AT THE DEPOT
_Saturday, 29th August._
I am now able to rise, and, with the aid of a stick, go to all four
musters of the company. I recognize the heaps of dung, the geese,
ducks and cows, and the snivelling little children. My comrades in the
section regard me as "the one who has seen fire."
_Sunday, 30th August._
We are assured this morning that the Germans are in Amiens.
_Monday, 31st August._
I go to Langres to restore my outfit, for I have nothing left. All I
had so carefully prepared or bought in Paris the few days preceding
my departure--foot-gear, linen, repairing materials, field-dressing,
tobacco, chocolate, toilet bag and writing-paper--utterly disappeared
in the Vosges on the 25th.
I take a real bath in a real bathroom, and the sensation is glorious.
Former baths I had always taken in mechanical fashion, without
thinking, but now I savour and relish the joy and delight of it.
The most contradictory rumours are abroad; some proclaim great
victories, others a rapid advance of the Germans by the north. There is
entire confidence, however.
_Tuesday, 1st September._
Réveillé at three o'clock. The men who are well trained and ready to
leave, and those who are weakly and more or less raw, are divided out
into separate companies.
The lieutenant delivers an energetic little discourse on the subject of
discipline; the new-comers, unaccustomed to being harangued by their
commanders, regard him as some bloodthirsty tiger.
They murmur sadly to one another--
"What beastly luck to fall in with such a tartar!"
Useless to explain that the lieutenant is a charming fellow, and that
this is only his way, the new-comers sorrowfully shake their heads.
Five hundred men are to leave to-day. Verrier is one of the number, so
we make due preparations for his departure.
At seven in the evening the detachment leaves Humes. Shall we ever see
Verrier again? Where is he going, and what is taking place? Reymond
and I return to the hotel with downcast mien. Just one drink before
climbing the ladder up into the loft. Assuredly it is sadder to stay
behind than to depart.
_Wednesday, 2nd September._
Whenever we are free we have interesting conversations under the
apple-tree with Lieutenant Roberty. The month of September will decide
the war. On the 1st of November we shall all be back home.
In the Paris journals of the 29th August we read of "the situation of
our front from the Somme to the Vosges...."
The Somme! We thought this phrase was simply a local _canard_, that by
a typographical error the word _Somme_ had replaced the word _Sambre_.
We imagined that fighting was still going on in Belgium. And the
communiqué of the 30th states that the Imperial Guard received a check
at Guise....
We read, without any great interest, details upon the constitution
of the new ministry. No doubt the situation is serious. There is no
infatuation here. We are still in quarters, with just the ordinary
drill.
_Thursday, 3rd September._
We muster. The 27th is drawn up for marching, so we shall not be here
long.
Three from the 28th pass into our squadron: Varlet, an electrician, a
short, dark fellow with a large, pointed nose and faithful, intelligent
eyes; Jacquard, a little man who vainly tries to shout as loudly as
Varlet, whose voice is that of a mob orator; lastly, Charensac, who
comes from Auvergne, and resembles Sancho Panza in being as broad as
he is tall. The latter man has a roguish little dark moustache, and
a beard that covers his neck. He wears his _képi_ on the back of his
head, over his neck. His paunch protrudes in the same extravagant
fashion. The fellow seems determined to treat the war as a huge joke.
These three march in the second rank; Reymond and I in the first, along
with Corporal Bernier and a Doctor of Law named Maxence.
The latter four have rather long legs, whereas Varlet, Jacquard, and
Charensac have short ones.
The result is that we hear them grumbling as they march--
"Not so fast; we cannot follow you. One would think you had been
feeding on gazelle's flesh!"
The tall ones take longer strides than ever. When we halt for a moment
words are bandied about, and a quarrel seems imminent.
_Friday, 4th September._
This morning I was able to march twenty kilometres. I have regained my
old form.
Out in the streets there is talk of a possible departure for Paris. The
depot may be transferred to some town in the centre of France.
We learn that the Government has left Paris for Bordeaux.... This is
rather astonishing news.
When will this life in depots and barracks come to an end? When others
are fighting and being killed, to mount guard by the watering-trough
for the purpose of preventing soldiers from washing their socks is
intolerable.
_Saturday, 5th September._
No marching or drill to-day, since the order to leave may arrive any
moment.
The English, says the communiqué, have taken ten cannon in the forest
of Compiègne....
The Germans at Compiègne?... The train from Paris did not arrive this
morning. It is becoming quite stifling here.
What is worse than the official dispatches is the multiplication of
fantastic news. A famous airman has been shot as a spy; a mined forest
in the neighbourhood of Lunéville has been fired, destroying three
German army corps....
From Brittany a telegram reaches me dated 31st August. It has been only
five days on the road!
Just now there returned to the depot with a bullet in his arm a man who
left on the 23rd August, like myself. He has been a sergeant-major,
belonging to Class 1886, who gave up his stripes and joined again.
As I had seen him fall, I imagined he was dead. Like a couple of old
soldiers, we recall the plain strewn with projectiles and all the
incidents of that day on the battlefield. On the evening of the 25th he
counted seventeen villages in flames.
Whilst boasting of our campaigns, Reymond, who is just behind us,
recites--
Dost remember, Viscount, that half-lune we captured from the enemy at
the siege of Arras?
What's that thou say'st? A half-lune indeed! It was a full lune, I
tell thee....
_Sunday, 6th September._
At the seven o'clock muster the quartermaster reads out the orders for
the day--
"Sunday, rest and labour [_travaux_] incidental to the cleanliness of
the body."
The word _travaux_ will give some faint indication of the trouble
needed to get the dirt out of one's skin.
Washing of clothes and a bathe in the Mouche. Eager perusal, beneath
the apple-tree, of letters and journals three days old.
Endless discussion and jokes on the "considerable factor" of which Lord
Kitchener can say nothing more than that it will come to the help of
the Allies. At Humes the watchword is "_Cherchez le facteur!_" ("Find
the postman!")
No defeat has been announced, and yet the Germans are at Senlis! No
use trying to understand, as we used to say in barracks. Fighting and
killing is going on whilst we are doing nothing but chatter beneath the
apple-tree.
_Monday, 7th September._
A comrade receives a letter from his mother telling him of the possible
entry of the Germans into Paris. Most improbable; how are we to
believe such a thing? And yet the terms of the letter are most distinct
and detailed. By common consent we leave this subject of conversation
and begin to speak of the Russian victories.
_Tuesday, 8th September._
We now form part of a detachment of five hundred men with our friend
Roberty in command. We shall proceed to the front either this evening
or to-morrow.
This morning an engine-driver told us at the station that in the
neighbourhood of Reims the French have made great hecatombs of Germans.
He saw the corpses heaped up in piles. One piece of good news at all
events.
I take my leave of the Girardot family; we shake hands and drink
healths. Then I fondle and caress the huge dog, the _chien à
sonnettes_, whose bell gives forth a more melancholy tinkle than ever.
The campaign at Humes is ended.