The Collected Works of P. C. Wren: Complete Beau Geste Series, Novels & Short Stories. P. C. Wren
Dobroff, and Glock, and possibly one or two more. They'll come. . . . They'll come, because, obviously, it's a life-or-death matter for all of us. We must try to see that none of Schwartz's gang know about the meeting, at any rate until it's over--but if they do, we can't help it. I suppose we have as much right to lay plans as they have?"
"It's a good idea," agreed St. André. "I'll be there and bring whom I can. About six o'clock."
§5.
Next evening, a handful of the better sort assembled near the shaduf in the shade of the palm-grove, out of sight of the fort. Besides Michael, St. André, Maris, and myself, there were Cordier, Blanc, Marigny, Ramon, Dobroff, Glock, Vaerren, and one or two others--fifteen or sixteen of us altogether--enough, as Michael remarked to me, to control events, provided a united party, with a common policy, could be formed.
But this proved impossible. Ideas of right and wrong, honour and dishonour, fair dealing and vile dealing, were too discrepant and probably tinctured by other thoughts and motives, such as those of fear, hatred, ennui, vengeance, and despair.
Michael addressed the meeting first.
"As you all very well know," said he, "there is a plot to murder Lejaune and the non-coms., to desert and to abandon the fort. Schwartz is the ringleader and says that those who do not declare themselves supporters will be considered as enemies--and treated as such. Personally, I do not do things because Schwartz says I must, nor do I approve of shooting men in their beds. Supposing I did, I still should disapprove of being led out into the desert by Schwartz, to die of thirst. Therefore I am against his plot--and I invite you all to join with me and tell Schwartz so. We'll tell him plainly that unless he gives up this mad scheme of murder and mutiny, we shall warn Lejaune. . . ."
Here a growl of disapproval from Marigny and Blanc, and some vigorous head-shaking, interrupted Michael's speech.
"I swear I will warn Lejaune," put in St. André, "but I will warn Schwartz first--and if he likes to drop the murder part of the scheme, he can do what else he likes. Any sacred imbecile who wants to die in the desert can go and do it, but I have nothing to do with mutinies. . . ."
"No treachery!" roared Marigny, a typical old soldier, grizzled and wrinkled; an honest, brainless, dogged creature who admired Schwartz and loathed Lejaune.
"Don't bray like that, my good ass," said Michael turning to him, "and try not to be a bigger fool than God meant you to. Where is the treachery in our replying to Schwartz, 'Thank you, we do not choose to join your murder-gang. Moreover, we intend to prevent the murder--so drop the idea at once.' Will you kindly explain how the gentle Schwartz is thus 'betrayed'?"
"I say it is betrayal of comrades--to tell an anointed, accursed, nameless-named dog's-tail like Lejaune that they are plotting against him. Treachery, I say," replied Marigny.
Michael sighed patiently.
"Well--what are you going to do, Marigny--since you must either be against Schwartz or for him?" asked Maris.
"I'm for him," replied Marigny promptly.
"A slinking, skulking murderer?" asked Michael contemptuously. "I thought you were a soldier--of sorts."
"I'm for Schwartz," said Marigny.
"Then go to him," snapped Michael. "Go on. . . . Get out. . . . We should prefer it--being neither cowards afraid of Schwartz, nor creeping murderers."
Marigny flushed, clenched his fists and, with an oath, put his hand to his bayonet and made as though to spring at my brother; but he evidently thought better of it as Michael closed his right hand and regarded the point of Marigny's chin.
With a snarl of "Dirty traitors!" the old soldier turned and strode away.
"Anybody else think as he does?" asked Michael.
"I can't agree to betraying old Schwartz," said Blanc, a Marseilles seaman, noisy, jolly, brave, and debonair; a rotund, black-eyed, bluff Provençal.
"Well--say what you are going to do then," said Michael sharply. "Join Schwartz's murderers or else join us."
"I can't join Lejaune's boot-lickers," said Blanc.
"Then join Schwartz's gang of assassins. You may perhaps be safer there," said Michael, and Blanc departed grumbling.
"I must join my compatriots, I'm afraid," said Glock.
"You are 'afraid'!" mocked Michael. "You have said it! It is Schwartz you are afraid of. You needn't be. You'll be safer outside that gang of murderers."
"I can't betray my compatriots," repeated Glock.
"Well--can you go to them and say--(what is the truth)--'I don't believe in murder and I am certain this business will end in the deaths of all of us. Drop it or I and my friends will make you.' Can you do that?" asked Michael.
Big, simple Glock, with his blue eyes and silly face, could only scratch his head and shuffle awkwardly from one foot to another.
"They'd kill me," he said.
"They certainly will kill you of thirst, if you let them lead you out there," argued Michael, with a wave of his arm to the encompassing desert.
"It seems we've all got to die, either way," said Glock.
"It's what I am trying to prevent, isn't it, fat-head?" answered Michael. "If the decent men of this garrison would act together and tell Schwartz to stop his silly tricks, no one need die."
"Except those whom Lejaune is killing," said Cordier, a clever and agreeable Frenchman who had certainly been a doctor, and whose prescriptions and treatment his comrades infinitely preferred to those of any army surgeon. "If that pariah cur of the gutters of Sodom and Gomorrah could be shot with safety to the rest of us--I'd do it myself to-night, and write my name among those of the benefactors of the human race."
"Oh? Where do you stand then?" asked Michael.
"I come in with you and St. André," replied Cordier, "though I admit my sympathies are wholly with Schwartz. Still . . . one's been a gentleman. . . ."
And in the end we found that only Cordier could really be depended upon to join Michael, St. André, Maris, and myself as a staunch and reliable party of anti-Schwartz, pro-duty-and-discipline non-murderers, prepared to tell the mutineers that they must drop their assassination plot, or Lejaune would be warned.
One by one, the others went off, some apologetic and regretful, some blustering, some honestly anxious to support what they considered Schwartz's brave blow for their rights, some merely afraid to do what they would have liked to do.
When we five were at length alone, Michael said, "Well, I'm afraid we're not going to scare Schwartz off his scheme."
"No," agreed Cordier. "It looks more as though we are only going to provide him with some extra labour. More little pigs. . . ."
"There won't be any pigs if Lejaune acts promptly," said St. André.
"None," agreed Maris, "and I'm almost tempted to vote for warning Lejaune before saying anything to Schwartz. It would give us more chance. . . ."
"No. No. We can't do that," said Cordier. "We must give old Schwartz a fair show. If he'll cut out the murder items from his programme, we'll say nothing, of course, and he can carry on. If he won't, we'll do our duty as decent folk, and give Lejaune his chance."
"Will he take it?" I asked. "Will he listen?"
"Not to one of us alone," said St. André. "But he'd have to take notice of a deputation, consisting of the five of us, all telling the same tale."
"A deputation consisting of ourselves, coming from ourselves?" smiled Cordier.
"After all, though," asked Maris, "does it matter if he believes or not? Suppose one of us goes and tells him the truth--isn't that enough? If he likes to punish the man and ignore his warning, that's his affair."
"Quite," agreed Michael. "But