"Do you remember how you were down upon your luck when you did but cut your foot? Why, that is nothing in the army.They never go out to fight but some come back with arms off, and some with legs off and some with heads; and the rest don't come back at all: and how would you like that?"This intrusion of statistics into warfare at first cooled Dard's impatience for the field.But presently the fighting half of his heart received an ally in one Sergeant La Croix (not a bad name for a military aspirant).This sergeant was at the village waiting to march with the new recruits to the Rhine.Sergeant La Croix was a man who, by force of eloquence, could make soldiering appear the most delightful as well as glorious of human pursuits.His tongue fired the inexperienced soul with a love of arms, as do the drums and trumpets and tramp of soldiers, and their bayonets glittering in the sun.He would have been worth his weight in fustian here, where we recruit by that and jargon; he was superfluous in France, where they recruited by force: but he was ornamental: and he set Dard and one or two more on fire.Indeed, so absorbing was his sense of military glory, that there was no room left in him for that mere verbal honor civilians call veracity.
To speak plainly, the sergeant was a fluent, fertile, interesting, sonorous, prompt, audacious liar: and such was his success, that Dard and one or two more became mere human fiction pipes--of comparatively small diameter--irrigating a rural district with false views of military life, derived from that inexhaustible reservoir, La Croix.
At last the long-threatened conscription was levied: every person fit to bear arms, and not coming under the allowed exceptions, drew a number: and at a certain hour the numbers corresponding to these were deposited in an urn, and one-third of them were drawn in presence of the authorities.Those men whose numbers were drawn had to go for soldiers.Jacintha awaited the result in great anxiety.
She could not sit at home for it; so she went down the road to meet Dard, who had promised to come and tell her the result as soon as known.At last she saw him approaching in a disconsolate way."ODard! speak! are we undone? are you a dead man?" cried she."Have they made a soldier of you?""No such luck: I shall die a man of all work," grunted Dard.
"And you are sorry? you unnatural little monster! you have no feeling for me, then.""Oh, yes, I have; but glory is No.1 with me now.""How loud the bantams crow! You leave glory to fools that be six feet high.""General Bonaparte isn't much higher than I am, and glory sits upon his brow.Why shouldn't glory sit upon my brow?""Because it would weigh you down, and smother you, you little fool."She added, "And think of me, that couldn't bear you to be killed at any price, glory or no glory."Then, to appease her fears, Dard showed her his number, 99; and assured her he had seen the last number in the functionary's hand before he came away, and it was sixty something.
This ocular demonstration satisfied Jacintha; and she ordered Dard to help her draw the water.
"All right," said he, "there is no immortal glory to be picked up to-day, so I'll go in for odd jobs."While they were at this job a voice was heard hallooing.Dard looked up, and there was a rigid military figure, with a tremendous mustache, peering about.Dard was overjoyed.It was his friend, his boon-companion."Come here, old fellow," cried he, "ain't Iglad to see you, that is all?" La Croix marched towards the pair.
"What are you skulking here for, recruit ninety-nine?" said he, sternly, dropping the boon-companion in the sergeant; "the rest are on the road.""The rest, old fellow! what do you mean? why, I was not drawn.""Yes, you were."
"No, I wasn't."
"Thunder of war, but I say you were.Yours was the last number.""That is an unlucky guess of yours, for I saw the last number.Look here," and he fumbled in his pocket, and produced his number.
La Croix instantly fished out a corresponding number.
"Well, and here you are; this was the last number drawn."Dard burst out laughing.
"You goose!" said he, "that is sixty-six--look at it.""Sixty-six!" roared the sergeant; "no more than yours is--they are both sixty-sixes when you play tricks with them, and turn them up like that; but they are both ninety-nines when you look at them fair."Dard scratched his head.
"Come," said the corporal, briskly, "make up his bundle, girl, and let us be off; we have got our marching orders; going to the Rhine.""And do you think that I will let him go?" screamed Jacintha."No!
I will say one word to Madame Raynal, and she will buy him a substitute directly."Dard stopped her sullenly."No! I have told all in the village that I would go the first chance: it is come, and I'll go.I won't stay to be laughed at about this too.If I was sure to be cut in pieces, I'd go.Give over blubbering, girl, and get us a bottle of the best wine, and while we are drinking it, the sergeant and I, you make up my bundle.I shall never do any good here."Jacintha knew the obstinate toad.She did as she was bid, and soon the little bundle was ready, and the two men faced the wine; La Croix, radiant and bellicose; Dard, crestfallen but dogged (for there was a little bit of good stuff at the bottom of the creature);and Jacintha rocking herself, with her apron over her head.
"I'll give you a toast," said La Croix."Here's gunpowder."Jacintha promptly honored the toast with a flood of tears.
"Drop that, Jacintha," said Dard, angrily; "do you think that is encouraging? Sergeant, I told this poor girl all about glory before you came, but she was not ripe for it: say something to cheer her up, for I can't.""I can," cried this trumpet of battle, emptying its glass.
"Attention, young woman."
"Oh, dear! oh, dear! yes, sir."
"A French soldier is a man who carries France in his heart"--"But if the cruel foreign soldiers kill him? Oh!""Why, in that case, he does not care a straw.Every man must die;horses likewise, and dogs, and donkeys, when they come to the end of their troubles; but dogs and donkeys and chaps in blouses can't die gloriously; as Dard may, if he has any luck at all: so, from this hour, if there was twice as little of him, be proud of him, for from this time he is a part of France and her renown.Come, recruit ninety-nine, shoulder your traps at duty's call, and let us go forth in form.Attention! Quick--march! Halt! is that the way I showed you to march? Didn't I tell you to start from the left? Now try again.QUICK--march! left--right--left--right--left--right--NOWyou've--GOT it--DRAT ye,--KEEP it--left--right--left--right--left--right." And with no more ado the sergeant marched the little odd-job man to the wars.
VIVE LA FRANCE!
