very long conference they separated, each to his command. Our captain
called the officers and subalterns of the company together, and in terse
sentences explained to us our positions and the object of the coming
assault. It was to be a purely local affair, and the point was the
clearing of the enemy from the hill we were on. On a map drawn to scale
he pointed out the lay of the land.
It looked to me a hard proposition. Imagine a tooth-brush about a mile
long and three eighths to one half a mile wide. The back is formed by
the summit of the hill, which is densely wooded, and the hairs of the
brush are represented by four little ridges rising from the valley we
had just crossed, each one crowned with strips of forest and uniting
with the main ridge at right angles. Between each two lines of hair are
open spaces, from one hundred to one hundred and fifty metres wide. We,
of the second regiment, were to deliver the assault parallel with the
hairs and stretching from the crest down to the valley.
The other column was to make a demonstration from our left, running a
general course at right angles to ours. The time set was eight o’clock
at night.
Returning to our places, we informed the men of what they were in for.
While we were talking, we noticed a group of men come from the edge of
the woods and form into company formation, and we could hear them answer
to the roll-call. I went over and peered at them. On their coat-collars
I saw the gilt No. 1. It was the _Premier Étranger_.
As the roll-call proceeded, I wondered. The sergeant was deciphering
with difficulty the names from his little _carnet_, and response after
response was, 'Mort.' Once in a while the answer changed to 'Mort sur le
champ d’honneur,' or a brief 'Tombé.' There were twenty-two men in line,
not counting the sergeant and a corporal, who in rear of the line
supported himself precariously on two rifles which served him as
crutches. Two more groups appeared back of this one, and the same
proceeding was repeated. As I stood near the second group I could just
catch the responses of the survivors. 'Duvivier': 'Present.'--'Selonti':
'Present.'--'Boismort': 'Tombé.'--'Herkis': 'Mort.'--Carney':
'Mort.'--'MacDonald': 'Present.'--'Farnsworth': 'Mort sur le champ
d’honneur,' responded MacDonald. Several of the men I had known,
Farnsworth among them. One officer, a second lieutenant, commanded the
remains of the battalion. Seven hundred and fifty men, he informed me,
had gone in an hour ago, and less than two hundred came back.
'Ah, mon ami,' he told me, 'c’est bien chaud dans le bois.'
Quietly they turned into column of fours and disappeared in the
darkness. Their attack had failed. Owing to the protection afforded by
the trees, our aerial scouts had failed to gather definite information
of the defenses constructed in the forest, and owing also to the same
cause, our previous bombardment had been ineffective.
It was our job to remedy this. One battalion of the One Hundred and
Seventy-Second was detached and placed in line with us, and at eight
P.M. sharp the major’s whistle sounded, echoed by that of our captain.
Quietly we lined up at the edge of the forest, shoulder to shoulder,
bayonets fixed. Quietly each corporal examined the rifles of his men,
inspected the magazines, and saw that each chamber also held a cartridge
with firing-pin down. As silently as possible we entered between the
trees, and carefully kept in touch with each other. It was dark in
there, and we had moved along some little distance before our eyes were
used to the blackness. As I picked my steps I prepared myself for the
shock every man experiences at the first sound of a volley. Twice I fell
down into shell-holes and cursed my clumsiness and that of some other
fellows to my right. 'The "Dutch" must be asleep,' I thought, 'or else
they beat it.' Hopefully the latter!
We were approaching the farther edge of the tooth-brush 'bristle,' and
breathlessly we halted at the edge of the little open space before us.
About eighty metres across loomed the black line of another 'row of
hairs.'
The captain and second section to our right moved on and we kept in
line, still slowly and cautiously, carefully putting one foot before the
other. Suddenly from the darkness in front of us came four or five heavy
reports like the noise of a shot-gun, followed by a long hiss. Into the
air streamed trails of sparks. Above our heads the hiss ended with a
sharp crack, and everything stood revealed as if it were broad daylight.
At the first crash, the major, the captains--everybody, it seemed to
me--yelled at the same time, 'En avant! Pas de charge!'--and in full
run, with fixed bayonets, we flew across the meadow. As we neared the
woods, we were met by solid sheets of steel balls. Roar upon roar came
from the forest; the volleys came too fast, it shot into my mind, to be
well aimed. Then something hit me on the chest and I fell sprawling.
Barbed wire! Everybody seemed to be on the ground at once, crawling,
pushing, struggling through. My rifle was lost and I grasped my
_parabellum_. It was a German weapon, German charges, German cartridges.
This time the Germans were to get a taste of their own medicine, I
thought. Lying on my back, I wormed through the wire, butting into the
men in front of me and getting kicked in the head by Mettayer. As I
crawled I could hear the _ping-ping_ of balls striking the wire, and the
shrill moan as they glanced off and continued on their flight.
Putting out my hand, I felt loose dirt, and, lying flat, peered over the
parapet. 'Nobody home,' I thought; and then I saw one of the Collette
brothers in the trench come running toward me, and ahead of him a burly
Boche. I could see Joe make a one-handed lunge with the rifle, and the
bayonet showed fully a foot in front of the German’s chest.
Re-forming, we advanced toward the farther fringe of the little forest.
Half-way through the trees, we lay down flat on our stomachs, rifle in
right hand, and slowly, very slowly, wormed our way past the trees into
the opening between us and our goal. Every man had left his knapsack in
front, or else hanging on the barbed wire, and we were in good shape for
the work that lay ahead. But the sections and companies were
inextricably mixed. On one side of me crawled a lieutenant of the One
Hundred and Seventy-Second and on the other a private I had never seen
before. Still we were all in line, and when some one shouted, 'Feu de
quatre cartouches!' we fired four rounds, and after the command all
crawled again a few paces nearer.
Several times we halted to fire, aiming at the sheets of flame spurting
toward us. Over the Germans floated several parachute magnesium rockets,
sent up by our own men, giving a vivid light and enabling us to shoot
with fair accuracy. I think now that the German fire was too high.
Anyway, I did not notice any one in my immediate vicinity getting hit.
Though our progress was slow, we finally arrived at the main wire
entanglement.
All corporals in the French Army carry wire-nippers, and it was our
corporals' business to open a way through the entanglement. Several men
to my right I could see one--he looked like Mettayer--lying flat on his
back and, nippers in hand, snipping away at the wire overhead, while all
of us behind kept up a murderous and constant fire at the enemy. Mingled
with the roar of the rifles came the stuttering rattle of the
machine-guns, at moments drowned by the crash of hand-grenades. Our
grenadiers had rather poor success with their missiles, however, most of
them hitting trees in front of the trench. The lieutenant on my left had
four grenades. I could see him plainly. With one in his hand, he crawled
close to the wire, rolled on his back, rested an instant with arms
extended, both hands grasping the grenade, then suddenly he doubled
forward and back and sent the bomb flying over his head. For two, three
seconds--it seemed longer at the time--we listened, and then came the
roar of the explosion. He smiled and nodded to me, and again went
through the same manœuvre.
In the meantime I kept my _parabellum_ going. I had nine magazines
loaded with dum-dum balls I had taken from some dead Germans, and I
distributed the balls impartially between three _créneaux_ in front of
me. On my right, men were surging through several breaks in the wire.
Swiftly I rolled over and over toward the free lane and went through
with a rush. The combat had become a hand-grenade affair. Our grenadiers
crawled alongside the parapet and at regular intervals tossed one of
their missiles into it, while the others, shooting over their heads,
potted the Germans as they ran to the rear.
Suddenly the fusillade ceased, and with a crash, it seemed, silence and
darkness descended upon us. The sudden cessation of the terrific
rifle-firing and of the constant rattling of the machine-guns struck one
like a blow. Sergeant Altoffer brought me some information about one of
my men, and almost angrily I asked him not to shout! 'I’m not deaf yet,'
I assured him. 'Mon vieux,' he raged, 'it’s you who are shouting!'
I realized my fault and apologized, and in return accepted a drink of
wine from his canteen.
Finding the captain, we were ordered to assemble the men and maintain
the trench, and after much searching I found a few men of the section.
The little scrap had cost us three more men. Subiron, Dowd, and Zinn
were wounded and sent to the rear. The One Hundred and Seventy-Second
sent a patrol toward the farthest, the last hair of the tooth-brush,
with orders to reconnoitre thoroughly. An hour passed and they had not
returned. Twenty minutes more went by, still no patrol. Rather curious,
we thought. No rifle-shots had come from that direction, nor any noise
such as would be heard during a combat with the bayonet. The major’s
patience gave way, and our captain received orders to send another
patrol. He picked me and I chose King, Delpeuch, and Birchler. All
three had automatics--King a parabellum, Delpeuch and Birchler,
Brownings. They left rifles, bayonets, and cartridge-boxes behind, and
in Indian file followed me at a full run in an oblique direction past
the front of the company, and, when half way across the clearing,
following my example, fell flat on the ground. We rested a while to
regain our wind and then began to slide on our stomachs at right angles
to our first course.
We were extremely careful to remain silent. Every little branch and twig
we moved carefully out of our way; with one hand extended we felt of the
ground before us as we hitched ourselves along. So silent was our
progress that several times I felt in doubt about any one being behind
me and rested motionless until I felt the touch of Delpeuch’s hand upon
my foot. After what seemed twenty minutes, we again changed direction,
this time straight toward the trees looming close to us. We arrived
abreast of the first row of trees, and lying still as death listened for
sounds of the enemy. All was absolutely quiet; only the branches rustled
overhead in a light breeze.
A long time we lay there, but heard no sound. We began to feel somewhat
creepy, and I was tempted to pull my pistol and let nine shots rip into
the damnable stillness before us. However, I refrained, and touching my
neighbor, started crawling along the edge of the wood. Extreme care was
necessary, owing to the numberless branches littering the ground. The
sweat was rolling down my face.
Again we listened and again we were baffled by that silence. I was angry
then and started to crawl between the trees. A tiny sound of metal
scratching upon metal and I almost sank into the ground! Quickly I felt
reassured. It was my helmet touching a strand of barbed wire. Still no
sound!
Boldly we rose and, standing behind trees, scanned the darkness. Over to
our right we saw a glimmer of light and, walking this time, putting one
foot carefully before the other, moved toward it. When opposite we
halted and--I swore. From the supposed trench of the enemy came the
hoarse voice of an apparently drunken man, singing the _chanson_ 'La
Riviera.' Another voice offered a toast to 'La Légion.'
Carelessly we made our way through the barbed wire, crawling under and
stepping over the strands, jumped over a ditch, and looked down into
what seemed to be an underground palace. There they were,--the six men
of the One Hundred and Seventy-Second,--three of them lying stiff and
stark on benches, utterly drunk. Two were standing up disputing, and the
singer sat in an armchair, holding a long-stemmed glass in his hand.
Close by him were several unopened bottles of champagne on the table.
Many empty bottles littered the floor.
The singer welcomed us with a shout and an open hand, to which we,
however, did not immediately respond. The heartbreaking work while
approaching this place rankled in our minds. The sergeant and corporal
were too drunk to be of any help, while two of the men were crying,
locked in each others' arms. Another was asleep, and our friend the
singer absolutely refused to budge. So, after I had stowed two bottles
inside my shirt (an example punctiliously followed by the others), we
returned.
Leaving Birchler at the wire, I placed King in the middle of the
clearing, Delpeuch near the edge of the wood held by us, and then
reported. The captain passed the word along to the major, and on the
instant we were ordered to fall in, and in column of two marched over to
the abandoned trench, following the line marked by my men.
As we entered and disposed ourselves therein, I noticed all the
officers, one after the other, disappear in the palace. Another patrol
was sent out by our company, and, after ranging the country in our
front, returned safely. That night it happened to be the second
company’s turn to mount outposts, and we could see six groups of men,
one corporal and five men in each, march out into the night and
somewhere, each in some favorable spot, they placed themselves at a
distance of about one hundred metres away to watch, while we slept the
sleep of the just.
Day came, and with it the _corvée_ carrying hot coffee and bread. After
breakfast another corvée was sent after picks and shovels, and the men
were set to work remodeling the trench, shifting the parapet to the
other side, building little outpost trenches and setting barbed wire.
The latter job was done in a wonderfully short time, thanks to German
thoroughness, since for the stakes to which the wire is tied the Boches
had substituted soft iron rods, three quarters of an inch thick, twisted
five times in the shape of a great corkscrew. This screw twisted into
the ground exactly like a cork-puller into a cork. The straight part of
the rod, being twisted upon itself down and up again every ten inches,
formed six or seven small round loops in a height of about five feet.
Into these eyes the barbed wire was laid and solidly secured with short
lengths of tying wire. First cutting the tying wire, we lifted the
barbed wire out of the eyes, shoved a small stick through one, and,
turning the rod with the leverage of the stick, unscrewed it out of the
ground and then, reversing the process, screwed it in again. The
advantage of this rod is obvious. When a shell falls in the midst of
this wire protection, the rods are bent and twisted, but unless broken
off short they always support the wire, and even after a severe
bombardment present a serious obstacle to the assaulters. In such cases
wooden posts are blown to smithereens by the shells, and when broken
off let the wire fall flat to the ground.
As I was walking up and down, watching the work, I noticed a large box,
resting bottom up in a deep hole opening from the trench. Dragging the
box out and turning it over, I experienced a sudden flutter of the
heart. There, before my astonished eyes, resting upon a little platform
of boards, stood a neat little centrifugal pump painted green, and on
the base of it in raised iron letters I read the words, 'Byron Jackson,
San Francisco.' I felt queer at the stomach for an instant. San
Francisco! my home town! Before my eyes passed pictures of Market Street
and the 'Park.' In fancy I was again one of the Sunday crowd at the
Cliff House. How came this pump so far from home? Many times I had
passed the very place where it was made. How, I wonder, did the Boche
get this pump? Before the war, or through Holland? A California-built
pump to clean water out of German trenches, in France! It was
astonishing! With something like reverence I put the pump back again,
and, going to my place in the trench, dug out one of my bottles of
champagne and stood treat to the crowd. Somehow, I felt almost happy.
As I continued my rounds I came upon a man sitting on the edge of the
ditch, surrounded by naked branches, busy cutting them into two-foot
lengths and tying them together in the shape of a cross. I asked him how
many he was making, and he told me that he expected to work all day to
supply the crosses needed along one battalion front. French and German
were treated alike, he assured me. There was absolutely no difference in
the size of the crosses.
As we worked, soup arrived, and when that was disposed of, the men
rested for some hours. We were absolutely unmolested except by our
officers.
But at one o’clock that night we were again assembled in marching kit,
each man with an extra pick or shovel, and marched along parallel with
our trench to the summit of the butte. There we installed ourselves in
the main line, out of which the Germans were driven by the One Hundred
and Seventy-Second. There was no work of any kind to be done, and
quickly we found some dry wood, built small fires, and with the material
found in dug-outs brewed some really delightful beverages. Mine was a
mixture of wine and water out of Haeffle’s canteen, judiciously blended
with chocolate.
The weather was delightful, and we spent the afternoon lying in sunny
spots, shifting once in a while out of the encroaching shade into the
warm rays. We had no idea where the Germans were--somewhere in front, of
course, but just how far or how near mattered little to us. Anyhow, the
One Hundred and Seventy-Second was fully forty metres nearer to them
than we were, and we could see and hear the first-line troops picking
and shoveling their way into the ground.
Little King was, as usual, making the round of the company, trying to
find some one to build a fire and get water if he, King, would furnish
the chocolate. He found no takers and soon he laid himself down,
muttering about the laziness of the outfit.
Just as we were dozing deliciously, an agonized yell brought every
soldier to his feet. Rushing toward the cry, I found a man sitting on
the ground, holding his leg below the knee with both hands, and moaning
as he rocked back and forth, 'Je suis blesse! Je suis blesse!' Brushing
his hands aside, I examined his leg. There was no blood. I took off the
puttee, rolled up his trousers, and discovered no sign of a wound. On my
asking the man again where the wound was, he passed his hand over a
small red spot on his shin. Just then another man picked up a small
piece of shell, and then the explanation dawned upon me. The Germans
were shooting at our planes straight above us; a bit of shell had come
down and hit our sleeper on the shin-bone. Amid a gale of laughter he
limped away to a more sympathetic audience.
Several more pieces of iron fell near us. Some fragments were no joking
matter, being the entire rear ends of three-inch shells, weighing, I
should think, fully seven pounds.
At 4 P.M. the soup corvée arrived. Besides the usual soup we had roast
mutton, one small slice per man, and a mixture of white beans, rice, and
string beans. There was coffee, and one cup of wine per man, and, best
of all, tobacco. As we munched our food, our attention was attracted to
the sky above by an intense cannonade directed against several of our
aeroplanes sailing east. As we looked, more and more of our war-birds
appeared. Whipping out my glasses, I counted fifty-two machines. Another
man counted sixty. Haeffle had it a hundred. The official report next
day stated fifty-nine. They were flying very high and in very open
formation, winging due east. The shells were breaking ahead of them and
between them. The heaven was studded with hundreds upon hundreds of
beautiful little round grayish clouds, each one the nimbus of a bursting
shell. With my prismatics glued to my eyes, I watched closely for one
falling bird. Though it seemed incredible at the moment, not one
faltered or turned back. Due east they steered, into the red painted
sky. For several minutes after they had sailed out of my sight I could
still hear the roar of the guns. Only one machine, the official report
said, was shot down, and that one fell on the return trip.
Just before night fell, we all set to work cutting pine branches, and
with the tips prepared soft beds for ourselves. Sentries were placed,
one man per section, and we laid ourselves down to sleep. The night
passed quietly; again the day started with the usual hot coffee and
bread. Soup and stew at 10 A.M., and the same again at 4 P.M. One more
quiet night, and quiet the following day. We were becoming somewhat
restless with the monotony, but were cheered by the captain. That night,
he told us, we should return to Suippes, and there reform the regiment
and rest. The programme sounded good, but I felt very doubtful, we had
heard the same tale so many times and so many times we had been
disappointed. Each day the corvées had brought the same news from the
kitchen. At least twenty times different telephonists and _agents de
liaison_ had brought the familiar story. The soup corvées assured us
that the drivers of the rolling kitchens had orders to hitch up and pull
out toward Souain and Suippes. The telephonists had listened to the
order transmitted over the wires. The _agents de liaison_ had overheard
the major telling other officers that he had received marching orders,
and, '_ma foi!_ each time each one was wrong!' So, after all, I was not
much disappointed when the order came to unmake the sacks.
We stayed that night and all day, and when the order to march the next
evening came, all of us were surprised, including the captain. I was
with the One Hundred and Seventy-Second, having some fun with a little
Belgian. I had come upon him in the dark and had watched him, in growing
wonder at his actions. There he was, stamping up and down, every so
often stopping, shaking clenched fists in the air, and spouting curses.
I asked him what was the matter. 'Rien, mon sergent,' he replied. 'Je
m’excite.' 'Pourquoi?' I demanded. 'Ah,' he told me, 'look,'--pointing
out toward the German line,--'out there lies my friend, dead, with three
pounds of my chocolate in his _musette_, and when I’m good and mad, I’m
going out to get it!' I hope he got it!
That night at seven o’clock we left the hill, marched through Souain
four miles to Suippes, and sixteen miles farther on, at St. Hilaire, we
camped. A total of twenty-six miles for the day.
At Suippes the regiment passed in parade march before some officer of
the staff, and we were counted: eight hundred and fifty-two in the
entire regiment, out of three thousand two hundred who entered the
attack on the 25th of September!
THE BOULEVARD OF ROGUES
BY MEREDITH NICHOLSON
NOTHING was ever funnier than Barton’s election to the City Council.
However, it occurs to me that, if I’m going to speak of it at all, I may
as well tell the whole story.
At the University Club, where a dozen of us have met for luncheon every
business day for many years, Barton’s ideas on the subject of municipal
reform were always received in the most contumelious fashion. We shared
his rage that things were as they were, but as practical business men we
knew that there was no remedy. A city, Barton held, should be conducted
like any other corporation. Its affairs are so various, and touch so
intimately the comfort and security of all of us, that it is imperative
that they be administered by servants of indubitable character and
special training. He would point out that a citizen’s rights and
privileges are similar to those of a stockholder, and that taxes are in
effect assessments to which we submit only in the belief that the sums
demanded are necessary to the wise handling of the public business; that
we should be as anxious for dividends in the form of efficient and
economical service as we are for cash dividends in other corporations.