Algeria -- Fiction; British -- Algeria -- Fiction; France. Armée. Légion étrangère -- Fiction; Love stories
But prudence had at no time been his specialty, and the reckless life
of Algeria was not one to teach it, with its frank, brotherly fellowship
that bound the soldiers of each battalion, or each squadron, so closely
in a fraternity of which every member took as freely as he gave; its
gay, careless carpe diem camp-philosophy--the unconscious philosophy of
men who enjoyed, heart and soul, if they had a chance, because they
knew they might be shot dead before another day broke; and its swift and
vivid changes that made tirailleurs and troopers one hour rich as a king
in loot, in wine, in dark-eyed captives at the sacking of a tribe, to be
the next day famished, scorched, dragging their weary limbs, or urging
their sinking horses through endless sand and burning heat, glad to
sell a cartouche if they dared so break regimental orders, or to rifle
a hen-roost if they came near one, to get a mouthful of food; changing
everything in their haversack for a sup of dirty water, and driven to
pay with the thrust of a saber for a lock of wretched grass to keep
their beasts alive through the sickliness of a sirocco.
All these taught no caution to any nature normally without it; and
the chief thing that his regiment had loved in him whom they named
Bel-a-faire-peur from the first day that he had bound his red waist-sash
about his loins, and the officers of the bureau had looked over the new
volunteer, murmuring admiringly in their teeth “This gallant will do
great things!” had been that all he had was given, free as the winds, to
any who asked or needed.
The all was slender enough. Unless he live by the ingenuity of his own
manufactures, or by thieving or intimidating the people of the country,
a French soldier has but barren fare and a hard struggle with hunger and
poverty; and it was the one murmur against him, when he was lowest in
the ranks, that he would never follow the fashion, in wringing out
by force or threat the possessions of the native population. The one
reproach, that made his fellow soldiers impatient and suspicious of
him, was that he refused any share in those rough arguments of blows
and lunges with which they were accustomed to persuade every victim
they came nigh to yield them up all such treasures of food, or drink, or
riches, from sheep's liver and couscoussou, to Morocco carpets and skins
of brandy and coins hid in the sand, that the Arabs might be so unhappy
as to own in their reach. That the fattest pullet of the poorest Bedouin
was as sacred to him as the banquet of his own Chef d'Escadron, let him
be ever so famished after the longest day's march, was an eccentricity,
and an insult to the usages of the corps, for which not even his daring
and his popularity could wholly procure him pardon.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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