XII
A TRICK ACCORDING TO FANDOR
It was a November Sunday evening. A crowd of leave-expired soldierswere entraining at the Eastern Station. They would be dropped at theirrespective garrisons along the line of some 400 kilometres separatingthe capital from the frontier.
They had dined, supped, feasted with friends and relatives: now theywere voicing regretful farewells by medley of songs and ear-splittingserenades. They scrambled into the third-class compartments, fifteen,sixteen at a time, filling the seats and overflowing on to the floor.Little by little the deafening din of the "wild beasts," as they werejokingly called, diminished; their enthusiasm died down as the nightadvanced, while the train rushed full steam ahead for the frontier ofFrance.
They fell asleep, knowing that kind comrades would awaken them whenthe train drew up at their various garrisons. At Reims, thecompartments disgorged the dragoons pell-mell; at Chalons, so manygunners and infantry had got out that the train was half emptied. AtSainte-Menehould, a large contingent of cuirassiers and infantry hadcleared out. Towards four in the morning the express was nearingVerdun.
As the train steamed out of Sainte-Menehould, a corporal of the line,who had been forced to sit up as stiff as a poker for several hours,stretched himself at length on the compartment seat with a sigh ofrelief. But the jerks and jolts of the carriage, the hard seat, madesleep impossible: the epaulettes of his uniform were an added sourceof discomfort. The corporal sat up, rubbed the musty glass of thewindow, and watched for the coming day. On the far horizon, beyond ashadowy stretch of country, a pallid dawn was breaking. Trees wereswaying in a gusty wind. At intervals, when the clatter of theonrushing train lessened, the heavy pattering of rain on the roofbecame audible.
"Confound it!" growled the corporal. "Detestable weather! Hatefulcountry!"
Whilst attempting some muscular exercises to unstiffen his achinglimbs, he muttered:
"And only to think of that wretch Vinson enjoying the benefit of myfirst-class permit!... Started off to-night under my name, and is nowrolling along in a comfortable sleeping-car towards the sunny Southwith a nice bit of money in his purse!"
The corporal in the inhospitable third-class of the Verdun train mademental pictures of Vinson's progress south. He talked to himselfaloud.
"Good journey to you, you jolly dog!... In six weeks' time, if youhave a thought to spare for me, you will send your news as wearranged!"
The corporal began breathing warm breaths on his numbed fingers.
"By Jove! The company is not prodigal of foot-warmers, that's certain!It's an ice-house in here!"
He continued to soliloquise:
"It's a deuce of a risky business I have let myself in for!... To takeVinson's place, and set off for Verdun, where his regiment is doinggarrison duty, the regiment to which he has just been attached!... Itwould run as smooth as oil if I had done my military service, but,owing to circumstances, I have never been called up!... A pretty sortof fool I may make of myself!"...
After a reflective silence, he went on:
"Bah! I shall pull through all right! Have I not crammed my head withtheory the last eight days, and pumped Vinson for all he was worthabout the rules and regulations, and the ways of camp life!... All thesame ... to make my debut in an Eastern garrison, in the 'IronDivision,' straight off the reel takes some nerve!... What cheek!...It's the limit!... But, my dear little Fandor, don't forget you are atVerdun not to play the complete soldier but to gather exactinformation about a band of traitors, and to unmask them at the firstopportunity--a work of national importance, little Fandor, and don'tyou forget it!"
Thus our adventurous Vinson-Fandor lay shivering in the night train onthe point of drawing up at Verdun.
Having saved the wretched Vinson from suicide, Fandor had made himpromise to leave France and await developments, whilst Fandor, posingas Vinson, studied at close quarters the spies who had drawn themiserable corporal into their net. Fandor could personate Vinson withevery chance of success, because the 257th of the line had never seteyes on the corporal.
After a week of perplexity, Fandor had come to a decision the previousnight. Wishing to let his "dear master" know of his audacious project,he had telephoned to Juve on the Sunday evening to ask him to come tothe flat. Then Vagualame had appeared on the scene. Fandor knew him tobe an agent of the Second Bureau. Evidently Vagualame was afterVinson. If Fandor had let himself be caught in the corporal's uniform,which he had just put on, his spy plans would have been ruined, andthe corporal, to whom he had promised his protection, would have beencaught.
Fandor fled. The situation would have to be made clear whenopportunity offered.
"Certainly," said Fandor to himself, with a smile: "things are prettywell mixed up at present! That meeting between Vagualame and Juve atthe flat must have been a queer one! Two birds of a feather, thoughdiffering in glory, who would not make head or tail of so unexpected aconference!"
To clear up the imbroglio, Fandor had meant to send Juve a wire on hisarrival at Verdun; on second thoughts he had decided against it.Probably the spies, or the Second Bureau, or both, were keeping asharp watch on Vinson: it would be wiser to refrain from anycommunication which might reveal the fact that the corporal Vinson,who joined the 257th of the line at Verdun, was none other than JeromeFandor, journalist.
Though stiff with cold and fatigue, Fandor's brain was clear andactive.
It is all right! Juve would be surprised, anxious, would makeenquiries at the Company's offices, would learn that on the Sundayevening Fandor had occupied the place reserved for him in thesleeping-car, would be reassured, would not worry about Fandor'sabrupt departure and silence--Fandor was holiday making!
"Yes, it is all right!" reiterated Fandor. "What I have to do is tothrow myself wholeheartedly into my part, and play it as jovially aspossible!"
The train whistled, slowed down, entered the station of Verdun.
Fandor let the crowd of soldiers precede him, as well as one or twocivilians whom the night express had brought to this importantfrontier fortress. Having readjusted his coat, the fringes of hisepaulettes, and put on his cap correctly, this corporal of the 257thline, stepped on to the platform, reached the exit, passed out on to avast flat space, and found himself floundering in a sea of mud.
The men who had arrived with him had hurried off: Fandor was alone onthe outskirts of the silent town.
What to do? Which way to go?
Under the flame of a gas-jet struggling against the onslaughts of thewind, Fandor caught sight of the honest face of a constable envelopedin a thick hooded coat. He eyed Fandor.
"Excuse me," said Corporal Vinson-Fandor, rolling his r's, inimitation of a rustic fresh from the country, "but could you tell mewhere I shall find the 257th of the line?"
"What do you want with the 257th of the line?" queried the constable.
"It is like this, Monsieur: I was in the 214th, garrisoned at Chalons.I have had eight days' leave, and they inform me I am attached to the257th."
The constable nodded.
"And now you want to get to your new regiment?"
"Precisely."
"Well, the 257th is in three places: at bastion 14; at the SaintBenoit barracks; and at Fort Vieux--which are you bound for,Corporal?"
"I don't know--I've no preference," murmured Corporal Vinson-Fandor.
The two men stood staring at each other in the rain.
Despite the chill and melancholy dawn, with its darkly reddeningskies, Fandor felt he was on the very verge of bursting into wildlaughter.
"Let us see your route instructions," quoth the constable.
Corporal Vinson-Fandor showed his paper.
"That's it!" cried the constable triumphantly. "You are down to reportyourself at the Saint Benoit barracks. You're in luck, my lad! It'sonly fifty yards or so from here!... Go down the road, and you willsee the barrack wall on the left. The entrance is in the middle."
Fandor saluted the friendly constable, hurried off, and reached
theSaint Benoit gate in a few minutes.
"The 257th?" he asked the sentry.
"Here!... You will find the sergeant in the guard-room."
Fandor entered a smoke-filled room; several soldiers were stretched atfull length on a bench, slumbering: a snoring non-commissioned officerwas lying on three straw bottomed chairs close to a stove.
At Fandor's entrance he was wide awake in a moment: he swore: it wasthe sergeant.
"What do you want?" he demanded roughly.
Adopting a military manner, Fandor announced:
"Corporal Vinson, just arrived from Chalons, exchanged from the 214th,sergeant!"
"Ah! Quite so. Wait! I will show you your company."
Stretching himself, the sergeant marched to the end of the room,turned up a gas-jet, opened a book, looked through the pages slowly.His finger stopped at a name.
"Orderly!"
A man presented himself.
"Conduct Corporal Vinson to A block, second floor."
Turning to Fandor, the sergeant informed him:
"You are attached to the third of the second."
While plodding through the mud of the courtyard, Fandor said tohimself:
"The third of the second means, I suppose, that I have the honour ofbelonging to the third company of the second battalion."
Fandor gazed with lively curiosity at the immense building in which hewas to pass his days and nights for he did not know how long a time.As he scrutinised this enormous pile, standing harsh and stark in itsuncompromising and ordered strength, as he took stock of the vastcourtyards and the stony lengths of imprisoning walls, he got an ideaof that formidable organisation called a regiment, which itself is butan infinitesimal part of that great whole we call an army.Appreciating as he now did the importance, the immutability, theregularity of the movements of the military machine, with its wheelswithin wheels, Fandor asked himself if it were possible to carrythrough the programme he had drawn up for himself. Could he, at oneand the same time, trick the French Army and save it?... He had takenhis precautions: he had read and reread Vinson's manual, now _his_manual. Mentally he had put himself in the skin of a corporal: he wasletter perfect, and now he must cover himself with the mantle ofVinson--for the greater glory of France!
He could not help laughing when he read the list of his facialcharacteristics: chin, round; nose, medium; face, oval; eyes, grey.Vague enough this to be safe! Fandor's hair was dark chestnut:Vinson's was brown. Vinson and Fandor were sufficiently alike as toheight and figure: besides, soldiers' uniforms were not an exact fit.
"Here you are, Corporal!" announced the orderly. He pointed to a vastroom at the end of a corridor. The bugle had just sounded the reveilleand the barrack-room was humming like a hive of awakened bees. Theorderly had vanished. Fandor stood at the threshold, hesitating: hisself-confidence had gone down with a run. It was a momentary lapse.Pulling himself together he walked into the room.
When giving him his instructions, Vinson had warned Fandor, that whenit came to settling down in barracks he would find nothing to hand.
"Among other little items, your bed will be missing. As corporal youhave a right to round on them. Row them hot and good--start reprisalsstraight away. The men will pretend not to understand, butinsist--don't take no for an answer; take whatever you want right andleft--in the end you will get properly settled in."
Fandor carried out these instructions. Before he had been ten minutesin the room, men were rushing in all directions, fussing, jostling oneanother, coming, going, demanding of all the echoes in that hugewhite-washed barn of a barrack-room dormitory:
"Where is the palliasse of Corporal Vinson!"
"Find me the bolster of Corporal Vinson!"