VENÉROLLES
At this point the Battalion turned in a south-westerly direction,
passing through a village in which the French and English Headquarters
were quartered in "estaminets" on either side of the road. No doubt both
were prosecuting their work equally successfully, but the Subaltern
could not help remarking the quietness of the one, and the excitement,
volubility, and apparent confusion of the other. Still, he thought,
different people have different ways of doing things.
Apparently to compensate for having no breakfast, the Battalion was
halted in an orchard. The men filled their haversacks with apples and
pears, and consumed scarcely ripe plums with an avidity that made the
Officers fear that at least half of the Battalion would be in the grip
of colic before the night.
Because it was a cloudy day, or perhaps because one reaches a second
heat in physical and mental fatigue, the Subaltern did not feel so bad
that day. The men, too, recovered their spirits. He began to think it
was good to march on an empty stomach. The sight of French cavalry with
their holland-covered helmets and curved sabres, suggested ample
support. This would mean at least a rest before the next fight, he told
himself.
These "drâgons" seemed exceedingly intelligent and superior men. They
were quite preoccupied, like men who are going to do something. There
was none of that inane shouting "A bas les Bosches." Later on, some
transport columns were passed, and the men descended from their wagons
and distributed bread to the English.
All day long the sound of guns rolled along to the right. The sound
seemed to move parallel to them, otherwise the day's march was
uneventful. At about half-past five in the evening the Battalion
suddenly struck the "route nationale," along which they had advanced
north of Etreux. There had been a feeling, once again, that the enemy
had been successfully shaken off by the rapidity of the retreat.
Once again came disillusionment, for here were the Guards' Brigade
entrenching themselves for the night. Apparently there had been very
severe fighting around Etreux, which had resulted in a check to the
enemy, for the moment, at any rate. The Regiment, however, passed
through Etreux, and was eventually ordered to occupy a defensive
position around the village of Venérolles. Darkness fell so suddenly
that the Company Commanders had the greatest difficulty in selecting
good positions. Eventually the Subaltern's Platoon was placed astride a
sunken lane, along the edge of an orchard. The position was a happy
one, and since the hedge that stretched along its front was thick and
about ten feet high, it seemed safe from surprise.
It was now quite dark, and the men had not had a meal since the few
biscuits which had been given out in the early morning. At last,
however, the Regimental Transport was heard creaking up the small lane
which led to the position. Then the trouble began. The road was dark,
deeply rutted and narrow, and crossed by a little stream. A nervous
horse took fright at the running water, dashed up one of the banks, and
firmly embedded the water-cart, which he was pulling, in the other, thus
effectively blocking the way.
When the Subaltern, having seen everything safe for the night, was
returning to report to the Major, he found something akin to confusion
in the Transport. Horses were neighing, backing, plunging, making things
worse, as only horses can. If the Regiment had been attacked that night,
and forced to retire, the way was so completely obstructed that it would
probably have been annihilated, as the Transport did not get safely away
until just before dawn.
He had had no proper food or drink for twenty-four hours, so one can
easily imagine how pleased he was to see the Major and the Captain
seated around a table in a little hovel of a cottage, just about to
demolish some tea and bread and marmalade.
The air was charged with electricity caused by four men nervously
awaiting the boiling of the kettle, and trying to conceal their
impatience.
"Poor old ---- must have lost himself," said the Major, referring to the
Senior Subaltern, "or he'd be here by now; he has a wonderful nose for
food."
However, half-way through the meal he came in, admitting that he had
lost himself, and wandered into another Regiment's lines.
After the meal they returned to their Platoons, and spent the usual
miserable night in their usual miserable way, cramped by the usual
miserable damp. Next morning the Regiment was moved further out, to the
top of the ridge, to protect the retreat of the remaining two Brigades
and their Transport Columns. Luckily the enemy was not in sufficient
force to drive this covering party in.
When the Division had got clear away, the Brigade resumed the column of
route formation, and the retreat was continued. Once again during the
morning a German Taube flew overhead. A violent fusillade broke out from
the road, from which the aeroplane suffered less than the men, as they
were in too close formation to fire properly. A vast quantity of
ammunition was wasted, and the position and strength of the column was
thus demonstrated to the airman. It was decided in future to hide as
completely as possible, whenever an enemy aeroplane hove in sight, and
not on any account to fire at it.
Later on a German patrol menaced the column, but, having forced it to
deploy in some measure, withdrew. The rest of the march passed
uneventfully, but the country became less flat than hitherto--an
addition to their trials!
He tried his French on the Battalion's interpreter, who in peace time
had been an Avocat in Paris, and who told him many things of the French
Army. He spoke of its dauntless patriotism, its passionate longing for
revenge, fostered for many long years of national subservience; the
determination to avenge the humiliations of Delcassé, of Agadir, of the
Coronation at Versailles. As vivacious and eloquent as only one of his
nation and calling can be, he praised the confidence of the French Army
and its "Généralissime." He repeated the great names of the army--De
Castlenau, Percin, Sarrail, and many more unknown to the Subaltern. He
spoke with deep feeling. A spark of the fire that, in her hours of need,
never fails his country, had descended upon him, and, in the eyes of the
stolid British soldiers around, transformed him.