Chapter XIII

The next important event of my life in Tonquin was the first battle of Lang-Son. This was, to put it bluntly, a defeat for our troops and a really creditable victory for our enemies. Of course, reasons are given by the beaten side for every mishap. "Rank bad luck," for instance, unknown and unforeseen difficulties of country, unsuspected numerical superiority of the victors--anything and everything except a fair and straight admission of an honest beating in open warfare. Now these are all nonsense. Why should a general talk of "rank bad luck"? If he ascribes a defeat to this, may not people fairly ascribe his victories to good luck, and that alone? As for saying that the lie of the land was not known, that is merely a confession of ignorance, and worse--of carelessness in using his mounted men and his scouts. That an enemy may succeed in massing a great number of men at a given point without the knowledge or even suspicion of his opponent is quite conceivable; is it not what every general who knows his business tries to do? Read the history of any campaign and you will find that all the decisive actions were won by a swift and secret concentration of troops against an important place held by comparatively weak numbers. If I were a general, I should try to divide my enemy's forces and concentrate my own. Ah, when a man is beaten let him say so honestly; let him point out, if he wishes, how his opponent out-manoeuvred him; and let him, in the name of all the gods, say nothing about luck, and, above all, be discreetly silent about anything that might hint at his own carelessness or the worthlessness of his scouts.

Now, let me try to show how our defeat came about. But first let me again say that the enemy beat us fairly and squarely in the engagement; that we retreated is good enough proof of that. Well, in the first place, the generals and the other officers firmly believed that the Black Flags and their allies would never be able to stand up against either our rifle fire or our charge. They had good reason, I admit, for assuming this. Unfortunately, they never reckoned on having to fight regular troops, officered and disciplined by Europeans, and it was these regular troops, well armed, well drilled, well led, and showing an amount of courage and staying power which one does not usually attribute to Asiatics, that drove us off the field. There were Black Flags and other barbarians in the fight, but these we could have easily first stalled off with the rifle and afterwards cut to pieces with the bayonet: it was really the men in uniforms who won the fight.

In the second place, we soldiers had learned to depend implicitly on our commanders. They had led us so well that we had as much confidence in their foresight and military skill as they had in our courage and steadfastness. The day before we were driven from Lang-Son no man even dreamt that our generals could be ignorant of anything occurring within a radius of a hundred miles; that a numerous and well-appointed army was within striking distance without their knowledge seemed, or would seem, if such a thing entered our minds, the fancy of a fool or the vain imagining of a coward. When the fight was going on we were surprised at the gallant manner in which our foes stood up against us. After a time, when more than once we had hurled them back with the bayonet, we recognised that we were dealing with the most formidable force that we had yet encountered. They gave us bullet for bullet, thrust for thrust. They were good men, and when the bayonets crossed they fought quietly and earnestly, and died without a murmur, almost without a groan. They could never hold out long against us in a charge--they were too light--and, another point to be noted, though the Asiatic will face death by the hands of the executioner with far more stoicism than the European, in the press of the battle the white man's enthusiasm is infinitely better than the yellow man's contempt of death. But in the firing they more than held their own, they were more numerous, their ammunition was evidently plentiful, and, to tell the plain truth, in spite of our bayonet charges they fairly shot us off the field.

To put the matter in a nutshell: we were defeated because our generals did not know the kind and the number of troops opposed to them. Let me add, our overweening confidence in our own prowess gave way to something very different as we saw ourselves slowly but surely forced back, and noted that the bayonet was not used to gain ground for a fresh advance but merely to drive back for a moment a too closely pressing enemy. At the same time it is but justice to admit that the defence was a good one. We retired, undoubtedly, but we showed no confusion beyond that certain amount that always shows on a battlefield, nay, even at a peaceful review.

I must now go on to my own part in the unlucky fight. After the first repulse my battalion had been constantly engaged in covering the rear of the retreat. On our right flank some French line regiment was busy in the same way. All the other troops, as far as I could judge--but a corporal sees very little of a battle outside the part borne in it by his own company--had been withdrawn, and were hard at work getting ready a new line of defence, while we who were just in front of the enemy kept them back in order to gain time. At last we could scarcely hold them at bay, and the order was given that our battalion should retire by companies. Nos. 2 and 4 quickly left the firing line; No. 1 was the next to leave, and my company poured in as hot a fire as we could until the order was given to run at top speed to the rear. I, as luck had it, had just loaded. I fired deliberately at a white man I saw about three hundred yards away cheering on the enemy, and saw him fall. I then turned and ran as fast as I could after my comrades. These were now some distance in advance, but as I went along I saw a good path leading slightly away from the point where the company would naturally fall into ranks again for another volley or two at the enemy and to allow the men time to regain their breath. This path, though slightly diverging from my route, at any rate would bring me away from the enemy, and I could, when at a safe distance from the Chinese, cut across country to rejoin my squad. I was running through rice-fields, and I knew that I could vastly increase my speed on the path. My one object at the time was to get away; I had no desire to fall, wounded or unwounded, into my pursuers' hands. I therefore turned and fled along the path, which ran by the side of a small stream.

As I ran, I noticed that the ground on the other side of the path gradually rose and at length formed a fairly high mound. This, however, I did not mind; every step took me further from the savages. I gradually slackened speed as my breath gave out, and instinctively flung away the cartridge, that I had fired at the white officer and put my hand into the pouch at my right side for a fresh one. Just as my thumb and forefinger closed on a cartridge, a sudden apparition met my gaze. I was rounding a corner, and there, not twenty yards away, was a Chinaman, evidently as astonished as I at the rencontre. I have never been so frightened in my life as at this totally unexpected meeting with an enemy in such a place. I had no power to take the cartridge from the pouch and fit it into the rifle. I was thunderstruck; I felt an awful horror of impending death. The Chinaman--he seemed a giant in my eyes--hastily tucked the butt of his gun into his right armpit and fired. I ducked instinctively, and at once knew that he had missed. The awkward way he fired and the sudden movement on my part had saved my life. In a second I had a cartridge in the rifle and the rifle at my shoulder; the Chinaman dropped his weapon and fled. Now the pathway was quite straight and level for a distance of about two hundred yards. There was no means of making a hasty escape to one side or the other; on the right ran the stream, on the left stood up a mound about eight or nine feet high. I saw, therefore, that I could let my man go a good distance without firing at him. This I desired, for my rifle kicked a little. When he was about a hundred and fifty yards away I aimed carefully at the back of his knee, pulled the trigger, and probably took him fairly in the small of the back. He flung up his arms, reeled, and fell face downwards in the water, and lay there quite still. I was satisfied. I felt a natural and yet an unreasonable anger with the man who had sought to take my life--natural, because every man hates those who attack him; unreasonable, because why should not he try to do to me as I should have tried to do to him were the positions changed? But soon my anger gave place to caution. I reloaded and clambered up the bank, determined to leave the path, as I could not know that other Chinese might not stop my way with better success than the first. After crossing through some low shrubs and brushwood the sound of volleys quickly repeated led me to the company. I fell into my proper place. Nobody said anything except the captain--a new man not with us a month--who sarcastically asked if I had seen a ghost.

We gradually fell back towards the new line of defence. The regulars attacking wasted no time, and pushed us rather rapidly along. At last a staff officer came with a message to our captain, and we hurriedly poured a heavy fire into the advancing enemy, then we all turned and ran towards the point whither the captain led us. We got a good start and covered the ground quickly; at a little line of small trees and underwood lay safety. As we straggled into this we were ordered to face about and lie down. We saw the Chinese regulars coming along with hoarse cries of joy, not extended in skirmishing order, but in dense masses of men, who pressed and struggled to the front.

A bugle call rang out, and suddenly a horrible rattle of musketry began. The enemy were fairly caught. Every rifle of ours was blazing away at about two hundred yards' range at the easy target they presented. In a moment, as it seemed to me, the attack withered away. Where a minute before were triumphant soldiers rushing in pursuit of a fleeing foe, one saw now nothing but prostrate bodies on the ground. Many, no doubt, flung themselves down as the first shots rang out, but the vast majority must have been swept into eternity by our fire. But this was not all. Our guns began, and even those who were a thousand yards away felt staggered in their advance. For ten minutes we heard nothing but the rattle of musketry, the booming of the guns, the noise of the shells as they hurtled through the air, and then the explosions a thousand yards away. The cries and shrieking of the wounded were unheard and unheeded. If the enemy had driven us from the field and could fairly claim a victory, we in the end taught them such a lesson surely as defeated never before taught their conquerors. That last firing more than equalised losses, and, better still, gave us the bitter-sweet of vengeance, and restored the old feeling of self-confidence that had been so rudely shaken on that day.

This was really the close of the battle. In various parts firing still went on, but an attack in force by either side was manifestly impossible. The Chinese regulars had been too much cut up towards the close of the fighting; as for us, there was only one course to be taken--retreat towards our base in order to prevent being outflanked. The new line of defence had served its purpose. It was not strong enough, nor were we numerous enough, to withstand an attack in force on the morrow, especially as our opponents were strong enough to hold us in front while flanking columns got round even to our rear. After an hour's rest, which we badly wanted, the order was given to retire, and for seven hours we struggled on, angry, weary and hungry. At last we formed a little camp; some rice and brandy were served out--we had no soup or coffee--and so, in bad humour with ourselves, the enemy, and our rations, we lay down on the ground to forget in sleep discomfort and defeat.

Luckily, the enemy did not press their advantage as they should. We were soon reinforced, and when we had recovered from the fatigue of the fight and the retreat, we again tried conclusions with them with better success. The story of the second battle of Lang-Son will be told in due course. I must now narrate an incident that occurred between the battles, while we were still retreating and somewhat pressed by the foe.

First, it must be understood that my battalion formed part of the rear-guard. There were French soldiers of several corps and native levies as well, and I may say here that the Frenchmen showed as much steady courage in retiring before overwhelming masses of the enemy as they usually show of gallantry and _elan_ in a charge. I can never again believe that the Frenchman is good only when advancing; given capable officers, he is a perfect soldier at all points. This retreat proved the fact. We were half starved; there was the continual fear of being wounded and left to the merciless Black Flags; for all that, while the legionaries were furious and occasionally downcast, though doing their duty like brave men, the men of the line, the zouaves, the marine fusiliers, the chasseurs--and I believe the rear-guard had men of all these--were, after the first feeling of anger and disappointment, cheerful, making light of difficulties, almost gaily prophesying a speedy revenge.

Now one evening my battalion halted after a weary, heart-breaking tramp during the day. We had had little food, and that unsuitable, for some time. In my squad was a man whose country I have good reasons for not mentioning; suffice it to say that he came from a land lying on the eastern frontier of France. I shall call him Jean, though that was not his name. All the day he was saying: "Quelle misere, quelle misere!" until we were sick of the words, and I told him, rather roughly I am sorry to say, to keep his troubles to himself. When we came into camp great precautions were adopted to prevent surprise, and I may detail these so that everything may be quite plain. Moreover, they will show how careful our officers were.

Now, as I have often mentioned, a battalion has four companies. Normally a company has two hundred and fifty men, but at this time the strongest company of my battalion numbered only about a hundred and sixty. In the camp the battalion lay in square, so that each company had one side of the square to protect in case of attack, and had to furnish all the guards and outlying pickets on that side. My company lay on the side nearest the enemy, or, as I should rather say, nearest the quarter whence an attack would most probably come.

When the company was halted and faced outwards, a corporal and his squad--say seventeen all told--were detached to furnish the inner sentries. Of these eight men were posted at intervals about fifty paces from the main body; the corporal and the eight reliefs lay half-way between them and the company. Thus every soldier was on sentry for two hours at a time, and then had two hours to rest as well as he could on the bare ground. This squad constituted the guard.

Now two squads with their respective corporals, having an officer or sergeant in chief command, formed the outlying pickets of the company or, if you wish, of one side of the square encampment. Half of each squad acted as sentries about seventy-five yards from the inner line of watching men; between the two lines of sentries the reliefs of the outlying pickets rested. The sentries of the guard stood up, the sentries of the outlying pickets lay down; no glint of buckle or bayonet was allowed to show. It was next to impossible to surprise the camp, even if the darkness should prevent the outer line of sentinels from seeing the approach of an enemy, by placing their ears to the ground they could easily hear the tread of any considerable body of troops, and it would require a very considerable body of men to surprise effectively--that is, to annihilate--about six hundred good soldiers, who knew how useless it was to ask for quarter from such enemies. I hope I have made this matter clear: military men, I know, will understand, and I hope that others may be able to comprehend it too.

My squad was for outlying picket that night, and as it contained only fifteen men I had to borrow one from the corporal of the next squad for duty. This happened to be the one in which Le Grand was, and I asked for him. My request was granted, and Le Grand was attached for twelve hours to my little party. The sub-lieutenant of the company was in charge of the picket, and having led us out to our places he ordered the other corporal and me to post the first sentries. I posted eight men, amongst them Jean, who was still suffering from melancholy, and returned to the spot where the reliefs were to lie. Nicholas, Le Grand, and I lay near one another on the ground and began a whispered conversation in English, a language that the Russian spoke with great purity and ease. In the course of this I mentioned to Le Grand the strange way in which Jean had been speaking all the day, and Nicholas volunteered to tell us the poor fellow's strange story. I can only give the merest outline of it. I wish I could tell it just as I heard it that night, but Nicholas was a born storyteller; indeed, he was clever in all things.

I must try to give it in my own words.

Jean had been a light cavalryman in the army of his own country, which bordered on France. He was, in his own words, a _mauvais sujet_, always getting into trouble. He could not resist the charms of female society, and many a dreary hour he passed in prison for staying away from his duties because he could not tear himself away from some newly-found angel. Things in the end came to such a pass that his life in barracks became unbearable, as his comrades had now turned against him. A cavalryman's horse must be attended to, and if the rider be absent his comrades have to do extra work. Now extra work is merely a cause of extra swearing when the proper man for the duty is ill or absent on leave, or even absent without permission once in a while, but when a man is continually staying out and then getting sent to cells the affair is altogether different. In no army will soldiers stand that. It is quite enough, men say, for each to groom and feed his own charger, but it is very unfair that a soldier, his own work done, should be ordered to do the work of another who is away enjoying himself or paying for his pleasure in the guard-room. So Jean had been rather roughly disciplined by his fellow-soldiers, and this punishment did him so much more good than any inflicted by the officers that for nearly two months he was a fairly steady soldier. Seeing this, the other fellows became again friendly with him, never, indeed, having borne malice, and only desiring that he should do his share of the work.

Well, one night a big gamble was carried on in the barrack-room. Some recruits had come in for training, and two or three of these were fairly well off. The old soldiers thought that card-playing would tend to a more equal distribution of the money, and preparations were accordingly made for a wakeful night. A few bottles of brandy and wine were smuggled in, and when all the lights were out blankets were judiciously placed over the windows, the lower edge of the door, and even the keyhole, so that by no accident might the game be interrupted. Then some candles were lit, and after the men had been cordially invited to drink, some game or other was begun, and, as was natural, the more equable distribution of the money began. Now Jean was a very good card-player, and the little pile of silver and coppers at his corner of the table steadily increased, and when the little party broke up at reveille, his head was heavy with sleep and his pockets with money. He got through the duties of the day as well as he could, and when evening came dressed to go out, just merely, as he said to Nicholas afterwards, for a walk and a glass of wine. Of course, he took all his money with him: that was an obvious precaution.

Soon after passing through the gate he met a lady whose acquaintance he had made some time before. She was pretty and clever, knew how to dress, and was by no means averse to the society of a handsome light cavalryman whose pockets were well lined and whose reputation for generosity in his dealings with the fair sex was so well established as our friend's.

The pair had ever so much to say to each other, and Jean admitted that he had a little money, sent to him by a rich aunt, he said, who would some day die and leave him a nice little property--oh, merely a few thousand shillings a year. (I use the word shillings as it gives no clue to Jean's country.) "How good she was!" said the pretty girl. "And I," she went on; "oh, you would never guess what I am doing now." Jean guessed, and guessed, and guessed again. It was all no use; he had to pay for a pair of gloves before his curiosity would be gratified. Then she told him that a certain rich bachelor, a Government official, had gone for a cure to some watering-place and had left her in sole charge of his domicile until his return.

"Oh," said Jean, "I guessed the rich man, and yet I had to pay for the gloves."

"True, my friend, very true indeed," she answered; "but you did not guess the visit to the baths, and is not that, my handsome fellow, the most important thing?"

There was no denying this. Surely it must rejoice youth and health to find age and pain so careful, so thoughtful, for self and others!

Jean was generous; he could well afford to be, as he had won a large sum, for a soldier; the girl, to give her her due, was not too exacting. An idyllic life was lived by both in the beautifully furnished house of Dives Senex for almost a week. Jean went out only at dark, and then merely for a walk around the unfrequented parts of the town for an hour. As he wore the old man's clothes, which fitted fairly well, there was little danger of his being recognised. At last the dreaded morning came when Jean should leave the house. He knew that sharp punishment awaited him at the barracks, but he had made up his mind to make a bold bid for liberty. This time he feared the anger of his comrades more than a court-martial, for he had been guilty of the unpardonable sin of winning money and spending it without the aid of the other troopers, while all the work of barrack-room and stable was left to them. He knew very well that the consequences would be ugly, and he determined to desert from his corps, more from fear of the squad court-martial than of the regular one presided over by an officer. Of course, his desertion was nothing--that is common in all armies--but Jean's plan of deserting was unique. I at least have never heard of a similar case.

Now the town in which Jean's regiment lay was not very far from the French frontier. At this place there was a debatable ground about a hundred yards wide, and on each side a line of sentries, French on the west, Jean's countrymen on the east. Jean had quite made up his mind to cross to French territory; he believed that, if he could only get there and get a few kilometres away from the frontier, the French authorities would not trouble themselves to capture him and send him back. Moreover, desertion, as I have already had occasion to mention, is not an extraditable offence. The difficulties were to get to the frontier, to cross it safely, and to travel some distance into France.

Well, Jean knew that at a certain hour that day his regiment would be out of barracks for cavalry drill. He also knew a way of getting into his quarters without passing any men of his own regiment on duty. An infantry guard lay at a certain gate. They would in all probability let him pass; he could then cross the infantry parade ground, go under an archway or through a gate--I am not quite certain about this--and enter the cavalry barracks. Once there he would act as circumstances required.

To make as certain as possible of passing the guard, he bought a blue envelope, put a sheet of paper inside, fastened the edges, and wrote the address of some high officer upon it, and then placed the seemingly official document between his belt and tunic. Anybody would thus mistake him for an orderly carrying a despatch, and so no one would think of interfering. Thus prepared he easily passed the infantry guard, nodding genially to some of the men, and made his way across the parade ground to the entrance to the cavalry quarters. Here he was in luck; no one was about except a couple of recruits doing sentry duty--one at the stables, the other about fifty yards away. Jean was not recognised by either, and, going to his room, put on his sword, and dressed himself as if for general parade. He then went down to the stables, saddled his charger, which was the only animal in the place, mounted, and rode back the way he came. Again he passed without suspicion the infantry guard at the gate, and soon found himself smartly trotting towards the frontier. He was in high spirits. Everything had gone so well, surely luck would not desert him now.

As he neared the frontier he trotted towards a guard-house on the side of the road. The sentry near the door looked carelessly at him as he came up, the sergeant did not condescend to come forward to meet him: he was evidently only a light cavalryman sent with some ridiculous message or other from the town. When only a few yards from the guard-house, instead of pulling up and delivering the blue envelope which he now held in his hand, he flung it on the ground, and driving the spurs into his horse's sides he passed the astonished sentry and galloped into the debatable land. A gap in the hedge allowed him into the fields that bordered the road. He heard as he went through the report of a rifle behind, but the sudden turn saved him. He now went towards the French line at a spot about equidistant from two French sentries, and as he did so he lowered his head to his horse's neck. The French sentries also fired and missed. You can scarcely blame them; their surprise must have been so great when they saw a presumably mad light horseman invading single-handed the sacred soil of France. In less time than it takes to tell Jean was through the second line of guards and careering wildly across country, taking hedges, streams and ditches like the winning jockey of the Grand National. A few scattered bullets whizzed about his ears, but rider and horse were untouched. He was now safe from the fire of his fellow-countrymen, and the French sentinels probably did not want to hit him; his escapade, serious though it might be for the others, was only a good joke to them. Moreover, a private soldier must be very bad-minded indeed when he tries to shoot another private, though of a different army, who has evidently got into trouble and is seeking to escape. Certain things excite compassionate feelings amongst men of all armies--amongst the simple soldiers, I mean. As for the sergeants and corporals, the thoughts of the chevrons they have and those they hope for make them dead to all feelings of pity for a man in trouble.

After some time Jean began to feel somewhat at ease. He pulled up under cover of a small wood and began to consider his next move. If he could only get rid of the uniform he fancied he should be comparatively safe. This had to be done quickly, as he was not more than three miles from the frontier, and the French cavalry would soon be on his track. While he was thinking he glanced around to see if he were observed, and saw an old man, evidently of the farming class, looking at him with surprise. Jean determined to appeal for aid, and going towards the peasant frankly told his story. The peasant smiled at first and then laughed heartily.

"My good friend," said he, "take off the saddle and bridle and put them here," at the same time pointing to a place where the underwood was very thick. Jean did so, and the old man carefully concealed them.

"Now lead your horse by the mane to that field where you see the cows grazing, and return."

Jean obeyed.

"Now come to my house"--he pointed it out--"in ten minutes: no one will be within. You will find clothes on a chair, but be sure to take away again your uniform, belts and sword--they would be of no use to me; hide them where they will not be likely to be found."

Jean did as he was told. He found some old clothes on the chair just inside the door; on a table were some bread and milk. He drank the latter and pocketed the former when he had put on the disguise, and then flung all his military clothing and equipments into a stagnant pool. On that day he did not travel far, but found a secure hiding-place until the darkness should allow him to go his way in safety. During the night he tramped about twenty-five kilometres, keeping his eyes and ears on guard, but only once was he in danger. He heard the footfalls of horses at a distance and left the road. Two mounted gendarmes passed, and after a short interval Jean resumed his journey. At daybreak again he sought and found a hiding-place, and there slept for some hours. When he awoke he felt hungry and thirsty, and resolved to try to buy something at a farmhouse that was visible about five hundred yards away. As Jean spoke good French he anticipated no difficulty on the score of language, and, having some silver in his pockets, there surely ought to be no difficulty in the way of obtaining supplies. When he went to the farmhouse he was met by an old woman, who at once pitied the tired wayfarer with the handsome face and the ragged clothes; she gave him bread and meat and a glass of wine, refusing all payment. She was so good and looked so trustworthy that Jean told her his story, omitting, however, all mention of women, and explaining that his desertion was due altogether to the tyranny of the officers. The good old woman pitied him the more for his sad tale; she even gave him a suit of fairly good clothing belonging to her son, at the time serving with his regiment. How the women of Europe love and honour the soldier and pity his misfortunes! There the army has hostages from all homes. She even pressed money on him, but this he refused to take. He had money enough in his pocket to carry him a good way towards Paris, and, even if he had to tramp a bit of the way, with his new clothing he felt independent and free from care.

In the end Jean entered Paris, and immediately volunteered for the Foreign Legion. At once he was accepted, and after a short time in Algeria was sent to Tonquin. There he was taken into my battalion, and handed over to me to help to make up the number of the squad. And now he was amongst us, calling out every moment the unlucky words: "Quelle misere, quelle misere!"

Nicholas took up a longer time in telling this story than I, but you must remember that the Russian was very clever and had the story at first-hand. I have only given the general outline; most of the details have been forgotten by me after so many years.

Well, at last the sub-lieutenant in charge of both squads of the outlying picket ordered the reliefs to be posted. I took Nicholas the Russian, Le Grand the Irishman, and six others of various nationalities to relieve the half-squad that had done sentry duty for the previous two hours. I remember I put Le Grand in place of poor Jean. When we--that is, I, the corporal, and the eight men relieved--came back to the lying-down place I dismissed quietly the men, of course only from duty, not from the place, and lay down on my back, shut my eyes, and began to muse. Almost before I felt it I was in a half-doze, when suddenly the report of a rifle caused me to jump up. As I opened my eyes I saw, so quickly did the alarm arouse me, the falling body of a man. I hurriedly called out the names of the reliefs--the men relieved were now the reliefs--all answered except Jean.

"I think, my corporal," said an Alsatian, "that he has shot himself."

The whole camp was roused; the sub-lieutenant ran down and called me to account for the alarm. I went over to the prone figure, passed my hand across the face, and found it at once warm and wet. Poor Jean, as we saw when dawn came, had blown away the top of his head. There was no enemy, it was true, but I fancy the legionaries did not sleep any more that night; a dead comrade in the camp is worse, a thousand times worse, than a living foe outside.

Now I won't moralise over this. Jean, as I have called him, was a good comrade, especially when he had money; he was fickle, but so were all, amongst the women; he chose to shoot himself, that was his business and not mine. And that is all that I, his corporal, have to say.