THE OLD UNIFORM.

Auckland Star, Volume XXX, Issue 196, 19 August 1899, Page 7 (Supplement)

THE OLD UNIFORM.

BY FRANCOIS COPPEE. When I was a clerk in the War Department I bad for an associate a man named Jean Tidal, a former non-commissioned officer. He had lost his left arm in the Italian cam-p-ucrn but his right arm remained, and° with it he could execute prodigious feats in penmanship, making a °little bird in the flourish of his ; signature with a single stroke of his j This Vidal was an excellent fellow a soldier of the old type, up-rio-h't and pure. Though he was only forty years old and had but few gray hairs, in his light beard, cut after the-old Zouave fashion, every one called him "Father Vidal," more frm respect than from familiarity, for we all -knew what an honourable and self-sacrificing life he led in his j little home on Grenelle Street, where he supported a widowed sister, with several" children. They all managed to live comfortably on his little pension and earnings from his writing. Three thousand francs for five persons. For all that, Vidal s overcoats— those coats whose left sleeve was fastened to the third button—were as carefully brushed as if he were to be present at a review by the Inspec-tor-General, and the worthy man attached so much importance to his red ribbon, always new, that he removed it from his button-hole when he carried a package in the streets. As I. too, at that time, lived in the modest suburbs south of Paris, I often walked home with "Father Tidal," listening with pleasure to his war stories, while we strolled along near the Military School, where we met at almost every step(it was in the last days of the Empire) the beautiful uniform of the Imperial Guard, White Lancers, and the magnificent sombre coats of the officers of the artillery, all black and gold—uniforms within which it was worth while to be shot. Sometimes, on warm summer evenings, I treated my companion to absinthe, a luxury which poor Vidal denied himself through economy, and on these occasions we sat for half an hour or so before the pincers' cafe on the Avenue cle la Mothe-Piquet. The old officer, who had forsaken all his convivial habits since he had become a family man, would rise from the. table with his heroic memories all alive under the influence of the mild stimulant, and I was sure to hear some fine martial reminiscence. One evening-—I believe, God forgive me, I had given two glasses of absin- ■ the to Vidal — as we were walking along the wretched street on which he lived he stopped abruptly before a shop where second-hand military clothing was hung out for sale, one of many such in this locality. It was a dirty, uninviting place, having a window display of rusty pistols, bowls full of buttons, tarnished epaulettes and, in front, among some filthy rag's, were lmng- some old officers' imiforms, rotted and'faded by the rain and sun. They still retained the shape of their Avearers, and looked almost like suspended human figures. Suddenly grasping my arm with his only hand', Vidal turned his half-dazed eye's toward me, and, with his stump, pointed to an old coat, an African officer's coat, with a full skirt and three rows of gold lace trimming the sleeves in the shape of an " 8," Hus-sar-fashion. , "Look !" said he, "there is part oi the uniform of my old regiment. A captain's coat !" Approaching to examine it more carefully he read the number engraved on the buttons, then said excitedly : '" i "It is from my regiment! IHe First Zouaves !" All at once Vid&l's hand, which grasped the skirt of the coat, remained motionless, his face darkened, his lips trembled, and, lowering his eyes, he murmured in a frightened tone : "My God ! What if it were his ! Then, with a quick movement, he whirled the coat around, and I saw in the middle of the back a little round hole in the cloth, encircled by a blnck ring—old blood doubtless—and I felt as if I were looking at a real wound. ... " That was an ugly hole ! I said to Father Vidal, who had dropped the coat and briskly resumed his walk with downcast head. Foreseeing- a story, I added, by way of inciting him'to relate it : ' " Usually commanders of Zouaves do not get shot in the back." He seemed not to hear me, but muttered to himself,biting his moustache: " How could it have got here ? It | is a long distance from the battle- j field of Melegnano to Grenelle Street. I Yes I know thieves follow an army j and rob the dead. But why should there be only a few steps between the Military School where his regiment is j quartered and the other? And he must have passed by here and must have recognised it. Oh ! it is like seeing a ghost !" "See here, Father Vidal," said I, really interested by this time, "you are not going- to go on in this way, | talking in riddles, and you must tell j me why the sight of that riddled coataffects you so." I really believe that without the two drinks I should have learned nothing, after all, for Vidal looked at me sus- 1 piciously almost, then, regainingcourage, he said, in a firm voice : i Well, yes. I will tell you. You are • an honest, .well-educated young man.jj I have confidence in you, and when I am through I want you to tell me s with your hand upon your heart ] whether I did right in acting as I ( did. . .V. . Let me think where to t commence. c I can not tell you his name, for he 1 is still living, but I will call him by 1 1 the nickname we gave him in the re- s o-iment—La Soif (thirst). Yes, we 1 called him La Soif, and he did not steal the name ; it belonged to him, s for he was not one of those to run 1 away from the canteen, and he could i drink twelve little glasses for the c twelve strokes of noon. He was a j sergeant in the second regiment, and t he marched beside me. A goo:<l spit \ dier too ; a very good soldier, "and as drunkard, loving fights, and all the [t bad practices of the soldier in Airica. j j He was as brave as a lion. His eyes i were as blue and as cold as steel m|c his bronzed, red-bearded face, and j looking into them one could see that cl he was hard to manage. ! 1 When I joined the battalion La a Soif's time, had just, expired. He re- t enlisted, took his bounty money, and t went on a three, days' debauch. With four or five boon companions mas

kcarriage with him he rode about the lowest quarters of Algiers, carrying a tri-coloured flag, bearing the inscription, "Enjoy yourself while you may." He was brought back to the-barracks with his head cut open by a sabre stroke. He had been in a drunken row where one of the party had been killed. He recovered, was put in a guardhouse for fifteen days, and lost his sergeant's stripes. It, was the second time they had been taken away from him. If he had behaved himself he would have been an officer long1 before, for he came of a good family and was well. educated. After this affair, however, he lost his decorations and did not get them back until eighteen months later through the indulgence of our captain, who was old in the African service, and had been an eye-witness of La Soif's bravery. After a time our captain was promoted to chief of battalion, and a new one was put over us, a Corsican named Gentile. He was only twenty-eight years old, fresh from school, cold and ambitious, full of merit, it was said, but very exacting- in the matter of discipline, giving a man severe punishment for a rusty spot on his gun, or a missing button on his uniform. He knew nothing of service in Algiers, and he would not tolerate a particle of irregularity or lax discipline. At the very first Captain Gentile and La Soif came into conflict. It could not be otherwise. The first time the sergeant failed to respond to evening roll-call, eight clays in the guardhouse; the first time he was tipsy, fifteen days. When the captain, a swarthy fellow, with a moustache like an angry cat's gave the sentence, adding in a stern voice, "I know you, sir, and I will' conquer you," La Soif said nothing, but walked quietly oft' beside the guard; but the captain wiuld not have felt very comfortable, just the same, if he had seen the blood surge into the sergeant's face as soon as his head was turned and the lightning flash of his steely blue eyes. About this time the Emperor declared war with Austria, and we embarked for Italy It is not necessary to speak of the campaign, so I will keep to my story The night before the battle of Mele-g-nano, where I lost my arm, you know, our battalion encamped in the heart of a little village, and before breaking ranks our captain gave us a little talk—and he was right —to remind us that we were in a friendly community, that it was our honourable duty to conduct ourselves well, and that' if any soldier should in any way disturb the peaceful inhabitants around us he would be ptmished as an example. While he was talking La Soif, who could not stand straight without the aid of his gun, shrugged his shoulders. Fortunately the captain did not see the gesture. ■In the middle of the ni^-ht I was awakened by a tumult. I sprang from the bundle of straw on which I was sleeping in a farmyard, and I saw in the moonlight a crowd of soldiers and peasants rescuing a young girl from the grasp of La Soif, who fought like an enraged lion. I ran out to lend my aid, but Captain Gentile was there • before me. With one look he subdued the sergeant, then, after reassuring the girl by some words spoken in Italian, he came.and stood in front of the offender, pulled1 up Ins chin with fingers that trembled, and said, c "Such a scoundrel ns you ought to have his brains blown out. As soon as I see the colonel you will lose your straps, and for good this time. There will be a battle to-morrow. Try to get killed." We lay down to rest again, but the captain ' had told the truth, and at daybreak we were awakened by the cannonade. We rushed to arms, formed into line, and La Soif, whose cursed blue eyes had never looked so wicked, took his place beside me. The battalion moved to the attack. It was necessary to dislodge the white coats, who were fortified with' cannon in the village of Melegnano'. Forward, march! We had gone but a few paces when a volley of grape struck us on the flank and cut down about fifteen men in our company. Then our officers, who were awaiting the command to charge, ordered us to crouch down in the cover, like sharpshooters, while they remained standing, and I can assure you that our captain was not the least'erect. We kept up a fire on the fort that we were to carry. Suddenly I felt a hand upon my shoulder, and turning, I saw La Soif, who was looking at me with one corner of his mouth drawn up in a peculiar manner as he loaded his gun. "Do yon see the captain?" said he, nodding his head in his direction. "Yes; whot of it?" I answered, glancing at the officer, who was standing not twenty steps from us. "Well, he made a mistake talking to me as he did last night." Then, with a rapid movement, he put his gun to his shoulder, fired, and I saw the captain bend backward, beat the air with his hands, drop his sword, and fall heavily to the ground. "Assassin!" I cried, seizing- the sergeant's arm. Striking me a violent blow on the chest, he knocked me several feet from him. "Fool! Prove that it was I that shot him." I rose, furious; but all the sharpshooters rose at the same time. Our colonel, bareheaded, on his steaming horse, was there, pointing with his sabre to the Austrian fort, and shout- j ing at the top of his voice: "Forward, Zouaves! Charge with the bayonet." ' That was all I could do, wasn't it? Charge with the others! Ah, that charge has passed into history, that charge of the Zouaves at Melegnano! Have you ever seen the full sea beat against a rocky wall? Well, this was just the same. Each company beat up jigainst the fort like the sea against the rock. Three times the battery was covered with blue jackets and white trousers, and three times we saw it reappear with its formidable embrasures, unshaken as the rook after the beating- of the waves. The fourth company, ours, must mrely take the fort. In twenty jounds I reached the redoubt; helping nyself with the barrel of my gun, I ;lambered up the steep side; but I had i-ust time to see a yellow moustache, a Dlue cap, and the muzzle of a carbine, vhich almost touched me. Then I feVt inch a blow in my left shoulder that I hought my arm was torn out. I drop)ed my gun; everything swam before ny eyes; I fell on my side near a jaissou-wheel and fainted away. When I came to my senses only a listant sound of musketry was to be leard. The Zouaves were standingiround in a semi-circle, brandishing heir gwns, and shouting-: "Long live he Emperor!" An old general, followed by his taff, came up at a gallop. He check-

Ed his horse, took off his helmet, waved it joyously, and cried: "Bravo! •Zouave.s! You are the bravest of the brave!"

■ I was sitting on the ground, near the caisson-wheel, supporting my broken arm with my right hand, thinking of La Soif's frightful crime. All at once I saw hint leave the ranks and approach the general. Yes, it was La Soif, the captain's murderer. In the engagement he had lost his fez, ami his head was exposed, showing the track made by a bullet which had just grazed his skull, and the blood Avas running- down over his forehead aud cheek. In one hand he carried his gun; with the other he presented an Austrian flag, riddled with shot and stained with blood, a flag which he had captured. The general looked at him with admbiration.

"Look there, Bricourt," said he to his orderly, "what men!" Then La Soif said:

"You are right, general. These are the First Zouaves. There are enough left to fight once more." "I am glad of that," replied the general, "and you shall be decorated for your bravery." Still repeating, "what men! what men!" he addressed a remark to his aide which 1 did not understand —you know I am not learned—but which I remember.

"Heroes for Plutarch, hey, Bricourt?"

At this moment the pain from my wound overcame me; I fainted, and saw and heard nothing more.

You know the rest. I have often told you how they cut ofn my arm, and how I passed two months in the hospital, delirious with fever most of the time. In my rational hours I asked myself what I ought to do about La Soif. Expose him? That was clearly my duty, but how could I prove'his crime? Then I said to myself: ''lie is a villain, but he is brave; he killed Captain Gentile, but he took a Hag from the enemy." I did not know what to do. Finally, when I was convalescent, I heard that in recompense for his brave deed he had been promoted to the ranks of the Guards, and had been decorated. Ah, that news made me disgusted with the cross which our colonel had fastened on my hospital coat. Still, La Soif deserved his, too; but his Legion of Honour should have served as a target for the platoon ordered to shoot him. It is all past and gone now. I have never seen the sergeant since my return to civil life. But at sight of that coat a moment ago—God knows how it came there — hung out only a few rods from the garrison where the assassin is quartered, I thought of the unpunished crime, and it semed as if the captain's blood was crying- out for justice. I quieted Father Vidal as well as I could, for the recital of his story had greatly excited him. I assured him that he had acted for the best, and that the sergeant's heroism oii'set his crime.

A few days afterward, on arrivingat my office!, I found Vidal there, and ho handed me a paper so folded that one item only was visible, murmuring gravely: "What did I tell you?" I took the paper, and read the follow-

mg: Another Victim of Intemperance

Yesterday afternoon a man named Mallet, called La Soif, a sergeant of the Imperial Guards., after having drank freely at a wine-shop on Grenelle Street, was suddenly attacked with a lit of delirium while looking at some old uniforms exposed for sale a second-hand store.

Becoming frantic, he flourished his saber, and rushed about causing a panic. His two comrades with great difficulty succeeded in overpowering him, but he kept on shrieking: "I ara not a murderer, I tell you! I captured" an. Austrian flag at Celegnauo!" TWlparn that Mjillet had been decorated for his brave deed, and that his intemperance alone prevented him from becoming an ofnctT.

Mallet was taken to the military hospital at Gros-Caillon, from which he will be transported to the lunatic asylum at Charenton, in Corsica, as he probably will never regain his reason.

As I returned the paper to Vidal he gave me a knowledge look and said:

"Captain Gentile was a Corsican He is avenged."