We were fairly comfortable in the trench, which was covered with
branches and leaves. Bullets passed overhead, almost without touching
us. From time to time there was an attempt at an attack, and the grey
helmets came on. Then the word of command, "Fire!" and we saw men
dropping and hurrying back. We were full of confidence, almost cheerful.
And then I saw the comrade who suddenly ran towards us through the
ever-increasing din of the cannonade. There was blood on his face,
and he told our captain that a neighbouring trench had given way under
shellfire, and that we were outflanked and would be rolled up. Then
we saw them advancing on our right, with their bayonets, and pouring
a steady rain of bullets upon the trench which we had to abandon. It
was an awful moment. To get away from this infernal spot and take up
another position we had to cross a strip of ground rather more than
two hundred yards across. There was nothing for it but to face the
steady concentrated fire, which took a heavy toll of us. A man dropped
at every step of the way, and when we formed up to retake the trench
we had lost, we looked round, and half the company was gone. Then we
fell back again; I still do not know why. I felt that the deafening
machine-guns were tearing gaps in our ranks; we were very hungry
and thirsty and quite exhausted, but our _moral_ was not bad. And I
suddenly remembered our feelings when a small notice was put up on the
door of the farm where we were billeted one evening long ago--an order
from general headquarters to hold firm "at any cost" until a certain
day in September that was mentioned. Only one week more! We counted the
days and hours. At last the time came, and the German menace, instead
of pressing on, was rolled back. The Germans were not going to take
Nancy; they were in retreat. What could have happened?
Before we followed them up the roll was called. My poor company! Of
our squad only three were left. The lieutenants and corporals were
all gone; we had but one sergeant; the _liaison_ men, the hospital
orderlies, and the stretcher-bearers were all killed. We had to have
others at once, and I was chosen.
* * * * *
We were occupying villages which the Boches had abandoned; and this
inaction in this melancholy and deserted countryside, in these ruined
villages, among these poor little pillaged houses and among these
weeping peasants was worse than fighting. There was nothing much to do
while we waited for the fighting to begin again, and that was bad for
us. We had time to become downhearted and think too much of home.
Then we got good news. We were to leave! It seemed we were not wanted
in the east, but should be useful in the north. So we started for
the north. We were in good spirits again, without knowing why. The
journey was pleasant, and at every station people crowded round the
trains into which we were packed, and cheered us and brought us drinks,
food, flowers and tobacco. It was just the same when we reached our
journey's end: we were taken possession of; everybody was ready and
willing to give us food and lodging. The Boches, apparently, were quite
close. Meanwhile I was delighted to make the acquaintance of this land
of plenty and land of Cockaigne, where one felt so proud of being a
soldier, and so content to be alive.
Our joy was short-lived. Two hours after we detrained we were told that
the Germans were attacking D----.
So we left the town to fight again. Then two days were spent in the
hideous tumult and fever of battle, in picking up our wounded under
fire. The second day the commanding officer came to the dressing
station where I was and said that his battalion was evacuating the
village, and that we must remove our wounded at once as best we could.
A peasant woman lent us her horse, another a four-wheeled cart; the
horse was put in and the cart loaded. It soon was full, and we set out,
jolting along a road littered with dead bodies and wounded, with dead
horses and limbers without drivers, and bordered with burning ricks.
Shells were bursting round us; and I remember, like a picture, the
commanding officer coming back, explaining something, and making signs.
Our retreat was cut off, and the regiment quitted the road, and marched
across country in good order to some destination unknown to me. But
where should I take the cart, which had to keep to the road? I decided
to drive straight on.
There was a village five hundred yards or so further on. Perhaps we
should be safe there. So I lashed the horse I was leading, running as
fast as I could to keep up with its gallop, under the fire of a German
machine-gun which swept the road. The bullets whistled by, knocking
up dust and pebbles around us, and rattling off the hood of the cart.
We went on running as fast as we could. Twice the horse was hit, and
stumbled; the third time he dropped. The machine-gun never ceased
firing.
There was only one orderly with me, and together we lifted the wounded
men from the cart and put them under cover behind a rick. Then we
waited. The day seemed unending. The regiment had disappeared, and we
were left alone by this deserted road, where the bullets were still
whistling. One soldier, who was only slightly wounded, tried to join
his comrades, and fell as he started to run. The machine-gun never gave
us a moment's peace. Then evening fell, a fine late summer evening,
bringing us a little coolness and darkness. Perhaps the firing would
cease, and we could overtake our men. We would find a horse or push the
cart, and get out of our difficulty somehow. But what was that?