A Modern Legionary

by John Patrick Le Poer

We rode on for about two hours, and then halted to rest our horses and to eat a little of Giulia's provisions. We did not drink, as brandy is not a good thing when one has nothing else. If we could only get our usual morning coffee we should have had a nip apiece, but we who had soldiered in Algeria and other hot climates were too sensible to touch fire-water without anything to qualify it and with the certainty of a hot day's march before us. After eating and smoking we got back into our saddles and rode on until the heat of the sun made us again halt for our own sakes as well as on account of our animals. In spite of our discomfort we felt fairly happy; we had made a good morning's march since the sun appeared, and though we had done very little in the darkness, yet we believed ourselves to be safe enough from pursuit. After a couple of hours' rest we resolved, in spite of the heat, to press on again, and, going rather slowly, we and our horses were not too hard pressed. About four o'clock in the afternoon we again halted, this time for about an hour, and then, as our horses did not seem to suffer overmuch from the want of food and water—they were desert horses, one must remember—we again mounted and continued our journey to the south.

It was, I should say, a little past five o'clock in the afternoon when Mac, who had halted for a moment to look to the north, shouted to us that the spahis were coming. We turned, and saw, a long distance away, for the atmosphere was very clear, a party of mounted soldiers advancing on our tracks. There was no use in tiring our horses and ourselves by an attempted flight; we understood quite plainly that the native cavalrymen were certain to overtake us, and it was just as well to await them where we stood. We dismounted, hobbled our horses, and came together for consultation. The corporal said:

"We must stand at least ten paces apart from one another, unless they charge; in that case we must stand back to back."

"Give your orders, corporal," I said, "and we will obey."

"Yes," assented Mac; "there must be a commanding officer in every battle."

"Very good," said the corporal. "You, Mac, go ten paces to the right; you stay here, mademoiselle; you"—this to me—"go ten paces farther to the left; and I place myself at the extreme left, so we shall offer bad targets, especially for cavalry."

When we had ranged ourselves as ordered our enemies were close enough for us to note their numbers; they were a dozen in all.

"Why," shouted Mac, "it's only a corporal's squad; we're a corporal's squad ourselves, boys, and we're whites."

"As soon as you think you can hit a man or horse fire," commanded the corporal.

In a moment or two I heard a report on the right. Mac, one of the best shots in our old battalion, had fired, and the result was of good omen. A horse fell heavily in the advance, pitching his rider forward, a second stumbled over the first, staggered to the left, and brought down a third. We cheered as we saw this, and the rest of the little troop pulled up for a moment. As they did so the corporal and I fired. A man tumbled out of his saddle on their right; in the centre a horse, mad with the sudden shock and the pain of the bullet, suddenly ran away with its rider. They passed not more than fifty yards to our right, and Mac's rifle spoke again: the spahi flung up his hands and fell forward on his horse's neck.