Everyone joined in the chorus.
Oh the cro-cro-cro-, the cro-cro-cro-, the cro-co-di-iles,
All along the Nile! They have vanished, we'll say no more!
Childish songs, with a good swing to them. Fatigue was forgotten. Mile followed mile in the heat and dust. A refrain of that kind swept right along the column. While we drew breath, snatches of couplets reached us from the distance.
"Like nothin' on earth, those caterwaulers!" Judsi exclaimed.
Oh, that Judsi! What a type he was! The incarnation, the flower of the race. In each platoon of France's army, from end to end of the campaign, I bet there was a Judsi. A street-urchin, from Paris or elsewhere.... An apache yesterday, perhaps—it was quite possible—but ennobled to-day by circumstances!
He was an admirable source of good-humour. Made to cheer up the others. He chatted without ceasing for hours and hours at a time, accumulating eccentricities of mimicry and expression. Nothing pleased him so much as to see that we were listening. That was the time when we played up hardest. I swear that by the unexpectedness of his sallies and the inflections of his hoarse voice, he often attained a pitch of drollery which was quite priceless. His slightest absurdities gave rise to fits of hilarious gaiety. The men pressed round him, as if on parade. It even interfered with the marching order. What should he do but organise relays! Every quarter of an hour, he said to his neighbours:
"'Ook it lads! Send some other pals along now, an' we'll see if I can't raise a smile out of 'em."
They gave up their places without any sour looks.
"Ain't 'e a caution!"