that galley -of strenuous living and strenuous dying? Further, it is -interesting to note that among those brave and hardy -men, second to none in keenness, resourcefulness and -ability, Captain Strong was noted for these qualities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A huge Swahili orderly of the Queen's African Rifles, -clad in a tall yellow tarboosh, a very long blue jersey, -khaki shorts, blue puttees and hobnail boots, -approached Captain Strong and saluted. He announced -that Merline </span><em class="italics">Bwana</em><span> was approaching, and, on Strong's -replying that such things did happen, and even with -sufficient frequency to render the widest publication -of the fact unnecessary, the man informed him that -the </span><em class="italics">macouba Bwana Simba</em><span> (the big Lion Master) had -given his bearer orders to have the approach of -Merline </span><em class="italics">Bwana</em><span> signalled and announced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Turning to Huntingten, Strong bade that agitated -nobleman to be of good cheer, for Merline was safe--his -</span><em class="italics">askaris</em><span> were safe--his pony was safe, and it was -even reported that all the dogs were safe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Three loud cheers," observed his lordship, as his -face beamed ruddily, "but, to tell you the truth, it -was of </span><em class="italics">Lady</em><span> Merline I was thinking.... You never -know in Africa, you know...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Captain Strong smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Montague and Lady Merline rode into camp on -their Arab ponies a few minutes later, and there was a -bustle of Indian and Swahili "boys" and bearers, -about the unlacing of tents, preparing of hot baths, -the taking of ponies and guns, and the hurrying up of -dinner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While Sir Montague gave orders concerning the -</span><em class="italics">enyama</em><span>[#] for the </span><em class="italics">safari</em><span> servants and porters, whose -virtue had merited this addition to their </span><em class="italics">posho</em><span>[#] Lady -Merline entered the "drawing-room," and once again -gladdened the heart of Lord Huntingten with her -grace and beauty. He struck an attitude, laid his -hand upon his heart, and swept the ground with his -slouch hat in a most gracefully executed bow. Lady -Merline, albeit clad in brief khaki shooting-costume, -puttees, tiny hobnail boots, and brown pith helmet, -returned the compliment with a Court curtsey.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Meat.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Food.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Their verbal greeting hardly sustained the dignity -of the preliminaries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How's Bill the Lamb?" quoth the lady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How's Margarine?" was the reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their eyes interested Captain Strong more than -their words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>(Lady Merline's eyes were famous; and, beautiful -as Strong had always realised those wonderful orbs to -be, he was strongly inclined to fancy that they looked -even deeper, even brighter, even more beautiful when -regarding the handsome sunny face of Lord Huntingten.)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Montague Merline joined the group.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hallo, Bill! Hallo, Strong!" he remarked. "I -say, Strong, what's </span><em class="italics">marodi</em><span>, and what's </span><em class="italics">gisi</em><span> in Somali?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Same as </span><em class="italics">tembo</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">mbogo</em><span> in Swahili," was the -reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! Elephant and buffalo. Well, that one-eyed -Somali blighter with the corrugated forehead, whom -Abdul brought in, says there are both--close to -Bamania over there--about thirteen miles you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's a liar then," replied Captain Strong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Swears the elephants went on the tiles all night in -a </span><em class="italics">shamba</em><span>[#] there, the day before yesterday."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Garden. Cultivation.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Might go that way, anyhow," put in Lord Huntingten. -"Take him with us, and rub his nose in it if -there's nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're nothing if not lucid, Bill," said Lady -Merline. "I'm off to change," and added as she turned -away, "I vote we go to Bamania anyhow. There may -be lemons, or mangoes, or bananas or something in the -</span><em class="italics">shamba</em><span>, if there are no elephants or buffaloes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't imagine you are going upsetting elephants -and teasing buffaloes, young woman," cried "Bill" -after her as she went to her tent. "The elephants and -buffaloes of these parts are the kind that eat English -women, and feeding the animals is forbidden...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It occurred to Captain Strong, that silent and -observant man, that Lady Merline's amusement at -this typical specimen of the Huntingten humour was -possibly greater than it would have been had he or her -husband perpetrated it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dinner in twenty minutes, Monty," said he to Sir -Montague Merline and departed to his tent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say, Old Thing, dear," observed Lord Huntingten -to the same gentleman, as, with the tip of his little -finger, he "wangled" a soda-water bottle with a view -to concocting a whiskey-and-soda. "We won't let -Marguerite have anything to do with elephant or -buffalo, will we?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good Lord, no!" was the reply. "We've promised -her one pot at a lion if we can possibly oblige, but -that will have to be her limit, and, what's more, you -and I will be one each side of her when she does it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," agreed the other, and added, "Expect I -shall know what nerves are, when it comes off, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fancy 'nerves' and the </span><em class="italics">Bwana Simba</em><span>," laughed -Sir Montague Merline as he held out his glass for the -soda.... "Here's to Marguerite's first lion," he -continued, and the two men solemnly drank the toast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Montague Merline struck a match for his pipe, -the light illuminating his face in the darkness which -had fallen in the last few minutes. The first impression -one gathered from the face of Captain Sir Montague -Merline, of the Queen's African Rifles, was one of -unusual gentleness and kindliness. Without being in -any way a weak face, it was an essentially friendly and -amiable one--a soldierly face without any hint of -that fierce, harsh and ruthless expression which is -apparently cultivated as part of their stock-in-trade -by the professional soldiers of militarist nations. A -physiognomist, observing him, would not be surprised -to learn of quixotic actions and a reputation for being -"such an awful good chap--one of the best-hearted -fellers that ever helped a lame dog over a stile." So -far as such a thing can be said of any strong and -honest man who does his duty, it could be said of Sir -Montague Merline that he had no enemies. Contrary -to the dictum that "He who has no enemies has no -friends" was the fact that Sir Montague Merline's -friends were all who knew him. Of these, his best and -closest friend was his wife, and it had been reserved -for Lord Huntingten unconsciously to apprise her of -the fact that she was this and nothing more. Until -he had left his yacht at Mombasa a few weeks before, -on the invitation of Captain Strong (issued with their -cordial consent) to join their projected shooting trip, -Lady Merline had fondly imagined that she knew what -love was, and had thought herself a thoroughly happy -and contented woman. In a few days after his joining -the party it seemed that she must have loved him all -her life, and that there could not possibly be a gulf of -some fifteen years between then and the childish days -when he was "Bill the Lamb" and she the -unconsidered adjunct of the nursery and schoolroom, -generally addressed as "Margarine." Why had he -gone wandering about the world all these years? -Why had their re-discovery of each other had to be -postponed until now? Why couldn't he have been at -home when Monty came wooing and ... When Lady -Merline's thoughts reached this point she resolutely -switched them off. She was doing a considerable -amount of switching off, these last few days, and -realised that when Lord Huntingten awoke to the fact -that he too must practise this exercise, the shooting -trip would have to come to an untimely end. As she -crouched over the tiny candle-lit mirror on the -</span><em class="italics">soi-disant</em><span> dressing-table in her tent, while hastily changing -for dinner that evening, she even considered plausible -ways and possible means of terminating the trip when -the inevitable day arrived.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was saved the trouble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they sat at dinner a few minutes later, beneath -the diamond-studded velvet of the African sky--an -excellent dinner of clear soup, sardines, bustard, -venison, and tinned fruit--Strong's orderly again appeared -in the near distance, saluting and holding two official -letters in his hand. These, it appeared, had just been -brought by messenger from the railway-station some -nineteen miles distant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Captain Strong was the first to gather their import, -and his feeling of annoyance and disappointment was -more due to the fact of the interruption of his -interesting little drama than to the cancellation of his leave -and return to harness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Battle, Murder and Sudden Death!" he -murmured. "I wish people wouldn't kill people, and -cause other people to interfere with the arrangements -of people.... Our trip's bust."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" asked Lady Merline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mutiny and murder down Uganda way," replied -her husband, whose letter was a duplicate. "I'm -sorry, Huntingten, old chap," he added, turning to -his friend. "It's draw stumps and hop it, for Strong -and me. We must get to the railway to-morrow--there -will be a train through in the afternoon.... -Better luck next time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lord Huntingten looked at Lady Merline, and -Lady Merline looked at her plate.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">2</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Down the narrowest of narrow jungle-paths marched -a small party of the Queen's African Rifles. They -marched, perforce, in single file, and at their head was -their white officer. A wiser man would have marched -in the middle, for the leading man was inevitably -bound to "get it" if they came upon the enemy, and, -albeit brave and warlike men, negroes of the Queen's -African Rifles (like other troops) fight better when -commanded by an officer. A "point" of a sergeant -and two or three men, a couple of hundred yards in -front, is all very well, but the wily foe in ambush -knows quite enough to take, as it were, the cash and -let the credit go--to let the "point" march on, and -to wait for the main body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Captain Sir Montague Merline was well aware of -the unwisdom and military inadvisability of heading -the long file, but did it, nevertheless. If called upon -to defend his conduct, he would have said that what -was gained by the alleged wiser course was more than -lost, inasmuch as the confidence of the men in so -discreet a leader would not be, to say the least of it, -enhanced. The little column moved silently and slowly -through the horrible place, a stinking swamp, the -atmosphere almost unbreatheable, the narrow winding -track almost untreadable, the enclosing walls of densest -jungle utterly unpenetrable--a singularly undesirable -spot in which to be attacked by a cunning and -blood-thirsty foe of whom this was the "native heath."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Good job the beggars did not run to machine -guns, thought Captain Merline; fancy one, well -placed and concealed in one of these huge trees, -and commanding the track. Stake-pits, poisoned -arrows, spiked-log booby-traps, and poisoned needle-pointed -snags neatly placed to catch bare knees, and -their various other little tricks were quite enough to -go on with. What a rotten place for an ambush! -The beggars could easily have made a neat clearing -a foot or two from the track, and massed a hundred -men whose poisoned arrows, guns, and rifles could be -presented a few inches from the breasts of passing -enemies, without the least fear of discovery. Precautions -against that sort of thing were utterly impossible -if one were to advance at a higher speed than a mile -a day. The only possible way of ensuring against -flank attack was to have half the column out in the -jungle with axes, hacking their way in line, ahead of -the remainder. They couldn't do a mile a day at that -rate. That "point" in front was no earthly good, -nor would it have been if joined by Daniel Boone -Burnham and Buffalo Bill. The jungle on either side -might as well have been a thirty-foot brick wall. -Unless the enemy chose to squat in the middle of the -track, what could the "point" do in the way of -warning?--and the enemy wouldn't do that. Of -course, an opposing column might be marching -toward them along the same path, but, in that case, -except at a sudden bend, the column would see them -as soon as the "point." Confound all bush fighting--messy, -chancy work. Anyhow, he'd have ten minutes' -halt and send Ibrahim up a tree for a look round.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Captain Merline put his hand to the breast -pocket of his khaki flannel shirt for his whistle, -with a faint short blast on which he would signal to -his "point" to halt. The whistle never reached his -lips. A sudden ragged crash of musketry rang out -from the dense vegetation on either side, and from -surrounding trees which commanded and enfiladed -the path. More than half the little force fell at the -first discharge, for it is hard to miss a man with a -Snider or a Martini-Henry rifle at three yards' range. -For a moment there was confusion, and more than -one of those soldiers of the Queen, it must be admitted, -fired off his rifle at nothing in particular. A burly -sergeant, bringing up the rear, thrust his way to the -front shouting an order, and the survivors of the first -murderous burst of fire crouched down on either side -of the track and endeavoured to force their way into -the jungle, form a line on either side, and fire volleys -to their left, front and right. Having made his way to -the head of the column, Sergeant Isa ibn Yakub found -his officer shot through the head, chest and thigh.... -A glance was sufficient. With a loud click of his tongue -he turned away with a look of murderous hate on his -ebony face and the lust of slaughter in his rolling -yellow eye. He saw a leafy twig fall from a tree that -overhung the path and crouched motionless, staring -at the spot. Suddenly he raised his rifle and fired, -and gave a hoarse shout of glee as a body fell crashing -to the ground. In the same second his tarboosh was -spun from his head and the shoulder of his blue jersey -torn as by an invisible claw. He too wriggled into the -undergrowth and joined the volley-firing, which, -sustained long enough and sufficiently generously and -impartially distributed, must assuredly damage a -neighbouring foe and hinder his approach. Equally -assuredly it must, however, lead to exhaustion of -ammunition, and when the volley-firing slackened -and died away, it was for this reason. Sergeant Isa -ibn Yakub was a man of brains and resource, as well -as of dash and courage. Since the enemy had fallen -silent too, he would emerge with his men and collect -the ammunition from their dead and wounded -comrades. He blew a number of short shrill blasts on -the whistle which, with the stripes upon his arm, was -the proudest of his possessions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The ammunition was quickly collected and the -worthy Sergeant possessed himself of his dead officer's -revolver and cartridges.... The next step? ... If -he attempted to remove his wounded, his whole -effective force would become stretcher-bearers and -still be inadequate to the task. If he abandoned his -wounded, should he advance or retire? He would -rather fight a lion or three Masai than have to answer -these conundrums and shoulder these responsibilities.... -He was relieved of all necessity in the -matter of deciding, for the brooding silence was again -suddenly broken by ear-piercing and blood-curdling -howls and a second sudden fusillade, as, at some given -signal, the enemy burst into the track both before -and behind the column. Obviously they were skilfully -handled and by one versed in the art of jungle war. -The survivors of the little force were completely -surrounded--and the rest was rather a massacre than -a fight. It is useless to endeavour to dive into dense -jungle to form a firing line when a determined person -with a broad-bladed spear is literally at your heels. -Sergeant Isa ibn Yakub did his utmost and fought -like the lion-hearted warrior he was. It is some -satisfaction to know that the one man who escaped and -made his way to the temporary base of the little -columns to tell the story of the destruction of this -particular force, was Sergeant Isa ibn Yakub.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One month later a Lieutenant was promoted to -Captain Sir Montague Merline's post, and, twelve -months later, Lord Huntingten married his wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Captain Strong of the Queen's African Rifles, home -on furlough, was best man at the wedding of the -handsome and popular Lord Huntingten with the -charming and beautiful Lady Merline.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">3</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At about the same time as the fashionable London -press announced to a more or less interested world -the more or less important news that Lady Huntingten -had presented her lord and master with a son and -heir, a small </span><em class="italics">safari</em><span> swung into a tiny African village -and came to a halt. The naked Kavarondo porters -flung down their loads with grunts and duckings, -and sat them down, a huddled mass of smelly humanity. -From a litter, borne in the middle of the caravan, -stepped the leader of the party, one Doctor John -Williams, a great (though unknown) surgeon, a medical -missionary who gave his life and unusual talents, skill -and knowledge to the alleviation of the miseries of -black humanity. There are people who have a lot -to say about missionaries in Africa, and there are -people who have nothing to say about Dr. John -Williams because words fail them. They have seen -him at work and know what his life is--and also what -it might be if he chose to set up in Harley Street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doctor John Williams looked around at the village -to which Fate brought him for the first time, and -beheld the usual scene--a collection of huts built of -poles and grass, and a few superior dwelling-places -with thatched walls and roofs. A couple of women -were pounding grain in a wooden mortar; a small -group of others was engaged in a kind of rude basket -weaving under the porch of a big hut; a man seated -by a small fire had apparently "taken up" poker -work, for he was decorating a vase-shaped gourd by -means of a red-hot iron; a gang of tiny naked -piccaninnies, with incredibly distended stomachs, was -playing around a...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">What?</em></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dr. John Williams strode over to the spot. A white -man, or the ruin of a sort of a white man, was seated -on a native stool and leaning against the bole of one -of the towering palms that embowered, shaded, concealed -and enriched the little village. His hair was very -long and grey, his beard and moustache were long -and grey, his face was burnt and bronzed, his eyes -blue and bright. On his head were the deplorable -ruins of a khaki helmet, and, for the rest, he wore the -rags and remains of a pair of khaki shorts. Dr. John -Williams stood and stared at him in open-mouthed -astonishment. He arose and advanced with extended -hand. The doctor was too astounded to speak, and -the other could not, for he was dumb. In a minute -it was obvious to the new-comer that he was -more--that he was in some way "wanting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the headman of the villagers, who quickly -gathered round, he learned that the white man had -been with them for "many nights and days and -seasons," that he was afflicted of the gods, very wise, -and as a little child. Why "very wise" Dr. John -Williams failed to discover, or anything more of the -man's history, save that he had simply walked into -the village from nowhere in particular and had sat -under that tree, all day, ever since. They had given -him a hut, milk, corn, cocoanut, and whatever else -they had. Also, in addition to this propitiation, they -had made a minor god of him, with worship of the -milder sorts. Their wisdom and virtue in this particular -had been rewarded by him with a period of marked -prosperity; and undoubtedly their crops, their cattle, -and their married women had benefited by his -benevolent presence....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Doctor John Williams resumed his journey -he took the dumb white man with him, and, in due -course, reached his own mission, dispensary and -wonderful little hospital a few months later. Had he -considered that there was any urgency in the case, and -the time-factor of any importance, he would have -abandoned his sleeping-sickness tour, and gone direct -to the hospital to operate upon the skull of his -foundling. For this great (and unknown) surgeon, upon -examination, had decided that the removal of a bullet -which was lodged beneath the scalp and in the solid -bone of the top of the man's head was the first, and -probably last, step in the direction of the restoration -of speech and understanding. Obviously he was in -no pain, and he was not mad, but his brain was that -of a child whose age was equal to the time which had -elapsed since the wound was caused. Probably this -had happened about a couple of years ago, for the -brain was about equal to that of a two-year-old child. -But why had the child not learned to talk? Possibly -the fact that he had lived among negroes, since his -last return to consciousness, would account for the -fact. Had he been shot in the head and recovered -among English people (if he were English) he would -probably be now talking as fluently as a two-year-old -baby....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The first few days after his return to his headquarters -were always exceedingly busy ones for the doctor. The -number of things able to "go wrong" in his absence -was incredible, and, as he was the only white man -resident in a district some ten thousand square miles -in area, the accumulation of work and trouble was -sufficient to appal most people. But work and trouble -were what the good doctor sought and throve on.... -One piece of good news there was, however, in the -tale of calamities. A pencilled note, scribbled on a -leaf of a military pocket-book, informed him that his -old friend Strong, of the Queen's African Rifles, had -passed through his village three weeks earlier, and -would again pass through, on his return, in a week's -time. Having made a wide détour to see his friend, -Strong was very disappointed to learn of his absence, -and would return by the same devious route, in the -hope of better luck....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Good! A few days of Strong's company would be -worth a lot. A visit from any white man was -something; from a man of one's own class and kind was -a great thing; but from worldly-wise, widely-read, -clever old Strong! ... Excellent! ...</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">4</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Captain Strong, of the Queen's African Rifles, passed -from the strong sunlight into the dark coolness of -Doctor John Williams' bungalow side by side with -his host, who was still shaking him by the hand, in his -joy and affection. Laying his riding-whip and helmet -on a table he glanced round, stared, turned as white -as a sunburnt man may, ejaculated "Oh, my God!" -and seized the doctor's arm. His mouth hung open, his -eyes were starting from his head, and it was with -shaking hand that he pointed to where, in the doctor's -living-room, sat the dumb and weak-witted foundling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Doctor Williams was astounded and mightily -interested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's up, Strong?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"B--b--b--but he's </span><em class="italics">dead</em><span>!" stammered Strong -with a gasp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a bit of it, man," was the reply, "he's as -alive as you or I. He's dumb, and he's dotty, but -he's alive all right.... What's wrong with you? -You've got a touch of the sun..." and then Captain -Strong was himself again. If Captain Sir Montague -Merline, late of the Queen's African Rifles, were alive, -it should not be Jack Strong who would announce the -fact....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Monty Merline?</em><span> ... Was that vacant-looking -person who was rising from a chair and bowing to -him, his old pal Merline? ... Most undoubtedly it -was. Besides--there on his wrist and forearm was -the wonderfully-tattooed snake....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you do?" he said. The other bowed -again, smiled stupidly, and fumbled with the buttons -of his coat.... Balmy! ...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Strong turned and dragged his host out of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's he come from?" he asked quickly. -"Who is he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where he came from last," replied the doctor, -"is a village called, I believe, Bwogo, about a hundred -and twenty miles south-east of here. How he got -there I can't tell you. The natives said he just walked -up unaccompanied, unbounded, unpursued. He's got -a bullet or something in the top of his head and I'm -going to lug it out. And then, my boy, with any luck -at all, he'll very soon be able to answer you any -question you like to put him. Speech and memory -will return at the moment the pressure on the brain -ceases."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will he remember up to the time the bullet hit -him, or since, or both?" asked Strong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All his life, up to the moment the bullet hit him, -certainly," was the reply. "What happened since -will, at first, be remembered as a dream, probably. -If I had to prophesy I should say he'd take up his -life from the second in which the bullet hit him, and -think, for the moment, that he is still where it -happened. By-and-by, he'll realise that there's a gap -somewhere, and gradually he'll be able to fill it in with -events which will seem half nightmare, half real."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anyhow, he'll be certain of his identity and -personal history and so forth?" asked Strong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Absolutely," said the surgeon. "It will be -precisely as though he awoke from an ordinary night's -rest.... It'll be awfully interesting to hear him give -an account of himself.... All this, of course, if he -doesn't die under the operation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope he will," said Strong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> you mean, my dear chap?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope he'll die under the operation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll be better dead.... And it will be better -for three other people that he should be dead.... -Is he likely to die?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should say it's ten to one he'll pull through all -right.... What's it all about, Strong?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here, old chap," was the earnest reply. -"If it were anybody else but you I shouldn't know -what to say or do. As it's </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>, my course is clear, for -you're the last thing in discretion, wisdom and -understanding.... But don't ask me his name.... I know -him.... Look here, it's like this. His wife's married -again.... There's a kid.... They're well known in -Society.... Awful business.... Ghastly scandal.... -Shockin' position." Captain Strong took Doctor John -Williams by the arm. "Look here, old chap," he -said once again. "Need you do this? It isn't as though -he was 'conscious,' so to speak, and in pain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I must do it," replied the doctor without -hesitation, as the other paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why?" urged Strong. "I'm absolutely -certain that if M----, er--that is--this chap--could -have his faculties for a minute he would tell you not -to do it.... You'll take him from a sort of negative -happiness to the most positive and acute unhappiness, -and you'll simply blast the lives of his wife and the -most excellent chap she's married.... She waited -a year after this chap 'died' in--er--that last Polar -expedition--as was supposed.... Think of the poor -little kid too.... And there's estates and a ti---- -so on...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No good, Strong. My duty in the matter is -perfectly clear, and it is to the sick man, as such."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you'll do a damned cruel thing ... er--sorry, -old chap, I mean </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> think it over a bit and look -at it from the point of view of the unfortunate lady, -the second husband, and the child.... And of the -chap himself.... By God! He won't thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I look at it from the point of view of the doctor -and I'm not out for thanks," was the reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that your last word, Williams?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is. I have here a man mentally maimed, -mangled and suffering. My first and only duty is to -heal him, and I shall do it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Right O!" replied Strong, who knew that further -words would be useless. He knew that his friend's -intelligence was clear as crystal and his will as firm, -and that he accepted no other guide than his own -conscience....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the three men sat in the moonlight that night, -after dinner, Captain Strong was an uncomfortable -man. That tragedy must find a place in the human -comedy he was well aware. It had its uses like the -comic relief--but for human tragedy, undilute, black, -harsh, and dreadful, he had no taste. He shivered. -The pretty little comedy of Lord Huntingten and Sir -Montague and Lady Merline, of two years ago, had -greatly amused and deeply interested him. This -tragedy of the same three people was unmitigated -horror.... Poor Lady Merline! He conjured up her -beautiful face with the wonderful eyes, the rose-leaf -complexion, the glorious hair, the tender, lovely -mouth--and saw the life and beauty wiped from it -as she read, or heard, the ghastly news ... bigamy -... illegitimacy....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor's "bearer" came to take the patient to -bed. He was a remarkable man who had started life -as a ward-boy in Madras. He it was who had cut the -half-witted white man's hair, shaved his beard and -dressed him in his master's spare clothes. When the -patient was asleep that night, he was going to endeavour -to shave the top of his head without waking him, -for he was to be operated on, in the morning....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I fully understand and I give you my solemn -promise, Strong," said the doctor as the two men rose -to go in, that night. "The moment the man is sane -I will tell him that he is not to tell me his name, nor -anything else until he has heard what I have to say. -I will then break it to him--using my own discretion -as to how and when--that he was reported dead, -that his will was proved, that his widow wore mourning -for a year and then married again, and had a son a -year later.... I undertake that he shall not leave -this house, </span><em class="italics">knowing that</em><span>, unless he is in the fullest -possession of his faculties and able to realise with the -utmost clearness </span><em class="italics">all</em><span> the bearings of the case and </span><em class="italics">all</em><span> -the consequences following his resumption of identity. -And I'll let him hide here for just as long as he cares -to conceal himself--if he wishes to remain 'dead' for -a time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes ... And as I can't possibly stay till he -recovers, nor, in fact, over to-morrow without gross -dereliction of duty, I will leave a letter for you to -give him at the earliest safe moment.... I'll tell him -that I am the only living soul who knows his name -as well as his secret. He'll understand that no one else -will know this--from me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he sat on the side of his bed that night, Captain -Strong remarked unto his soul, "Well--one thing--if -I know Monty Merline as well as I think, 'Sir -Montague Merline' died two years ago, whatever -happens.... And yet I can't imagine Monty -committing suicide, somehow. He's a chap with a -conscience as well as the soul of chivalry.... Poor, poor, -old Monty Merline!..."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="soap-and-sir-montague-merline"><span class="x-large">THE WAGES OF VIRTUE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">CHAPTER I</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">SOAP AND SIR MONTAGUE MERLINE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Sir Montague Merline, second-class private -soldier of the First Battalion of the Foreign Legion -of France, paused to straighten his back, to pass his -bronzed forearm across his white forehead, and to put -his scrap of soap into his mouth--the only safe receptacle -for the precious morsel, the tiny cake issued once -a month by Madame La République to the Legionary -for all his washing purposes. When one's income is -precisely one halfpenny a day (paid when it has totalled -up to the sum of twopence halfpenny), one does not -waste much, nor risk the loss of valuable property; -and to lay a piece of soap upon the concrete of </span><em class="italics">Le -Cercle d'Enfer</em><span> reservoir, is not so much to risk the loss -of it as to lose it, when one is surrounded by gentlemen -of the Foreign Legion. Let me not be misunderstood, -nor supposed to be casting aspersions upon the said -gentlemen, but their need for soap is urgent, their -income is one halfpenny a day, and soap is of the things -with which one may "decorate oneself" without -contravening the law of the Legion. To steal is to steal, -mark you (and to deserve, and probably to get, a -bayonet through the offending hand, pinning it to the -bench or table), but to borrow certain specified articles -permanently and without permission is merely, in the -curious slang of the Legion, "to decorate oneself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Contrary to what the uninitiated might suppose, </span><em class="italics">Le -Cercle d'Enfer</em><span>--the Circle of Hell--is not a dry, but a -very wet place, it being, in point of fact, the </span><em class="italics">lavabo</em><span> -where the Legionaries of the French Foreign Legion -stationed in Algeria at Sidi-bel-Abbès, daily wash their -white fatigue uniforms and occasionally their underclothing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, that </span><em class="italics">Cercle d'Enfer</em><span>! I hated it more than I -hated the </span><em class="italics">peloton des hommes punis, salle de police, -cellules</em><span>, the "Breakfast of the Legion," the awful heat, -monotony, flies, Bedouins; the solitude, hunger, and -thirst of outpost stations in the south; I hated it more -than I hated </span><em class="italics">astiquage</em><span>, </span><em class="italics">la boîte</em><span>, the </span><em class="italics">chaussettes russes</em><span>, -hospital, the terrible desert marches, sewer-cleaning -fatigues, or that villainous and vindictive ruffian of a -</span><em class="italics">cafard</em><span>-smitten </span><em class="italics">caporal</em><span> who systematically did his very -able best to kill me. Oh, that accursed </span><em class="italics">Cercle d'Enfer</em><span>, -and the heart-breaking labour of washing a filthy -alfa-fibre suit (stained perhaps with rifle-oil) in cold -water, and without soap!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Only the other day, as I lay somnolent in a long -chair in the verandah of the Charmingest Woman -(she lives in India), I heard the regular </span><em class="italics">flop, flop, flop</em><span> -of wet clothes, beaten by a distant </span><em class="italics">dhobi</em><span> upon a slab -of stone, and at the same moment I smelt wet concrete -as the </span><em class="italics">mali</em><span> watered the maidenhair fern on the steps -leading from Her verandah to the garden. Odours -call up memories far more distinctly and readily than -do other sense-impressions, and the faint smell of wet -concrete, aided as it was by the faintly audible sound -of wet blows, brought most vividly before my mind's -eye a detailed picture of that well-named Temple of -Hygiea, the "Circle of Hell." Sleeping, waking, and -partly sleeping, partly waking, I saw it all again; -saw Sir Montague Merline, who called himself John -Bull; saw Hiram Cyrus Milton, known as The Bucking -Bronco; saw "Reginald Rupert"; the infamous Luigi -Rivoli; the unspeakable Edouard Malvin; the -marvellous Mad Grasshopper, whose name no one -knew; the truly religious Hans Djoolte; the Russian -twins, calling themselves Mikhail and Feodor -Kyrilovitch Malekov; the terrible Sergeant-Major -Suicide-Maker, and all the rest of them. And finally, waking -with an actual and perceptible taste of soap in my -mouth, I wished my worst enemy were in the </span><em class="italics">Cercle -d'Enfer</em><span>, soapless, and with much rifle-oil, dust, leather -marks and wine stains on his once-white uniform--and -then I thought of Carmelita and determined to write -this book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For Carmelita deserves a monument (and so does -John Bull), however humble.... To continue....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Montague Merline did not put his precious -morsel of soap into his pocket, for the excellent reason -that there was no pocket to the single exiguous -garment he was at the moment wearing--a useful piece -of material which in its time played many parts, and -knew the service of duster, towel, turban, tablecloth, -polishing pad, tea-cloth, house-flannel, apron, -handkerchief, neckerchief, curtain, serviette, holder, -fly-slayer, water-strainer, punkah, and, at the moment, -nether garment. Having </span><em class="italics">cached</em><span> his soup and having -observed "</span><em class="italics">Peste!</em><span>" as he savoured its flavour, he -proceeded to pommel, punch, and slap upon the -concrete, the greyish-white tunic and breeches, and -the cotton vest and shirt which he had generously -soaped before the hungry eyes of numerous soapless -but oathful fellow-labourers, who less successfully -sought that virtue which, in the Legion, is certainly -next to, but far ahead of, mere godliness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In due course, Sir Montague Merline rinsed his -garments in the reservoir, wrung them out, bore them -to the nearest clothes-line, hung them out to dry, and -sat himself down in their shadow to stare at them -unwaveringly until dried by the fierce sun--the -ancient enemy, for the moment an unwilling friend. -To watch them unwaveringly and intently because he -knew that the turning of his head for ten seconds -might mean their complete and final disappearance--for, -like soap, articles of uniform are on the list of things -with which a Legionary may "decorate" himself, -if he can, without incurring the odium of public -opinion. (He may steal any article of equipment, -clothing, kit, accoutrement, or general utility, but -his patron saint help him and Le Bon Dieu be merciful -to him, if he be caught stealing tobacco, wine, food, -or money.)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Becoming aware of the presence of Monsieur le -Légionnaire Edouard Malvin, Sir Montague Merline -increased the vigilance of his scrutiny of his pendent -property, for ce cher Edouard was of pick-pockets -the very prince and magician; of those who could -steal the teeth from a Jew while he sneezed and would -steal the scalp from their grandmamma while she -objected.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ohé! Jean Boule, lend me thy soap," besought -this stout and dapper little Austrian, who for some -reason pretended to be a Belgian from the Congo. -"This cursed alfa-fibre gets dirtier the more you wash -it in this cursed water," and he smiled a greasy and -ingratiating grin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without for one second averting his steady stare -from his clothes, the Englishman slowly removed -the soap from his mouth, expectorated, remarked -"</span><em class="italics">Peaudezébie</em><span>,"[#] and took no further notice of the -quaint figure which stood by his side, clad only in -ancient red Zouave breeches and the ingratiating -smile.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] An emphatic negative.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Name of a Name! Name of the Name of a Pipe! -Name of the Name of a Dirty Little Furry Red -Monkey!" observed Monsieur le Légionnaire Edouard -Malvin as he turned to slouch away, twirling the -dripping grey-white tunic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Meaning me?" asked Sir Montague, replacing the -soap in its safe repository and preparing to rise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But no! But not in the least, old cabbage. Thou -hast the </span><em class="italics">cafard</em><span>. Mais oui, tu as le cafard," replied -the Belgian and quickened his retreat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No, the grey Jean Boule, so old, so young, doyen -of Légionnaires, so quick, strong, skilful and enduring -at </span><em class="italics">la boxe</em><span>, was not the man to cross at any time, and -least of all when he had </span><em class="italics">le cafard</em><span>, that terrible Legion -madness that all Legionaries know; the madness that -drives them to the cells, to gaol, to the Zephyrs, to -the firing-party by the open grave; or to desertion -and death in the desert. The grey Jean Boule had -been a Zephyr of the Penal Battalions once, already, -for killing a man, and Monsieur Malvin, although a -Legionary of the Foreign Legion, did not wish to die. -No, not while Carmelita and Madame la Cantinière -lived and loved and sold the good Algiers wine at -three-halfpence a bottle.... No, bon sang de sort!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>M. le Légionnaire Malvin returned to the dense ring -of labouring perspiring washers, and edged in behind -a gigantic German and a short, broad, burly Alsatian, -capitalists as joint proprietors of a fine cake of soap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sacré nom de nom de bon Dieu de Dieu de sort! -Dull-witted German pigs might leave their soap -unguarded for a moment, and, if they did not, might -be induced to wring some soapy water from their little -pile of washing, upon the obstinately greasy tunic of -the good M. Malvin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Légionnaire Hans Schnitzel, late of Berlin, rinsed -his washing in clean water, wrung it, and took it to -the nearest drying line. Légionnaire Alphonse Dupont, -late of Alsace, placed his soap in the pocket of the -dirty white fatigue-uniform which he wore, and which -he would wash as soon as he had finished the present -job. Immediately, Légionnaire Edouard Malvin -transferred the soap from the side pocket of the tunic -of the unconscious Légionnaire Alphonse Dupont to -that of his own red breeches, and straightway begged -the loan of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Merde!</em><span>" replied Dupont. "Nombril de Belzébutt! -I will lend it thee </span><em class="italics">peaudezébie</em><span>. Why should -I lend thee soap, </span><em class="italics">vieux dégoulant</em><span>? Go decorate -thyself, </span><em class="italics">sale cochon</em><span>. Besides 'tis not mine to lend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And that is very true," agreed M. Malvin, and -sauntered toward Schnitzel, who stood phlegmatically -guarding his drying clothes. In his hand was an object -which caused the eyebrows of the good M. Malvin -to arch and rise, and his mouth to water--nothing -less than an actual, real and genuine scrubbing-brush, -beautiful in its bristliness. Then righteous anger filled -his soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Saligaud!" he hissed. "These pigs of filthy -Germans! Soap </span><em class="italics">and</em><span> a brush. Sacripants! Ils me -dégoutant à la fin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he regarded the stolid German with increasing -envy, hatred, malice and all uncharitableness, and -cast about in his quick and cunning mind for means -of relieving him of the coveted brush, a sudden roar -of wrath and grief from his Alsatian partner, Dupont, -sent Schnitzel running to join that unfortunate man -in fierce and impartial denunciations of his left-hand -and right-hand neighbours, who were thieves, pigs, -brigands, dogs, Arabs, and utterly </span><em class="italics">merdant</em><span> and -</span><em class="italics">merdable</em><span>. Bursting into the fray, Herr Schnitzel -found them, in addition, </span><em class="italics">bloedsinnig</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">dummkopf</em><span> -in that they could not produce cakes of soap from -empty mouths.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the rage of the bereaved warriors increased, -more and more Pomeranian and Alsatian patois -invaded the wonderful Legion-French, a French -which is not of Paris, nor of anywhere else in the world -save La Légion. As Dupont fell upon a laughing -Italian with a cry of "Ah! zut! Sacré grimacier," -Schnitzel spluttered and roared at a huge slow-moving -American who regarded him with a look of pitying -but not unkindly contempt....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do the 'eathen rage furious </span><em class="italics">to</em><span>gether and -</span><em class="italics">im</em><span>agine a vain thing?" he enquired in a slow drawl -of the excited "furriner," adding "Ain't yew some -</span><em class="italics">schafs-kopf</em><span>, sonny!" and, as the big German began -to whirl his arms in the windmill fashion peculiar -to the non-boxing foreigner who meditates assault -and battery, continued--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now yew stop </span><em class="italics">zanking</em><span> and playing </span><em class="italics">versteckens</em><span> -with me, yew pie-faced Squarehead, and be </span><em class="italics">schnell</em><span> -about it, or yew'll git my goat, see? </span><em class="italics">Vous obtiendrez -mon chèvre</em><span>, yew perambulating </span><em class="italics">prachtvoll bierhatte</em><span>," -and he coolly turned his back upon the infuriated -German with a polite, if laborious, "Guten tag, mein -Freund."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Hiram Cyrus Milton (late of Texas, California, -the Yukon, and the "main drag" generally of the -wild and woolly West) was exceeding proud of his -linguistic knowledge and skill. It may be remarked, -en passant, that his friends were even prouder of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment, le bon Légionnaire Malvin, hovering -for opportunity, with a sudden </span><em class="italics">coup de savate</em><span> struck -the so-desirable scrubbing-brush from the hand of -Herr Schnitzel with a force that seemed like to take -the arm from the shoulder with it. Leaping round -with a yell of pain, the unfortunate German found -himself, as Malvin had calculated, face to face with -the mighty Luigi Rivoli, to attack whom was to be -brought to death's door through that of the hospital.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Snatching up the brush which was behind Schnitzel -when he turned to face Rivoli, le bon M. Malvin -lightly departed from the vulgar scuffle in the direction -of the drying clothes of Herren Schnitzel and Dupont, -the latter, last seen clasping, with more enthusiasm -than love, a wiry Italian to his bosom. The luck of -M. Malvin was distinctly in, for not only had he the -soap and a brush for the easy cleansing of his own -uniform, but he had within his grasp a fresh uniform -to wear, and another to sell; for the clothing of ce -bon Dupont would fit him to a marvel, while that of -the pig-dog Schnitzel would fetch good money, the -equivalent of several litres of the thick, red Algerian -wine, from a certain Spanish Jew, old Haroun Mendoza, -of the Sidi-bel-Abbès ghetto.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, the Saints bless and reward the good Dupont -for being of the same size as M. Malvin himself, for it -is a most serious matter to be short of anything when -showing-down kit at kit-inspection, and that thrice -accursed Sacré Chien of an </span><em class="italics">Adjudant</em><span> would, as likely -as not, have spare white trousers shown-down on the -morrow. What can a good Légionnaire do, look you, -when he has not the article named for to-morrow's -</span><em class="italics">Adjutant's</em><span> inspection, but "decorate himself"? Is -it easy, is it reasonable, to buy new white -fatigue-uniform on an income of one halfpenny per diem? -Sapristi, and Sacré Bleu, and Name of the Name of a -Little Brown Dog, a litre of wine costs a penny, and -a packet of tobacco three-halfpence, and what is -left to a gentleman of the Legion then, on pay-day, -out of his twopence-halfpenny, nom d'un pétard? -As for ce bon Dupont, he must in his turn "decorate" -himself. And if he cannot, but must renew acquaintance -with </span><em class="italics">la boîte</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">le peloton des hommes punis</em><span>, -why--he must regard things in their true light, be -philosophical, and take it easy. Is it not proverbial -that "Toutes choses peut on souffrir qu'aise"? And -with a purr of pleasure, a positive licking of chops, -and a murmur of "Ah! Au tient frais," he deftly -whipped the property of the embattled Legionaries -from the line, no man saying him nay. For it is not -the etiquette of the Legion to interfere with one who, -in the absence of its owner, would "decorate" himself -with any of those things with which self-decoration -is permissible, if not honourable. Indeed, to Sir -Montague Merline, sitting close by, and regarding his -proceedings with cold impartial eye, M. Malvin -observed--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Y a de bon, mon salop! I have heard that le bon -Dieu helps those who help themselves. I do but help -myself in order to give le bon Dieu the opportunity -He doubtless desires. I decorate myself incidentally. -Mais oui, and I shall decorate myself this evening -with a p'tite ouvrière and to-morrow with une -réputation d'ivrogne," and he turned innocently to saunter -with his innocent bundle of washing from the </span><em class="italics">lavabo</em><span>, -to his </span><em class="italics">caserne</em><span>. Ere he had taken half a dozen steps, -the cold and quiet voice of the grey Jean Boule broke -in upon the resumed day-dreams of the innocently -sauntering M. Malvin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Might one aspire to the honour of venturing to -detain for a brief interview Monsieur le Légionnaire -Edouard Malvin?" said the soft metallic voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But certainly, and without charge, mon gars," -replied that gentleman, turning and eyeing the -incomprehensible and dangerous Jean Boule, </span><em class="italics">à coin -de l'oeil</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You seek soap?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do," replied the Austrian "Belgian" promptly. -The possession of one cake of soap makes that of -another no less desirable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you seek sorrow also?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But no, dear friend. 'J'ai eu toutes les folies.' In -this world I seek but wine, woman, and peace. Let -me avoid the 'gros bonnets' and lead my happy -tumble life in peaceful obscurity. A modest violet, -I. A wayside flow'ret, a retiring primrose, such as you -English love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, cher Malvin, since you seek soap and not -sorrow, let not my little cake of soap disappear from -beneath the polishing-rags in my sack. The little -brown sack at the head of my cot, cher Malvin. -Enfin! I appoint you guardian and custodian of -my little cake of soap. But in a most evil hour for -le bon M. Malvin would it disappear. Guard it then, -cher Malvin. Respect it. Watch over it as you value, -and would retain, your health and beauty, M. Malvin. -And when </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> have avenged </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> little piece of soap, the -true history of the last ten minutes will deeply interest -those earnest searchers after truth, Legionaries -Schnitzel and Dupont. Depart in peace and enter -upon your new office of Guardian of my Soap! Vous -devez en être joliment fier."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite a speech, in effect, mon drôle," replied the -stout Austrian as he doubtfully fingered his short -beard </span><em class="italics">au poinçon</em><span>, and added uneasily, "I am not -the only gentleman who 'decorates' himself with -soap."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No? Nor with uniforms. Go in peace, Protector -of my Soap."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And smiling wintrily M. Malvin winked, broke into -the wholly deplorable ditty of "Pére Dupanloup en -chemin de fer," and pursued his innocent path to -barracks, whither Sir Montague Merline later followed -him, after watching with a contemptuous smile some -mixed and messy fighting (beside the apparently -dead body of the Legionary Schnitzel) between an -Alsatian and an Italian, in which the Italian kicked -his opponent in the stomach and partly ate his ear, -and the Alsatian used his hands solely for purpose -of throttling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why couldn't they stand up and fight like gentlemen -under Queensberry rules, or, if boxing did not appeal -to them, use their sword-bayonets like soldiers and -Legionaries--the low rooters, the vulgar, rough-and-tumble -gutter-scrappers....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Removing his almost dry washing from the line, -Sir Montague Merline marched across to his barrack-block, -climbed the three flights of stone stairs, traversed -the long corridor of his Company, and entered the big, -light, airy room wherein he and twenty-nine other -Legionaries (one of whom held the very exalted and -important rank of </span><em class="italics">Caporal</em><span>) lived and moved and had -their monotonous being.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Spreading his tunic and breeches on the end of the -long table he proceeded to "iron" them, first with -his hand, secondly with a tin plate, and finally with -the edge of his "quart," the drinking-mug which -hung at the head of his bed ready for the reception of -the early morning </span><em class="italics">jus</em><span>, the strong coffee which most -effectively rouses the Legionary from somnolence and -most ineffectively sustains him until midday.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Anon, having persuaded himself that the result of -his labours was satisfactory, and up to Legion -standards of smartness--which are as high as those of -the ordinary </span><em class="italics">piou-piou</em><span> of the French line are low--he -folded his uniform in elbow-to-finger-tip lengths, -placed it with the </span><em class="italics">paquetage</em><span> on the shelf above his -bed, and began to dress for his evening walk-out. -The Legionary's time is, in theory, his own after -5 p.m., and the most sacred plank in the most sacred -platform of all his sacred tradition is his right to -promenade himself at eventide and listen to the -Legion's glorious band in the Place Sadi Carnot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having laid his uniform, belt, bayonet, and képi -on his cot, he stepped across to the next but one -(the name-card at the head of which bore the -astonishing legend "Bucking Bronco, No. 11356. Soldat -1ère Classe), opened a little sack which hung at the -head of it, and took from it the remains of an ancient -nail-brush, the joint property of Sir Montague Merline, -alias Jean Boule, and Hiram Cyrus Milton, alias -Bucking Bronco, late of Texas, California, Yukon, -and "the main drag" of the United States of America.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even as Sir Montague's hand was inserted through -the neck of the sack, the huge American (who had -been wrongfully accused and rashly attacked by -Legionary Hans Schnitzel) entered the barrack-room, -caught sight of a figure bending over his rag-sack, and -crept on tiptoe towards it, his great gnarled fists -clenched, his mouth compressed to a straight thin -line beneath his huge drooping moustache, and his -grey eyes ablaze. Luckily Sir Montague heard the -sounds of his stealthy approach, and turned just in -time. The American dropped his fists and smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say," he drawled, "I thought it was some herring-gutted -weevil of a Dago or a Squarehead shenannikin -with my precious jools. An' I was jest a'goin' ter -plug the skinnamalink some. Say, Johnnie, if yew -hadn't swivelled any, I was jest a'goin' ter slug yew, -good an' plenty, behind the yeer-'ole."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just getting the tooth-nail-button-boot-dandy-brush, -Buck," replied Sir Montague. "How are you -feeling?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm feelin' purty mean," was the reply. "A dirty -Squarehead of a dod-gasted Dutchy from the -Farterland grunted in me eye, an' I thought the shave-tail -was fer rough-housin', an' I slugged him one, just ter -start 'im gwine. The gosh-dinged piker jest curled -up. He jest wilted on the floor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bucking Bronco, in high disgust, expectorated -and then chid himself for forgetting that he was -no longer on the free soil of America, where a gentleman -may spit as he likes and be a gentleman for a' that -and a' that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell yew, Johnnie," he continued, "he got me -jingled, the lumberin' lallapaloozer! There he lay -</span><em class="italics">an'</em><span> lay--and then some. 'Git up, yew rubberin' -rube,' I ses, 'yew'll git moss on your teeth if yew lie -so quiet; git up, an' deliver the goods,' I ses, 'I had -more guts then yew when I was knee high to a June -bug.' Did he arise an' make good? </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> should worry. -Nope. Yew take it from Uncle, that bonehead is -there yit, an' afore I could make him wise to it thet -he didn't git the bulge on Uncle with </span><em class="italics">thet</em><span> bluff, another -Squarehead an' a gibberin' Dago put up a dirty kind -o' scrap over his body, gougin' and kickin' an' earbitin' -an' throttlin', an' a whole bunch o' boobs jined in -an' I give it up an' come 'ome." And the Bucking -Bronco sat him sadly on his bed and groaned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cheer up, Buck, we'll all soon be dead," replied his -comrade, "don't </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> go getting cafard," and he -looked anxiously at the angry-lugubrious face of his -friend. "What's the </span><em class="italics">ordre du jour</em><span> for walking-out -dress to-day?" he added. "Blue tunic and red -trousers? Or tunic and white? Or </span><em class="italics">capote</em><span>, or what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was tunic an' white yesterday," replied the -American, "an' I guess it is to-day too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's my night to howl," he added cryptically -"Let's go an' pow-wow Carmelita ef thet fresh gorilla -Loojey Rivoli ain't got 'er in 'is pocket. I'll shoot -'im up some day, sure...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden shouting, tumult, and running below, -and cries of "Les bleus! Les bleus!" interrupted -the Bronco's monologue and drew the two old soldiers -to a window that overlooked the vast, neat, gravelled -barrack-square, clean, naked, and bleak to the eye as -an ice-floe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Strike me peculiar," remarked the Bucking -Bronco. "It's another big gang o' tenderfeet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A draft of rookies! Come on--they'll all be for -our Company in place of those </span><em class="italics">poumpists</em><span>,[#] and there -may be something Anglo-Saxon among them," said -Legionary John Bull, and the two men hastily flung -their capotes over their sketchy attire and hurried -from the room, buttoning them as they went.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Deserters.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Like Charity, the Legionary's overcoat covers a -multitude of sins--chiefly of omission--and is a most -useful garment. It protects him from the cold dawn -wind, and keeps him warm by night; it protects -him from the cruel African sun, and keeps him cool -by day, or at least, if not cool, in the frying-pan -degree of heat, which is better than that of the fire. -He marches in it without a tunic, and relies upon it -to conceal the fact when he has failed to "decorate" -himself with underclothing. Its skirts, buttoned -back, hamper not his legs, and its capacious pockets -have many uses. Its one drawback is that, being -double-breasted, it buttons up on either side, a fact -which has brought the grey hairs of many an honest -Legionary in sorrow to the cellules, and given many -a brutal and vindictive Sergeant the chance of that -cruelty in which his little tyrant soul so revels. For, -incredible as it may seem to the lay mind, the -ingenious devil whose military mind concocts the ordres -du jour, changes, by solemn decree, and almost daily, -the side upon which the overcoat is to be buttoned up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clattering down the long flights of stone stairs, and -converging across the barrack-square, the Legionaries -came running from all directions, to gaze upon, to -chaff, to delude, to sponge upon, and to rob and -swindle the "Blues"--the recruits of the </span><em class="italics">Légion -Étrangère</em><span>, the embryo </span><em class="italics">Légionnaires d'Afrique</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the incredibly maddeningly dull life of the -Legion in peace time, the slightest diversion is a -god-send and even the arrival of a batch of recruits a -most welcome event. To all, it is a distraction; to -some, the hope of the arrival of a fellow-countryman -(especially to the few English, Americans, Danes, -Greeks, Russians, Norwegians, Swedes, and Poles -whom cruel Fate has sent to La Légion). To some, -a chance of passing on a part of the brutality and -tyranny which they themselves suffer; to some, a -chance of getting civilian clothes in which to desert; -to others, an opportunity of selling knowledge of -the ropes, for litres of canteen wine; to many, a -hope of working a successful trick on a bewildered -recruit--the time-honoured villainy of stealing his -new uniform and pretending to buy him another -</span><em class="italics">sub rosa</em><span> from the dishonest quartermaster, whereupon -the recruit buys back his own original uniform at -the cost of his little all (for invariably the alleged -substitute-uniform costs just that sum of money -which the poor wretch has brought with him and -augmented by the compulsory sale of his civilian kit -to the clothes-dealing harpies and thieves who infest -the barrack-gates on the arrival of each draft).</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the tiny portal beside the huge barrack-gate -was closed and fastened by the Corporal in charge -of the squad of "blues" (as the French army calls -its recruits[#]), the single file of derelicts halted at the -order of the Sergeant of the Guard, who, more in -sorrow than in anger, weighed them and found them -wanting.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] In the days of the high, tight stock -and cravat, the recruit was -supposed to be livid and blue in the face -until he grew accustomed to them.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Sweepings," he summed them up in passing -judgment. "Foundlings. Droppings. Crumbs. -Tripe. Accidents. Abortions. Cripples. Left by the -tide. Blown in by the wind. Born pékins.[#] Only one -man among them, and he a pig of a Prussian--or -perhaps an Englishman. Let us hope he's an Englishman...."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Civilians.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In speaking thus, the worthy Sergeant was behaving -with impropriety and contrary to the law and -tradition of the Legion. What nouns and adjectives a -non-commissioned officer may use wherewith to -stigmatise a Legionary, depend wholly and solely -upon his taste, fluency and vocabulary. But it is -not etiquette to reproach a man with his nationality, -however much a matter for reproach that nationality -may be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you an Englishman, most miserable </span><em class="italics">bleu</em><span>?" -he suddenly asked of a tall, slim, fair youth, dressed -in tweed Norfolk-jacket, and grey flannel trousers, -and bearing in every line of feature and form, and in -the cut and set of his expensive clothing, the stamp -of the man of breeding, birth and position.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the especial mercy and grace of God, I am an -Englishman, Sergeant, thank you," he replied coolly -in good, if slow and careful French.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Sergeant smiled grimly behind his big moustache. -Himself a cashiered Russian officer, and once -a gentleman, he could appreciate a gentleman and -approve him in the strict privacy of his soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Slava Bogu!</em><span>" he roared. "Vile </span><em class="italics">bleu</em><span>! And now -by the especial mercy and grace of the Devil you are -a Légionnaire--or will be, if you survive the -making...." and added </span><em class="italics">sotto voce</em><span>, "Are you a degraded -dog of a broken officer? If so, you can claim to be -appointed to the </span><em class="italics">élèves caporaux</em><span> as a non-commissioned -officer on probation, if you have a photo of yourself -in officer's uniform. Thus you will escape all recruit-drill -and live in hope to become, some day, Sergeant, -even as I," and the (for a Sergeant of the Legion) -decent-hearted fellow smote his vast chest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thank you, Sergeant," was the drawled reply. -"You really dazzle me--but </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> am not a degraded -dog of a broken officer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Gospodi pomilui!</em><span>" roared the incensed Sergeant. -"Ne me donnez de la gabatine, pratique!" and, for -a second, seemed likely to strike the cool and insolent -recruit who dared to bandy words with a Sergeant -of the Legion. His eyes bulged, his moustache bristled, -and his scarlet face turned purple as he literally -showed his teeth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go easy, old chap," spoke a quiet voice, in English, -close beside the Englishman. "That fellow can do -you to death if you offend him," and the recruit, -turning, beheld a grey-moustached, white-haired -elderly man, bronzed, lined, and worn-looking--a -typical French army </span><em class="italics">vielle moustache</em><span>--an "old sweat" -from whose lips the accents of a refined English -gentleman came with the utmost incongruity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The youth's face brightened with interest. Obviously -this old dear was a public-school, or 'Varsity -man, or, very probably, an </span><em class="italics">ex</em><span>-British officer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good egg," quoth he, extending a hand behind him -for a surreptitious shake. "See you anon, what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you'll all come to the Seventh Company. We -are below strength," said Legionary John Bull, in -whose weary eyes had shone a new light of interest -since they fell upon this compatriot of his own caste -and kidney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A remarkably cool and nonchalant recruit--and -surely unique in the history of the Legion's "blues" -in showing absolutely no sign of privation, fear, -stress, criminality, poverty, depression, anxiety, or -bewilderment!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, what'n hell is he doin' in thet bum outfit?" -queried the Bucking Bronco of his friend John Bull, -who kept as near as possible to the Englishman whom -he had warned against ill-timed causticity of humour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's some b'y, thet b'y, but he'd better quit -kickin'. He's a way-up white man I opine. What's -'e a'doin' in this joint? He's a gay-cat and a looker. -He's a fierce stiff sport. He has sand, some--sure. -Yep," and Mr. Hiram Cyrus Milton checked himself -only just in time from defiling the immaculate and -sacred parade-ground, by "signifying in the usual -manner" that he was mentally perturbed, and -himself in these circumstances of expectoration-difficulty -by observing that the boy was undoubtedly -"some" boy, and worthy to have been an American -citizen had he been born under a luckier star--or -stripe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't place him, Buck," replied the puzzled -John Bull, his quiet voice rendered almost inaudible -by the shouts, howls, yells and cries of the seething -mob of Legionaries who swarmed round the line of -recruits, assailing their bewildered ears in all the tongues -of Europe, and some of those of Asia and Africa.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He doesn't look hungry, and he doesn't look -hunted. I suppose he is one of the few who don't -come here to escape either starvation, creditors, -or the Law. And he doesn't look desperate like the -average turned-down lover, ruined gambler, deserted -husband, or busted bankrupt.... Wonder if he's -come here in search of 'Romance'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wal, ef he's come hyar for his health an' amoosement -he'd go to Hell to cool himself, or ter the den of -a grizzly b'ar fer gentle stimoolation and recreation. -Gee whiz! Didn't he fair git ole Bluebottle's goat? -He sure did git nixt him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bit of a contrast to the rest of the gang, what?" -remarked John Bull, and indeed the truth of his -remark was very obvious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ain't they a outfit o' dodgasted hoboes an' -bindlestiffs!" agreed his friend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Straight as a lance, thin, very broad in the shoulders -and narrow of waist and hip; apparently as clean -and unruffled as when leaving his golf-club pavilion -for a round on the links; cool, self-possessed, haughty, -aristocratic and clean-cut of feature, this Englishman -among the other recruits looked like a Derby winner -among a string of equine ruins in a knacker's yard; -like a panther among bears--a detached and separated -creature, something of different flesh and blood. -Breed is a very remarkable thing, even more distinctive -than race, and in this little band of derelicts was -another Englishman, a Cockney youth who had passed -from street-arab and gutter-snipe, </span><em class="italics">via</em><span> Reformatory, to -hooligan, coster and soldier. No man in that collection -of wreckage from Germany, Spain, Italy, France, -and the four corners of Europe looked less like the -tall recruit than did this brother Englishman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To Sir Montague Merline, fallen and shattered star -of the high social firmament, the sight of him was as -welcome as water in the desert, and he thanked Fate for -having brought another Englishman to the Legion--and -one so debonair, so fine, so handsome, cool and strong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's Blood there," he murmured to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His shoulders hev bin drilled somewheres, although -he's British," added the Bucking one. "Yep. He's -one o' the flat-backed push."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder if he can be a cashiered officer. He's -drilled as you say.... If he has been broke for -something it hasn't marked him much. Nothing -hang-dog there," mused Legionary John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nope. He's a blowed-in-the-glass British -aristocrat," agreed the large-minded Hiram Cyrus, "and -I opine an ex-member of the commishunned ranks o' -the British Constitootional Army. He ain't niver -bin batterin' the main-stem for light-pieces like them -other hoodlums an' toughs an' smoudges. Nope. -He ain't never throwed his feet fer a two-bit poke-out.... -Look at that road-kid next 'im! Ain't he a -peach? I should smile! Wonder the medicine-man -didn't turn down some o' them chechaquos...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, truly, the draft contained some very queer -odd lots. By the side of the English gentleman stood -a big fat German boy in knicker-bockers and jersey, -bare-legged and wearing a pair of button-boots that -had belonged to a woman in the days when they still -possessed toe-caps. Pale face, pale hair, and pale -eyes, conspired to give him an air of terror--the first -seeming to have the hue of fright, the second to stand -</span><em class="italics">en brosse</em><span> with fear, and the last to bulge like those of -a hunted animal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presumably M. le Médicin-Major must have been -satisfied that the boy was eighteen years of age, but, -though tall and robust, he looked nearer fifteen--an -illusion strengthened, doubtless, by the knickerbockers, -bare calves, and button-boots. If he had enlisted -in the Foreign Legion to avoid service in the -Fatherland, he had quitted the frying-pan for a furnace -seven times heated. Possibly he hoped to emulate -Messieurs Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego. In -point of fact, he was a deserter (driven to the desperate -step of fleeing across the French frontier by a typical -Prussian non-commissioned officer), and already -wishing himself once more </span><em class="italics">zwei jahriger</em><span> in the happy -Fatherland.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Already, to his German soul and stomach, the -lager-bier of Munich, the sausage, </span><em class="italics">zwieback</em><span>, and </span><em class="italics">kalte -schnitzel</em><span> of home, seemed things of the dim and distant -past, and unattainable future.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Next to him stood a gnarled and knotted Spaniard, -whose face appeared to be carven from his native -mahogany, and whose ragged clothing--grimy, oily, -blackened--proclaimed him wharfside coal-heaver, -dock-rat, and longshoreman. What did he among the -Legion's blues? Was it lack of work, was it slow -starvation? Or excess of temper and a quick blow -with a coal-shovel upon the head of an enemy in some -Marseilles coal-barge--that had brought him to -Sidi-bel-Abbès in the sands of Africa?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By his side slouched a dark-faced, blunt-featured -Austrian youth, whose evil-looking mouth was -unfortunately in no wise concealed by a sparse and -straggling moustache, laboriously pinched into two -gummed spikes, and whose close-set eyes were not in -harmony of focus. His dress appeared to be that of -a lower-class clerk, ill-fitting black cloth of lamentable -cut, the type of suit that, in its thousands, renders -day horrible in European and American cities, and -is, alas, spreading to many Asiatic. His linen was -filthy, his crinkly hair full of dust, his boots cracked and -shapeless. He looked what he was--an absconding -Viennese tout who had had a very poor time of it. -He proved to be a highly objectionable and despicable -scoundrel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His left-hand neighbour was a weedy, olive-faced -youth, wearing a velvet tam-o'-shanter cap, and a -brown corduroy suit, of which the baggy, peg-top -trousers fitted tightly at the ankles over pearl-buttoned -spring-side patent boots. He had long fluffy brown -hair, long fluffy brown beard, whiskers, and moustache! -long filthy finger nails, and no linen. Apparently -a French student of the Sorbonne, or artist from The -Quarter, overwhelmed by some terrible cataclysm, -some </span><em class="italics">affaire</em><span> of the heart, the pocket, or </span><em class="italics">l'honneur</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Beside this gentleman, whose whole appearance -was highly offensive to the prejudiced insular eye -of the Englishman, stood a typical </span><em class="italics">Apache</em><span>--a -horrible-looking creature whose appalling face showed the -cunning of the fox, the ferocity of the panther, the -cruelty of the wolf, the treachery of the bear, the hate -of the serpent, and the rage of the boar. Monsieur -l'Apache had evidently chosen the Legion as a -preferable alternative to the hulks and the -chain-gang--Algeria rather than Noumea. He lived to doubt the -wisdom of his choice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Beside him, and evidently eyeing him askance, -stood two youths as extraordinarily similar as were -ever twins in this world. Dark, slightly "rat-faced," -slender, but decidedly athletic looking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cheer up, </span><em class="italics">golubtchik</em><span>! If one cannot get </span><em class="italics">vodka</em><span> -one must drink </span><em class="italics">kvass</em><span>," whispered one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, Fedia," replied the other. "But I am -so hungry and tired. What wouldn't I give for some -good hot tea and </span><em class="italics">blinni</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We're bound to get something of some sort before -long--though it won't be </span><em class="italics">zakuska</em><span>. Don't give way -on the very threshold now. It is our one chance, or -I would not have brought you here, Olichka."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ssh!" whispered back the other. "Don't call -me that here, Feodor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not, Mikhail, stout fellow," replied -Feodor, and smote his companion on the back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Regarding them, sharp-eyed, stood the Cockney, -an undersized, narrow-chested, but wiry-looking -person--a typical East End sparrow; impudent, assertive, -thoroughly self-reliant, tenacious, and courageous; of -the class that produces admirable specimens of the -genus "Tommy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In curious contrast to his look of </span><em class="italics">gamin</em><span> alertness -was that of his neighbour, a most stolid, dull and -heavy-looking Dutchman, whose sole conversational -effort was the grunt "</span><em class="italics">Verstaan nie</em><span>," whenever -addressed. Like every other member of the draft he -appeared "to feel his position" keenly, and distinctly -to deplore it. Such expression as his bovine face -possessed, suggested that Algerian sun and sands -compared unfavourably with Dutch mists and polders, -and the barrack-square of the Legion with the fat -and comfortable stern of a Scheldt canal boat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Square-headed, flat-faced Germans, gesticulating -Alsatians and Lorraines, fair Swiss, and Belgians, -with a sprinkling of Italians, swarthy Spaniards, -Austrians and French, made up the remainder of the -party, men whose status, age, appearance, bearing, -and origins were as diverse as their nationalities -levelled by a common desperate need (of food, or -sanctuary, or a fresh start in life), and united by a -common filthiness, squalor, and dejection--a gang -powerless in the bonds of hunger and fear, delivered -bound into the relentless, grinding mills of the Legion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And thus, distinguished and apart, though in their -midst, stood the well-dressed Englishman, apparently -calm, incurious, with equal mind; his linen fresh, -his face shaven, his clothing uncreased, his air rather -that of one who awaits the result of the footman's -enquiry as to whether Her Ladyship is "at home" -to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>More and more, the heart of Sir Montague Merline -warmed to this young man of his own race and class, -with his square shoulders, flat back, calm bearing, and -hard high look. He approved and admired his air -and appearance of being a Man, a Gentleman, and a -Soldier. Had he a son, it was just such a youth as this -he would have him be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Any 'Murricans thar?" suddenly bawled the -Bucking Bronco.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nao," replied the Cockney youth, craning forward. -"But I'm Henglish--which is better any d'y -in the week, ain't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The eye of the large American travelled slowly and -deliberately from the crown of the head to the tip of -the toe of the Cockney, and back. He then said -nothing--with some eloquence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, ma honey, yew talk U.S. any?" queried a -gigantic Negro, in the uniform of the Legion -(presumably recruited in France as a free American citizen -of Anglo-Saxon speech), addressing himself to the tall -Englishman. "Youse ain't Dago, nor Dutchie, nor -French. Cough it up, Bo, right hyar ef youse U.S."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The eyes of the young Englishman narrowed -slightly, and his naturally haughty expression -appeared to deepen toward one of contempt and disgust. -Otherwise he took no notice of the Negro, nor of his -question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Remarking, "Some poah white trash," the Negro -turned to the next man with the same query.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cries in various tongues, such as "Anybody from -Spain?" "Anyone from Vienna?" "Any Switzers -about?" and similar attempts by the crowding, -jostling Legionaries to discover a compatriot, and -possibly a "towny," evoked gleams and glances of -interest from the haggard, wretched eyes of the -"blues," and, occasionally, answering cries from their -grim and grimy lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A swaggering, strutting Sergeant emerged from the -neighbouring regimental offices, roared "</span><em class="italics">Garde à -vous</em><span>," brought the recruits to attention, and called -the roll. As prophesied by Legionary John Bull, the -whole draft was assigned to the Seventh Company, -recently depleted by the desertion, en masse, of a -</span><em class="italics">cafard</em><span>-smitten German </span><em class="italics">escouade</em><span>, or section, who had -gone "on pump," merely to die in the desert at the -hands of the Arabs--several horribly tortured, all -horribly mangled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having called the roll, this Sergeant, not strictly -following the example of the Sergeant of the Guard, -looked the draft over more in anger than in sorrow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Name of the Name of Beautiful Beelzebub," -bawled he, "but what have we here? To </span><em class="italics">drill</em><span> such -worm-casts! Quel métier! Quel chien d'un métier! -Stand up, stand up, oh sons of Arab mothers and -pariah dogs," and then, feigning sudden and -unconquerable sickness, he turned upon the Corporal in -charge with a roar of--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"March these sacred pigs to their accursed sties."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the heterogeneous gang stepped off at the word -of command, "</span><em class="italics">En avant. Marche!</em><span>" toward the -Quartermaster's store of the Seventh Company, it -was clear to the experienced eye that the great majority -were "Back to the army again," and were either -deserters, or men who had already put in their military -service in the armies of their own countries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the store-room they were endowed by the -</span><em class="italics">Fourrier-Sergent</em><span>, to the accompaniment of torrential -profanity, with white fatigue-uniforms, night-caps, -rough shirts, harsh towels, and scraps of soap. From -the store-room the squad was "personally conducted" -by another, and even more terrible, Sergeant to a -washing-shed beyond the drill-ground, and bidden -to soap and scour itself, and then stand beneath the -primitive shower-baths until purged and clean as -never before in its unspeakable life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they neared the washing-shed, the bare idea of -ablutions, or the idea of bare ablutions, appeared to -strike consternation, if not positive terror, into the -heart of at least one member of the squad, for the -young Russian who had been addressed by his twin -as Mikhail suddenly seized the other's arm and said -with a gasp--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Fedichka, how can I? Oh Fedia, Fedia, -what shall I do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We must trust in God, and use our wits, Olusha. -I will..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But a roar of "Silence, Oh Son of Seven Pigs," -from the Sergeant, cut him short as they reached the -shed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now strip and scrub your mangy skins, you dogs. -Scrape your crawling hides until the floor is thick in -hog-bristles and earth, oh Great-grandsons of Sacréd -Swine," he further adjured the wretched "blues," -with horrible threats and fearful oaths.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wash, you mud-caked vermin, wash, for the -carcase of the Legionary must be as spotless as the -Fame of the Legion, or the honour of its smartest -Sergeant--Sergeant Legros," and he lapped his -bulging chest lest any Boeotian present should be -ignorant of the identity of Sergeant Legros of the -Legion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Walking up and down before the doorless stalls in -which the naked recruits washed, Sergeant Legros -hurled taunts, gibes, insults, and curses at his charges, -stopping from time to time to give special attention -to anyone who had the misfortune to acquire his -particular regard. Pausing to stare at the tall Englishman -in affected disgust at the condition of his brilliant -and glowing skin, he enquired--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that a vest, disclosed by scrubbing and the -action of water? Or is it your hide, pig?" And was -somewhat taken aback by the cool and pleasant reply,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, that is not a new, pink silk vest that you see, -Sergeant, it really is my own skin--but many thanks -for the kind compliment, none the less."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sergeant Legros eyed the recruit with something -dimly and distantly akin to pity. Mad as a March -hare, poor wretch, of course--it could not be intentional -impudence--and the Sergeant smiled austerely--he -would probably die in the cells ere long, if </span><em class="italics">le cafard</em><span> -did not send him to the Zephyrs, the firing-platoon, -or the Arabs. Mad to begin with! Ho! Ho! What -a jest!--and the Sergeant chuckled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But what was this? Did the good Sergeant's eyes -deceive him? Or was there, in the next compartment, -a lousy, lazy "blue" pretending to cleanse his foul -and sinful carcase without completely stripping? The -young Russian, Mikhail, standing with his back to the -doorway, was unenthusiastically washing the upper -part of his body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sergeant Legros stiffened like a pointer, at the sight. -Rank disobedience! Flagrant defiance of orders, -coupled with the laziest and filthiest indifference -to cleanliness! This vile "blue" would put the -Legion's clean shirt and canvas fatigue-suit on an -indifferently washen body, would he? Let him wait -until he was a Legionary, and no longer a recruit--and -he should learn something of the powers of the -Sergeant Legros.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Off with those trousers, thou mud-caked -flea-bitten scum," he thundered, and then received -perhaps the greatest surprise of a surprising life. -For, ere the offending recruit could turn, or obey, -there danced forth from the next cubicle, with a wild -whoop, his exact double, who, naked as he was born, -turned agile somersaults and Catherine-wheels past -the astounded Sergeant, down the front of the -bathing-shed, and round the corner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sacré Nom de Nom de Bon Dieu-de-Dieu!" -ejaculated Sergeant Legros, and rubbed his eyes. -He then displayed a sample of the mental quickness -of the trained Legionary in darting to the neighbouring -corner of the building instead of running down the -entire front in the wake of the vanished acrobat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dashing along the short side-wall, Sergeant Legros -turned the corner and beheld the errant lunatic -approaching in the same literally revolutionary -manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On catching sight of the Sergeant, the naked recruit -halted, and broke into song and dance, the latter -being of that peculiarly violent Cossack variety which -constrains the performer to crouch low to earth and -fling out his legs, alternately, straight before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the first time in his life, words failed Sergeant -Legros. For some moments he could but stand over -the dancer and gesticulate and stutter. Rising to his -feet with an engaging smile--.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ça va mieux, mon père?" observed the latter amiably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Seizing him by arm and neck, the apoplectic -Sergeant Legros conducted this weird disciple of -Terpsichore back to his cubicle, while his mazed mind -fumbled in the treasure-house of his vocabulary, -and the armoury of his weapons of punishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Apparently there was method, however, in the -madness of Feodor Kyrilovitch Malekov, for a distinct -look of relief and satisfaction crossed his face as, in -the midst of a little crowd of open-mouthed, and -half-clothed recruits, he caught sight of his brother in -complete fatigue-uniform.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gradually, and very perceptibly the condition of -Sergeant Legros improved. His halting recriminations -and imprecations became a steady trickle, the trickle -a flow, the flow a torrent, and the torrent an -overwhelming deluge. By the time he had almost exhausted -his vocabulary and himself, he began to see the -humorous and interesting aspect of finding two -lunatics in one small draft. He would add them to -his collection of butts. Possibly one, or both of them, -might even come to equal the Mad Grasshopper in -that rôle. Fancy more editions of La Cigale--who -had provided him with more amusement and opportunities -for brutality than any ten sane Legionaries!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, do great and unmerited honour to your vile, -low carcases by putting on the fatigue-uniform of the -Legion. Gather up your filthy civilian rags, and -hasten," he bawled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And when the, now wondrously metamorphosed, -recruits had all dressed in the new canvas uniforms, -they were marched to a small side gate in the wall of -the barrack-square, and ordered to sell immediately -everything they possessed in the shape of civilian -clothing, including boots and socks. Civilian clothing -is essential to the would-be deserter, and La Légion -does not facilitate desertion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That the unfortunate recruits got the one or two -francs they did receive was solely due to the absence -of a "combine" among the scoundrelly Arabs, -Greeks, Spanish Jews, Negroes, and nondescript rogues -who struggled for the cast-off clothing. For the -Englishman's expensive suit a franc was offered, and -competition advanced this price to four. For the sum -of five francs he had to sell clothes, hat, boots, collar, -tie, and underclothing that had recently cost him over -fifty times as much. That he felt annoyed, and that, -in spite of his apparent nonchalance, his temper was -wearing thin, was evidenced by the fact that a big -Arab who laid a grimy paw upon his shoulder and -snatched at his bundle, received the swift blow of -dissuasion--a sudden straight-left in the eye, sending -him flying--to the amusement and approval of the -sentry whose difficult and arduous task it was to -keep the scrambling, yelling thieves of old-clo' dealers -from invading the barrack-square, and repentant -recruits from quitting it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the swindle of the forced sale was complete, -and several poor wretches had parted with their all -for a few </span><em class="italics">sous</em><span>, the gate was shut and the weary squad -marched to the offices of the Seventh Company that -each man's name and profession might be entered in -the Company Roll, and that he might receive his -</span><em class="italics">matricule</em><span> number, the number which would henceforth -hide his identity, and save him the trouble of retaining -a personality and a name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To Colour-Sergeant Blanc, the tall English youth, -like most Legionaries, gave a </span><em class="italics">nom d'emprunt</em><span>, two of his -own names, Reginald Rupert. He concealed his -surname and sullied the crystal truth of fact by stating -that his father was the Commander-in-Chief of the -Horse Marines of Great Britain and Inspector-General -of the Royal Naval Horse Artillery; that he himself -was by profession a wild-rabbit-tamer, and by -conviction a Plymouth Rock--all of which was duly and -solemnly entered in the great tome by M. Blanc, a -man taciturn, </span><em class="italics">très boutonné</em><span>, and of no imagination.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whatever the recruit may choose to say is written -down in the Company lists, and should a recruit wax -a little humorous, why--the Legion will very soon -cure him of any tendency to humour. The Legion -asks no questions, answers none, takes the recruit -at his own valuation, and quickly readjusts it for him. -Reconducted to the Store-room of the Seventh -Company, the batch of recruits, again to the -accompaniment of a fusillade of imprecations, and beneath -a torrential deluge of insults and oaths, was violently -tailored by a number of non-commissioned officers, -and a fatigue-party of Légionnaires.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To "Reginald Rupert," at any rate, the badges of -rank worn by the non-commissioned officers were -mysterious and confusing--as he noted a man with -one chevron giving peremptory orders in loud tone -and bullying manner to a man who wore two chevrons. -It also puzzled him that the fat man, who was -evidently the senior official present, was addressed by -the others as "</span><em class="italics">chef</em><span>," as though he were a cook. By -the time he was fitted out with kit and accoutrement, -he had decided that the "chef" (who wore two gold -chevrons) was a Sergeant-Major, that the men wearing -one gold chevron were Sergeants, and that those -wearing two red ones were Corporals; and herein -he was entirely correct.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Every man had to fit (rather than be fitted with) -a red képi having a brass grenade in front; a -double-breasted, dark blue tunic with red facings and -green-fringed red epaulettes; a big blue greatcoat, or -</span><em class="italics">capote</em><span>; baggy red breeches; two pairs of boots; two -pairs of linen spats, and a pair of leather gaiters. -He also received a long blue woollen cummerbund, a -knapsack of the old British pattern, a bag of cleaning -materials, belts, straps, cartridge-pouches, haversack, -and field flask.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To the fat Sergeant-Major it was a personal insult, -and an impudence amounting almost to blasphemy, -that a képi, or tunic should not fit the man to whom -it was handed. The idea of adapting a ready-made -garment to a man appeared less prominent than that -of adapting a ready-made man to a garment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" he roared in Legion French, to the fat -German boy who understood not a word of the tirade. -"What? Nom d'un pétard! Sacré Dieu! The tunic -will not easily button? Then contract thy vile body -until it will, thou offspring of a diseased pig and a -dead dog. I will fit thee to that tunic, and none other, -within the week. Wait! But wait--till thou has eaten -the Breakfast of the Legion once or twice, fat sow...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A gloomy, sardonic Legionary placed a képi upon -the crisply curling hair of Reginald Rupert. It was -miles too big--a ludicrous extinguisher. The -Englishman removed it, and returned it with the remark, -"Ça ne marche pas, mon ami."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Merde!</em><span>" ejaculated the liverish-looking soldier, -and called Heaven to witness that he was not to blame -if the son of a beetle had a walnut for a head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Throwing the képi back into the big box he fished -out another, banged it on Rupert's head, and was -about to bring his open hand down on the top of it, -when he caught the cold but blazing eye of the recruit, -and noticed the clenched fist and lips. Had the -Legionary's right hand descended, the recruit's left -hand would have risen with promptitude and force.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If that is too big, let the sun boil thy brains and -bloat thy skull till it fits, and if it be too small, sleep -in it," he remarked sourly, and added that thrice-accursed -"blues" were creatures of the kind that ate -their young, encumbered the earth, polluted the air, -loved to </span><em class="italics">faire Suisse</em><span>,[#] and troubled Soldiers of the -Legion who might otherwise have been in the Canteen, -or at Carmelita's--instead of being the valets of sons -of frogs, nameless excrescences....</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] To drink alone; to sulk.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Too small," replied Rupert coolly, and flung -the cap into the box. "Valet? I should condole -with a crocodile that had a clumsy and ignorant -yokel like you for a valet," he added, in slow and careful -French as he tried on a third cap, which he found more -to his liking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old Legionary gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Il m'enmerde!" he murmured, and wiped his -brow. He, Jules Duplessis, Soldat 1ère Classe, with -four years' service and the </span><em class="italics">medaille militaire</em><span>, had been -outfaced, browbeaten, insulted by a miserable "blue." What -were the World and La Légion coming to? "</span><em class="italics">Merde!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While trying on his tunic, Rupert saw one of -the Russians hand to the other the tunic and trousers -which he had tried on. Apparently being as alike as -two pins in every respect they had adopted the -labour-saving device of one "fitting on" for both.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having put on the képi, Mikhail bundled up the -uniform, struck an attitude with arms akimbo, and -inquired of the other--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I look </span><em class="italics">very</em><span> awful in this thing, Fedia?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shut up, you little fool," replied Feodor, with a -quick frown. "Try and look more like a </span><em class="italics">mujik</em><span> in -</span><em class="italics">maslianitza</em><span>,[#] and less like a young student at private -theatricals. You're a Legionary now."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] The week before Lent, or "mad week," when all good </span><em class="italics small">mujiks</em><span class="small"> -get drunk--or used to do.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When, at length, the recruits had all been fitted -into uniforms, and were ready to depart, they were -driven forth with the heart-felt curse and -comprehensive anathema of the Sergeant-Major--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sweep the room clear of this offal, Corporal," -quoth he. "And if thou canst make a Légionnaire's -little toe out of the whole draft--thou shalt have the -Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour--I promise it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">En avant. Marche!</em><span>" bawled the Corporal, and -the "blues" were led away, up flights of stairs, and -along echoing corridors to their future home, their -new quarters. A Légionnaire, carrying a huge -earthenware jug, encountering them outside the door thereof, -gave them their first welcome to the Legion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh thrice-condemned souls, welcome to Hell," he -cried genially, and kicking open the door of a huge -room, he liberally sprinkled each passing recruit, -murmuring as he did so--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Le diable vous bénisse."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-barrack-room-of-the-legion"><span class="large">CHAPTER II</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">A BARRACK-ROOM OF THE LEGION</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The room which Reginald Rupert entered, -with a dozen of his fellow "blues," was long -and lofty, painfully orderly, and spotlessly clean. -Fifteen cots were exactly aligned on each long side, -and down the middle of the floor ran long wooden -tables and benches, scoured and polished to -immaculate whiteness. Above each bed was a shelf on which -was piled a very neat erection of uniforms and kit. -To the eye of Rupert (experienced in barrack-rooms) -there was interesting novelty in the absence -of clothes-boxes, and the presence of hanging-cupboards -suspended over the tables from the ceiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Evidently the French authorities excelled the -English in the art of economising space, as nothing -was on the floor that could be accommodated above it. -In the hanging cupboards were tin plates and cups and -various utensils of the dinner-table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Englishman noted that though the Lebel rifles -stood in a rack in a corner of the room, the long -sword-bayonets hung by the pillows of their owners, each -near a tin quart-pot and a small sack.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On their beds, a few Légionnaires lay sleeping, or -sat laboriously polishing their leatherwork--the -senseless, endless and detested </span><em class="italics">astiquage</em><span> of the Legion--or -cleaning their rifles, bayonets, and buttons. Whatever -else the Légionnaire is, or is not, he is meticulously -clean, neat, and smart, and when his day's work is -done (at four or five o'clock) he must start a half-day's -work in "making </span><em class="italics">fantasie</em><span>"--in preparation for the -day's work of the morrow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rising from his bed in the corner as the party -entered, Legionary John Bull approached the Corporal -in charge of the room and suggested that the English -recruit should be allotted the bed between his own -and that of Légionnaire Bronco, as he was of the same -mother-tongue, and would make quicker progress in -their hands than in those of foreigners. As the Corporal, -agreeing, indicated the second bed from the window, -to Rupert, and told him to take possession of it and -make his </span><em class="italics">paquetage</em><span> on the shelf above, the Cockney -recruit pushed forward:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ere, I'm Henglish too! I better jine these blokes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Qu'est-ce-qu'il dit, Jean Boule?" enquired the -Corporal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On being informed, Corporal Achille Martel allotted -the fourth bed, that on the other side of the Bucking -Bronco, to Recruit Higgins with an intimation that -the sooner he learnt French, and ceased the use of -barbarous tongues the better it would be for his -welfare. The Corporal then assigned berths to the -remaining recruits, each between those of two old soldiers, of -whom the right-hand man was to be the new recruit's -guide, philosopher and friend, until he, in his turn, -became a prideful, full-blown Legionary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young Russian who had given his name as -Mikhail Kyrilovitch Malekov observed that the card at -the head of the cot on his right-hand bore the -inscription: "Luigi Rivoli, No. 13874, Soldat 2ième -Classe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he stood, irresolute, and apparently in great -anxiety and perturbation, nervously opening and -shutting a cartridge-pouch, his face suddenly brightened -as his twin entered the room and intercepted the -departing Corporal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Mille pardons</em><span>, Monsieur," he said, saluting -smartly and respectfully. "But I earnestly and -humbly request that you will permit me to inhabit this -room in which is my brother. As we reached this door -another </span><em class="italics">sous-officier</em><span> took me and the remainder to the -next room when twelve had entered here.... Alas! -My brother was twelfth, and I thirteenth," he added -volubly. "Look you, Monsieur, he is my twin, and we -have never been separated yet. We shall get on much -faster and better, helping each other, and be more -credit to you and your room, </span><em class="italics">petit père</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sacré Dieu, and Name of a Purple Frog! Is this -a scurvy and lousy beggar, whining for alms at a -mosque door? And am I a God-forsaken and -disgusting </span><em class="italics">pékin</em><span> that you address me as 'Monsieur'? -Name of a Pipe! Have I no rank? Address me -henceforth as Monsieur le Caporal, thou kopeck-worth -of Russian."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oui, oui; milles pardons, Monsieur le Caporal. -But grant me this favour and I and my brother will be -your slaves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Va t'en, babillard! Rompez, jaseur!" snarled -the Corporal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the Russian, true to type, was tenacious. -Producing a five-franc piece he scratched his nose -therewith, and dropping the wheedling and suppliant tone, -asked the testy Corporal if he thought it likely -Messieurs les Caporaux of the Seventh Company could -possibly be induced to drink the health of so insignificant -an object as Recruit Feodor Kyrilovitch Malekov.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Corporals do not drink with Légionnaires," was -the answer, "but doubtless Corporal Gilles of the next -room will join me in a drink to the health of a worthy -and promising 'blue,'" and, removing his képi, he -stretched his gigantic frame and yawned hugely as -the Russian dexterously, and apparently unnoticed, -slipped the coin into the képi. Having casually -examined the lining of his képi, Monsieur le Caporal -Martel replaced it on his head, and with astounding -suddenness and ferocity pounced upon an ugly, -tow-haired German, and with a shout of "Out, pig! Out -of my beautiful room! Thy face disfigures it," he -hunted him forth and bestowed him upon the -neighbouring Corporal, M. Auguste Gilles, together with a -promise of ten bottles of Madame la Cantinière's best, -out of the thirty-and-five which the Russian's -five-franc piece would purchase.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a moment the Russian had opened negotiations -with the Spaniard who had taken the bed next but one -to that of Mikhail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Like all educated Russians, Feodor Kyrilovitch was -an accomplished linguist, and, while speaking French -and English idiomatically, could get along very -comfortably in Spanish, Italian, and German.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A very few minutes enabled him to make it clear to -the Spaniard that an exchange of beds would do him -no harm, and enrich him by a two-franc piece.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No hay de que, Señor. Gracias, muchas gracias," -replied the Spaniard. "En seguida, con se permiso," -and transferred himself and his belongings to the -berth vacated by the insulted and dispossessed German.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, Reginald Rupert, with soldierly promptitude, -lost no time in setting about the brushing and -arrangement of his kit, gathering up, as he did so, the -pearls of local wisdom that fell from the lips of his -kindly mentor, whose name and description he observed -to be "Légionnaire John Bull, No. 11867, Soldat -2ième Classe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having shown his pupil the best and quickest way -of folding his uniform in elbow-to-finger-tip lengths, -and so arranging everything that he could find it in -the dark, and array himself </span><em class="italics">en tenue de campagne -d'Afrique</em><span> in ten minutes without a light, he invited -him to try his own hand at the job.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now you try and make that '</span><em class="italics">paquetage</em><span> of the -Legion,'" observed the instructor, "and the sooner -you learn to make it quickly, the better. As you see, -you have no chest for your kit as you had in the British -Army, and so you keep your uniform on your shelf, </span><em class="italics">en -paquetage</em><span>, for tidiness and smartness, without creases. -The Légionnaire is as </span><em class="italics">chic</em><span> and particular as the best -trooper of the crackest English cavalry-corps. We -look down on the </span><em class="italics">piou-piou</em><span> from a fearful height, and -swagger against the </span><em class="italics">Chasseur d'Afrique</em><span> himself. I wish -to God we had spurs, but there's no cavalry in the -Legion--though there are kinds of Mounted-Rifle -Companies on mules, down South. I miss spurs damnably, -even after fourteen years of foot-slogging in the -Legion. You can't really swagger without spurs--not -that the women will look at a Legionary in any -case, or the men respect him, save as a fighter. But -you can't swing without spurs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," agreed Rupert, "I was just thinking I -should miss them, and it'll take me some time to get -used to a night-cap, a neck-curtained képi, a -knapsack, and a steel bayonet-scabbard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll appreciate the first when you sleep out, and -the second when you march, down South. The nights -are infernally cold, and the days appallingly hot--and -yet sunstroke is unknown in the Legion. Some put -it down to wearing the overcoat to march in. The -steel scabbard is bad--noisy and heavy. The -knapsack is the very devil on the march, but it's the one -and only place in the world in which you can keep a -photo, letter, book, or scrap of private property, -besides spare uniform and small kit. You'll soon learn -to pack it, to stow underclothing in the haversack, and -to know the place for everything, so that you can get -from bed to barrack-square, fully equipped and -accoutred in nine minutes from the bugle.... And -don't, for Heaven's sake, lose anything, for a spiteful -N.C.O. can send you to your death in Biribi--that's -the Penal Battalion--by running you in two or three -times for 'theft of equipment.' Lost kit is regarded -as stolen kit, and stolen kit is sold kit (to a -court-martial), and the penalty is six months with the -Zephyrs. It takes a good man to survive that.... If -you've got any money, try and keep a little in hand, -so that you can always replace missing kit. The fellows -here are appalling thieves--of uniform. It is regarded -as a right, natural and proper thing to steal uniforms -and kit, and yet we'd nearly kill a man who stole money, -tobacco, or food. The former would be 'decorating' -yourself, the latter disgracing yourself. We've some -queer beasts here, but we're a grand regiment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The disorderly heap of garments having become an -exceedingly neat and ingenious little edifice, compact, -symmetrical, and stable, Rupert's instructor -introduced the subject of that bane of the Legionary's -life--the eternal </span><em class="italics">astiquage</em><span>, the senseless and eternal -polishing of the black leather straps and large -cartridge-pouches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This stuff looks as though it had been left here by -the Tenth Legion of Julius Cæsar, rather than made -for the Foreign Legion," he remarked. "Let's see -what we can make of it. Watch me do this belt, and -then you can try the cartridge-cases. Don't mind -firing off all the questions you've got to ask, meanwhile."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks. What sort of chaps are they in this -room?" asked Rupert, seating himself on the bed -beside his friendly preceptor, and inwardly congratulating -himself on his good luck in meeting, on the -threshold of his new career, so congenial and -satisfactory a bunk-mate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very mixed," was the reply. "The fellow on the -other side of your berth is an American, an </span><em class="italics">ex</em><span>-U.S.A. -army man, miner, lumber-jack, tramp, cow-boy, -bruiser, rifle and revolver trick-shooter, and my very -dear friend, one of the whitest men I ever met, and one -of the most amusing. His French conversation keeps -me alive by making me laugh, and he's learning Italian -from a twopenny dictionary, and a Travellers' Phrase -Book, the better to talk to Carmelita. The next but -one is a Neapolitan who calls himself Luigi Rivoli. He -used to be a champion Strong Man, and music-hall -wrestler, acrobat, and juggler. Did a bit of lion-taming -too, or, at any rate, went about with a show that had -a cageful of mangy performing lions. He is not really -very brave though, but he's a most extraordinary -strong brute. Quite a millionaire here too, for -Carmelita gives him a whole franc every day of his life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What made him enlist then?" asked Rupert, carefully -watching the curious </span><em class="italics">astiquage</em><span> methods, so different -from the pipe-clay to which he was accustomed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This same girl, and she's worth a thousand of -Rivoli. It seems she pretended to turn him down, -and take up with some other chap to punish Rivoli -after some lover's quarrel or other, and our Luigi in a -fit of jealous madness stabbed the other chap in the -back, and then bolted and enlisted in the Legion, -partly to pay her out, but chiefly to save himself. He -was doing a turn at a </span><em class="italics">café-chantant</em><span> over in Algiers at -the time. Of course, Carmelita flung herself in -transports of grief, repentance, and self-accusation upon -Luigi's enormous bosom, and keeps him in pocket-money -while she waits for him. She followed him, -and runs a </span><em class="italics">café</em><span> for Légionnaires here in Sidi-bel-Abbès. -She gets scores of offers from our Non-coms., -and from Frenchmen of the regular army stationed -in Sidi, and her </span><em class="italics">café</em><span> is a sort of little Italian club. My -friend, the Bucking Bronco, proposes to her once a -week, but she remains true to Luigi, whom she -intends to marry as soon as he has done his time. The -swine's carrying on at the same time with Madame la -Cantinière, who is a widow, and whose canteen he -would like to marry. Between the two women he has -a good time, and, thanks to Carmelita's money, gets all -his work done for him. The brute never does a stroke. -Pays substitutes for all fatigues and corvées, has his -kit and accoutrements polished, and his clothes -washed. Spends the balance of Carmelita's money at -the Canteen, ingratiating himself with Madame! -Keeps up his great strength with extra food too. He -is a Hercules, and, moreover, seems immune from -African fever and </span><em class="italics">le cafard</em><span>, which is probably due to -his escaping three-parts of the work done by the -average penniless. And he's as nasty as he is strong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's his particular line of nastiness--besides -cheating women I mean?" asked Rupert, who already -knew only too well how much depends on the -character, conduct, manners, and habits of room-mates -with whom one is thrown into daily and nightly -intimate contact, year after year, without change, relief, -or hope of improvement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he's the Ultimate Bounder," replied the other, -as he struck a match and began melting a piece of wax -with which to rub his leather belt. "He's the -Compleat Cad, and the Finished Bully. He's absolute -monarch of the rank-and-file of the Seventh Company -by reason of his vast wealth, and vaster strength. -Those he does not bribe he intimidates. Remember -that the Wages of Virtue here is one halfpenny a day -as opposed to the Wages of Sin which is rather worse -than death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think of the position of a man who has the income -of all in this room put together, in addition to the run -of his best girl's own </span><em class="italics">café</em><span>. What with squaring -Non-coms., hiring substitutes, and terrorising 'fags,' he -hasn't done a stroke, outside parades of course, since -he joined--except hazing recruits, and breaking up -opponents of his rule."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How does he fight?" asked Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, wrestling's his </span><em class="italics">forte</em><span>--and he can break the -back of any man he gets his arms round--and the -rest's a mixture of boxing, ju-jitsu, and </span><em class="italics">la savate</em><span>, -which, as you know, is kicking. Yes, he's a dirty -tighter, though it's precious rarely that it comes to -what you could call a fight. What I'm waiting for is -the most unholy and colossal turn-up that's due to -come between him and Buck sooner or later. It's -bound to come, and it'll be a scrap worth seeing. Buck -has been a professional glove-man among other things, -and he holds less conservative views than I do, as to -what is permissible against an opponent who kicks, -clinches, and butts.... No, fighting's apt to be rather -a dirty business here, and, short of a proper duel, a -case of stand face to face and do all you can with all -Nature's weapons, not forgetting your teeth.... -'</span><em class="italics">C'est la Légion.</em><span>'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How disgustin'!" murmured the young man. -"Will this bird trouble me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He will," answered the other, "but I'll take a -hand, and then Buck will too. He hates Luigi like -poison, and frequently remarks that he has it in for -him when the time comes, and Luigi isn't over anxious -to tackle him, though he hankers. Doesn't understand -him, nor like the look in his eye. Buck is afraid of -angering Carmelita if he 'beats up' Rivoli.... Yes, I -dare say Buck and I can put the gentle Neapolitan off -between us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Reginald Rupert stiffened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg that you will in no way interfere," he -observed coldly. "I should most strongly resent it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The heart of the old soldier warmed to the youth, -as he contrasted his slim boyish grace with the mighty -strength, natural and developed, of the professional -Strong Man, Wrestler, and Acrobat--most tricky, -cunning, and dangerous of relentless foes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You keep clear of Luigi Rivoli as long as you can," -he said with a kindly smile. "And at least remember -that Buck and I are with you. Personally, I'm no -sort of match for our Luigi in a rough-and-tumble -nowadays, should he compel one. But he has let -me alone since I told him with some definiteness -that he would have to defend himself with either -lead or steel, if he insisted on trouble between him -and me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There now," he continued, rising, "now try that -for yourself on a cartridge-pouch.... First melt the wax -a bit, with a match--and don't forget that matches -are precious in the Legion as they're so damned dear--and -rub it on the leather as I did. Then take this flat -block of wood and smooth it over until it's all evenly -spread. And then rub hard with the coarse rag for an -hour or two, then harder with the fine rag for about -half an hour. Next polish with your palm, and then -with the wool. Buck and I own a scrap of velvet -which you can borrow before Inspection Parades, and -big shows--but we don't use it extravagantly of -course....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that's the </span><em class="italics">astiquage</em><span> curse, and the other's -washing white kit without soap, and ironing it without -an iron. Of course, Madame la République couldn't -give us glazed leather, or khaki webbing--nor could -she afford to issue one flat-iron to a barrack-room, so -that we could iron a white suit in less than a couple of -hours.... The devil of it is that it's all done in our -'leisure' time when we're supposed to be resting, or -recreating.... Think of the British 'Tommy' in -India with his </span><em class="italics">dhobi</em><span>, his barrack-sweeper, his -table-servant, and his </span><em class="italics">syce</em><span>--or his share in them. If we did -nothing in the world but our daily polishing, washing -and ironing, we should be busy men. However! -'</span><em class="italics">C'est la Legion!</em><span>' And one won't live for ever.... -You won't want any help with the rifle and bayonet, -I suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thanks, I've 'had some,' though I haven't -handled a Lebel before," and Reginald Rupert settled -down to work while Legionary John Bull proceeded -with his toilet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything else you want to know?" enquired the -latter, as he put a final polish upon his gleaming -sword-bayonet. "You know enough not to cut your -rifle-sling stropping your razor on it.... Don't waste your -cake of soap making a candlestick of it. Too rare and -precious here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, thanks very much; the more you tell me, -the better for me, if it's not troubling you, Sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull paused and looked at the recruit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you call me 'Sir'?" he enquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why? ... Because you are senior and a Sahib, I -suppose," replied the youth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks, my boy, but don't. I am just Légionnaire -John Bull 11867, Soldier of the Second Class. You'll -be a soldier of the First Class, and my senior in a few -months, I hope.... I suppose you've assumed a </span><em class="italics">nom -de guerre</em><span> too," replied the other, making a mental -note that the recruit had served in India. He had -already observed that he pointed his toes as he walked, -and had a general cavalry bearing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I gave part of my own name; I'm 'Reginald -Rupert' now. Didn't see why I should give my own. -I've only come to have a look round and learn a bit. -Very keen on experiences, especially military ones."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Merciful God!" ejaculated John Bull softly. -"Out for experiences! You'll get 'em, here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keen on seein' life, y'know," explained the young man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Much more likely to see death," replied the other. -"Do you realise that you're in for five years--and that -no money, no influence, no diplomatic representations, -no extradition can buy, or beg, or drag you out; and -that by the end of five years, if alive, you'll be lucky if -you're of any use to the Legion, to yourself, or to -anyone else? I, personally, have had unusual luck, and -am of unusual physique. I re-enlisted twice, partly -because at the end of each five years I was turned -loose with nothing in the world but a shapeless blue -slop suit--partly for other reasons...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! I've only come for a year, and shall desert. -I told them so plainly at the enlistment bureau, in -Paris," was the ingenuous reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old Legionary smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A good many of our people desert, at least once," -he said, "when under the influence of </span><em class="italics">le cafard</em><span>--especially -the Germans. Ninety-nine per cent come -to one of three ends--death, capture, or surrender. -Death with torture at the hands of the Arabs; capture, -or ignominious return and surrender after horrible -sufferings from thirst, starvation and exposure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; I heard the Legion was a grand military -school, and a pretty warm thing, and that desertion -was a bit of a feat, and no disgrace if you brought it -off--so I thought I'd have a year of the one, and then -a shot at the other," replied the young man coolly. -"Also, I was up against it somewhat, and well--you -know--seeking sorrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've come to the right place for it then," -observed Legionary John Bull, sheathing his bayonet -with a snap, as the door banged open.... "Ah! Enter -our friend Luigi," he added as that worthy swaggered -into the room with an obsequious retinue, which -included le bon Légionnaire Edouard Malvin, looking -very smart and dapper in the uniform of Légionnaire -Alphonse Dupont of the Eleventh Company.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pah! I smell 'blues'! Disgusting! Sickening!" -ejaculated Légionnaire Luigi Rivoli in a tremendous -voice, and stood staring menacingly from recruit to -recruit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Reginald Rupert, returning his hot, insolent glare -with a cold and steady stare, beheld a huge and -powerful-looking man with a pale, cruel face, coarsely -handsome, wherein the bold, heavily lashed black eyes were -set too close together beneath their broad, black, -knitted brows, and the little carefully curled black -moustache, beneath the little plebeian nose, hid -nothing of the over-ripe red lips of an over-small -mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Corpo di Bacco!" he roared in Italian and Legion -French. "The place reeks of the stinking 'blues.' Were -it not that I now go </span><em class="italics">en ville</em><span> to dine and drink -my Chianti wine (none of your filthy Algerian slops for -Luigi Rivoli), and to smoke my </span><em class="italics">sigaro estero</em><span> at my -</span><em class="italics">café</em><span>, I would fling them all down three flights of -stairs," and, like his companions, he commenced -stripping off his white uniform. Having bared his truly -magnificent arms and chest, he struck an attitude, -ostentatiously contracted his huge right biceps, and -smote it a resounding smack with the palm of his left -hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aha!" he roared, as all turned to look at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Disgustin' bounder," remarked Reginald Rupert -very distinctly, as, with a second shout of "Aha!" -Rivoli did the same with the left biceps and right -hand, and then bunched the vast </span><em class="italics">pectoralis major</em><span> -muscles of his chest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Magnifique:" cried Légionnaire Edouard Malvin, -who was laying out his patron's uniform from his -</span><em class="italics">paquetage</em><span>, preparatory to helping him to dress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As thou sayest, my </span><em class="italics">gallo</em><span>, 'C'est magnifique,'" -replied Luigi Rivoli, and for five minutes contracted, -flexed, and slapped the great muscles of his arms, -shoulders, and chest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come hither--thou little bambino Malvin, thou -Bad Wine, thou Cattevo Vino Francese, and stand -behind me.... What of the back? Canst thou see the -'bull's head' as I set the </span><em class="italics">trapezius</em><span>, </span><em class="italics">rhomboideus</em><span>, and -</span><em class="italics">latissimus dorsi</em><span> muscles?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As clearly as I see your own head, Main de Fer," -replied the Austrian in affected astonishment and -wonder. "It is the World's Most Wonderful Back! -Why, were Maxick and Saldo, Hackenschmidt, the -three Saxons, Sandow--yea--Samson and Hercules -themselves here, all would be humiliated and -envious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aha!" again bawled Rivoli, "thou art right, -</span><em class="italics">piccolo porco</em><span>," and, sinking to a squatting position -upon his raised heels, he rose and fell like a jack-in-the-box -for some time, before rubbing and smiting his -huge thighs and calves to the accompaniment of -explosive shouts. Thereafter, he fell upon his hands and -toes, and raised and lowered his stiffened body a few -dozen times.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The display finished, he enquired with lordly boredom: -"And what are the absurd orders for walking-out -dress to-night. Is it blue and red, or blue and white, -or overcoats buttoned on the left--or what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tunic and red, Hercule, and all ready, as you see," -replied Malvin, and he proceeded to assist at the toilet -of the ex-acrobat, the plutocrat and leader of the -rank-and-file of the Seventh Company by virtue of his -income of a franc a day, and his phenomenal strength -and ferocity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Turning round that Malvin might buckle his belt -and straighten his tunic, the great man's foot touched -that of Herbert Higgins (late of Hoxton and the Loyal -Whitechapel Regiment) who had been earnestly -endeavouring for the past quarter of an hour to follow -the instructions of the Bucking Bronco--instructions -given in an almost incomprehensible tongue, of choice -American and choicer French compact.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Profound disgust, deepening almost to horror, was -depicted on the face of the Italian as he bestowed a vicious, -hacking kick upon the shin of the offending "blue."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Body of Bacchus, what is this?" he cried. "Cannot -I move without treading in </span><em class="italics">vidanges</em><span>? Get beneath -the bed and out of my sight, </span><em class="italics">cauchemar</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But far from retreating as bidden, the undersized -Cockney rose promptly to his feet with a surprised and -aggrieved look upon his face, hitherto expressive only -of puzzled bewilderment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ere! 'Oo yer fink you're a kickin' of?" he -enquired, adding with dignity, "I dunno' 'oo yer fink -you </span><em class="italics">are</em><span>. I'm 'Erb 'Iggins, I am, an' don't yer fergit it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That Mr. Herbert Higgins stood rubbing his injured -shin instead of flying at the throat of the Italian, was -due in no wise to personal fear, but to an utter ignorance -of the rank, importance, and powers of this "narsty-lookin' -furriner." He might be some sort of an officer, -and to "dot 'im one" might mean lingering gaol, -or sudden death. Bitterly he regretted his complete -ignorance of the French tongue, and the manners and -customs of this strange place. Anyhow, he could give -the bloke some lip in good old English.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bit too 'andy wiv yer feet, ain't yer? Pretty -manners, I </span><em class="italics">don't</em><span> fink! 'Manners none, an' customs -narsty's' abart your mark, ain't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But ere he could proceed with further flowers of -rhetoric, and rush in ignorance upon his fate, the huge -hand of the American fell upon his shoulder from -behind and pressed him back upon his cot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Loojey dear! Throwin' bouquets to yerself -agin, air yew? Gittin' fresh agin, air yew, yew greasy -Eye-talian, orgin-grindin', ice-cream-barrer-pushin', -back-stabbin', garlic-eatin', street-corner, -pink-spangled-tights ackerobat," he observed in his own -inimitable vernacular, as he unwound his long blue -sash preparatory to dressing for the evening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why don't yew per*chase* a barrel-orgin an' take -yure dear pal Malvin along on it? Snakes! I guess -I got my stummick full o' yew an' Mon-seer Malvin -some. I wish yew'd kiss yureself good-bye, Loojey. -Yew fair git my goat, yew fresh gorilla! </span><em class="italics">Oui, vous -gagnez mon chevre proprement</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Qu'est-ce qu'il dit?</em><span>" asked Rivoli, his contemptuously -curled lips baring his small, even teeth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keskerdee? Why, yep! We uster hev a bunch -o' dirty little' keskerdees' at the ol' Glowin' Star mine, -way back in Californey when I was a road-kid. -Keskerdees!--so named becos they allus jabbered -'Keskerdee' when spoke to. We uster use their heads fer -cleanin' fryin'-pans. 'Keskerdee' is Eye-talian--a -kind o' sorter low French," observed the Bucking -Bronco.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is to be feared that his researches into the -ethnological and etymological truths of the European -nations were limited and unprofitable, in spite of the -fact that (like all other Legionaries of any standing) -he spoke fluent Legion French on everyday military -matters, and studied Italian phrases for the benefit of -Carmelita. The Bucking Bronco's conversational -method was to express himself idiomatically in the -American tongue, and then translate it literally into -the language of the benighted foreigner whom he -honoured at the moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Italian eyed the American malevolently, and, -for the thousandth time, measured him, considered -him, weighed him as an opponent in a boxing-wrestling-kicking -match, remembered his uncanny magic skill -with rifle and revolver, and, for the thousandth time, -postponed the inevitable settlement, misliking his face, -his mouth, his eye, and his general manner, air, and -bearing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give some abominable 'bleu' the honour of lacing -the boots of Luigi Rivoli," he roared, turning with a -contemptuous gesture from the American and the -Cockney, to his henchman, Malvin. Fixing his eye -upon the swarthy, spike-moustached Austrian, who sat -at the foot of the bed opposite his own, he added:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here, dog, the privilege is thine. Allez schieblos"[#] -and thrust out the unlaced boots that Malvin -had pulled on to his feet.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] A curious piece of Legion "French" meaning "Be quick."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Austrian, squatting dejected, with his head -between his fists, affected not to understand, and made -no move.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Koom. Adji inna. Balek! fahesh beghla,</em><span>"[#] -adjured the Italian, airing his Arabic, and insulting his -intended victim by addressing him as though he were -a native.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] "Get up. Come here. Take care! You ugly mule."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Austrian did not stir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quick," hissed the Italian, and pointed to his boots -that there might be no mistake.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Austrian snarled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bring it to me," said the great man, and, in a -second, the recruit was run by the collar of his tunic, -his ears, his twisted wrists, his woolly hair, and by a -dozen willing hands, to the welcoming arms of the bully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, thou deserter from the </span><em class="italics">Straf Bataillon</em><span>,"[#] -growled the latter. A sudden grab, a swift twist, and -the Austrian was on his face, his elbows meeting and -overlapping behind his back, and his arms drawn -upward and backward. He shrieked.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Penal battalion.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A quick jerk and he was on his feet, and then swung -from the ground face downward, his wrists behind him -in one of Rivoli's big hands, his trouser-ends in the -other. Placing his foot in the small of the Austrian's -back, the Italian appeared to be about to break the -spine of his victim, whose screams were horrible to -hear. Dashing him violently to the ground, Rivoli -re-seated himself, and thrust forward his right foot. -Groaning and gasping, the cowed Austrian knelt to -his task, but, fumbling and failing to give satisfaction, -received a kick in the face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Reginald Rupert dropped the cartridge-pouch which -he was polishing, and stepped forward, only to find -himself thrust back by a sweep of the American's huge -arm, which struck him in the chest like an iron bar, -and to be seized by Légionnaire John Bull who quietly -remarked:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mind your own business, recruit.... </span><em class="italics">C'est la Légion</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No one noticed that the Russian, Mikhail, was white -and trembling, and that his brother came and led him -to the other end of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bungler! </span><em class="italics">Polisson</em><span>! </span><em class="italics">Coquin</em><span>! Lick the soles of -my boots and go," cried Rivoli, and, as the lad -hesitated, he rose to his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cringing and shrinking, the wretched "blue" -hastened to obey, thrust forth his tongue, and, as the -boot was raised, obediently licked the nether surface -and the edges of the sole until its owner was satisfied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Austria's proper attitude to Italy," growled the -bully. "Now lick the other...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Le Légionnaire Luigi Rivoli might expect prompt -obedience henceforth from le Légionnaire Franz -Joseph Meyer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Standing in the ring of amused satellites was the -evil-looking </span><em class="italics">Apache</em><span>, a deeply interested spectator of -this congenial and enjoyable scene. His hang-dog -face caught the eye of the Italian.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come hither, thou </span><em class="italics">blanc-bec</em><span>," quoth he. "Come -hither and show this </span><em class="italics">vaurien</em><span> how to lace the boots of -a gentleman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Apache obeyed with alacrity, and, performing -the task with rapidity and skill, turned to depart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A nimble-fingered sharper," observed the Italian, -and, rising swiftly, bestowed a shattering kick upon -the retreating Frenchman. Recovering his balance -after the sudden forward propulsion, the </span><em class="italics">Apache</em><span> -wheeled round like lightning, bent double, and flew at -his assailant. Courage was his one virtue, and he was -the finest exponent of the art of butting in all the -purlieus and environs of Montmartre, and had not only -laid out many a good bourgeois, but had overcome -many a rival, by this preliminary to five minutes' -strenuous kicking with heavy boots. If he launched -himself--a one-hundred-and-fifty pound projectile--with -his hard skull as battering-ram, straight at the -stomach of his tormentor, that astounded individual -ought to go violently to the ground, doubled up, -winded and helpless. A score of tremendous kicks -would then teach him that an </span><em class="italics">Apache</em><span> King (and he, -none other than Tou-Tou Boil-the-Cat, </span><em class="italics">doyen</em><span> of the -heroes of the Rue de Venise, Rue Pirouette, and Rue -des Innocents, </span><em class="italics">caveau</em><span>-knight and the beloved of the -beauteous Casque d'Or) was not a person lightly to be -trifled with.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But if Monsieur Tou-Tou Boil-the-Cat was a </span><em class="italics">Roi des -Apaches</em><span>, Luigi Rivoli was an acrobat and juggler, and, -to mighty strength, added marvellous poise, quickness -and skill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Ça ne marche pas, gobemouche,</em><span>" he remarked, and, -at the right moment, his knee shot up with tremendous -force and crashed into the face of the butting </span><em class="italics">Apache</em><span>. -For the first time the famous and terrible attack of the -King of the Paris hooligans had failed. When the -unfortunate monarch regained his senses, some minutes -later, and took stock of his remaining teeth and -features, he registered a mental memorandum to the -effect that he would move along the lines of caution, -rather than valour, in his future dealings with the -Légionnaire Luigi Rivoli--until his time came.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Je m'en souviendrai</em><span>," said he....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An interesting object-lesson in the effect, upon a -certain type of mind, of the methods of the Italian -was afforded by the conduct of a Greek recruit, named -Dimitropoulos. Stepping forward with ingratiating -bows and smiles, as the unfortunate M. Tou-Tou was -stretched senseless on the floor, he proclaimed himself -to be the best of the </span><em class="italics">lustroi</em><span> of the city of Corinth, and -begged for the honour and pleasure of cleaning the -boots of Il Signor Luigi Rivoli.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, but yes; a </span><em class="italics">lustros</em><span> of the most distinguished, -look you, who had polished the most eminent boots in -Greece at ten </span><em class="italics">leptas</em><span> a time. Alas! that he had not all -his little implements and sponges, his cloth of velvet, -his varnish for the heel. Had he but the tools necessary -to the true artist in his profession, the boots of Il -Illustrissimo Signor should be then and thenceforth -of a brightness dazzling and remarkable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he gabbled, the Greek scrubbed at Rivoli's boots -with a rag and the palm of his hand. Evidently the -retinue of the great man had been augmented by one -who would be faithful and true while his patron's -strength and money lasted. As, at the head of his -band of henchmen and parasites, the latter hero turned -to leave the barrack-room with a shout of "</span><em class="italics">Allons, mes -enfants d'Enfer,</em><span>" he bent his lofty brow upon, cocked -his ferocious eye at, and turned his haughty regard -toward the remaining recruits, finishing with Reginald -Rupert:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will teach useful tricks to you little dogs later," -he promised. "You shall dance me the </span><em class="italics">rigolboche</em><span>, and -the </span><em class="italics">can-can</em><span>," and swaggered out....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nice lad," observed Rupert, looking up from -his work--and wondered what the morrow might -bring forth. There should be a disappointed Luigi, or -a dead Rupert about, if it came to interference and -trouble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure," agreed Légionnaire Bronco, seating himself -on the bed beside his beloved John Bull. "He's some -stiff, that guy, an' I allow it'll soon be up ter me ter -</span><em class="italics">con</em><span>duct our Loojey ter the bone-orchard. He's a -plug-ugly. He's a ward-heeler. Land sakes! I wants -ter punch our Loojey till Hell pops; an' when it comes -ter shootin' I got Loojey skinned a mile--sure thing. -</span><em class="italics">J'ai Loojey écorché un mille</em><span>.... Nope, there ain't 'nuff -real room fer Looje an' me in Algery--not while -Carmelita's around....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, John," he continued, turning to his friend, -"she up an' axed me las' night ef he ever went ter the -Canteen an' ef Madam lar Canteenair didn't ever git -amakin' eyes at her beautiful Looje! Yep! It </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> -time Loojey kissed hisself good-bye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh? What did you tell her?" enquired John -Bull. "There is no doubt the swine will marry the -Canteen if he can. More profitable than poor little -Carmelita's show. He </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> a low stinker, and she's one -of the best and prettiest and pluckiest little women -who ever lived.... She's so </span><em class="italics">débrouillarde</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wot did I say? Wal, John, wot I ses was--'Amakin' -eyes at yure Loojey, my dear.' I ses, 'Madam -lar Canteenair is a woman with horse-sense an' two -eyes in 'er 'ead. She wouldn't look twice at a boastin', -swankin', fat-slappin', back-stabbin', dime-show -ackerobat,' I ses. 'Yure Loojey flaps 'is mouth too much. -</span><em class="italics">Il frappe sa bouche trop,</em><span>' I ses. But I didn't tell her as -haow 'e's amakin' up ter Madam lar Canteenaire all his -possible. She wouldn't believe it of 'im. She wouldn't -even believe that 'e </span><em class="italics">goes</em><span> ter the Canteen. I only ses: -'Yure Loojey's a leary lipper so don't say as haow I -ain't warned yer, Carmelita honey,' I ses--an' I puts it -inter copper-bottomed Frencho langwago also. Yep!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did Carmelita say?" asked John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nix," was the reply. "It passes my com*pre*hension -wot she sees in that fat Eye-talian ice-cream -trader. Anyhaow, it's up ter Hiram C. Milton ter git -upon his hind legs an' </span><em class="italics">fer</em><span>bid the bangs ef she goes fer -ter marry a greasy orgin-grinder ... serposin' he don't -git Madam lar Canteenair," and the Bucking Bronco -sighed deeply, produced some strong, black Algerian -tobacco, and asked High Heaven if he might hope ever -again to stuff some real Tareyton Mixture (the best -baccy in the world) into his "guley-brooley"--whereby -Legionary John Bull understood him to mean his -</span><em class="italics">brûle-gueule</em><span>, or short pipe--and relapsed into -lethargic and taciturn apathy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How would you like a prowl round?" asked John -Bull, of Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing better, thank you, if you think I could -pass the Sergeant of the Guard before being dismissed -recruit-drills."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that'll be all right if you are correctly dressed. -Hop into the tunic and red breeches and we'll try it. -You're free until five-thirty to-morrow morning, and -can do some more at your kit when we return. We'll -go round the barracks and I'll show you the ropes -before we stroll round Sidi-bel-Abbès, and admire the -wonders of the Rue Prudon, Rue Montagnac, and Rue -de Jerusalem. Our band is playing at the Military -Club to-night, and the band of the Première Légion -Étrangère is the finest band in the whole world--largely -Germans and Poles. We are allowed to listen -at a respectful distance. We'll look in at the </span><em class="italics">Village -d'Espagnol</em><span>, the </span><em class="italics">Mekerra</em><span>, and the </span><em class="italics">Faubourg des -Palmiers</em><span> another time, as they're out of bounds. Also -the </span><em class="italics">Village Négre</em><span> if you like, but if we're caught there -we get a month's hard labour, if not solitary confinement -and starvation in the foul and stinking </span><em class="italics">cellules</em><span>--because -we're likely to be killed in the </span><em class="italics">Village Négre</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's go there now," suggested Rupert eagerly, as -he buttoned his tunic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, my boy. Wait until you know what </span><em class="italics">cellule</em><span> -imprisonment really is, before you risk it. You keep -out of the </span><em class="italics">trou</em><span> just as long as you can. It's different -from the Stone Jug of a British regiment--very. Don't -do any </span><em class="italics">rabiau</em><span>[#] until you must. We'll be virtuous -to-night, and when you must go out of bounds, go with -me. I'll take you to see Carmelita this evening at the -Café de la Légion, and we'll look in on Madame la -Cantinière, at the Canteen, before the Last Post at -nine o'clock.... Are you coming, Buck?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Time spent in prison or in the Penal Battalions--which does not -count towards the five years period of service.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And these three modern musketeers left the </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span> -of their </span><em class="italics">caserne</em><span> and clattered down the stone stairs -to the barrack-square.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="carmelita-et-cie"><span class="large">CHAPTER III</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">CARMELITA ET CIE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Those boots comfortable?" asked John Bull -as they crossed the great parade-ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wonderfully," replied Rupert. "I could do a -march in them straight away. Fine boots too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," agreed the other. "That's one thing you -can say for the Legion kit, the boots are splendid--probably -the best military boots in the world. You'll -see why, before long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Long marches?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Longest done by any unit of human beings. Our -ordinary marches would be records for any other -infantry, and our forced marches are incredible--absolute -world's records. They call us the '</span><em class="italics">Cavalerie -à pied</em><span>' in the Service, you know. One of the many -ways of killing us is marching us to death, to keep up -the impossible standard. Buck, here, is our champion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Waal, yew see--I strolled crost Amurrica ten -times," apologised the Bronco, "ahittin' the main -drag, so I oughter vamoose some. Yep! I can throw -me feet </span><em class="italics">con</em><span>siderable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've never been a foot-slogger myself," admitted -Rupert, "but I've Mastered a beagle pack, and won -a few running pots at school and during my brief -'Varsity career. What are your distances?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our minimum, when marching quietly out of -barracks and back, without a halt is forty -kilometres under our present Colonel, who is known in -the Legion as The Marching Pig, and we do it three -or four times a week. On forced marches we do -anything that is to be done, inasmuch as it is the -unalterable law of the Legion that all forced marches -must be done in one march. If the next post were -forty miles away or even fifty, and the matter urgent, -we should go straight on without a halt, except the -usual 'cigarette space,' or five minutes in every hour, -until we got there. I assure you I have very often -marched as much as six hundred kilometres in fifteen -days, and occasionally much more. And we carry -the heaviest kit in the world--over a hundred-weight, -in full marching order."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is a kilometre?" asked the interested Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Call it five furlongs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then an ordinary day's march is about thirty -miles without a halt, and you may have to do four -hundred miles straight off, at the rate of twenty-five -consecutive miles a day? Good Lord above us!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, my own personal record is five hundred and -sixty miles in nineteen days, without a rest -day--under the African sun and across sand...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say--what's </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> game?" interrupted Rupert, -as the three turned a corner and entered a small -square between the rear of the </span><em class="italics">caserne</em><span> of the Fourth -Company and the great barrack-wall--a square of -which all exits were guarded by sentries with fixed -bayonets. Round and round in a ring at a very rapid -quick-step ran a dismal procession of suffering men, -to the monotonously reiterated order of a Corporal--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A droit, </span><em class="italics">droit</em><span>. A droit, </span><em class="italics">droit</em><span>. A droit, </span><em class="italics">droit</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their blanched, starved-looking faces, glazed eyes, -protruding tongues and doubled-up bodies made them -a doleful spectacle. On each man's back was a burden -of a hundred pounds of stones. On each man's -emaciated face, a look of agony, and on the canvas-clad -back of one man, a great stain of wet blood from a -raw wound caused by the cutting and rubbing of the -stone-laden knapsack. Each man wore a -fatigue-uniform, filthy beyond description.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why the hell can't they be set ter sutthin' -useful--hoein' pertaties, or splittin' rails, or chewin' -gum--'stead o' that silly strain-me-heart and -break-me-sperrit game on empty stummicks twice a day?" -observed the Bucking Bronco.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Every panting, straining, gasping wretch in that -pitiable </span><em class="italics">peloton des hommes punis</em><span> looked as though -his next minute must be his last, his next staggering -step bring him crashing to the ground. What could -the dreadful alternative be, the fear of which kept -these suffering, starving wretches on their tottering, -failing legs? Why would they </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> collapse, in spite of -Nature? Fear of the Legion's prison? No, they were -all serving periods in the Legion's prison already, and -twice spending three hours of each prison-day in this -agony. Fear of the Legion's Hospital? Yes, and of -the Penal Battalion afterwards.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What sort of crimes have they committed?" -asked Rupert, as they turned with feelings of -personal shame from the sickening sight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, all sorts, but I'm afraid a good many of them -have earned the enmity of some Non-com. As a rule, -a man who wants to, can keep out of that sort of -thing, but there's a lot of luck in it. One gets run in -for a lost strap, a dull button, a speck of rust on rifle -or bayonet, or perhaps for being slow at drill, slack -in saluting, being out of bounds, or something of -that sort. A Sergeant gives him three days' confinement -to barracks, and enters it in the </span><em class="italics">livre de punitions</em><span>. -Very likely, the Captain, feeling liverish when he -examines the book, makes it eight days' imprisonment. -That's not so bad, provided the Commander of the -Battalion does not think it might be good for discipline -for him to double it. And that again is bearable so -long as the Colonel does not think the scoundrel had -better have a month--and imprisonment, though only -called 'Ordinary Arrest,' carries with it this beastly -</span><em class="italics">peloton de chasse</em><span>. Still, as I say, a good man and keen -soldier can generally keep fairly clear of </span><em class="italics">salle de police</em><span> -and </span><em class="italics">cellule</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So Non-coms. can punish off their own bat, in the -Legion, can they?" enquired Rupert as they strolled -toward the main gate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. The N.C.O. is an almighty important bird -here, and you have to salute him like an officer. -They can give extra corvée, confinement to barracks, -and up to eight days' </span><em class="italics">salle de police</em><span>, and give you a -pretty bad time while you're doing it, too. In peace -time, you know, the N.C.O.s run the Legion absolutely. -We hardly see our officers except on marches, -or at manoeuvres. Splendid soldiers, but they consider -their duty is to lead us in battle, not to be bothered -with us in peace. The N.C.O.s can do the bothering -for them. Of course, we're pretty frequently either -demonstrating, or actually fighting on the Southern, -or the Moroccan border, and then an officer's job is no -sinecure. They are real soldiers--but the weak spot -is that they avoid us like poison, in barracks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We're mostly foreigners, of course," he continued, -"half German, and not very many French, and there's -absolutely none of that mutual liking and understanding -which is the strength of the British Army.... -And naturally, in a corps like this, they've got to be -severe and harsh to the point of cruelty. After all, -it's not a girls' school, is it? But take my advice, my -boy, and leave the Legion's punishment system of -starvation, over-work, and solitary confinement -outside your 'experiences' as much as possible...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say--what a ghastly, charnel-house stink," -remarked the recipient of this good advice, as the trio -passed two iron-roofed buildings, one on each side of -the closed main-entrance of the barracks. "I noticed -it when I first came in here, but I was to windward of -it I suppose. It's the bally limit. Poo-o-oh!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you live in that charming odour all night, -if you get </span><em class="italics">salle de police</em><span> for any offence, and all day as -well, if you get 'arrest' in the regimental lock-up--except -for your two three-hour turns of </span><em class="italics">peloton des -hommes punis</em><span>. It's nothing at this distance, but wait -until you're on sentry-go in one of those barrack-prisons. -There's a legend of a runaway pig that took -refuge in one, gave a gasp, and fell dead.... Make -Dante himself envious if he could go inside. The truth -of that Inferno is much stranger than the fiction of -his."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yep," chimed in the American. "But what gits -my goat every time is </span><em class="italics">cellules</em><span>. Yew squats on end in -a dark cell fer the whole of yure sentence, an' yew -don't go outside it from start to finish, an' thet may -be thirty days. Yew gits a quarter-ration o' dry bread -an' a double ration of almighty odour. 'Nuff ter raise -the roof, but it don't do it. No exercise, no readin', -no baccy, no nuthin'. There yew sits and there yew -starves, an' lucky ef yew don't go balmy...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope we get you past the Sergeant of the Guard," -interrupted John Bull. "Swank it thick as we go by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cold eye of the Sergeant ran over the three -Legionaries as they passed through the little side -wicket without blazing into wrath over any lack of -smartness and </span><em class="italics">chic</em><span> in their appearance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One to you," said John Bull, as they found themselves -safe in the shadow of the Spahis' barracks outside. -"If you had looked too like a recruit he'd have -turned you back, on principle...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To Reginald Rupert the walk was full of interest, -in spite of the fact that the half-vulgar, half-picturesque -Western-Eastern appearance of the town was no -novelty. He had already seen all that Sidi-bel-Abbès -could show, and much more, in Algiers, Tangiers, -Cairo, Alexandria, Port Said, and Suez. But, with a -curious sense of proprietorship, he enjoyed listening -to the distant strains of the band--their "own" -band. To see thousands of Legionaries, Spahis, Turcos, -Chasseurs d'Afrique, Sapeurs, Tirailleurs, Zouaves, and -other French soldiery, from their own level, as one of -themselves, was what interested him. Here was a -new situation, here were new conditions, necessities, -dangers, sufferings, relationships. Here, in short, -were entirely new experiences....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is the Rue Prudon," observed John Bull. -"It separates the Military goats on the west, from the -Civil sheep on the east. Not that you'll find them at -all 'civil' though.... Reminds me of a joke I -heard our Captain telling the Colonel at dinner one -night when I was a Mess Orderly. A new man had -taken over the Grand Hotel, and he wrote to the -Mess President to say he made a speciality of dinner-parties -for Military and </span><em class="italics">Civilised</em><span> officers! Bit rough -on the Military, what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having crossed the Rue Prudon rubicon, and -invaded the Place de Quinconces with its Palais de -Justice and prison, the Promenade Publique with its -beautiful trees, and the Rue Montagnac with its shops -and life and glitter, the three Legionaries quitted -the quarter of electric arc-lights, brilliant cafés, shops, -hotels, aperitif-drinking citizens, promenading -French-women, newspaper kiosks, loitering soldiers, shrill -hawkers of the </span><em class="italics">Echo d'Oran</em><span>, white-burnoused Arabs -(who gazed coldly upon the hated Franswazi, and -bowed to officials with stately dignity, arms folded -on breast), quick-stepping Chasseurs, scarlet-cloaked -Spahis, and swaggering Turcos, crossed the Place Sadi -Carnot, and made for the maze of alleys, slums, and -courts (the quarter of the Spanish Jews, town Arabs, -</span><em class="italics">hadris</em><span>, </span><em class="italics">odjar</em><span>-wearing women, Berbers, Negroes, -half-castes, semi-Oriental scum, "white trash," and -Legionaries), in one of which was situated Carmelita's Café -de la Légion.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">§2</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>La Belle Carmelita, black-haired, red-cheeked, -black-eyed, red-lipped, lithe, swift, and graceful, sat -at the receipt of custom. Carmelita's Café de la Légion -was for the Legion, and had to make its profits out -of men whose pay is one halfpenny a day. It is -therefore matter for little surprise that it compared -unfavourably with Voisin's, the Café de la Paix, the -Pré Catalan, Maxim's, the Café Grossenwahn, the Das -Prinzess Café, the restaurants of the Place Pigalle, -Le Rat Mort, or even Les Noctambules, Le Cabaret -de l'Enfer, the Chat Noir, the Elysée Montmartre, -and the famous and infamous </span><em class="italics">caveaux</em><span> of Le Quartier--in -the eyes of those Legionaries who had tried some, -or all, of these places.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>However, it had four walls, a floor, and a roof; -benches and a large number of tables and chairs, -many of which were quite reliable. It had a bar, it -had Algerian wine at one penny the bottle, it had -</span><em class="italics">vert-vert</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">tord-boyaud</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">bapédi</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">shum-shum</em><span>. It -had really good coffee, and really bad cigarettes. -It had meals also--but above all, and before all, it -had a welcome. A welcome for the Legionary. The -man to whose presence the good people of Sidi-bel-Abbès -(French petty officials, half-castes, Spanish -Jews, Arabs, clerks, workmen, shopkeepers, waiters, -and lowest-class bourgeoisie) took exception at the -bandstand, in the Gardens, in the Cafés, in the very -streets; the man from the contamination of whose -touch the very cocottes, the demi-mondaines, the -joyless </span><em class="italics">filles de joie</em><span>, even the daughters of the -pavement; drew aside the skirts of their dingy finery -(for though the Wages of Virtue are a halfpenny a -day for the famous Legion, the Wages of Sin are more -for the infamous legion); the man at whom even the -Goums, the Arab </span><em class="italics">gens-d'armes</em><span> shouted as at a pariah -dog, this man, the Soldier of the Legion, had a welcome -in Carmelita's Café. There were two women in all the -world who would endure to breathe the same air as -the sad Sons of the Legion--Madame la Cantinière -(official </span><em class="italics">fille du régiment</em><span>) and Carmelita. Is it matter -for wonder that the Legion's sons loved them--particularly -Carmelita, who, unlike Madame, was under no -obligation to shed the light of her countenance upon -them? Any man in the Legion might speak to -Carmelita provided he spoke as a gentleman should speak -to a lady--and did not want to be pinned to her bar -by the ears, and the bayonets of his indignant -brothers-in-arms--any man who might speak to no other -woman in the world outside the Legion. (Madame la -Cantinière is inside the Legion, </span><em class="italics">bien entendu</em><span>, and -always married to it in the person of one of its sons.) She -would meet him as an equal for the sake of her -beautiful, wonderful, adored Luigi Rivoli, his -brother-in-arms. Perhaps one must be such an outcast that -the sight of one causes even painted lips to curl in -contemptuous disdain; such a </span><em class="italics">thing</em><span> that one is -deterred from entering decent Cafés, decent places of -amusement and decent boulevards; so low that one -is strictly doomed to the environment of one's prison, -or the slums, and to the society of one's fellow dregs, -before one can appreciate the attitude of the Sons of -the Legion to Carmelita. They revered her as they -did not revere the Mother of God, and they, broken -and crucified wretches, envied Luigi Rivoli as they -did not envy the repentant thief absolved by Her Son.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">She</em><span>, Carmelita, welcomed </span><em class="italics">them</em><span>, Legionaries! It is -perhaps comprehensible if not excusable, that the -attitude of Madame la Cantinière was wholly different, -that she hated Carmelita as a rival, and with single -heart, double venom and treble voice, denounced her, -her house, her wine, her coffee, and all those </span><em class="italics">chenapans</em><span> -and </span><em class="italics">sacripants</em><span> her clients.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Merde!</em><span>" said Madame la Cantiniére. "That -which makes the slums of Naples too hot for it, is -warm indeed! Naples! Ma foi! Why Monsieur Le -Bon Diable himself must be reluctant when his patrol -runs in a </span><em class="italics">prisonnier</em><span> from Naples to the nice clean -guard-room and </span><em class="italics">cellules</em><span> in his Hell ... Naples! -... La! La!..." which was unkind and unfair of -Madame, since the very worst she knew of Carmelita -was the fact that she kept a Café whereat the Legionaries -spent their half-pence. It is not (rightly or wrongly) -in itself an indictable offence to be a Neapolitan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So the Legion loved Carmelita, Madame la -Cantiniére hated her, the Bucking Bronco worshipped -her, John Bull admired her, le bon M. Edouard -Malvin desired her, and Luigi Rivoli owned -her--body, soul and cash-box--what time he sought to -do the same for Madame la Cantinière whose body -and cash-box were as much larger than those of -Carmelita as her soul was smaller.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Between two fools one comes to the ground--sometimes--but -Luigi intended to come to a bed of roses, -and to have a cash-box beneath it. One of the fools -should marry and support him, preferably the richer -fool, and meantime, oh the subtlety, the cleverness, -the piquancy--of being loved and supported by both -while marrying neither! Many a time as he lay on his -cot while a henchman polished the great cartridge-pouches -(that earned the Legion the sobriquet of "the -Leather-Bellies" from the Russians in the Crimea), -the belts, the buttons, the boots, and the rifle and -bayonet of the noble Luigi, while another washed his -fatigue uniforms and underclothing, that honourable -man would chuckle aloud as he saw himself frequently -cashing a ten-franc piece of Carmelita's at Madame's -Canteen, and receiving change for a twenty-franc -piece from the fond, yielding Madame. Ten francs -too much, a sigh too many, and a kiss too few--for -Madame did not kiss, being, contrary to popular -belief with regard to vivandières in general, and the -Legion's vivandière in particular, of rigid virtue, oh, -but yes, of a respectability profound and colossal--during -"vacation." Her present vacation had lasted -for three months, and Madame felt it was time to -replace le pauvre Etienne Baptiste--cut in small -pieces by certain Arab ladies. Madame was a business -woman, Madame needed a husband in her business, -and Madame had an eye for a fine man. None finer -than Luigi Rivoli, and Madame had never tried an -Italian. Husbands do not last long in the Legion, -and Madame had had three French, one Belgian, -and one Swiss (seriatim, </span><em class="italics">bien entendu</em><span>). No, none finer -in the whole Legion than Rivoli. None, nom de Dieu! -But a foreign husband may be a terrible trial, look -you, and an Italian is a foreigner in a sense that a -French-speaking Belgian or Swiss is not. No, an -Italian is not a Frenchman even though he be a -Légionnaire. And there were tales of him and this -vile shameless creature from Naples, who decoyed -les braves Légionnaires from their true and lawful -Canteen to her noisome den in the foul slums, there -to spend their hard-earned sous on her poisonous -red-ink wine, her muddy-water coffee, and her--worse -things. Yes, that cunning little fox le Légionnaire -Edouard Malvin had thrown out hints to Madame -about this Neapolitan </span><em class="italics">ragazza</em><span>--but then, ce bon -M. Malvin was himself a suitor for Madame's hand--as -well as a most remarkable liar and rogue. Perhaps -'twould be as well to accept ce beau Luigi at once, -marry him immediately, and see that he spent his -evenings helping in the Canteen bar, instead of -gallivanting after Neapolitan hussies of the bazaar. Men -are but men--and sirens are sirens. What would -you? And Luigi so gay and popular. Small blame -that he should stray when Madame was unkind or -coy.... Yes, she would do it, if only to spite this -Neapolitan cat.... But--he was a foreigner and -something of a rogue--and incredibly strong. Still, -Madame had tamed more than one recalcitrant -husband by knocking the bottom off an empty bottle -and stabbing him in the face with it. And however -strong one's husband might be, he must, like Sisera, -sleep sometimes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The beautiful Luigi would hate to be awakened -with a bottomless bottle, and would not need it more -than once.... And the business soul of scheming, -but amorous Madame, much troubled, still halted -between two opinions--while the romantic and simple -soul of loving little Carmelita remained steadfast, -and troubled but little. Just a little, because the fine -</span><em class="italics">gentilhomme</em><span>, Légionnaire Jean Boule, and the great, -kind Légionnaire Bouckaing Bronceau, and certain -others, seemed somehow </span><em class="italics">to warn her</em><span> against her -Luigi; seemed to despise him, and hint at treachery. -She did not count the sly Belgian (or Austrian) Edouard -Malvin. The big stupid Americano was jealous, of -course, but Il Signor Inglese was not and he was--oh, -like a Reverend Father--so gentle and honest and -good. But no, her Luigi could not be false, and the -next Légionnaire who said a word against him should -be forbidden Le Café de la Légion, ill as it could -afford to lose even halfpenny custom--what with -the rent, taxes, </span><em class="italics">bakshish</em><span> to gens-d'armes, service, -cooking, lighting, wine, spirits, coffee, and Luigi's -daily dinner, Chianti and franc pocket-money.... -If only that franc could be increased--but one must -eat, or get so thin--and the great Luigi liked not -skinny women. What was a franc a day to such a man -as Luigi, her Luigi, strongest, finest, handsomest of -men?--and but for her he would never have been in -this accursed Legion. Save for her aggravating -wickedness, he would never have stabbed poor Guiseppe -Longigotto and punished her by enlisting. How great -and fine a hero of splendid vengeance! A true -Neapolitan, yet how magnanimous when punishment was -meted! He had forgiven--and forgotten--the dead -Guiseppe, and he had forgiven her, and he accepted -her miserable franc, dinner and Chianti wine daily. -Also he had allowed her--miserable ingrate that she -had been to annoy him and make him jealous--to find -the money that had mysteriously but materially -assisted in procuring the perpetual late-pass that -allowed him to remain with her till two in the morning, -long after all the other poor Légionnaires had returned -to their dreadful barracks. Noble Luigi! Yet there -were people who coupled his name with that of wealthy -Madame la Cantinière in the barrack yonder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had overheard Légionnaires doing it, here in -her own Café, though they had instantly and stoutly -denied it when accused, and had looked furtive and -ashamed. Absurd, jealous wretches, whose heads -Luigi could knock together as easily as she could click -her castanets....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Almost time that the Légionnaires began to drop in -for their litre and their </span><em class="italics">tasse</em><span>--and Carmelita rose and -went to the door of the Café de la Légion and looked -down the street toward the Place Sadi Carnot. One -of three passing Chasseurs d'Afrique made a remark, -the import of which was not lost on the Italian girl -though the man spoke in Paris slum argot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If Monsieur would but give himself the trouble to -step inside and sit down for a moment," said Carmelita -in Legion-French, "Monsieur's question shall be -answered by Luigi Rivoli of La Legion. Also he will remove -Monsieur's pretty uniform and scarlet </span><em class="italics">ceinturon</em><span> and will -do for Monsieur what Monsieur's mamma evidently -neglected to do for Monsieur when Monsieur was a dirty -little boy in the gutter.... Monsieur will not come in -as he suggested? Monsieur will not wait a minute? -No? Monsieur is a very wise young gentleman...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An Arab Spahi swaggered past and leered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sabeshad zareefeh chattaha</em><span>," said he, "</span><em class="italics">saada atinee</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Roh! Imshi!</em><span>" hissed Carmelita and Carmelita's -hand went to her pocket in a significant manner, and -Carmelita spat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A Greek ice-cream seller lingered and ogled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Bros!</em><span>" snapped Carmelita with a jerk of her -thumb in the direction in which the young person -should be going.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A huge Turco, with a vast beard, brought his rolling -swagger to a halt at her door and made to enter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Destour!</em><span>" said the tiny Carmelita to the giant, -pointed to the street and stared him unwaveringly in -the eye until, grinning sheepishly, he turned and went.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita did not like Turcos in general, and detested -this one in particular. He was too fond of coming -when he knew the Café to be empty of Légionnaires.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An old Spanish Jew paused in his shuffle to ask for -a cigarette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Varda!</em><span>" replied Carmelita calmly, with the -curious thumb-jerking gesture of negation, distinctive -of the uneducated Italian.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A most cosmopolitan young woman, and able to -give a little of his own tongue to any dweller in Europe -and to most of those in Northern Africa. Not in the -least a refined young woman, however, and her many -accomplishments not of the drawing-room. Staunch, -courageous, infinitely loving, utterly honest, loyal, -reliable, and very self-reliant, she was, upon occasion, -it is to be feared, more emphatic than delicate in -speech, and more uncompromising than ladylike in -conduct. She was not </span><em class="italics">une maîtresse vierge</em><span>, and her -standards and ideals were not those of the Best -Suburbs. You see, Carmelita had begun to earn her -own living at the unusually early age of three, and -earned it in coppers on a dirty rug, on a dirtier Naples -quay, for a decade or so, until at the age of fourteen, -or fifteen, she, together with her Mamma, her reputed -Papa, her sister and her brother, performed painful -acrobatic feats on the edge of the said quay for the -delectation of the passengers of the big North German -Lloyd and other steamers that tied up thereat for -purposes of embarkation and debarkation, and for the -reception of coal and the discharge of cargo.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the age of fifteen, Carmelita, most beautiful of -form and coarsely beautiful of face, of perfect health, -grace, poise, and carriage, fell desperately in love with -the great Signor Carlo Scopinaro, born Luigi Rivoli, -a star of her own firmament but of far greater magnitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Luigi Rivoli, one of a troupe of acrobats who -performed at the Naples Scala, Vésuvie, and Variétés, -meditating setting up on his own account as Strong -Man, Acrobat, Juggler, Wrestler, Dancer, and -Professor of Physical Culture, was, to the humble -"tumbler" of the quay, as the be-Knighted -Actor-Manager of a West End Theatre to the last joined -chorus girl, or walking-lady on his boards. And yet -the great Signor Carlo Scopinaro, born Luigi Rivoli, -meditating desertion from his troupe and needing an -"assistant," deigned to accept the services and -whole-souled adoration of the girl who was as much more -skilful as she was less powerful than he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When, in her perfect, ardent, and beautiful love, -her reckless and uncounting adoration, she gave -herself, mind, body and soul, to her hero and her god, -he accepted the little gift "without prejudice"--as -the lawyers say. "Without prejudice" to Luigi's -future, that is.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During their short engagement at the Scala--terminated -by the Troupe's earnest endeavour to -assassinate the defaulting and defalcating Luigi, -and her family's endeavour to maim Carmelita for -setting up on her own account, and deserting her -loving "parents"--it was rather the girl whom the -public applauded for her wonderful back-somersaults, -contortions, hand-walking, Catherine-wheels, -trapeze-work, and dancing, than the man for his feats with -dumb-bells of doubtful solidity, his stereotyped -ball-juggling, his chain-breaking, and weight-lifting, his -muscle-slapping and </span><em class="italics">Ha!</em><span> shouting, his posturing and -grimacing, and his issuing of challenges to wrestle -any man in the world for any sum he liked to name, -and in any style known to science. And, when -engagements at the lower-class halls and cafés of Barcelona, -Marseilles, Toulon, Genoa, Rome, Brindisi, Venice, -Trieste, Corinth, Athens, Constantinople, Port Said, -Alexandria, Messina, Valetta, Algiers, Oran, Tangiers, -or Casa Blanca were obtained, it was always, and -obviously, the girl, rather than the man, who decided -the proprietor or manager to engage them, and who -won the applause of his patrons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When times were bad, as after Luigi's occasional -wrestling defeats and during the bad weeks of Luigi's -typhoid, convalescence, and long weakness at -Marseilles, it was Carmelita, the humbler and lesser light, -who (the Halls being worked out) tried desperately -to keep the wolf from the door by returning to the -quay-side business, and, for dirty coppers, exhibiting -to passengers, coal-trimmers, cargo-workers, porters -and loafers, the performances that had been subject -of signed contracts and given on fine stages in beautiful -music-halls and </span><em class="italics">cafés</em><span>, to refined and appreciative -audiences. Incidentally the girl learned much French (little -knowing how useful it was to prove), as well as smatterings -of Spanish, Greek, Turkish, English and Arabic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So Carmelita had "assisted" the great Luigi in -the times of his prosperity and had striven to maintain -him in eclipse, by quay-side, public-house, workmen's -dinner-hour, low </span><em class="italics">café</em><span>, back-yard, gambling-den, and -wine-shop exhibitions of her youthful skill, grace, -agility, and beauty--and had failed to make enough -by that means. To the end of her life poor Carmelita -could never, never forget that terrible time at -Marseilles, try as she might to thrust it into the -background of her thoughts. For there, ever there, in the -background it remained, save when called to cruel -prominence by some mischance, or at rare intervals -by the noble Luigi himself, when displeased by some -failure on the part of Carmelita. A terrible, terrible -memory, for Carmelita's nature was essentially virginal, -delicate, and of crystal purity. Where she loved she -gave all--and Luigi was to Carmelita as much her -husband as if they had been married in every church -they had passed, in every cathedral they had seen, -and by every </span><em class="italics">padre</em><span> they had met....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A terrible, terrible memory.... But Luigi's life -was at stake and what true woman, asked Carmelita, -would not have taken the last step of all (when every -other failed) to raise the money necessary for doctors, -medicine, delicacies, food, fuel, and lodging? If, by -thrusting her right hand into the fire, Carmelita could -have burnt away those haunting and corroding -Marseilles memories, then into the fire her right hand -would have been thrust. Yet, side by side with the -self-horror and self-disgust was no remorse nor repentance. -If, to-morrow, Luigi's life could only thus again -be saved, thus saved should it be, as when at Marseilles -he lay convalescent but dying for lack of the money -wherewith to buy the delicacies that would save him.... -Luigi's life always, and at any time, before -Carmelita's scruples and shrinkings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In return, Luigi had been kind to her and had often -spoken of matrimony--some day--in spite of what -she had done at Marseilles when he was too ill to look -after her, and provide her with all she needed. Once -even, when they were on the crest of a great wave of -prosperity, Luigi had gone so far as to mention her -seventeenth birthday as a possibly suitable date for -their wedding. That had been a great and glorious -time, though all too short, alas! and the sequel to a -brilliant scheme devised by that poor dear Guiseppe -Longigotto in the interests of his beloved and adored -friend Carmelita. Poor Guiseppe! He had deserved -as Carmelita was the first to admit, something better, -than a stab in the back from Luigi Rivoli, for the idea -had been wholly and solely his, until the great Roman -sporting Impresario had taken it up and developed -it. First there was a tremendous syndicate-engineered -campaign of advertisement, which let all Europe know -that </span><em class="italics">Il Famoso e Piu Grande Professors Carlo Scopinaro</em><span>, -Champion Wrestler of Europe, America and Australia, -would shortly meet the Egregious Egyptian, or -Conquering Copt, Champion Wrestler of Africa and -Asia, in Rome, and wrestle him in the Graeco-Roman -style, for the World's Championship and ten thousand -pounds a side. (Yes actually and authoritatively -</span><em class="italics">diecimila lire sterline</em><span>.) From every hoarding in Rome, -Venice, Milan, Turin, Genoa, Florence, Naples, -Brindisi, and every other town in Italy, huge posters -called your attention to the beauties and marvels of -the smiling face and mighty form of the great Carlo -Scopinaro; to the horrors and terrors of the scowling -face and enormous carcase of the dreadful Conquering -Copt. (To positively none but Luigi, Guiseppe, and the -renowned Roman Impresario was it known that the -Conquering Copt was none other than Luigi's old pal, -Abdul Hamid, chucker-out at a Port Said music-hall, -and most modest and retiring of gentlemen--until -this greatness of Champion Wrestler of Africa and -Asia was suddenly thrust upon him, and he was -summoned from Port Said to Rome to be coached -by Luigi in the arts and graces of realistic -stage-wrestling, and particularly in those of life-like and -convincing defeat after a long and obviously terrible -struggle.) ... Excitement was splendidly engineered, -the newspapers of every civilised country and of -Germany advertised the epoch-making event, speculated -upon its result, and produced interesting articles -on such questions as, "</span><em class="italics">Should a Colour-Line be drawn -in Wrestling?</em><span>" and, "</span><em class="italics">Is Scopinaro the White Hope?</em><span>" A -self-advertising reverend Nonconformist announced -his intention in the English press of proceeding to -Rome to create a disturbance at the Match. He got -himself frequently interviewed by specimens of the -genus, "Our representative," and the important fact -that he was a Conscientious Objector to all forms of sport -was brought to the notice of the Great British Public.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The struggle was magnificently staged and magnificently -acted. Every spectator in the vast theatre, -no matter whether he had paid one hundred lire or -a paltry fifty centesimi for his seat, felt that he had -had his money's worth. In incredibly realistic manner -the White Hope of Europe and the Champion of -Africa and Asia struck attitudes, cried "</span><em class="italics">Ha!</em><span>", -snatched at each other, stamped, straddled, pushed, -pulled, embraced, slapped, jerked, hugged, tugged, -lugged, and lifted each other with every appearance -of fearful exertion, dauntless courage, fierce -determination and unparalleled skill for one crowded -hour of glorious life, during which the house went -mad, rose at them to a man, and, with tears and -imprecations, called upon the Italian to be worthy of his -country and upon the Conquering Copt to be damned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Few scenes in all the troubled history of Rome -can have equalled, for excitement, that which ensued -when the White Hope finally triumphed, the honour of -Europe in general was saved, and that of Italy in -particular illuminated with a blaze of glory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Anyhow, what was solid fact, with no humbug -about it, was that Luigi received the renowned Roman -Impresario's fervid blessing and five hundred pounds, -while the complacent Abdul received blessings equally -fervid, though a less enthusiastic cheque. Both -gentlemen were then provided by the kind Impresario with -single tickets to the most distant spot he could induce -them to name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For Carmelita, the days following that on which her -Luigi won the great World's Championship match, -were a glorious time of expensive dinners, fine -apartments, and beautiful clothes; a time of being </span><em class="italics">café</em><span> -and music-hall patrons instead of performers; of -being entertained instead of entertaining. The joy -of Carmelita's life while the five hundred pounds -lasted was to sit in a stage-box, proud and happy, -beside her noble Luigi, and criticise the various -"turns" upon the stage. Never an evening performance, -nor a matinée did they miss, and Luigi drank -a quart of champagne at lunch, and another at dinner. -Luigi must keep his strength up, of course, and the -soothing influence of innumerable Havana cigars was -not denied to his nerves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then, just as the five hundred pounds was -finished, a wretched Russian (quickly followed by -an American, two Russians, a Turk, a Frenchman, and -an Englishman) publicly challenged Luigi in the -press of Europe, to wrestle for the Championship of -the World in any style he liked, for any amount he -liked, when and where he liked--and that branch of -his profession was closed to Luigi--for these men were -giants and terrors, arranging no "crosses," stern -fighters, and out for fame, money, genuine sport, and -the real Championship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then had come a time of poverty, straits, mean -shifts and misery, followed by Luigi's job as a "tamer" -of tame lions. This post of lion-tamer to a cageful -of mangy, weary lions, captive-born, pessimistic, -timid and depressed, had been secured by Guiseppe -Longigotto, and handed over to Luigi (on its proving -safe and satisfactory), in the interests of Giuseppe's -adored and hungry Carmelita. Arrayed in the costume -worn by all the Best Lion-tamers, Luigi looked a -truly noble figure, as, with flashing eyes and gleaming -teeth, he cracked the whip and fired the revolver that -induced the bored and disgusted lions to amble round -the cage, crouching and cringing in humility and fear. -That insignificant little rat, Guiseppe, was far more -in the picture, of course, as fiddler to the show, than -he was in his original role of tamer of the lions. -Followed a bad time along the African coast, -culminating, at Algiers, in poor Guiseppe's impassioned -pleadings that Carmelita would marry him (and, -leaving this dreadful life of the road, live with him -and his beautiful violin on the banked proceeds of -his great Wrestling Championship scheme), Luigi's -jealousy, his overbearing airs of proprietorship, his -drunken cruelty, his presuming on her love and -obedience to him until she sought to give him a fright -and teach him a lesson, his killing of the poor, pretty -musician, and his flight to Sidi-bel-Abbès....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To Sidi-bel-Abbès also fled Carmelita, and, with the -proceeds of Guiseppe's dying gift to her, eked out by -promises of many things to many people, such as -Jew and Arab lessors and landlords, French dealers, -Spanish-Jew jobbers and contractors, and Negro -labourers, contrived to open La Café de la Légion, -to run it with herself as proprietress, manageress, -barmaid, musician, singer, actress, and </span><em class="italics">danseuse</em><span>, and -to make it pay to the extent of a daily franc, bottle -of Chianti, and a macaroni, polenta, or spaghetti -meal for Luigi, and a very meagre living for herself. -When in need of something more, Carmelita performed -at matinées at the music-hall and at private stances -in Arab and other houses, in the intervals of business. -When professional dress would have rendered her -automatic pistol conspicuous and uncomfortable, -Carmelita carried a most serviceable little dagger in -her hair. Also she let it be known among her patrons -of the Legion that she was going to a certain house, -garden, or </span><em class="italics">café</em><span> at a certain time, and might be there -enquired for if unduly delayed. Carmelita knew the -seamy side of life in Mediterranean ports, and African -littoral and hinterland towns, and took no chances....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And by-and-by her splendid and noble Luigi would -marry her, and they would go to America--where -that little matter of manslaughter would never crop -up and cause trouble--and live happily ever after.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So, faithful, loyal, devoted, Carmelita might be; -generous, chaste, and brave, Carmelita might be--but -alas! not refined, not genteel, not above telling -a Chasseur d'Afrique what she thought of him and -his insults; not above spitting at a leering, -gesture-making Spahi. No lady....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Ben venuti, Signori!</em><span>" cried Carmelita on catching -sight of Il Signor Jean Boule and the Bucking Bronco. -"</span><em class="italics">Soyez le bien venu, Monsieur Jean Boule et Monsieur -Bronco. Che cosa posso offrirvi?</em><span>" and, as they seated -themselves at a small round table near the bar, -hastened to bring the wine favoured by these favoured -customers--the so gentle English Signor, </span><em class="italics">gentilhomme</em><span>, -(doubtless once a </span><em class="italics">milord</em><span>, a </span><em class="italics">nobile</em><span>), and the so gentle, -foolish Americano, so slow and strong, who looked -at her with eyes of love, kind eyes, with a good true -love. No </span><em class="italics">milordino</em><span> he, no </span><em class="italics">piccol Signor</em><span> (but nevertheless -a good man, a </span><em class="italics">uomo dabbéne</em><span>, most certainly...)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Reginald Rupert was duly presented as Légionnaire -Rupert, with all formality and ceremony, to the -Madamigella Carmelita, who ran her bright, black -eye over him, summed him up as another </span><em class="italics">gentiluomo</em><span>, -an obvious </span><em class="italics">gentilhomme</em><span>, pitied him, and wondered -what he had "done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita loved a "gentleman" in the abstract, -although she loved Luigi Rivoli in the concrete; -adored aristocrats in general, in spite of the fact -that she adored Luigi Rivoli in particular. To her -experienced and observant young eye, Légionnaire -Jean Boule and this young </span><em class="italics">bleu</em><span> were of the same class, -the </span><em class="italics">aristocratico</em><span> class of </span><em class="italics">Inghilterra</em><span>; birds of a feather, -if not of a nest. They might be father and son, so -alike were they in their difference from the rest. So -different even from the English-speaking Americano, -so different from her Luigi. But then, her Luigi was -no mere broken aristocrat; he was the World's -Champion Wrestler and Strong Man, a great and -famous Wild Beast Tamer, and--her Luigi.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Buona sera, Signor</em><span>," said Carmelita to Rupert. -"</span><em class="italics">Siete venuto per la via di Francie?</em><span>" and then, in -Legion-French and Italian, proceeded to comment -upon the new recruit's appearance, his </span><em class="italics">capetti riccioluti</em><span> -and to enquire whether he used the </span><em class="italics">calamistro</em><span> and -</span><em class="italics">ferro da ricci</em><span> to obtain the fine crisp wave in his hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not at all a refined and ladylike maiden, and very, -very far from the standards of Surbiton, not to mention -Balham.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Reginald Rupert (to whom love and war were the -two things worth living for), on understanding the -drift of the lady's remarks, proposed forthwith "to -cross the bar" and "put out to see" whether he -could not give her a personal demonstration of the -art of hair-curling, but--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Non vi pigliate fastidio</em><span>," said Carmelita. "Don't -trouble yourself Signor Azzurro--Monsieur Bleu. -And if Signor Luigi Rivoli should enter and see the -young Signor on my side of the bar--Luigi's side of the -bar--why, one look of his eye would so make the young -Signor's hair curl that, for the rest of his life, the -</span><em class="italics">calamistro</em><span>, the curling-tongs, would be superfluous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yep," chimed in the Bucking Bronco. "I guess -as haow it's about time yure Loojey's bright eyes -got closed, my dear, an' I'm goin' ter bung 'em both -up one o' these fine days, when I got the cafard. Yure -Loojey's a great lady-killer an' recruit-killer, we know, -an' he can talk a tin ear on a donkey. I say </span><em class="italics">Il parlerait -une oreille d'etain sur un âne</em><span>. Yure Loojey'd make a -hen-rabbit git mad an' bark. I say </span><em class="italics">Votre Loojey -causer ait une lapine devenir fou et écorcer</em><span>. I got it in -fer yure Loojey. I say </span><em class="italics">Je l'ai dans pour votre Loojey</em><span>.... -Comprenny? </span><em class="italics">Intendete quel che dico?</em><span>" and the -Bucking Bronco drank off a pint of wine, drew his -tiny, well-thumbed French dictionary from one pocket -and his "Travellers' Italian Phrase-book" from -another, cursed the Tower of Babel, and all foreign -tongues, and sought words wherewith to say that it -was high time for Luigi Rivoli "to quit beefin' aroun' -Madam lar Canteenair, to wipe off his chin considerable, -to cease being a sticker, a sucker, and a -skinamalink girl-sponging meal-and-money cadger; and -to quit tellin' stories made out o' whole cloth,[#] that -cut no ice with nobody except Carmelita."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Untrue.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>This young lady gathered that, as usual, the poor, -silly jealous Americano was belittling and insulting -her Luigi, if not actually threatening him. </span><em class="italics">Him</em><span>, who -could break any Americano across his knee. With a -toss of her head and a contemptuous "Invidioso! -Scioccone!" for the Bronco, a flick on the nose with -the </span><em class="italics">krenfell</em><span> flower from her ear for Rupert, a blown -kiss for </span><em class="italics">Babbo</em><span> Jean Boule, Carmelita flitted away, -going from table to table to minister to the mental, -moral, and physical needs of her other devoted -Légionnaires as they arrived--men of strange and -dreadful lives who loved her then and there, who -remembered her thereafter and elsewhere, and who -sent her letters, curios, pressed flowers and strange -presents from the ends of the earth where flies the -</span><em class="italics">tricouleur</em><span>, and the Flag of the Legion--in Tonkin, -Madagascar, Senegal, Morocco, the Sahara--in every -Southern Algerian station wherever the men of the -Legion tramped to their death to the strains of the -regimental march of "</span><em class="italics">Tiens, voilà du boudin</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Advise me, Mam'zelle," said a young Frenchman -of the Midi, rising to his feet with a flourish of his -képi and a sweeping bow, as Carmelita approached -the table at which he and three companions sat, -"Advise me as to the investment of this wealth, fifty -centimes, all at once. Shall it be five glorious green -absinthes or five </span><em class="italics">chopes</em><span> of the wine of Algiers?--or -shall I warm my soul with burning bapédi...?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Four bottles of wine is what you want for André, -Raoul, Léon, and yourself," was the reply. "Absinthe -is the mamma and the papa and all the ancestors of </span><em class="italics">le -cafard</em><span> and you are far too young and tender for bapédi. -It mingles not well with mother's milk, that...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the extreme corner of the big, badly-lit room, a -Legionary sat alone, his back to the company, his -head upon his folded arms. Passing near, on her tour -of ministration, Carmelita's quick eye and ear -perceived that the man was sobbing and weeping bitterly. -It might be the poor Grasshopper passing through one -of his terrible dark hours, and Carmelita's kind heart -melted with pity for the poor soul, smartest of soldiers, -and maddest of madmen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Going over to where he sat apart, Carmelita bent -over him, placed her arm around his neck, and stroked -his glossy dark hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Pourquoi faites-vous Suisse, mon pauvre?</em><span>" she -murmured with a motherly caress. "What is it? -Tell Carmelita." The man raised his face from his -arms, smiled through his tears and kissed the hand -that rested on his shoulder. The handsome and delicate -face, the small, well-kept hands, the voice, were those -of a man of culture and refinement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I ja nai ka!</em><span>--How delightful!" he said. "You -will make things right. I am to be made </span><em class="italics">machi-bugiyo</em><span>, -governor of the city to-morrow, and I wish to remain -a Japanese lady. I do not want to lay aside the -</span><em class="italics">suma-goto</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">samisen</em><span> for the </span><em class="italics">wakizashi</em><span> and the </span><em class="italics">katana</em><span>--the -lute for the dagger and sword. I don't want to sit -on a </span><em class="italics">tokonoma</em><span> in a </span><em class="italics">yashiki</em><span> surrounded by </span><em class="italics">karo</em><span>...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, no, mon cher, you shall not indeed. See -le bon Dieu and le bon Jean Boule will look after you," -said Carmelita, gently stroking his hot forehead and -soothing him with little crooning sounds and caresses -as though he had really been the child that, in mind -and understanding, he was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull, followed by Rupert, unobtrusively joined -Carmelita. Seating himself beside the unhappy man, he -took his hands and gazed steadily into his suffused eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me all about it, Cigale," said he. "You know -we can put it right. When has Jean Boule failed to -explain and arrange things for you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The madman repeated that he dreaded to have to -sit on the raised dais of the Palace of a Governor of -a City surrounded by officials and advisers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know I should soon be involved in a </span><em class="italics">kataki-uchi</em><span> -with a neighbouring clan, and have to commit hara-kiri -if I failed to keep the Mikado's peace. It is terrible. -You don't know how I long to remain a lady. I want -silk and music and cherry-blossom instead of steel -and blood," and again he laid his head upon his arms -and continued his low, hopeless sobbing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Reginald Rupert's face expressed blank astonishment -at the sight of the weeping soldier.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's up?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Légionnaire John Bull tapped his forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor chap will behave </span><em class="italics">more Japonico</em><span> for the rest -of the day now. I fancy he's been an attaché in Japan. -You don't know Japanese by any chance? I have -forgotten the little I knew."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rupert shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here, Cigale," said John Bull, raising the -afflicted man and again fixing the steady, benign -gaze upon his eyes, "why are you making all this -trouble for yourself? You know I am the Mikado and -All-powerful! You have only to appeal to me and the -Shogun must release you. Of course you can remain -a Japanese lady--and I'll tell you what, ma chère, -ma petite fille Japonaise, not only shall you remain -a lady, but a lady of the old school and of the days -before the accursed Foreign Devils came in to break -down ancient customs. I promise it. To-morrow -you shall shave off your eyebrows and paint them in -two inches above your eyes. I promise it. More. Your -teeth shall be lacquered black. Now cease these -ungrateful repinings, and be a happy maiden once -again. By order of the Mikado!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once again the voice and eye, and the gentle wise -sympathy and comprehension of ce bon Jean Boule -had succeeded and triumphed. The madman, falling -at his feet, knelt and bowed three times, his forehead -touching the ground, in approved geisha fashion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now you've got to come and lie down, or you -won't be fit for the eyebrow-shaving ceremony -to-morrow," said Carmelita, and led him to a broad, low -divan, which made a cosy, if dirty, corner remote -from the bar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's as extraordinary a case as ever I came -across," remarked John Bull to Rupert as they -rejoined the Bucking Bronco, who was talking to the -Cockney and the Russian twins, "as mad as any -lunatic in any asylum in the world, and yet as -absolutely competent and correct in every detail of -soldiering as any soldier in the Legion. He is the Perfect -Private Soldier--and a perfect lunatic. Most of the -time, off parade that is, he thinks he's a grasshopper, -and the rest of the time he thinks he's of some -remarkably foreign nationality, such as a Zulu, an Eskimo, -or a Chinaman. I should very much like to know his -story. He must have travelled pretty widely. He has -certainly been an officer in the Belgian Guides (their -Officers' Mess is one of the most exclusive and -aristocratic in the world, as you know) and he has certainly -been a Military Attaché in the East. He is perfectly -harmless and a most thorough gentleman, poor -soul.... Yes, I should greatly like to know his -story," and added as he poured out a glass of wine, -"but we don't ask men their 'stories' in the -Legion...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita returned to her high seat by the door -of her little room behind the bar--the door upon the -outside of which many curious regards had oftentimes -been fixed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita was troubled. Why did not Luigi come? -Were his duties so numerous and onerous nowadays -that he had but a bare hour for his late dinner and -his bottle of Chianti? Time was, when he arrived as -soon after five o'clock as a wash and change of uniform -permitted. Time was, when he could spend from early -evening to late night in the Café de la Légion, -outstaying the latest visitors. And that time was also -the time when Madame la Cantinière was not a widow--the -days before Madame's husband had been sliced, -sawn, snapped, torn, and generally mangled by certain -other widows--of certain Arabs--away to the South. -This might be coincidence of course, and yet--and -yet--several Légionnaires who had no axe to grind -and who were not jealous of Luigi's fortune, had -undoubtedly coupled his name with that of Madame....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' haow did yew find yure little way to our -dope-joint hyar?" the Bucking Bronco enquired of Mikhail -Kyrilovitch, as he did the honours of Carmelita's -"joint" to the three </span><em class="italics">bleus</em><span> who had entered while -John Bull was talking to the Grasshopper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, since you arx, we jest ups an' follers you, -old bloke, when yer goes aht wiv these two uvver -Henglish coves," replied the Cockney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The American regarded him with the eye of large -and patient tolerance. He preferred the Russians, -particularly Mikhail, and rejoiced that they spoke -English. It would have been too much to have -attempted to add a working knowledge of Russian to -his other linguistic stores. Nevertheless, he would, -out of compliment to their nationality, produce such -words of their strange tongue as he could command. -It might serve to make them feel more at home like.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid I can't ask yew moojiks ter hev a -little caviare an' wodky, becos' Carmelita is out of -it.... But there's cawfy in the sammy-var I hev -no doubt," he said graciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Russians thanked him, and Feodor pledging -him in a glass of absinthe, promised to teach him -the art of concocting </span><em class="italics">lompopo</em><span>, while Mikhail quietly -sipped his glass of sticky, sweet Algerian wine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Restless Carmelita joined the group, and her friend -Jean Boule introduced the three new patrons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Prahd an' honoured, Miss, I'm shore," said the -Cockney. "'Ave a port-an'-lemon or thereabahts?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Carmelita was too interested in the startling -similarity of the twins to pay attention to the civilities -and blandishments of the Cockney, albeit he surreptitiously -wetted his fingers with wine and smoothed -his smooth and shining "cowlick" or "quiff" (the -highly ornamental fringe which, having descended -to his eyebrows, turned aspiringly upward).</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Gemello</em><span>," she murmured, turning from Feodor -and his cheery greeting to Mikhail, who responded -with a graceful little bow, suddenly terminated and -changed to a curt nod, like that given by Feodor. As -Carmelita continued her direct gaze, a dull flush grew -and mantled over his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Cielo</em><span>! But how the boy blushes! Now is it for -his own sins, or mine, I wonder?" laughed Carmelita, -pointing accusingly at poor Mikhail's suffused face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gawdstreuth! Can't 'e blush," remarked Mr. Higgins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dull flush became a vivid, burning blush under -Carmelita's pointing finger, and the regard of the -amused Legionaries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Corpo di Bacco!" laughed the teasing girl. "A -blushing Legionary! The dear, sweet, good boy. If -only </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> could blush like that. And he brings his blushes -to Madame la République's Legion. Well, it is not -</span><em class="italics">porta vasi a Samo!</em><span>"[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Lit., "to carry coals to Newcastle."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Never mind, Sonny," said the American soothingly, -"there's many a worse stunt than blushin'. I uster -use blushes considerable meself--when I was a looker -'bout yure age." He translated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita's laughter pealed out again at the idea -of the blushing American. Feodor's laughter mingled -with Carmelita's, but sounded forced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Isn't it funny?" he remarked. "My brother -has always been like that, but believe me, Padrona, I -could not blush to save my life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Si, si," laughed Carmelita. "You have sinned -and he has blushed--all your lives, is it not so--le -pauvre petit?" and saucily rubbed the side of Mikhail's -crimson face with the backs of her fingers--and -looked unwontedly thoughtful as he jerked his head -away with a look of annoyance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"La, la, la!" said Carmelita. "Musn't he be -teased then?..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, Signora," broke in Feodor again, "you're -making him blush worse than ever. Such kindness -is absolutely wasted. Now I..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> wouldn't blush with shame and fright, -no, nor yet with innocence, would you, Signor Feodor? -</span><em class="italics">E un peccato!</em><span>" replied the girl, and lightly brushed -his cheek as she spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The good Feodor did not blush, but the look of -thoughtfulness deepened on Carmelita's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To the finer perceptions of John Bull there seemed -to be something strained and discomfortable in the -atmosphere. Carmelita had fallen silent, Feodor -seemed annoyed and anxious, Mikhail frightened and -anxious, and Mr. 'Erb 'Iggins of too gibing a humour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are making me positively jealous, Signora -Carmelita, and leaving me thirsty," he said, and with -a small repentant squeal Carmelita flitted to the bar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you like a biscuit too, Signor Jean Boule?" -she called, and tossed one across to him as she spoke. -John Bull neatly caught the biscuit as it flew -somewhat wide. Carmelita, like most women, could not -throw straight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Tiro maestro,</em><span>" she applauded, and launched -another at the unprepared Mikhail with a cry of -"Catch, </span><em class="italics">goffo</em><span>." Instinctively, he "made a lap" and -spread out his hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Esattamente!</em><span>" commented Carmelita beneath her -breath and apparently lost interest in the little -group....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A quartet of Legionaries swaggered into the </span><em class="italics">café</em><span> -and approached the bar--Messieurs Malvin, Borges, -Bauer and Hirsch, henchmen and satellites of Luigi -Rivoli--and saluted to Carmelita's greeting of "Buona -sera, Signori...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bonsoir, M. Malvin," added she to the dapper, -low-bowing Austrian, whose evil face, with its close-set -ugly eyes, sharp crooked nose, waxed moustache, and -heavy jowl, were familiar to her as those of one of -Luigi's more intimate followers. "Where is Signor -Luigi Rivoli to-night? He has no guard duty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, mia signora--er--that is--yes," replied -Malvin in affected discomfort. "He is--ah--on duty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On duty in the Canteen?" asked Carmelita, flushing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do I know of the comings and goings of the -great Luigi Rivoli?" answered Malvin. "Doubtless -he will fortify himself with a litre of wine at Madame's -bar in the Canteen before walking down here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Luigi Rivoli drinks no sticky Algerian wine," said -Carmelita angrily and her eyes and teeth flashed -dangerously. "He drinks Chianti from Home. He -never enters her Canteen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! So?" murmured Malvin in a non-committal -manner. And then Carmelita's anxiety grew a little -greater--greater even than her dislike and distrust -of M. Edouard Malvin, and she did what she had -never done before. She voiced it to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look you, Monsieur Malvin, tell me the truth. -I will not tell my Luigi that you have accused him -to me, or say that you have spoken ill of him behind -his back. Tell me the truth. </span><em class="italics">Is</em><span> he in the Canteen? -Tell me, cher Monsieur Malvin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I the double sight, bella Carmelita? How -should I know where le Légionnaire Rivoli may be?" -fenced the soi-disant Belgian, who desired nothing -better than to win the woman from the man--and -toward himself. Failing Madame la Cantinière and -the Legion's Canteen, what better than Carmelita -and the Café de la Légion for a poor hungry and -thirsty soldier? If the great Luigi must win the greater -prize let the little Malvin win the lesser. To which -end let him curry favour with La Belle Carmelita--just -as far as such a course of action did not become -premature, and lead to a painful interview with an -incensed Luigi Rivoli.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me the truth, cher Monsieur Malvin. Where -is my Luigi?" again asked Carmelita pleadingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Donna e Madonna</em><span>," replied the good M. Malvin, -with piteous eyes, broken voice, and protecting hand -placed gently over that of Carmelita which lay clenched -upon the zinc-covered bar. "What shall I say? Luigi -Rivoli is a giant among men--I, a little fat </span><em class="italics">deboletto</em><span>, -a </span><em class="italics">sparutello</em><span> whom the great Luigi could kill with one -hand. Though I love Carmelita, I fear Luigi. How -shall I tell of his doings with that husband-seeking -</span><em class="italics">puttana</em><span> of the Canteen; of his serving behind the bar, -helping her, taking her money, drinking her wine -(wine of Algiers); of his passionate and burning prayers -that she will marry him? How can I, his friend, tell -of those things? But oh! Carmelita, my poor honest -heart is wrung..." and le bon Monsieur Malvin -paused to hope that his neck also would not be wrung -as the result of this moving eloquence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment Carmelita's eyes blazed and her -hands and her little white teeth clenched. Mother of -God! if Luigi played her false after all she had done -for him, after all she had given him--given </span><em class="italics">for</em><span> him!... -But no, it was unthinkable.... This Malvin was an -utter knave and liar, and would fool her for his own -ends--the very man </span><em class="italics">fare un pesce d'Aprile a qualcuno</em><span>. -He should see how far his tricks succeeded with -Carmelita of the Legion, the chosen of Carlo -Scopinaro! And yet ... and yet... She would ask Il -Signor Jean Boule again. He would never lie. He -would neither backbite Luigi Rivoli, nor stand by and -see Carmelita deceived. Yes, she would ask Jean -Boule, and then if he </span><em class="italics">too</em><span> accused Luigi she would -find some means to see and hear for herself.... Trust -her woman's wit for that. And meantime this serpent -of a Malvin...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Se ne vada!</em><span>" she hissed, whirling upon him -suddenly, and pointed to the door. Malvin slunk -away, by no means anxious to be present at the scene -which would certainly follow should Luigi enter before -Carmelita's mood had changed. He would endeavour -to meet and delay him....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do yew say to acontinuin' o' this hyar -gin-crawl?" asked the Bucking Bronco of Rupert. -"Come and see our other pisen-joint and Madame -lar Cantenair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything you like," replied Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's go out when they do," said Mikhail quickly, -in Russian, to Feodor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, silly Olka," was the whispered reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Silly Fedka, to call me Olka," was the whispered -retort. "You're a pretty </span><em class="italics">budotchnik</em><span>,[#] aren't you?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Guardian, watchman.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Yus," agreed Mr. 'Erb Higgins, nodding cordially -to Rupert, and bursting into appropriate and tuneful -song--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Come where the booze is cheaper,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Come where the pots 'old more,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Come where the boss is a bit of a joss,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Ho! come to the pub next door."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Evidently a sociable and expansive person, easily -thawed by a </span><em class="italics">chope</em><span> of cheap wine withal; neither -standoffish nor haughty, for he thrust one friendly -arm through that of Jean Boule, and another round -the waist of Reginald Rupert. Let it not be -supposed that it was under the influence of liquor rather -than of sheer, expansive geniality that 'Erb proposed -to walk </span><em class="italics">a braccetto</em><span>, as Carmelita observed, with his -new-found friends....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the party filed out of the </span><em class="italics">café</em><span>, Mikhail -Kyrilovitch, who was walking last of the party, felt a hand -slip within his arm to detain him. Turning, he beheld -Carmelita's earnest little face near his own. In his ear -she whispered in French--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have your secret, little one--but have no fear. -Should anyone else discover it, come to Carmelita," -and before the astonished Mikhail could reply she -was clearing empty glasses and bottles from their table.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-canteen-of-the-legion"><span class="large">CHAPTER IV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE CANTEEN OF THE LEGION</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>From the Canteen, a building in the corner of -the barrack-square, proceeded sounds of revelry -by night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blimey! Them furriners are singin' 'Gawd save the -Queen' like bloomin' Christians," remarked 'Erb as the -little party approached the modest Temple of Bacchus.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, they are Germans singing '</span><em class="italics">Heil dir im -Sieges-Kranz</em><span>,' replied Feodor Kyrilovitch in English.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And singing it most uncommonly well," added -Legionary John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fancy them 'eathens pinchin' the toon like that," -commented 'Erb. "They oughtn't to be allowed... -Do they 'old concerts 'ere? I dessay they'd like to -'ear some good Henglish songs...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Reginald Rupert never forgot his first glimpse of -the Canteen of the Legion, though he entered it -hundreds of times and spent hundreds of hours beneath -its corrugated iron roof. Scores of Legionaries, -variously clad in blue and red or white sat on benches at long -tables, or lounged at the long zinc-covered bar, behind -which were Madame and hundreds of bottles and large -wine-glasses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame la Vivandière de la Légion was not of the -school of "Cigarette." Rupert failed to visualise -her with any clearness as leading a cavalry charge -(the </span><em class="italics">Drapeau</em><span> of La France in one hand, a pistol in -the other, and her reins in her mouth), inspiring -Regiments, advising Generals, softening the cruel -hearts of Arabs, or "saving the day" for La Patrie, -in the manner of the vivandière of fiction. Madame -had a beady eye, a perceptible moustache, a frankly -downy chin, two other chins, a more than ample -figure, and looked, what she was, a female -camp-sutler. Perhaps Madame appeared more Ouidaesque on -the march, wearing her official blue uniform as duly -constituted and appointed </span><em class="italics">fille du régiment</em><span>. At present -she looked... However, the bow of Reginald -Rupert, together with his smile and honeyed words, -were those of Mayfair, as he was introduced by -Madame's admired friend ce bon Jean Boule, and he -stepped straight into Madame's experienced but -capacious heart. Nor was the brightness of the image -dulled by the ten-franc piece which he tendered with -the request that Madame would supply the party -with her most blushful Hippocrene. 'Erb, being -introduced, struck an attitude, his hand upon his heart. -Madame coughed affectedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Makes a noise like a 'igh-class parlour-maid bein' -jilted, don' she?" he observed critically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having handed a couple of bottles and a large glass -to each member of the party, by way of commencement -in liquidating the coin, she returned to her -confidential whispering with Monsieur le Légionnaire -Luigi Rivoli (who lolled, somewhat drunk, in a corner -of the bar) as the group seated itself at the end of a -long table near the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It being "holiday," that is, pay-day, the Canteen -was full, and most of its patrons had contrived to -emulate it. A very large number had laid out the -whole of their </span><em class="italics">décompté</em><span>--every farthing of two-pence -halfpenny--on wine. Others, wiser and more -continent, had reserved a halfpenny for tobacco. In -one corner of the room an impromptu German glee -party was singing with such excellence that the -majority of the drinkers were listening to them with -obvious appreciation. With hardly a break, and with -the greatest impartiality they proceeded from -part-song to hymn, from hymn to drinking-song, from -drinking-song to sentimental love-ditty. Finally -</span><em class="italics">Ein feste burg ist unser Gott</em><span> being succeeded by </span><em class="italics">Die -Wacht am Rhein</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">Deutschland über Alles</em><span>, the -French element in the room thought that a little -French music would be a pleasing corrective, and with -one accord, if not in one key, gave a spirited rendering -of the Marseillaise, followed by--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Tiens, voilà du boudin</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Tiens, voilà du boudin</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Tiens, voià du boudin</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Pour les Alsaciens, les Suisses, et les Lorraines,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Four les Belges il n'y en a plus</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Car ce sont des tireurs du flanc..." etc.,</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>immediately succeeded by--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"As-tu vu la casquette</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>La casquette</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Du Père Bougeaud," etc.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As the ditty came to a close a blue-jowled little -Parisian--quick, nervous, and alert--sprang on to a -table, and with a bottle in one hand, and a glass in -the other, burst into the familiar and favourite--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"C'est l'empereur de Danemark</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Qui a dit a sa moitié</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Depuis quelqu' temps je remarque</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Que tu sens b'en fort les pieds..." etc.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>"C'est la reine Pomaré</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Qui a pour tout tenue</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Au milieu de l'été..."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>the song being brought to an untimely end by reason -of the parties on either side of the singer's table -entering into a friendly tug-of-war with his feet as -rope-ends. As he fell, amid howls of glee and the -crashing of glass, the Bucking Bronco remarked to -Rupert--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gwine ter be some rough-housin' ter-night ef -we're lucky," but ere the mêlée could become general, -Madame la Cantinière, descending from her throne -behind the bar, bore down upon the rioters and rated -them soundly--imbeciles, fools, children, vauriens, -and </span><em class="italics">sales cochons</em><span> that they were. Madame was well -aware of the fact that a conflagration should be dealt -with in its earliest stages and before it became -general.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is really extraordinarily good wine," -remarked Rupert to John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied the latter. "It's every bit as good -at three-halfpence a bottle as it is at three-and-six -in England, and I'd advise you to stick to it and let -absinthe alone. It does one no harm, in reason, and -is a great comfort. It's our greatest blessing and our -greatest curse. Absinthe is pure curse--and inevitably -means 'cafard.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is this same 'cafard' of which one hears so -much?" asked Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, the word itself means 'beetle,' I believe, -and sooner or later the man who drinks absinthe in -this climate feels the beetle crawling round and round -in his brain. He then does the maddest things and -ascribes the impulse to the beetle. He finally goes -mad and generally commits murder or suicide, or -both. That is one form of </span><em class="italics">cafard</em><span>, and the other is -mere fed-upness, a combination of liverish temper, -boredom and utter hatred and loathing of the terrible -ennui of the life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you had it?" asked the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Everyone has it at times," was the reply, "especially -in the tiny desert-stations where the awful heat, -monotony, and lack of employment leave one the -choice of drink or madness. If you drink you're certain -to go mad, and if you don't drink you're sure to. Of -course, men like ourselves--educated, intelligent, and -all that--have more chance than the average 'Tommy' -type, but it's very dangerous for the highly strung -excitable sort. He's apt to go mad and stay mad. We -only get fits of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't the authorities do anything to amuse and -employ the men in desert stations, like we do in -India?" enquired the younger man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Absolutely nothing. They prohibit the </span><em class="italics">Village -Négre</em><span> in every station, compel men to lie on their cots -from eleven till four, and do nothing at all to relieve -the maddening monotony of drill, sentry-go and -punishment. On the other hand, </span><em class="italics">cafard</em><span> is so recognised an -institution that punishments for offences committed -under its influence are comparatively light. It takes -different people differently, and is sometimes -comic--though generally tragic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think you're bound to get something of -the sort wherever men lead a very hard and very -monotonous life, in great heat," said Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh yes," agreed John Bull. "After all </span><em class="italics">le cafard</em><span> -is not the private and peculiar speciality of the Legion. -We get a very great deal of madness of course, but -I think it's nearly as much due to predisposition as -it is to the hard monotonous life.... You see we -are a unique collection, and a considerable minority -of us must be more or less queer in some way, or they -wouldn't be here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rupert wondered why the speaker was "here" but -refrained from asking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you classify the recruits at all clearly?" he -asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh yes," was the reply. "The bulk of them are -here simply and solely for a living; hungry men who -came here for board and lodging. Thousands of -foreigners in France have found themselves down on -their uppers, with their last sou gone, fairly on their -beam-ends and their room-rent overdue. To such -men the Foreign Legion offers a home. Then, again, -thousands of soldiers commit some heinous military -'crime' and desert to the Foreign Legion to start -afresh. We get most of our Germans and Austrians -that way, and not a few French who pretend to be -Belgians to avoid awkward questions as to their -papers. We get Alsatians by the hundred of course, -too. It is their only chance of avoiding service under -the hated German. They fight for France, and by -their five years' Legion-service earn the right to -naturalisation also. There are a good many French, -too, who are 'rehabilitating' themselves. Men who -have come to grief at home and prefer the Legion to -prison. Then there is undoubtedly a wanted-by-the-police -class of men who have bolted from all parts of -Europe and taken sanctuary here. Yes, I should say -the out-of-works, deserters, runaways and Alsatians -make up three parts of the Legion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what is the other part?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, keen soldiers who have deliberately chosen -the Legion for its splendid military training and -constant fighting experience--romantics who have read -vain imaginings and figments of the female mind like -'Under Two Flags'; and the queerest of Queer Fish, -oddments and remnants from the ends of the earth...." A -shout of "Ohé, Grasshopper!" caused him to turn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the doorway, crouching on his heels, was the -man they had left lying on the settee at Carmelita's. -Emitting strange chirruping squeaks, turning his head -slowly from left to right, and occasionally brushing -it from back to front with the sides of his "forelegs," -the Grasshopper approached with long, hopping bounds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And that was once an ornament of Chancelleries -and Courts," said John Bull, as he rose to his feet. -"Poor devil! Got his </span><em class="italics">cafard</em><span> once and for all at Aïn -Sefra. There was a big grasshopper or locust in his -</span><em class="italics">gamelle</em><span> of soup one day.... I suppose he was on -the verge at the moment. Anyhow, he burst into tears -and has been a grasshopper ever since, except when -he's a Jap or something of that sort.... He's a -grasshopper when he's 'normal' you might say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Going over to where the man squatted, the old -Legionary took him by the arm. "Come and sit on -my blade of grass and drink some dew, Cigale," -said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Smiling up brightly at the face which he always -recognised as that of a sympathetic friend, the -Grasshopper arose and accompanied John Bull to the end -of the long table at which sat the Englishmen, the -Russians, and the American....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet more wine had made 'Erb yet more expansive, -and he kindly filled his glass and placed it before the -Grasshopper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ere drink that hup, Looney, an' I'll sing yer -a song as'll warm the cockles o' yer pore ol' 'eart," -he remarked, and suiting the action to the word, rose -to his feet and, lifting up his voice, delivered himself -mightily of that song not unknown to British -barrack-rooms--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"A German orficer crossin' the Rhine</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>'E come to a pub, an' this was the sign</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Skibooo, skibooo,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Skibooo, skiana, skibooo."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The raucous voice and unwonted British accents -(for Englishmen are rare in the Legion) attracted -some attention, and by the time 'Erb had finished -with the German officer and commenced upon "'Oo's -that aknockin' on the dawer," he was well across the -footlights and had the ear and eye of the assembly. -Finding himself the cynosure of not only neighbouring -but distant eyes, 'Erb mounted the table and -"obliged" with a clog-dance and "double-shuffle-breakdown" -to the huge delight of an audience ever -desiring a new thing. Stimulated by rounds of applause, -and by the cheers and laughter which followed the -little Parisian's cry of "Vive le goddam biftek -Anglais," 'Erb burst into further Barrack-room -Ballads unchronicled by, and probably quite unknown -to, Mr. Kipling, and did not admit the superior claims -of private thirst until he had dealt faithfully with -"The Old Monk," "The Doctor's Boy," and the -indiscreet adventure of Abraham the Sailor with the -Beautiful Miss Taylor....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some boy, that </span><em class="italics">com</em><span>patriot o' yourn, John," -remarked the Bucking Bronco, "got a reg'lar drorin' -room repertory, ain't 'e?" and the soul of 'Erb was -proud within him, and he drank another pint of -wine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nutthink like a little--</span><em class="italics">hic</em><span>--'armony," he -admitted modestly, "fer making a </span><em class="italics">swarry</em><span> sociable an' -'appy. Wot I ses is--</span><em class="italics">hic</em><span>--wot I ses is--</span><em class="italics">hic</em><span>--wot I -ses is--</span><em class="italics">hic</em><span>...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is so, sonny, and that's almighty solemn truth," -agreed the Bucking Bronco.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wot I ses is--</span><em class="italics">hic</em><span>--" doggedly repeated 'Erb.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Right again, sonny.... He knows what 'e's -sayin' all right," observed the American, turning to -the Russians.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wot I ses is--</span><em class="italics">hic</em><span>--" repeated 'Erb dogmatically....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'</span><em class="italics">Hic jacet!</em><span>' Monsieur would say, perhaps?" -suggested Feodor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>'Erb turned upon the last speaker with an entirely -kindly contempt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't yer igspose yer </span><em class="italics">hic</em><span>-norance," he advised. -"You're a foreiller. You're a neathen. You're a -pore </span><em class="italics">hic</em><span>-norant foreiller. Wot I was goin' ter say -was..." But 'Erb lost the thread of his discourse. -"Wisht me donah wos 'ere," he confided sadly to -Mikhail Kyrilovitch, wept with his arm about Mikhail's -waist, his head upon Mikhail's shoulder, and anon -lapsed into dreams. Feodor roused the somnolent -'Erb with the offer of another bottle of wine, and -changed places with Mikhail. 'Erb accepted this -tribute to the attractiveness of his personality with -modesty, and with murmured words, the purport of -which appeared to be that Feodor was a discriminating -heathen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the evening wore on, the heady wine took effect. -The fun, which had been fast and furious, grew -uproarious. Dozens of different men were singing as -many different songs, several were merely howling in -sheer joyless glee, many were dancing singly, others -in pairs, or in fours; one, endeavouring to clamber -on to the bar and execute a </span><em class="italics">pas seul</em><span>, was bodily lifted -and thrown half-way down the room by the fighting-drunk -Luigi Rivoli. It was noticeable that, as excitement -waxed, the use of French waned, as men reverted -to their native tongues. It crossed the mind of Rupert -that a blindfolded stranger, entering the room, might -well imagine himself to be assisting at the building -of the Tower of Babel. A neighbouring party of -Spaniards dropping their guttural, sibilant Legion-French -(with their </span><em class="italics">ze</em><span> for </span><em class="italics">je</em><span>, </span><em class="italics">zamais</em><span> for </span><em class="italics">jamais</em><span>, and -</span><em class="italics">zour</em><span> for </span><em class="italics">jour</em><span>) with one accord broke into their liquid -Spanish and </span><em class="italics">Nombre de Dios</em><span> took the place of </span><em class="italics">Nom -de Dieu</em><span>, as their saturnine faces creased into leathery -smiles. Evidently the new recruit who sat in their -midst was paying his footing with the few francs that -he had brought with him, or obtained for his clothes, -for each of the party had four bottles in solemn row -before him, and it was not with the clearest of -utterance that the recruit solemnly and portentously -remarked, as he drained his last bottle--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Santissima Maria! Wine is the tomb of memory, -but he who sows in sand does not reap fish," the hearing -of which moved his neighbour to drop his empty -bottles upon the ground with a tear, and a farewell -to them--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vaya usted con Dios. Adios." He then turned -with truculent ferocity and a terrific scowl upon the -provider of the feast and growled--"</span><em class="italics">Sangre de Cristo!</em><span> -thou peseta-less burro, give me a cigarillo or with the -blessing and aid of el Eterno Padre I will cut thy throat -with my thumb-nail. Hasten, perro!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a grunt of "Cosas d'Espafia," the recruit -removed his képi, took a cigarette therefrom and -placed it in the steel-trap mouth of his </span><em class="italics">amigo</em><span>, to be -rewarded with an incredibly sweet and sunny smile -and a "Bueno! Gracias, Senor José...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Letting his eye roam from this queer band of -ex-muleteers, brigands and smugglers to another party -who were wading in the wassail, it needed not the -loud "Donnerwetters!" and rambling reminiscent -monologue of a fat brush-haired youth (on the -unspeakable villainies of der Herr Wacht-meister whose -wicked </span><em class="italics">schadenfreude</em><span> had sent good men to this -</span><em class="italics">schweinerei</em><span> of a Legion, and who was only fit for the -military-train or to be decapitated with his own -</span><em class="italics">pallasch</em><span>) to label them Germans enjoying a </span><em class="italics">kommers</em><span>. -Their stolid, heavy bearing, their business-like and -somewhat brutish way of drinking in great gulps -and draughts--as though a distended stomach rather -than a tickled palate was the serious business of the -evening, if not the end and object of life--together -with their upturned moustaches, piggish little eyes, and -tow-coloured bristles, proclaimed them sons of Kultur.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rupert could not forbear a smile at the heavy, -philosophical gravity with which the speaker, ceasing -his monologue, heaved a deep, deep sigh and delivered -the weighty dictum that a </span><em class="italics">schoppen</em><span> of the beer of -Munich was worth all the wine of Algiers, and the -Hofbrauhaus worth all the vineyards and canteens -of Africa.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It interested him to notice that among all the -nationalities represented, the French were by far -the gayest (albeit with a humour somewhat </span><em class="italics">macabre</em><span>) -and the Germans the most morose and gloomy. -He was to learn later that they provided by far the -greatest number of deserters, that they were eternally -grumbling, notably bitter and resentful, and devoid -of the faintest spark of humour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His attention was diverted from the Germans by -a sudden and horrible caterwauling which arose from -a band of Frenchmen who suddenly commenced at -the tops of their voices to howl that doleful dirge the -"Hymne des Pacifiques." Until they had finished, -conversation was impossible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not all foam neither, Miss, please," murmured -the sleeping 'Erb in the comparative silence which -followed the ending of this devastating chant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the penalty here for drunkenness?" asked -Rupert of John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Depends on what you do," was the reply. "There's -no penalty for drunkenness, as such, so long as it -leads to no sins of omission nor commission.... -The danger of getting drunk is that it gives such an -opportunity to any Non-com. who has a down on you. -When he sees his man drunk, he'll follow him and -give him some order, or find him some </span><em class="italics">corvée</em><span>, in the -hope that the man will disobey or abuse him--possibly -strike him. Then it's Biribi for the man, and a good -mark, as well as private vengeance, for the zealous -Sergeant, who is again noted as a strong disciplinarian.... -I'm afraid it's undeniably true that nothing helps -promotion in the non-commissioned ranks so much -as a reputation for savage ferocity and a brutal -insatiable love of punishing. A knowledge of German -helps too, as more than half the Legion speaks German, -but harsh domineering cruelty is the first requisite, -and a Non-commissioned Officer's merit is in direct -proportion to the number of punishments he inflicts. -Our Sergeant-Major, for example, is known as the -'Suicide-maker,' and is said to be very proud of the -title. The number of men he has sent to their graves -direct, or </span><em class="italics">via</em><span> the Penal Battalions, must be enormous, -and, so far as I can see, he has attained his high and -exceedingly influential position simply and solely by -excelling in the art of inventing crimes and punishing -them severely--for he is a dull uneducated peasant -without brains or ability. It is this type of Non-com., -the monotony, and the poverty, that make the Legion -such a hell for anyone who is not dead keen on -soldiering for its own sake...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm very glad you're keen," he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, rather. I'm as keen as mustard," replied -Rupert, "and I was utterly fed up with peace-soldiering -and poodle-faking. I have done Sandhurst -and had a turn as a trooper in a crack cavalry corps. -I wanted to have a look-in at the North-west Frontier -Police in Canada after this, and then the Cape Mounted -Rifles. I shan't mind the hardships and monotony -here if I can get some active service, and feel I am -learning something. I have a few thousand francs, -too, at the </span><em class="italics">Crédit Lyonnais</em><span>, so I shan't have to bear -the poverty cross."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A few thousand francs, my dear chap!" observed -John Bull, smiling. "Croesus I A few thousand francs -will give you a few hundred fair-weather friends, -relief from a few hundred disagreeable corvées, and -duties; give you wine, tobacco, food, medicine, -books, distractions--almost anything but escape from -the Legion's military duties as distinguished from the -menial. There is nowhere in the world where money -makes so much difference as in the Legion--simply -because nowhere is it so rare. If among the blind the -one-eyed is king, among Legionaries he who has a -franc is a bloated plutocrat. Where else in the world -is tenpence the equivalent of the daily wages of twenty -men--twenty soldier-labourers? Yes, a few thousand -francs will greatly alleviate your lot in the Legion, or -expedite your departure when you've had enough--for -it's quite hopeless to desert without mufti and money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll leave some in the bank then, against the time -I feel I've had enough.... By the way, if you or -your friend--er--Mr. Bronco at any time.... If I -could be of service ... financially..." and he -coloured uncomfortably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To offer money to this grave, handsome gentleman -of refined speech and manners was like tipping an -Ambassador, or offering the "price of a pot" to your -Colonel, or your Grandfather.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean by </span><em class="italics">corvée</em><span> and the Legion's -menial duties, and soldier-labourers?" he continued -hurriedly to change the subject.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yesterday," replied Sir Montague Merline coolly, -"I was told off as one of a fatigue-party to clean the -congested open sewers of the native gaol of Sidi-bel-Abbès. -While I and my brothers-in-arms (some of -whom had fought for France, like myself, in Tonkin, -Senegal, Madagascar, and the Sahara) did the foulest -work conceivable, manacled Negro and Arab criminals -jeered at us, and bade us strive to give them -satisfaction. Having been in India, you'll appreciate the -situation. Natives watching white 'sweepers' -labouring on their behalf."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One can hardly believe it," ejaculated Rupert, -and his face froze with horror and indignation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," continued the other. "I reflected on the -dignity of labour, and remembered the beautiful -words of John Bright, or John Bunyan, or some other -Johnnie about, 'Who sweeps a room as unto God, -makes himself and the action fine.' I certainly made -myself very dirty.... The Legionaries are the -labourers, scavengers, gardeners, builders, -road-makers, street-cleaners, and general coolies of any -place in which they are stationed. They are drafted -to the barracks of the Spahis and Turcos--the Native -Cavalry and Infantry--to do jobs that the Spahis -and Turcos would rather die than touch; and, of -course, they're employed for every kind of work to -which Government would never dream of setting -French regulars. I have myself worked (for a ha'penny -a day) at wheeling clay, breaking stones, sawing -logs, digging, carrying bricks, hauling trucks, shovelling -sand, felling trees, weeding gardens, sweeping streets, -grave-digging, and every kind of unskilled manual -corvée you can think of--in addition, of course, to -the daily routine-work and military training of a -soldier of the Legion--which is three times as arduous -as that of any other soldier in the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sa--a--ay, John," drawled the Bucking Bronco, -rousing himself at last from the deep brooding reverie -into which he had plunged in search of mental images -and memories of Carmelita, "give yure noo soul-affinity -the other side o' the medal likewise, or yew'll push him -off the water-waggon into the absinthe-barrel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," continued John Bull, "you can honestly -say you belong to the most famous, most reckless, -most courageous regiment in the world; to the -regiment that has fought more battles, won more battles, -lost more men and gained more honours, than any -in the whole history of war. You belong to the Legion -that never retreats, that dies--and of whose deaths -no record is kept.... It is the last of the real -Mercenaries, the Soldiers of Fortune, and if France sent -it to-morrow to such a task that five thousand men -were wastefully and vainly killed, not a question would -be asked in the Chamber, nor the Press: nothing would -be said, nothing known outside the War Department. -We exist to die for France in the desert, the swamp, -or the jungle, by bullet or disease--in Algeria, Morocco, -Sahara, the Soudan, West Africa, Madagascar, and -Cochin China--in doing what her regular French -and Native troops neither could nor would do. We -are here to die, and it's the duty of our officers to kill -us--more or less usefully. To kill us for France, -working or fighting...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ear, 'ear, John!" applauded the Bucking Bronco. -"Some orator, ain't he?" he observed with pride, -turning to Mikhail who had been following the old -Legionary with parted lips and shining eyes. "Guess -ol' John's some stump-speecher as well as a looker.... -Go it, ol' section-boss, git on a char," and he smote -his beloved John resoundingly upon the back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull, despite his years and grey hairs, blushed -painfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sorry," he grunted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But indeed, Monsieur speaks most interestingly -and with eloquence. Pray continue," said Mikhail -with diffident earnestness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull looked still more uncomfortable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do go on," said Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that's all," replied John Bull.... "But we -are the cheapest labourers, the finest soldiers, the -most dangerous, reckless devils ever gathered -together.... The incredible army--and there's -anything from eight to twelve thousand of us in Africa -and China, and nobody but the War Minister knows -the real number. You're a ha'penny hero now, my -boy, and a ha'penny day-labourer, and you're not -expected to wear out in less than five years--unless you're -killed by the enemy, disease, or the Non-coms."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you ever regretted coming here?" asked -Rupert, and could have bitten his tongue as he -realised he had asked a personal and prying question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I have re-enlisted twice," parried the other, -"and that is a pretty good testimonial to La Légion. -I have had unlimited experience of active service of -all kinds, against enemies of all sorts except Europeans, -and I hope to have that--against Germany[#]--before -I've done."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Written in 1913.--AUTHOR.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"But what about all the Germans in the Legion, -in that case?" enquired Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, they wouldn't be sent," was the reply. -"They'd all go to the Southern Stations, and the -Moroccan border, or to Madagascar and Tonkin. -Of course, the Alsatians and Lorraines would jump -for joy at the chance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Conversation at this point again became more and -more difficult in the increasing din, which was not -diminished as 'Erb awoke, yawned, stated that he -had a mouth like the bottom of a parrot's cage, that -he was thoroughly blighted, and indeed blasted, -produced a large mouth-organ, and rendered "Knocked -'em in the Old Kent Road," with enthusiastic soul -and vigorous lungs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Roused to a pinnacle of joyous enthusiasm and -yearning for emulation, not only the little Parisian, -but the whole party of Frenchmen leapt upon their -table with wild whoops, and commenced to dance, -some the </span><em class="italics">carmagnole</em><span>, some the </span><em class="italics">can-can</em><span>, some the -cake-walk, and others the </span><em class="italics">bamboula</em><span>, the </span><em class="italics">chachuqua</em><span>, or the -"</span><em class="italics">singe-sur-poele</em><span>." Glasses and bottles crashed to the -ground, and Legionaries with them. A form broke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Above the stamping, howling, smashing, and -crashing, Madame's shrill screams rang clear, as she -mingled imprecations and commands with lamentations -that Luigi Rivoli had departed. Pandemonium -increased to "</span><em class="italics">tohuwabohu</em><span>." Louder wailed the mouth-organ, -louder bawled the Frenchmen, louder screamed -Madame, loudest of all shrilled the "Lights Out" -bugle in the barrack-square--and peace reigned. In -a minute the room was empty, silent and dark, as the -clock struck nine.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">§2</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"You'll be awakened by yells of '</span><em class="italics">Au jus</em><span>' from -the garde-chambre at about five to-morrow," said -John Pull to Rupert as they undressed. "As soon -as you have swallowed the coffee he'll pour into your -mug from his jug, hop out and sweep under your bed. -The room-orderly has got to sweep out the room and -be on parade as soon as the rest, and it's impossible -unless everybody sweeps under his own bed and -leaves the orderly to do the rest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What about food?" asked the other, who had -the healthy appetite of his years and health.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh--plain and sufficient," was the answer. "Good -soup and bread; hard biscuit twice a week; and wine -every other day--monotonous of course. Meals at -eleven o'clock and five o'clock only.... By the way -unless your feet are fairly tough, you'd better wear -</span><em class="italics">chaussettes russes</em><span> until they harden--strips of greasy -linen bound round, you know. The skin will soon -toughen if you pour </span><em class="italics">bapédi</em><span>, or any other strong spirit -into your boots, and you can tallow your feet before -a long march. Having no socks will seem funny at -first, but in time you come to hate the idea of them. -Much less cleanly really, and the cause of all blisters."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rupert looked doubtful, and thought of his silk-sock -bills. Even as a trooper he had always kept one -silk pair to put on after the bath which followed a -long march. (There are few things so refreshing as -the vigorous brushing of one's hair and the putting -of silk socks on to bathed feet after a heavy day.)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night, and Good Luck in the Legion," -added John Bull as he lay down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night--and thanks awfully, sir, for your -kindness," replied Rupert, and vainly endeavoured -to compose himself to sleep on his bed which consisted -of a straw-stuffed mattress, a straw-stuffed pillow, -and two thin raspy blankets....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mikhail Kyrilovitch sat on his bed whispering -with his brother, about the medical examination of -recruits which would take place on the morrow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, we can only hope for the best," said Feodor -at last, "and they all say the same thing--that it is -generally the merest formality. The Médecin-Major -looks at your face and teeth and asks if you are -healthy. It's not like what Ivan and I went through -in Paris.... They wouldn't have two searching -medical examinations unless there appeared to be -signs of weakness, I should think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the room was wrapped in silence and darkness -the latter arose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night, </span><em class="italics">golubtchik</em><span>," he whispered, "and -when your heart fails you, remember Marie Spiridinoff--and -be thankful you are here rather than There."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mikhail shuddered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Anon, every soul in the room was awakened by the -uproarious entrance of the great Luigi Rivoli supported -by Messieurs Malvin, Borges and Bauer, all very drunk -and roaring "</span><em class="italics">Brigadier vous avez raison</em><span>," a song -which tailed off into an inane repetition of--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Si le Caporal savait ça</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Il dirait 'nom de Dieu,'"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>in the midst of which the great man collapsed upon -his bed, while, with much hiccupping laughter and foul -jokes, his faithful satellites contrived to remove his -boots and leave him to sleep the sleep of the just and -the drunken....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Anon the Dutch youth, Hans Djoolte, sat up and -looked around. All was quiet and apparently everyone -was asleep. The conscience of Hans was pricking -him--he had said his prayers lying in bed, and that was -not the way in which he had been taught to say them -by his good Dutch mother, whose very last words, -as she died, had been, "Say your prayers each night, -my son, wherever you may be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hans got out of bed, knelt him down, and said his -prayers again. Thenceforward, he always did so as -soon as he had undressed, regardless of consequences--which -at first were serious. But even the good Luigi -Rivoli, in time, grew tired of beating him, particularly -when the four English-speaking occupants of -the </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span> intimated their united disapproval of -Luigi's interference. The most startling novelty, by -repetition, becomes the most familiar commonplace, -and the day, or rather the night, arrived when Hans -Djoolte could pray unmolested.... Occupants of -less favoured </span><em class="italics">chambrées</em><span> came to see the sight. The -</span><em class="italics">escouade</em><span> indeed became rather proud of having two -authentic lunatics....</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-trivial-round"><span class="large">CHAPTER V</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE TRIVIAL ROUND</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As he had done almost every night for the last -twenty-five years, Sir Montague Merline lay -awake for some time, thinking of his wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Was she happy? Of course she was. Any woman -is happy with the man she really loves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Did she ever think of him? Of course she did. Any -woman thinks, at times, of the man in whose arms -she has lain. No doubt his photo stood in a silver frame -on her desk or piano. Huntingten would not mind -that. Nothing petty about Lord Huntingten--and he -had been very fond of "good old Merline," "dear old -stick-in-the-mud," as he had so often called him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of course she was happy. Why shouldn't she be? -Although Huntingten was poor as English peers go, -there was enough for decent quiet comfort--and -Marguerite had never been keen on making a splash. -She had not minded poverty as Lady Merline.... -She was certainly as happy as the day was long, and -it would have been the damnedest cruelty and -caddishness to have turned up and spoilt things. It would -have wrecked her life and Huntingten's too....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Splendid chap, Huntingten--so jolly clever and -original, so full of ideas and unconventionality.... -"How to be Happy though Titled." ... "How to -be a Man though a Peer." ... "Efforts for the -Effete," and Sir Montague smiled as he thought of -the eccentric peer's pleasantries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, she'd be happy enough with that fine brave -big sportsman with his sunny face and merry laugh, -his gentle and kindly ways, his love of open-air life, -games, sport, and all clean strenuous things. Of course -she was happy.... Did she ever think of him? ... Were -there any more children? ... (And, as always, -at this point, Sir Montague frowned and sighed.)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How he would love a little girl of hers, if she were -very, very like her--and how he would hate a boy -if he were like Huntingten. No--not hate the -boy--hate the idea of her having a boy who was like -Huntingten. But how she would love the boy....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What would he not give to see her! Unseen himself, -of course. He hoped he would not get </span><em class="italics">cafard</em><span> again, -when next stationed in the desert. It had been terrible, -unspeakably terrible, to feel that resolution was -weakening, and that when it failed altogether, he -would desert and go in search of her.... Suppose -that, with madman's cunning, and with madman's -strength, he should be successful in an attempt to -reach Tunis--the only possible way for a deserter -without money--and should live to reach her, or to -be recognised and proclaimed as the lost Sir Montague -Merline. Her life in ruins and her children -illegitimate--nameless bastards.... It was a horribly disturbing -thought, that under the influence of </span><em class="italics">cafard</em><span> his mind -might lose all ideas and memories and wishes except -the one great longing to see her again, to clasp her -in his arms again, to have and to hold.... Well--he -had a lot to be thankful for. So long as Cyrus Hiram -Milton was his bunk-mate it was not likely to happen. -Cyrus would see that he did not desert, penniless -and mad, into the desert. And now this English boy -had come--a man with the same training, tastes, -habits, haunts and </span><em class="italics">clichés</em><span> as himself. Doubtless they -had numbers of common acquaintances. But he must -be wary when on that ground. Possibly the boy knew -Lord and Lady Huntingten.... After all it's a very -small world, and especially the world of English -Society, clubs, Services, and sport.... This boy -would be a real </span><em class="italics">companion</em><span>, such as dear old Cyrus -could never be, best of friends as he was. He would -make a hobby of the boy, look after him, live his happy -past again in talking of London, Sandhurst, Paris, -racing, golf, theatres, clubs, and all the lost things -whose memories they had in common. The boy might -perhaps have been at Winchester too.... Thank -Heaven he had come! It would make all the difference -when </span><em class="italics">cafard</em><span> conditions arose again. Of course he'd -get promoted </span><em class="italics">Soldat première classe</em><span> before long -though, and then </span><em class="italics">Caporal</em><span>. Corporals may not walk -and talk with private soldiers. Yes--the boy would -rise and leave him behind. Just his luck.... Might -he not venture to accept promotion now--after all -these years, and rise step by step with him? No, better -not. Thin end of the wedge. Once he allowed himself -to be </span><em class="italics">Soldat première classe</em><span> he'd be accepting -promotion to </span><em class="italics">Caporal</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">Sergent</em><span> before he knew it. The -temptation to go on to </span><em class="italics">Chef</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">Adjudant</em><span> would be -overwhelming, and when offered a commission (and -the return to the life of an officer and gentleman) -would be utterly irresistible. Then would come the -very thing to prevent which he had buried himself -alive in this hell of a Legion--recognition and then -the public scandal of his wife's innocent bigamy, and -her children's illegitimacy. As an officer he would -meet foreign officers and visitors to Algeria. His -portrait might get into the papers. He might have to -go to Paris, or Marseilles, and run risks of being -recognised. No--better to put away temptation and -take no chance of the evil thing. Poor little -Marguerite! Think of the cruel shattering blow to her. -It would kill her to give up Huntingten in addition -to knowing her children to be nameless, unable to -inherit title or estates.... No--unthinkable! Do -the thing properly or not at all.... But it was hell -to be a second-class soldier all the time, and never -be exempt from liability to sentry-duty, guards, -fatigues, filthy corvées and punishment at the hands -of Non-coms. seeking to acquire merit by discovering -demerit.... And he could have had a commission -straight away, when he got his bit of </span><em class="italics">ferblanterie</em><span>[#] in -Tonkin and again in Dahomey. They knew he could -speak German and had been an officer.... It had -been a sore temptation--but, thank God, he had -conquered it and not run the greatly enhanced risk -of discovery. He ought really to have committed -suicide directly he learned that she was married. No -business to be alive--let alone grumbling about -promotion. Moreover, if any living soul on this earth -discovered that he was alive he must not only die, -but let his wife have proof that he really was dead, -this time. Then she and Huntingten could re-marry -as the first ceremony was null and void, and the -children be legitimatised.... Of course there would -be more children--they loved each other so....</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] lit., tin-ware (medals and decorations).</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As things were, his being alive did the Huntingtens -no harm. It was the </span><em class="italics">knowledge</em><span> of his existence that -would do the injury--both legal and personal.... -No harm, so long as it wasn't known. They were quite -innocent in the sight of le bon Dieu, and so long as -neither they, nor anyone else, knew--nothing mattered -so far as they were concerned....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But fourteen years as a second-class soldier of the -Legion! ... And what was he to do at the end of -the fifteenth? They would not re-enlist him. He -would get a pension of five hundred francs a -year--twenty pounds a year--and he had got the cash -"bonus" given him when he won the </span><em class="italics">médaille -militaire</em><span>. Where could he hide again? Perhaps he could -get a job as employed-pensioner of the Legion--such -as sexton at the graveyard or assistant-cook, or -Officers'-Mess servant? ... Otherwise he'd find -himself one fine morning at the barracks-gates, dressed -in a suit of blue sacking from the Quartermaster's -store, fitting him where it touched him; a big flat -tam-o'-shanter sort of cap; a rough shirt, and a blue -cravat "to wind twice round the neck"; a pair of -socks (for the first time in fifteen years), and a decent -pair of boots. He'd have his papers, a free pass to -any part of France he liked to name, a franc a day -for the journey thereto, and his week's pay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And what good would the papers and pass be to -him--who dared not leave the shelter of the -all-concealing Legion? ... Surely it would be safe for -him to return to England, or at any rate to go to -France or some other part of Europe? Why not to -America or the Colonies? No, nowhere was safe, -and nothing was certain. Besides, how was he to get -there? His pass would take him to any part of France, -and nowhere else. A fine thing--to hide in the Legion -for fifteen years, actually to survive fifteen years of -a second-class soldier's life in the Legion, and then -to risk rendering it all useless! One breath of -rumour--and Marguerite's life was spoilt.... Discovery--and -it was ruined, just when her children (if she had -any more) were on the threshold of their careers.... -Well, life in the Legion was remarkably uncertain, and -there still remained a year in which all problems might -be finally solved by bullet, disease, or death in some -other of the many forms in which it visited the step-sons -of France.... Where was old Strong now? ...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Legionary John Bull fell asleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, a few inches from him, Reginald Rupert -had found himself unusually and unpleasantly wakeful. -It had been a remarkably full and tiring day, and as -crowded with new experiences as the keenest -experience-seeker could desire.... He was very glad he had -come. This was going to be a good toughening man's -life, and real soldiering. He would not have missed -it for anything. It would hold a worthy place in the -list of things which he had done and been, the list -that, by the end of his life, he hoped would be a long -and very varied one. By the time "the governor" died -(and he trusted that might not happen for another -forty years) he hoped to have been in many armies and -Frontier Police forces, to have been a sailor, a cowboy, -a big-game hunter, a trapper, an explorer and -prospector, a gold-miner, a war correspondent, a -gumdigger, and many other things in many parts of the -world, in addition to his present record of -Public-school, Sandhurst, 'Varsity man, British officer, -trooper, and French Légionnaire. He hoped to continue -to turn up in any part of the world where there was a -war.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What Reginald, like his father, loathed and feared -was Modern Society life, and in fact all modern -civilised life as it had presented itself to his eyes--with -its incredibly false standards, values and ideals, -its shoddy shams and vulgar pretences, its fat -indulgences, slothfulness and folly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To him, as to his father (whose curious mental -kink he had inherited), the world seemed a dreadful -place in which drab, dull folk followed drab, dull -pursuits for drab, dull ends. People who lived for -pleasure were so occupied and exhausted in its pursuit -that they got no pleasure. People who worked were -so closely occupied in earning their living that they -never lived. He did not know which class he disliked -more--the men who lived their weary lives at clubs, -grand-stands, country-house parties, Ranelagh and -Hurlingham, the Riviera, the moors, and the Yacht -Squadron; or those who lived dull laborious days in -offices, growing flabby and grey in pursuit of the -slippery shekel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The human animal seemed to him to have become -as adventurous, gallant, picturesque and gay as the -mole, the toad, and the slug. An old tomcat on a -backyard fence seemed to him to be a more independent, -care-free, self-respecting and gentlemanly person -than his owner, a man who, all God's wide world -before him, was, for a few monthly metal discs, -content to sit in a stuffy hole and copy hieroglyphics -from nine till six--that another man might the quicker -amass many dirty metal discs and a double chin. To -Reginald, the men of even his own class seemed -travesties and parodies of a noble original, in that they -were content to lead the dreadful lives they did--killing -tame birds, knocking little balls about the -place, watching other people ride races, rushing around -in motors, sailing sunny seas in luxury and safety, -seeing foreign lands only from their best hotels, -poodle-faking and philandering, doing everything but -anything--pampered, soft, useless; each a most exact -and careful copy of his neighbour. Reginald loved, -and excelled at, every form of sport, and had been -prominent in the playing-fields at Winchester, -Sandhurst and Oxford, but he could not live by sport alone, -and to him it had always been a means and not an -end, a means to health, strength, skill and hardihood--the -which were to be applied--not to </span><em class="italics">more</em><span> games--but -to the fuller living of life. The seeds of his father's -teaching had fallen on most receptive and fertile -soil, and their fruit ripened not the slower by reason -of the fact that his father was his friend, confidant, -hero and model.... He could see him now as he -straddled mightily on the rug before the library fire, -in his pink and cords, his spurred tops splashed with -mud, and grey on the inner sides with the sweat of -his horse....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Brown-paper prisons for poor men, and pink-silk -cages for rich--that's Life nowadays, my boy, -unless you're careful.... Get hold of Life, don't -let Life get hold of you. Take the family motto for -your guidance in actual fact. '</span><em class="italics">Be all, see all</em><span>.' Try to -carry it out as far as humanly possible. </span><em class="italics">Live</em><span> Life -and live it in the World. Don't live a thousandth -part of Life in a millionth part of the World, as all -our neighbours do. When you succeed me here and -marry and settle down, be able to say you've seen -everything, done everything, been everything.... -Be a gentleman, of course, but one can be a man as -well as being a gentleman--gentility is of the heart -and conduct and manners--not of position and wealth -and rank. What's the good of seeing one little glimpse -of life out of one little window--whether it's a soldier's -window (which is the best of windows), or a sailor's, -or a lawyer's, parson's, merchant's, scholar's, -sportsman's, landowner's, politician's, or any other.... -And go upwards and downwards too, my boy. Tramps, -ostlers, costermongers and soldiers are a dam' sight -more interestin' than kings--and a heap more human. -A chap who's only moved in one plane of society isn't -educated--not worth listening to..." and much -more to the same effect--and Rupert smiled to himself -as he thought of how his father had advised him not -to "waste" more than a year at Sandhurst, another -at Oxford, and another in an Officers' Mess, before -setting forth to see real life, and real men living it -hard and to the full, in the capitals and the corners -of the earth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How the dear old boy must have worshipped -mother--to have married and settled down, at forty," -he reflected, "and what a beauty she must have been. -She's lovely now," and again his rather hard face -softened into a smile as he thought of the interview -in which he told her of his intention to "chuck" his -commission and go and do things and see things. -Little had he known that she had fully anticipated -and daily expected the declaration which he feared -would be a "terrible blow" to her.... Did she -expect him to be anything else than the son of his -father and his eccentric and adventurous House?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wouldn't have you be anything but a chip of -the old block, my darling boy. You're of age and your -old mother isn't going to be a millstone round your -neck, like she's been round your father's. Only one -woman can have the right to be that, and you will -give her the right when you marry her.... Your -family really ought not to marry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother, Mother!" he had protested, "and -'bring up our children to do the same,' I suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had been bravely gay when he went, albeit -a little damp of eye and red of nose.... Really he -was a lucky chap to have such a mother. She was -one in a thousand and he must faithfully do his utmost -to keep his promise and go home once a year or -thereabouts--also "to take care of his nails, not crop his -hair, change damp socks, and wear wool next his -skin...." Want a bit of doin' in the Legion, what! -Good job the poor darling couldn't see Luigi Rivoli -breaking up recruits, or Sergeant Legros superintending -the ablutions of her Reginald. What would -she think of this galley and his fellow galley-slaves--of -'Erb, the </span><em class="italics">Apache</em><span>, Carmelita, the Grasshopper, and -the drunkards of the Canteen? The Bucking Bronco -would amuse her, and she'd certainly be interested -in John Bull, poor old chap.... What could his -story be, and why was he here? Was there a woman -in it? ... Probably. He didn't look the sort of -chap who'd "done something." Poor devil! ... Yes, -her big warm heart would certainly have a -corner for John Bull. Had she not been well brought -up by her husband and son in the matter of seeing a -swan in every goose they brought home? Yes, he'd -repay John Bull's kindness to the full when he left -the Legion. He should come straight to Elham Old -Hall and his mother should have the chance, which -she would love, of thanking and, in some measure, -repaying the good chap. He wouldn't tell him exactly -who they were and what they were, lest he should -pretend that fifteen years of Legion life had spoilt -him for </span><em class="italics">la vie de château</em><span>, and refuse to visit them.... -He'd like to know his story. What </span><em class="italics">could</em><span> be the cause -of a man like him leading this ha'penny-a-day life -for fourteen years? Talk of paper prisons and silken -cages--this was a prison of red-hot stone. Fancy this -the setting for the best years of your life, and he sat -up and looked round the moonlit room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Next to him lay the Bucking Bronco, snoring heavily, -his moustache looking huge and black in the -moonlight that made his face appear pale and fine.... -A strong and not unkindly face, with its great jutting -chin and square heavy jaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>'Erb lay on the neighbouring cot, his hands clasped -above his head as he slept the sleep of the just and -innocent, for whom a night of peaceful slumber is the -meet reward of a well-spent day. His pinched and -cunning little face was transfigured by the moonlight, -and the sleeping Herbert Higgins looked less the -vulgar, street-bred guttersnipe than did the waking -"'Erbiggins" of the day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Beyond him lay the mighty bulk of Luigi Rivoli, -breathing stertorously in drunken slumber as he -sprawled, limb-scattered, on his face, fully dressed, -save for his boots....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What an utter swine and cad--reflected Reginald--and -what would happen when he selected him for his -attentions? Of course, the Neapolitan had ten times -his strength and twice his weight--but there would -have to be a fight--or a moral victory for the recruit. -He would obey no behests of Luigi Rivoli, nor accept -any insults nor injuries tamely. He would land the -cad one of the best, and take the consequences, -however humiliating or painful. And he'd do it every -time too, until he were finally incapacitated, or Luigi -Rivoli weary of the game. Evidently the brute had -some sort of respect for the big American and for John -Bull. He should learn to have some for "Reginald -Rupert," too, or the latter would die in the attempt -to teach it. The prospect was not alluring though, -and the Austrian and the </span><em class="italics">Apache</em><span> had received sharp -and painful lessons on the folly of defying or attacking -Luigi Rivoli. Still--experiences, dangers, difficulties -and real, raw, primitive life were what his family -sought--and here were some of them. Yes, he was -ready for Il Signor Luigi Rivoli....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the next bed lay the Russian, Mikhail. Queer, -shy chap. What a voice, and what a complexion for -a recruit of the Foreign Legion! How extraordinarily -alike he and his brother were, and yet there was a -great difference between their respective voices and -facial expressions.... Another queer story there. -They looked like students.... Probably involved -in some silly Nihilist games and had to bolt for their -lives from the Russian police or from Nihilist -confederates, or both. It was nice to see how the manlier -brother looked after the other. He seemed to be in a -perpetual state of concern and anxiety about him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Beyond the Russian recruit lay the mad Legionary -known as the Grasshopper. What a pathetic creature--an -ex-officer of one of the most aristocratic corps in -Europe. In fact he must be a nobleman or he could -not have been in the Guides. Must be of an ancient -family moreover. Besides, he was so very obviously -of </span><em class="italics">ceux qui ont pris la peine de naître</em><span>. What could his -story be? Fancy the man being a really first-class -soldier on parade, manoeuvres, march, or battlefield, -and an obvious lunatic at the same time.... Poor -devil!...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Next to him was the other Russian, and then -Edouard Malvin, the nasty-looking cad who appeared -to be Rivoli's chief toady. His neighbour was the fat -and dull-looking Dutch lad (who was to display such -unusual and enviable moral courage)....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Footsteps resounded without, and the Room-Corporal -entered with a clatter. Turning down his -blanket, as though expecting to find something -beneath it, he disclosed some bottles, a few packets -of tobacco and cigarettes, and a little heap of coins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bonheur de Dieu vrai!" he ejaculated. "'Y'a -de bon!" and examined the packets for any indication -of their orientation. "'Les deux Russes,'" he read, -and broke into a guinguette song. Monsieur le Caporal -loved wine and was </span><em class="italics">un ramasseur de sous</em><span>. These -Russians were really worthy and sensible recruits, -and, though they should escape none of their duties, -they should be regarded with a tolerant and -non-malicious eye by Monsieur le Caporal. No undue -share of corvées should be theirs.... No harm in -their complimenting their good Caporal and winning -his approval--but, on the other hand, no bribery -and corruption. Mais non--c'est tout autre chose!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the Corporal disrobed, the Grasshopper rose -from his cot, crouched, and hopped towards him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Corporal evinced no surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur le Caporal," quoth the Grasshopper. -"How can a Cigale steer a gunboat? ... I ask you.... -How can I possibly dip the ensign from peak -to taffrail, cat the anchor or shoot the sun, by the -pale glimmer of the binnacle light? ... And I have, -for cargo, the Cestus of Aphrodite...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> have, for cargo, seven bottles of good red -wine--beneath my Cestus of Corporal--so I can't tell -you, Grasshopper," was the reply.... "Va t'en! ... You -go and ask Monsieur le bon Diable--and tell him -his old </span><em class="italics">ami</em><span> Caporal Achille Martel sent you.... -Go on--</span><em class="italics">allez schteb' los</em><span>--and let me sleep...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Grasshopper hopped to the door and out into -the corridor....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rupert fell asleep....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As John Bull had prophesied, he was awakened by -yells of "</span><em class="italics">Au jus! Au jus! Au jus!</em><span>" from the -garde-chambre, the room-orderly on duty, as he went from -cot to cot with a huge jug.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Each sleepy soul roused himself sufficiently to hold -out the tin mug which hung at the head of his bed, and -to receive a half-pint or so of the "gravy"--which -proved to be really excellent coffee. For his own part, -Rupert would have been glad of the addition of a little -milk and sugar, but he had swallowed too much -milkless and sugarless tea (from a basin) in the British -Army, to be concerned about such a trifle....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning. Put on the white trousers and -come downstairs with me," said John Bull, as he also -swallowed his coffee. "Be quick, or you won't get -a chance at the lavatory. There's washing accommodation -for six men when sixty want it.... Come on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he hurried from the room, Rupert noticed that -Corporal Martel lay comfortably in bed while the rest -hurriedly dressed. From time to time he mechanically -shouted: "Levez-vous, mes enfants...." "Levez-vous, -assassins...." "Levez-vous, scélérats...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After each of his shouts came, in antistrophe, the -anxious yell of the garde-chambre (who had to sweep -the room before parade) of "Balayez au-dessous -vos lits!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Returning from his hasty and primitive wash, -Rupert noticed that the Austrian recruit was lacing -Rivoli's boots, while the </span><em class="italics">Apache</em><span>, grimacing horribly -behind his back, brushed the Neapolitan down, -Malvin superintending their labours.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shove on the white tunic and blue sash," said John -Bull to his protégé--"and you'll want knapsack, -cartridge-belt, bayonet and rifle.... Bye-bye! I -must be off. You'll have recruit-drills separate from -us for some time.... See you later...."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">§3</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Légionnaire Reginald Rupert soon found that -French drill methods of training differed but little -from English, though perhaps more thorough and -systematically progressive, and undoubtedly better -calculated to develop initiative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It did not take the Corporal-Instructor long to -single him out as an unusually keen and intelligent -recruit, and Rupert was himself surprised at the -pleasure he derived from being placed as Number One -of the </span><em class="italics">escouade</em><span> of recruits, after a few days. His -knowledge of French helped him considerably, of -course, and on that first morning he had obeyed the -Corporal's roar of "</span><em class="italics">Sac à terre</em><span>," "</span><em class="italics">A gauche</em><span>," "</span><em class="italics">A -droit</em><span>," "</span><em class="italics">En avant, marche</em><span>," "</span><em class="italics">Pas gymnastique</em><span>," or -"</span><em class="italics">Formez les faisceaux</em><span>," before the majority of the -others had translated them. He also excelled in the -eating of the "Breakfast of the Legion," which is -nothing more nor less than a terribly punishing run, -in quick time, round and round the parade-ground. -By the time the Corporal called a halt, Rupert, who -was a fine runner, in the pink of condition, was -beginning to feel that he had about shot his bolt, while, -with one or two exceptions, the rest of the squad -were in a state of real distress, gasping, groaning, -and coughing, with protruding eyeballs and faces -white, green, or blue. During the brief "cigarette -halt," he gazed round with some amusement at the -prostrate forms of his exhausted comrades.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Russian, Feodor, seemed to be in pretty well -as good condition as himself--in striking contrast -to Mikhail, whose state was pitiable, as he knelt -doubled up, drawing his breath in terrible gasps, -and holding his side as though suffering agonies from -"stitch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>'Erb was in better case, but he lay panting as though -his little chest would burst.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gawdstrewth, matey," he grunted to M. Tou-tou -Boil-the-Cat, "I ain't run so much since I last see a -copper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">Apache</em><span>, green-faced and blue-lipped, showed -his teeth in a vicious snarl, by way of reply. Absinthe -and black cigarettes are a poor training-diet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fat Dutch lad, Hans Djoolte, appeared to be -in extremis and likely to disappear in a pool of -perspiration. The gnarled-looking Spaniard drew his breath -with noisy whoops, and stout Germans, Alsatians, -Belgians and Frenchmen gave the impression of -persons just rescued from drowning or suffocation -by smoke. Having finished his cigarette, the Corporal -ran to the far side of the parade-ground, raised his -hand with a shout, and cried, "</span><em class="italics">A moi</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well run, </span><em class="italics">bleu</em><span>," he observed to Rupert, who -arrived first.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before the "breakfast" half-hour was over, he -was thoroughly tired, and more than a little sorry -for some of the others. M. Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat was -violently sick; the plump Dutchman was soaked -from head to foot; many a good, stout Hans, Fritz -and Carl wished he had never been born; and Mikhail -Kyrilovitch distinguished himself by falling flat in -a dead faint, to the contemptuous and outspoken -disgust of the Corporal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was indeed a kill-or-cure training, and, in some -cases, bade fair to kill before it cured. One -drill-manoeuvre interested Rupert by its novelty and yet -by its suggestion of the old Roman </span><em class="italics">testudo</em><span>. On the -order "</span><em class="italics">A genoux</em><span>," all had to fall on their knees and -every man of the squad, not in the front rank, to -thrust his head well under the knapsack of the man -in front of him. Since, under service conditions, -knapsacks would be stuffed with spare uniforms and -underclothing, and covered with tent-canvas, blanket, -spare boots, fuel or a cooking-pot, excellent -head-cover was thus provided against shrapnel and -shell-fragments, and from bullets from some of such rifles -as are used by the Chinese, African, Madagascan, and -Arab foes of the Legion. Interested or not, it was -with unfeigned thankfulness that, at about eleven -o'clock, Rupert found himself marching back to -barracks and heard the "</span><em class="italics">Rompez</em><span>" command of -dismissal outside the </span><em class="italics">caserne</em><span> of his Company. Hurrying -up to the </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span> he put his Lebel in the rack, his -knapsack and belts on the shelf above his bed, and lay -down to get that amount of rest without which he -felt he could not face breakfast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hallo, Rupert! Had a gruelling?" enquired -John Bull, entering and throwing off his accoutrements. -"They make you earn your little bit of corn, -don't they? You feel it less day by day though, and -soon find you can do it without turning a hair. Not -much chance of a chap with weak lungs or heart -surviving the 'Breakfast of the Legion,' for long. -You see the point of the training when you begin -the desert marches."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite looking forward to it," said Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's better looking back on it, on the whole," -rejoined the other grimly.... "Feel like breakfast?" -he added in French, remembering that the more his -young friend spoke in that tongue the better.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm all right. What'll it be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, not </span><em class="italics">bec-fins</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">pêche Melba</em><span> exactly. Say -a mug of bread-soup, containing potato and vegetables -and a scrap of meat. Sort of Irish stew."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Arlequins</em><span> at two sous the plate, first, for me, -please," put in M. Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat, whose small -compact frame seemed to have recovered its normal -elasticity and vigour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke, the voice of a kitchen-orderly was raised -below in a long-drawn howl of "</span><em class="italics">Soupe! A la Soupe!</em><span>" -Turning with one accord to the garde-chambre the -Legionaries bawled "</span><em class="italics">Soupe!</em><span>" as one man, and like -an arrow from a bow, the room-orderly sped forth, -to return a minute later bearing the soup-kettle and -a basket of loaves of grey bread. Tin plates and -utensils were snatched from the hanging-cupboards, -and mugs from their hooks on the wall and the -Legionaries seated themselves on the benches that ran down -either side of the long table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Fraid you'll have to stand out, Rupert, being a -recruit," said John Bull. "There's only room for -twenty at this table."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course. Thanks," was the reply, and the speaker -betook himself to his bed, and sat him down with his -mug and crust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With cheerful sociability, 'Erb had already seated -himself at table, and was beating a loud tattoo with -mug and plate as he awaited the administrations of -the soup-laden Ganymede.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly the expansive and genial smile faded on -'Erb's happy face, as he felt himself seized by the -scruff of his neck and the seat of his trousers, and -raised four feet in the air.... For a second he -hovered, descended a foot and was then shot through -the air with appalling violence to some distant corner -of the earth. Fortunately for 'Erb, that corner -contained a bed and he landed fairly on it.... The -Legionary Herbert Higgins in the innocence of his -ignorance had occupied the Seats of the Mighty, had -sat him down in the place of Luigi Rivoli--and Luigi -had removed the insect.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gawd love us!" said 'Erb. "'Oo'd a' thought -it?" as he realised that he was still in barracks and -had only travelled from the table to a cot, a distance -of some six feet....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mikhail Kyrilovitch lay stretched on his bed, too -exhausted to eat. It interested and rather touched -Rupert to see how tenderly the other Russian half -raised him from the bed, coaxed him with soup and, -failing, produced a bottle of wine from behind the -</span><em class="italics">paquetage</em><span> on his shelf, and induced him to drink a -little....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Potato fatigue after this, Rupert," said John Bull -as he came over to the recruit, and offered him a -cigarette. "Ghastly stuff you'll find this black -Algerian tobacco, but one gets used to it. It's funny, -but when I get a taste of any of the tobaccos from -Home, I find my palate so ruined that I don't enjoy -it. Seems acrid and strong though it's infinitely -milder...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kitchen-Corporal thrust his head in at the door -of the </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span>, roared "</span><em class="italics">Aux palates</em><span>" and vanished. -Trooping down to the kitchen, the whole Company -stood in a ring and solemnly peeled potatoes. Here, -at any rate, Mikhail Kyrilovitch distinguished himself -among the recruits, for not only was his the first -potato to fall peeled into the bucket, but his peel -was the thinnest, his output the greatest. Standing -next to him, Rupert noticed how tiny were his hands -and wrists, and how delicate his nails.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Apparently this is part of regular routine and not -a corvée," he remarked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mais oui, Monsieur," replied Mikhail primly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Great tip to get cunning at dodging extra fatigues -when you're a soldier," continued Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mais oui, Monsieur," replied Mikhail primly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Expect they'll catch us wretched recruits on that -lay until we get artful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mais oui, Monsieur," replied Mikhail primly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What a funny shy lad he was, with his eternal "Mais -oui, Monsieur" ... Perhaps that was all the French -he knew!...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think the medical-examination will be -very--er--searching, Monsieur?" asked Mikhail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So he did know French after all. What was he -trembling about now?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shouldn't think so. Why? You're all right, -aren't you? You wouldn't have passed the doctor -when you enlisted, otherwise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Non, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did you enlist?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At Paris, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So did I; Rue St. Dominique. LIttle fat cove in -red breeches and a white tunic. I suppose you had -the same chap?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Er--oui, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose he overhauled you very thoroughly? ... Wasn't -it infernally cold standing stark naked in that -beastly room while he punched you about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!--er--oui, Monsieur. Oh, please let us -... Er--wasn't that running dreadful this morning?" ...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say, Monsieur Rupaire, do you think we shall -have the same 'breakfast' every morning?" put -in Feodor Kyrilovitch. "It'll be the death of my -brother here, if we do. He never was a runner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Fraid so, during recruits' course," replied Rupert, -and added: "I noticed a great difference between -you and your brother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it's only just in that respect," was the reply. -"I've always been better winded than he.... Illness -when he was a kid.... Lungs not over strong...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even as he had prophesied, an Orderly-Sergeant -swooped down upon them as the potato-fatigue -finished, and, while the old Legionaries somehow -melted into thin air and vanished like the baseless -fabric of a vision, the recruits were captured and -commandeered for a barrack-scavenging corvée which -kept them hard at work until it was time to fall in -for "theory."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This Rupert discovered to be instruction in recognition -of badges of rank, and, later, in every sort and kind -of rule and regulation; in musketry, tactics, training -and the principles and theory of drill, entrenchment, -scouting, skirmishing, and every other branch of -military education.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At two o'clock, drill began again, and lasted until -four, at which hour Monsieur le Médicin-Major held -the medical examination, the idea of which seemed -so disturbing to Mikhail Kyrilovitch. It proved to -be the merest formality--a glance, a question, a -caution against excess, and the recruits were passed -and certified as </span><em class="italics">bon pour le service</em><span> at the rate of twenty -to the quarter-hour. They were, moreover, free for -the remainder of the day (provided they escaped all -victim-hunting Non-coms., in search of corvée-parties) -with the exception of such hours as might be -necessary for labours of </span><em class="italics">astiquage</em><span> and the </span><em class="italics">lavabo</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On returning to the </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span>, Rupert found his -friend John Bull awaiting him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Rupert," he cried cheerily, "what sort of a -day have you had? Tired? We'll get 'soupe' again -shortly. I'll take you to the </span><em class="italics">lavabo</em><span> afterwards, and -show you the ropes. Got to have your white kit, arms -and accoutrements all </span><em class="italics">klim-bim</em><span>, as the Germans say, -before you dress and go out, or else you'll have to do -it in the dark."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, thanks," replied Rupert. "I'll get straight -first. I hate 'spit and polish' after Lights Out. -What'll the next meal be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Same as this morning--the eternal 'soupe.' The -only variety in food is when dog-biscuit replaces -bread.... Nothing to grumble at really, except the -infernal monotony. Quantity is all right--in fact some -fellows save up a lot of bread and biscuit and sell it -in the town. (Eight days </span><em class="italics">salle de police</em><span> if you're -caught.) But sometimes you feel you could eat -anything in the wide world except Legion 'soupe,' bread -and biscuit...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After the second and last meal of the day, at about -five o'clock, Rupert was introduced to the </span><em class="italics">lavabo</em><span> -and its ways--particularly its ways in the matter of -disappearing soap and vanishing "washing"--and, -his first essay in laundry-work concluded, returned -with Legionary John Bull and the Bucking Bronco for -an hour or two of leather-polishing, accoutrement-cleaning -and "Ironing" without an iron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The room began to fill and was soon a scene of -more or less silent industry. On his bed, the great -Luigi Rivoli lay magnificently asleep, while, on -neighbouring cots and benches, his weapons, accoutrements, -boots and uniform received the attentions of Messieurs -Malvin, Meyer, Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat, Dimitropoulos, -Borges, Bauer, Hirsch, and others, his henchmen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Anon the great man awoke, yawned cavernously, -ejaculated "</span><em class="italics">Dannazione</em><span>" and sat up. One gathered -that the condition of his mouth was not all that it -might be, and that his head ached. Even he was -not exempt from the penalties incurred by lesser men, -and even he had to recognise the fact that a -next-morning follows an evening-before. Certain denizens -of the </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span> felt, and looked, uneasy, but were -reassured by the reflection that there was still a stock -of </span><em class="italics">bleus</em><span> unchastened, and available for the great man's -needs and diversion. Rising, he roared "</span><em class="italics">Oho!</em><span>", -smacked and flexed his muscles according to his -evening ritual, and announced that a recruit might -be permitted to fetch him water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Feodor Kyrilovitch unobtrusively changed places -with his brother Mikhail, whose bed was next to that -of the bully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here, dog," roared the Neapolitan, and brought -his "quart" down with a right resounding blow upon -the bare head of Feodor. Without a word the Russian -took the mug and hurried to the nearest lavatory. -Returning he handed it respectfully to Rivoli, and -pointing into it said in broken Italian--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There would appear to be a mark on the bottom -of the Signor's cup."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The great man looked--and smiled graciously as he -recognised a gold twenty-franc piece. "A thoroughly -intelligent recruit," he added, turning to Malvin -who nodded and smiled drily. It entered the mind of -le bon Légionnaire Malvin that this recruit should also -give an exhibition of his intelligence to le bon -Légionnaire Malvin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's that fat pig from Olanda who can only -whine '</span><em class="italics">Verstaan nie</em><span>' when he is spoken to?" -enquired Rivoli, looking round. "Let me see if I can -'Verstaan' him how to put my boots on smartly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But, fortunately for himself, the Dutch recruit, -Hans Djoolte, was not present.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not there?" thundered the great man, on being -informed. "How dare the fat calf be not there? -Let it be known that I desire all the recruits of this -room to be on duty from 'Soupe' till six, or later, -in case I should want them. Let them all parade -before me now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some sheepishly grinning, some with looks of alarm, -some under strong protest, all the recruits with one -exception, "fell in" at the foot of the Italian's bed. -Some were dismissed as they came up; the two -Russians, as having paid their footing very handsomely; -the </span><em class="italics">Apache</em><span>, and Franz Josef Meyer, as having been -properly broken to bit and curb; the Greek, as a -declared admirer and slave; and one or two others -who had already wisely propitiated, or, to their sorrow, -encountered less pleasantly, the uncrowned king of -the Seventh Company. The remainder received tasks, -admonitions and warnings, the which were received -variously, but without open defiance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The attitude of le Légionnaire 'Erbiggins was -characteristic. Realising that he had not a ghost of a chance -of success against a man of twice his weight and thrice -his strength, he took the leggings which were given -him to clean and returned a stream of nervous English, -of which the pungent insults and vile language -accorded but ill with the bland innocence of his face, -and the deferential acquiescence of his manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ain't yew goin' ter jine the merry throng?" -asked the Bucking Bronco of Reginald Rupert, upon -hearing that recruit reply to Malvin's order to join -the line, with a recommendation that Malvin should -go to the devil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not," replied Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wal, I guess we'll back yew up, sonny," said the -American with an approving smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall be glad if you will in no way interfere," -returned the Englishman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gee-whillikins!" commented the Bucking Bronco.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull looked anxious. "He's the strongest -man I have ever seen," he remarked, "besides being -a professional wrestler and acrobat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Malvin again approached, grinning maliciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Il Signor Luigi Rivoli would be sorry to have to -come and fetch you, English pig," said he. "Sorry -for you, that is. Do you wish to find yourself </span><em class="italics">au -grabat</em><span>,[#] you scurvy, mangy, lousy cur of a recruit? ... What -reply shall I take Il Signor Luigi Rivoli?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] On a sick bed.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"</span><em class="italics">That!</em><span>" replied the Englishman, and therewith -smote the fat Austrian a most tremendous smack -across his heavy blue jowl with the open hand, sending -him staggering several yards. Without paying further -attention to the great man's ambassador, he strode in -the direction of the great man himself, with blazing -eyes and clenched jaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You want me, do you?" he shouted at the -astonished Luigi, who was rising open-mouthed from -his bed; and, putting the whole weight of his body -behind the blow, drove most skilfully and -scientifically straight at the point of his jaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It must be confessed that the Italian was taken -unawares, and in the very act of getting up, so that -his hands were down, and he was neither standing -nor sitting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was down and out, and lay across his bed stunned -and motionless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Into the perfect silence of the </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span> fell the -voice of the Bucking Bronco. Solemnly he counted -from one to ten, and then with a shout of "OUT!" -threw his képi to the roof and roared "</span><em class="italics">Hurrah!</em><span>" -repeatedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Il ira loin," remarked Monsieur Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat, -viewing Rupert's handiwork with experienced, -professional eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Exclamatory oaths went up in all the languages -of Europe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Il a fait de bon boulet," remarked a grinning -greybeard known as "Tant-de-Soif" to the astounded -and almost awe-stricken crowd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But le Légionnaire Jean Boule looked ahead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've made two bad enemies, my boy, I'm -afraid.... What about when he comes round?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll give him some more, if I can," replied Rupert. -"Don't interfere, anyhow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shake, sonny," said the Bucking Bronco solemnly. -"An' look at hyar. Let's interfere, to the extent o' -makin' thet cunning coyote fight down in the squar'.... -Yew won't hev no chance--so don't opine yew -will--but yew'll hev' more chance than yew will -right hyar.... Yew want space when you roughhouses -with Loojey. Once he gits a holt on yew--yure -monica's up. Savvy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks," replied the Englishman. "Right-ho! -If he won't fight downstairs, tell him he can take -the three of us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fower, matey. Us fower Henglishmen agin' 'im -an' 'is 'ole bleedin' gang," put in 'Erb. "'E's a bloke -as wants takin' dahn a peg.... Too free wiv' -hisself.... Chucks 'is weight abaht too much.... -An' I'll tell yer wot, Cocky. Keep a heye on that cove -as you giv' a smack in the chops."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure thing," agreed the Bucking Bronco, and -turned to the Belgian who stood ruefully holding his -face and looking as venomous as a broken-backed -cobra, added: "Yew look at hyar, Mounseer Malvin, -my lad. Don't yew git handlin' yure Rosalie[#] any -dark night. Yew try ter </span><em class="italics">zigouiller</em><span>[#] my pal Rupert, -an' I'll draw yure innards up through yure mouth till -yew look like half a pound of dumplin' on the end -of half a yard of macaroni. Twiggez vous? </span><em class="italics">Je tirerai -vos gueutes à travers votre bouche jusqu'à vous resemblez -un demi-livre de ponding au bout d'un demi-yard de -macaroni</em><span>.... Got it? ..."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Bayonet.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] To bayonet.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Rivoli twitched, stirred, and groaned. It was -interesting to note that none of his clients and -henchmen offered any assistance. The sceptre of the great -man swayed in his hand. Were he beaten, those whom -he ruled by fear, rather than by bribery, would fall -upon him like a pack of wolves. The hands of Monsieur -Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat twitched and he licked his lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Je m'en souviendrai</em><span>," he murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rivoli sat up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Donna e Madonna!" he said. "Corpo di Bacco!" -and gazed around. "What has happened?..." -and then he remembered. "A minute," he said. -"Wait but a minute--and then bring him to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Obedience and acquiescence awoke in the bosoms -of his supporters. The great Luigi was alive and on his -throne again. The Greek passed him a mug of water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, wait but a moment, and then just hand him -to me.... One of you might go over to the hospital -and say a bed will be wanted shortly," he added. -"And another of you might look up old Jules Latour -down at the cemetery and tell him to start another -grave."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're coming to me, for a change, Rivoli," cut -in Rupert contemptuously. "You're going to fight -me down below. There's going to be a ring, and fair -play. Will you come now, or will you wait till -to-morrow? I can wait if you feel shaken."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Plug the ugly skunk while he's rattled, Bub," -advised the American, and turning to the Italian -added, "Sure thing, Loojey. Ef yew ain't hed enuff -yew kin tote downstairs and hev' a five-bunch frame-up -with the b'y. Ef yew start rough-housin' up hyar, I'll -take a hand too. I would anyhaow, only the b'y wants -yew all to himself.... Greedy young punk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will kill him and eat him </span><em class="italics">now</em><span>," said the Italian -rising magnificently. Apparently his splendid -constitution and physique had triumphed completely, -and it was as though the blow had not been struck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on, b'ys," yelped the American, "an' ef thet -Dago don't fight as square as he knows haow, I'll -pull his lower jaw off his face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a moment the room was empty, except for Mikhail -Kyrilovitch, who sat on the edge of his brother's -bed and shuddered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clattering down the stairs and gathering numbers -as it went, the party made for the broad space, or -passage, between high walls near the back entrance -of the Company's </span><em class="italics">caserne</em><span>, a safe and secluded spot -for fights. As they went along, John Bull gave good -advice to his young friend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Remember he's a wrestler and a savate man," he -said, "and that public opinion here recognises the -use of both in a fight--so you can expect him to clinch -and kick as well as butt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Right-o!" said Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A large ring was formed by the rapidly growing -crowd of spectators, a ring, into the middle of which -the Bucking Bronco stepped to declare that he would -rearrange the features, as well as the ideas, of any -supporter of Luigi Rivoli who in any way interfered -with the fight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two combatants stripped to the waist and faced -each other. It was a pleasant surprise to John Bull -to notice that his friend looked bigger "peeled," than -he did when dressed. (It is a good test of muscular -development.) Obviously the youth was in the pink -of condition and had systematically developed his -muscles. But for the presence of Rivoli, the arms and -torso of the Englishman would have evoked admiring -comments. As it was, the gigantic figure of the Italian -dwarfed him, for he looked what he was--a professional -Strong Man whose stock-in-trade was his enormous -muscles and their mighty strength.... It was not -so much a contrast between David and Goliath as -between Apollo and Hercules.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Italian assumed his favourite wrestling attitude -with open hands advanced; the Englishman, the -position of boxing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two faced each other amidst the perfect silence -of the large throng.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As, to the credit of human nature, is always the -case, the sentiment of the crowd was in favour of -the weaker party. No one supposed for a moment -that the recruit would win, but he was a "dark horse," -and English--of a nation proverbially dogged and -addicted to </span><em class="italics">la boxe</em><span>.... He might perhaps be merely -maimed and not killed.... For a full minute the -antagonists hung motionless, eyeing each other warily. -Suddenly the Italian swiftly advanced his left foot -and made a lightning grab with his left hand at the -Englishman's neck. The latter ducked; the great -arm swung, harmless, above his head, and two sharp -smacks rang out like pistol-shots as the Englishman -planted a left and right with terrific force upon the -Italian's ribs. Rivoli's gasp was almost as audible -as the blows. He sprang back, breathing heavily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull moistened his Lips and thanked God. -Rupert circled round his opponent, sparring for an -opening. Slowly ... slowly ... almost imperceptibly, -the Italian's head and shoulders bent further -and further back. What the devil was he doing?--wondered -the Englishman--getting his head out of -danger? Certainly his jaw was handsomely swollen.... -Anyhow he was exposing his mark, the spot where -the ribs divide. If he could get a "right" in there, -with all his weight and strength, Il Signor Luigi -Rivoli would have to look to himself in the ensuing -seconds. Rupert made a spring. As he did so, the -Italian's body turned sideways and leant over until -almost parallel with the ground, as his right knee -drew up to his chest and his right foot shot out with -the force of a horse's kick. It caught the advancing -Englishman squarely on the mouth, and sent him -flying head over heels like a shot rabbit. The Italian -darted forward--and so did the Bucking Bronco.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Assez!" he shouted. "Let him get up." At this -point his Legion French failed him, and he added in -his own vernacular, "Ef yew think yu're gwine ter -kick him while he's down, yew've got another think -comin', Loojey Rivoli," and barred his path.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull raised Rupert's head on to his knee. He -was senseless and bleeding from mouth and nose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pushing his way through the ring, came 'Erb, a mug -of water in one hand, a towel in the other. Filling his -mouth with water, he ejected a fine spray over Rupert's -face and chest, and then, taking the towel by two -corners of a long side, flapped it mightily over the -prostrate man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The latter opened his eyes, sat up, and spat out a -tooth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damned kicking cad," he remarked, on collecting -his scattered wits and faculties.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No Queensberry rules here, old chap," said John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do the sime fer 'im, matey. Kick 'is bleedin' -faice in.... W'y carn't 'e fight like a man, the dirty -furriner?" and turning from his ministrations to -where the great Luigi received the congratulations -of his admiring supporters, he bawled with the full -strength of his lungs: "Yah! you dirty furriner!" -and crowned the taunt by putting his fingers to his -nose and emitting a bellowing </span><em class="italics">Boo-oo-oo!</em><span> of incredibly -bull-like realism. "If I wasn't yer second, matey, I'd -go an' kick 'im in the stummick naow, I would," he -muttered, resuming his labour of love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rupert struggled to his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me the mug," he said to 'Erb, and washed -out his mouth. "How long 'time' is observed on -these occasions?" he asked of John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, nothing's regular," was the reply. "'Rounds' -end when you fall apart, and 'time' ends when both -are ready.... You aren't going for him again, are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going for him as long as I can stand and see," -was the answer. 'Erb patted him on the back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blimey! You're a White Man, matey," he -commended. "S'welp me, you are!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seconds out of the ring," bawled the Bucking -Bronco, and unceremoniously shoved back all who -delayed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A look of incredulity spread over the face of the -Italian. Could it be possible that the fool did not -know that he was utterly beaten and abolished? ... He -tenderly felt his jaw and aching ribs....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was true. The Englishman advanced upon him, -the light of battle in his eyes, and fierce determination -expressed in the frown upon his white face. His mouth -bore no expression--it was merely a mess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A cheer went up from the spectators.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A recruit asking for it </span><em class="italics">twice</em><span>, from Luigi Rivoli!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That famous man, though by no means anxious, -was slightly perplexed. There was something here -to which he was not accustomed. It was the first -time in his experience that this had happened. Few -men had defied and faced him once--none had done -it twice. This, in itself was bad, and in the nature of -a faint blow to his prestige.... He had tried a -grapple--with unfortunate results; he had tried a -kick--most successfully, and he would try another -in a moment. Lest his opponent should be warily -expecting it, he would now administer a battering-ram -butt. He crouched forward, extending his open -hands as though to grapple, and, suddenly ducking -his head, flung himself forward, intending to drive -the breath from his enemy's body and seize him by -the throat ere he recovered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lightly and swiftly the Englishman side-stepped -and, as he did so, smote the Italian with all his strength -full upon the ear--a blow which caused that organ -to swell hugely, and to "sing" for hours. Rivoli -staggered sideways and fell. The Englishman stood -back and waited. Rivoli arose as quickly as he fell, -and, with a roar of rage, charged straight at the -Englishman, who drove straight at his face, left and -right, cutting his knuckles to the bone. Heavy and -true as were the blows, they could not avail to stop -that twenty-stone projectile, and, in a second, the -Italian's arms were round him. One mighty hug and -heave, and his whole body, clasped as in a vice to that -of the Italian, was bent over backward in a bow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thet's torn it," groaned the American, and dashed -his képi upon the ground. "Fer two damns I'd..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull laid a restraining hand upon his arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go it, Rupert," bawled 'Erb, dancing in a frenzy -of excitement. "Git 'is froat.... Swing up yer -knee.... Kick 'im."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shut up," snapped John Bull. "He's not a -hooligan...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One of Rupert's arms was imprisoned in those of -the Italian. True to his training and standards, he -played the game as he had learnt it, and kept his -free right hand from his opponent's throat. With his -failing strength he rained short-arm blows on the -Italian's face, until it was turned sideways and crushed -against his neck and shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull mistook the bully's action.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you bite his throat, I'll shoot you, Rivoli," -he shouted, and applauding cheers followed the threat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The muscles of Rivoli's back and arms tightened -and bunched as he strained with all his strength. -Slowly but surely he bent further over, drawing the -Englishman's body closer and closer in his embrace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To John Bull, the seconds seemed years. Complete -silence reigned. Rupert's blows weakened and became -feeble. They ceased. Rivoli bent over further. As -Rupert's right arm fell to his side, the Italian seized -it from behind. His victim was now absolutely -powerless and motionless. John Bull was reminded of a -boa-constrictor which he had once seen crush a deer. -Suddenly the Italian's left arm was withdrawn, his -right arm continuing to imprison Rupert's left while -his right hand retained his grip of the other. Thrusting -his left hand beneath the Englishman's chin he put -all his colossal strength into one great effort--pushing -the head back until it seemed that the neck must -break, and at the same time contracting his great -right arm and bending himself almost double. He -then raised his opponent and dashed him to the -ground....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Reginald Rupert recovered consciousness in the -Legion's Hospital.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A skilful, if somewhat brutal, surgeon soon decided -that his back was not broken but only badly sprained. -On leaving hospital, a fortnight later, he did eight -days </span><em class="italics">salle de police</em><span> by way of convalescence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On return to duty, he found himself something of -a hero in the Seventh Company, and decidedly the -hero of the recruits of his </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Disregarding the earnest entreaties of John Bull -and the reiterated advice of the Bucking Bronco, and -of the almost worshipping 'Erb--he awaited Luigi -Rivoli on the evening after his release and challenged -him to fight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The great man burst into explosive laughter--laughter -almost too explosive to be wholly genuine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fight you, whelp! Fight you, </span><em class="italics">whelp</em><span>!" he scoffed. -"</span><em class="italics">Why</em><span> should I fight you? Pah! Out of my sight--I -have something else to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh have you? Well, don't forget that I have -nothing else to do, any time you feel like fighting. -See?" replied the Englishman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Italian again roared with laughter, and Rupert -with beating heart and well-concealed sense of mighty -relief, returned to his cot to work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was noticeable that Il Signor Luigi Rivoli -invariably had something else to do, so far as Rupert -was concerned, and molested him no more.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="le-cafard-and-other-things"><span class="large">CHAPTER VI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">LE CAFARD AND OTHER THINGS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>For Légionnaire Reginald Rupert the days slipped -past with incredible rapidity, and, at the end -of six months, this adaptable and exceedingly keen -young man felt himself to be an old and seasoned -Legionary, for whom the Depôt held little more in -the way of instruction and experience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His thoughts began to turn to Foreign Service. -When would he be able to volunteer for a draft going -to Tonkin, Madagascar, Senegal, or some other place -of scenes and experiences entirely different from those -of Algeria? When would he see some active service--that -which he had come so far to see, and for which -he had undergone these hardships and privations?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Deeply interested as he was in all things military, -and anxious as he was to learn and become the -Compleat Soldier, he found himself beginning to grow -very weary of the trivial round, the common task, -of Life in the Depôt. Once he knew his drill as an -Infantryman, he began to feel that the proportion of -training and instruction to that of corvée and fatigues -was small. He had not travelled all the way to Algiers -to handle broom and wheelbarrow, and perform -non-military labours at a wage of a halfpenny per -day. Of course, one took the rough with the smooth -and shrugged one's shoulders with the inevitable "Que -voulez-vous? C'est la Légion," but, none the less, he -had had enough, and more than enough, of Depôt life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sometimes thought of going to the </span><em class="italics">Adjudant-Major</em><span>, -offering to provide proofs that he had been a -British officer, and claiming to be placed in the class of -</span><em class="italics">angehende corporale</em><span> (as he called the </span><em class="italics">élèves Caporaux</em><span> -or probationary Corporals) with a view to promotion -and a wider and different sphere of action.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were reasons against this course, however. -It would, very probably, only result in his being stuck -in the Depôt permanently, as a Corporal-Instructor--the -more so as he spoke German. Also, it was neither -quite worth while, nor quite playing the game, as -he did not intend to spend more than a year in the -Legion and was looking forward to his attempt at -desertion as his first real Great Adventure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had heard horrible stories of the fate of most of -those who go "on pump," as, for no discoverable reason, -the Legionary calls desertion. In every barrack-room -there hung unspeakably ghastly photographs of the -mangled bodies of Legionaries who had fallen into -the hands of the Arabs and been tortured by their -women. He had himself seen wretched deserters -dragged back by Goums,[#] a mass of rags, filth, blood -and bruises; their manacled hands fastened to the -end of a rope attached to an Arab's saddle. Inasmuch -as the captor got twenty-five francs for returning a -deserter, alive or dead, he merely tied the wounded, or -starved and half-dead wretch to the end of a rope and -galloped with him to the nearest outpost or barracks. -When the Roumi[#] could no longer run, he was quite -welcome to fall and be dragged.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Arab gens d'armes.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] White man.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Rupert had also gathered a fairly accurate idea of -the conditions of life--if "life" it can be called--in -the Penal Battalions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, on the whole, desertion from the Legion would -be something in the nature of an adventure, when one -considered the difficulties, risks, and dangers, which -militated against success, and the nature of the -punishment which attended upon failure. No wonder that -desertion was regarded by all and sundry as being a -feat of courage, skill and endurance to which attached -no slightest stigma of disgrace! One gathered that -most men "made the promenade" at some time or -other--generally under the influence of </span><em class="italics">le cafard</em><span> in -some terrible Southern desert-station, and were dealt -with more or less leniently (provided they lost no -articles of their kit) in view of the fact that successful -desertion from such places was utterly impossible, -and only attempted by them "while of unsound -mind." Only once or twice, in the whole history of -the Legion, had a man got clear away, obtained a -camel, and, by some miracle of luck, courage and -endurance, escaped death at the hands of the Arabs, -thirst, hunger, and sunstroke, to reach the Moroccan -border and take service with the Moors--who are -the natural and hereditary enemies of the Touaregs -and Bedouins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, he had begun to feel that he had certainly -come to the end of a period of instruction and -experience, and was in need of change to fresh fields -and pastures new. Vegetating formed no part of his -programme of life, which was far too short, in any case, -for all there was to see and to do....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sitting one night on his cot, and talking to the man -for whom he now had a very genuine and warm -affection, he remarked--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you get fed up with Depôt life, Bull?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been fed up with life, Depôt and otherwise, -for over twenty years," was the reply.... "Don't -forget that life here in Sidi is a great deal better than -life in a desert station in the South. It is supportable -anyhow; there--it simply isn't; and those who don't -desert and die, go mad and die. The exceptions, who -do neither, deteriorate horribly, and come away very -different men.... Make the most of Sidi, my boy, -while you are here, and remember that foreign service, -when in Tonkin, Madagascar, or Western Africa, -inevitably means fever and dysentery, and generally -broken health for life.... Moreover, Algeria is the -only part of the French colonial possessions in which -the climate lets one enjoy one's pipe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That very night, shortly after the </span><em class="italics">caserne</em><span> had fallen -silent and still, its inmates wrapped in the heavy -sleep of the thoroughly weary, an alarm-bugle sounded -in the barrack-square, and, a minute later, non-commissioned -officers hurried from room to room, bawling, -"</span><em class="italics">Aux armes! Aux armes! Aux armes!</em><span>" at the top -of their voices.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rupert sat up in his bed, as Corporal Achille Martel -began to shout, "</span><em class="italics">Levez-vous donc. Levez-vous! -Faites le sac! Faites le sac! En tenue de Campagne -d'Afrique</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ooray!" shrilled 'Erb. "Oo-bloomin'-ray."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Buck up, Rupert," said John Bull. "We've got -to be on the barrack-square in full 'African field -equipment' in ten minutes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span> became the scene of feverish activity, -as well as of delirious excitement and joy. In spite of -it being the small hours of the morning, every man -howled or whistled his own favourite song, without -a sign of that liverish grumpiness which generally -accompanies early-morning effort. The great Luigi's -slaves worked at double pressure since they had to -equip their lord and master as well as themselves. -Feodor Kyrilovitch appeared to pack his own knapsack -with one hand and that of Mikhail with the other, -while he whispered words of cheer and encouragement. -The Dutch boy, Hans Djoolte, having finished his -work, knelt down beside his bed and engaged in -prayer. Speculation was rife as to whether France -had declared war on Morocco, or whether the Arabs -were in rebellion, for the hundredth time, and lighting -the torch of destruction all along the Algerian border.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In ten minutes from the blowing of the alarm-bugle, -the Battalion was on parade in the barrack-square, -every man fully equipped and laden like a beast of -burden. One thought filled every mind as the -ammunition boxes were brought from the magazine and prised -open. </span><em class="italics">What would the cardboard packets contain</em><span>? A -few seconds after the first packet had been torn open -by the first man to whom one was tossed, the news -had spread throughout the Battalion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Ball-Cartridge!</em></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Deity in that moment received the heartfelt -fervid thanks of almost every man in the barrack-square, -for ball-cartridge meant active service--in -any case, a blessed thing, whatever might result--the -blessing of death, of promotion, of decorations, of -wounds and discharge from the Legion. The blessing -of change, to begin with.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was one exception however. When Caporal -Achille Martel "told off" Légionnaire Mikhail Kyrilovitch -for orderly-duty to the </span><em class="italics">Adjudant Vaguemestre</em><span>,[#] -duty which would keep him behind in barracks, -that Legionary certainly contrived to conceal any -disappointment that he may have felt.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] The postmaster.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A few minutes later the Legion's magnificent band -struck up the Legion's march of "</span><em class="italics">Tiens, voilà du -boudin</em><span>," and the Battalion swung out of the gate, -past the barracks of the Spahis, through the quiet -sleeping streets into the main road, and so out of the -town to which many of them never returned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the third row of fours of the Seventh Company -marched the Bucking Bronco, John Bull, Reginald -Rupert, and Herbert Higgins. In the row in front -of them, Luigi Rivoli, Edouard Malvin, the Grass -hopper, and Feodor Kyrilovitch. In the front row -old Tant-de-Soif, Franz Josef Meyer, Tou-tou -Boil-the-Cat, and Hans Djoolte. In front of them marched -the four drummers. At the head of the Company -rode Captain d'Armentières, beside whom walked -Lieutenant Roberte.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marching "at ease," the men discussed the probabilities -and possibilities of the expedition. All the -signs and tokens to be read by experienced soldier-eyes, -were those of a long march and active service.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It'll be a case of 'best foot foremost' a few hours -hence, Rupert, I fancy," remarked John Bull. "I -shouldn't be surprised if we put up thirty miles on -end, with no halt but the 'cigarette spaces.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure thing," agreed the Bucking Bronco. "I got -a hunch we're gwine ter throw our feet some, to-day. -We wouldn't hev' hiked off like this with sharp -ammunition and made out get-away in quarter of an -hour ef little Johnnie hadn't wanted the doctor. -Well, I'm sorry fer the b'ys as ain't good mushers... -Guess we shan't pound our ears[#] before we wants -tew, this trip."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Sleep.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Marching along the excellent sandy road through -the cool of the night, under a glorious moon, with -the blood of youth, and health, and strength coursing -like fire through his veins, it was difficult for Rupert -to realise that, within a few hours, he would be wearily -dragging one foot after the other, his rifle weighing a -hundredweight, his pack weighing a ton, his mouth -a lime-kiln, his body one awful ache. He had had some -pretty gruelling marches before, but this was the first -time that the Battalion had gone out on a night alarm -with ball-cartridge, and every indication of it being -the "real thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On tramped the Legion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Anon there was a whistle, a cry of </span><em class="italics">Halt!</em><span> and there -was a few minutes' rest. Men lit cigarettes; some sat -down; several fumbled at straps and endeavoured -to ease packs by shifting them. Malvin made his -master lie down after removing his pack altogether. -It is a pack well worth removing--that of the Legion--save -when seconds are too precious to be thus spent, -and you consider it the wiser plan to fall flat and lie -from the word "</span><em class="italics">Halt!</em><span>" to the word "</span><em class="italics">Fall in!</em><span>" -The knapsack of black canvas is heavy with two -full uniforms, underclothing, cleaning materials and -sundries. Weighty tent-canvas and blankets are -rolled round it, tent-supports are fastened at the side, -firewood, a cooking-pot, drinking-mug and spare -boots go on top.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Attached to his belt the Legionary carries a -sword-bayonet with a steel scabbard, four hundred rounds -of ammunition in his cartridge-pouches, an entrenching -tool, and his "sac." Add his rifle and water-bottle, -and you have the most heavily laden soldier in the -world. He does not carry his overcoat--he wears it, -and is perhaps unique in considering a heavy overcoat -to be correct desert wear. Under his overcoat he has -only a canvas shirt and white linen trousers (when </span><em class="italics">en -tenue de campagne d'Afrique</em><span>), tucked into leather -gaiters. Round his waist, his blue sash--four yards -of woollen cloth--acts as an excellent cholera-belt -and body-support. The linen neckcloth, or -couvre-nuque, buttoned on to the white cover of his képi, -protects his neck and ears, and, to some extent, his -face, and prevents sunstroke....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Battalion marched on through the glorious -dawn, gaily singing "</span><em class="italics">Le sac, ma foi, toujours au dos</em><span>," -and the old favourite marching songs "</span><em class="italics">Brigadier</em><span>," -"</span><em class="italics">L'Empereur de Danmark</em><span>," "</span><em class="italics">Père Bugeaud</em><span>," and -"</span><em class="italics">Tiens, voilà du boudin</em><span>." Occasionally a German -would lift up his splendid voice and soon more than -half the battalion would be singing--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Trinken wir noch ein Tröpfchen</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Aus dem kleinen Henkeltöpfchen."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>or </span><em class="italics">Die Wacht am Rhein</em><span> or the pathetic </span><em class="italics">Morgenlied</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the second halt, when some eight miles had been -covered, there were few signs of fatigue, and more men -remained standing than sat down. As the long column -waited by the side of the road, a small cavalcade from -the direction of Sidi-bel-Abbès overtook it. At the -head rode a white-haired, white-moustached officer on -whose breast sparkled and shone that rare and glorious -decoration, the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the Commander-in-Chief in Algeria," said -John Bull to Rupert. "That settles it: we're out for -business this time, and I fancy you'll see some -Arab-fighting before you are much older.... Feet going -to be all right, do you think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fine," replied Rupert. "My boots are half full -of tallow, and I've got a small bottle of bapédi in -my sack...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On tramped the Legion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The day grew hot and packs grew heavy. The -Battalion undeniably and unashamedly slouched. -Many men leant heavily forward against their straps, -while some bent almost double, like coal-heavers -carrying sacks of coal. Rifles changed frequently -from right hand to left. There was no singing now. -The only sound that came from dry-lipped, sticky -mouths was an occasional bitter curse. Rupert began to -wonder if his shoulder straps had not turned to wires. -His arms felt numb, and the heavy weights, hung -about his shoulders and waist, caused a feeling of -constriction about the heart and lungs. He realised that he -quite understood how people felt when they fainted....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By the seventh halt, some forty kilometres, or -twenty-seven miles lay behind the Battalion. At -the word </span><em class="italics">Halt!</em><span> every man had thrown himself at -full length on the sand, and very few wasted precious -moments of the inexorably exact five minutes of the -rest-period in removing knapsacks. Hardly a man -spoke; none smoked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On tramped the Legion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gone was all pretence of smartness and devil-may-care -humour--that queer </span><em class="italics">macabre</em><span> and bitter humour of -the Legion. Men slouched and staggered, and dragged -their feet in utter hopeless weariness. Backs rounded -more and more, heads sank lower, and those who -limped almost outnumbered those who did not. A -light push would have sent any man stumbling to -the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the whistle blew for the next halt, the Legion -sank to the ground with a groan, as though it would -never rise again. As the whistle blew for the advance -the Legion staggered to its feet as one man.... -Oh, the Legion marches! Is not its motto, "</span><em class="italics">March or -Die</em><span>"? The latter it may do, the former it must. -The Legion has its orders and its destination, and it -marches. If it did not reach its destination at the -appointed time, it would be because it had died in -getting there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On tramped the Legion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With horrible pains in its blistered shoulders, its -raw-rubbed backs, its protesting, aching legs and -blistered heels and toes, the Legion staggered on, a -silent pitiable mass of suffering. Up and down the -entire length of the Battalion rode its Colonel, "the -Marching Pig." Every few yards he bawled with -brazen throat and leathern lungs: "March or die, -my children! March or die!" And the Legion -clearly understood that it must march or it must die. -To stagger from the ranks and fall was to die of thirst -and starvation, or beneath the </span><em class="italics">flissa</em><span> of the Arab.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Legionary Rupert blessed those "Breakfasts of the -Legion" and the hard training which achieved and -maintained the hard condition of the Legionary. -Sick, giddy, and worn-out as he felt, he knew he could -keep going at least as long as the average, and by -the time the average man had reached the uttermost -end of his tether, the end of their march must be -reached. After all, though they were Legionaries -whose motto was "March or Die," they were only -human beings--and to all human effort and endeavour -there is a limit. He glanced at his comrades. The -Bucking Bronco swung along erect, his rifle held across -his shoulder by the muzzle, and his belt, with all its -impedimenta, swinging from his right hand. He stared -straight ahead and, with vacant mind and tireless -iron body, "threw his feet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Beside him, John Bull looked very white and worn -and old. He leant heavily against the pull of his straps -and marched with his chest bare. On Rupert's left, -'Erb, having unbuttoned and unbuckled everything -unbuttonable and unbuckleable, slouched along, a -picture of slack unsoldierliness and of dauntless -dogged endurance. Suddenly throwing up his head -he screamed from parched lips, "Aw we dahn'earted?" -and, having painfully swallowed, answered his own -strident question with a long-drawn, contemptuous -"Ne--a--ow." Captain d'Armentières, who knew -England and the English, looked round with a smile.... -"Bon garçon," he nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the right of the second row of fours marched -Luigi Rivoli, in better case than most, as the bulk -of his kit was now impartially distributed among -Malvin, Meyer, Tou-tou and Tant-de-Soif. (The -power of money in the Legion is utterly incredible.) Feodor -Kyrilovitch was carrying the Grasshopper's -rifle--and that made a mighty difference toward the -end of a thirty-mile march.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the end of the next halt, the Grasshopper declared -that he could not get up.... At the command, "Fall -in!" the unfortunate man did not stir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Kind God! What </span><em class="italics">shall</em><span> I do?" he groaned. It -was his first failure as a soldier.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on, my lad," said John Bull sharply. "Here, -pull off his kit," he added and unfastened the Belgian's -belt. Between them they pulled him to his feet and -dragged him to his place in the ranks. John Bull -took his pack, the Bucking Bronco his belt and its -appurtenances, and Feodor his rifle. His eyes were -closed and he sank to the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here," said Rupert to 'Erb. "Get in his place -and let him march in yours beside me. We'll hold -him up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give us yer rifle, matey," replied 'Erb, and left -Rupert with hands free to assist the Grasshopper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With his right arm round the Belgian's waist, he -helped him along, while John Bull insisted on having -the poor fellow's right hand on his left shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On tramped the Legion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before long, almost the whole weight of the -Grasshopper's body was on Rupert's right arm and John -Bull's left shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stick to it, my son," said the latter from time to -time, "we are sure to stop at the fifty-kilometre -stone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Belgian seemed to be semiconscious, and did -not reply. His feet began to drag, and occasionally -his two comrades bore his full weight for a few paces. -Every few yards Feodor looked anxiously round. -These four, in their anxiety for their weaker brother, -forgot their own raw thighs, labouring lungs, inflamed -eyes, numbed arms and agonising feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just as the Colonel rode by, the Grasshopper's feet -ceased to move, and dragged lifeless along the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rupert stumbled and the three fell in a heap, beneath -the Colonel's eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sacré Baptême!" he swore--the oath he only used -when a Legionary fell out on the march--"March -or die, accursed pigs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rupert and John Bull staggered to their feet, but -the Grasshopper lay apparently lifeless. The Colonel -swore again, and shouted an order. The Grasshopper -was dragged to the side of the road, and a baggage-cart -drove up. A tent-pole was thrust through its -sides and tied securely. To this pole the Belgian was -lashed, the pole passing across the upper part of his -back and under his arms, which were pulled over it -and tied together. If he could keep his feet, well and -good. If he could not, he would hang from the pole -by his arms (as an athlete hangs from a parallel-bar -in a gymnasium, before revolving round and round it).</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On tramped the Legion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before long, the Grasshopper's feet dragged in the -dust as he drooped inanimate, and then hung in the -rope which lashed him to the pole.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the fifty-fifth kilometre, thirty-five miles from -Sidi-bel-Abbès, the command to halt was followed by -the thrice-blessed God-sent order:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Campez!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Almost before the words, "</span><em class="italics">Formez les faisceaux</em><span>" -were out of the Company-Commanders' mouths, the -men had piled arms. Nor was the order "</span><em class="italics">Sac à terre</em><span>" -obeyed in any grudging spirit. In an incredibly short -space of time the jointed tent-poles and canvas had -been removed from the knapsacks. Corporals of -sections had stepped forward, holding the tent-poles -above their heads, marking each Company's tent-line, -and a city of small white tents had come into being -on the face of the desert. A few minutes later, -cooking-trenches had been dug, camp-fires lighted and water, -containing meat and macaroni, put on to boil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A busy and profitable hour followed for Madame -la Cantinière, who, even as her cart stopped, had set -out her folding tables, benches and bar for the sale -of her Algerian wine. Her first customer was the great -Luigi, who, thanks to Carmelita's money, could sit -and drink while his employees did his work. The fly -in the worthy man's ointment was the fact that his -Italian dinner and Italian wine were thirty-five miles -behind him at Carmelita's café. Like ordinary men, -he must, to-night and for many a night to come, -content himself with the monotonous and meagre -fare of common Legionaries. However--better half -a sofa than no bed; and he was easily prime favourite -with Madame.... This would be an excellent chance -for consolidating his position with her, winning her -for his bride, and apprising Carmelita, from afar, of -the fact that he was now respectably settled in life. -Thus would a disagreeable scene be avoided and, on -the return of the Battalion to Sidi-bel-Abbès, he would -give the Café de la Légion a wide berth.... Could -he perhaps </span><em class="italics">sell</em><span> his rights and goodwill in the </span><em class="italics">café</em><span> and -Carmelita to some Legionary of means? One or two -of his own </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span> seemed to have money--the -Englishman; the Russians.... Better still, sell out -to Malvin, Tou-tou, Meyer, or some other penniless -toady and </span><em class="italics">make him pay a weekly percentage</em><span> of what -he screwed out of Carmelita. Excellent! And if the -scoundrel did not get him enough, he would supplant -him with a more competent lessee.... Meanwhile, -to storm Madame's experienced and undecided heart. -Anyhow, if she wouldn't have Luigi she shouldn't -have anyone else....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was, that evening, exceeding little noise and -movement, and "the stir and tread of armed camps." As -soon as they had fed--and, in many cases, before -they had fed--the soldiers lay on their blankets, -their heads on their knapsacks and their overcoats -over their bodies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Scarcely, as it seemed to Rupert, had they closed -their eyes, when it was time to rise and resume their -weary march. At one o'clock in the morning, the -Battalion fell in, and each man got his two litres of -water and strict orders to keep one quarter of it for -to-morrow's cooking purposes. If he contributed no -water to the cooking-cauldron he got no cooked food.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On tramped the Legion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Day after day, day after day, it marched, and, on -the twelfth day from Sidi-bel-Abbès, had covered -nearly three hundred and fifty miles. Well might the -Legion be known in the Nineteenth Division as the -</span><em class="italics">Cavalerie à pied</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">§2</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Life for the Seventh Company of the First Battalion -of the Legion in Aïnargoula was, as John Bull had -promised Rupert, simply hell. Not even the relief -of desert warfare had broken the cruel monotony of -desert marches and life in desert stations--stations -consisting of red-hot barracks, and the inevitable -filthy and sordid </span><em class="italics">Village Négre</em><span>. Men lived--and -sometimes died--in a state of unbearable irritation -and morose savageness. Fights were frequent, suicide -not infrequent, and murders not unknown. </span><em class="italics">Cafard</em><span> -reigned supreme. The punishment-cells were -overcrowded night and day, and abortive desertions -occurred with extraordinary frequency.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The discontent and sense of wasted time, which -had begun to oppress Rupert at Sidi-bel-Abbès, -increased tenfold. To him and to the Bucking Bronco -(who daily swore that he would desert that night, and -tramp to Sidi-bel-Abbès to see Carmelita) John Bull -proved a friend in need. Each afternoon, during that -terrible time between eleven and three, when the -incredible heat of the barrack-room made it impossible -for any work to be done, and the men, by strict rule, -were compelled to lie about on their cots, it was John -Bull who found his friends something else to think -about than their own sufferings and miseries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A faithful coadjutor was 'Erb, who, with his -mouth-organ and Jew's-harp, probably saved the reason, or -the life, of more than one man. 'Erb seemed to feel -the heat less than bigger men, and he would sit -cross-legged upon his mattress, evoking tuneful strains from -his beloved instruments when far stronger men could -only lie panting like distressed dogs. Undoubtedly -the three Englishmen and the American exercised a -restraining and beneficial influence, inasmuch as they -interfered as one man (following the lead of John -Bull, the oldest soldier in the room) whenever a -quarrel reached the point of blows, in their presence.... -Under those conditions of life and temper a blow is -commonly but the prelude to swift homicide.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One terrible afternoon, as the Legionaries lay on -their beds, almost naked, in that stinking oven, the -suddenness of these tragedies was manifested. It was -too hot to play </span><em class="italics">bloquette</em><span> or </span><em class="italics">foutrou</em><span>, too hot to sing, too -hot to smoke, too hot to do anything, and the hot bed -positively burnt one's bare back. The Bucking Bronco -lay gasping, his huge chest rising and falling with -painful rapidity. John Bull was showing Rupert a -wonderfully and beautifully Japanese-tattooed serpent -which wound twice round his wrist and ran up the -inner side of his white forearm, its head and expanded -hood filling the hollow of his elbow. Rupert, who -would have liked to copy it, was wondering how its -brilliant colours had been achieved and had remained -undimmed for over thirty-five years, as John Bull -said was the case, it having been done at Nagasaki -when he was a midshipman on the </span><em class="italics">Narcissus</em><span>. It was -too hot even for 'Erb to make music and he lay fanning -himself with an ancient copy of the </span><em class="italics">Echo d'Oran</em><span>. It -was too hot to sleep, save in one or two cases, and these -men groaned, moaned and rolled their heads as they -snored. It was too hot to quarrel--almost. But not -quite. Suddenly the swift </span><em class="italics">zweeep</em><span> of a bayonet being -snatched from its steel scabbard hissed through the -room, and all eyes turned to where Legionary Franz -Josef Meyer flashed his bayonet from his sheath and, -almost in the same movement, drove it up through -the throat of the Greek, Dimitropoulos, and into his -brain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take that, you scum of the Levant," he said, and -then stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at his -handiwork. There had been bad blood between the -men for some time, and for days the Austrian had -accused the Greek of stealing a piece of his wax. -Some taunt of the dead man had completed the work -of </span><em class="italics">le cafard</em><span>....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That night Meyer escaped from the cells--and his -body, three days later, was delivered up in return for -the twenty-five francs paid for a live or dead deserter. -It would perhaps be more accurate to say that parts -of his body were brought in--sufficient, at any rate, -for identification.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had fallen into the hands of the Arabs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To give the Arabs their due, however, they saved -the situation. Just when Legionary John Bull had -begun to give up hope, and nightly to dread what the -morrow might bring forth for his friends and himself, -the Arabs attacked the post. The strain on the -over-stretched cord was released and men who, in another -day, would have been temporarily or permanently -raving madmen, were saved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The attack was easily beaten off and without loss -to the Legionaries, firing from loopholes and behind -stone walls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the morrow, a reconnaissance toward the nearest -oasis discovered their camp and, on the next day, a -tiny punitive column set forth from Aïnargoula--the -Legionaries as happy, to use Rupert's too appropriate -simile, as sand-boys. Like everybody else, -he was in the highest spirits. Gone was the dark -shadow of </span><em class="italics">le cafard</em><span> and the feeling that, unless -something happened, he would become a homicidal maniac -and run amuck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here was the "real thing." Here was that for which -he had been so long and so drastically trained--desert -warfare. He thrilled from head to foot with excitement, -and wondered whether the day would bring forth -one of the famous and terrible Arab cavalry charges, -and whether he would have his first experience of -taking part in the mad and fearful joy of a bayonet -charge. Anyhow, there was a chance of either or -both.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Company marched on at its quickest, alternating -five minutes of swift marching with five minutes of -the </span><em class="italics">pas gymnastique</em><span>, the long, loping stride which is -the "double" of the Legion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Far ahead marched a small advance-guard; behind -followed a rear-guard, and, well out on either side, -marched the flankers. Where a sandy ridge ran -parallel with the course of the Company, the flankers -advanced along the crest of it, that they might watch -the country which lay beyond. This did not avail -them much, for, invariably, such a ridge was paralleled -by a similar one at no great distance. To have rendered -the little Company absolutely secure against sudden -surprise-attack on either flank, would have necessitated -sending out the majority of the force for miles on -either side. Rupert, ever keen and deeply interested -in military matters, talked of this with John Bull, -who agreed with him that, considerable as the danger -of such an attack was, it could not be eliminated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anyhow," concluded he, "we generally get -something like at least five hundred yards' margin -and if the Arabs can cut us up while we have that--they -deserve to. Still, it's tricky country I admit, -with all these </span><em class="italics">wadis</em><span> and folds in the ground, as well -as rocks and ridges."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On marched the Company, and reached an area of -rolling sand-hills, and loose heavy sand under foot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The day grew terribly hot and the going terribly -heavy. As usual, all pretence and semblance of smart -marching had been abandoned, and the men marched -in whatever posture, attitude or style seemed to them -best....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>... It came with the suddenness of a thunderclap -on a fine day, at a moment when practically everything -but the miseries of marching through loose sand in -the hottest part of one of the hottest days of the year -had faded from the minds of the straining, labouring -men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden shout, followed by the firing of half a -dozen shots, brought the column automatically to a -halt and drew all eyes to the right.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From a wide shallow </span><em class="italics">wadi</em><span>, or a fold in the ground, -among the sand-hills a few hundred yards away, an -avalanche of </span><em class="italics">haik</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">djellab</em><span>-clad men on swift horses -suddenly materialised and swept down like a whirlwind -on the little force. Behind them, followed a far bigger -mass of camel-riders howling "</span><em class="italics">Ul-Ul-Ullah-Akbar!</em><span>" -as they came. Almost before the column had halted, -a couple of barks from Lieutenant Roberte turned -the Company to the right in two ranks, the front -rank kneeling, the rear rank standing close up behind -it, with bayonets fixed and magazines charged... -Having fired their warning shots, the flankers were -running for their lives to join the main body. The -Company watched and waited in grave silence. It -was Lieutenant Roberte's intention that, when the -Arabs broke and fled before the Company's withering -blast of lead, they should leave the maximum number -of "souvenirs" behind them. His was the courage -and nerve that is tempered and enhanced by -imperturbable coolness. He would let the charging foe -gallop to the very margin of safety for his Legionaries. -To turn them back at fifty yards would be much more -profitable than to do it at five hundred.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trembling with excitement and the thrilling desire -for violent action, Rupert knelt between John -Bull and the Bucking Bronco, scarcely able to await -the orders to fire and charge. Before any order came -he saw a sight that for a moment sickened and shook -him, a sight which remained before his eyes for many -days. Corporal Auguste Gilles, who was commanding -the flankers, either too weary or too ill to continue -his sprint for comparative safety, turned and faced -the thundering rush of the oncoming Arab </span><em class="italics">harka</em><span>, -close behind him. Kneeling by a prickly pear or -cactus bush he threw up his rifle and emptied his -magazine into the swiftly rushing ranks that were -almost upon him. As he fired his last shot, an Arab, -riding ahead of the rest, lowered his lance and, with a -cry of "</span><em class="italics">Kelb ibn kelb</em><span>,"[#] bent over towards him. -Springing to his feet the Corporal gamely charged -with his bayonet. There can be only one end to such -a combat when the horseman knows his weapon. The -Corporal was sent flying into the cactus, impaled -upon the Arab's lance, and, as it was withdrawn as -the horseman swept by, the horrified Rupert saw his -comrade stagger to his feet and totter forward--tethered -to the cactus by his own entrails. Happily, -a second later, the sweep of an Arab </span><em class="italics">flissa</em><span> almost -severed his head from his shoulders....</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Dog--and son of a dog.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Company stood firm and silent as a rock, the -shining bayonets still and level. Just as it seemed to -Rupert that it must be swept away and every man -share the fate of that mangled lump of clay in front -(for there is no more nerve-shaking spectacle than -cavalry charging down upon you like a living avalanche -or flood) one word rang out from Lieutenant Roberte.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the crashing rattle (like mingled, tearing -thunder and the wild hammer of hail upon a corrugated -iron roof), ceased as magazines were emptied almost -simultaneously, the Arabs were in flight at top speed, -leaving two-thirds of their number on the plain; -and upon the fleeing </span><em class="italics">harka</em><span> the Company made very -pretty shooting--for the Legion shoots as well as it -marches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the "Cease Fire" whistle had blown, Rupert -remarked to John Bull--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No chance for a bayonet charge, then?" to which -the old soldier replied--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, my son, that is a pleasure to which the Arab -does not treat us, unless we surprise his sleeping -</span><em class="italics">douar</em><span> at dawn...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Arabs having disappeared beyond the horizon, -the Company camped and bivouacked on the battlefield, -resuming its march at midnight. As Lieutenant -Roberte feared and expected, the oasis which was -surrounded and attacked at dawn, was found to be -empty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Company marched back to Aïnargoula and, -a few days later, returned to Sidi-bel-Abbès.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-sheep-in-wolf-s-clothing"><span class="large">CHAPTER VII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE SHEEP IN WOLF'S CLOTHING</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Légionnaire John Bull sat on the edge -of his cot at the hour of </span><em class="italics">astiquage</em><span>. Though his -body was in the </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span> of the Seventh Company, -his mind, as usual, was in England, and his thoughts, -as usual, played around the woman whom he knew as -Marguerite, and the world as Lady Huntingten.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What </span><em class="italics">could</em><span> he do next year when his third and last -period of Legion service expired? Where could he -possibly hide in such inviolable anonymity that there -was no possible chance of any rumour arising that -the dead Sir Montague Merline was in the land of the -living? ... How had it happened that he had -survived the wounds and disease that he had suffered -in Tonkin, Madagascar, Dahomey, and the Sahara--the -stake-trap pit into which he had fallen at Nha-Nam--the -bullet in his neck from the Malagasy rifle--the -hack from the </span><em class="italics">coupe-coupe</em><span> which had split his -collar-bone in that ghastly West African jungle--the -lance-thrust that had torn his arm from elbow to shoulder -at Elsefra?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was an absolute and undeniable fact that the -man who desired to die in battle could never do it; -while he who had everything to live for, was among -the first to fall. If they went South again to-morrow -and were cut up in a sudden Arab </span><em class="italics">razzia</em><span>, he would -be the sole survivor. But if a letter arrived -on the previous day, stating that Lord Huntingten -was dead leaving no children, and that Lady Huntingten -had just heard of his survival and longed for his -return--would he survive that fight? Most certainly -not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What to do at the end of the fifteenth year of his -service? His face had been far too well known among -the class of people who passed through Marseilles to -India and elsewhere--who winter on the Riviera, -who golf at Biarritz, who recuperate at Vichy or -Aix, who go to Paris in the Spring; and who, in short, -are to be found in various parts of France at various -times of the year--for him to dream of using the -Legion's free pass to any part of France. The risk -might be infinitesimal, but it existed, and he would -run no risk of ruining Marguerite's life, after more than -twenty-five years.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She must be over forty-five now.... Had time -dealt kindly with her? Was she as beautiful as ever? -Sure to be. Marguerite was of the type that would -ripen, mature, and improve until well on into middle -life. Who was the eminent man who said that a woman -was not interesting until she was forty?...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What would he not give for a sight of Marguerite? -It would be easy enough, next year. Only next year--and -it was a thousand to one, a million to one, against -anyone recognising him if he were well disguised -and thoroughly careful. Just one sight of Marguerite--after -more than twenty-five years! Had he not made -sacrifices enough? Might he not take </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> much -reward for half a lifetime of life in death--a lifetime -which his body dragged wretchedly and wearily along -among the dregs of the earth, while his mind haunted -the home of his wife, a home in which another man was -lord and master. Was it much to ask--one glimpse of -his wife after twenty-seven years of renunciation?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miserable, selfish cur!" he murmured aloud as -he melted a piece of wax in the flame of a match. -"You would risk the happiness of your wife, your old -friend, and their children--all absolutely innocent of -wrong--for the sake of a minute's self-indulgence.... -Be ashamed of yourself, you whining weakling...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had become a habit of Légionnaire John Bull -to talk to himself aloud, when alone--a habit he -endeavoured to check as he had recently, on more -than one occasion, found himself talking aloud in the -company of others.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having finished the polishing of his leather-work, -he took his Lebel rifle from the rack and commenced -to clean it. As he threw open the chamber, he paused, -the bolt in his right hand, the rifle balanced in his -left. Someone was running with great speed along -the corridor toward the room. What was up? Was -it a case of </span><em class="italics">Faites le sac</em><span>? Would the head of an -excited and delighted Legionary be thrust in at the -door with a yell of--"</span><em class="italics">Aux armes! Faites le sac</em><span>"?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door burst open and in rushed Mikhail Kyrilovitch, -bare-headed, coatless, with staring eyes and -blanched cheeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Save me, save me, Monsieur," he shrieked, rushing -towards the old Legionary. "Save me--</span><em class="italics">I am a -woman</em><span>...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good God!" ejaculated Legionary John Bull, -involuntarily glancing from the face to the flat chest -of the speaker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am a girl," sobbed the </span><em class="italics">soi-disant</em><span> Mikhail.... -"I am a girl.... And that loathsome beast Luigi -Rivoli has found me out.... He's coming.... He -chased me.... What shall I do? What </span><em class="italics">shall</em><span> I -do? Poor Feodor...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Légionnaire Luigi Rivoli entered the room, -panting slightly with his unwonted exertions, the girl -crouched behind John Bull, her face in her hands, -her body shaken by deep sobs. It had all happened -so quickly that John Bull found himself standing -with his gun balanced, still in the attitude into which -he had frozen on hearing the running feet without.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So it had come, had it--and he was to try conclusions -with Luigi Rivoli at last? Well, it should be no -inconclusive rough-and-tumble. Perhaps this was the -solution of his problem, and might settle, once and -for all, the question of his future?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho-ho! Ho-ho!" roared the Neapolitan, "she's -your girl, is she, you </span><em class="italics">aristocratico Inglese</em><span>? Ho-ho! -You are </span><em class="italics">faisant Suisse</em><span> are you? Ho-ho! Your own -private girl in the very </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span>! Corpo di Bacco! -You shall learn the penalty for breaking the Legion's -first law of share-and-share-alike. Get out of my way, -</span><em class="italics">cane Inglese</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull closed the breech of his rifle, and pointed -the weapon at Rivoli's broad breast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand back," he said quietly. "Stand back, you -foul-mouthed scum of Naples, or I'll blow your dirty -little soul out of your greasy carcase." He raised his -voice slightly. "Stand back, you dog, do you hear?" -he added, advancing slightly towards his opponent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Luigi Rivoli gave ground. The rifle might be loaded. -You never knew with these cursed, quiet Northerners, -with their cold, pale eyes.... The rifle might be -loaded.... Rivoli was well aware that every -Legionary makes it his business to steal a cartridge -sooner or later, and keeps it by him for emergencies, -be they of suicide, murder, self-defence, or desertion.... -The Englishman had been standing in the -attitude of one who loads a rifle at the moment of his -entrance. Perhaps his girl had told him of the -discovery and assault, and he had been loading the rifle -to avenge her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen to me, Luigi Rivoli," said John Bull, still -holding the rifle within a foot of the Italian's breast. -"Listen, and I'll tell you what you are. Then I will -tell the Section what you are, when they come in.... -Then I will tell the whole Company.... Then I -will stand on a table in the Canteen and shout it, -night after night.... This is what you are. You are -a coward. A </span><em class="italics">coward</em><span>, d'you hear?--a miserable, -shrinking, frightened coward, who dare not fight...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fight! </span><em class="italics">Iddio</em><span>! </span><em class="italics">Fight</em><span>! Put down that rifle and -I'll tear you limb from limb. Come down into the -square and I will break your back. Come down -now--and fight for the girl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"... A trembling, frightened coward who dare -not fight, and who calls punching, and hugging and -kicking 'fighting.' I challenge you to fight, Luigi -Rivoli, with rifles--at one hundred yards and no -cover; or with revolvers, at ten paces; or with -swords of any sort or kind--if it's only sword-bayonets. -Will you fight, or will you be known as </span><em class="italics">Rivoli the -Coward</em><span> throughout both Battalions of the Legion?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rivoli half-crouched for a spring, and straightway -the rifle sprang to the Englishman's shoulder, as his -eyes blazed and his fingers fell round the trigger. -Rivoli recoiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want to shoot you, unarmed, Coward," -he said quietly. "I am going to shoot you, or stab -you, or slash you, in fair fight--or else you shall kneel -and be christened </span><em class="italics">Rivoli the Coward</em><span> on the barrack -square.... I've had enough of you, and so has -everybody--unless it's your gang of pimps.... Now -go. Go on--get out.... Go on--before I lose patience. -Clear out--and make up your mind whether you will -fight or be christened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'll fight you--you mangy old cur. You -are brave enough with a loaded rifle, eh? Mother -of Christ! I'll send you where the birds won't trouble -you.... Shoot me in the back as I go, Brave Man -with a Gun"--and Luigi Rivoli departed, in a state -of horrid doubt and perturbation.... This cursed -Englishman meant what he said....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Legionary John Bull lowered his rifle with a laugh, -and became aware of the fact that the Russian girl was -hugging his leg in a way which would have effectually -hampered him in the event of a struggle, and which -made him feel supremely ridiculous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get up, </span><em class="italics">petite</em><span>," he said bending over her, as she -lay moaning and weeping. "It's all right--he's gone. -He won't trouble you again, for I am going to kill him. -Come and lie on your bed and tell me all about it.... -We must make up our minds as to what will be the -best thing to do.... Rivoli will tell everybody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He helped the girl to her feet, partly led and partly -carried her to her bed, and laid her on it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Holding his lean brown hand between her little ones, -in a voice broken and choked with sobs, she told him -something of her story--a sad little story all too -common.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The listener gathered that the two were children -of a prominent revolutionary who had disappeared -into Siberia, after what they considered a travesty -of a trial. They had been students at the University -of Moscow, and had followed in their father's political -footsteps from the age of sixteen. Their youth and -inexperience, their fanatical enthusiasm, and their -unselfish courage, had, in a few years, brought them -to a point at which they must choose between death -or the horrors of prison and Siberia on the one hand, -and immediate flight, and most complete and utter -evanishment on the other. When his beloved twin -sister had been chosen by the Society as an -"instrument," Feodor's heart had failed him. He -had disobeyed the orders of the Central Committee; -he had coerced the girl; he had made disclosures.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had escaped to Paris. Before long it had been -a question as to whether they were in more imminent -and terrible danger from the secret agents of the -Russian police or from those of the Nihilists. The sight -of the notice, "</span><em class="italics">Bureau de recruitment. Engagements -volontaires</em><span>," over the door of a dirty little house in -the Rue St. Dominique had suggested the Légion -Etrangère, and a possible means of escape and five -years' safety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the Medical Examination? ...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Accompanied by a fellow-fugitive who was on his -way to America, Feodor had gone to the Bureau -and they had enlisted, passed the doctor, and received -railway-passes to Marseilles, made out in the names -of Feodor and Mikhail Kyrilovitch; sustenance -money; and orders to proceed by the night train from -the Gare de Lyons and report at Fort St. Jean in the -morning, if not met at the station by a Sergeant of -the Legion. Their compatriot had handed his travelling -warrant to the girl (dressed in a suit of Feodor's) -ind had seen the twins off at the Gare de Lyons with -his blessing....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Jean Boule knew the rest, and but for -this hateful, bestial Luigi Rivoli, all might have been -well, for she was very strong, and had meant to be -very brave. Now, what should she do; what </span><em class="italics">should</em><span> -she do? ... And what would poor Feodor say when -he came in from corvée and found that she had let -herself get caught like this at last? ... What could -they do?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And indeed, Sir Montague Merline did not know -what a lady could do when discovered in a </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span> -of a </span><em class="italics">caserne</em><span> of the French Foreign Legion in -Sidi-bel-Abbès. He did not know in the least. There was -first the attitude of the authorities to consider, and -then that of the men. Would a Court Martial hold -that, having behaved as a man, she should be treated -as one, and kept to her bargain, or sent to join the -Zephyrs? Would they imprison her for fraud? -Would they repatriate her? Would they communicate -with the Russian police? Or would they just fling her -out of the barrack-gate and let her go? There was -probably no precedent, whatever, to go upon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And supposing the matter were hushed up in the -</span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span>, and the authorities never knew--would -life be livable for the girl? Could he, and Rupert, -the Bucking Bronco, Herbert Higgins, Feodor, and -perhaps one or two of the more decent foreigners, -such as Hans Djoolte, and old Tant-de-Soif, ensure -her a decent life, free from molestation and annoyance? -No, it couldn't be done. Life would be rendered -utterly impossible for her by gross animals of the -type of Rivoli, Malvin, the </span><em class="italics">Apache</em><span>, Hirsch, Bauer, -Borges, and the rest of Rivoli's sycophants. It was -sufficiently ghastly, and almost unthinkable, to imagine -a woman in that sink when nobody dreamed she was -anything but what she seemed. How could one -contemplate a woman, who was </span><em class="italics">known</em><span> to be a woman, -living her life, waking and sleeping, in such a situation? -The more devotedly her bodyguard shielded and -protected her, the more venomously determined -would the others be to annoy, insult and injure her -in a thousand different ways. It would be insupportable, -impossible.... But of course it could not be -kept from the authorities for a week. What was to -be done?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he did his utmost to soothe the weeping girl, -clumsily patting her back, stroking her hands, and -murmuring words of comfort and promises of -protection, Merline longed for the arrival of Rupert. -He wanted to take counsel with another English -gentleman as to the best thing to be done for this -unfortunate woman. He dared not leave her weeping -there alone. Anybody might enter at any moment. -Rivoli might return with the choicest scoundrels of -his gang.... Why did not the Bucking Bronco turn -up? When he and Rupert arrived there would be -an accession of brawn and of brains that would be -truly welcome.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Curiously enough, Sir Montague Merline's insular -Englishness had survived fourteen years of life in a -cosmopolitan society, speaking a foreign tongue in a -foreign land, with such indestructible sturdiness that -it was upon the Anglo-Saxon party that he mentally -relied in this strait. He had absolutely forgotten that -it was the girl's own brother who was her natural -protector, and upon whom lay the onus of discovering -the solution of this insoluble problem and extricating -the girl from her terrible position.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What could he do? It was all very well to say that -the three Englishmen and the American would protect -her, that night, by forming a sentry-group and watching -in turn--but how long could that go on? It would -be all over the barracks to-morrow, and known to -the authorities a few hours later. Oh, if he could only -do her up in a parcel and post her to Marguerite with -just a line, "</span><em class="italics">Please take care of this poor girl.--Monty.</em><span>" -Marguerite would keep her safe enough.... But -thinking nonsense wasn't helping. He would load his -rifle in earnest, and settle scores with Luigi Rivoli, -once and for all, if he returned with a gang to back -him. Incidentally, that would settle his own fate, for -it would mean a Court Martial at Oran followed by a -firing-party, or penal servitude in the Zephyrs, and, -at his age, that would only be a slower death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All very well for him and Rivoli, but what of the -girl? ... What ghastly danger it must have been -that drove them to such a dreadful expedient. Truly -the Legion was a net for queer fish. Poor, plucky -little soul, what could he do for her?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Never since he wore the two stars[#] of a British -Captain had he longed, as he did at that moment, for -power and authority. If only he were a Captain again, -Captain of the Seventh Company, the girl should go -straight to his wife, or some other woman. Suddenly -he rose to his feet, his face illuminated by the brilliance -of the idea which had suddenly entered his mind.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Since increased to three, of course.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Carmelita!</em><span>" he almost shouted to the empty -room. He bent over the crying girl again, and shook -her gently by the shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have it, little one," he said. "Thank God! -Yes--it's a chance. I believe I have a plan. Carmelita! -Let's get out of this at once, straight to the Café de -la Legion. Carmelita has a heart of gold...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl half sat up. "She may be a kind girl--but -she's Luigi Rivoli's mistress," she said. "She -would do anything he ordered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Carmelita considers herself Rivoli's wife," replied -the Englishman, "and so she would be, if he were not -the biggest blackguard unhung. Very well, he can -hardly go to the woman who is practically his wife -and say, 'Hand over the woman you are hiding.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When a woman loves a man she obeys him," said -the girl, and added with innocent naïveté, "And I will -obey you, Monsieur Jean Boule.... Anyhow, it is -a hope--in a position which is hopeless."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get into walking-out kit quickly," urged the old -soldier, "and see the Sergeant of the Guard has no -excuse for turning you back. The sooner we're away -the better.... I wish Rupert and the Bronco would -roll up.... If you can get to Carmelita's unseen, -and change back into a girl, you could either hide -with Carmelita for a time, or simply desert in feminine -apparel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Feodor?" asked the Russian. "Will they -shoot him? I can't leave..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bother Feodor," was the quick reply. "One -soldier is not responsible because another deserts. -Let's get you safe to Carmelita's, and then I'll find -Feodor and tell him all about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hiram Cyrus Milton, entering the room bare-footed -and without noise, was not a little surprised to behold -a young soldier fling his arms about the neck of the -eminently staid and respectable Legionary John Bull, -with a cry of--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, may God reward you, kind good Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Strike me blue and balmy," ejaculated the Bucking -Bronco. "Ain't these gosh-dinged furriners a bunch -o' boobs? Say, John, air yew his long-lost che-ild? -It's a cinch. Where's that dod-gasted boy 'Erb fer -slow music on the jewzarp? ... Or is the lalapaloozer -only a-smellin' the roses on yure damask cheek?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Change quickly, </span><em class="italics">petite</em><span>," said John Bull to the -girl as he pushed her from him, and turned to the -American.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come here, Buck," said he, taking the big man's -arm and leading him to the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't say as haow yure sins hev' come home to -roost, John? Did yew reckernise the puling infant -by the di'mond coronite on the locket, or by the -strawberry-mark in the middle of its back? Or was -his name wrote on the tail of his little shirt? Put -me next to it, John. Make me wise to the secret mystery -of this 'ere drarmer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bucking Bronco was getting more than a little -jealous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will, if you will give me a chance," replied John -Bull curtly. "Buck, that boy's a girl. Rivoli has -found her out and acted as you might expect. I suppose -he spotted her in the wash-house or somewhere. She -rushed to me for protection, and the game's up. I am -going to take her to Carmelita."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The big American stared at his friend with open -mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yew git me jingled, John," he said slowly. "Thet -little looker a </span><em class="italics">gal</em><span>? Is this a story made out of whole -cloth,[#] John?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Untrue.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Get hold of it, Buck, quickly," was the reply. -"The two Russians are political refugees. Their -number was up, in Russia, and they bolted to Paris. -Same in Paris--and they made a dash for here. Out -of the frying-pan into the fire. This one's a girl. -Luigi Rivoli knows, and it will be all over the barracks -before to-night. She rushed straight to me, and I -am going to see her through. If you can think of -anything better than taking her to Carmelita, say so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll swipe the head off'n Mister Lousy Loojey -Rivoli," growled the American. "God smite me ef -I don't. Thet's torn it, thet has.... The damned -yaller-dog Dago.... Thet puts the lid on Mister -Loojey Rivoli, thet does."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I'm</em><span> going to deal with Rivoli, Buck," said John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'd crush yew with a b'ar's hug, sonny; he'd -bust in yure ribs, an' break yure back, an' then chuck -yew down and dance on yew."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He won't get the chance, Buck; it's not going to -be a gutter-scrap. When he chased the girl in here -I challenged him to fight with bullet or steel, and told -him I'd brand him all over the shop till he was known -as 'Rivoli the Coward,' or fought a fair and square -duel.... Let's get the girl out of this, and then we'll -put Master Luigi Rivoli in his place once and for all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shake!" said the Bucking Bronco, extending a -huge hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seen Rupert lately?" asked the Englishman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yep," replied the other. "He's a-settin' on end -a-rubberin' at his pants in the lavabo."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good! Go and fetch him quick, Buck."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The American sped from the room without glancing -at the girl, returning a minute or two later with Rupert. -The two men hurried to their respective cots and -swiftly changed from fatigue-dress into blue and red.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If Carmelita turns us down, let's all three desert -and take the girl with us," said Rupert to John Bull. -"I have plenty of money to buy mufti, disguises, -and railway tickets. She would go as a woman of -course. We could be a party of tourists. Yes, that's -it, English tourists. Old Mendoza would fit us out--at -a price."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks," was the reply. "We'll get her out -somehow.... She'd stand a far better chance alone -though, probably. If suspicion fell on one of us they'd -arrest the lot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say," put in the American. "Ef she can do the -boy stunt, I reckon as haow her brother oughter be -able ter do the gal stunt ekally well. Ef Carmelita -takes her in, and fits her out with two of everything, -her brother could skedaddle and jine her, and put on -the remainder of the two-of-everything; then they -ups and goes on pump as the Twin Sisters Golightly, -a-tourin' of the Crowned Heads of Yurrup, otherwise, -as The Twin Roosian Bally-Gals Skiporfski...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Smart idea," agreed Rupert. "I hope Carmelita -takes her in. What the devil shall we do with her if -she won't? She can't very well spend the night here -after Luigi has put it about.... And what's her -position with regard to the authorities? Is it a case -of Court Martial or toss for her in the Officers' Mess, -or what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't know, I'm sure. Haven't the faintest idea," -replied John Bull. "If only Carmelita turns up -trumps...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seenyoreena Carmelita is the whitest little woman -as ever lived," growled the American. "She's a -blowed-in-the-glass heart-o'-gold. Yew can put yure -shirt on Carmelita.... Yew know what I mean--yure -bottom dollar.... Ef it wasn't fer that filthy -Eye-talian sarpint, she'd jump at the chance of giving -this Roosian gal her last crust.... I don't care John -whether you shoot him up or nit. I'm gwine ter slug -him till Hell pops. Let him fight his dirtiest an' -damnedest--I'll see him and raise him every time, the -double-dealin' gorilla...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am ready, Monsieur," said the girl Olga to John -Bull. "But I do not want you, Monsieur, nor these -other gentlemen, to make trouble for yourselves on -my account.... I have brought this on myself, and -there is no reason why you..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, shucks! Come on, little gal," broke in the -Bucking Bronco. "We'll see yew through. We ain't -Loojeys...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, we will. We shall be only too delighted," -agreed Rupert. "Don't you worry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pull yourself together and swagger all you can," -advised John Bull. "It might ruin everything if the -Sergeant of the Guard took it into his head to turn -you back. I wonder if we had better go through in a -gang, or let you go first? If we are all together there -is less likelihood of excessive scrutiny of any one of -us, but on the other hand it may be remembered that -you were last seen with us three, and that might -hamper our future usefulness.... Just as well -Feodor isn't here.... Tell you what, you and I will -go out together, and I'll use my wits to divert attention -from you if we are stopped. The others can come a -few minutes later, or as soon as someone else has -passed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's it," agreed Rupert; "come on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With beating hearts, the old soldier and the young -girl approached the little side door by the huge -barrack-gates. Close by it stood the Sergeant of the -Guard. Their anxiety increased as they realised that -it was none other than Sergeant Legros, one of the -most officious, domineering and brutal of the Legion's -N.C.O.'s. Luck was against them. He would take -a positive delight in standing by that door the whole -evening and in turning back every single man whose -appearance gave him the slightest opportunity for -fault-finding, as well as a good many whose appearance -did not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they drew near and saluted smartly, the little -piggish eyes of Sergeant Legros took in every detail -of their uniform. The girl felt the blood draining from -her cheeks. What if they had made a mistake? -What if red trousers and blue tunic should be wrong, -and the </span><em class="italics">ordre du jour</em><span> should be white trousers and -blue tunic or capote? What if she had a button undone -or her bayonet on the wrong side? What if Sergeant -Legros should see, or imagine a speck upon her -tunic? ... Had she been under his evil gaze for -hours? Was the side of the Guard House miles in -length? ... Thank God, they were through the -gate and free. Free for the moment, and if the good -God were merciful she was free for ever from the -horrors and fears of that terrible place. Could anything -worse befall her? Yes, there were worse places for a -girl than a barrack-room of the French Foreign -Legion. There was a Russian prison--there was the -dark prison-van and warder--there was the journey -to Siberia--there was Siberia itself. Yes, there were -worse places than that she had just left--until her -secret was discovered. A thousand times worse. And -she thought of her friend, that poor girl who had been -less fortunate than she. Poor, poor Marie! Would -she herself be sent back to Russia to share Marie's -fate, if these brave Englishmen and Carmelita failed -to save her? What would become of Feodor? ... Did -this noble Englishman, with the gentle face, -love this girl Carmelita? ... Might not Carmelita's -house be a very trap if the loathsome Italian brute -owned its owner?...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's stroll slowly now, my dear," said John Bull, -"and let the others overtake us. The more the merrier, -if we should run into Rivoli and his gang, or if he is -already at Carmelita's. I don't think he will be. I -fancy he puts in the first part of his evening with -Madame la Cantinière, and goes down to Carmelita's -later for his dinner.... If he should be there I don't -quite see what line he can take in front of Carmelita. -He could hardly molest you in front of the woman -whom he pretends he is going to marry, and I don't -see on what grounds he could raise any objection -to her befriending you.... It's a deuced awkward -position--for the fact that I intend to kill Rivoli, -if I can, hardly gives me a claim on Carmelita. She -loves the very ground the brute treads on, you know, -and it would take me, or anybody else, a precious -long time to persuade her that the man who rid the -world of Luigi Rivoli would be her very best friend.... -He's the most noxious and poisonous reptile I have -ever come across, and I believe she is one of the best -of good little women.... It is a hole we're in. We've -got to see Carmelita swindled and then jilted and -broken-hearted; or we've got to bring the blackest -grief upon her by saving her from Rivoli."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> love her too, Monsieur?" asked Olga.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good Heavens, no!" laughed the Englishman. -"But I have a very great liking and regard for her, -and so has my friend Rupert. It is poor old Buck who -loves her, and I am really sorry for him. It's bad -enough to love a woman and be unable to win her, -but it must be awful to see her in the power of a man -whom you know to be an utter blackguard.... -Queer thing, Life.... I suppose there is some purpose -in it.... Here they come," he added, looking round.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who's gwine ter intervoo Carmelita, and put her -wise to the sitooation?" asked the Bucking Bronco -as he and Rupert joined the others. "Guess yew'd -better, John. Yew know more Eye-talian and French -than we do, an', what's more, Carmelita wouldn't -think there was any '</span><em class="italics">harry-air ponsey</em><span>'--or is it -'</span><em class="italics">double-intender</em><span>'--ef the young woman is interdooced, -as sich, by yew."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," replied John Bull. "I'll do my best--and -we must all weigh in with our entreaties if I fail."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yew'll do it, John. I puts my shirt on Carmelita -every time...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Le Café de la Légion was swept and garnished, and -Carmelita sat in her </span><em class="italics">sedia pieghevole</em><span>[#] behind her bar, -awaiting her evening guests.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Deck-chair.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was a sadder-looking, thinner, somewhat -older-looking Carmelita than she who had welcomed Rupert -and his fellow </span><em class="italics">bleus</em><span> on the occasion of their first visit -to her </span><em class="italics">café</em><span>. Carmelita's little doubt had grown, and -worry was bordering upon anxiety--for Luigi Rivoli -was Carmelita's life, and Carmelita was not only a -woman, but an Italian woman, and a Neapolitan at -that. Far better than life she loved Luigi Rivoli, -and only next to him did she love her own self-respect -and virtue. As has been said before, Carmelita -considered herself a married woman. Partly owing to -her equivocal position, partly to an innate purity -of mind, Carmelita had a present passion for -"respectability" such as had never troubled her -before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Luigi was causing her grief and anxiety, doubt -and care, and fear. For long she had fought it off, -and had stoutly refused to confess it even to herself, -but day by day and night by night, the persistent -attack had worn down her defences of Hope and -Faith until at length she stood face to face with the -relentless and insidious assailant and recognised it -for what it was--Fear. It had come to that, and -Carmelita now frankly admitted to herself that she -had fears for the faith, honesty and love of the man -whom she regarded as her husband and knew to be -the father of the so hoped-for </span><em class="italics">bambino</em><span>....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Could it be possible that the man for whom she had -lived, and for whom she would at any time have died, -her own Luigi, who, but for her, would be in a -Marseilles graveyard, her own husband--was laying siege -to fat and ugly Madame la Cantinière, because her -business was a more profitable one than Carmelita's? -It could not be. Men were not devils. Men did not -repay women like that. Not even ordinary men, far -less her Luigi. Of course not--and besides, there was -the Great Secret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the thousandth time Carmelita found reassurance, -comfort and cheer in the thought of the Great -Secret, and its inevitable effect upon Luigi when he -knew it. What would he say when he realised that -there might be another Luigi Rivoli, for, of course, -it would be a boy--a boy who would grow up another -giant among men, another Samson, another Hercules, -another winner of a World's Championship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What would he do in the transports of his joy? -How his face would shine! How heartily he would -agree with her when she pointed out that it would be -as well for them to marry now before the </span><em class="italics">bambino</em><span> -came. No more procrastination now. What a wedding -it should be, and what a feast they would give the -brave </span><em class="italics">soldati</em><span>! Il Signor Jean Boule should have the -seat of honour, and the Signor Americano should -come, and Signor Rupert, and Signor 'Erbiggin, and -the poor Grasshopper, and the two Russi (ah! what -of that Russian girl, what would be her fate? It was -wonderful how she kept up the deception. Poor, poor -little soul, what a life--the constant fear, the watchfulness -and anxiety. Fancy eating and drinking, walking, -talking and working, dressing and undressing, waking -and sleeping among those men--some of them such -dreadful men). Yes, it should be a wedding to -remember, without stint of food or drink--</span><em class="italics">un pranzo di -tre portate</em><span> with </span><em class="italics">i maccheroni</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">la frittate d'uova</em><span> and -the best of </span><em class="italics">couscous</em><span>, and there should be </span><em class="italics">vino -Italiano</em><span>--they would welcome a change from the eternal -</span><em class="italics">vino Algerino</em><span>....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Four Legionaries entered, and Carmelita rose with -a smile to greet them. There was no one she would -sooner see than Il Signor Jean Boule and his -friends--since it was not Luigi who entered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Che cosa posso offrirve?</em><span>" she asked. (Although -Carmelita spoke Legion French fluently one noticed -that she always welcomed one in Italian, and always -counted in that language.)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want a quiet talk with you, carissima Carmelita," -said John Bull. "We are in great trouble, and we -want your help."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am glad," replied Carmelita. "Not glad that -you are in trouble, but glad you have come to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is about Mikhail Kyrilovitch," said the Englishman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought it was," said Carmelita.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't think me mad, Carmelita," continued John -Bull, "but listen. Mikhail Kyrilovitch is a </span><em class="italics">girl</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't think me mad, Signor Jean Boule," -mimicked Carmelita, "but listen. I have known -Mikhail Kyrilovitch was a girl from the first evening -that she came here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Englishman's blue eyes opened widely in -surprise, as he stared at the girl. "How?" he -asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, in a dozen ways," laughed Carmelita. "Hands, -voice, manner. I stroked her cheek, it was as soft as -my own, while her twin brother's was like sand-paper. -When she went to catch a biscuit she made a 'lap,' -as one does who wears a skirt, instead of bringing -her knees together as a man does.... And what -can I do for Mademoiselle Mikhail?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can save her, Carmelita, from I don't know -what dangers and horrors. She has been found out, -and what her fate would be at the tender mercies of -the authorities on the one hand, and of the men on -the other, one does not like to think. The very least -that could happen to her is to be turned into the -streets of Sidi-bel-Abbès."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do the officers know yet?" asked Carmelita. -"Who does know? Who found her out?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Luigi Rivoli found her out," replied John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And sent her to me?" asked Carmelita. "I am -glad he..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He did not send her to you," interrupted the -Englishman gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did he do?" asked Carmelita quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will tell you what he did, Carmelita, as kindly -as I can.... He forgot he was a soldier, Carmelita; -he forgot he was an honest man; he forgot he was -your--er--</span><em class="italics">fidanzato</em><span>, your </span><em class="italics">sposo</em><span>, Carmelita...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita went very white.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me, Signor," she said quickly. "Did you have -to protect this Russian wretch from Luigi?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did," was the reply. "Why do you speak -contemptuously of the girl? She is as innocent -as--as innocent as you are, Carmelita."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hate her," hissed Carmelita.... "Did Luigi -kiss her? What happened? Did he...?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Englishman put his hand over Carmelita's -little clenched fist as it lay on the bar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen, little one," he said. "You are one of the -best, kindest and bravest women I have known. I -am certain you are going to be worthy of yourself -now. So is Rupert, so is Monsieur Bronco. He has -been blaming us bitterly when we have even for a -moment wondered whether you would save this girl. -He is worth a thousand Rivolis, and loves you a -thousand times better than Rivoli ever could. Don't -disappoint him and us, Carmelita. Don't disappoint -us </span><em class="italics">in yourself</em><span>, I mean.... What has the girl done -that you should hate her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did Luigi kiss her?" again asked Carmelita.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He did not," was the reply. "He behaved..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he could not, of course, while she was with -me, could he?" said Carmelita.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly," smiled the Englishman. "Take her in -now, little woman, and lend her some clothes until -we can get some things bought or made for her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Clothes cost francs, Signor Jean," was the practical -reply of the girl, who had grown up in a hard school. -"I can give her food and shelter, and I can lend her -my things, but I have no francs for clothes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rupert will find whatever is necessary for her -clothes and board and lodging, and for her ticket too. -She shan't be with you long, cara Carmelita, nor in -Sidi-bel-Abbès."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita passed from behind the bar and went -over to the table at which sat Rupert, the American, -and the girl Olga. Putting her arm around the neck -of the last, Carmelita kissed her on the cheek.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, little one," she said. "Come to my bed and -sleep. You shall be as safe as if in the Chapel of the -Mother of God," and, as the girl burst into tears, led -her away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull joined his friends as the two women -disappeared through the door leading to Carmelita's room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, thank God for that," he said as he sat down, -and wiped his forehead. "What's the next step?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Find the other little Roosian guy, an' put him -wise to what's happened to sissy, I guess," replied -the American.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," agreed Rupert. "It's up to him to carry -on now, with any sort or kind of help that we can -give him.... Where did he go after parade, I -wonder?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The gal got copped for a wheel-barrer corvée--they -was goin' scavengin' round the officers' houses -and gardens I think--an' he took her place.... He'd -be back by dark an' start washin' hisself," opined the -American.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better get back at once then," said John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel a most awful cad," he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What on earth for?" asked Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About Carmelita," was the reply. "I've got her -help under false pretences. If I had told her that I -was going to fight a serious duel with her precious -Luigi, she'd never have taken that girl in. If I don't -fight him now, he'll make my life utterly unlivable.... -I wish to God Carmelita could be brought to see him -as he is and to understand that the moment the Canteen -will have him, he is done with the Café.... I wish -Madame la Cantinière would take him and settle -the matter. Since it has got to come, the sooner the -better. I should really enjoy my fight with him if -he had turned Carmelita down, and she regarded me -as her avenger instead of as the destroyer of her -happiness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One wouldn't worry about Madame la Cantinière's -feelings if one destroyed her young man or her latest -husband, I suppose?" queried Rupert with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nope," replied the American. "Nit. Not a damn. -Nary a worry. You could beat him up, or you could -shoot him up, and lay your last red cent that Madam -lar Canteenair would jest say, '</span><em class="italics">Mong Jew! C'est la -Legion</em><span>' and look aroun' fer his doo and lorful -successor.... Let's vamoose, b'ys, an' rubber aroun' -fer the other Roosian chechaquo."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The three Legionaries quitted le Café de la Légion -and made their way back to their </span><em class="italics">caserne</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll look in the </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span>," said John Bull as they -entered the barrack-square. "You go to the lavabo, -Rupert, and you see if he is in the Canteen, Buck. -Whoever finds him had better advise him to let Luigi -Rivoli alone, and make his plans for going on pump. -Tell him I think his best line would be to see Carmelita -and arrange for him and his sister to get dresses alike, -and clear out boldly by train to Oran, as girls. After -that, they know their own business best, but I should -recommend England as about the safest place for them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By Jove! I could give him a letter to my mother," -put in Rupert. "Good idea. My people would love -to help them--especially as they could tell them all -about me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gee-whiz! Thet's a brainy notion," agreed the -Bucking Bronco. "Let 'em skin out and make tracks -for yure Old-Folk-at-Home. It's a cinch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Legionary John Bull found Legionary Feodor -Kyrilovitch sitting on his cot polishing "Rosalie," -as the soldier of France terms his bayonet. Several -other Legionaries were engaged in </span><em class="italics">astiquage</em><span> and -accoutrement cleaning. For the thousandth time, -the English gentleman realised that one of the most -irksome and maddening of the hardships and disabilities -of the common soldier's life is its utter lack of -privacy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bonsoir, cher Boule," remarked Feodor Kyrilovitch, -looking up as the English approached. "Have -you seen my brother? He appears to have come in -and changed and gone out without me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Evidently the boy was anxious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your brother is at Carmelita's," replied John -Bull, and added: "Come over to my bed and sit -beside me with your back to the room. I want to -speak to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be alarmed," he continued as they seated -themselves. "Your brother is absolutely all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Russian gazed anxiously at the kindly face -of the man whom he had instinctively liked and trusted -from the first.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your brother is quite all right," continued the -Englishman, "but I am afraid you will have to change -your plans."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Change our plans, Monsieur Boule?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied the older man, as he laid his hand -on Feodor's knee with a reassuring smile. "You will -have to change your plans, for Mikhail can be Mikhail -no longer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Russian bowed his head upon his hands with -a groan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My poor little Olusha," he whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courage, mon brave," said John Bull, patting -him on the back. "We have a plan for you. As soon -as your sister was discovered, we took her to Carmelita, -with whom she will be quite safe for a while. Our idea -is that she and Carmelita make and buy women's -clothes for both of you, and that you escape as sisters. -Since she made such a splendid boy, you ought to be -able to become a fairly convincing girl. Légionnaire -Mikhail Kyrilovitch will be looked for as a -man--probably in uniform. By the time the hue and cry is -over, and he is forgotten, everything will be ready -for both of you, then one night you slip into Carmelita's -café and, next day, two café-chantant girls who have -been visiting Carmelita, walk coolly to the station -and take train for Oran.... Rivoli can't tell on -them and still keep in with Carmelita. He'll have to -help--or pretend to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Feodor Kyrilovitch was himself again--a cool and -level-headed conspirator, accustomed to weighing -chances, taking risks and facing dangers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks, mon ami," he said. "I believe I owe -you my sister's salvation.... There will be -difficulties, and there are risks--but it is a plan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seems fairly hopeful," replied the other. "Anyhow, -we could think of nothing better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We might get to Oran," mused Feodor; "but -where we can go from there, God knows. We daren't -go to Paris again, and I doubt if we have a hundred -and fifty roubles between us.... And we dare not -write to friends in Russia."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We've thought of that too, my boy," interrupted -the Englishman. "My friend Rupert has money in -the Credit Lyonnais, here in the town. He says he -will be only too delighted to lend you enough to get -you to England, and write a letter for you to take -to his people. He says his mother will welcome you -with open arms as coming from him.... From what -he has said to me about her at different times, I imagine -her to be one of the best--and the best of Englishwomen -are the best of women, let me tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the best of Englishmen are the best of men," -replied Feodor, seizing the old Legionary's hand and -kissing it fervently--to the latter gentleman's -consternation and utter discomfort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be an ass," he replied in English.... -"Clear out now, and go and have a talk with Carmelita. -You can trust her absolutely. Give her what money -you've got, and she'll poke around in the ghetto for -clothes. She'll know lots of the Spanish Jew dealers -and cheap </span><em class="italics">couturières</em><span>, if old Mendoza hasn't what she -wants. Meanwhile, Rupert will draw some money -from the </span><em class="italics">banque</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Russian rose to his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how can I thank you, Monsieur? How can I -repay Monsieur Rupert for his kindness?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't thank me, and repay Rupert by visiting -his mother and waxing eloquent over his marvellous -condition of health, happiness and prosperity. Tell -her he is having a lovely time in a lovely place with -lovely people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You joke, Monsieur, how </span><em class="italics">can</em><span> I repay you all?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'll tell you, my son--by getting your sister -clear of this hell and safe into England."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Russian struck himself violently on the -forehead and turned away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A minute later Rupert entered the </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's not in the lavabo," he announced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it's all right. I found him here. He has just -gone down to Carmelita's.... Let's go over to the -Canteen, I want to meet the gentle Luigi Rivoli there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the stairs they encountered the Bucking Bronco, -who was told that Feodor had been found and informed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our Loojey's in the road-house," he announced, -"layin' off ter Madam.... I wish she'd deliver the -goods ef she's gwine ter. Then we could git next our -Loojey without raisin' hell with Carmelita."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is the Canteen fairly full?" asked John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some!" replied the Bucking Bronco.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I'm going over to seek sorrow," said the -other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yure not goin' ter git fresh, an' slug the piker any, -air yew, John?" enquired the American anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Buck," was the reply. "I'm only going to -make an interestin' announcement," and, turning to -Rupert, he advised him not to identify himself with -any proceedings which might ensue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are hardly complimentary, Bull," commented -Rupert resentfully....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the three entered the Canteen, which was rapidly -filling up, they caught sight of Rivoli lolling against -the bar in his accustomed corner, and whispering -confidentially to Madame, during her intervals of -leisure. Pushing his way through the throng John -Bull, closely followed by his two friends, approached -the Neapolitan. His back was towards them. The -American, whose face wore an ugly look, touched -Rivoli with his foot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Makin' yure sweet self agreeable as usual, Loojey, -my dear?" he enquired, and proceeded with the -difficult task of making himself both sarcastic and -intelligible in the French language. The Italian -wheeled round with a scowl at the sound of the voice -he hated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull stepped forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have come for your answer, Rivoli," he said -quietly. "I wish to know when and with what -weapons you would prefer to fight me. Personally, -I don't care in the least what they are, so long as -they're fatal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A ring of interested listeners gathered round. The -Neapolitan laughed contemptuously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Weapons!" he growled. "A </span><em class="italics">fico</em><span> for weapons. -I'll twist your neck and break your back, if you trouble -me again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very good," replied the Englishman. "Now -listen, bully. We have had a little more than enough -of you. You take advantage of your strength to -terrorise men who are not street acrobats, and -professional weight-lifters. Now </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> am going to take -advantage of this, to terrorise </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>," and he produced -a small revolver from his pocket. "Now choose. Try -your blackguard-rush games and get a bullet through -your skull, or fight me like a man with any weapon -you prefer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An approving cheer broke from the quickly -increasing audience. The Italian moistened his lips -and glared round.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mais oui," observed Madame with cool impartiality, -"but that is a fair offer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As though stung by her remark, the Italian threw -himself into wrestling attitude and extended his -arms. John Bull moved only to extend his pistol-arm, -and Luigi Rivoli recoiled. Strangling men who -could not wrestle was one thing, being shot was quite -another. The thrice-accursed English dog had got -him nicely cornered. To raise a hand to him was to -die--better to face his enemy, himself armed than -unarmed. Better still to catch him unarmed and stamp -the life out of him. He must temporise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho-ho, Brave Little Man with a Pistol," he -sneered. "Behold the English hero who fears the -bare hands of no man--while he has a revolver in -his own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You miss the point, Rivoli," was the reply. "I -want nothing to do with you bare-handed. I want -you to choose any weapon you like to name," and -turning to the deeply interested crowd he raised his -voice a little:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentlemen of the Legion," he said, "I challenge -le Légionnaire Luigi Rivoli of the Seventh Company -of the First Battalion of La Légion Etrangère to fight -me with whatever weapon he prefers. We can use -our rifles; he can have the choice of the revolvers -belonging to me and my friend le Légionnaire -Bouckaing Bronceau; we can use our sword-bayonets; -we can get sabres from the Spahis; or it can be a -rifle-and-bayonet fight. He can choose time, place, -and weapon--and, if he will not fight, let him be known -as </span><em class="italics">Rivoli the Coward</em><span> as long as he pollutes our glorious -Regiment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ringing and repeated cheers greeted the longest -public speech that Sir Montague Merline had ever made.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A bitter sneer was frozen on Rivoli's white face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Galamatias!</em><span>" he laughed contemptuously, but -the laugh rang a little uncertain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame la Cantinière was charmed. She felt she -was falling in love with ce brave Jean Boule </span><em class="italics">au grand -galop</em><span>. This was a far finer man, and a far more suitable -husband for a hard-working Cantinière than that -lump of a Rivoli, with his pockets always </span><em class="italics">pleine de -vide</em><span> and his mouth always full of </span><em class="italics">langue vert</em><span>. A trifle -on the elderly side perhaps, but aristocrat </span><em class="italics">au bout -des ongles</em><span>. Yes, decidedly grey as to the hair, but -then, how nice to be an old man's darling!--and -Madame simpered, bridled and tried to blush.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak up thou, Rivoli," she cried sharply. "Do -not stand there like a </span><em class="italics">blanc bec</em><span> before a Sergeant-Major. -Speak, </span><em class="italics">bécasse</em><span>--or speak not again to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Neapolitan darted a glance of hatred at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Peace, fat sow," he hissed, and added unwisely--"You -wag your beard too much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In that moment vanished for ever all possibility -of Madame's trying an Italian husband. "Sow" -may be a term of endearment, but no gentleman -alludes to beards in the presence of a lady whose -chin does not betray her sex.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Turning to his enemy, Rivoli struck an attitude -and pointed to the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, dig your grave </span><em class="italics">ci-devant</em><span>," he said portentously, -"and I will kill you beside it, within the week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks," replied the Englishman, and invited his -friends to join him in a litre....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The barracks of the First Battalion of the Foreign -Legion hummed and buzzed that night, from end to -end, in a ferment of excitement over the two -tremendous items of most thrilling and exciting news, -to wit, that there was among them a sheep in wolf's -clothing--a girl in uniform--and, secondly, that there -was a duel toward, a duel in which no less a person -than the great Luigi Rivoli was involved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Cherchez la femme</em><span> was the game of the evening; -and the catch-word of the wits on encountering any -bearded and grisled </span><em class="italics">ancien</em><span> in corridor </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span>, -canteen, or staircase, was--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Art </span><em class="italics">thou</em><span> the girl, petite?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wrinkled old grey-beard, Tant-de-Soif, was -christened Bébé Fifinette, provided with a skirt -improvised from a blanket, and subjected to indignities.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-temptation-of-sir-montague-merline"><span class="large">CHAPTER VIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE TEMPTATION OF SIR MONTAGUE MERLINE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Il Signor Luigi Rivoli strode forth from the -Canteen in an unpleasant frame of mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Curse the Englishman!" he growled. "Curse that -hag behind the bar. Curse that Russian </span><em class="italics">ragazza</em><span>. -Curse that thrice-damned American...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In fact--curse everybody and everything. And -among them, Il Signor Luigi Rivoli cursed Carmelita -for not making a bigger financial success of her Café -venture, and saving a Neapolitan gentlemen from the -undignified and humiliating position of having to lay -siege to a cursed fat French </span><em class="italics">bitche</em><span>, to get a decent -living.... What a fool he'd been that evening! -He had lost ground badly with Madame, and he had -lost prestige badly with the Legionaries. He must -regain both as quickly as possible.... That accursed -English devil must meet with an accident within the -week. It would not be the first time by hundreds -that a Légionnaire had been stabbed in the back for -his sash and bayonet in the </span><em class="italics">Village Négre</em><span> and alleys -of the Ghetto.... A little job for Edouard Malvin, -or Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat. Yes, a knife in the back -would settle the Englishman's hash quite effectually, -and it would be the simplest thing in the world to -leave his body in one of those places to which -Legionaries are forbidden to go--for the very reason that -they are likely to remain in them for ever.... Curse -that old cow of the Canteen! Had he offended her -beyond hope of reconciliation? The Holy Saints -forbid, for the woman was positively wealthy. Well, -he must bring the whole battery of his blandishments -to bear and make one mighty effort to win her fortune, -hand and heart--in fact, he would give her an -ultimatum and settle things, one way or the other, for -Carmelita was beginning to show distinct signs of -restiveness. Curse Carmelita! He was getting very -weary of her airs and jealousies--a franc a day did -not pay for it all. As soon as things were happily -settled with Madame he would be able to sell his rights -and goodwill in Carmelita and her Café. But one must -not be precipitate. There must be no untimely killing -of geese that laid golden eggs. Carmelita must be -kept quiet until Madame's affair was settled. 'Twas -but a clumsy fool that would lose both the substance -and the shadow--both the Canteen and the Café. If -Madame returned an emphatic and final No, to his -ultimatum, the Café must suffice until something -better turned up. Luigi Rivoli and an unaugmented -halfpenny a day would be ill partners, and agree -but indifferently....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Revolving these things in his heart, the gentle -Luigi became conscious of a less exalted organ, and -bethought him of dinner, Chianti, and his cigar. He -turned in the direction of the Café de la Légion, his -usual excellent appetite perhaps a trifle dulled and -blunted by uncomfortable thoughts as to what might -happen should this grey English dog survive the week, -in spite of the attentions of Messieurs Malvin, Tou-tou, -et Cie. The choice between facing the rifle or revolver -of the Company marksman, or of being branded for -ever as </span><em class="italics">Rivoli the Coward</em><span> was an unpleasant one.... -Should he choose steel and have a dagger-fight with -sword-bayonets? No, he absolutely hated cold steel, -and his mighty strength would be almost as useless -to him as in a shooting-duel. Suppose he selected -sword-bayonets, to be used as daggers--held his in -his left hand, seized his enemy's right wrist, broke -his arm, and then made a wrestle of it after all? He -could strangle him or break his back with ease. And -suppose he missed his snatch at the Englishman's -wrist? The devil's bayonet would be through his -throat in a second! ... But why these vain and -discomforting imaginings? Ten francs would buy a -hundred bravos in the </span><em class="italics">Village Négre</em><span> and slums, if -Malvin failed him....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned into Carmelita's alley and entered the Café.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita, whose eyes had rarely left the door -throughout the evening, saw him as he entered, and -her face lit up as does a lantern when the wick is -kindled. Here was her noble and beautiful Luigi. -Away with all wicked doubts and fears. Even the -good Jean Boule was prejudiced against her Luigi -She would now hear his version of the discovery of -the Russian girl. How amused he would be to know -that she had guessed Mikhail's secret long ago.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rivoli passed behind the bar. Carmelita held open -the door of her room, and having closed it behind -him, turned and flung her arms round his neck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marito amato!" she murmured as she kissed him -again and again. How could she entertain these -doubts of her Luigi in his absence? She was a wicked, -wicked girl, and undeserving of her fortune in having -so glorious a mate. She decided to utter no reproaches -and ask no questions concerning the discovery of the -Russian girl. She would just tell him that she had -taken her in and that she counted on his help in keeping -the girl's secret and getting her away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Beloved and beautiful Luigi of my heart," she -said, as she placed a steaming dish of macaroni before -him, "I want your help once more. That poor, foolish, -little Mikhail Kyrilovitch has come and told me he is -in trouble, and begged my help. Fancy his thinking -he could lead the life that my Luigi leads--that of a -soldier of France's fiercest Regiment. Poor little fool.... -Guess where he is at this moment, Luigi."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With his mouth full, the noble Luigi intimated -that he knew not, cared not, and desired not to know.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will tell my lord," murmured Carmelita, bending -over his lordship's huge and brawny shoulder, and -kissing the tip of the ear into which she whispered, -"He is in my bed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Luigi had to think quickly. How much had the -Russian girl told of what had happened in the -wash-house? Nothing, or Carmelita would not be in this -frame of mind. What did Carmelita know? Did she -know that </span><em class="italics">he</em><span> knew? He sprang to his feet with an -oath, and a well-assumed glare of ferocity. He raised -his fist above his head, and by holding his breath, -contrived to induce a dark flush and raise the veins -upon his forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In your bed, </span><em class="italics">puttana</em><span>?" he hissed. (Carmelita was -overjoyed, Luigi was angered and jealous. Where -there is jealousy, there is love! Of course, Luigi loved -her as he had always done. How dared she doubt it? -Throwing her arms around his neck with a happy laugh, -she reassured her ruffled mate until he permitted himself -to calm down and resume his interrupted meal. Jean -Boule had lied to her! Luigi knew nothing!...) She -went to the bar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Curse this Russian anarchist! But for her he -would not have been in danger of losing Madame, nor -of finding a violent death. Curse Carmelita, the -stupid fool, for harbouring her. What should he -do? What could he say? If he thwarted Carmelita's -plan, she would think he desired the Russian -wench for himself, and fly into a rage. She would -be a very fiend from hell if she were jealous! A -pretty pass he would be brought to if both Canteen -and Café were closed to him! He had better walk -warily here, until he had ascertained the exact amount -of damage he had done by his most unwise allusion to -Madame's whiskers. (Never tell a cross-eyed man he -squints.) But he must get even with this Russian -she-devil who had thwarted him in the lavatory, struck -him across the face, humiliated him before the -Englishman, ruined his prestige with his comrades and -Madame, and brought him to the brink of an abyss -of danger.... He had an idea.... When Carmelita -came into the room again from the bar, she should -have the shock of her life, and the Russian </span><em class="italics">puttana</em><span>, -another. Also the over-clever Jean Boule should learn -that the race is not always to the slow, nor the battle -to the weak.... Carmelita entered. Picking up his -képi, he extended his arms, and with a smile of lofty -sadness, bade her come and kiss him while she -might....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">While she might</em><span>! Carmelita turned pale, and Doubt -again reared its horrid head. Was this his way of -beginning some tale concerning separation? Some -tale in which Madame la Cantinière's name would -appear sooner or later? By the Blessed Virgin and -the Holy Bambino, she would tear the eyes from -Luigi Rivoli's head, before they should look on that -French </span><em class="italics">meretrice</em><span> as his wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"While I may? Why do you say that, Luigi?" -she asked in a dead voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The ruffian felt uncomfortable as he watched those -great, black eyes blazing in the pinched, blanched -face, and realised that there were depths in Carmelita -that he had not sounded--and would be ill-advised -to sound. What a devil she looked! Luigi Rivoli -would do well to eat no food to which Carmelita -had had access, when once she knew the truth. Luigi -Rivoli would do well to watch warily, and, move -quickly, should Carmelita's hand go to the dagger -in her garter when he told her that he was thinking -of settling in life. In fact it was a question whether -his life would be safe, so long as Carmelita was in -Sidi-bel-Abbès, and he was the husband of Madame! -Another idea! </span><em class="italics">Madre de Dios</em><span>! A brilliant one. -Denounce Carmelita for aiding and abetting a deserter! -Two birds with one stone--Carmelita jailed and -deported, and the Russian recaptured--Luigi Rivoli -rid of a danger from the one, and gratified by a -vengeance on the other! As these thoughts flashed through -the Italian's evil mind, he maintained his pose, and -gently and sadly shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"While you may, indeed, my Carmelita," he -murmured, and produced the first of his brilliant -ideas. "While you may. Do not think I reproach you, -Carmelita, for you have acted but in accordance with -the dictates of your warm young heart in taking in -this girl. How were </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> to know that this would -involve me in a duel to the death with the finest shot -in the Nineteenth Division, the most famous marksman -in the army of Africa?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" gasped Carmelita.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I say, my poor girl," was the reply, uttered -with calm dignity. "Your English friend, this Jean -Boule, who fears to meet me face to face, and man -to man, with Nature's weapons, has forced a quarrel -on me over this Russian girl. He challenged me in -the Canteen this night, and I, who could break him -like a dried stick, must stand up to be shot by him, -like a dog.... I do not blame </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>, Carmelita. How -were you to know?..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita suddenly sat down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not understand," she whispered and sat agape.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Englishman owns this girl...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He brought her here," Carmelita interrupted, -nodding her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha! I guessed it.... Yes, he owns her, and -when I discovered the shameless </span><em class="italics">puttana's</em><span> sex he drew -a pistol on me, an innocent, unarmed man.... Did he -tell you it was I who found the shameful hussy out? -What could I do against him empty-handed? ... And -now I must fight him--and he can put a bullet where -he will.... So kiss me, while you may, Carmelita."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a low cry the girl sprang into his arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My love! My love! My husband!" she wailed, -and Luigi hoped that she would release her clasp -from about his neck in time for him to avoid -suffocation.... Curse all women--they were the cause of -nine-tenths of the sorrows of mankind. But one could -not do without them.... Suddenly Carmelita started -back, and clapped her hands with a cry of glee. "The -Holy Virgin be praised! I have it! I have it! Unless -Légionnaire Jean Boule confesses his fault and begs -my Luigi's pardon--out into the gutter goes his -Russian mistress," and Carmelita pirouetted with -joy.... Thank God! Thank God! Here was a -solution, and she embraced her lover again and again. -Luigi's face was wreathed in smiles. </span><em class="italics">Excellente</em><span>! -That would do the trick admirably, and the -thrice-accursed, and ten-times-too-clever English -</span><em class="italics">aristocratico</em><span> should publicly apologise, if he wished to save -his mistress.... Yes, that would be very much -pleasanter than a mere stab-in-the-back revenge, as -well as safer. There is always some slight risk, even in -Sidi-bel-Abbès, about arranging a murder, and -blackmail is always unpleasant--for the blackmailed. -Ho-ho! Ho-ho! Only to think of the cold and haughty -Englishman publicly apologising and begging Luigi, -of his mercifulness, to cancel the duel. </span><em class="italics">Corpo di Bacco</em><span>, -he should do it on his knees. "Rivoli the Coward," -forsooth, and what of "Jean Boule the Coward," -after this? ... Yes; Jean Boule defeated, the Russian -girl denounced when clear of Carmelita's Café, if Madame -proved unkind, and denounced in the Café together with -Carmelita if Madame accepted him. He himself need not -appear personally in the matter at all. And when -Carmelita was jailed or deported, and the Russian girl -sent to Biribi, or turned into a </span><em class="italics">figlia del reggimento</em><span>, the -Englishman should still get it in the back one dark -night--and Signor Luigi Rivoli would wax fat behind -Madame's bar, until his five years' service was -completed and he could live happy ever after, upon the -earnings of Madame....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stroking her hair, he smiled superior upon Carmelita.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A clever thought, my little one," he murmured, -"and bravely meant, but your Luigi's days are -numbered. Would that proud, cold </span><em class="italics">aristocratico</em><span> eat -the words he shouted before half the Company? No! -He will leave the girl to shift for herself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita's face fell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not say so," she begged. "No! No! He -would not do that. You know how these English -treat women. You know the sort of man this Jean -Boule is," and for a moment, involuntarily, Carmelita -contrasted her Luigi with Il Signor Jean Boule in -the matter of their chivalry and honour, and ere she -could thrust the thought from her mind, she had -realised the comparison to be unfavourable to her lover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Luigi," she said, "I feel it in my heart that, since -the Englishman has said that he will save his mistress, -he will do it at any cost whatsoever to himself.... -Go, dearest Luigi, go now, and I will send to him, -and say I must see him at once. He will surely come, -thinking that I send on behalf of this Russian fool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And with a last vehement embrace and burning -kiss, she thrust him before her into the bar and watched -him out of the Café.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Le Légionnaire Jean Boule was not among the score -or so of Legionaries who sat drinking at the little -tables, nor were either of his friends. Whom could -she send? Was that funny English </span><em class="italics">ribaldo</em><span>, Légionnaire -Erbiggin, there? ... No.... Ah!--There sat the -poor Grasshopper. He would do. She made her way -with laugh and jest and badinage to where he sat, -</span><em class="italics">faisant Suisse</em><span> as usual.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bonsoir, cher Monsieur Cigale," she said. "Would -you do me a kindness?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Grasshopper rose, thrust his hands up the sleeves -of his tunic as far as his elbows, bowed three times, -and then knelt upon the ground and smote it thrice -with his forehead. Rising, he poured forth a torrent -of some language entirely unknown to Carmelita.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak French or Italian, cher Monsieur Cigale," -she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A thousand pardons, Signora," replied the -Grasshopper. "But you will admit it is not usual for a -Mandarin of the Highest Button to speak French. I was -saying that the true kindness would be your allowing -me to do you a kindness. May I doom your </span><em class="italics">wonk</em><span>[#] of -an enemy to the death of the Thousand Cuts?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Chinese pariah dog.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Not this evening, dear Mandarin, thank you," -replied Carmelita; "but you can carry a message of -the highest military importance. It is well known that -you are a soldier of soldiers, and have never yet failed -in any military duty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Mandarin bowed thrice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you go straight and find le Légionnaire Jean -Boule of your Company, and tell him to come to me -at once. Say Carmelita sent you and tell him you have -the countersign:--'Our Ally, Russia, is in danger!'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am honoured and I fly," was the reply. "I will -send no official of the Yamen, but go myself. Should -the Po Sing, they of the Hundred Names, the [Greek: </span><em class="italics">hoi -polloi</em><span>], beset my path I will cry, '</span><em class="italics">Sha! Sha!</em><span>--Kill! -Kill!--and scatter them before me. Should the </span><em class="italics">kwei -tzu</em><span>, the Head Dragon from Hell, or the Military Police -(and they are </span><em class="italics">tung yen</em><span> you know--of the same race -and tarred with the same brush) impede me, they too -shall die the death of the Wire Net," and the -Grasshopper placed his képi on his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita knew that John Bull would be with her -that evening, and that the risk of eight days' </span><em class="italics">salle de -police</em><span>, for being out after tattoo, would not deter him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a fever of anxiety, impatience, hope and fear, -Carmelita paced up and down behind her bar, like -a panther in its cage. One thought shone brightly -on the troubled turmoil of her soul. Luigi loved her -still; Luigi so loved her that he had been ready to -strike her dead as the tide of jealousy surged in his -soul. That was the sort of love that Carmelita -understood. Let him take her by the throat until she -choked--let him seize her by the hair and drag her round -the room--let him stab her in the breast, so it be for -jealousy. Better Luigi's knife in Carmelita's throat -than Luigi's lips on Madame's face. Thank God! -Luigi had suffered those pangs--on hearing of a -Russian boy in her room--that she herself had suffered -on hearing Malvin and the rest couple Luigi's name -with Madame's. Thank God! that Luigi knew jealousy -even as she did herself. Where there is jealousy, -there is love....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then Carmelita struck her forehead with her -clenched fists and laid her head upon her folded arms -with a piteous groan. Luigi had been acting. Luigi -had </span><em class="italics">pretended</em><span> that jealousy of the Russian. Luigi -knew Mikhail Kyrilovitch was a girl--he had fooled -her, and once again doubt raised its cruel head in -Carmelita's poor distracted mind. "Oh Luigi! -Luigi!" she sobbed beneath her breath. And then -again a ray of comfort--the </span><em class="italics">bambino</em><span>. Merciful Mother -of God grant that it might be true, and that her bright -and golden hopes were based on more solid foundation -than themselves. Why had she not told him that -evening? But no, she was glad she hadn't. She would -keep the wonderful secret until such moment as it -really seemed to her that it should be produced as -the gossamer fairy chain, weightless but unbreakable, -that should bind them together, then and forever, -in its indissoluble bonds. Yes, she must force herself -to believe devoutly and implicitly in the glorious and -beautiful secret, and she must treasure it up as long -as possible and whisper it in Luigi's ear if it should -ever seem that, for a moment, her Luigi strayed from -the path of justice and honesty to his unwedded wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Faith again triumphed over Doubt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>These others were jealous of her Luigi, or mistook -his natural and beautiful politeness to Madame, for -overtures and love-making. Could not her Luigi -converse with, and smile upon, Madame la Cantinière -without setting all their idle and malicious tongues -clacking and wagging? As for this Russian wretch, -Luigi had given her no more thought than to the dust -beneath his feet, and she should go forth into the gutter, -in Carmelita's night-shift, before her protector should -injure a hair of Luigi's head. She was surprised at -Jean Boule, but there--men were all alike, all except -her Luigi, that is. How deceived she had been in the -kindly old Englishman! ... Fancy coming to her -with their cock-and-bull story....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The voice of the man of whom she was thinking -broke in upon her reverie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, little one? Nothing wrong about Olga?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in here, Signor Jean Boule," said Carmelita, -and led the way into her room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Englishman involuntarily glanced round the -little sanctum into which no man save Luigi Rivoli -had been known to penetrate, and noted the clean -tablecloth, the vase with its bunch of krenfell and -oleander flowers, the tiny, tidy dressing table, the -dilapidated chest of drawers, bright oleographs, -cheap rug, crucifix and plaster Madonna--a room -still suggestive of Italy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Turning, Carmelita faced the Englishman and -pointed an accusing finger at his face, her great black -eyes staring hard and straight into the narrowed -blue ones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Signor Jean Boule," she said, "you have played -a trick on me; you have deceived me; you have -killed my faith in Englishmen--yes, in all men--except -my Luigi. Why did you bring your mistress -to me and beg my help while you knew you meant -to kill my husband, because he had found you out? -Oh, Monsieur Jean Boule--but you have hurt me so. -And I had thought you like a father--so good a man, -yes, like a holy padre, a </span><em class="italics">prête</em><span>. Oh, Signor Jean Boule, -are you like those others, loving wickedly, killing -wickedly? Are there </span><em class="italics">no</em><span> good honest men--except -my Luigi?..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Englishman shifted uncomfortably from foot -to foot, twisting his képi in his fingers, a picture of -embarrassment and misery. How could he persuade -this girl that the man was a double-dealing, villainous -blackguard? And if he could do so, why should he? -Why destroy her faith and her happiness together? -If this hound failed in his attempt upon the celibacy -of Madame, he would very possibly marry the girl, -and, in his own interests, treat her decently. -Apparently he had kept her love for years--why should -she not go on worshipping the man she believed her -lover to be, until the end? But no, it was absurd. -How should Luigi Rivoli ever treat a woman decently? -Sooner or later he was certain to desert her. What -would Carmelita's life be when Luigi Rivoli had the -complete disposal of it? Sooner or later she must know -what he was, and better sooner than later. A thousand -times better that she should find him out now, while -there was a risk of his marrying her.... It would -be a really good deed to save Carmelita from the -clutches of Luigi Rivoli. Stepping toward her, he -laid his hands upon the girl's shoulders and gazed into -her eyes with that look which he was wont to fasten -upon the Grasshopper to soothe and influence him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen to me, Carmelita," he said, "and be -perfectly sure that every word I say to you is absolutely -true.... I did not know that Mikhail Kyrilovitch -was a woman more than half an hour before you did. -I only knew it when she rushed to me for protection -from Luigi Rivoli, who had discovered her and behaved -to her like the foul beast he is. I have challenged him -to fight me in the only way in which it is possible for -me to fight him, and I mean to kill him. I am going -to kill him partly for your sake, partly for my own, -and partly for that of every wretched recruit and -decent man in the Company."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita drew back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Coward!" she hissed. "You only dare face my -Luigi with a gun in your hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not a coward, Carmelita. It is Rivoli who -is the coward. He is by far the strongest man in the -Regiment, and is a professional wrestler. He trades -on this to bully and terrorise all who do not become -his servants. He is a brutal ruffian, and he is a coward, -for he would do anything rather than meet me in -fair fight. He is only a </span><em class="italics">risquetout</em><span> where there are no -weapons and the odds are a hundred to one in his -favour.... If I hear one more word about my -trading on my marksmanship, he shall fight me with -revolvers across a handkerchief. Besides, I have told -him he can choose any weapon in the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now hear </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>," replied Carmelita, "and I -would say it if it were my last word. Either you take -all that back and apologise to my Luigi, or out into -the night goes this Russian girl," and she pointed with -the dramatic gesture of the excited Southerner to the -</span><em class="italics">bassourab</em><span>-cloth which screened off the little inner -chamber which was just big enough to hold Carmelita's bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Englishman started.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't mean that, Carmelita!" he asked anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl laughed bitterly, cruelly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think a thousand Russians would weigh -with me against one hair of my husband's head?" -she answered. "Give me your solemn promise now -and here, or I will do more than throw her out, I -will denounce her. I will give her to the Turcos and -Spahis. I will have her dragged to the Village Négre."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush! Carmelita. I am ashamed of you. Are you -mad?" said John Bull sternly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sorry," was the reply. "Yes, I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> mad, -Signor Jean Boule. I am being driven mad by this -horrible plot against my Luigi. Why are you all his -enemies? It is because you are jealous of him and -because you fear him--but you shall not hurt him. -This, at least, I say and mean: Take the Russian girl -away with you now, or promise me you will never fight -my husband with lead or steel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot promise it, Carmelita. I have challenged -Rivoli publicly and must fight him. To draw out now -would brand me as a coward, would make him twice -the bully he is, and would be a cruelty to you.... -You ask too much, you ask an impossibility. I must -make some other plan for Olga Kyrilovitch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita staggered, and stared open-mouthed. -She could not believe her ears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" she gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The girl must go elsewhere," repeated the Englishman. -Carmelita appeared to be about to faint. Could -he mean it? Was it possible? Was her brilliant -plan failing?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you lend the girl some clothes?" asked John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Most certainly will I not," she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then please go and tell her to dress again in -uniform," was the answer, as he pointed to the uniform -lying folded on a chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And will you ruin her chance of escape, Signor -Jean Boule?" asked Carmelita. "Is </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> how -Englishmen treat women who throw themselves on their -mercy? Do you put your own vengeance before her -safety and honour and life?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Carmelita, I do not," answered the man. "I -am in a terrible position, and am going to choose -the lesser of two evils. It is better that I take the girl -away and help her brother to desert with her, than -let Rivoli wreck your life, break your heart, and doubly -regain the bully's prestige and power to make weaker -comrades' lives a misery and a burden. He, at any -rate, shall be the cause of no more suicides."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita flung herself upon the hideous horsehair -couch and burst into a torrent of hysterical tears. -What could she say to this hard, cold man? What -could she do? What </span><em class="italics">could</em><span> she do?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull, suffering acutely as he had ever -suffered in his life, stood silent, and wondered how -far the wish was father to the thought that, in -this ghastly dilemma, it was his duty to stand firm -in his attitude toward Rivoli. For once, the thing he -longed to do was the right thing to do, and the course -which he would loathe to follow was the wrong course -for him to pursue. Olga Kyrilovitch had brought her -fate upon herself, and he had no more responsibility -to her than the common duty of lending a helping -hand to a neighbour in trouble. Had there been no -other consideration, he would have helped her to the -utmost of his power, without counting cost or risk. -When it came to a clear choice between saving -Carmelita, protecting recruits, making a stand for -self-respect and decency, and redeeming his own word -and honour and reputation on the one hand, and, on -the other hand, helping this rash and lawless Russian -girl, there could be no hesitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita sprang to her feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will denounce her," she cried. "I will throw -open those shutters and scream and scream until -there is a crowd, and they shall have her in her -nightdress. </span><em class="italics">Now</em><span> will you spare my husband?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll do nothing of the kind," answered John -Bull calmly. "You know you would regret it -all the days of your life. Is this Italian hospitality, -womanliness, and honour? Be ashamed of yourself, -to talk so. Be fair. Be just. Who needs protection -most--your bully, or this wretched girl?" and here -Legionary John Bull showed more than his wonted -wisdom in dealing with women. Stepping up to -Carmelita he seized her by the shoulders and shook -her somewhat sharply, saying as he did so, "And -understand once and for all, little fool, I keep my -promise to Luigi Rivoli--whatever you do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In return for her shaking, the surprising Carmelita -smiled up into the old soldier's face, and clasped her -hands behind his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Jean Boule," she said, "I think I would -have loved my father like I love you--but how you -try to hide the soft, kind heart with the hard, cruel -face!" and Carmelita gave John Bull the first kiss -he had received for over a quarter of a century.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He pushed her from him roughly. Carmelita was -glad. This was a thousand times better than that -glacial immobility. This meant that he was moved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Save Olga's life, Babbo," she whispered coaxingly. -"Save Olga and make me happy. Don't ruin two -women for fear men should not think you brave. Who -doubts the courage of the man who wears the </span><em class="italics">médaille</em><span>? -The man who had the courage to challenge Luigi Rivoli -can have the courage to withdraw it if it suits him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The man who killed Luigi Rivoli would be your -best friend, Carmelita," was the reply, "and Olga -Kyrilovitch must be saved in some other way. I must -keep my word. It is due to others as well as to myself -that I do so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two regarded each other without realising -that it was across an abyss of immeasurable width -and unfathomable depth. He was a man, she was a -woman; he a Northerner, she a Southerner. To him -honour came first; and without love there could be, -she thought, neither honour nor happiness nor life itself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How should these two understand each other, these -two whose souls spoke languages differing as widely -as those spoken by their tongues? The woman -understood and appreciated the rectitude and honour of -the man as little as he realised and fathomed the depth -and overwhelming intensity of her love and devotion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita now made a great mistake and took a -false step--a mistake which turned to her advantage -and a false step which led whither she so yearned to -go. For Luigi's sake she played the temptress. In -defence of her virtue let it be said that, as once before, -she believed that her Luigi's life was actually at -stake; in defence of her judgment, let it be -remembered that she had grown up in a hard school, and had -reason to believe that no man does something for -nothing where a woman is concerned. She advanced -with her bewitching smile, took the Englishman's -face between her hands, drew his head down and kissed -him upon the lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Englishman blushed as he returned her -kiss, and laughed to find himself blushing as the thought -struck him that he might have had a daughter older -than Carmelita. The girl misunderstood the kiss and -smile. Alas! all men were alike in one thing and the -best were like the worst. She put her lips to his ear -and whispered....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull drew back. Placing his hands upon -the girl's shoulders, he gazed into her eyes. -Carmelita blushed painfully, and dropped her eyes -before the man's searching stare. She heaved a sobbing -sigh. Yes, all alike, all had their price--and any pretty -woman could pay it. All alike--even grey-haired, -kind old Babbo Jean Boule, who looked as though he -might be her grandfather.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She felt his hand beneath her chin, raising her face -to his. Again he gazed into her eyes and slowly shook -his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And is this what men and Life have taught you, -Carmelita?" he said....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A horrid fear gripped Carmelita's heart. Could she -be wrong? Could she have offered herself in vain? -Could this man's pride and hatred be so great that -the bribe was not enough?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you would do this--</span><em class="italics">you</em><span>, Carmelita; for -that filthy blackguard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would do anything for my Luigi. Sell me his -life and I will pay you now, the highest price a woman -can. Kiss me on the lips, dear Monsieur Jean, and I -will trust you to keep your part of the bargain--never -to fight nor attack my Luigi with a weapon in -your hand. Kiss me! Kiss me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Englishman drew the pleading girl to him -and kissed her on the forehead. She flung her arms -around his neck in a transport of joy and relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will sell me my Luigi's life?" she cried. "Oh -praise and thanks to the Mother of God. You </span><em class="italics">will</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will </span><em class="italics">give</em><span> you your Luigi's life," said Sir Montague -Merline, and went out.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-cafe-and-the-canteen"><span class="large">CHAPTER IX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE CAFÉ AND THE CANTEEN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As the door closed behind the departing John -Bull, the heavy </span><em class="italics">purdah</em><span> between the sitting-room -and the tiny side-chamber or alcove in which -was Carmelita's bed, was pushed aside, and Olga -Kyrilovitch, barefooted and dressed in night attire -belonging to Carmelita, entered the room. On -the sofa lay Carmelita sobbing, her hands pressed -over her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Looking more boy-like than ever, with her short -hair, the Russian girl advanced noiselessly and shook -Carmelita sharply by the shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You fool," she hissed between clenched teeth. -"You stupid fool. You blind, stubborn, hopeless -</span><em class="italics">fool</em><span>!" Carmelita sat up. This was language she could -understand, and a situation with which she could -deal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" she replied without resentment, "and why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Those two men.... Compare them... I heard -every word--I could not help it. I could not come -out--I should not have been safe, even with you here, -with that vile, filthy Italian in the room, nor could I -come, for shame, like this, while the Englishman was -here.... </span><em class="italics">Why did you let him say he does not love -me?</em><span>" and the girl burst into tears. Carmelita stared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oho! you love him, do you?" quoth she.... -"Then if you know what love is, why do you abuse -the man </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl raised her impassioned tear-stained face -to Carmelita's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will nothing persuade you, little fool?" she cried, -"that that Italian beast no more loves you than--than -Jean Boule loves me--that he is playing with you, -that he is battening on you, and that, the moment -the fat Canteen woman accepts him, he will marry -her and you will see him no more? Why should Jean -Boule lie to you? Why should the American? Why -should I?--Ask any Legionary in Sidi."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita clenched her little fist and appeared to -be about to strike the Russian girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop!" continued Olga, and pointed to the -uniform which lay folded on the chair. "See! Prove -your courage and prove us all liars if you can. Put -on that uniform, disguise yourself, and go to the -Canteen any night in the week. If your Rivoli is not -there behind the bar, hand-in-glove with Madame, -turn me into the street--or leave me at the mercy of -your Rivoli. There now...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I will</em><span>," said Carmelita, and then screamed and -laughed, laughed and screamed, as her overwrought -nerves and brain gave way in a fit of hysterics.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she recovered, Olga Kyrilovitch discovered -that the seed which she had sown had taken root, and -that it was Carmelita's unalterable intention to pay -a visit to the Canteen on the very next evening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For my Luigi's own sake I will spy upon him," -she said, "and to prove all his vile accusers wrong. -When I have done it I will confess to him with tears -and throw myself at his feet. He shall do as he likes -with me.... But he will understand that it was -only to disprove these lies that I did it, and not because -I for one moment doubted him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But doubt him Carmelita did. As soon as her -decision was taken and announced, she allowed Olga -to talk on as she pleased, and insensibly came to -realise that at the bottom of her heart she knew John -Bull to be incapable of deceiving her. Why should he? -Why should all the Legionaries, except Rivoli's own -hirelings, take up the same attitude towards him? -Why should there be no man to speak well of him save -such men as Borges, Hirsch, Bauer, Malvin, and the -others, all of whom carried their vileness in their -faces? As her doubts and fears increased, so did her -wrath and excitement, until she strode up and down -the little room like a caged pantheress, and Olga -feared for her sanity and her own safety. And then -again, Love would triumph, and she would beat her -breast and wildly reproach herself for her lack of -faith, and overwhelm Olga with a deluge of -vituperation and accusation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At length came the relief of quiet weeping, and, -having whispered to Olga her Great Secret, or rather -her hopes of having one to tell, she sobbed herself -to sleep on the girl's shoulder, to dream of the most -wonderful of </span><em class="italics">bambinos</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, John Bull spent one of the wretchedest -evenings of a wretched life. Returning to his -</span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span> to find himself hailed and acclaimed -"hero," he commenced at once, with his usual -uncompromising directness and simplicity, to inform -all and sundry, who mentioned the subject, that there -would be no duel. It hurt him most of all to see the -face of his friend Rupert fall and harden, as he informed -him that he could not fight Rivoli after all. On his -explaining the position to him, Reginald Rupert, -decidedly shocked, remarked--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Your</em><span> business, of course," and privately wondered -whether </span><em class="italics">les beaux yeux</em><span> of Carmelita, or of Olga, had -shed the light in which his friend had come to see -things so differently. Surely, Carmelita's best friend -would be the person who saved her from Rivoli; and, -if it were really Olga whom Bull were considering, there -were more ways of killing a cat than choking it with -melted butter. Anyhow, he didn't envy John Bull, -nor yet the weaker vessels of the Seventh Company. -What would John Bull do, if, on hearing of his change -of mind, Rivoli simply took him and put him across -his knee? Would his promise to Carmelita sustain -him through that or similar indignities? After all, -a challenge is a challenge; and some people would -consider that the prior engagement to Rivoli could not -in honour be cancelled afterwards by an engagement -with Carmelita or anybody else.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No. To the young mind of Rupert this was not -"the clean potato," and he was disappointed in his -friend. As they undressed, in silence, an idea struck -him, and he turned to that gentleman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say, look here, Bull, old chap," quoth he. "You'll -of course do as you think best in the matter, and so -shall I. I'm going to challenge Rivoli myself. I shall -follow your admirable example and challenge him -publicly, and I shall add point to it by wasting a litre -of wine on his face, which I shall also smack with -what violence I may. I am not Company Marksman -like you, but, as Rivoli knows, I am a First Class shot. -I shall say I have been brooding over his breaking -my back, and now want to fight him on even terms."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A look of pain crossed the face of the old soldier.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rupert," he said, rising and laying his hand on -his friend's shoulder, "you'll do nothing of the kind.... -Not, that is, if you value my friendship in the -least, or have the slightest regard for me. Do you not -understand that I have given Carmelita my word -that I will neither fight Rivoli with a weapon in my -hand, nor attack him with one? Would she not -instantly and naturally suppose that I had got you -to do it </span><em class="italics">for</em><span> me? ... Would anything persuade her -to the contrary?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is he to go unpunished then? Is he to ride roughshod -over us all? He'll be ten times worse than before. -You know he'll ascribe your withdrawal to cowardice--and -so will everybody else," was the reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They will," agreed John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's to be done then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know, but I'll tell you what is not to be -done. No friend of mine is to challenge Rivoli to a -duel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bucking Bronco entered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, John," he drawled, "I jest bin and beat up -Mister Mounseer Malvin, I hev'. 'Yure flappin' yure -mouth tew much,' I ses. '</span><em class="italics">Vous frappez votre bouche -trop</em><span>,' I ses. 'Yew come off it, me lad,' I ses. 'Yew -jes' wipe off yure chin some. </span><em class="italics">Effacez votre menton</em><span>,' I -ses. Then I slugs him a little one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was it all about, Buck?" enquired Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do yew know what the little greasy tin-horn of -a hobo was waggin' his chin about? Sed as haow -yew was </span><em class="italics">a-climbin' down and a-takin' back the challenge -to our Loojey</em><span>! I told him ef he didn't wipe off his -chin and put some putty on his gas-escape I'd do -five-spot in Biribi fer him. 'Yes, Mounseer Malvin,' -I ses when I'd slugged him, 'I'll git the </span><em class="italics">as de pique</em><span>[#] -on my collar for yew!' ... '</span><em class="italics">It's true</em><span>,' he snivelled. -'</span><em class="italics">It's true</em><span>,' and lays on the groun' so as I shan't slug -him agin. So I comes away--not seein' why I should -do the two-step on nuthin' at the end of a rope for -a dod-gasted little bed-bug like Mounseer Malvin."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Mark of the Zephyrs.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"It </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> true, Buck," replied John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well then, I wisht I'd stayed and plugged him -some more," was the remarkable reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rivoli told Carmelita about the duel, and I've -promised her I'd let him go," continued John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then yure a gosh-dinged fool, John," said the -Bucking Bronco. "Yew ain't to be trusted where -wimmin's about. It would hev' bin the best day's -work yew ever done fer Carmelita ef you'd let daylight -through thet plug-ugly old bluff. He'll lie ter her -from Revelley to Taps[#] until old Mother Canteen -takes him into her shebang fer good--and then as -like as not, he'll put Carmelita up at auction.... -There'll be no holding our Loojey now, John. I -should smile. Anybody as thinks our Loojey'll make -it easy fer yew has got another think comin'. It's a -cinch. He'll give yew a dandy time, John. What's -a-bitin' yew anyway?"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Last Post. So called (in the American Army) because it is the -signal to leave the Canteen and turn off the beer-taps.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Carmelita," was the reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I allow the right stunt fer eny pal o' Carmelita's -is ter fill our Loojey up with lead as you perposed ter -do.... Look at here, John. </span><em class="italics">I'll</em><span> do it. I could hit -all Loojey's buttons with my little gun, one after -the other, at thirty yards--and I'd done it long ago, -but I know'd it meant the frozen mit fer mine from -Carmelita, and I wasn't man enuff ter kill him fer -Carmelita's good and make my name mud to her fer keeps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Same thing now, Buck," was the answer. "Challenge -Luigi, and you can never set foot in the Café -de la Légion again. If you killed him--it would be -Carmelita's duty in life to find you and stab you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure thing, John--an' what about yew? Ef our -Looj was to be 'Rivoli the Coward' ef he wouldn't -fight, who's to be 'coward' now? ... Yew've bitten -off more'n yew can chew."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anyhow, Buck, if you're any friend of mine--you'll -let Rivoli alone. </span><em class="italics">Qui facit per alium facit per -se</em><span>, and that's Dutch for 'I might as well kill Rivoli -with my own hand as kill him through yours.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bucking Bronco broke into song--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"But serpose an' serpose,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Yure Hightaliand lad shouldn't die?</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Nor the bagpipes shouldn't play o'er him</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Ef I punched him in the eye!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>chanted he, as he placed his beloved "gun"--an -automatic pistol--under his pillow. "I'll beat him -up, Johnnie. Fer Carmelita's sake I ain't shot him up, -an' fer her sake and yourn I won't shoot him up now, -but the very first time as he flaps his mouth about this -yer dool, I'll beat him up--and there'll be </span><em class="italics">some</em><span> fight," -and the Bucking Bronco dived into his "flea-bag."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next day the news spread throughout the </span><em class="italics">caserne</em><span> -of the First Battalion of the Legion that the promised -treat was off, the duel between the famous Luigi -Rivoli and the Englishman, John Bull, would not -take place, the latter, in spite of the publicity and -virulence of his challenge, having apologised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The news was ill received. In the first place the -promise of a brilliant break in the monotony of Depôt -life was broken. In the second place, the undisputed -reign of a despotic and brutal tyrant would continue -and grow yet heavier and more insupportable; while, -in the third place, it was not in accordance with the -traditions of the Legion that a man should fiercely -challenge another in public, and afterwards apologise -and withdraw. Italian shares boomed and shot -sky-high, while John Bulls became a drug in the market.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That evening the Bucking Bronco, for the first time -in his life, received a message from Carmelita, a -message which raised him to the seventh heaven of -expectation and hope, while the sanguine blood -coursed merrily through his veins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita wanted him. At five o'clock without -fail, Carmelita would expect him at the Café. She -needed his help and relied upon him for it.... -</span><em class="italics">Gee</em><span>-whillikins! She should have it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At half-past five that evening, the Bucking Bronco -entered le Café de la Légion and stared in amazement -at seeing a strange Legionary behind Carmelita's bar. -He was a small, slight man in correct walking-out -dress--a blue tunic, red breeches and white spats. His -képi was pulled well down over a small, intelligent -face, the most marked features of which were very -broad black eyebrows, and a biggish dark moustache. -The broad chin-strap of the képi was down, and pressed -the man's chin up under the large moustache beneath -which the strap passed. The soldier had a squint -and the Bucking Bronco had always experienced a -dislike and distrust of people so afflicted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' what'n Hell are </span><em class="italics">yew</em><span> a-doin' thar, yew swivel-eyed -tough?" he enquired, and repeated his enquiry -in Legion French.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Legionary laughed--a ringing peal which was -distinctly familiar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't yew git fresh with me, Bo, or I'll come roun' -thar an' improve yure squint till you can see in each -ear-'ole," said the American, trying to "place" -the man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again the incongruous tinkling peal rang out and -the Bucking Bronco received the shock of his life -as Carmelita's voice issued through the big moustache. -Words failed him as he devoured the girl with his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear Monsieur Bouckaing Bronceau," said she. -"Will you walk out to-night with the youngest -recruit in the Legion?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bronco still stared agape.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am in trouble," continued Carmelita, "and I -turn to you for help."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The light of hope shone in the American's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Poker!" said he. "God bless yure sweet -eyes, fer sayin' so, Carmelita. But why </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>? Have yew -found yure Loojey out, at last? Why me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I turn to you for help, Monsieur Bronco," said the -girl, "because you have told me a hundred times that -you love me. Love gives. It is not always asking, -asking, asking. Now give me your help. I want to get -at the truth. I want to clear a good and honest man -from a web of lies. Take me to the Canteen with you -to-night. They say my Luigi goes there to see Madame -la Cantinière. They say he flirts and drinks with her, -that he helps her there, and serves behind her bar. -They even dare to say that he asks her to marry -him...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's true," interrupted the Bucking Bronco.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well--then take me there now. My Luigi -has sworn to me a hundred times that he never sets -foot in Madame's Canteen, that he would not touch -her filthy Algerian wine--my Luigi who drinks only -the best Chianti from Home. Take me there and prove -your lies. Take me now, and either you and your -friends, or else Luigi Rivoli, shall never cross my -threshold again." Carmelita's voice was rising, tears -were starting to her eyes, and her bosom rose and fell -as no man's ever did.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Easy, honey," said the big American. "Ef yure -gwine ter carry on right here, what'll you do in the -Canteen when yew see yure Loojey right thar doin' -bar-tender fer the woman he's a-doin' his damnedest -to marry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Do?</em><span>" answered Carmelita in a low tense voice. -"Do? I would be cold as ice. I would be still and -hard as one of the statues in my own Naples. All -Hell would be in my breast, but a Hell of frozen fire -do you understand, and I would creep away. Like -a silent spirit I would creep away--but I would be -a spirit of vengeance. To Monsieur Jean Boule would -I go and I would say, 'Kill him! Kill him! For the -love of God and the Holy Virgin and the Blessed -Bambino, </span><em class="italics">kill</em><span> him--and let me come and stamp upon -his face.' That is what I would say, Monsieur Bronco."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The American covered the girl's small brown hand -with his huge paw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Carmelita, honey," he whispered. "Don't go, -little gel--don't go. May I be struck blind and balmy -right hyar, right naow, ef I tell you a word of a lie. -Every night of his life he's thar, afore he comes down -hyar with lies on his lips to yew. Don't go. Take my -word fer it, an' John Bull's word, and young Rupert's -word. They're White Men, honey, they wouldn't -lie ter yew. Believe what we tell yew, and give ole -John Bull back his promise, an' let him shoot-up this -low-lifer rattlesnake...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will see with my own eyes," said Carmelita--adding -with sound feminine logic, "and if he's not -there to-night, I'll know that you have all lied to -me, and that he never was there--and never, never, -never again shall one of you enter my house, or my -Legionaries shall nail you by the ears to the wall -with their bayonets.... Shame on me, to doubt my -Luigi for a moment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The American gave way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on then, little gel," he said. "P'raps it's -fer the best."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">§2</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Entering the Canteen that evening for his modest -litre, 'Erb caught sight of his good friend, the Bucking -Bronco, seated beside a Legionary whom 'Erb did -not know. The American beckoned and 'Erb emitted -a joyous sound to be heard more often in the Ratcliffe -Highway than in the wilds of Algeria. Apparently -his pal's companion was, or had been, in funds, for -his head reposed upon his folded arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wotto, Bucko!" exclaimed the genial 'Erb. "We -a-goin' to ketch this pore bloke's complaint? Luvvus! -Wish I got enuff to git as ill as wot 'e is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down t'other side of him, 'Erb," responded -the American. "We may hev' to help the gay-cat -to bed. He's got a jag. Tight as a tick--an' lef me -in the lurch with two-francs' worth to drink up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bless 'is 'eart," exclaimed 'Erb. "I dunno -wevver 'e's a-drinkin' to drahn sorrer or wevver he's -a-drinkin' to keep up 'is 'igh sperrits--but he shan't -say as 'ow 'Erb 'Iggins didn't stand by 'im to the -larst--the larst boll' I mean," and 'Erb filled the large -glass which the American reached from the bar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ere's 'ow, Cocky," he shouted in the ear of the -apparently drunken man, giving him a sharp nudge -in the ribs with his elbow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The drunken man gasped at the blow, gave a realistic -hiccough and murmured: "A votre santé, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Carn't the pore feller swaller a little more, Buck?" -enquired 'Erb with great concern. "Fency two francs--an' -he's 'ad ter giv' up! ... Never mind, Ole Cock," he -roared again in the ear of the drunkard, "p'raps you'll -be able ter go ahtside in a minnit an' git it orf yer chest. -Then yer kin start afresh. See? ... 'Ope hon, 'ope -hever.... 'Sides," he added, as a cheering -afterthought, "It'll tiste as good a-comin' up as wot it -did a-goin' dahn." He then blew vinously into his -mouth-organ and settled down for a really happy -evening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A knot of Legionaries, friends of Rivoli, stood at -the bar talking with Madame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here he comes," said one of them, leaning with -his back against the bar. "Ask him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Luigi Rivoli strode up, casting to right and left -the proud glances of the consciously Great.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bonsoir, ma belle," quoth he to Madame. "And -how is the Soul of the Soul of Luigi Rivoli?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The drunken man, sitting between the Bucking -Bronco and le Légionnaire 'Erbiggin, moved his head. -He lay with the right side of it upon his folded arms -and his flushed face toward the bar. His eyes were -apparently closed in sottish slumber.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame la Cantinière fixed Rivoli with a cold and -beady eye. (She "wagged her beard" too much, did -she? Oho!)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And since when have I been the Soul of the Soul -of Luigi Rivoli?" she enquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you ask it, My Own?" was the reply. "Did -not the virgin fortress of my heart capitulate to the -trumpet of your voice when first its musical call rang -o'er its unsealed walls?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pouf!" replied Madame, bridling.... (What a -way he had with him, and what a fine figure of a man -he was, but "</span><em class="italics">beards</em><span>" quotha!) Raising the flap of -the zinc-covered bar, Luigi, as usual, passed within and -poured himself a bumper of wine. Raising the glass--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To the brightest eyes and sweetest face that I -ever looked upon," he toasted, and drank.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame simpered. Her wrath had, to some extent, -evaporated.... Not that she would ever </span><em class="italics">dream</em><span> of -marrying him. No! that "beard" would be ever -between them. No! No! He had dished himself -finally. He had, as it were, hanged himself in that -beard as did Absalom in the branches of a tree. The -price he should pay for that insult was the value of -her Canteen and income. There was balm and -satisfaction in the thought. Still--until his successor -were chosen, or rather, the successor of the -late-lamented, so cruelly, if skilfully, carved by those -</span><em class="italics">sacrépans</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">galopins</em><span> of Arabs--the assistance of -the big man as waiter and chucker-out should certainly -not be refused. By no means.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what is this tale I hear of you and le Légionnaire -Jean Boule?" enquired Madame. "They -say that the Neapolitan trollop of Le Café de la Légion -(</span><em class="italics">sous ce nom-là!</em><span>) has begged your life of him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The drunken man slowly opened his eyes and -Rivoli put down his glass with a fierce frown.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And who invented that paltry, silly lie?" he -asked, and laughed scornfully. Madame pointed a -fat forefinger at the Bucking Bronco who leant, head -on fist, regarding Rivoli with a sardonic smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure thing, Loojey. I'm spreadin' the glad joyous -tidin's, as haow yure precious life has been saved, all -over the whole caboodle," and proceeded to translate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, is </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> the plot?" replied the Italian. "Is -</span><em class="italics">that</em><span> the best lie the gang of you could hatch? Corpo -di Bacco! It's a poor one. Couldn't the lot of you -think of a likelier tale than that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bucking Bronco opined as haow thar was -nuthin' like the trewth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look you," said the Italian to Madame, and the -assembled loungers. "This grey English -cur--pot-valiant--comes yapping at me, being in his cups, and -challenges me, </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>, Luigi Rivoli, to fight. I say: 'Go -dig your grave, dog,' and he goes. I have not seen -him since, but on all hands I hear that he has arranged -with this strumpet of the Café to say that she has -begged my life of him," and Luigi Rivoli roared with -laughter at the idea. "Now listen you, and spread -this truth abroad.... Madame will excuse me," and -he turned with his stage bow to Madame.... "I am -no plaster saint, I am a Légionnaire. Sometimes I go -to this Café--I admit it," and again turning to Madame, -he laid his hand upon his heart. "Madame," he -appealed, "I have no home, no wife, no fireside to which -to be faithful.... And as I honestly admit I visit -this Café. The girl is glad of my custom and possibly -a little honoured--of that I would say nothing.... -Accidents will happen to the bravest and most skilful -of men in duels. The girl begged me not to fight. 'You -are my best customer,' said she, 'and the handsomest -of all my patrons,' and carried on as such wenches -do, when trade is threatened. 'Peace, woman,' said -I, 'trouble me not, or I go to Zuleika across the way.' -... She then took another line. 'Look you, Signor,' -said she, 'this old fool, Boule, comes to me when he -has money; and he drinks here every night. Spare -his miserable carcase for what I make out of it,' and -with a laugh I gave the girl my franc and half-promise.... -Still, what is one's word to a wanton? I may -shoot the dog yet, if he and his friends be not careful -how they lie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The drunken man had turned his face on to his -arms. No one but the American and 'Erb noticed -that his body was shaken convulsively. Perhaps with -drunken laughter?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tole yer so, Cocky," bawled 'Erb in his ear. -"You'll be sick as David's sow in a minnit, 'an' we'll -all git blue-blind, paralytic drunk,'" and rising to -his feet 'Erb lifted up his voice in song to the effect -that--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"White wings they never grow whiskers,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>They kerry me cheerily over the sea</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>To ye Banks and Braes o' Bonny Doon</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Where we drew 'is club money this mornin'.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Witin' to 'ear the verdick on the boy in the prisoner's dock</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>When Levi may I menshun drew my perlite attenshun</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>To the tick of 'is grandfarver's clock.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Ninety years wivaht stumblin', Tick, Tick, Tick,--</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Ninety years wivaht grumblin', gently does the trick,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>When it stopped short, never to go agine</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Till the ole man died.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>An' ef yer wants ter know the time, git yer 'air cut."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>For the moment 'Erb was the centre of interest, -though not half a dozen men in the room understood -the words of what the vast majority supposed to be -a wild lament or dirge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull entered the Canteen, and 'Erb was forgotten. -All near the counter, save the drunken man, -watched his approach. He strode straight up to the -oar, his eyes fixed on Rivoli.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish to withdraw my challenge to you," he -said in a clear voice. "I am not going to fight you -after all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">But, Mother of God, you are!</em><span>" whispered the -drunken man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oho!" roared Rivoli. "Oho!" and exploded -with laughter. "Sober to-night are you, English -boaster? And how do you know that I will not fight -you, </span><em class="italics">flaneur</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That rests with you, of course," was the reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oho, it does, does it, Monsieur Coup Manqué? -And suppose I decide </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> to fight you, but to punish -you as little barking dogs should be punished? By -the Wounds of God you shall learn a lesson, little -vur...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The drunken man moved, as though to spring to -his feet, but the big American's arm flung round him -pressed him down, as he lurched his huge body -drunkenly against him, pinning him to the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ere," expostulated 'Erb. "'E wants ter be sick, -I tell yer. Free country ain't it, if 'e </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> a bloomin' -Legendary.... Might as well be a bleed'n drummerdary -if 'e carn't be sick w'en 'e wants to.... 'Ope -'e ain't got seven stummicks, eny'ow," he added as -an afterthought, and again applied himself to the -business of the evening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull turned, without a word, and left the -Canteen. The knot about the bar broke up and Luigi -was alone with Madame save for two drunken men and -one who was doing his best to achieve that blissful state.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you forgiven me, Beloved of my Soul?" -asked Rivoli of Madame, as she mopped the zinc -surface of the bar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," snapped Madame. "I have not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then do it now, my Queen," he implored. "Forgive -me, and then do one other thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is that?" enquired Madame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marry me," replied Rivoli, seizing Madame's -pudgy fist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The eyes of the drunken man were on him, and the -American watching, thought of the eyes of the snake -that lies with broken back watching its slayer. There -was death and the hate of Hell in them, and while -he shuddered, his heart sang with hope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marry me, Véronique," he repeated. "Have pity -on me and end this suspense. See you, I grow thin," -and he raised his mighty arms in a pathetic gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame glanced at the poor man's stomach. There -was no noticeable </span><em class="italics">maigreur</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what of the Neapolitan hussy and your -goings on in the Café de la Légion?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To Hell with the </span><em class="italics">putain</em><span>," he almost shouted. -"I am like other men--and I have been to her dive -like the rest. Marry me and save me from this loose -irregular soldier's life. Do you think I would stray -from </span><em class="italics">thee</em><span>, Beloved, if thou wert mine?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not twice," said Madame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then away with this jealousy," replied the ardent -Luigi. "Let me announce our nuptials here and now, -and call upon my comrades-in-arms to drink long -life and happiness to my beauteous bride--whom they -all so chastely love and revere. Come, little Star of -my Soul! Come, carissima, and I will most solemnly -swear upon the Holy Cross that never, never, never -again will I darken the doors of the </span><em class="italics">casse-croûte</em><span> of that -girl of the Bazaar. I swear it, Véronique--so help me -God and all the Holy Saints--your husband will die -before he will set foot in Carmelita's brothel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," said the drunken man, with a little piteous -moan. "Could you carry me out, Signor? I am going -to faint."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bucking Bronco gathered Carmelita up in his -arms and strode toward the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ere 'old on," ejaculated 'Erb. "'Arf a mo'! -I'll tike 'is 'oofs...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay whar yew are, 'Erb," said the American -sternly, over his shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Right-o, ole bloke," agreed 'Erb, always willing to -oblige. "Right-o! Shove 'im in 'is kip[#] while I -'soop 'is bare.'"[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Bed.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Drink his beer.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Outside, the Bucking Bronco set Carmelita down -upon a bench in a dark corner and chafed her hands -as he peered anxiously into her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pull yureself together, honey," he urged. "Don't -yew give way yit. Yew've gotter walk past the Guard -ef I carries yew all the rest of the way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The broken-hearted girl could only moan. The -American racked his brains for a solution of the -difficulty and wished John Bull and Rupert were -with him. It would be utterly hopeless to approach -the gate with the girl in his arms. What would -happen if he could not get her out that night? Suddenly -the girl rose to her feet. Pride had come to her rescue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, Monsieur Bronco," she said in a dead, -emotionless voice. "Let me get home," and began to -walk like an automaton. Slipping his arm through -hers, the American guided and supported her, and -in time, Carmelita awoke from a terrible dream to find -herself at home. The Russian girl, in some clothing -and a wrap of Carmelita's, admitted them at the back -door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get her some brandy," said the Bucking Bronco. -"Shall I open the Caffy and serve fer yew, Carmelita, -ma gel?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before he could translate his question into Legion -French, Carmelita had understood, partly from his -gestures. She shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Olga Kyrilovitch looked a mute question at the -American. He nodded slightly. Carmelita caught -the unspoken communication between the two.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said, turning to Olga, "you were right.... -They were all right. And I was wrong.... He -is the basest, meanest scoundrel who ever betrayed -a woman. I do not realise it yet--I am stunned.... -And I am punished too. I shall die or go mad when -I understand.... And I want to be alone. Go now, -dear Signor Orso Americano, and take my love and -this message to Signor Jean Boule. </span><em class="italics">I kiss his boots -in humility and apology, and if he will kill this Rivoli -for me I will be his slave for life.</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me kill him fer yew, Carmelita," begged the -American as he turned to go, and then paused as his -face lit up with the brightness of an idea. "No," he -said. "Almighty God! I got another think come. I'll -come an' see yew to-morrow, Carmelita--and make -yew a </span><em class="italics">pro</em><span>posal about Mounseer Loojey as'll do yew -good." At the door he beckoned to the Russian girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at hyar, Miss Mikhail," he whispered. -"Stand by her like a man to-night. Nuss her, and -coddle her and soothe her. You see she don't do herself -no harm. Yew hev' her safe and in her right mind in -the mornin'--an' we'll git yew and yure brother outer -Sidi or my name ain't Hyram Cyrus Milton."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">§3</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>That night was one of the most unforgettable of -all the memorable nights through which Olga -Kyrilovitch ever lived in the course of her adventurous -career. For it was the only night during which she -was shut up with a violent and dangerous homicidal -maniac. In addition to fighting for her own life, the -girl had, at times, to fight for that of her assailant, -and she deserved well of the Bucking Bronco. Nature -at length asserted herself and Carmelita collapsed. -She slept, and awoke in the middle of the next day -as sane as a person can be, every fibre of whose being -yearns and tingles with one fierce obsession. Even -to the experienced Russian girl, the wildness of the -Neapolitan revenge-passion was an alarming revelation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Though I starve or go mad, I cannot eat nor sleep -till I have spat on his dead face," were the only words -she answered to Olga's entreaty that she would take -food. But she busied herself about her daily tasks -with pinched white face, pinched white lips, and -cavernous black brooding eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rivoli's next meal here will be his last," thought -Olga Kyrilovitch, and shuddered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Terrible and unfathomable as was Carmelita's agony -of mind, she insisted on carrying out the programme -for the escape of the two Russians fixed for that day, -and Olga salved a feeling of selfishness by assuring -herself that anything which took the girl's thoughts -from her own tragedy was for her good.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That afternoon, Feodor Kyrilovitch made his -unobtrusive exit from the Legion and was admitted by -his sister at the back door of the Café. In his pocket -was a letter enclosed in a blank envelope. On an inner -envelope was the following name and address: -"</span><em class="italics">Lady Huntingten, Elham Old Hall, Elham, Kent, -England.</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By the five-thirty train two flighty females--one -blonde, the other brunette--were seen off from the -little Sidi-bel-Abbès station of the Western Algerian -Railway, which runs from Tlemcen to Oran, by -Mademoiselle Carmelita of the Café de la Légion. -Their conversation and playful badinage with the -guard of Légionnaires, which is always on duty at -the platform gate, were frivolous and unedifying. -Sergeant Boulanger, as gallant to women as he was -ferocious to men, vowed to his admired Carmelita -that it broke his heart to announce that he feared -he could not allow her two friends to proceed on their -journey until--Carmelita's white face seemed to go -a little whiter--they had both given him a chaste -salute. On hearing this, one of the girls fled squealing -to the train, while the other, with very real blushes and -unfeigned reluctance, submitted her face to partial -burial beneath the vast moustache of the amorous -Sergeant.... As the ramshackle little train crawled -out of the station, this girl said to the one who had -fled: "You </span><em class="italics">were</em><span> a sneak to bolt like that, Feodor," -and received the somewhat cryptic reply--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Olga, and where should we both be now -if his lips had felt the bristles around mine? ... You -don't suppose that a double shave, twice over, makes -a man's face like a girl's, do you?..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>These two young females found Lady Huntingten -all, and more than all, her son had prophesied. When -Feodor and Olga Kyrilovitch left the hospitable roof -of Elham Old Hall, she parried their protestations of -gratitude with the statement that she was fully repaid -and over-paid, for anything she had been able to do -for them, by the pleasure of talking with friends of -her son, friends who had actually been with him but -a few days before, and who so fully bore out the statements -contained in his letter to the effect that he was -in splendid health and having a splendid time.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>On returning to her Café, Carmelita found the -Bucking Bronco, John Bull, Reginald Rupert, -'Erbiggins, and several other Légionnaires awaiting -admittance. Having opened her bar and mechanically -ministered to her customers' needs, the unsmiling, -broken-looking Carmelita, all of whose vitality and -energy seemed concentrated in her burning eyes -beckoned to the American and led him into her room -Gripping his wrist with her cold hand, and almost -shaking him in her too-long suppressed frenzy:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you told Jean Boule?" she asked. "When -will he kill him? Where? Quick, tell me! I must be -there. I must see him do it.... Oh! He will die -too quickly.... It is too good a death for such a -reptile.... It is no punishment.... Why should -he not suffer some thousandth part of what </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> suffer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at hyar, Carmelita, honey," interrupted the -American, putting his arm round the little heaving -shoulders as he mentally translated what he must -first say in his own tongue. "Thet's jest whar the -swine would git the bulge on yew. Why shouldn't -he git a glimpse o' sufferin', sech as I had ter sit an' -see yew git, las' night? ... An' I gits it in the -think-box las' night, right hyar. Listen, ma honey. </span><em class="italics">I'm -gwine ter beat him up</em><span>, right naow, right hyar, in yure -Caffy--an' before yure very eyes. In front of all his -bullies an' all the guys he's beat up, I'll hev' him on -his knees a-blubberin' an' a-prayin' fer mercy.... -Then he shall lick yure boots, little gel, same as he -makes recruits lick his. Then he shall grovel on the -ground an' beg an' pray yew to marry him, and at -that insult yew shall ask me to put him across my -knee and irritate his pants with my belt--an' then -throw him neck and crop, tail over tip, in the gutter! -Termorrer John Bull smacks his face on the barrack-square -an' tells him he was only playin' with him about -lettin' him off that dool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Carmelita clearly understood the purport of -this remarkable speech she put her arms around the -Bucking Bronco's neck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear Signor Orso Americano," she whispered. -"Humiliate him to the dust before his comrades, -bring him grovelling to my feet, begging me to marry -him--and I will be your wife.... Blind, blind, -unnameable </span><em class="italics">fool</em><span> that I have been--to think this dog -a god and you a rough barbarian.... Forgive me, -Signor.... I could kill myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bucking Bronco folded the woman in his arms. -Suddenly she struggled free, thrust him from her, and, -falling into a chair, buried her face in her arms and -burst into tears. Standing over her the Bucking Bronco -awkwardly patted her back with his huge hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do yew good, ma gel," he murmured over and -over again. "Nuth'n like a good cry for a woman.... -Git it over naow, and by'n-by show a smilin' face an' -a proud one fer Loojey Rivoli to see fer the las' time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The </span><em class="italics">bambino</em><span>," wailed the girl. "The </span><em class="italics">bambino</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">What?</em><span>" exclaimed the Bucking Bronco.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rising, the girl looked the man in the face and -painfully but bravely stammered out what had been her -so-wonderful Secret, and the hope of her life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bucking Bronco again folded Carmelita in his arms.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-wages-of-sin"><span class="large">CHAPTER X</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE WAGES OF SIN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was soon evident that the word had been passed -round that there would be "something doing" -at the Café de la Légion that evening. Never before -had its hospitable roof covered so large an assembly -of guests. Though it was not exactly what could be -called "a packed house," it was far from being a -selected gathering of the special friends of Il Signor -Luigi Rivoli. To Legionaries John Bull, Reginald -Rupert and 'Erb 'Iggins it was obvious that the -Bucking Bronco had been at some pains to arrange -that the spectators of whatever might befall that -evening, were men who would witness the undoing -of Luigi Rivoli--should that occur--with considerable -equanimity. Scarcely a man there but had felt at -some time the weight of his brutal fist and the indignity -of helpless obedience to his tyrannous behest. Of -one thing they were sure--whatever they might, -or might not behold, they would see a Homeric fight, -a struggle that would become historic in the annals -of la Légion. The atmosphere was electric with -suppressed excitement and a sense of pleasurable expectation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a group by the bar, lounged the Bucking Bronco -and the three Englishmen with a few of their more -immediate intimates, chiefly Frenchmen, and members -of their </span><em class="italics">escouade</em><span>. Carmelita, a brilliant spot of colour -glowing on either cheek, busied herself about her -duties, flitting like a butterfly from table to table. -Never had she appeared more light-hearted, gay, -and </span><em class="italics">insouciante</em><span>. But to John Bull, who watched her -anxiously, it was clear that her gaiety was feverish -and hectic, her laughter forced and hysterical.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Reckon 'e's got an earthly, matey?" asked 'Erb -of Rupert. "'E'll 'ave ter scrag an' kick, same as -Rivoli, if 'e don't want ter be counted aht."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd give a hundred pounds to see him win, -anyhow," was the reply. "I expect he'll fight the brute -with his own weapons. He'll go in for what he calls -'rough-housing' I hope.... No good following -Amateur Boxing Association rules if you're fighting a -bear, or a Zulu, or a Fuzzy-wuzzy, or Luigi Rivoli...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And that was precisely the intention of the American, -whose fighting had been learnt in a very rough and -varied school. When earning his living as a professional -boxer, he had given referees no more than the average -amount of trouble; and in the ring, against a clean -fighter, had put up a clean fight. A tricky opponent, -resorting to fouls, had always found him able to -respond with very satisfying tricks of his own--"and -then some." But the Bucking Bronco had also done -much mixed fighting as a hobo[#] with husky and -adequate bulls[#] in many of the towns of the free and -glorious United States of America, when guilty of -having no visible means of support; with exasperated -and homicidal shacks[#] on most of that proud country's -railways, when "holding her down," and frustrating -their endeavours to make him "hit the grit"; with -terrible and dangerous lumber-jacks in timber camps -when the rye whiskey was in and all sense and decency -were out; with cow-punchers and ranchers, with -miners, with Bowery toughs, and assorted desperadoes.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Tramp, a rough.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Policemen.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Train conductors.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>To-night, when he stood face to face with Luigi -Rivoli, he intended to do precisely what his opponent -would do, to use all Nature's weapons and every device, -trick, shift and artifice that his unusually wide -experience had taught him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He knew, and fully admitted, that, tremendously -powerful and tough as he himself was, Rivoli was far -stronger. Not only was the Italian a born Strong Man, -but he had spent his life in developing his muscles, -and it was probable that there were very few more -finely developed athletes on the face of the earth. -Moreover, he was a far younger man, far better fed -(thanks to Carmelita), and a trained professional -wrestler. Not only were his muscles of marvellous -development, they were also trained and educated -to an equally marvellous quickness, skill and poise. -Add to this the fact that the man was no mean -exponent of the arts of </span><em class="italics">la savate</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">la boxe</em><span>, utterly -devoid of any scruples of honour and fair-play, and -infused with a bitter hatred of the American--and -small blame accrues to the latter for his determination -to meet the Italian on his own ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he stood leaning against the bar, his elbows on -it and his face toward the big room, it would have -required a very close observer to note any signs of the -fact that he was about to fight for his life, and, far -more important, for Carmelita, against an opponent -in whose favour the odds were heavy. His hard strong -face was calm, the eyes level and steady, and, more -significant, the hands and fingers quiet and reposeful. -Studying his friend, John Bull noticed the absence of -any symptoms of excitement, nervousness, or anxiety. -There was no moistening of lips, no working of jaw -muscles, no change of posture, no quickening of speech. -It was the same old Buck, large, lazy, and lethargic, -with the same humorous eye, the same measured -drawl, the same quaint turn of speech. In striking -contrast with the immobility of the American, was -the obvious excitement of the Cockney.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It'll be an 'Ellova fight," he kept on saying. -"Gawdstreuth, it'll be an 'Ellova fight," and bitterly -regretted the self-denying ordinance which he had -passed upon himself to the effect that no liquor should -wet his lips till all was o'er....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Luigi Rivoli, followed as usual by Malvin, Tou-tou -Boil-the-Cat, Borges, Hirsch and Bauer, strode into -the Café. He was accustomed to attracting attention -and to the proud consciousness of nudges, glances -and whisperings wherever he went. Not for nothing is -one the strongest and most dangerous man in the -Foreign Legion. But to-night he was aware of more -than usual interest as silence fell upon the abnormally -large gathering in Carmelita's Café. He at once ascribed -it to the widespread interest in the public challenge -he had received from John Bull to a </span><em class="italics">duel à l'outrance</em><span> -and the rumour that the Englishman had as publicly -withdrawn it. He felt that fresh lustre had been -added to his brilliant name.... Carmelita </span><em class="italics">had</em><span> been -useful there, and had delivered him from a very real -danger, positively from the fangs of a mad dog. Very -useful. What a pity it was that he could not marry -Madame, and run Carmelita. Might she not be brought -to consent to some such arrangement? Not even -when she found she could have him in no other -way? ... Never!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Absolutamente</em><span> ... Curse her.... Well, anyhow, -there were a few more francs, dinners, and bottles -of Chianti. One must take what one can, while one -can--and after all the Canteen was worth ten Cafés. -Madame had been very kind to-night and would give -her final answer to-morrow. That had been a subtle -idea of his, telling her that, unless she married him, -she should marry no one, and remain a widow all -the days of her life, for he'd break the back of any -man who so much as looked at her. That had given -the old sow something to think about. Ha! Ha! ...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he entered, John Bull was just saying to the -Bucking Bronco, "Don't do it, Buck. I know all about -that</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>'Thrice-armed is he who hath his quarrel just,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>But four times is he who gets his blow in fust.'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>But thrice is quite enough, believe me, old chap. -You've no need to descend to such a trick as hitting -him unawares, by way of starting the fight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this my night ter howl, John, or yourn? Whose -funeral is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>... "Fight him by his own methods if you like, -Buck--but don't put yourself in the wrong for a start.... -You'll win all right, or I shall cease to believe in -Eternal Justice of Things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had been the purpose of the Bucking Bronco -to lessen the odds against himself, to some extent, -by intimating his desire to fight, with a shattering -blow which should begin, and, at the same time, half -win the battle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rivoli approached.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ha! There was that cursed Englishman, was he? -Well, since he had given his promise to Carmelita -and was debarred from a duel, he should repeat his -apology of last night before this large assembly. -Moreover, he would now be free to handle this English -dog--to beat and torture and torment him like a new -recruit. Bull's hands would be tied as far as weapons -were concerned by his promise to Carmelita.... The -dog was leaning against the flap of the bar which he -would have to raise to pass through to his dinner. -Should he take him by the ears and rub his face in -the liquor-slops on the bar, or should he merely put -him on the ground and wipe his feet on him? Better -not perhaps, there was that thrice-accursed American -</span><em class="italics">scelerato</em><span> and that indestructible young devil Rupert, -who had smitten his jaw and ribs so vilely, and wanted -to fight again directly he had left hospital and </span><em class="italics">salle -de police</em><span>. The Devil smite all Englishmen.... His -wrath boiled over, his arm shot out and he seized John -Bull by the collar, shook him, and slung him from his -path.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then the Heavens fell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With his open, horny palm, the Bucking Bronco -smote the Italian as cruelly stinging a slap as ever -human face received. But for his friend's recent behest, -he would have struck with his closed fist, and the -Italian would have entered the fight, if not with a -broken jaw, at least with a very badly "rattled" -head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Ponk!</em><span>" observed 'Erb, dancing from foot to foot -in excitement and glee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah--h--h!" breathed Carmelita,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Italian recovered his balance and gathered -himself for a spring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No you don't," shouted Rupert, and the three -Englishmen simultaneously threw themselves in front -of him, at the same time calling on the spectators -to make a ring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a moment, headed by Tant-de-Soif, the Englishmen's -friends commenced pulling chairs, tables and -benches to the walls of the big room. Old Tant-de-Soif -had never received a sou or a drink from the -bully, though many and many a blow and bitter -humiliation. Long he had served and long he had -hated. He felt that a great hour had struck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The scores and scores of willing hands assisting, the -room was quickly cleared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This American would die, it appears, poor madman," -observed M. Malvin ingratiatingly to Carmelita.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not think he will die," replied the girl. "But I -think that anyone who interferes with him will do so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The eyes of the good M. Malvin narrowed. Lay the -wind in that quarter? The excellent Luigi was found -out, was he? Well, there might be a successor....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meantime the Italian had removed and methodically -folded his tunic and canvas shirt. A broad belt -sustained his baggy red breeches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So it had come, had it? Well, so much the better. -This American had been the fly in the ointment of -his comfort too long. Why had he not strangled the -insolent, or broken his back long ago? He would -break him now, once and for all--maim him for life -if he could; at least make a serious hospital case of him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bidding Malvin mount guard over his discarded -garments, Rivoli stepped forth Into the middle of -the large cleared space, flexing and slapping his muscles. -Having done so, he looked round the crowded sides -of the room for the usual applause. To his surprise -none followed. He gazed about him again. Was this -a selected audience? It was certainly not the audience -he would have selected for himself. It appeared to -consist mostly of </span><em class="italics">miserabile</em><span> whom he had frequently -had to punish for insubordination and defiance of -his orders. They should have a demonstration, that -evening, of the danger of defying Luigi Rivoli.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the American stepped forward John Bull caught -his sleeve. "Take off your tunic, Buck," he said in -surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take off nix," replied the American.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he'll get a better hold on you," remonstrated -his friend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should worry," was the cryptic reply, as the -speaker unbuttoned the upper part of his tunic and -pushed his collar well away from his neck at the back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'E'll cop 'old of 'im wiv that coller, an' bleed'n -well strangle 'im," said 'Erb to Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fancy that now, sonny," said the Bucking Bronco, -with an exaggerated air of surprise, and stepped into -the arena.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Complete silence fell upon the room as the two -antagonists faced each other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Nom de nom de bon Dieu de Dieu</em><span>! Why had not -le Légionnaire Bouckaing Bronceau stripped? Was -it sheer bravado? How could he, or any other living -man, afford to add to the already overwhelming risks -when fighting the great Luigi Rivoli?...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bucking Bronco got his "blow in fust" after -all, and, as his friend had prophesied, was glad that -it had not been a "foul poke"--taking his opponent -unawares.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come hither, dog, and let me snap thy spine," -growled the Italian as the Bucking Bronco faced him. -As he spoke, he thrust his right hand forward, as though -to seize the American in a wrestling-hold. With a -swift snatch the latter grabbed the extended hand, -gave a powerful jerking tug and released it before -his enemy could free it and fasten upon him in turn. -The violent pull upon his arm swung the Italian half -left and before he could recover his balance and regain -his position, the Bucking Bronco had let drive at -the side of his face with all his weight and strength. -It was a terrific blow and caught Rivoli on the right -cheek-bone, laying the side of his face open.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Only those who have seen--or experienced--it, -know the effect of skilled blows struck by hands -unhampered by boxing gloves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Italian reeled and, like the skilled master of -ringcraft that he was, the Bucking Bronco gave him -no time in which to recover. With a leap he again put -all his strength, weight, and skill behind a slashing -right-hander on his enemy's face, and, as he raised -his arms, a left-hander on his ribs. Had any of these -three blows found the Italian's "point" or "mark," -it is more than probable that the fight would have been -decided. As it was, Rivoli was only shaken--and -exasperated to the point of madness....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wait till he got his arms round the man! ... Corpo -di Bacco! But wait! Let him wait till he got -his hand on that collar that the rash fool had left -undone and sticking out so temptingly?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ducking swiftly under a fourth blow, he essayed -to fling his arms round the American's waist. As the -mighty arms shot out for the deadly embrace, the -Bucking Bronco's knee flew up with terrific force, -to smash the face so temptingly passed above it. -Like a flash the face swerved to the left, the knee -missed it, and the American's leg was instantly seized -as in a vice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The spectators held their breath. Was this the end? -Rivoli had him! Could there be any hope for him?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There could. This was "rough-housin'"--and at -"rough-housin'" the Bucking Bronco had had few -equals. He suddenly thought of one of </span><em class="italics">the</em><span> fights of -his life--at 'Frisco, with the bucko mate of a hell-ship -on which he had made a trip as fo'c's'le-hand, from -the Klondyke. The mate had done his best to kill -him at sea, and the Bucking Bronco had "laid for -him" ashore as the mate quitted the ship. It had -been "some" fight and the mate had collared his -leg in just the same way. He would try the method -that had then been successful.... He seized the -Italian's neck with both huge hands, and, with all -his strength, started to throttle him--his thumbs on -the back of his opponent's neck, his fingers crushing -relentlessly into his throat. Of course Rivoli would -throw him--that was to be expected--but that would -not free Rivoli's throat. Not by any manner of means. -With a fair and square two-handed hold on the skunk's -throat, it would be no small thing to get that throat -free again while there was any life left in its proprietor....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a heave and a thrust, the Italian threw the -Bucking Bronco heavily and fell heavily upon him. -The latter tightened his grip and saw his enemy going -black in the face.... Swiftly Rivoli changed his -hold. While keeping one arm round the American's -leg, at the knee, he seized his foot with the other hand -and pressed it backward with all his gigantic strength. -As the leg bent back, he pressed his other arm more -tightly into the back of the knee. In a moment the -leg must snap like a carrot, and the American knew -it--and also that he would be lame for life if his -knee-joint were thus rent asunder. It was useless to hope -that Rivoli would suffocate before the leg broke... -Nor would a dead Rivoli be a sufficient compensation -for perpetual lameness. Never to walk nor ride nor -fight.... A lame husband for Carmelita.... -Loosing his hold on his antagonist's throat, he punched -him a paralysing blow on the muscle of the arm that -was bending his leg back, and then seized the same -arm by the wrist with both hands, and freed his foot.... -A deadlock.... They glared into each other's eyes, -mutually impotent, and then, by tacit mutual consent, -released holds, rose, and confronted each other afresh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So far, honours were decidedly with the American, -and a loud spontaneous cheer arose from the spectators. -"Vive le Bouckaing Bronceau!" was the general -sentiment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita sat like a statue on her high chair--lifeless -save for her terrible eyes. Though her lips -did not move, she prayed with all the fervour of her -ardent nature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Breathing heavily, the antagonists faced each other -like a pair of half-crouching tigers.... Suddenly -Rivoli kicked. Not the horizontal kick of </span><em class="italics">la savate</em><span> -in which the leg is drawn up to the chest and the foot -shot out sideways and parallel with the floor, so that -the sole strikes the object flatly--but in the ordinary -manner, the foot rising from the ground, to strike -with the toe. The Bucking Bronco raised his right -foot and crossed his right leg over his left, so that the -Italian's rising shin met his own while the rising foot -met nothing at all. Had the kick been delivered fully, -the leg would have broken as the shin was suddenly -arrested while the foot met nothing. (This is the -deadliest defence there is against a kicker, other than -a savatist.) But so fine was the poise and skill of the -professional acrobat, that, in full flight, he arrested -the kick ere it struck the parrying leg with full violence. -He did not escape scot-free from this venture, however, -for, even as he raised his leg in defence, the Bucking -Bronco shot forth his right hand with one of the terrible -punches for which Rivoli was beginning to entertain -a wholesome respect. He saved his leg, but received -a blow on the right eye which he knew must, before -long, cause it to close completely. He saw red, lost -his temper and became as an infuriated bull. As he -had done under like circumstances with the Légionnaire -Rupert, he rushed at his opponent with a roar, casting -aside wisdom and prudence in the madness of his -desire to get his enemy in his arms. He expected to -receive a blow in the face as he sprang, and was -prepared to dodge it by averting his head. With an -agility surprising in so big a man, the Bucking Bronco -ducked below the Italian's outstretched arms and, -covering his face with his bent left arm, drove at his -antagonist's "mark" with a blow like the kick of -a horse. The gasping groan with which the wind was -driven out of Rivoli's body was music to the Bucking -Bronco's ears. He knew that, for some seconds, his -foe, be he the strongest man alive, was at his mercy. -Springing erect he punched with left and right at his -doubled-up and gasping enemy, his arms working like -piston-rods and his fists falling like sledge-hammers. -The cheering became continuous as Rivoli shrank and -staggered before that rain of terrific blows. Suddenly -he recovered, drew a deep breath and flung his arms -fairly round the Bucking Bronco's waist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Corpo di Bacco! He had got him!...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clasping his hands behind the American, he settled -his head comfortably down into that wily man's neck, -and bided his time. He had got him.... He would -rest and wait until his breathing was more normal. -He would then tire the </span><em class="italics">scelerato</em><span> down ... tire him -down ... and then ...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was his programme, but it was not that of the -Bucking Bronco, or not in its entirety. He realised -that "Loojey had the bulge on him." For the moment -it was "Loojey's night ter howl." He would take a -rest and permit Loojey to support him, also he would -feign exhaustion and distress. It was a pity that it -was his right arm that was imprisoned in the bear-hug -of the wrestler. However, nothing much could happen -so long as he kept his back convex.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Seconds, which seemed like long minutes, passed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly the Italian made a powerful effort to draw -him closer and decrease the convexity of his arched -back. He resisted the constriction with all his strength, -but realised that he had been drawn slightly inward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again a tremendous tensing of mighty muscles, -again a tremendous heave in opposition, and again -he was a little nearer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The process was repeated. Soon the line of his back -would be concave instead of convex. That would -be the beginning of the end. Once he bent over -backward there would be no hope; he would finally drop -from the Italian's grasp with a sprained or broken -back, to receive shattering kicks in the face, ribs -and stomach, before Rivoli jumped upon him with -both feet and twenty stone weight. For a moment -he half regretted having so stringently prohibited any -sort or kind of interference in the fight, whatever -happened, short of Rivoli's producing a weapon. But -only for a moment. He would not owe his life to the -intervention of others, after having promised -Carmelita to beat him up and bring him grovelling to her -feet. He had been winning so far.... He </span><em class="italics">would</em><span> -win.... As the Italian again put all his force into -an inward-drawing hug, the American, for a fraction -of a second, resisted with all his strength and then -suddenly did precisely the opposite. Shooting his -feet between the straddled legs of his adversary, he -flung his left arm around his head, threw all his weight -on to it and brought himself and Rivoli crashing -heavily to the ground. As the arms of the latter burst -asunder, the Bucking Bronco had time to seize his head -and bang it twice, violently, upon the stone floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Both scrambled to their feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had been a near thing. He must not get into that -rib-crushing hug again, for the trick would not avail -twice. Like a springing lion, Rivoli was on him. -Ducking, he presented the top of his head to the -charge and felt the Italian grip his collar. With an -inarticulate cry of glee he braced his feet and with -tremendous force and speed revolved his head and -shoulders round and round in a small circle, the centre -and axis of which was Rivoli's hand and forearm. -The first lightning-like revolution entangled the -tightly-gripping hand, the second twisted and wrenched -the wrist and arm, the third completed the terrible -work of mangling disintegration. In three seconds -the bones, tendons, ligaments, and tissue of Rivoli's -right hand and wrist were broken, wrenched and torn. -The bones of the forearm were broken, the elbow and -shoulder-joints were dislocated. Tearing himself -free, the American sprang erect and struck the roaring, -white-faced Italian between the eyes and then drove -him before him, staggering backward under a ceaseless -rain of violent punches. Drove him back and back, -even as the bully put his uninjured left hand behind -him for the dagger concealed in the hip pocket of -his baggy trousers, and sent him reeling, stumbling -and half-falling straight into the middle of his silent -knot of jackals, Malvin, Borges, Hirsch, Bauer, and -Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat. Against these he fell. Malvin -was seen to put out his hands to stop him, Borges and -Hirsch closed in on him to catch him, Bauer pressed -against Malvin, Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat stooped with a -swift movement. With a grunt Rivoli collapsed, his -knees gave way and, in the middle of the dense throng, -he slipped to the ground. As the Bucking Bronco -thrust in, and the crowd pressed back, Rivoli lay on -his face in the cleared space, a knife in his left hand, -another in his back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He never moved nor spoke again, but M. Tou-tou -Boil-the-Cat did both.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he left the Café he licked his lips, smiled and -murmured: "</span><em class="italics">Je m'en ai souvenu</em><span>."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="greater-love"><span class="large">CHAPTER XI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">GREATER LOVE...</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At the bottom of the alley, le bon Légionnaire -Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat encountered Sergeant -Legros.... A bright idea! ... Stepping up to -the worthy Sergeant, he saluted, and informed him -that, passing the notorious Café de la Légion, a minute -since, he had heard a terrible </span><em class="italics">tohuwabohu</em><span> and, looking -in, had seen a crowd of excited Legionaries fighting -with knives and side-arms. He had not entered, -but from the door had seen at least one dead man -upon the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The worthy Sergeant's face lit up as he smacked -his lips with joy. Ah, ha! here were punishments.... -Here were crimes.... Here were victims for </span><em class="italics">salle -de police</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">cellules</em><span>.... Fodder for the </span><em class="italics">peloton des -hommes punis</em><span> and the Zephyrs.... Here was -distinction for that keen disciplinarian, Sergeant Legros.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">V'la quelqu'un pour la boîte</em><span>," quoth he, and betook -himself to the Café at the </span><em class="italics">pas gymastique</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">§2</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At the sight of the knife buried in the broad naked -back of the Italian, the silence of horror fell upon the -stupefied crowd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Nombril de Belzébuth</em><span>! How had it happened?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Sacré nom de nom de bon Dieu de Dieu de Dieu de -sort</em><span>! Who had done it? Certainly not le Légionnaire -Bouckaing Bronceau. Never for one second had the -Légionnaire Rivoli's back been toward him. Never for -one instant had there been a knife in the American's -hand. Yet there lay the great Luigi Rivoli stabbed -to the heart. There was the knife in his back. </span><em class="italics">Dame</em><span>!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Men's mouths hung open stupidly, as they stared -wide-eyed. Gradually it grew clear and obvious. Of -course--he had been knocked backwards into that -group of his jackals, Malvin, Borges, Hirsch and Bauer, -and one of them, who hated him, had been so excited -and uplifted by the sight of his defeat that he had -turned upon him. Yes, he had been stabbed by one -of those four.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Malvin did it. I saw him," ejaculated Tant-de-Soif. -He honestly thought he had--or thought he -thought so. "God bless him," he added solemnly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had many a score to settle with M. Malvin, -but he could afford to give him generous praise--since -he was booked for the firing-party beside the -open grave, or five years </span><em class="italics">rabiau</em><span> in Biribi. It is not -every day that one's most hated enemies destroy -each other....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wal! I allow thet's torn it," opined the Bucking -Bronco as he surveyed his dead enemy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita came from behind the bar and down the -room. What was happening? Why had the fight -stopped? She saw the huddled heap that had been -Rivoli.... She saw the knife--and thought she -understood. This was as things should be. This was -how justice and vengeance were executed in her own -beloved Naples. Il Signor Americano was worthy to -be a Neapolitan, worthy to inherit and transmit -</span><em class="italics">vendetta</em><span>. How cruelly she had misjudged him in -thinking him a barbarian....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Payé</em><span>," she cried, turning in disgust from the body, -and threw her arms round the Bucking Bronco's -neck, as the Sergeant burst in at the door. Sergeant -Legros was in his element. Not only was there here -a grand harvest of military criminals for his reaping, -but here was vengeance--and vengeance and cruelty -were the favourite food of the soul of Sergeant Legros. -Here was a grand opportunity for vengeance on the -Italian trollop who had, when he was a private -Legionary, not only rejected his importunities with -scorn, but had soundly smacked his face withal. -Striding forward, as soon as he had roared, "</span><em class="italics">Attention!</em><span>" -he seized Carmelita roughly by the arm and shook -her violently, with a shout of: "To your kennel, -</span><em class="italics">prostituée</em><span>." Whereupon the Bucking Bronco felled -his superior officer to the ground with a smashing -blow upon the jaw, thereby establishing an indisputable -claim to life-servitude in the terrible Penal -Battalions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Among the vices of vile Sergeant Legros, physical -cowardice found no place. Staggering to his feet, -he spat out a tooth, wiped the blood from his face, -drew his sword-bayonet, and rushed at the American -intending to kill him forthwith, in "self-defence." -At the best of times Sergeant Legros looked, and was, -a dangerous person--but the blow had made him a -savage, homicidal maniac. The Bucking Bronco was -dazed and astonished at what he had done. Circumstances -had been too strong for him. He had naturally -been in an abnormal state at the end of such a fight, -and in no condition to think and act calmly when his -adored Carmelita was insulted and assaulted.... -What had he done? This meant death or penal -servitude from the General Court Martial at Oran. -He had lost her in the moment of winning her, and he -dropped his hands as the Sergeant flew at him with -the sword-bayonet poised to strike. No--he would -fight.... He would make his get-away.... He -would skin out and Carmelita should join him.... -He would fight... Too late! ... The bayonet was -at his throat.... Crash! ... Good old Johnny! ... That -had been a near call. As the maddened -Legros was in the act to thrust, Legionary John Bull -had struck him on the side of the head with all his -strength, sending him staggering, and had leapt -upon him to secure the bayonet as they went crashing -to the ground. As they struggled, Legionary Rupert -set his foot heavily on the Sergeant's wrist and -wrenched the bayonet from his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The problem of Sir Montague Merline's future was -settled and the hour for Reginald Rupert's desertion -had struck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An ominous growl had rumbled round the room -at the brutal words and action of the detested Legros, -and an audible gasp of consternation had followed -the Bucking Bronco's blow. Sacré Dieu! Here were -doings of which ignorance would be bliss--and there -was a rush to the door, headed by Messieurs Malvin, -Borges, Hirsch and Bauer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Several Legionaries, as though rooted to the spot -by a fearful fascination, or by the hope of seeing -Legros share the fate of Rivoli, had stood their ground -until John Bull struck him and Rupert snatched the -bayonet as though to kill him. Then, with two -exceptions, this remainder fled. These two were -Tant-de-Soif and the Dutchman, Hans Djoolte; the former, -absolutely unable to think of flight and the establishment -of an </span><em class="italics">alibi</em><span> while the man who had made his life -a hell was fighting for his own life; the latter, clear -of conscience, honestly innocent and wholly unafraid. -Staring round-eyed, they saw Sergeant Legros mightily -heave his body upward, his head pinned to the ground -by 'Erb 'Iggins, his throat clutched by Légionnaire -Jean Boule, his right hand held down by Légionnaire -Rupert. Again he made a tremendous effort, emitted -a hideous bellowing sound and then collapsed and lay -curiously still. Meanwhile, Carmelita had closed and -fastened the doors and shutters of the Café and was -turning out the lamps. Within half a minute of the -entrance of the Sergeant, the Café was closed and in -semi-darkness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The bloomin' ol' fox is shammin' dead," panted -'Erb, and removed his own belt. "'Eave 'im up and -shove this rahnd 'is elbers while 'e's a-playin' 'possum. -Shove yourn rahnd 'is legs, Buck," he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While still lying perfectly supine, the Sergeant was -trussed like a fowl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naow we gotter hit the high places. We gotter -vamoose some," opined the Bucking Bronco, as the -four arose, their task completed. They looked at -each other in consternation. Circumstances had been -too much for them. Fate and forces outside themselves -had whirled them along in a spate of mischance, and -cast them up, stranded and gasping. Entering the -place with every innocent and praiseworthy intention, -they now stood under the shadow of the gallows and -the gaol. With them in that room was a murdered -man, and an assaulted, battered and outraged -superior....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The croaking voice of Tant-de-Soif broke the -silence. "</span><em class="italics">Pour vous</em><span>," quoth he, "</span><em class="italics">il n'y a plus que -l'Enfer</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shut up, you ugly old crow," replied Reginald -Rupert, "and clear out.... Look here, what are you -going to do about it? What are you going to say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I?" enquired Tant-de-Soif. "Le Légionnaire -Djoolte and I have seen each other in the Bar de -Madagascar off the Rue de Daya the whole evening. -We have been here </span><em class="italics">peaudezébie</em><span>. Is it not, my Djoolte? -Eh, </span><em class="italics">mon salop</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the sturdy Dutch boy was of a different moral fibre.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have not been in the Bar de Madagascar," -replied he, in halting Legion French. "I have been -in le Café de la Légion the whole evening and seen all -that happened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'E's a-seekin' sorrer. 'E wants a fick ear," put in -'Erb in his own vernacular.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If my evidence is demanded, I saw a fair fight -between the Légionnaire Bouckaing Bronceau and -le Légionnaire Luigi Rivoli. I then saw le Légionnaire -Luigi Rivoli fall dead, having been stabbed by either -le Légionnaire Malvin or le Légionnaire Bauer, if it -were not le Légionnaire Hirsch, or le Légionnaire -Borges. I believe Malvin stabbed him while these -three held him, but I do not know. I then saw le -Sergent Legros enter and assault and abuse Mam'zelle -Carmelita. I then saw him fall as though someone -had struck him and he then attempted to murder le -Légionnaire Bronco with his Rosalie. I then saw -some Légionnaires tie him up.... That is the -evidence that I shall give if I give any at all. I may -refuse to answer, but I shall tell no lies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is all right," said the Bucking Bronco. -"Naow yew git up an' yew git--an' yew too, Tant-de-Soif, -and tell the b'ys ter help Carmelita any they -can, ef Legros gits 'er inter trouble an' gits 'er Caffy -shut.... An' when yew gits the Gospel truth orf -yure chest, Fatty, yew kin say, honest Injun, as -haow I tol' yew, thet me an' John Bull was a-goin' -on pump ter Merocker, an' Mounseers Rupert an' 'Erb -was a-goin' fer ter do likewise ter Toonis. Naow git," -and the two were hustled out of the Café.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," said John Bull, taking command, "we've -got to be quick, as it's just possible the news of what's -happened may reach the picket and you may be -looked for before you're missing. First thing is -Carmelita, second thing's money, and third thing's -plan of campaign.... Is Carmelita in any danger -over this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't see why she should be," said Rupert. "It's -not her fault that there was a fight in her Café. It -has never been in any sense a 'disorderly house,' and -what happened, merely happened here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yep," agreed the Bucking Bronco. "But I'm -plum' anxious. I'm sure tellin' yew, I don't like ter -make my gitaway an' leave her hyar. But we can't -take a gal on pump."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Arx the young lidy," suggested 'Erb, and with -one consent they went to the bar, leaning on which -Carmelita was sobbing painfully. The strain and -agony of the last twenty-four hours had been too -much and she had broken down. As they passed the -two silent bodies, 'Erb stopped and bent over Sergeant -Legros, remarking: "Knows 'ow ter lie doggo, don't -'e--the ol' cunnin'-chops?" He fell silent a moment, -and then in a very different voice ejaculated, "Gawds-treuth -'e's </span><em class="italics">mort</em><span>, 'e is. 'E's </span><em class="italics">tué</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull and Reginald Rupert looked at each -other, and then turned back quietly to where the -Sergeant was lying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cerebral hemorrhage," suggested John Bull. "I -struck him on the side of the head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Eart failure," suggested 'Erb. "I set on 'is 'ead -till 'is 'eart stopped, blimey!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Apple Plexy, I opine," put in the Bucking Bronco. -"All comes o' gittin' excited, don't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He certainly made himself perfectly miserable -when I took his bayonet away," admitted Legionary -Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anyhow, it's a fair swingin' job nah, wotever -it was afore," said 'Erb. Whatever the cause and -whosesoever the hand, Sergeant Legros was -undoubtedly dead. They removed the belts, straightened -his limbs, closed his eyes and 'Erb placed the dead -man's képi over the face, bursting as he did so into -semi-hysterical song--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Ours is a 'appy little 'ome,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I wisht I was a kipper on the foam,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>There's no carpet on the door,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>There's no knocker on the floor,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Oo! Ours is a 'appy little 'ome."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Shut that damned row," said Legionary Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Carmelita, honey," said the Bucking Bronco, -stroking the hair of the weeping girl. "Yew got the -brains. Wot'll we do? Shall we stop an' look arter -ye? Will yew come on pump with us? Will yew -ketch the nine-fifteen ter Oran? Yew could light -out fer the railroad </span><em class="italics">de</em><span>-pot right now--or will yew -stick it out here, an' see ef they takes away yure -licence? They couldn't do nuthin' more.... Give -it a name, little gal--we've gotter hike quick, ef -we ain't a-goin' ter stay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita controlled herself with an effort and dried -her eyes. Not for nothing had her life been what it had.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must all go at once," she said unhesitatingly. -"Take Signor Rupert's money and make for Mendoza's -in the Ghetto. He'll sell you mufti and food. Change, -and then run, all night, along the railway. Lie up -all day, and then run all night again. Then take -different trains at different wayside stations, one by -one, and avoid each other like poison in Oran; and -leave by different boats on different days. I shall -stay here. After trying for some hours to revive -Legros, I shall send for the picket. You will be far -from Sidi then. I shall give the Police all information -as to the fight, and as to the murder of </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>, by Malvin; -and shall conceal nothing of Legros' murderous attempt -upon the Légionnaire Bouckaing Bronceau and of -his death by </span><em class="italics">apoplessia</em><span>.... They will see he has -no wound.... This will give weight and truth to -my evidence to the effect that it was a fair, clean -fight and that no blame attaches to le Légionnaire -Bouckaing Bronceau.... Where am I to blame? ... No, -you can leave me without fear. Also will I give -evidence to having heard you plotting to make the -promenade in different directions and to avoid the -railway and Oran...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bucking Bronco was overcome with admiration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ain't that horse-sense?" he ejaculated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Laying her hands upon his shoulders, Carmelita -looked him in the eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when you write to me to join you also, dear -Americano, I will come," she said. "I, Carmelita, -have said it.... Now that </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> is dead, I shall be -able to save some money. Write to me when you are -safe, and I will join you wherever you are--whether -it be Napoli or Inghilterra or America."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God bless ye, little gal," growled the American, -folding her in his arms, and for the first time of his -life being on the verge of an exhibition of -weakness. "We'll make our gitaway all right, an' we -couldn't be no use ter yew in prison hyar.... I'll -earn or steal some money ter send yer, Carmelita, -honey."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can help you there," put in Legionary Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You and your loose cash are the </span><em class="italics">deus ex machina</em><span>, -Rupert, my boy," said John Bull.... "But for -you, the Russians would hardly have got away so -easily, and now a few pounds will make all the -difference between life and death to Buck and Carmelita, -not to mention yourself and 'Erb."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am very fortunate," said Rupert, gracefully. -"By the way, how much have we left Carmelita?" -he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly seven hundred francs, Monsieur," she -replied. "Monsieur drew one thousand, he will -remember, and the Russians after all, needed only -three hundred in addition to their own roubles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you going to do, 'Erb?" asked John -Bull. "You haven't committed yourself very deeply -you know. Legros can't give evidence against you -and I doubt whether Tant-de-Soif or Djoolte will.... -I don't suppose any of the others noticed you, but -there's a risk--and ten years of Dartmoor would be -preferable to six months in the Penal Battalions. -What shall you do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bung orf," replied 'Erb. "I'm fair fed full wiv -Hafrica. Wot price the Ol' Kent Road on a Sat'day -night!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then seven hundred francs will be most ample for -three of you, to get mufti, railway tickets and -tramp-steamer passages from Oran to Hamburg."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why three?" asked Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You, Buck and 'Erb," replied John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I see. You have money for your own needs?" -observed Rupert in some surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not going," announced John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">What?</em><span>" exclaimed four voices simultaneously, -three in English and one in French.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not going," he reiterated, "for several -reasons.... To begin with, I've nowhere to go. -Secondly, I don't want to go. Thirdly, I did not kill -Legros," and, as an inducement to the Bucking Bronco -to agree with his wishes, he added, "and fourthly, -I may be able to be of some service to Carmelita -if only by supporting her testimony with my evidence -at the trial--supposing that I am arrested."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come off it, old chap," said Rupert. "There are -a hundred men whose testimony will support Carmelita's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wot's bitin' yew naow, John?" asked the Bucking -Bronco. "Yew know it's a plum' sure thing as haow -it'll come out thet yew slugged Legros in the year-'ole -when we man-handled him. Won't that be enuff -ter give yew five-spot in Biribi?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yus. Wot cher givin' us, Ole Cock?" expostulated -'Erb. "Wot price them blokes Malvin, an' -Bower, an' Borjis, an' 'Ersh? Fink they'll shut their -'eads? An' wot price that bloomin' psalm-smitin', -Bible-puncher of a George Washington of a Joolt? -Wot price ole Tarntderswoff? Git 'im in front of a -court martial an' 'e wouldn't jabber, would 'e? Not -arf, 'e wouldn't. I </span><em class="italics">don't</em><span> fink."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And don't talk tosh, my dear chap, about having -nowhere to go, please," said Rupert. "You're coming -home with me of course. My mother will love to have -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks awfully, but I'm afraid I can't go to -England," was the reply. "I must..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Garn</em><span>," interrupted 'Erb. "I'm wanted meself, -but I'm a-goin' ter chawnst it. No need ter 'ang abaht -Scotland Yard.... I knows lots o' quiet juggers. 'Sides, -better go where it's a risk o' bein' pinched than stop -where it's a dead cert.... Nuvver fing. You ain't -goin' ter be put away fer wot you done, Gawd-knows-'ow-many -years ago. That's all blowed over, long ago. -Why you've bin 'ere pretty nigh fifteen year, ain't -yer? Talk sinse, Ole Cock--ain't yer jest said yer'd -raver do a ten stretch in Portland than 'arf a one in -Biribi?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull and Reginald Rupert smiled at each other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks awfully, Rupert," said the former, "but -I can't go to England." Turning to the Cockney he -added, "You're a good sort, Herbert, my laddie--but -I'm staying here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shucks," observed the American with an air of -finality, and turning to Carmelita requested her to -fetch the nuggets, the spondulicks, the dope--in short, -the wad. Carmelita disappeared into her little room -and returned in a few moments with a roll of notes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, good-bye, my dear old chap," said John -Bull, taking the American's hand. "You understand -all I can't say, don't you? ... Good-bye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nuthin' doin', John," was the answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hurry him off, Carmelita, we've wasted quite -time enough," said John Bull, turning to the girl. "If -he doesn't go now and do his best for himself, he -doesn't love you. Do clear him out. It's death or -penal servitude if he's caught. He struck Legros before -Legros even threatened him--and Legros is dead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You hear what Signor Jean Boule says. Are you -going?" said Carmelita, turning to the American.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, my gal. I ain't," was the prompt reply. -"How can I, Carmelita? ... I'm his pal.... Hev' -I got ter choose between yew an' him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course you have," put in John Bull. "Stay -here and you will never see her again. It won't be -a choice between me and her then; it'll be between -death and penal servitude."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bucking Bronco took Carmelita's face between -his hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Little gal," he said, "I didn't reckon there was -no such thing as 'love,' outside books, ontil I saw -yew. Life wasn't worth a red cent ontil yew came -hyar. Then every time I gits inter my bunk, I thinks -over agin every word I'd said ter yew thet night, an' -every word yew'd said ter me. An' every mornin' -when I gits up, I ses, 'I shall see Carmelita ter-night,' -an' nuthin' didn't jar me so long as that was all right. -An' when I knowed yew wasn't fer mine, because yew -loved Loojey Rivoli, then I ses, '</span><em class="italics">Hell!</em><span>' An' I didn't -shoot 'im up because I see how much yew loved him. -An' I put up with him when he uster git fresh, because -ef I'd beat 'im up yew'd hev druv me away from the -Caffy, an' life was jest Hell, 'cause I knowed 'e was -a low-lifer reptile an' yew'd never believe it.... -An' now yew've found 'im out, an' he's gorn, an' yure -mine--an' it's too late.... Will yew think I don't -love yew, little gal? ... Don't tell me ter go or I -might sneak off an' leave John in the lurch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't help me, Buck," put in John Bull. -"I shall be all right. Who'll you benefit by walking -into gaol?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The American looked appealingly at the girl, and -his face was more haggard and anxious than when -he was fighting for his life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is my answer, Signor Bouckaing Bronceau," -spake Carmelita. "Had you gone without Signor -Jean Boule, I should not have followed you. Now I -have heard you speak, I trust you for ever. Had you -deserted your friend in trouble, you would have -deserted me in trouble. If Signor Jean Boule will not -go, then you must stay, for he struck Legros to save -your life, as you struck him to avenge me. Would </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> -run away while you paid for that blow?..."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita then turned with feminine wiles upon -John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since Signor Jean Boule will not go on pump," -she continued, "you must stay and be shot, or sent -to penal servitude, and I must be left to starve in -the gutter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Montague Merline came to the conclusion that -after all the problem of his immediate future was not -settled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," said he, "come on. We'll cut over -to Mendoza's and go to earth. As soon as he has rigged -us out, we'll get clear of Sidi."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>(He could always give himself up when they had -to separate and he could help them no more. Yes, -that was it. He would pretend that he had changed -his mind and when they had to separate he would -pretend that he was going to continue his journey. -He would return and give himself up. Having told -the exact truth with regard to his share in the matter, -he would take his chance and face whatever followed.)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">A rivederci</em><span>, Carmelita," said he and kissed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Mille grazie</em><span>, Signor," replied Carmelita. "</span><em class="italics">Buon -viaggio</em><span>," and wept afresh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So-long, Miss," said 'Erb. "Are we dahn'arted? -</span><em class="italics">Naow!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Carmelita smiled through her tears at the quaint -English </span><em class="italics">ribaldo</em><span>, and brought confusion on Reginald -Rupert by the warmth of her thanks for his actual -and promised financial help....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'd better go separately to Mendoza's," said -John Bull. "Buck had better come last. I'll go first -and bargain with the old devil. We shan't be missed -until the morning, but we needn't exactly obtrude -ourselves on people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went out, followed a few minutes later by Rupert -and 'Erb.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Left alone with Carmelita, the Bucking Bronco -picked her up in his arms and held her like a baby, -as with haggard face and hoarse voice he tried to tell -her of his love and of his misery in having to choose -between losing her and leaving her. Having arranged -with her that he should write to her in the name of -Jules Lebrun from an address which would not be -in France or any of her colonies, the Bucking Bronco -allowed himself to be driven from the back door of -the Café. Carmelita's last words were--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye, </span><em class="italics">amato</em><span>. When you send for me I shall -come, and you need not wait until you can send me -money."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">§3</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The good Monsieur Mendoza, discovered in a dirty -unsavoury room, at the top of a broken winding -staircase of a modestly unobtrusive, windowless house, -in a dirty unsavoury slum of the Ghetto, was exceedingly -surprised to learn that le Légionnaire Jean Boule -had come to </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>, of all people in the world, for -assistance in deserting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The surprise of le bon Monsieur Mendoza was in -itself surprising, in view of the fact that the facilitation -of desertion was his profession. Still, there it was, -manifest upon his expressive and filthy countenance, -not to mention his expressive and filthy hands, which -waggled, palms upward, beside his shrugged shoulders, -as he gave vent to his pained astonishment, not to say -indignation, at the Legionary's suggestion.... He -was not that sort of man.... Besides, how did he -know that Monsieur le Légionnaire had enough?...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull explained patiently to le bon Monsieur -Mendoza, of whose little ways he knew a good deal, -that he had come to him because he was subterraneously -famous in the Legion as the fairy god-papa who -could, with a wave of his wand, convert a uniformed -Légionnaire into a most convincing civilian. Further, -that he was known to be wholly reliable and -incorruptibly honest in his dealings with those who could -afford to be his god-sons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All of which was perfectly true.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>(Monsieur Mendoza did not display a gilt-lettered -board upon the wall of his house, bearing any such -inscription as "</span><em class="italics">Haroun Mendoza, Desertion Agent. -Costumier to Poumpistes and All who make the -Promenade. Desertions arranged with promptitude and -despatch. Perfect Disguises a Speciality. Foreign -Money Changed. Healthy Itineraries mapped out. -Second-hand Uniforms disposed of. H.M.'s Agents -and Interpreters meet All Trains at Oran; and Best -Berths secured on all Steamers. Convincing Labelled -Luggage Supplied. Special Terms for Parties</em><span>...." nor -advertise in the </span><em class="italics">Echo d'Oran</em><span>, for it would have been -as unnecessary as unwise....)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All very well and all very interesting, parried -Monsieur Mendoza, but while compliments garlic -no </span><em class="italics">caldo</em><span>, shekels undoubtedly make the mule to go. -Had le bon Légionnaire shekels?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No, he had not, but they would very shortly arrive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And how many shekels will arrive?" enquired -the good Monsieur Mendoza.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sufficient unto the purpose," was the answer, and -then the bargaining began. For the sum of fifty francs -the Jew would provide one Legionary with a satisfactory -suit of clothes. The hat, boots, linen and tie -consistent with each particular suit would cost from -thirty to forty francs extra.... Say, roughly, a -hundred francs for food and complete outfit, per -individual. The attention of the worthy Israelite was -here directed to the incontrovertible fact that he was -dealing, not with the Rothschild brothers, but with -four Legionaries of modest ambition and slender -purse. To which, M. Mendoza replied that he who -supped with the Devil required not only a long, but -a golden spoon. In the end, it was agreed that, for -the sum of three hundred francs, four complete outfits -should be provided.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next thing was the production and exhibition -of the promised disguises. Would M. Mendoza display -them forthwith, that they might be selected by the -time that the other clients arrived?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Si, si</em><span>," said M. Mendoza. "</span><em class="italics">Ciertamente. Con -placer</em><span>." It was no desire of M. Mendoza that any -client should be expected </span><em class="italics">comprar a ciegas</em><span>--to buy -a pig in a poke. No, </span><em class="italics">de ningun modo</em><span>....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shuffling into an inner room, the old gentleman -returned, a few minutes later, laden with a huge -bundle of second-hand clothing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you travel as a party--say two tourists -and their servants? Or as a party of bourgeoisie -interested in the wine trade? Or--say worthy artisans -or working men returning to Marseilles? ... What -do you say to some walnut-juice and haiks--wild -men from the </span><em class="italics">Tanezrafet</em><span>? One of you a Negro, perhaps -(pebbles in the nostrils), carrying an </span><em class="italics">angareb</em><span> and a -bundle. I could let you have some </span><em class="italics">hashish</em><span>.... I -could also arrange for camels--it's eighty miles to -Oran, you know.... Say, three francs a day, per -camel, and </span><em class="italics">bakshish</em><span> for the men.... Not </span><em class="italics">meharis</em><span> -of course, but you'll be relying more on disguise -than speed, for your escape...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," interrupted John Bull. "It only means -more trouble turning into Europeans again at Oran. -We want to be four obvious civilians, of the sort -who could, without exciting suspicion, take the train -at a wayside station."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What nationalities are you?" enquired the Jew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"English," was the reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then take my advice and don't pretend to be -French," said the other, and added, "Are any of -the others gentlemen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Montague Merline smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you and that other had better go as what -you are--English gentlemen. If you are questioned, -do not speak too good French, but get red in the face -and say, 'Goddam' ... Yes, I think one of you -might have a green veil round his hat.... the others -might be horsey or seamen.... Swiss waiters.... -Music-hall artistes.... Or German touts, bagmen or -spies.... Father Abraham! That's an idea! To -get deported as a German spy! Ha, ha!" There -was a knock at the door....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Escuche!</em><span>" he whispered with an air of mystery, -and added, "</span><em class="italics">Quien esta ahi?</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the Lord Mayor o' Lunnon, Ole Cock," -announced 'Erb as he entered. "Come fer a new -set of robes an' a pearly 'at."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That one can go either as a dismissed groom, -making his way back to England, or an out-of-work -Swiss waiter," declared Mendoza, as his artist eye -and ear took in the details of 'Erb's personality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A great actor and actor manager had been lost in -le bon M. Mendoza, and he enjoyed the work of adapting -disguises according to the possibilities of his clients, -almost as much as he enjoyed wrangling and -bargaining, for their last sous. A greedy and grasping old -scoundrel, no doubt, but once you entrusted yourself -to M. Mendoza you could rely upon his performing -his part of the bargain with zeal, honesty, and secrecy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two Legionaries divested themselves of their -uniforms and put on the clothes handed to them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another knock, and Rupert came in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hallo, Willie Clarkson," said he to Mendoza, -who courteously replied with a "</span><em class="italics">Buenas tardes, -señor</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That one will be an English caballero," he -observed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thought I should never get here," said Rupert. -"Got into the wrong rabbit-warren," and took off -his tunic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Jew did not "place" the Bucking Bronco -immediately upon his entrance, but studied him -carefully, for some minutes, before announcing that -he had better shave off his moustache and be a Spanish -fisherman, muleteer, or sailor. If questioned, he might -tell some tale, in execrable French, of a wife or daughter -kidnapped at Barcelona and traced to a Tlemcen -brothel. He should rave and be violent and more -than a little drunk....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And could the worthy M. Mendoza supply a couple -of good revolvers with ammunition?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Si, si,</em><span>" said M. Mendoza. "</span><em class="italics">Ciertamente. Con -placer</em><span>. A most excellent one of very large calibre and -with twenty-eight rounds of ammunition for forty -francs, and another of smaller calibre and longer -barrel, but with, unfortunately, only eleven rounds -for thirty-five francs...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep your right hand in your pocket, each of -you," said M. Mendoza as they parted, "or you'll -respectfully salute the first Sergeant you meet...."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">§4</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The two Englishmen, in light summer suits, one -wearing white buckskin boots, the other light brown -ones, both carrying gloves and light canes, attracted -no second glance of attention as they strolled along -the boulevard, nor would anyone have suspected -the vehement beating of their hearts as they passed -the Guard at the gate in the fortification walls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Similarly innocent of appearance, was an ordinary-looking -and humble little person who shuffled along, -round-shouldered, shrilly whistling "Viens Poupoule, -viens Poupoule, viens."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nor more calculated to arouse suspicion in the breast -of the most observant Guard, was the big, slouching, -blue-jowled Spaniard, who rolled along with his </span><em class="italics">béret</em><span> -over one eye, and his cigarrillo pendent from the corner -of his mouth. The distance separating these from the -two English gentlemen lessened as the latter, leaving -the main promenades, passed through a suburb and, -turning to the right, followed a quiet country road, -which led to a railway station.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Making a wide détour and avoiding the station, -the four, marching parallel with the railway line, -headed north for Oran.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So far, so good. They were clear of Sidi-bel-Abbès -and they were free. Free, but in the greatest danger. -The next thing was to get clear of Africa and from -beneath the shadow of the tri-couleur.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Free!</em><span>" said Rupert, as the other two joined -him and John Bull, and drew a long, deep breath, as -of relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a bit of it, Rupert," said John Bull. "It's -merely a case of a good beginning and a sporting -chance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anyhow, well begun's half done, Old Thing. I feel -like a boy let out of school," and he began to sing--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Si tu veux</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Faire mon bonheur,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Marguerite, Marguerite,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Si tu veux</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Faire mon bonheur,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Marguerite, donne-moi ton coeur,</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>You'll have to sing that, Buck, and put 'Carmelita' -for 'Marguerite,'" he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Business first," interrupted John Bull. "This is -the programme. We'll go steady all night at the -'quick' and the 'double' alternately, and five minutes' -rest to the hour. If we can't do thirty miles by -daylight, we're no Legionaries. Sleep all day to-morrow, -in the shadow of a boulder, or trees.... By the -way, we mustn't fetch up too near Les Imberts or -we might be seen by somebody while we're asleep. -Les Imberts is about thirty miles from Sidi, I believe. -To-morrow night, we'll do another thirty miles and -that'll bring us to Wady-el-hotoma. From there I -vote we go independently by different trains...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's it," agreed Rupert. "United for -defence--separated for concealment. We'd better hang together -as far as Wady-what-is-it, in case a Goum patrol -overtakes us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not bung orf from this 'ere Lace Imbear?" -enquired 'Erb. "Better'n doin' a kip in the desert, -and paddin' the 'oof another bloomin' night. I'm -a bloomin' gennelman naow, Ole Cock. I ain't a -lousy Legendary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Far too risky," replied John Bull. "We should -look silly if Corporal Martel and a guard of men from -our own </span><em class="italics">chambrée</em><span> were on the next train, shouldn't -we? Whichever of us went into the station would -be pinched. The later we hit the line the better, -though on the other hand we can't hang about too -long. We're between the Devil and the Deep -Sea--station-guards and mounted patrols."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It occurred to the Bucking Bronco that his own best -"lay" would be an application of the art of "holding -her down." In other words, waiting outside Sidi-bel-Abbès -railway station until the night train pulled -out, and jumping on to her in the darkness and -"decking her"--in other words, climbing on to the -roof and lying flat. As a past-master in "beating an -overland," he could do this without the slightest -difficulty, leaving the train as it slowed down into -stations and making a détour to pick it up again as -it left. Before daylight he could leave the train -altogether and book as a passenger from the next -station (since John strongly advised against walking -into Oran by road, as that was the way a penniless -Legionary might be expected to arrive). By that -means he would arrive at Oran before they were missed -at roll-call in the morning. Should he, by any chance, -be seen and "ditched" by what he called the -"brakemen" and "train-crew," he would merely -have "to hit the grit," and wait for the next train. -Yes, that's what he would do if he were alone--but -the four of them couldn't do it, even if they possessed -the necessary nerve, skill and endurance--and he -wasn't going to leave them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on, boys, </span><em class="italics">en avant, marche</em><span>," said John Bull, -and they started on their thirty-mile run, keeping a -sharp look-out for patrols, and halting for a second -to listen for the sound of hoofs each time they changed -from the </span><em class="italics">pas gymnastique</em><span> to the quick march. Galloping -hoofs would mean a patrol of Arab gens-d'armes, the -natural enemies of the </span><em class="italics">poumpiste</em><span>, the villains who -make a handsome bonus on their pay by hunting -white men down like mad dogs and shooting them, -as such, if they resist. (It is not for nothing that the -twenty-five francs reward is paid for the return of a -deserter "</span><em class="italics">dead</em><span> or alive.")</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On through the night struggled the little band, -keeping as far from the railway as was possible without -losing its guidance. When a train rolled by in the -distance, the dry mouth of the Bucking Bronco almost -watered, as he imagined himself "holding her down," -"decking her," "riding the blind," or perhaps doing -the journey safely and comfortably in a "side-door -Pullman" (or goods-waggon).</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before daylight, the utterly weary and footsore -travellers threw themselves down to sleep in the -middle of a collection of huge boulders that looked -as though they had been emptied out upon the plain -from a giant sack. During the night they had passed -near many villages and had made many détours -to avoid others which lay near the line, as well as -farms and country houses, surrounded by their fig, -orange and citron trees, their groves of date-palms, -and their gardens. For miles they had travelled over -sandy desert, and for miles through patches of -cultivation, vineyards and well-tilled fields. They had -met no one and had heard nothing more alarming -than the barking of dogs. Now they had reached an -utterly desert spot, and it had seemed to the leader of -the party to be as safe a place as they would find in -which to sleep away the day. It was not too near road, -path, building, or cultivation, so far as he could tell, -and about a mile from the railway. The cluster of -great rocks would hide them from view of any possible -wayfarer on foot, horseback, or camel, and would also -shelter them from the rays of the sun. He judged -that they were some two or three miles from Les -Imberts station, and four or five from the village of -that name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next trouble would be water. They'd probably -want water pretty badly before they got it. Perhaps -it would rain. That would give them water, but would -hardly improve the chances of himself and Rupert -as convincing tourists. Thank Heaven they had a -spare clean collar each, anyhow. Good old Mendoza. -What an artist he was!...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Bull fell asleep.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">§5</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Look, my brothers! Behold!" cried "Goum" -Hassan ibn Marbuk, an hour later, as he reined in -his horse and pointed to where the footprints of four -men left a track and turned off into the desert. -"Franzwazi--they wear boots. It is they. Allah be -praised. A hundred francs for us, and death for four -Roumis. Let us kill the dogs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Turning his horse from the road, he cantered along -the trail of the footsteps, followed by his two companions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Allah be praised!" he cried again. "But our -Kismet is good. Had it been but five minutes earlier -it would have been too dark to notice them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The footprints lead into that el Ahagger," he -added later, pointing to the group of great boulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The three men drew their revolvers and rode in -among the rocks. The leading Arab gave a cry of -joy and covered Rupert, who was nearest to him. -As the Arab shouted, John Bull awoke and, even as -he opened his eyes, yelled "</span><em class="italics">Aux armes!</em><span>" at the top -of his voice. (He had shouted those words and heard -them shouted, off and on, for fifteen years.) As he -cried out, Hassan ibn Marbuk changed his aim from -Rupert to John Bull and fired. The report of the -revolver was instantly followed by three others in -the quickest succession. John Bull's cry had awakened -the Bucking Bronco and that wary man had slept -with his "gun" in his hand. A second after Hassan -ibn Marbuk fired, the Bucking Bronco shot him -through the head, and then with lightning rapidity -and apparently without aim, fired at the other two -"Goums" who were behind their leader. Not for -nothing had the Bucking Bronco been, for a time, -trick pistol-shot in a Wild West show. Hassan ibn -Marbuk fell from his saddle, the second Arab hung -over his horse's neck, and the third, after a convulsive -start, drooped and slowly bent backward, until he -lay over the high crupper of his saddle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Arabs ain't no derned good with guns," remarked -the Bucking Bronco, as he rose to his feet, though it -must, in justice, be admitted that the leading Arab -had decidedly screened the view, and hampered the -activity of the other two as he emerged from the little -gully between two mighty rocks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gawd luvvus," said 'Erb, sitting up and rubbing -his eyes. "Done in three coppers in a bloomin' lump!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bucking Bronco secured the horses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say," said Rupert, who was bending over Sir -Montague Merline, "Bull's badly hit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ketch holt, quick," cried the Bucking Bronco, -holding out to 'Erb the three reins which he had drawn -over the horses' heads. He threw himself down beside -his friend and swore softly, as his experienced eye -recognised the unmistakable signs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is he dying?" whispered Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His number's up," groaned the American.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Done in by a copper!" marvelled 'Erb, and, -putting his arm across his face, he leaned against -the nearest horse and sobbed.... He was a child-like -person, and, without knowing it, had come to -centre all his powers of affection on John Bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dying man opened his eyes. "Got it where the -chicken got the axe," he whispered. "Good-bye, -Buck.... See you in the ... Happy Hunting -Grounds ... I hope."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bucking Bronco looked at Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Carmelita put thisyer brandy in my pocket, -Rupert," he said producing a medicine bottle. "Shall -I dope him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He coughed and swallowed, his mouth and chin -twitched and worked, and tears trickled down his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't do much harm," said Rupert, and took the -bottle from the American's shaking hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The brandy revived the mortally wounded man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye, Rupert," he said. "I advise you to -go straight down to Les Imberts station ... and take -the next train.... There will be a patrol ... after -this patrol ... before long. You can't lie up here -for long now.... Buck might take a horse and gallop -for it.... Lie up somewhere else.... And ride -to Oran to-night.... 'Erb should go as Rupert's -servant ... or by a different train.... Remember -Mendoza's tips."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stertorous, wheezy breathing was painfully -interrupted by a paroxysm of coughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Much pain, old chap?" asked the white-faced -Rupert, as he wiped the blood from his friend's lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," whispered Sir Montague Merline. "I am -dead ... up to ... the heart.... Expanding -bullet.... Lungs ... and spine ... I -... ex- ... pect. Shan't be ... long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything I can do--any message or anything?" -asked Rupert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dying man closed his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bucking Bronco was frankly blubbering. -Turning to the dead "Goum" who had shot his friend, -he swore horribly, and deplored that the man was -dead and beyond the reach of his further vengeance. -He fell instantly silent as his stricken friend spoke -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you ... get ... to Eng ... land, Rupert -... will ... you go ... to ... my wife? She's -Lady..." he whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes--Lady ... </span><em class="italics">who</em><span>?" asked Rupert eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"NO," continued the dying man, in a stronger -voice, as he opened his eyes. "I never ... had ... a -... wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silence again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why </span><em class="italics">Marguerite</em><span> ... My ... darling ... girl. -</span><em class="italics">Darling</em><span> ... at ... last. </span><em class="italics">Marguerite</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Montague Merline's problem was solved, and the -last of his wages paid....</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">§6</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Honourable Reginald Rupert Huntingten never -forgot the hour that followed. The three broken-hearted -men buried their friend in a shallow, sandy -grave and piled a cairn of rocks and stones above the -spot. It gave them a feeling akin to pleasure to realise -that every minute devoted to this labour of love, -lessened their chance of escape.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their task accomplished, they shook hands and -parted--the Bucking Bronco incapable of speech. -Before he rode away, Huntingten thrust a piece of -paper into his hand, upon which he had scribbled: -"</span><em class="italics">R. R. Huntingten, Elham Old Hall, Elham, Kent,</em><span>" -and said, "Wire me there. Or--better still, come--and -we'll arrange about Carmelita."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bucking Bronco rode away in the cool of the -morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having settled by the toss of a coin whether he -or 'Erb should attempt the next train, he gave that -grief-stricken warrior the same address and invitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a crushing hand-clasp they parted, and -Huntingten, with a light and jaunty step, and a sore -and heavy heart, set forth for the station of Les -Imberts to put his nerve and fortune to the test.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="epilogue"><span class="large">EPILOGUE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Well, good night, my own darling Boy," said -the beautiful Lady Huntingten, as she lit -her candle from that of her son, by the table in the -hall. "Don't keep Father up all night, if he and -General Strong come to your bedroom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night, dearest," replied he, kissing her -fondly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Setting down her candlestick, she took him by -the lapels of his coat as though loth to let him out of -her sight and part with him, even for the night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but it is good to have you again, darling," -she murmured, gazing long at his bronzed and weather-beaten -face. "You won't go off again for a long, long -time, will you? And we must keep your promise -to that wholly delightful 'Erb, if it's humanly possible. -But I really cannot picture him as a discreet and -silent-footed valet.... I simply loved him and the -Bucking Bronco. I don't know which is the more -precious and priceless.... I do so wonder whether -he'll be happy with his Carmelita.... I shall love -seeing her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, 'Erb and Buck are great birds," replied -her son, "but poor old John Bull was the chap."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor man, how awful--with freedom in sight.... -You knew nothing of his story?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Absolutely nothing, dearest. All I know about -him is that he was one of the very best. Funny thing, -y' know, Mother--I simply lived with that chap, -night and day, for a year, and know no more about -him than just that. That, and his marks--and by -Jove, he'd got some.... Simply a mass of scars, -beginning with the crown of his head, where was a -hole you could have laid your thumb in. Been about -a bit, too; fought in China, Madagascar, West Africa, -the Sahara and Morocco, in the Legion. Certainly -been in the British Army--in Africa, too. I fancy he'd -been a sailor as well--anyhow he'd been in Japan -and got the loveliest bit of tattooing I ever set eyes -on. Wonderful colours--snake winding round his -wrist and up his forearm. Thing looked alive though -it had been done for over thirty years. Nagasaki, -I think he said...." He yawned hugely. "But here -I am rambling on about a person you never saw, and -keeping you up," he added. He bent to kiss his mother -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother!--</span><em class="italics">darling</em><span>! Don't you feel well? Here, -I'll get you a little brandy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lady Huntingten was clutching at the edge of the -table, and staring at her son, white-lipped. Her face -looked drawn and suddenly old.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," she said. "Come back. I--sometimes--a -little..." and she sat down on the oak settle -beside the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The heat ..." she continued incoherently. -"There, I'm all right now. Tell me some more about -this--John Bull.... He </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> dead? ... You buried -him yourself, you said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, poor old chap, it was awful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he gave you no messages for his people? -He did not tell you his real name?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Nothing. He's taken his story with him. -The last words he said were 'Will you go and tell -my wife, Lady...' and there he pulled himself up, -and said he never had a wife. But he had, I'm sure--and -he called to her by her Christian name. As -he died, he cried out, '</span><em class="italics">At last--my darling--</em><span>'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Marguerite</em><span>," whispered Lady Huntingten.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Made and Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">ALSO BY P. C. WREN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">BEAU GESTE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Well-told, absorbing romance."--</span><em class="italics">Morning Post</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A story of rare quality from every point of view."--</span><em class="italics">Daily -Telegraph</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Told with rare skill and delicacy."--</span><em class="italics">Westminster Gazette</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A most stimulating, and at times hair-raising, story of -adventure."--</span><em class="italics">Daily Graphic</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very exciting reading."--</span><em class="italics">Spectator</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A spanking yarn, brimming with high spirits and -vitality."--</span><em class="italics">The New Statesman</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His Algerian pen-pictures are quite unusually forceful and -descriptive."--</span><em class="italics">The Field</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unquestionably a great story."--</span><em class="italics">Truth</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Should find a big public."--</span><em class="italics">The Graphic</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The best kind of wholesome romance and the best of all its -author's books. A splendid story very splendidly told."--</span><em class="italics">T.P.'s -and Cassell's Weekly</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A wonderfully vivid and enthralling piece of work."--</span><em class="italics">John o' -London's Weekly</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you want romance of the healthiest kind, 'Beau Geste' will -give it you."--</span><em class="italics">Bystander</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A really stirring and romantic story."--</span><em class="italics">Queen</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One of the best and strangest adventure stories of recent -years."--</span><em class="italics">The Gentlewoman</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One of the most exciting stories we have read for many a long -day--ingenious and thrilling."--</span><em class="italics">Guardian</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A story to stir the pulses: a vivid picture."--</span><em class="italics">Christian World</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Its swift popularity is well deserved; it is a novel of high -quality."--</span><em class="italics">Oxford Chronicle</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Deserves every whit of the success which it is now -attaining."--</span><em class="italics">Manchester Guardian</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One of the very best novels that we have read for a very long -time."--</span><em class="italics">Western Mail</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>ILLUSTRATED EDITION, with coloured and black-and-white -Drawings by Helen McKie. 7s. 6d. net.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Also an Edition-de-luxe, limited to 600 copies for sale in England, -numbered and signed by the Author, 21s. net.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>FIRST CHEAP EDITION. Without Illustrations. 3s. 6d. net.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">BEAU SABREUR</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">First Cheap Edition. 3s. 6d. net</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In this latest story, Major Wren presents the fascinating -life and personality of that Major Henri de Beaujolais -who appeared in "Beau Geste." It is a typical Wren -story--healthy, gripping romance plus mystery and -adventure--based on the conflict between the claims of -love and duty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Spahis, legionaries, touaregs, play their several parts with -intense reality, while over all flares the pitiless sun of -those desert wastes in Northern Africa. A novel which is -being read and enjoyed in all parts of the world.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">THE WAGES OF VIRTUE</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">3s. 6d. net and 2s. net</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"A story of the French Foreign Legion ... the tale's the -thing, no doubt--but by no means the whole thing either, -for not only is it told with verve and real, if unobtrusive -human sympathy, but it abounds richly in various kinds -of knowledge as well as Legionary lore.... It is all -skilfully worked out, and we leave it with the utmost -confidence to more than one kind of reader. There is -strong internal evidence that the author knows something -of this amazing life (amazing even in these times) from -the inside. Furthermore, he uses with great effect a -quite astonishing acquaintance with many vernaculars to -emphasize the motley of many-hued characters and -circumstances showing beneath the common uniform."--</span><em class="italics">The Times</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">STEPSONS OF FRANCE</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">3s. 6d. net and 2s. net</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Those who have read Captain Wren's 'The Wages of -Virtue' will renew with pleasure their acquaintance with -several of its principal characters.... Old Jean Boule -moves through these pages like the good angel he is, and -the Bucking Broncho and 'Erb 'Iggins are also here to -provide humour when it is needed."--</span><em class="italics">Yorkshire Post</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The stories themselves are extraordinarily -thrilling--sometimes uncomfortably thrilling."--</span><em class="italics">Bystander</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">DEW AND MILDEW</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">First Cheap Edition. 3s. 6d. net</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Immense snap, vivacity and resource."--</span><em class="italics">The Times</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Highly interesting to the lover of the mysterious. -Told with dramatic force."--</span><em class="italics">Western Daily Press</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fascinating, powerful, amusing, and clever. All who -love Kipling will admire Wren."--</span><em class="italics">Occult Review</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">DRIFTWOOD SPARS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">First Cheap Edition. 3s. 6d. net</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A richly coloured novel of the East, full of dramatic -incident, in which every grade of Society is represented. -The central figure is the son of a Scottish mother and a -Pathan father, and his duality of temperament makes -him peculiarly fitted for the perilous tasks he undertakes. -His adventures form a story of unusual power.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">THE SNAKE AND THE SWORD</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">First Cheap Edition. 3s. 6d. net</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"A really dramatic story."--</span><em class="italics">Evening Standard</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A story often tragic in its incident but powerful in -holding the reader's interest."--</span><em class="italics">Glasgow Herald</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A rousing exciting story, it presents a convincing, vivid -picture."--</span><em class="italics">The Bookman</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An extraordinary story."--</span><em class="italics">Daily Graphic</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Full of exciting but unusual incidents."--</span><em class="italics">Daily Telegraph</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">FATHER GREGORY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">First Cheap Edition. 3s. 6d. net</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"A queer and interesting company depicted with -entertaining and not unsympathetic skill, always picturesque, -and sometimes affecting."--</span><em class="italics">Scotsman</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A peculiarly interesting book and one to be unreservedly -recommended."--</span><em class="italics">Liverpool Post</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well worth reading."--</span><em class="italics">The Athenæum</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Original and cleverly told."--</span><em class="italics">Literary World</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Varied and enjoyable."--</span><em class="italics">The Times</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">THE YOUNG STAGERS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">New and Enlarged Edition. 3s. 6d. net</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Being further Faites and Gestes of the Junior Curlton Club -of Karabad, India, this delightful book is quite different -from the adventurous fiction in which Major Wren has -made his name. It is a book of smiles with much </span><em class="italics">naïveté</em><span> -and not a little profound sense.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">JOHN MURRAY, Albemarle Street, LONDON, W.1</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE WAGES OF VIRTUE</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41652"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41652</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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