for whom he now had a very genuine and warm affection, he remarked—
"Don't you get fed up with Depôt life, Bull?"
"I have been fed up with life, Depôt and otherwise, for over twenty years," was the reply…. "Don't forget that life here in Sidi is a great deal better than life in a desert station in the South. It is supportable anyhow; there—it simply isn't; and those who don't desert and die, go mad and die. The exceptions, who do neither, deteriorate horribly, and come away very different men…. Make the most of Sidi, my boy, while you are here, and remember that foreign service, when in Tonkin, Madagascar, or Western Africa, inevitably means fever and dysentery, and generally broken health for life…. Moreover, Algeria is the only part of the French colonial possessions in which the climate lets one enjoy one's pipe."
That very night, shortly after the caserne had fallen silent and still, its inmates wrapped in the heavy sleep of the thoroughly weary, an alarm-bugle sounded in the barrack-square, and, a minute later, non-commissioned officers hurried from room to room, bawling, "Aux armes! Aux armes! Aux armes!" at the top of their voices.
Rupert sat up in his bed, as Corporal Achille Martel began to shout, "Levez-vous donc. Levez-vous! Faites le sac! Faites le sac! En tenue de Campagne d'Afrique."
"’Ooray!" shrilled 'Erb. "Oo-bloomin'-ray."
"Buck up, Rupert," said John Bull. "We've got to be on the barrack-square in full 'African field equipment' in ten minutes."
The chambrée became the scene of feverish activity,
