"On the march there are no sick men. Your company ought to know that."
The corporal shrugged his shoulders. "By order of the captain!" he said laconically.
Now the doctor turned to me.
"What's wrong?"
I briefly described the cramps in my stomach, and emphasised that I only wished to ask for something to relieve the pain, an opiate, perhaps, and that I intended to continue my duties.
He looked at me for a moment, and then said contemptuously:
"What do you know about opiates? To judge from your accent you are an Englishman."
"No, monsieur le docteur, a German."
"Well, I will tell you something. We know these little tricks. All the same if you're English, German or Hottentot, I take you to be quite a common simulator. I shall give you a certificate of being 'non-malade'—not sick. Non-malade, corporal."
I was crushed. Astonishment fought with anger. At the very moment when the doctor was speaking to me I was almost doubled up with pain. "Not sick!" That meant not only the loss of an opiate, but also heavy punishment. Any one who is declared by the doctor as "not sick" is at once held guilty of simulation, and punished with the usual four days' imprisonment.