A BACKWARD GLANCE--THE BATTLE OF THE MARNE
This evening, in the goat-stable, Verrier shows us his coat, pierced
by seven shrapnel holes. Two of the rents are repeated in the seat of
his trousers. There is a hole in his pants; the shrapnel discreetly
proceeding no farther.
"I've had a rough time of it," affirms Verrier.
"Tell us what you've been doing."
Verrier, however, is no prattler.
"I will read from my note-book," he says; "that will not take so long."
And he begins--
"Left Langres September 1st, nine in the evening. After sixteen
hours in the train, reached Noisy-le-Sec on the 2nd. The station is
filled with wounded from the north. Some moan and lament, others,
with half-closed eyes, seem on the point of death. All have enormous
dressings, stained with blood. Nurses eagerly attend to their needs.
On the platforms, _pêle-mêle_ with the soldiers, stand groups of
families, refugees from Belgium, the Ardennes and the Aisne. Women,
seated on enormous bundles, weep all the time, though they keep an
eye on the urchins as the latter play with the soldiers.
At Argenteuil-Triage we cross a train of English infantry: open,
clean-shaven, boyish faces, laughing heartily. They are in spick and
span condition. We shout greetings to one another. In the distance I
perceive the Eiffel Tower, which seems to me the finest monument in
the world. At Argenteuil, Archères, and all the stations, stand women,
children, and old men along the line, cheering us as we pass, and
sending kisses after us.
On the night of the 3rd we are still _en route_. The lines are
blocked, causing detours and occasioning delays. At Mantes we learn
that the German cavalry have put in an appearance at Compiègne and
Senlis. We are informed that the Government is leaving for Bordeaux.
We descend at Bourget, and at Chennevières-les-Louvres rejoin the
regiment, which has been put to a severe trial at Proyart, in the
Somme. It is then sent to the rear and entrusted with the duty of
protecting the retreat. I am transferred to the 23rd company.
On the 4th we take up our quarters at Moussy, Seine-et-Marne. The army
headquarters have been set up here. Not a single inhabitant; shops
all closed and houses abandoned. Impossible to procure anything, even
by offering gold. On the other hand, there is considerable military
animation; troops file past on their way to take up new positions.
On the 6th of September we are up at one in the morning and depart
at two. The road is obstructed: an artillery regiment, teams of
pontooners, stretcher-bearers, a supply train. The cannon is rumbling
in the north. We have the impression of being at drill; the same
gaiety and _insouciance_. We think of nothing but singing, eating, and
drinking.
Arrival at Dammartin, where scarcely a hundred out of fifteen hundred
inhabitants are left.
At noon, _en route_ in the direction of Meaux, across ploughed land. A
scorching sun.
Only at six in the evening does the regiment form in battle line. The
two battalions, under the protection of strong patrols, form a solid
front; the companies in sections, four in a line, at a distance of
fifty paces. The officers have left their mounts. The advance is very
slow; not a word is said. The cannon make a deafening din. Numerous
stacks of straw are aflame.
Night comes on. The order is given to fling away our cigarettes.
Shortly afterwards: Supplies ready! Fix bayonets!
On the horizon, light appears all around.
The regiment reaches the border of a village which, after a violent
fight, has just been retaken from the enemy. Ours the mission to keep
it at all costs.
Supper at ten. We sleep in the open air.
We are up at four in the morning of the 7th of September. The German
artillery opens a violent fire on the village, which we cross at a
run, bent double, Indian file, keeping close to the walls. Not one of
us is wounded. We come down into a ravine, above which hover a couple
of Taubes. At no great height they pass to and fro, without appearing
to suffer from the violent fusillade directed against them. They are
trying to find the very batteries in aid of which my section has been
sent out.
The shells begin to rain down upon us in uninterrupted streams. We
rush into a wood skirting the ravine. We form a carapace. Two hours on
the ground, without stirring, crouching up against one another, our
haversacks over our heads. Each explosion covers us with dust and hot
smoke. Stones, clods of earth, branches of trees fall on our backs and
set our _gamelles_ clanging. The company loses five dead and a score
wounded. Corporal Marcelin has his head torn off by my side. During a
pause we lunch. At one o'clock the performance recommences. Again a
carapace is formed. An artillery officer shouts to us as he passes--
'You are in a very dangerous zone.'
No doubt of that!
This evening we bivouac out in the open.
The 8th of September, _en route_ at four in the morning. We are massed
in reserve behind stacks of straw, where we see something of the
battle. The Germans appear to have the advantage. Their guns shower
upon us huge projectiles which, on bursting, release a heavy black
smoke. Violent replies by our 75's. A village to our right is aflame.
Gusts of artillery fire on Fosse-Martin and the farm of Nogeon.
Conflagrations are seen on all sides. An ambulance is girdled with
flames.
General Joffre's order of the day is read aloud by a sergeant: 'Die
rather than retreat.' The impression it leaves is profound. The paper
passes from hand to hand, each man peruses it in silence. We are given
a few explanations on the battle being fought, and the arrival of the
4th Corps is announced. In effect, we soon see a number of regiments
advancing.
In the afternoon, an endless stream of wounded, coming for the most
part from the village which has been burning ever since morning.
Fighting is going on from house to house. Some of the men have
terrible wounds, still undressed, from which the blood is streaming.
A dragoon, who remains on horseback, has his left foot blown away,
with the exception of the heel, which still hangs to the leg. An
infantryman, his shoulder almost torn from his body, has abandoned his
coat and converted his shirt into a sling to support his arm.
The village on the right has had to be evacuated by our troops. We
must recapture it. The 5th battalion of the regiment is retiring, with
standard unfurled, the 18th and 20th companies, in front, forming two
successive lines of skirmishers; the 17th and 19th a short distance
behind. Anxiously we watch them leave. At six o'clock the battalion
returns, having made good the loss. The village has been retaken
without a struggle, the Germans, driven back in other quarters, having
had to abandon it.
We spend the night in a barn at Fosse-Martin. Distribution of
provisions and tobacco. We make ourselves some coffee. Close by is an
ambulance: broad streams of blood flow from it on to the road. The
stretcher-bearers set out with dark lanterns in search of the wounded.
One o'clock in the morning, bustle and confusion. A sentry calls out:
'To arms!' Everybody rushes out with fixed bayonets. A false alarm, it
was only a fire: a stack of hay aflame about two hundred yards away.
The company spends the rest of the night in a neighbouring field of
corn, but there is no more sleep for me.
On the following day the 23rd is appointed to support the artillery.
This time we dig trenches. These we cover over with straw and beetroot
leaves; and whenever a hostile aeroplane is signalled we disappear.
Everybody laughs and jokes. Games of cards are started down in our
holes. We have ravenous appetites.
The firing sounds farther away. There is a rumour that the enemy is
retiring.
We remain where we are until the following afternoon, the 10th
September. Everything is perfectly quiet. After a gay lunch we stroll
about a little. We notice French aeroplanes returning to headquarters
at Brégy.
In the evening we are quartered at Bouillancy, abandoned on the 7th
by the Germans after a severe struggle: roofs and walls knocked in,
windows and blinds broken and torn down. A few houses are still
burning, but all the inhabitants have fled. I try to start a
conversation with an old fellow and his wife who are obstinately bent
on remaining behind and have lived here several days, hiding in their
cellar. They are quite stupefied with the recent events, and it is
impossible to obtain any information from them.
Out in the fields stretcher-bearers are picking up the French and
German wounded; in many cases gangrene has set in, as they have been
lying there for five days unattended.
On the morrow we start again and cross a corner of the battlefield.
In the trenches lie piles of German corpses. The French dead--all
belonging to the 4th--have their faces covered with a white cloth.
Bands of territorials pour petrol over the dead horses and set fire to
them; they exhale a pestilential odour.
Rain begins to fall and the dust is converted into mud. The regiment
reaches Villers-Cotterets by way of the forest. There are manifest
proofs that the German retreat has been a very disorderly one. The
ground is strewn with rifles and loaders, outfits, yellow haversacks,
and broken bicycles.
A few of the inhabitants have already returned to the villages. They
are beginning to become more reassured, but they are very hungry. The
Germans have emptied the cellars and carried off everything eatable.
At ten in the evening we reach Villers-Cotterets, which the enemy
occupied for eleven days, and from which he fled this very morning at
half-past nine. At eleven our light cavalry entered. The damage is
insignificant.
We leave Villers-Cotterets on the morning of the 12th. At the exit of
the town the road is strewn for three or four kilometres with the most
diverse objects, mainly broken bottles.
We halt at Coeuvres. A convoy of prisoners. They scarcely utter a
word, remain aloof, and seem contented with their lot. They are
ignorant of the fact that England is at war with Germany.
On Sunday, the 13th, we return to the danger zone. On both sides the
cannon is thundering away. North and south, east and west, hayricks
and farms are aflame. The regiment quarters at Ressons-le-Long.
On the 14th, at four in the morning, alarm. We cross the Aisne on a
bridge of boats, near Fontenoy. The church steeple threatens ruin if
it falls. We climb a steep hill; the ground is strewn with the dead
bodies of French and Germans. Last night a terrible hand-to-hand fight
with bayonets took place here, and the road is dotted with pools of
blood. Many of the bodies have remained in the position in which they
received the death-blow: an officer is kneeling on the ground in the
attitude of reloading his rifle. His complexion is waxen, his eyes
glazed, and his mouth open. Another lies stretched full length across
the path, his arms outspread in the form of a cross. We have to stride
over the body.
On the top of the hill the company deploys along a footpath in
skirmish line. We now discover that the enemy is less than four
hundred yards distant. A German battery pours in a raking storm of
shells. No holes anywhere about, not the slightest hillock behind
which to shelter. I am hurled into the air and fall back on the same
spot. Wounded men shriek for help or die in agonies of convulsion;
others run to the ambulance. The man by my side is shot dead; from
his skull flows a stream of blood which gradually covers the whole of
his face. I remove his haversack and use it to protect my own head.
Then I fall asleep. When I awake I find that I am surrounded with dead
bodies. The few survivors lie there absolutely motionless, for no
sooner does a head rise than a bullet hisses past and artillery firing
recommences. I pretend to be dead.
At five in the evening, what remains of the company crawls away in
the direction of a little wood, a few hundred yards in the rear. For
a whole hour, in the darkness of the night, I hear a wounded man moan
piteously: '_Maman! Maman!_'
During the 15th, 16th, and 17th, we are favoured by the uncertain
shelter of the wood. The rain is pouring down in torrents. The
cannonade and rifle fire continue without interruption. A few more men
are wounded. On the evening of the 17th, the relief is effected to the
accompaniment of a hail of bullets."
Verrier has finished his reading.