infectious as that sort of panic. . . .
Well! One more fact to accept.
If the men would not enter the fort of Zinderneuf, they would not enter the fort of Zinderneuf--and that was that.
But if the will of these scoundrels was coming into conflict with the will of Henri de Beaujolais, there were exciting times ahead. Since they sought sorrow they should certainly find it--and as I put on my belt and boots again, I felt a certain elation.
'Action is always action, mon Henri,' said I to myself, 'and it will be a change from these thrice-accursed theories and attempts to explain the inexplicable and reconcile the irreconcilable.'
Bah! I would teach my little dogs to show their teeth, and I rode, on a mule, over to the fort. There I bade Dufour and Lebaudy select an escouade of the worst men, all mauvais sujets of that Company. They should garrison either Zinderneuf fort, or else the grave that had been dug for those brave 'fallen who had not been allowed to fall.' . . .
As I rode up, the Sergeant-Major Dufour called the men to attention, and they stood like graven images, the selected escouade on the right, while I made an eloquent speech, the funeral oration of that brave band to whom we were about to give a military funeral with all the last honours that France could render to the worthy defenders of her honour and her Flag.
Tears stood in my eyes and my voice broke as I concluded by quoting:--
'Soldats de la Légion, De la Légion Étrangère, N'ayant pas de nation, La France est votre mère.'
Then, when the selected new garrison got the order, 'Par files de quatre. En avant. Marche,' that they might march into the fort and begin their new duties by bringing the dead out for burial--they did something quite otherwise.
Taking the time from the right, with smartness and precision they stooped as one man, laid their rifles on the ground, rose as one man and stood at attention!
The right-hand man, a grizzled veteran of Madagascar, Tonquin, and Dahomey, took a pace forward, saluted, and with wooden face, said, 'We prefer to die with Rastignac.'
This was flat disobedience and rank mutiny. I had hardly expected quite this.
'But Rastignac is not going to die. He is going to live--long years, I hope--in the Joyeux. You, however, who are but cowardly sheep, led astray by him, shall have the better fate. You shall die now, or enter Zinderneuf fort and do your duty. . . . Sergeant-Major, have those rifles collected. Let the remainder of the Company right form, and on the order 'Attention pour les feux de salve,' the front rank will kneel, and on the order, "Feu," every man will do his duty.'
But I knew better, George. That was precisely what they wouldn't do; and I felt that this was my last parade. That accursed fort was still exerting its horrible influence. These fools feared that it would kill them if they entered it, and I feared it would kill them if they did not. For let me but handle them wrongly now, and they would shoot me and the non-commissioned officers and march off into the desert to certain death, as they weakened from thirst and starvation. They would be harried and hunted and herded along by the Arabs, and daily reduced in numbers until a sudden rush swept over them and nothing remained for the survivors but horrible tortures.
Mutinous dogs they might be, and fools they were--but no less would the responsibility for their sufferings and deaths be mine if I mishandled the situation. I thought of other desert-mutinies in the Legion.
It was an awkward dilemma, George. If I ordered the Company to fire upon the squad, they would refuse and would thereby become mutineers themselves. They would then feel that they might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, and, having shot me, take their chance of escape and freedom.
If, on the other hand, I condoned this refusal of the escouade--what of military discipline? Duty to my country came before my duty to these fellows, and I must not allow any pity for their probable fate to come between me and my duty as a French officer.
I decided that if they would die, then die they must--but I at least could do my best to save them. Without deviating from the path of duty, I would hold out a hand to them.
If the escouade would not enter the fort they must expiate their military crime. If the company would not carry out my orders and fire on the mutineers, they must expiate their crime.
If I were to be shot, I should at least be saved the unpleasantness of reporting that my men had mutinied, and I should die in the knowledge that I had done my duty.
Yes--I would make it clear that disobedience to my orders would be death. Swift and sudden for some, lingering and horrible for many, sure and certain for all. Then I would 'carry on' as you say. Was I right, George?"
"I think you were quite right, Jolly," agreed Lawrence.
"As I was deciding thus, all in the space of a few seconds, with every eye upon me and a terrible tension drawing every face," continued de Beaujolais, "the Sergeant-Major approached and saluted. I eyed him coldly. With his back to the men, he whispered:
'They won't do it, mon Commandant. For God's sake do not give the order. They are rotten with cafard and over-fatigue. That Rastignac is their hero and leader. They will shoot you and desert en masse. . . . A night's rest will work wonders. . . . Besides, Lieutenant St. André and the Senegalese will be here by midnight. It is full moon to-night.'
'And shall we sit and wait for the Senegalese, Dufour?' I whispered back. 'Would you like to ask these fellows to spare us till they come?'
And looking from him to the men I said loudly:
'You are too merciful, Sergeant-Major. We don't do things thus in the Spahis. But these are not Spahis. However, in consideration of the most excellent march the men have made, I will do as you beg and give these cafard-stricken fools till moon-rise. It gives me no pleasure to inflict punishment, and I hope no man will insist on being punished. We are all tired, and since you intercede for your men I grant a four-hour holiday. At moon-rise, our motto is "Work or die." Till then, all may rest. After then, the dead will be buried and the fort garrisoned. I hope there will be no more dead to be buried to-night.'
And I rode back to the oasis, hearing as I did so the voice of the Sergeant-Major, exhorting the men and concluding with the order, 'Rompez.'
He joined me a few minutes later.
'They'll never do it, mon Commandant,' said he. 'They'll fear the place worse than ever by moonlight. In the morning we could call for volunteers to accompany us. And then the Senegalese . . .'
'That will do, Dufour,' said I. 'They will render instant obedience at moon-rise, or take the consequences. I have strained my military conscience already to satisfy my private conscience. If, after four hours' rest and reflection, they still decide to mutiny--on their heads be it! No responsibility rests on me. If they mutiny, they do it in cold blood. If they obey orders before the Senegalese arrive, no great harm has been done, and discipline has been maintained. That is the very utmost length to which I can go in my desire to save them.'
'To save them, mon Commandant! It is you I am trying to save,' stammered the good fellow.
Patting him on the shoulder as he turned to go, I bade him send me a couple of the most influential men of the escouade and two or three of the best of the remainder--leaders of different cliques,
