With Joffre at Verdun: A Story of the Western Front

by F. S. Brereton

Jules gave vent to a light whistle, indicative of surprise, astonishment, and amusement—if, indeed, a whistle can indicate the latter. Certainly it was not one which displayed any sort of tendency to admiration; while the grin which followed it made Henri quite sure that his appearance was a source almost of ridicule to his comrade.

"What's wrong?" he demanded rather shortly. For when you criticized Henri's get-up—the cut of his coat and of his trousers, and in particular the hang of the latter, the colour of his socks, and his particular fancy in boots and hats—he was apt to become quite angry. And it made no difference now that the smart clothes which he was wont to wear had been changed for the peculiar blue uniform of France's fighting forces, supported by a pair of army boots of sturdy pattern, and capped by a steel helmet of distinctive style and of the same peculiar blue colour. Yet, withal, putting cut aside, allowing the fact that Henri, dressed as he was now, looked tall and strong and active and upright, and quite martial too, armed with a rifle, one had to admit that there was a huge difference between the Henri of that moment and the dapper, elegant, well-groomed Henri of twenty months before—a Henri who in London or Paris might quite fairly have been termed a "knut".

"Well, you do look a 'one-er'!"

"And what about you?" demanded Henri a little warmly. "Now that compliments are flying, what about you, mon ami? With that pack on your back you look like a donkey laden for the market."

At that Jules grimaced, and jerked his pack higher; and, indeed, Henri had not described him altogether unfairly. For your French poilu—the gallant, sturdy French infantry soldier—is, when on the line of march, if not actually overloaded, certainly apt to have the appearance of being so. What with his pack, his mess tins, the camp-kettle which one man among a certain number carries, his entrenching-tools, and the little bundle of faggots for the camp-fire, a French infantryman does indeed seem to have a vast quantity of personal impedimenta.

A sounding bugle called the two, and in a little while they were parading with a number of other men, some of whom had already seen service, while others were new to warfare altogether—men who possibly had been delayed from joining the colours by illness, who had contrived to reach France from abroad, or who belonged to a younger classification. A smart sergeant threw a knowing eye along the line, and, striding down it, seemed to take in the appearance of every man within a few seconds. Halting here for a moment to adjust a belt, and there to tuck in the tag of a buckle, he soon reached the end of the line, and, passing down behind it, adjusting packs, putting kettles in the correct position, arranging helmets at the regulation angle, he presently appeared in front again, and treated the squad to a smile of commendation.

"Very good indeed, lads. Very good," he said. "Stand easy for a moment."

Striding across the ground came a dapper officer—one of those smart, tall, well-turned-out Frenchmen, who appear to be the essence of soldierly composure. Halting in front of the squad, which was drawn up at attention once more, he, too, ran his eye over the men, passed a remark to the Sergeant which was essentially complimentary, and then advanced a few paces nearer.

"Mes enfants," he said, "there are some among you, who are but new recruits, who may have done your musketry course already, who doubtless know something of soldiering, and yet who must needs undergo further training; to you my remarks do not apply. But there are others among you who have seen service, who have engaged the Boche, and who may doubtless desire to return to the front at the earliest moment. Let such men step a pace forward."

Henri did not even glance at Jules, seeing that, being on parade, he must keep his eyes directly forward; while Jules, some files to his left, did not dare to cast a look in Henri's direction. It was strange, therefore, and yet not strange, when one remembers the spirit which animated these two young fellows, that, without agreement, without waiting to see what the other would do, each instantly took a pace forward, and with them perhaps a dozen of their comrades.