Fournier's motives, and express the opinion that he was out on the hill somewhere trying to shoot the green Englishman. And the captain could only shrug his shoulders and hope that Fournier would return alive.
He never did. Godinot awaited him anxiously for several days, but he never came back. Godinot never found out what happened to him. He was the fifth of that little group of friends to die- Boyel had been the first, and little Godron the second, and Lebrun and Bernhard had been killed in the ambush a day or two before, and now Fournier was gone and only Dubois was left, with a hole in his arm.
So one day after an announcement by the colonel, Sergeant Godinot came to visit Dubois in the battalion hospital.
'We are going to Santarem to-morrow,' said Godinot.
'Who is?'
'We are. You and I. We are going carpentering or rope- making or boat-building- they want men for all those.'
'Who does?'
'Headquarters. The colonel announced this morning that all men with a knowledge of carpentry or boat-building or rope-making or smith's work were to report to the adjutant. So I reported for you and me. I didn't have to tell him more than the truth. When I said that my father owned one-third of the Chantier Naval, and that you and I had spent half our lives in small boats in Nantes harbour, he put our names down at once. We are to report at Santarem to-morrow.' 'Santarem?' asked Dubois vaguely.
'Santarem is twenty kilometres down the river,' said Godinot. 'Heaven bless us, man, don't you remember marching up through it?'
But since the conscription had taken him from his home a year ago, at the age of seventeen and a half, Dubois had marched through too many places to remember half of them.
'So that arm of yours must be better by to-morrow,' said Godinot. 'Half a bullet ought not to keep you sick longer than that.'
The missile which had been extracted from Dubois' arm had been half a musket ball-apparently the Portuguese sawed their bullets in two in order to double their chances of hitting something.
'It is better,' said Dubois. 'I was to report for light duty the day after to-morrow. Do you think they'll issue rations to us at Santarem?' 'They'll have to if we're doing other work,' said Godinot, and the two of them looked at each other. Food was already short again in the battalion-that day's ration had only consisted of a litre of maize porridge. 'It's headquarters at Santarem,' he continued. 'Those brutes in the Second Corps will have to send in some of the beef they get beyond the road.'
Everyone in the battalion was firmly convinced that the Second Corps in its foraging area beyond the road was revelling in beef every day-an extraordinarily inaccurate estimate. Dubois smacked his lips.
'Beef!' he said. 'With thick gravy!'
He said the words with the same respectful awe he had once employed in speaking about the Emperor Napoleon.
Adjutant Doguereau had weeded out a great many of the applicants for work at Santarem. Quite half the battalion had hurried to report to him after the regimental announcement, full of stories about their knowledge of carpentry or rope-making. Everyone was anxious to escape from the battalion, from the dreariness of life in cramped billets, the shortage of food, the endless, ineffectual skirmishing with the outcasts on the hill.
They had told the most fantastic lies about their experience with boats and their ability to do smith's work. But Adjutant Doguereau had seen through all the lies of these lads fresh from the plough and the cart's tail. There were only thirty men paraded under Sergeant Godinot and sent off to march down the road to Santarem.
Santarem was a long, narrow town of tall, white houses squeezed in between the road and the river. When they marched into it there was no sign of civilian life-every inhabitant had fled weeks ago-but the long, high street was all a-bustle with groups of men working here and there.
The red woollen shoulder-knots of the engineers were much in
He never did. Godinot awaited him anxiously for several days, but he never came back. Godinot never found out what happened to him. He was the fifth of that little group of friends to die- Boyel had been the first, and little Godron the second, and Lebrun and Bernhard had been killed in the ambush a day or two before, and now Fournier was gone and only Dubois was left, with a hole in his arm.
So one day after an announcement by the colonel, Sergeant Godinot came to visit Dubois in the battalion hospital.
'We are going to Santarem to-morrow,' said Godinot.
'Who is?'
'We are. You and I. We are going carpentering or rope- making or boat-building- they want men for all those.'
'Who does?'
'Headquarters. The colonel announced this morning that all men with a knowledge of carpentry or boat-building or rope-making or smith's work were to report to the adjutant. So I reported for you and me. I didn't have to tell him more than the truth. When I said that my father owned one-third of the Chantier Naval, and that you and I had spent half our lives in small boats in Nantes harbour, he put our names down at once. We are to report at Santarem to-morrow.' 'Santarem?' asked Dubois vaguely.
'Santarem is twenty kilometres down the river,' said Godinot. 'Heaven bless us, man, don't you remember marching up through it?'
But since the conscription had taken him from his home a year ago, at the age of seventeen and a half, Dubois had marched through too many places to remember half of them.
'So that arm of yours must be better by to-morrow,' said Godinot. 'Half a bullet ought not to keep you sick longer than that.'
The missile which had been extracted from Dubois' arm had been half a musket ball-apparently the Portuguese sawed their bullets in two in order to double their chances of hitting something.
'It is better,' said Dubois. 'I was to report for light duty the day after to-morrow. Do you think they'll issue rations to us at Santarem?' 'They'll have to if we're doing other work,' said Godinot, and the two of them looked at each other. Food was already short again in the battalion-that day's ration had only consisted of a litre of maize porridge. 'It's headquarters at Santarem,' he continued. 'Those brutes in the Second Corps will have to send in some of the beef they get beyond the road.'
Everyone in the battalion was firmly convinced that the Second Corps in its foraging area beyond the road was revelling in beef every day-an extraordinarily inaccurate estimate. Dubois smacked his lips.
'Beef!' he said. 'With thick gravy!'
He said the words with the same respectful awe he had once employed in speaking about the Emperor Napoleon.
Adjutant Doguereau had weeded out a great many of the applicants for work at Santarem. Quite half the battalion had hurried to report to him after the regimental announcement, full of stories about their knowledge of carpentry or rope-making. Everyone was anxious to escape from the battalion, from the dreariness of life in cramped billets, the shortage of food, the endless, ineffectual skirmishing with the outcasts on the hill.
They had told the most fantastic lies about their experience with boats and their ability to do smith's work. But Adjutant Doguereau had seen through all the lies of these lads fresh from the plough and the cart's tail. There were only thirty men paraded under Sergeant Godinot and sent off to march down the road to Santarem.
Santarem was a long, narrow town of tall, white houses squeezed in between the road and the river. When they marched into it there was no sign of civilian life-every inhabitant had fled weeks ago-but the long, high street was all a-bustle with groups of men working here and there.
The red woollen shoulder-knots of the engineers were much in
Similar Books
