A PAUSE, AND MORE MARCHING
A village called Amigny was reached at about six o'clock in the evening,
and here the Battalion, in its usual evening state of prostration, was
billeted.
The Company settled down in the chief "estaminet" of the place. The
decision was a faulty one. The old woman who was hostess gave way to
hysterics at the thought of having to provide for five large, hungry and
nervous officers. She was a horrid old woman--mean, dirty, and if the
Captain's word could be taken as strict truth, immoral. Still, a roof to
cover their heads was an unusual blessing, and it was not long before
they were all sound asleep.
Next morning there was no parade in the grey of dawn. As the first
chilly beam of light crept into the room the Subaltern turned in his
sleep, and smiled at the complete luxury of prolonged rest. They did not
get up till eight, and having dressed, washed, and even shaved, they had
what the "hostess" called breakfast. And still nothing happened, no
breathless orderly delivered the usual order. What had happened?
The Senior Subaltern, who was suspected of leanings towards matrimony,
began to write a letter.
The Captain, who was energetic, began to play billiards on the miniature
pocketless table. Later on the Colonel came in. It was not an official
visit, only to warn them to be ready to move at any moment. Having
thanked the old woman, he left in a singularly peaceful frame of mind.
At half-past twelve they moved on to a small hill just outside the
village, which they proceeded to put into a state of defence. They heard
that afternoon of a large counter-attack launched in the neighbourhood
of Guise, which had been successful in temporarily relieving the
pressure on the British Front. Here it was that they first heard rumours
of the affair off Heligoland, which had become inflated into a
tremendous victory for the British Fleet. Apparently half the German
Fleet had been sent to the bottom of the sea, and you can imagine the
state of enthusiasm that was caused by this news. They felt that, no
matter what might happen to them on the battlefields of France, their
homes at any rate were freed from the menace of the German. To add to
their jubilation, instead of having to spend the night in the trenches
they had dug, they were marched back, for some inexplicable reason, to
their billets in the village.
Next morning they paraded as soon as it was light, and the retreat was
continued throughout the day.
There was a very marked change in the country. The open cornfields were
replaced by woods of such a dense nature that any operations would have
been impossible. Curious as it may seem, the Subaltern had in some way
been upset by the previous day's break in the usual marching routine.
The heat seemed more intense than ever; his haversack and equipment more
cumbersome. But the roads were now avenues, and the overhanging branches
provided very welcome shade.
They emerged from the woods, once more to strike out in the glaring
sunlight. Soon a hill was seen in the distance, surmounted by a quaint
and squat tower, very reminiscent of Windsor. The houses which clustered
beneath it formed the little town of Coucy-le-Chateau. They camped out
in an open field beneath the hill, and by stripping a couple of
haystacks made themselves fairly comfortable. They must have very
effectually shaken off the enemy, for the General did not think it
necessary to put out outposts.
The next morning, this time well before dawn, the retreat was continued,
apparently on Soissons. Precisely the same thing happened on this day as
on the march to La Fère. Soissons was no great distance from Coucy, only
some eight or ten miles, and just when they reached the northern heights
of the Aisne, and the whole town was visible, the Brigade sheered off to
the right, and clung to the river bank.
Soissons looked so particularly inviting, the whites and greys and
primroses of its walls flashing in the sun. The sight of a French town
(in the distance) is very pleasing to any one used to the terra-cotta
reds of England. The cobbles give the streets such a medieval air, the
green shutters seem so queer, and there is such a disdain of geometry.
But when one gets right into the town, a violent change comes over the
scene. The cobbles that were so pleasantly medieval in the distance
become, under one's feet, nothing but an ankle-turning plague. The
stuccoed walls look very clean in the distance, but near to, the filth
of the streets modifies one's admiration. A small French town generally
reminds one of the outhouses and styes of a farm. The air is diffuse
with the scent of manure. England, with all thy drainage system, I love
thee still!
The road now clung to the river, which was not actually crossed until
two or three o'clock in the afternoon. The bridge was a large and
substantial structure, and a section of Engineers were preparing to blow
it up. Before the hour's halt was over, the inevitable alarm occurred,
and two companies were detached to fight the usual rear-guard action,
under the Major, who was now second-in-command.
The remainder of the Battalion continued the march, this time along the
south bank of the river.
The heat was as usual intense, and to-day they missed the shady trees
that had so well protected them the day before. A couple of hours later
they turned abruptly to the left, that is to say, southwards, and the
Aisne disappeared in a cleft of the hills. Winding tortuously at the
feet of more or less steep slopes--for the country was quite
changed--progress was not as easy as it had been. At last, close on
seven o'clock, a halt was made on a hillside.
Men fell to the ground with a grunt, thanking God that another of those
Hell-days was over. Too tired to move, even if the position was an
uncomfortable one; too tired to pray for rest; too tired to think!
The average man is, I am sure, quite ignorant of the effect which
extreme exhaustion has on the brain. As the weary hours drag by, it
seems as if a deadness, a sort of paralysis, creeps up the limbs,
upwards towards the head. The bones of the feet ache with a very
positive pain. It needs a concentration of mind that a stupefied brain
can ill afford to give to force the knees to keep from doubling under
the weight of the body. The hands feel as if they were swelling until
the boiling blood would ooze from the finger-tips. The lungs seem too
exhausted to expand; the neck too weary to support the heavy head. The
shoulders ache under the galling weight of sword and haversack, and
every inch of clammy skin on the body seems ten times as sensitive as it
normally is. The nerves in the face and hands feel like swelled veins
that itch so that they long to be torn by the nails. The tongue and eyes
seem to expand to twice their usual size. Sound itself loses its sharp
conciseness, and reaches the brain only as a blurred and indistinct
impression.
But perhaps the reader may say that he has once done twenty-five or
thirty miles in a day, and did not feel half as bad as that. He must
remember, however, that these men had been doing over twenty-five miles
every day for the last ten days, and that, in addition to the physical
fatigue, they had suffered the mental fatigue caused by fighting. Their
few hours of halting were generally occupied by trench digging. They
were not having a fifth of the sleep that such a life requires. They
were protected neither from the heat of noon nor from the chill of dawn.
The food they got was not fresh food, and their equipment weighed ninety
pounds! Lesser men would have died; men imbued with a feebler
determination would have fainted. As it was, the transport was crowded
with men whose feet had failed them, and many must have fallen behind,
to be killed or made prisoner. The majority "stuck it" manfully, and
faced every fresh effort with a cool, gruff determination that was
wonderful. This spirit saved the Allies from the first frenzied blow of
Germany, in just the same way that it had saved England from the Armada
and from Napoleon.
The Subaltern realised the value of his men; indeed, he felt a wholesome
trust and faith in them that individual outbursts of bad temper or lack
of discipline could not shake. They occupied, more than they had ever
done before, the greater part of his thoughts and attention. He made
their safety and comfort his first care, and protected them from
ridiculous orders and unnecessary fatigue. He found himself watching and
playing upon their moods. He tried very hard and earnestly to make them
a good officer. He thought that they were the salt of the earth, that
there never had been men like them, nor would be again.
No sooner had a scanty meal been rammed down their throats than they
were paraded once more, and hurried away to the crest of another ridge.
One of the Aisne bridges had been left standing, and apparently the
enemy was across it, and already threatening to envelop their position.
Having reached higher ground they stopped for what was left of the
night, since it was impossible for the enemy cavalry to attack them in
that country.