His one idea was to steal the grapes.
This was his cafard, his special rage against the possessors of vineyards. But his cafard had its own tale….
Grapes were worth very little in Algeria, but when every year at the grape harvest three thousand légionnaires strolled in the evenings along the paths beside the vineyards, when each légionnaire ate about five pounds of grapes, taking another ten pounds under his cloak—then the Spanish grape-farmers grew angry. They sent a deputation to the colonel, declaring that his légionnaires were worse than a locust-plague. The colonel abused them all and sent out a command that all who transgressed again would be punished. The légionnaires laughed—were a little more careful, but stole quite as many grapes as formerly. Seeing that it would not do like this, the Spaniards engaged Arabs, gave them small-shot guns and told them not to spare the offenders. The following morning the army surgeon was much astonished, on going his daily round, to find sixty-five légionnaires wounded by small shot.
The extraction of all the small shot took so much time that he got furious and went to the colonel and complained. The latter, having an idea what was the matter, examined the "invalids," who promptly told a great story of having been suddenly attacked by Arabs. The colonel laughed and ordered them all to be locked up for four weeks on bread and water.
Now the Spaniards were left in peace, because the grapes were not worth while being shot and locked up for, the légionnaires said sadly.
But from this time dated little Krügerle's cafard. Every day he went out to steal grapes. With the greatest patience and cunning he crawled about in the vineyards and stole grapes. Once he was shot and ran right back to the barracks and into the soldiers' room. Five minutes later, all the fifteen men there were busily occupied in digging the countless shot out of their comrade's back—with pocket-knives!
Krügerle underwent the operation with more or less tranquillity—but it was worth suffering a little; if he had gone to the surgeon, four weeks of cellule arrest would have been his lot.
He swore great oaths—but went stealing grapes again the following day.
The germ of madness, of tragedy, always lies hidden in the cafard. I was a witness of the following tragedy.