BEFORE THE GRAND OFFENSIVE (ARTOIS, MAY 1–8, 1915)
_May 1._ Here we are near Arras, on the eve of returning to the
trenches.
We have had a long journey, in order to travel a very few miles; we left
at night, of course, and arrived late at night at Saint-Pol. On coming
out of the station we found before us a long train of autobuses waiting
to transport us to the front. They were big goods trucks, very powerful,
arranged with four seats each, on which there was room for twenty men.
Then the companies were divided by turns into groups of twenty, and the
men took their places. The officers had a very comfortable motor car. It
did not take more than half an hour to get everybody settled; the
swiftness was marvellous. Then this train that bore nearly a thousand
men set out into the darkness. Not a light was lighted. Every effort was
made to maintain secrecy.
For two solid hours we jolted along at a lively clip over roads that
were torn to pieces by the countless convoys which pass every minute of
the day and night. We were literally shrouded in dust when we arrived at
daybreak at Agnez-les-Duisans. There we got out, the companies formed
once more, and we took a bite of breakfast by the side of the road while
the quartermasters went ahead to look after billets. Ours was roomy and
well supplied with straw; unfortunately, in the course of the day it was
discovered that the straw was full of fleas, and the men had to move out
and take refuge in cramped quarters.
We are forbidden to go out in groups. A vigilance service has been
organized as before. We have been watching the manœuvring of a captive
“sausage” balloon, a kind of balloon that is shaped and ballasted in
such a way as to prevent its being driven about at the mercy of every
wind, like the spherical balloons.
Our mess is well installed. My colleague R. always bestirs himself to
find the right place, and he is lucky.
To-morrow we return to the trenches. There is great massing of troops in
this region. So this is where the great stroke will be delivered.
_May 3._ Once more we take up the life of war. We have been in the
trenches since last night. We had nearly lost the wont of shot and
shell, though we are managing to keep up a good face. But how different
this is from Champagne! Here it is comfortable, almost to the point of
luxury, and the sector is as calm as calm—a few isolated cannon shots
now and then just to let each other know we are here.
Two of the four sections of my company are in the first line; the two
others are in the support trenches. Between the two groups is the
captain in a strongly sheltered dug-out, with the telephone near by. In
front of the trench are two listening-posts, where two men and a
corporal are continually on the watch, protected by a net from the
enemy’s grenades. I am in a trench about eighty metres from the German
lines. This trench is admirably arranged.
A bench dug in the wall serves at once as a seat and as a place to fire
from; the soldier who is about to fire mounts on it and fires through an
improved loophole—large on the inside and smaller toward the enemy, so
that the Boches cannot easily get a line on the person who is firing.
The trench is about eight feet deep and in the sides have been hollowed
out roomy individual shelters, a sort of niche with plenty of room for
one man.
There are two mines sunk between us and the enemy. I intend to go and
see them. My dug-out has two stories, a bedroom containing a couch of
earth covered with straw, and some planks for shelves; underneath, at a
depth of eight or ten metres, is a dug-out containing cartridges and
grenades. The main store of munitions is near the captain.
The men, too, are comfortably installed. Each one has his own hole which
he can make bigger or arrange to suit himself. Besides, in case of a
heavy bombardment, it is possible to take refuge in the big mine
galleries. Finally, two machine guns, carefully protected, guard the
space that separates us from the Boches.
And then, there are casks of water in the trench itself. Could anything
be more unlike the trench at Perthes? The fatigues fill them daily from
the well not far distant, and we can drink as much as we please. In
order to keep the water cool, the casks are put deep in the ground.
There are a number of round-bottomed metal bowls in the trench, the use
of which was explained to us in the daily bulletin. On account of the
great number of head wounds, it has been found advisable to adopt
helmets in the French army. Meanwhile, these little bowls can be put
inside the cap to protect the head. I tried one and found it heavy. But
I shall certainly use it if there is any need. Our ingenious _poilus_
discover all sorts of uses for these bowls. They empty their pockets
into them, put into them the supply of cartridges that every man is
obliged to have by him at his loophole, thus keeping the cartridges free
of the mud which clogs and spoils the guns. And I used one for a
wash-basin, and helped myself to a little of the drinking-water to wash
in.
Although the sector was quiet, I did not sleep. The orders were that one
man out of two was to be allowed to sleep. The arrangement of the trench
did not permit taking one half-section for a certain time and then the
other. That would have required awkward shifting about, so I hit upon
another plan. I paired off the men according to the old principle of
putting chums to work together. Either one or the other was to be always
awake. They were allowed to arrange the details to suit themselves.
Sometimes the one who was least tired good-naturedly kept watch and let
the other sleep as long as he wished. I like to leave a certain amount
of liberty and initiative to my men. It always pleases them, and the
service is much better attended to. During the night we keep up a good
deal of firing. This bothers the German workers or their
listening-patrols and prevents our men from getting drowsy.
I went to the listening-post, about sixty metres from the German
trenches. It is hazardous to look out except with a periscope. The
landscape is very nearly as monotonous as in Champagne: barbed wire,
gray lines, and a few dead bodies lying between the lines, but the
vegetation is richer and more luxuriant. In front of the listening-post
is a mine. In case of attack the earth can be blown up twenty metres in
advance, simply by lighting a bickford fuse.
So the sector is perfectly clean, comfortable, and quiet. Very little
work is done except at night, and even then, not much.
At noon we are going into the support trench.
_Evening._ In the second line. We are in deep dug-outs, well protected,
regular cellars, abundantly provided with straw. I have been sleeping a
little. Our food is brought to us at the captain’s. A warming apparatus
makes it possible for us to have excellent hot meals. The men are well
treated, too. The kitchens are much easier of access than in Champagne.
We have been warned by telephone to be on the lookout for a probable
German attack. It seems they have been throwing to the English numerous
proclamations, all ending with:—
“When is that French attack coming?”
So they are expecting to be attacked, and perhaps they will forestall
our offensive. In case of an alarm I am to betake myself with my men to
the first line. Our position, of course, is settled in advance. At five
o’clock there was a sort of commotion, a false alarm, cooked up by the
enemy, doubtless, and we all hurried to our fighting posts in the first
line, and then—marched back again.
To-night we shall have to keep our eyes and ears open, and all the
officers are to take turns in going the rounds. My hours are nine and
two.
_May 4._ Two more false alarms last night. A soldier thinks he hears
suspicious noises, gets excited, and fires like mad. The panic goes
churning down the line and raises a regular hurricane in its trail.
In making the rounds, I went over the whole ground occupied by the
company. From time to time a flash from my electric lamp showed me the
way through the deserted communication trenches. Every one was at his
post. The enemy could come on if he wished. To tell the truth, not a
single shell was sent our way. The Boches had never been less
troublesome.
To-day it is raining, and I regret to see that the soil of Artois gets
muddy easily too. Having nothing else to do, I asked an officer of the
engineering corps for permission to go into the mine. He consented most
willingly, and went down with me into the gallery. It is solidly built,
and supported by heavy planks, for the brittle earth might easily stop
up this narrow space. I had to crawl on all fours a long time before
reaching the end, where the listening-post was. Two men were on duty
there, standing with their ears close to the wall, in the yellowish
light of a single candle. We were under the German trench. On listening
carefully I made out a faint murmur of voices, very indistinct and
muffled. I should not have objected to overhearing the conversation of
those men who were in all likelihood to die before many days were spent.
The large explosion chamber of the mine was to be stuffed with cheddite,
and at the given moment, an electric spark would send that trench and
its inhabitants on a journey in the air. It wasn’t at all pleasant down
in that hole. The air was stifling, and I was glad enough, after another
long crawl, to find myself in the open again, if the trench maybe called
the open.
In order to guard against gas bombs we have been given horrible,
nightmarish masks, goggles set in a kind of pig jowl or snout made of
rubber and containing a solution of ammonia. They make you look like a
wild animal, and as soon as I got mine I put it on for the benefit of my
_poilus_. They nearly laughed themselves into fits.
But life in general is calm, too calm even. I am reading “Anna
Karenina,” that came by mail yesterday, and smoking endless pipes. The
men make lots of aluminum rings. As soon as a shell lands they start out
to look for the fuse, of which they fashion very artistic little rings.
My soldiers have given me several. I am on most friendly terms with them
all. At odd times I have bought them little extras in the way of wine or
sweets, and then I manage things so that they get their letters before
any of the other sections. The letters come toward midnight, with the
fatigue who brings rations. I am always on hand, and along with my own
correspondence I take that of my men. It is the one great joy of the
day, so why should it be deferred? To be sure, it is because I am so
keen on letters myself that I like the men to share my pleasure. And if
they have no light, they have permission to come to my dug-out, which is
always lighted. They insist on my taking some of all their good things,
candies, cigarettes, or what not, when a package comes. But I can find a
way to even things up.
I think I have my men well in hand. I shall be able to do some good work
with them when the time comes.
_May 5._ At noon, returned to the first line. After that the day was
eventful. It was decided, by way of preparation for future offensives,
to furnish the attacking sections with red and white pennons, which were
to serve as signals to the artillery, and mark the first French lines.
By this means the artillery will not risk peppering its compatriots in
the course of an advance. To-day the order came to raise the pennons
over our first lines, so that our artillery can get the range of the
enemy’s positions. At two o’clock, therefore, they were hoisted. The
astonishment of the Boches was promptly made manifest by a whirlwind of
bullets which converted these common bits of cloth into glorious
trophies. Then our artillery turned loose. It was our duty to observe
the range and rectify it by telephone. One by one, with mathematical
precision, big shells lighted on the German positions. There must be a
formidable number of batteries, for without a moment’s pause or
cessation shells poured on the Boche trench for three full hours.
Meanwhile, very naturally, our friends across the way began to get
peevish and sent off a few blasts of little 77’s, which afforded great
satisfaction to the makers of rings. One could hear them coming very
distinctly; first, the six reports of the battery, then a hiss, then a
detonation, not very terrifying. I was in the middle of the trench with
my eye glued to a periscope. Several shells landed near; one fell on a
decaying corpse in the midst of the wire, spreading about for several
minutes the horrible heavy odor that reminded me of the night we buried
the dead in Champagne. Another stupid shell chose to fall in the passage
that led to my dug-out. The bags of sand were tumbled all about and it
took more than half an hour’s work before I could get into my quarters.
My things were not at all damaged. And yet, at one moment explosive
shells rained thick and fast, two or three on the parapet, blowing to
bits several loopholes. The machine gunners, who were playing cards near
their gun, shut their dug-out with a tent-sheet. It is a thing I have
often noticed and proves that, after all, man is not so different from
the ostrich. One has the illusion of being secure behind the most flimsy
barrier, if only it keeps out the sight of the danger—a hedge, a plank,
a tent-sheet. It is an insult to reason, but that doesn’t matter. Brute
instinct knows no reason.
So the sector that on our arrival seemed asleep has had a rude
awakening. Everything points to a coming offensive. I certainly hope we
shall have a share in it.
_May 6._ Night calm. The Boches seemed non-existent. Our artillery
quieted down. I was wakeful notwithstanding. The responsibility is too
great.
It is raining hard. There is water in the bottom of the trench, and it
is impossible to move without taking a disagreeable foot-bath.
But the aviators give signs of great activity. Since morning we have had
the joy of watching several reconnaissances. The ’planes were hotly
bombarded, but to no purpose.
Their flight must have been successful, for no sooner had they returned
than our artillery set up a terrible spitting at the German trenches. It
was not hurried, but was a slow, continuous, methodical fire which must
have been very deadly. From the second line we sent off the little
winged bombs, the “cauliflowers” whose acquaintance we made in
Champagne. They leap up, not very high, then hesitate an instant before
they swoop down upon the Boches, exploding with a muffled thud which
makes the ground tremble clear to our trench, while a spout of black
smoke rises and floats a long time. In all the sectors where I have
been, the superiority of our artillery becomes every day more evident.
After dinner the question was telephoned: “What are the special points
the different section commanders would like to see battered by the
artillery in case of a drive?” I asked for the collaboration of all my
men. I had the corporals explain to them the signs by which they could
recognize the machine-gun positions: better defenses, loopholes bigger,
bags of sand more numerous and more carefully arranged. I took my glass
and observed minutely all the points of the German trench. I went to the
listening-post, and with the help of a much-perfected field-glass
periscope, which magnifies in addition to giving a view over the edge, I
probed the German position. At the end of more than an hour’s work,
utilizing the observations of my men, I was able to fix almost to a
certainty the positions of four machine guns. I marked on the plan of
the trenches that had been given us the exact points to be hammered, and
the document was sent along the hierarchical paths and in due time
reached the artillery.
Then we indulged in a little distraction. As the rain had stopped, I
went to two of my best marksmen and proposed a match. It is very amusing
to try one’s skill in shooting. The objective point is a Boche loophole,
that is to say, a piece of steel plate. If the balls touch, one hears a
metallic ring and the hum of the ricochet. I made a good score, but I
placed only nine balls out of ten, and was beaten by P. who got in all
ten. The prize was a package of cigarettes.
Everybody is in a good humor to-day. There is a great buzz of
conversation. Some of the men are playing checkers, others cards. One
man who is the happy recipient of an accordion is favoring us with
popular tunes which everybody catches up in chorus. Really, it is very
festive.
This evening we go to the second line, in the shelters. Three of the
four companies of our battalion are on the firing line, the fourth is in
reserve. It is our turn now to be in reserve.
_May 7._ We are in marvellous shelters, where we laugh defiance to
missiles of all sorts and kinds, even the 420’s. Behind the second
lines, galleries have been sunk, to which broad staircases give access.
Around them is a sort of ditch which serves as a yard, on which the
entrances open. They are vast tunnels, fifty feet underground, made by
the engineers,—broad, supported by huge beams, and furnished with plank
floors. They are about a hundred feet long, ten feet broad, and ten feet
high, and are in every way comfortable. There are beds of straw, bags
for pillows and candles for light. In the yard are supplies: grenades,
wire, trench shells, and casks of water. We officers have a special
gallery with two compartments, a living-room and a sleeping-room. The
living-room is provided with a huge fireplace, a big table, several
stools, and a superb lamp. The bedroom is less sumptuous—a large space
covered with a thick bed of straw where we shall sleep soundly.
There has been unusual activity along the front these two days. Staff
officers keep coming and going. Men have been carrying to the first
lines quantities of hand grenades, wire, and ladders. Aeroplanes are
circling busily through the air. The artillery sounds like an orchestra
tuning its instruments before the symphony. Important events are afoot.
_Evening._ It’s coming! The grand offensive is to be launched over a
wide area. In the whole of Flanders the attempt is to be made to pierce
the Boche front. We are going to try to get out of these accursed
trenches and fight superbly, face to face.
About five o’clock, just as we were sitting down at table, I was called
to the commandant. My colleagues had also been summoned and we received
our orders. To-morrow, at an hour not yet indicated, the regiment is to
attack, in concert with those of the nine army corps that are massed in
this region. It is the grand offensive—victory, perhaps. We are to go
forward and jump over four enemy trenches, previously battered by the
artillery, not stopping until we reach a ravine that can be seen through
the glass eight hundred metres from our first line. We pore over the
maps, and make sure of our exact goal. My company is to march at the
head in open formation and lead the drive. The commandant thereupon
shook hands with each of us in turn, and told us that he counted on
every man to do his duty.
I went back to my soldiers to issue the command to get ready. Each man
was to have two hundred cartridges, six grenades, and three days’
rations, and was to carry his blanket slung crosswise over his shoulder.
But while I was consulting with my colleagues the plan of the German
positions, a message came that all orders were cancelled. The sudden let
down was not entirely pleasant, but we all shared somewhat the feeling
of the sorry jester who said: “All right, that gives us one more day to
live.”
We count on coming out alive. But the nearness of danger is not without
its anguish.
We have been having a fine game of poker. I lost, so I shall be lucky.
I am tired. My fellow officers have been asleep this long time. I am
going to imitate them. The boom of our big guns is heavy and deep.
_May 8. 10_ P.M. It is for to-night. We are to take positions in the
first line at 3 A.M. The time of the attack is not yet fixed. I have
written a great many letters. Perhaps I have given way to my feelings in
some of them. I did not tell my mother. I wrote her that new movements
of troops are predicted for the near future, and that she is not to
worry if she has no news of me for awhile. But I told the truth to my
little godmother and to my old friend * * *
But sadness and farewells I have put behind me. Now I am all a soldier,
and a soldier filled with the determination to fight and to conquer, and
exalted by the work that is before him. If I die, and these are the last
words I am destined to write, I want them to be
_Vive—Vive la France._