A Modern Legionary

by John Patrick Le Poer

We gradually fell back towards the new line of defence. The regulars attacking wasted no time, and pushed us rather rapidly along. At last a staff officer came with a message to our captain, and we hurriedly poured a heavy fire into the advancing enemy, then we all turned and ran towards the point whither the captain led us. We got a good start and covered the ground quickly; at a little line of small trees and underwood lay safety. As we straggled into this we were ordered to face about and lie down. We saw the Chinese regulars coming along with hoarse cries of joy, not extended in skirmishing order, but in dense masses of men, who pressed and struggled to the front.

A bugle call rang out, and suddenly a horrible rattle of musketry began. The enemy were fairly caught. Every rifle of ours was blazing away at about two hundred yards' range at the easy target they presented. In a moment, as it seemed to me, the attack withered away. Where a minute before were triumphant soldiers rushing in pursuit of a fleeing foe, one saw now nothing but prostrate bodies on the ground. Many, no doubt, flung themselves down as the first shots rang out, but the vast majority must have been swept into eternity by our fire. But this was not all. Our guns began, and even those who were a thousand yards away felt staggered in their advance. For ten minutes we heard nothing but the rattle of musketry, the booming of the guns, the noise of the shells as they hurtled through the air, and then the explosions a thousand yards away. The cries and shrieking of the wounded were unheard and unheeded. If the enemy had driven us from the field and could fairly claim a victory, we in the end taught them such a lesson surely as defeated never before taught their conquerors. That last firing more than equalised losses, and, better still, gave us the bitter-sweet of vengeance, and restored the old feeling of self-confidence that had been so rudely shaken on that day.

This was really the close of the battle. In various parts firing still went on, but an attack in force by either side was manifestly impossible. The Chinese regulars had been too much cut up towards the close of the fighting; as for us, there was only one course to be taken—retreat towards our base in order to prevent being outflanked. The new line of defence had served its purpose. It was not strong enough, nor were we numerous enough, to withstand an attack in force on the morrow, especially as our opponents were strong enough to hold us in front while flanking columns got round even to our rear. After an hour's rest, which we badly wanted, the order was given to retire, and for seven hours we struggled on, angry, weary and hungry. At last we formed a little camp; some rice and brandy were served out—we had no soup or coffee—and so, in bad humour with ourselves, the enemy, and our rations, we lay down on the ground to forget in sleep discomfort and defeat.

Luckily, the enemy did not press their advantage as they should. We were soon reinforced, and when we had recovered from the fatigue of the fight and the retreat, we again tried conclusions with them with better success. The story of the second battle of Lang-Son will be told in due course. I must now narrate an incident that occurred between the battles, while we were still retreating and somewhat pressed by the foe.

First, it must be understood that my battalion formed part of the rear-guard. There were French soldiers of several corps and native levies as well, and I may say here that the Frenchmen showed as much steady courage in retiring before overwhelming masses of the enemy as they usually show of gallantry and élan in a charge. I can never again believe that the Frenchman is good only when advancing; given capable officers, he is a perfect soldier at all points. This retreat proved the fact. We were half starved; there was the continual fear of being wounded and left to the merciless Black Flags; for all that, while the legionaries were furious and occasionally downcast, though doing their duty like brave men, the men of the line, the zouaves, the marine fusiliers, the chasseurs—and I believe the rear-guard had men of all these—were, after the first feeling of anger and disappointment, cheerful, making light of difficulties, almost gaily prophesying a speedy revenge.

Now one evening my battalion halted after a weary, heart-breaking tramp during the day. We had had little food, and that unsuitable, for some time. In my squad was a man whose country I have good reasons for not mentioning; suffice it to say that he came from a land lying on the eastern frontier of France. I shall call him Jean, though that was not his name. All the day he was saying: "Quelle misère, quelle misère!" until we were sick of the words, and I told him, rather roughly I am sorry to say, to keep his troubles to himself. When we came into camp great precautions were adopted to prevent surprise, and I may detail these so that everything may be quite plain. Moreover, they will show how careful our officers were.

Now, as I have often mentioned, a battalion has four companies. Normally a company has two hundred and fifty men, but at this time the strongest company of my battalion numbered only about a hundred and sixty. In the camp the battalion lay in square, so that each company had one side of the square to protect in case of attack, and had to furnish all the guards and outlying pickets on that side. My company lay on the side nearest the enemy, or, as I should rather say, nearest the quarter whence an attack would most probably come.

When the company was halted and faced outwards, a corporal and his squad—say seventeen all told—were detached to furnish the inner sentries. Of these eight men were posted at intervals about fifty paces from the main body; the corporal and the eight reliefs lay half-way between them and the company. Thus every soldier was on sentry for two hours at a time, and then had two hours to rest as well as he could on the bare ground. This squad constituted the guard.

Now two squads with their respective corporals, having an officer or sergeant in chief command, formed the outlying pickets of the company or, if you wish, of one side of the square encampment. Half of each squad acted as sentries about seventy-five yards from the inner line of watching men; between the two lines of sentries the reliefs of the outlying pickets rested. The sentries of the guard stood up, the sentries of the outlying pickets lay down; no glint of buckle or bayonet was allowed to show. It was next to impossible to surprise the camp, even if the darkness should prevent the outer line of sentinels from seeing the approach of an enemy, by placing their ears to the ground they could easily hear the tread of any considerable body of troops, and it would require a very considerable body of men to surprise effectively—that is, to annihilate—about six hundred good soldiers, who knew how useless it was to ask for quarter from such enemies. I hope I have made this matter clear: military men, I know, will understand, and I hope that others may be able to comprehend it too.

My squad was for outlying picket that night, and as it contained only fifteen men I had to borrow one from the corporal of the next squad for duty. This happened to be the one in which Le Grand was, and I asked for him. My request was granted, and Le Grand was attached for twelve hours to my little party. The sub-lieutenant of the company was in charge of the picket, and having led us out to our places he ordered the other corporal and me to post the first sentries. I posted eight men, amongst them Jean, who was still suffering from melancholy, and returned to the spot where the reliefs were to lie. Nicholas, Le Grand, and I lay near one another on the ground and began a whispered conversation in English, a language that the Russian spoke with great purity and ease. In the course of this I mentioned to Le Grand the strange way in which Jean had been speaking all the day, and Nicholas volunteered to tell us the poor fellow's strange story. I can only give the merest outline of it. I wish I could tell it just as I heard it that night, but Nicholas was a born storyteller; indeed, he was clever in all things.