For several days I as at liberty to wander
about, within barracks, and amuse myself as best
I could; after duty hours were over, I could
go out in town if I pleased.

During these few days, however, I was
required to attend a kind of lecture, which is
given weekly to each squadron; the object
being to make the men fully acquainted with
the code of military justice, the offences for
which they will be punished, and the duties of a
good soldier. The subject explained at the first
lecture I attended, was Faults against Discipline,
chap, xxxvii. of the Code de Justice Militaire,
beginning at Art. 328. The officer delivering
this lecture made many of us, in turns, explain
what we understood by the article, and helped
us to demonstrate it by suggesting examples of
what faults a soldier is likely to fall into, and
how to avoid committing them. He cited
examples of every-day occurrence, asked our
opinions, and corrected any misunderstanding
we might have on any point. Really, at the end
of the lecture I had a clear understanding of the
duties of a soldier.

When I had been in the regiment about a
week, the sergeant-major informed me that I
should begin duty, and drill, next morning.
Early next morning, therefore, just before the
trumpet sounded the réveille, a bustling little
corporal, who had been up ever since four o'clock
(being orderly for the week), rushed into our
room like a wild rocket, and exclaimed: "A
man that can write a good hand!" There was
not a single answer to this demand, and he
repeated: "Not one man here who can write?
Sapristi!" Astonished at such ignorance among
a number of men, many of whom I had thought
educated, I timidly answered, "that I thought
I could write a tolerable hand!" "Can you
spell properly?" "I think I can, corporal."
As I said this, I observed a mischievous twinkle
in his eye; he twirled his moustache, and
continued with the affected air of a man exacting
great capabilities. "But, can you spell
correctly, and write really well?" "I believe I
can, corporal!" "Very well. Now, if you go
down to our stable underneath, you will find in
the left-hand corner a set of beautiful pens; take
one (any one you like) and help some other
scribes you will find there, to sweep the stables
as clean as a sword. Heup la! March!" So with
a smack at somebody's back, and a thrust in
tieree at another somebody's chest, bang went the
door, and the next minute we heard him shouting
a snatch of a song. Down I went and did
my work. But when Corporal de Bonfils (the
de intimates nobility) came to see it, he was
pleased to observe "that I was a muff at sweeping,"
and taking the broom out of my hand he
taught me theoretically and practically how to
do better another time. After which (with the
broomstick) he performed a series of extraordinary
moulinets and rotary movements all
around my head, heels, and body, aiming
occasionally so close to me without once touching,
as to show himself a perfect master of the
bâton; then suddenly slipping aside, he asked:
"There, can you do that?" I was forced to say
that I couldn't, but that if he would stand
still, I would try. Upon which, with a good-natured
laugh, he told me that if I struck
my superior I should be shot; and invited me
to take la goutte with him.

A corporal in the French service is a kind of
hybrid soldier. He is not a private, neither is
he considered a non-commissioned officer. He
messes and lodges with the privates; gets the
same rations, the same quality of cloth for his
clothing, is obliged to live on terms of intimacy
with them, play with them, and yet must
command and punish when necessary. Forced
to live thus with the men, it requires tact for a
corporal to remain friendly with his comrades,
and at the same time retain his authority. It
would be utterly impossible for him to do so
were it not for the law of the French military
service, which renders a superior liable to
punishment if he neglect to punish a man who
has misconducted himself.

Officers have long ago recognised the rank of
corporal as the most difficult to fill in the military
hierarchy. They have all admitted that the
corporals are the catspaws of regiments. It
might be imagined that under such circumstances
the corporal is a miserable man. On the contrary,
he is the jolliest soldier in the regiment.
In the first stages of his responsibility he may
get a little despairing at seeing that, do what he
will, he cannot please; but it soon wears off.
He soon learns why he is always punished, and
soon gets to know that he is a kind of vent-peg
for any officer's or superior's anger. Hence,
when a "blown up" officer turns round and
confines his corporal four days to barracks,
the corporal will frequently give him a wink,
and the officer will answer with a laugh.
Officers having recognised the difficulties of a
corporal's position, make allowance for his
frequent punishments. Often, his score will be
rubbed out. Officers show, also, great indulgence
in other ways to those poor "souffre
misères;" besides which, they, in a certain measure,
fear them. A captain having a bad set of
corporals will continually be reprimanded for
untidy men. Another captain, more conciliatory,
will have tidy men, and always receive compliments.
The corporal can incite the men of his
squad to work, and by his energy, zeal, and
example, can make them rapid in all their duties.
The corporal's opinion on any subject is
accepted by all the men under his immediate control;
he makes black popular to-day, and condemns
it irretrievably to-morrow. He it is who
makes an officer popular or unpopular, confers
nicknames, and is generally at the bottom of all
fun.

When I had been rigged out with a fatiguedress,
Corporal de Bonfils told me that I looked
like a pantin, a puppet; that I was as stiff as the
Colonne Vendôme; in fact, that I was a regular
"godam', oh yes!" and offered to wager that he
would cut round our room and touch the forty
men there before I could touch a dozen. This
he proceeded to do in a most extraordinary