DESCRIPTION OF THE TRENCH—LIFE IN THE FIRST LINE—BOMBARDMENT, GERMAN
ATTACK
So I examine my domain. It is not very extensive, one hundred and twenty
metres at the most, occupied by my sixty men. My trench is composed of
the communication trench and two large salients, each containing half a
section or two squads. Its general arrangement is as follows:—
Each of the salients is divided in the middle by a bomb-shield, and
contains therefore two squads, whose dug-outs, rather deep, are at the
right and left ends of the salient. In front, in shell holes, the
listening-patrols are posted during the night. There are machine guns in
each of the salients. My headquarters are so placed that I am in
immediate touch with both my half-sections. A little winding trench
leads to my dug-out, which is about two metres underground. It is
comfortable and contains a rather dilapidated hair mattress which the
Germans, formerly proprietors of the trench, brought over from the
village of Perthes. A set of shelves made of three boards has on it some
old tin cans, along with the things I have taken out of my haversack.
Two or three pegs stuck in the dirt wall serve as clothes hooks. The
furnishing is completed by a wooden stool brought from the village, and
by a brazier in which charcoal is burning. In one corner are some trench
rockets and a large case of cartridges.
This domicile is not at all bad; it is almost luxurious. The dug-outs of
my soldiers are large undergrounds holding fifteen men very comfortably.
Straw helps ward off the dampness of the soil of Champagne and discarded
bayonets stuck in the walls serve as hooks for canteens and haversacks.
Meanwhile, as the cold was a bit sharp, I had some braziers made for the
men by piercing holes in old tin cans with bayonets. Charcoal was
brought up from the kitchens.
So life was sufficiently endurable. We felt pretty secure. The loopholes
were well protected, and one could fire comfortably. The machine guns
were always in readiness, and in short, the Germans over opposite did
not seem malicious. All that could be seen of them were white streaks
across the land, many and intertwined, with wire entanglements
alongside. That was all—nothing that budged or had the least human
semblance, only here and there a sort of ragged, bluish heap that seemed
a part of the earth on which it lay—a corpse. There were not many dead
directly in front of us, but to the west, on our left, much higher up,
in front of the skeleton remnant of a wood, lay a number of those
motionless bundles, bearing witness to recent attacks.
Thus the region opposite us was fairly uninteresting—barbed wire,
torn-up earth, skeleton trees, and dead men’s bodies. And the enemy was
there at one hundred and fifty metres. I discovered this rather
promptly, moreover, and had a narrow escape. At a given moment, very
early in the morning, I went into the communication trench that formed
the eastern end of my trench. There was a large, hollowed-out place
through which one could get a better view of what lay in front of us: at
the left, the ruined village; in front, the labyrinth of trenches and
the skeleton wood. Suddenly, as if warned by some instinct, I turned
away a little. Five or six bullets, undoubtedly intended for me,
whistled through my window, one of them grazing my field-glass. Not a
little shaken up, I left that dangerous spot. I soon began to laugh,
however, and I should have enjoyed telling my neighbors the Boches that
they had missed me. But I was more prudent after that.
Besides, everything was silent except for an occasional shell that
passed high above our heads and burst so far away that we could not hear
it explode. Listening-patrols, being useless during the day, were
replaced by two sentries for each half-section who watched through the
loopholes of the trench itself. The men in their warm dug-outs smoked
their pipes, ate, read, or played cards. If this is war, thought many of
them, it isn’t half bad.
But, like most good things, it did not last. At nine o’clock a messenger
came to tell me that the captain wanted to see me. I went to his
headquarters, situated in the second line. Orders had just come. A
French attack was to be delivered on the Boche trenches to the north and
east of Perthes. The object to be gained was as follows: The firing line
was far from being straight; as a result of the vicissitudes of the
recent fighting, the German trenches made a salient into the French
trenches; it was desirable to destroy this salient.
To attack at the point where we were would have been costly, for the
distance between the two opposing lines was more than one hundred and
fifty metres. The plan was, therefore, to attack at two other points, so
that, once having taken the German trenches there, the whole system
could be enfiladed. Our rôle was to put them on the wrong scent, and at
a specified time to make as much noise as possible with our muskets and
machine guns, in order to attract attention to ourselves at the moment
when the main attack was being launched elsewhere.
So I went back to my trench and gave the men the necessary instructions.
About ten o’clock we were startled by four loud reports coming almost
simultaneously. It was a battery of 75’s, placed two hundred metres or
so behind us. At the same instant the shells went whistling over our
heads and raised four black clouds in the trench opposite. It was the
beginning of the bombardment. It was very violent. At the start we all
ducked, but we gradually got used to it and learned to distinguish the
difference in sound of the French firing. Some of the shells went by at
mad speed and burst almost at once. Others took their time, especially
our Rimailles, nicknamed the “ox-cart,” which seems to take an airing
before going to tell its tale to the Germans, and its tale is generally
a terrible one.
Posted at a loophole, I watched through my glass the effect of the
bombardment. All the German trenches, as far as the eye could reach,
were filled with constantly recurring explosions. They looked like an
uninterrupted line of volcanoes. The noise and the superb masses of
earth thrown up into the air fairly intoxicated me. The Boches in their
turn began to answer, and scorning us poor infantrymen, sent their
shells far in our rear in quest of the gunners and their guns. The
chorus grew deafening. The sensation was that of being under a roof of
steel, invisible but with the voices of all the fiends. And in the midst
of all this din, two larks kept flitting about joyously, and mingled
their song of life with the dull chant of the engines of death.
New orders came, and I sent for my two sergeants and four corporals. We
were ordered to fire during exactly four minutes, from one minute past
twelve to five minutes past twelve. A supply of cartridges was placed
beside each loophole, so that every soldier could fire the greatest
possible number of shots in the given time. All guns were inspected.
The bombardment was growing more intense, and it was no longer possible
to distinguish the shots from each other. It was one uninterrupted boom,
the efficiency fire that the Germans call “__,” or “drumfire.” For half
an hour the uproar was enough to drive one mad; my head felt as if it
were bound with iron and about to burst; and yet, in the midst of it
all, it was a great satisfaction to think that the Boches were having to
endure, in addition to the noise, the very deadly effects of our
artillery. We were unquestionably better off than they.
At ten minutes to twelve every one was at his post, and I also took my
place with the second half-section. I had carefully set my watch
according to the time that is telephoned every day at noon and midnight
to the various officers’ headquarters. At one minute past twelve the
artillery lengthened its range. This was the moment, and I whistled.
Immediately the guns began their clatter and the machine guns their
regular chop. At twelve-five another whistle. “Cease firing.”
I had no sooner whistled the second time than half a dozen Boche 77’s
fell very near our trench. As there was nothing more to be done, every
one except the sentries went into the dug-outs. We were hotly bombarded,
for the first six shells were followed by others and still others. This
was not altogether according to our programme and the surprise was a
trifle disagreeable. We had of a certainty fulfilled our mission, for we
had drawn both their attention and their fire. During two hours we were
deluged with shells; every shell seemed to be coming straight at us, and
in spite of ourselves we shrank together and ducked, measuring anxiously
with our eyes the depth of the dug-out. Mine was fairly safe. I stayed
in it some time with my sergeants, and we were none of us very happy. To
tell the truth, the situation is a stupid one. The rôle one plays is
purely passive, and it is not pleasant for a reasoning human being to
sit by helplessly and feel coming toward him a mass of brutish matter
capable of annihilating him. Several shells fell near my dug-out. One
even landed in the little winding trench that led to it, but the
splinters were stopped by its turns. Otherwise, they would have made me
a visit.
But I could not desert my men entirely, so I went around to the various
dug-outs. Sitting huddled together my soldiers were not any more used to
this kind of entertainment than I was, and would doubtless have
preferred to be somewhere else; but no one was hurt, and they were glad
to see me. On coming in contact with them I resumed my rôle of chief,
and, true to the theory of William James, by pretending not to be
afraid, I very soon discovered that I was _not_ afraid. I chatted with
them and cracked jokes, and all of a sudden, everybody felt better. Then
I went back to my own quarters and made some tea on my brazier.
Shells were still raining down, but as none of them had done any harm up
to that time, we bothered no more about them. They fell more especially
in front of the trench, in the wire entanglement. That set me to
thinking, and together with the machine-gun lieutenant I examined the
situation. The Boches had battered down the parapet in several places,
and the barbed wire was pretty badly damaged. Were they going to amuse
themselves by attacking us? I doubled the sentries and gave orders that
as soon as the bombardment slackened every man should run to his
loophole. I wondered what was up, as I did not know the result of the
flank attack. I had no sooner sent word to the captain and the section
commanders on either side than I saw through my glass points of bayonets
here and there gleaming in the sun above the edge of the enemy’s trench
opposite. “Every man at the loopholes,” I shouted, and in the midst of
the downpour of shells every one ran to his post. Several of the men
were covered with dirt by explosions, one even was knocked down by the
impact of a bursting shell, but no one was hit.
Suddenly from the German trenches, like devils from their boxes, emerged
the infantrymen, yelling and running toward us waving their arms. They
were in close formation, three deep, I think, so that nothing could be
easier than to mow them down. I quickly seized a gun and fired with the
rest. The machine guns started in immediately, and hardly more than a
minute later our assailants took to flight, leaving many of their men on
the ground. At fifty metres from us, forty or more Boches were lying
flat on their faces as if waiting for the order to stand up. The machine
gun had done its work well. So the assault was beaten back, but every
one remained at his post. Wounded men dragged themselves painfully to
their lines; others were groaning. No one thought for an instant of
firing at them. Then, when the danger was over, came a wave of emotion.
I was frightened, but the joy of having escaped a real danger made me
very happy. “Now you’re real _poilus_!” I cried to my men. Everybody
lighted a good pipe and a bluish smoke mounted up to the God of Battles,
like the incense of gratitude.
When everything was quiet, I hurried to the captain to make my report;
he was well pleased, congratulated me, and instructed me to congratulate
my men. Our baptism of fire had been thoroughly first-class, and we
behaved rather well. During all this bombardment, only three of the
company were wounded. As for the French attack, it had succeeded in
seizing the extreme northern point of the German line.
The rest of the afternoon was uneventful. A few disgruntled shells came
our way, but we had as an offset the thrilling sight of a splendid
aeroplane reconnaissance. Six French ’planes, in a half-circle, flew
over the German trenches. From time to time one of them dropped a spurt
of flame into the deepening twilight, a signal for the artillery. Shells
flew around our war-birds like a multitude of snowflakes that remained
floating a long time in the calm air. But without paying the least
attention, the aviators continued their proud flight and it seemed to us
poor buried infantrymen that they were bearing aloft all our pride as
Frenchmen, all our will to conquer. We were enchanted, but at the same
time a little moved.
Then slowly night fell. The order came to detail two men from each squad
to go with tent sheets, under the conduct of the corporal on duty, to
fetch rations from the kitchens.
The trench was then organized for the night. Listening-patrols were
posted out in front; it was decided that one squad from each
half-section should watch at the loopholes in case of a return offensive
of the enemy. About ten or eleven o’clock it was time to think of
mending the barbed wire. The fatigue brought a great quantity of the
Brun networks which fold and unfold like an accordion. They are very
complicated and are fastened into the ground with a sort of fork. I
wanted to direct the work myself, so, accompanied by six men, I crawled
twenty or thirty metres from the trench; the work went on without a word
being uttered. The six rows of wire were placed one behind the other,
and in front were fixed strong _chevaux-de-frise_. We were then in the
midst of “No-Man’s Land” near the German corpses. We heard the groans of
the wounded and some little moving about, which indicated that the
Germans were coming to pick up their men. But we did not make any
attempt to molest them, whereas soldiers who are old in the knowledge of
this war tell me that German snipers are always trying to put a stop to
the work of the stretcher-bearers.
When we got back, we were rewarded by supper, consisting of sardines,
roast meat, and rice, which we warmed on the braziers. After the meal I
took a little rest. My two sergeants divided the rest of the night, and
it was solid comfort to go to sleep snugly wrapped in my blanket, with
my feet against the warm brazier. My revolver was rather uncomfortable,
but it is against the rules in the first lines to disarm. At four in the
morning every one was up. Coffee arrived, ever welcome. The day was
quiet; the Germans did not attack, but their positions were favored with
a plentiful bombardment. As for us, we were let quite alone and could
sleep to our hearts’ content.
The only real hardship was in not being able to wash; we were very muddy
and dirty, and besides, a morning without a splash of cold water is flat
and savorless; one doesn’t feel really waked up. But we will get used to
little things like this, I suppose.
This afternoon, everything being quiet, I invited the neighboring
section commander to come and spend a little time with me. In the
trenches we rarely have anything to drink but wine and coffee, and by
way of a special feast I decided to make some chocolate. So I sent for a
canteen of water, and poured some of the precious fluid into my pan and
devoutly emptied in the chocolate and sugar. It was simmering gently on
my brazier, and I was just on the point of adding condensed milk, when
some one called me from the outside. It was my orderly coming to see if
I needed anything. I invited him to join us, but at that precise instant
the stupid battery of a 77 began to spit its six shells at us. Two burst
so near that my faithful _tampon_ stumbled in fright and fell headlong,
taking with him brazier, saucepan, and chocolate,—our chocolate so
nearly ready which our eyes were drinking so hungrily. The poor chap was
most unhappy, so I laughed, but I must confess my laugh was a bit
sickly. At that moment I detested the Germans worse than ever.
It still gets dark early; my supply of candles was getting exhausted,
and I wanted to save my electric lamp. And yet, I needed a light. Then I
remembered we were to have sardines for supper and the idea occurred to
me to requisition the oil and pour it in an old corned-beef tin. I cut a
round of cork, put a string through it dipped in oil, lighted it and
behold, I had a night lamp like the ones that burn in churches. The
flame was a trifle ill-smelling and rather yellow, but sufficient. I
also told the cook to save me some mutton tallow. I melted it on my
brazier in a tin can, stuck in a string, and this primitive candle
burned very well. I gave the secret to my _poilus_.
An exciting thing happened last night. It had been snowing, and toward
one in the morning when I was chatting with the machine gunner, the
sentry outside began to fire. At the same moment a voice rang out in the
night, “Kamerad! Kamerad!” I quickly sent up a trench rocket, and the
light showed me a German soldier crawling toward us with a great clatter
of tinware. I cried to the sentry to let him alone, and called to the
man himself in German to come on. He appeared on the parapet and jumped
into the trench. I had him taken to my headquarters and there, revolver
in hand, ordered him to disarm. He had no weapons but his bayonet and a
belt full of cartridges, but he was loaded down with canteens. I
questioned him in German. He was a great big Bavarian who had got his
fill of the war. To-day’s bombardment—absolutely terrible, he said—had
determined him to flee. He managed to be detailed for water fatigue,
then made his way to our lines. He had had nothing to eat, for our
bombardment made it impossible to bring up food. I gave him some bread
and chocolate while waiting for supper to arrive. I kept him until
morning in order to ask him certain questions, especially as to the
effect of our artillery on the trenches opposite. He told me that the
attack of the day before had cost them many men, and, furthermore,
pointed out without much urging the position of their machine guns and
also of a certain little revolver cannon that greatly annoyed us. This
information was communicated to the artillery and since then the
revolver cannon is silent. I kept the man’s cartridge belt and canteens,
rather good ones, and distributed them among my men. In the morning our
Boche was sent to the commander. A happy man was he to have said
good-bye to war.
A little later my section went to the second lines, into the dug-outs.
Of the four sections of the company only three are in the first line,
one being held in reserve for reinforcements. Each day we change and now
it was my turn. Nothing to do. Deep dug-outs. That is where I have been
writing all this long account in my notebook.
_February 28._ This morning I was able to wash in the snow. It is good
to be clean, and I feel very fit.
The end of the day yesterday was not quiet; at four o’clock a note
informed us that a German counter-attack was imminent. Vigilance and
coolness were urged; our positions must be held at any cost. In case of
attack, the reserve section—mine, therefore—was to go to the first line
to strengthen the points attacked. I went to make sure of my fighting
post and then took my men there, so that there would be no confusion in
case we were needed.
The counter-attack did not come; we were heavily bombarded, but
fortunately we were well sheltered and none of my men were hit; what is
more, we hardly noticed the shells. The announcement came that we were
to be relieved at 2 A.M.—joyful news. Say what you will, we have been
through a good deal of bodily and mental strain and we have not had much
sleep. Meanwhile my section is ordered to clean the snow out of the
communication trenches. And then we shall return to the rear!