With what gentle care the weak ones would be lifted into a sitting position, and how patiently, with cheery, though perhaps clumsy jokes, would these self-appointed nurses encourage their patients to drink the cup of milk which succoured the ebbing strength, or the boiling liquid that provoked the saving perspiration.
"Allons! mon vieux. You're not dead yet! The tree is not grown from which your pine overcoat will be made. Courage! take this, and to-morrow you will feel so well that you will want to go on convoy guard, so as to see that little brown congai that winked at you last time we were at Bac-Lé. Sly dog! Va!"
Or:
"Bien quoi! hold on, mon ami! There's a lot more wine in the storeroom that wants drinking. Don't desert us; we shall never get through it without the help of your steep throat."
Often I would laugh at their coarse wit, though a big lump in my throat betokened another kind of sentiment. Yet one might be joyful at the evidence of the vast store of human kindness possessed by these rough soldier-folk, which, though hidden till now, came splendidly to the fore in this time of common misfortune.
On the 20th November, as I was sitting on a stool close by the door of the fort—for I was feeling decidedly queer, having just recovered from a third severe attack of fever—the native sentry, who was posted on a little wooden platform about 20 feet high, supported on four bamboo poles, and fitted with a thatch roof, informed me with a shout that he could perceive a troop of European soldiers, accompanied by two mounted officers, coming out of the pass towards us. I was in charge of the guard for the day, so I sent off a tirailleur to inform the commander. A few minutes later the two officers seen by the sentry came galloping into Cho-Trang on their ponies, and my surprise was great on recognising Captain Plessier and Surgeon Joly.
As they came through the gate I rose and saluted. Our Captain drew up his little mount with a jerk, and after looking hard at me for a few seconds, exclaimed:
"Mon Dieu! Doctor, why, this is our Englishman. But how changed! Why, the man is as yellow as a buttercup, and as thin as a vine-pole."
While he was speaking, the doctor had dismounted, and, after throwing the reins to a native soldier who stood by, he came over to me. After consulting my pulse, and looking at my tongue, he turned to Captain Plessier and said:
"This man is in a high fever, and ought to be in bed."