Стрелок Додд

In the evening Fournier came to Sergeant Godinot.

'I want some money, sergeant,' he said. 'Give me some.'

Sergeant Godinot could see no use for money here in these uninhabited billets, and he said so.

'Never mind that,' said Fournier. 'I want some money.'

Godinot bowed to his whim and pulled out two or three copper coins-enough to buy a drink had there been drinks to be bought. Fournier thrust them aside. 'I want money,' he said.

What he was really asking for, as Godinot came to realize, was silver-in French the same word. Godinot found him a Spanish pillar dollar, one of four which Godinot kept sewn in his shirt in case of need. Fournier weighed it in his hand. 'Give me another one, sergeant. Please give me another one,' he pleaded. Godinot did so with some reluctance, looking at him oddly. It was only later in the evening, when he saw Fournier sitting by the fire with an iron spoon and a bullet-mould that he realized part of what was in Fournier's mind. He was casting silver bullets to make sure of hitting the green Englishman at the next opportunity. The others round the fire were not given the chance by Fournier of seeing exactly what he was doing. They made jokes about shortage of ammunition and Fournier's diligence in replacing it, but they did not know it was silver he was using, and in consequence paid no special attention to his actions. After all, bullet-moulding was a pleasantly distracting hobby, and men who were really fussy about their marksmanship were often known to mould their own bullets in an endeavour to obtain more perfect spheres than the official issue. Yet Sergeant Godinot felt much more ill at ease when at next morning's parade Private Fournier was found to be missing. Everyone realized that it could not be a case of desertion- no one could desert to the Portuguese, and to have deserted to the English would have called for a journey through the cantonments of half the French army. Sergeant Godinot could only tell his captain what he knew of Fournier's motives, and express the opinion that he was out on the hill somewhere trying to shoot the green Englishman. And the captain could only shrug his shoulders and hope that Fournier would return alive.

He never did. Godinot awaited him anxiously for several days, but he never came back. Godinot never found out what happened to him. He was the fifth of that little group of friends to die- Boyel had been the first, and little Godron the second, and Lebrun and Bernhard had been killed in the ambush a day or two before, and now Fournier was gone and only Dubois was left, with a hole in his arm.

So one day after an a

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OceanofPDF.com PK Ԙ쀻⫚Ztoc.ncx Death to the French (aka Rifleman Dodd) Death To The French Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI

Santarem was a long, narrow town of tall, white houses squeezed in between the road and the river. When they marched into it there was no sign of civilian life-every inhabitant had fled weeks ago-but the long, high street was all a-bustle with groups of men working here and there.

The red woollen shoulder-knots of the engineers were much in evidence. They saw white-haired old General Eble, whom everyone knew and liked, striding stiffly along the road followed by his staff. A sergeant of sappers took them in charge and led them to their billet-a big warehouse on the water's edge. 'Here, you blues,' said the sergeant of sappers, 'is where you will live for the next month or two. And where you will work. My God, how you will work!' 'But what is the work, sergeant?' asked Godinot.

'We are going to build a bridge to cross the river. A pontoon bridge. And after that we are going to build another bridge. That makes two.'

Godinot looked out of the open warehouse door, across the quay, to where the river rolled in its green immensity. Two pontoon bridges to cross that width of rushing water-bridges capable of bearing artillery-would be an immense task. 'Yes, you can look,' said the sergeant of sappers. 'The calculation is that we shall need two hundred pontoons. And some pontoons will need four anchors, some only two. And we shall need about ten kilometres of cable for the anchors and the roadway. And the roadway, as you see, will be about a kilometre and a half long for the two bridges. That will have to be made of timber.'

'Have you got the timber and anchors and things?' asked Godinot, a little bewildered.

'No,' said the sergeant. 'But we have a good many houses in the town. We are to pull the houses down and use the joists. And we shall have to save the nails when we pull the houses down because we have no nails. And before we start pulling the houses down we shall have to make the tools to do it with, because we have no tools except a few hammers we have got from the farriers. But there is plenty of iron in the balconies. We have got to make hammers and saws and axes and adzes out of that. And of course we have no hemp for the cables. We have got to make cables. There are three warehouses full of bales of wool. We have got to try if woollen ropes will suit, and if not-well, we have got to try ropes made of linen, or hay, or straw, or we shall have to tie together every odd bit of rope the army can find in its billets. And there is no tar, of course, for the bottoms of the pontoons. I don't thank General Eble has thought of a way round the difficulty of the tar. There is olive oil, however. Is there anyone here who knows how to make a durable paint out of olive oil? I thought not. But they have begun experiments already down the road. If you sniff attentively you may be able to smell them.'

This long speech by the sergeant of sappers was received with a chilly silence by his audience. The French recruit takes none of the delight in extemporization which his counterpart across the Cha

The sergeant of sappers knew it, but he could do nothing in the matter except change the subject.

'Five o'clock,' he said. 'Too late to start work to-day. Report with your party at five o'clock to-morrow morning, sergeant.'

Godinot instantly broached the subject which lay nearest to their hearts.