Chapter XVII

I left the depot one morning with a large party of recruits for a battalion in the inland parts of Algeria. We were about a hundred and eighty strong, and as a lieutenant was the only officer I ranked as second in command. We had two sergeants and eight or nine corporals to help to maintain discipline, but the men acted in a very good way on the march. I can recall no incident worth relating, but I remember one circumstance that made the march very pleasant. As the lieutenant had no brother officer to speak to and was naturally talkative, he had to associate very much with me. It must not be supposed that this diminished the respect in which I was bound to hold his rank; on the contrary, since he made the time pass agreeably for me, I felt more and more disposed to render him all outward signs of honour; and if I did address him as "my lieutenant" as we marched 20 paces ahead of the party, when others were within earshot I fell back on the more respectful "sir." I am sure he noted this, but he said nothing about it. This officer was a most entertaining talker; he was naturally clever, had received a good education, and was full of stories of Paris which were well worth hearing. He saw that I enjoyed his tales of life there, and thus had the best of all incentives to story-telling--a good listener. On the other hand, I told him more than he, as an officer, could learn of the Legion and the men who were in it. I did not trouble about the Alsatians and Lorrainers, who had enlisted solely to gain the rights of French citizens, but I let him know the life-history of more than one of the Russians, Austrians, Germans and Spaniards who filled our ranks. I did more. I allowed him to see the trend of thought in the corps; I told him of our traditions, our jealousies, our loves and our hates; by the time that we arrived at our goal he understood better than most officers the character of the men whom he would have under his command. So the lieutenant and the sergeant-major were good comrades.

When we came to the battalion at the borders of the Great Desert the recruits were distributed amongst the companies, the sergeants and corporals were appointed to sections and squads, the lieutenant took the place of an officer who had died of fever, and so all were settled in the new battalion except myself. The commandant did not know what to do with me; he had enough sub-officers of my rank already, and yet he did not like to put me to any duties except those of the rank I held. This was on account of the military medal. If I had not had that, I should very soon have found myself acting as simple sergeant of a section. However, a way was found out of the difficulty--a way which led me into many sorrows--though these I have never regretted, counterbalanced as they were by so many joys.

There was a woman in the place who kept a canteen. She always remained with this battalion, and where others might starve she waxed wealthy--that is, wealthy for a _cantiniere_. Her husband had been a sergeant of the third company. He had fallen fighting bravely in an obscure skirmish at some desert village, and when he fell he left a wife and baby daughter to the care of his comrades. The story of the pair was never fully known. They were Italians, and both of evidently gentle birth. When I heard about them first I thought of a Romeo and a Juliet giving up all for love, leaving behind family animosities with family riches, and seeking security from all search in the safest retreat in the world--the "legion of the lost ones." All the men saw and admired the heroic self-sacrifice of the gently-nurtured lady who left all to follow the chosen one in such a career, and I am proud to be able to say that during her husband's life and after his death no man ever said in her hearing anything that would bring a blush to her cheeks; in her presence even the most hardened rascal put on the semblance of a gentleman. People say that even the best man has some fault or imperfection of nature. It may be so. At any rate even the worst man has some good, some respect for virtue and honour, even though he possesses them not himself.

After the death of her husband the widow opened a small shop, in which she sold wine, tobacco, and other things that soldiers spend their money on. The officers of the battalion stocked this for her, but in a short time she was able to pay them back, and she insisted on their accepting the money though they did not at all desire repayment. The regimental convoys were allowed to bring her goods as she required them, and the legionaries of her dead husband's battalion loyally spent most of their scanty pay in her canteen.

Whenever anyone received money from friends or relations in Europe her stock would be all cleared off at once, and so by the exercise of a little frugality she was able gradually to put by some money for the little daughter whom she idolised. At the time when I came to the battalion this girl was about fifteen years of age, slight, graceful, lively, bright-eyed, the pet of the battalion. Everyone jested freely with her, she jested freely with everybody, but no one ever thought of saying anything which her mother, a model of virtue, would not like to hear.

I had been but two or three days in my new quarters when an alarm of fire was raised one night, and we all turned out promptly as the cry went around. There was no danger for us, as the huts were one-storeyed and did not contain more than a squad each, but there might be some for the officers, whose quarters were more elaborate, and who, of course, were more isolated. A dozen or a score of men in a hut will all get clear, because some at least will be aroused, and these can pull out their suffocating comrades; a single officer may be smothered in his bed before even the watchful sentry realises the outbreak. When I came out of my quarters, in shirt and drawers, I glanced around, and saw at once that all the cantonment was safe. Then I heard a cry from the direction of the main guard-house that the village was on fire, but this was afterwards proved to be false. I flung on my clothes hurriedly and ran to the guard-house, for I had no assigned place on the parade that was now rapidly forming on the parade-ground, not being sergeant-major of any company, and asked the sergeant of the guard where the fire was.

"Madame's canteen," he replied; "twenty or thirty men have already gone to put it out."

"May I go to help?" (Of course, though I was of higher rank, he was the man in charge of the guard, and could prevent me, if he wished, from going out.)

"Certainly, my sergeant-major."

"Thanks, comrade, thanks." And I ran out and went to the widow's canteen. There I found the whole a mass of flames, and I saw at a glance that there was no hope of saving even the smallest portion of the house or its contents, especially as there was a sad lack of water. I asked a man if the woman and the girl had been saved. He told me that the girl had discovered the fire and awakened her mother, that both had made good their escape, and that then the widow had run back to recover her little store of money, the hiding-place of which no one else knew. "Then," he went on, "the daughter tried to go into the blazing house to bring back her mother, but she was forcibly prevented by some soldiers, and one or two of the legionaries who tried to enter were driven back, severely burned, by the fire and smoke." The flames, indeed, were terrible, all the wine barrels and spirit casks were blazing fiercely; there was no hope of life for anyone in such a hell. The poor widow fell a victim to her desire to regain for her daughter the money she had hoarded with so much anxious care, and nothing remained of her except a few charred bones, which were reverently gathered up and decently interred on the morrow. As for the money, it must have been chiefly in paper, for very little metal could be found in the ashes, and so the poor daughter was left completely alone in the world, without relations, at least as far as she knew, without means, and with only the friendship and the pity of the battalion to look to for aid.

The Italian girl was taken charge of by a sergeant's wife--one of those few noble women, few, I mean, comparatively speaking, who will go anywhere with their husbands, and who furnish in the most abandoned communities examples of unselfish heroism and exalted virtue, which make even men whose knowledge of the sex is confined to its most vicious members have some respect for purity and some doubts as to their favourite axiom: A man may be good, but a woman cannot be. The officers proposed that she should continue as _cantiniere_ in place of her mother, and generously offered to put her in a position to do so. As for us sub-officers and simple soldiers, our duty was plain: as soon as she was in a new home and shop, to go there, and there only, with the constant copper, the occasional silver, the God-sent gold. She knew this, the officers knew it; we made no resolutions; and said scarcely anything about the matter amongst ourselves, but all understood that it would be bad for the legionary who bought his wine or brandy elsewhere.

The commandant sent for the four sergeant-majors of the companies and for me, the supernumerary. He asked us how much it would cost to erect a new house. We said that it would cost nothing; the soldiers would build one in their spare time.

"Very well, my friends, very well. How much will it cost to put in a new supply."

We did not answer this at once, but after some time we all agreed that 2000 francs would put in a fairly good stock--that is, if carriage cost nothing.

"Oh, the carriage will be settled; I will see to that," said the commandant. "Now, sergeant-major," he went on, turning to me, "you have no company whose accounts you must make up, will you undertake to look after this business for Mademoiselle Julie?"

"I will do my best, sir, in this matter if you wish it."

"That will do," he replied; "you shall be sergeant-major of the canteen company. Is it not so?"

Every other sergeant-major laughed at me. They were glad that I had been sent to some duty, for a sergeant-major with the military medal is not long employed as simple sergeant, and each man, so long as I was unemployed in my proper rank, would fear for himself and his own position. Thus I became sergeant-major responsible for a canteen and the curious crowd assembled there. Some time afterwards, when the new quarters had been built by the legionaries and the little stock of _eau-de-vie_, wine, tobacco, and cigars had arrived, there was a grand opening. All the men had been saving up for awhile, and more than half the stock was sold at a good profit on the first evening. The girl was asked to do nothing except to take the money; four men willingly acted as assistants, pouring out the wine and the _eau-de-vie_, and, indeed, now and then tasting them too, for "you must not muzzle the ox treading out the corn," nor ask a man to help others to good things without occasionally helping himself as well.

One of them took so much brandy that I had to turn him out, a couple of comrades brought him away to his hut, and nothing was said about it, as the poor little _cantiniere_ begged him off with tears in her eyes. Just as things were becoming almost too lively the commandant and the other officers came down and entered the little shop. The first intimation we inside had of their arrival was the silence of the men who were laughing, singing, and carousing outside. The commandant put down a couple of gold pieces and asked for two bottles of wine. He and the others took each a sip of this and wished mademoiselle a prosperous business. Then the commandant gave me a strong hint that enough of business had been done for that day, and I promptly shut up shop after his departure. When all had left Giulia and I counted the money. We had a little gold, a good deal of silver, and a great quantity of copper--altogether over fourteen hundred francs. I congratulated her upon the successful evening's trading, and then we went to reckon up the supply still left. We found that at the same rate of sale the two thousand francs would be changed into at least two thousand six hundred, and that surely was excellent profit in an out-of-the-way camp of legionaries where money was rather scarce.

Then Giulia asked me to take a glass of wine and a cigar. I did not refuse. What legionary, what man, indeed, would, when pressed by so lovely a girl? Of late I had seen her constantly, as my management of her affairs and my continual reports about the progress of her new house brought me daily into her society. We always got on well together--fifteen and seventeen don't usually fall out--and my rank and medal brought me favour in her eyes. Moreover, I was very respectful in my words and demeanour. I pitied her misfortune, and my pity was not lessened by the sight of her beauty, and, before I had been three days attending to her affairs, I took more interest in them than I could by any chance take in the accounts of a company. We were very good friends and companions, but there was not a hint, not a suspicion, of love on either side. She was pretty and in trouble, and, therefore, had my sympathy. I was kind and attentive to her, and she was grateful. _Voila tout!_

Before I drank the wine I made her put her lips to the glass, which she did, prettily and with a blush.

"You must never ask me to do that again," she said.

"Why, it is the custom of the Legion, ma camarade," I replied. "You are now a legionary; surely you will do as your good comrades do?"

"Well, at least not in the presence of others."

"Very well," I answered; "but always when we are alone?"

"Yes," she whispered; "when we are alone. I trust you." And she put her little hand out to me. I took it, and by a sudden impulse kissed it.

"You may always trust me," I said--"always."

A question now arose as to the disposal of the money. There was no danger from natives, as the new house was inside the lines; there was not much, indeed, from soldiers, as there were sentries near. At the same time I told Giulia that it would be safer to transfer it to some other place. "Can you not," I suggested, "take it to the woman in whose quarters you live?"

"No, no," she replied; "I will take some to give to her--she has been very good to me--but you are in charge, you must keep the greater part."

"I?" I said in astonishment.

"Yes; if you do not, I will leave it here."

"But, Mademoiselle Julie, there are very bad men in every battalion, and someone may break in and steal all."

"Let the sentinels keep watch."

"Ah! a sentinel may be glad to get half."

"I do not care; you are my sergeant-major"--as she said this a rosy flush came up over neck and face and ears--"and it is your duty to keep my money for me. Besides, did I not say that I trust you?"

In the end I had to take twelve hundred francs, though with many misgivings. Giulia told me that she would give two hundred to the sergeant's wife, the rest she would keep herself. Then we locked up the place and departed to our separate quarters, after having made an appointment to meet in the morning, to inspect the stores and see if anything had been touched during the night. Giulia wanted me to take the keys as well as the money, but this I refused to do.

I could scarcely sleep that night on account of the money. I occupied a small room in a long, low-roofed building, given up to the accommodation of sergeants whose domestic arrangements did not include a woman. I barricaded the door, put a glass on the window, so that anyone trying to enter that way might knock it down on a tin basin placed just below, and put a naked bayonet and the box containing the money under my pillow. For all these precautions I spent a wakeful night, and rose in the morning, restless, anxious, and unrefreshed. After the morning coffee I felt better, and laughed to myself at my fears of the night. Who would take the money? surely not one of the sergeants. I did not, I could not, suspect them, but I certainly should not like to trust every man in the battalion; the Legion contains more than a due percentage of desperate ruffians, and our battalion had its fair share of the bad ones.

As I went across the parade-ground to keep my appointment with Giulia at the door of the canteen I met the captain of my company, or at least of the company to which I was attached, though I seldom paraded with it. He noticed the box and asked me what it contained. When I told him he laughed, and said that many a man would be pleased to be so trusted, especially by so beautiful a girl as Mademoiselle la Cantiniere. I answered that the trust was pleasant but the responsibility too great; I did not wish to have the safe keeping of twelve hundred francs. "You cannot help it now, my sergeant-major of the canteen, you must undertake all the duties of your position." Then he told me to present his compliments to Mademoiselle Julie, and went away.

I met Giulia at the door. She looked annoyed at having to wait, but when I made her acquainted with the delay caused by meeting the captain her face cleared.

"I thought, mon ami," she said, "that you had forgotten your duty."

"That might be possible; but, Mademoiselle Julie, how could I forget you?"

She curtsied at the compliment, and I noticed the grace of her figure, the beauty of its curves, the wonderful arch of the instep; and I must have looked my admiration, for when she lifted her eyes to meet mine, again the rosy flush came up over her neck and cheeks. "Let us see that all is right within," she said, and opened the door. When we were inside we saw at a glance that everything was as we had left it on the previous evening. "Now let us count the money," I said. In a second Giulia flew into a rage, she stamped her foot upon the ground, she cried out that I wished to insult her, that I thought her mean and suspicious, and finally burst into tears. I laid my hand upon her arm and wished to know what had vexed her; she flung it off with an indignant gesture and bade me go away. I was thunderstruck. I could not tell how I had offended, and was beginning to feel aggrieved. Why should I be told that I had insulted her whom I would not pain for all the world? The more I thought of my conduct towards her, the less reason I could see for her anger and tears. I was wise enough, however, to let her have her cry out: when she had done with weeping she would be reasonable. I was not mistaken.

When she had dried her tears, I asked how I had offended her. She looked, calmly enough now, at me, and said: "Did I not tell you yesterday that I trusted you?"

"Yes," I replied.

"And yet to-day you ask that I should count the money. How can I do so and trust?"

I took off my kepi, bowed, and said: "Pardon me, I was wrong."

"You will never offend me again?"

"Never. And you, you will forgive?"

"Yes; once, but not a second time."

Again she gave me her hand, again I kissed it, then she put her hands upon my shoulders, and said: "My dear friend, if I did not trust you more than you think, I would not be alone with you here."

She asked me to take a glass of wine, voluntarily put the glass to her lips, and then handed it to me. I deliberately turned it round, so that my lips should touch where hers had touched, and drained it to the bottom, looking the while over it at Giulia. She smiled and looked pleased, and then turned away to get some cigars. I had more sense than to offer money. I took the cigars, and said:

"You are a good comrade, Giulia."

It was the first time I had called her by her name. She hesitated a little, and then answered:

"And you too, you will be a good comrade, will you not, Jean?"

"Oui, ma belle." And I bit off the end of a cigar, while she struck a match to light it for me.

Just as I began to smoke there came a knock at the door. I shouted out "Entrez," and the commandant came in. I put down the cigar and stood to attention.

"Everything goes well, is it not?" he asked.

"Yes, monsieur le commandant," Giulia replied; "I can soon repay some of the money advanced by you and the other officers."

"No, my child," the commandant said; "you are the daughter of the regiment now. The battalion must be father and mother to you; we cannot accept repayment."

"But my mother paid back the money given to her by the officers."

"Yes, my dear child; but your mother was not born in the regiment, and though we lent to her we give to you. We gave it, indeed, and did not expect to be repaid. I was a sub-lieutenant then, and I remember all. She insisted, and we were compelled to accept. With you it is different; we will insist, and you must not refuse. How do you like the sergeant-major of the canteen?" he went on. We all laughed at the queer title; no one had ever heard of such a rank.

"Very well, monsieur le commandant."

"Yes, yes; I think he will be good; if he is not, tell me." With that he went away.

"I must be good, Giulia?" I said, as I lit the cigar again.

"Yes; very good, my comrade; you must never offend me again."

"Ah! you do not forget--perhaps you will never forget--and then, what is the good of being forgiven?"

"I will forget; yes, I will never remember, unless you force me to."

I promised that I should never offend her again, and she smiled and said that she believed me.

"Nobody will enter here during the day," I told her, "and I will leave the box here; if I do not I must carry it everywhere with me, and that will be inconvenient."

Giulia asked me why I should carry it about with me, and I told her that I should have no peace or ease of mind while it was out of my sight unless it was in the canteen, which was near so many sentinels. I also mentioned my fears for its safety the previous night and the precautions that I had taken. She was very sorry that I had been so restless, and advised me to leave it in future in the canteen. To this I demurred. I told her that if the box were there, I should be getting up at all hours of the night to come and look at the place, and perhaps I might be shot by a sentry. "But can we not find a hiding-place--some place that nobody could find even in broad daylight?" The idea struck me as a good one. We searched in all directions, and finally decided on an empty box half-full of straw that had contained bottles. By leaving this, of course, without the money, in full view of everybody during the day, no man who might enter at night would dream of searching it. Then I proposed that we should put only the money there every evening and that I should take away the empty box.

"No, my friend, you shall not. Something might happen if the bad ones thought that the box was full; better lose the money than a good friend's life."

"As it pleases you, my comrade; I will obey orders, then I cannot offend."

That evening the canteen did a good trade, so good, indeed, that we--that is, Giulia and I--determined on sending for more wine and _eau-de-vie_. I went to the commandant in the morning and told him how affairs stood. He was glad to hear my report, and ordered me to make out the order and give it to him to be forwarded. I brought him the written order to a merchant in Oran and handed over eighteen hundred francs in cash. He had the money counted by a clerk, and then told me that he would see that Mademoiselle Julie's order and money were safely transmitted. I saluted and went away.

As day after day passed Giulia and I became all the better friends. We openly showed our liking for each other. We were constantly meeting, sometimes by accident it is true, but oftener by unexpressed design, and, whenever we met, we always stopped to speak. I, being unattached to any company for battalion duties, had plenty of time on my hands; Giulia, of course, had nothing to do until evening, as I took good care that her place was swept and cleaned every morning by legionaries, who were only too glad to do this work for a glass of brandy and an ounce of tobacco apiece; thus we, as it were, could not help meeting so frequently. The others noticed and said nothing; it was tacitly understood at the time through the battalion that we were lovers, and yet we had never even spoken of love, and I had kissed her hand only twice. We were happy together, and that, for the moment, was enough for both.