Adventure, November 1915 — page 215: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“ at~ Cairo. Soldiers of Fortune on the Veld fix. So, by the way, would have been the others. But in the British army under such cir- cumstances—the sense of gregariousness being strong—it is customary to belabor a drum when such things occur, before further action is taken. The supports of the out- posts, therefore, retired to the rear, as per field-service regulations, leaving those in the hands of the Boers to their fate. There was consolation in. the fact that next morning those taken would show up anyway, minus their rifles and boots, of course. But such things can be replaced. All this time Cesare was hanging on to this “‘Inglese” like grim death. He did not want to hurt the man, but could not make him understand this. Fortunately, this particular Tommy had been captured be- fore, and thought it best to come along. In the interest of preserving the prestige of the British army it should be stated that Tommy had dropped his rifle and could not find it in the dark. The manly art of self- defense would not avail against a nice little stiletto, which Cesare had brandished be- fore his eyes. On the whole, though, Cesare was very lucky. That he used the weight of his body when tradition would have had him employ his stiletto shows that he was a kind soul and courageous heart. HE Bambalaise,” as such he became known, hailed from southern France, had a Basque face, and delighted in the songs of the north of the Gaelic republic: There was one he would sing from early morning until late at night. It was the one that gave him his name: “Mais, j'aime encore mieux ma Bambalaise Qui m’atiend au pays Breton.” On the “ma Bambalaise’” Charles laid particular stress. Bambalaise had stayed at all the big hotels in France, Italy, Belgium, Spain and for a time he had even honored Shepheard’s He had been “bien riche’? once upon a time, he averred often and emphati- cally. Something had gone wrong one day on the Paris Bourse, et, voila! here he was, a _ poor man. On the whole, though, given the proper opportunity, Charles could ~ have made an excellent “gentleman of France” as one Wymar paints him. Those who knew him better wondered at 213 his technical knowledge of hotel-heeping, and his memory of the first names of all the chefs de cuisine and gérants in the hotels he had “stayed” at. Bambalaise had been in these hostelries, but as bottle-washer, or something of that sort. In addition to having been rich, Charles had been in love many times, and often, so it would seem, de belles dames avec beaucoup d’argent et d’outre bien had succumbed to his charms. But there was one little love affair he dwelled on nightly. At Boulogne-sur- Mer he had met a little chambermaid, by name of Hazeline, and she had broken his heart in ever so many pieces. La petite Bambalaise had refused to marry him, be- cause of his superior station. Such lovely, brown eyes she had, and a deportment and figure—ah, comme elle était belle! Pauvre Hazeline! Hazeline must have turned the little Gas- con down. But he never forgot her. His identification-card carried the instruction that in case of his being killed, Hazeline was to be notified. Charles had gone to the war to be killed. What was life without the love of Hazeline, anyway! Cyrano de Bergerac never loved Roxane more ardently. Arrived on the scene of action, Bamba- laise crimped a reef in his suicidal intentions and decided to live just as long as he pos- sibly could. He never answered any of the calls for volunteers that were made when- ever a particularly hot piece of business was in hand. Possibly Bambalaise had been a cook. He could do things with the tough beef and old angora mutton that no other president pro tem. of the mess could accomplish. This was a point in his favor. It stopped the gibes. But Bambalaise’s sphere of usefulness was to be further enlarged. In a Kaffir kraal near Mooifontein he commandeered a concertina in good order. He had wandered thither in search of pork and when he re- turned he had a dead piglet strung across the saddle and was measuring the step of his cheval—an old charger with sway back and compass knees—with some tune. The camp rushed to meet him. Pork and music at the same time was really too much for one day. Thereafter Bambalaise became the regi- mental band of his commando. He was always at the head of the column—on the Gomicbooks (CO)