These four, in their anxiety for their weaker brother, forgot their own raw thighs, labouring lungs, inflamed eyes, numbed arms and agonising feet.
Just as the Colonel rode by, the Grasshopper's feet ceased to move, and dragged lifeless along the ground.
Rupert stumbled and the three fell in a heap, beneath the Colonel's eye.
"Sacré Baptême!" he swore—the oath he only used when a Legionary fell out on the march—"March or die, accursed pigs."
Rupert and John Bull staggered to their feet, but the Grasshopper lay apparently lifeless. The Colonel swore again, and shouted an order. The Grasshopper was dragged to the side of the road, and a baggage-cart drove up. A tent-pole was thrust through its sides and tied securely. To this pole the Belgian was lashed, the pole passing across the upper part of his back and under his arms, which were pulled over it and tied together. If he could keep his feet, well and good. If he could not, he would hang from the pole by his arms (as an athlete hangs from a parallel-bar in a gymnasium, before revolving round and round it).
On tramped the Legion.
Before long, the Grasshopper's feet dragged in the dust as he drooped inanimate, and then hung in the rope which lashed him to the pole.
At the fifty-fifth kilometre, thirty-five miles from Sidi-bel-Abbès, the command to halt was followed by the thrice-blessed God-sent order:
"Campez!"
Almost before the words, "Formez les faisceaux" were out of the Company-Commanders' mouths, the men had piled arms. Nor was the order "Sac à terre"
