The following day was enlivened by the arrival of the ordinary recruits coming to serve their five years. Most of them came from Paris, and belonged to the worst set of ruffians imaginable. A few were countrymen, among whom were two or three stupid "Bretons" coming from the remotest parts of Brittany. One of the latter was assigned a bed next to the "old 'un," and therefore close to mine. As soon as he had eaten his evening meal, he sat on his bed, weeping bitterly, and as I asked him the cause of his grief he began with deep sobs:
"Our poor Jeanne; it's the day she ought to calve, and to think that I shall not be near her! If you saw that cow, sir——"
"Oh! it's a cow!"
"Yes, sir, and when she calves she won't take any food except from my hand, and now I am here, and she calving! My poor Jeanne, my poor Jeanne!"
I tried to console him, but it was in vain. Of course, the other troopers made great fun of him, and one of them remarked that if his cow was as ugly as himself, and as ill-fed, she must be a hideous beast indeed. This drove the fellow into an absolute frenzy, and, seizing the sword hanging at the head of my bed, he would have made deadly use of it had I not forcibly prevented him.
The recruits went, that day, through the routine we had undergone on the day of our arrival—the only difference being that they were marched in batches to the Capitain-tresorier's office under the command of a Sergeant—and before evening every one of them had been drafted into a squadron, each recruit being put under the care of a trooper of at least a year's standing, who had to teach his bleu (recruit) what to do. The recruits, upon receiving their outfit, have to hand over their civilian clothes, which are sold by auction. This rule did not, however, apply to the Volontaires, but we had to remove our civilian clothes out of barracks, and were, under no circumstances, allowed to wear anything but uniform.
That year the recruits numbered about 125, or twenty-five to each squadron.
That night the most elaborate practical jokes were played on the new-comers. First of all an "artful dodger," a typical Parisian blackguard, attired himself in a great coat and an old cocked hat; alongside of him marched two troopers with swords, helmets, and carbines, but devoid of all clothing. The "Artful dodger" went to the bed of each one of the recruits. "Get up," said another trooper, "here comes the surgeon-major." "You are a recruit, my boy?" queried the "Artful dodger." "Yes, sir," usually replied the recruit, rather awed. "Don't call me 'sir,'" went on the tormentor, "call me 'Monsieur le Major.'" (The way in which military surgeons are addressed.) "Get out of bed," he went on, "and be sharp about it." If the recruit declined to obey, he was dragged out of his bed by other troopers and stripped; many foul questions were then put to him, and the joke ended by his body being blackened all over with a blacking-brush if he took the proceedings ill. When the recruits had gone back to bed, the "dodger" and his companions proceeded to play other jokes on them.
In order to enable my readers to understand what took place, it is necessary to recall the description of our rooms. These apartments were about 100 feet long, with two partitions on each side of the centre, and rows of beds standing on each side of these partitions, which were from 10 to 12 feet high. The "dodger" and his companions, taking a forage-rope, with which every trooper is provided, tied a slip-knot around the bed of the recruit, so as to encircle the three boards forming the base of the bed as well as the mattress and the feet of the man inside it; the end of the rope was then thrown over the partition, being grasped on the other side by three or four men, while the "artful one" was peeping round the corner to see that the man had not moved. He then gave a whistle, the rope was smartly pulled, and the recruit's bed instantly stood straight up against the wall, the man inside it being tightly imprisoned with his feet held up in the air by the slip-knot and his head downwards. After leaving him for a few minutes in this uncomfortable position, the rope was suddenly slackened, and bed and man crashed with a great noise to the floor. This was called "sending a man to heaven," and the unfortunate victim could not possibly find out who was responsible for the "joke."