THE TWO GLORIOUS DAYS OF STADEN
On October 19th, at midday, we rode into Hougled. The Captain got us
together and warned us that we were being sent on in front to delay
the march of the enemy till our infantry had had time to come up. The
enemy’s march had to be delayed _at all costs_. He did not conceal from
us that two, or perhaps three, divisions had been marked down in front
of us, that the task would be a stiff one and that it was a question of
“sticking it out” to the last drop of our blood.
We then received orders to prepare for a dismounted action, and, leaving
our horses in a street, we set off across the ploughed fields, laden with
ammunition. I carried a big cartridge case, which I usually left in my
wallets on account of its weight.
Some round clouds, of a snowy whiteness, which made them stand out
against the crude and washy blue of the background, scudded across the
sky, carried by a stiff breeze. All Nature was _en fête_, and the fresh
strong wind was intoxicating.
Towards four o’clock the enemy showed himself in sections and in
companies, well aligned on the plain beneath us. There was no attempt at
concealment, as, doubtless, the village was thought to be unoccupied.
Under cover of some thin brushwood we opened fire on these regular
formations, to show that we were there and not in the least impressed
by these demonstrations of company and field training. It was just like
being on manœuvres, and these awkward soldiers seemed rather ridiculous,
gravely doing the goose-step, when so soon it would be a question of
killing or being killed.
We must have got their range, for we noted through field-glasses a slight
confusion in the enemy’s ranks, and, instantaneously, the advancing
infantry disappeared. They were still there, however, for their bullets,
slipping over the ridge where we offered a good target, pitted the turf
all round us, happily without wounding any one. The Germans have a
remarkable faculty of making themselves scarce in the twinkling of an eye
as soon as they have been seen by an enemy, like those insects which, at
the least noise, blend with the grass on which they are perched.
Our naval guns, ranged by the side of the road, fired over the plain. An
observing officer, standing on his horse’s back, judged the effects of
the fire. We saw the shells burst in beautiful plumes of dark or light
smoke. The enemy’s fusillade ceased, much to our satisfaction.
But the German artillery began to reply, and we were soon subjected to
such a fire that we had to retreat towards the village, being uneasy
about our horses, which happened to be in the line of fire. In going
along the main street we kept close to the walls to avoid the shell
splinters. Shells of all calibres fell without ceasing, making holes
in the thin slate roofs and breaking the windows. I saw one pierce a
wall some paces in front of me and burst inside a house, whose stories
collapsed, one on the top of the other. It was just like an earthquake,
the whole street was shaken by it.
We made for our horses at the double and found them plunging under this
storm of fire, and we galloped off behind the village to get them into
safety. Without losing a second we distributed extra cartridges in large
numbers and returned to take our place between the farms in the grass
fields shut in by hedges and barriers. We worked at fortifying our
positions till evening. Everyone made “his trench.” (That word had then
another signification; at that time the word trench represented for us
the least scooped-out hole, the least obstacle placed between the enemy
and us.)
We protected ourselves with sand-bags, faggots, agricultural implements,
etc. We were hardly installed before we received an order to leave this
place and to occupy a road on the right, running between two meadows. We
made a barricade at the end of it, somehow or other, with whatever came
to hand.
The infantry, expected at four o’clock, were late, and it became
questionable whether it would be materially possible to hold out
much longer, if the Germans attacked, taking into consideration the
disproportion between our forces and those of the enemy.
Night had hardly come when an infernal fusillade broke out, and it
lasted till daylight without the least slackening. It was exactly like
an uninterrupted salvo fire, with the addition of the sharp, regular dry
crackle of machine-guns. Thousands of projectiles struck our fragile
barricade or passed, whistling, over our heads. We fired straight in
front of us into the dark night, without knowing what we aimed at, except
that our fire was directed towards the place whence this murderous storm
of shot and shell came.
Constantly the same question ran from man to man: “Have the infantry come
up?” for we knew that our lives depended on their arrival. Our orders
were: “You will prevent the Germans passing till you have been relieved.”
We had only a handful of troopers, two hundred perhaps, to check the
onslaught of a formidable mass of infantry. Unless our infantry came to
our aid we would be cut up to a man; but the enemy should have to pass
over our bodies.
Overcome with fatigue, and in spite of the thunder all round us, I fell
asleep, suddenly, heavily, dreamlessly, in a little ditch which ran by
the roadside. I don’t know when I awoke. The noise of the combat was
dominated by a clamour still louder and more penetrating: a part of the
village of Staden was on fire. A horde of Germans dashed into it, yelling
“Hourraa!” A diabolical clamour rose to heaven, and yells and cries of
bestial joy mounted with the thick smoke of the fires.
We learnt afterwards that they had charged empty barricades, a party of
our men having evacuated the town an hour previously. A corporal of the
1st squadron, posted a little more to the left, told me he had seen them
200 yards off defiling in quick step “silhouetted like devils” against
the glare of the fire.
Still no infantry.
A torpor seized me and I fell back into the ditch, overcome by sleep,
and slept again till almost daylight. From that moment events moved with
great rapidity. It must have been seven o’clock when the infantry at last
arrived, fifteen hours late. We heard hurried footsteps. I turned and saw
troops falling back in hot haste, being irresistibly outflanked by the
enemy. They seemed to be pursued by assailants who were on their heels.
I heard voices exclaiming, “It is pitiable to see fellows so up against
it.” I said nothing, but, in my inner consciousness, I clearly understood
that the supreme moment was come for many of us.
For a moment I feared that we had been forgotten in the general movement.
Soon afterwards Captain de Tarragon appeared at the cross-roads. I
can see him still; he looked immensely big in his blue cloak. Without
speaking, he signalled to us that we could retire. It was time indeed,
for the enemy outflanked us on all sides. The troop doubled towards him
and ran on. Magrin and I remained alongside him. Never so much as then
have I felt the irresistible force of Destiny. It was written that I was
to remain with him until the end.
We three reached a farm on the crest of the ridge; 400 mètres off a
German company was advancing. The Captain seized a carbine from the hands
of a late-comer who fled past us and turned round to open fire. Faithful
to my oath, and knowing that our lives hung on a thread, I fired off the
contents of my magazine alongside of him. I aimed as best I could, though
my greatcoat interfered, and I shot into the brown. A second later the
German reply crumbled the wall of the farm, passing between the Captain
and me, two fingers’ breadth over our heads.
I implored de Tarragon not to expose himself any longer. What was the use
of this heroic folly of standing up alone against an advancing battalion
of the enemy? Doubtless our regiment was already a long way off, but we
might, perhaps, be able to rejoin it by crawling along the deep ditch
which ran by the roadside.
Hate of the enemy seemed, however, to rage in his heart, and he replied,
“It is too bad to have to abandon such a target!” At last, his cartridges
being exhausted, he decided to retire, without running, and seeming to
defy the entire world with his tall well set-up figure of a handsome
French soldier. Instead of taking to the ditch which ran by the roadside,
he crossed the field of fire. I followed him, without understanding, and
Magrin did likewise.
A moment afterwards our number was increased to four by the arrival of
an officer of hussars or of chasseurs, who came running up. All my life
I shall remember this last. He was young, elegant and good-looking, and
so trim and neat with his sky-blue cap jauntily set at an angle. When two
mètres off he opened his mouth as if to speak, but before having emitted
a sound he fell dead, hit by a bullet under the ear.
The Captain, who was at my side, stepped forward to put himself, at
last, under shelter. Hardly had he taken a step before a bullet hit him,
and I uttered a cry of rage on seeing him fall in a heap. Feigning to
be wounded or dead, to deceive the enemy and cause the cessation of his
fire, I fell also, and both of us rolled into the deep ditch.
There was not a minute to lose. “Magrin, quick, quick, no good troubling
about the Lieutenant of chasseurs, he’s dead; but perhaps the Captain is
still alive, we must get him away.” Magrin, who had tumbled down after
me, believing me hit, raised the Captain’s head and I took his feet. A
hail of bullets passed like a squall above our heads. We stayed so a good
five minutes, exhausting ourselves in useless efforts to carry off this
inert body. On account of its weight it was impossible even to move it in
the squatting and unhandy position in which we found ourselves.
He did not regain consciousness for an instant; once his eyes opened,
then the eyelids quivered and his head fell back heavily. He was dead,
and we could not think of getting him away. The fire was furious. Magrin
and I, who had remained behind till the last, now tried to gain the farm
behind which our regiment was massed. We made three mètres under cover of
the ditch, and then we covered a hundred mètres at the run, under such a
rain of bullets, aimed at us, that I attribute our escape to a miracle.
My greatcoat and cape were riddled. As I turned the corner of the house,
that corner even was torn off and the broken bricks fell on me. I passed
by some bicycles abandoned against a wall, and, after I had gone by, I
heard the sharp crack of broken spokes, which the bullets had cut.
Once I had passed the corner I found shelter for an instant. I came
across Captain Besnier who was wounded, and helped to carry him. The
road was strewn with the bodies of dragoons, chasseurs and cyclists.
Behind the house were a brick-field and a clay-pit, whose slippery crest
had to be crossed. I saw some unlucky fellows get half over, within
two paces of safety, and then roll to the bottom, hit by the pitiless
machine-guns.
The firing redoubled. Major Chapin, who had arrived at the front only
three days before, fell hit through the head, and many others fell whom I
did not know.
The command of our party devolved on Lieutenant Mielle, and, following
an order from the dying Major Chapin, we took the direction of the
railway bridge on the right. Lieutenant Desonney was wounded and lay
out a hundred mètres off. I heard the Colonel cry in a loud voice with
an accent of despair which is untranslatable, “Won’t someone bring in
Desonney?” and one after the other five dragoons unhesitatingly left
their shelter and threw themselves into the furnace of fire, each of
them as he fell, within a few yards, and to be immediately replaced by
another. The whole regiment would have gone if the Colonel had not put a
stop to such heroic obedience.
But what was going on? Amidst the noise of battle the clear notes of a
bugle mounted to heaven; both sides hesitated. They were the well-known
notes sounding the charge. We turned, and a sight of unspeakable grandeur
met our eyes.
The dismounted 1st squadron, lance in hand, charged into the whirlwind of
fire, to allow of the rest of the regiment falling back. The obsessing
refrain made one’s temples throb. We were hypnotised, and the Colonel,
standing up, unconscious of the bullets which grazed him, folded his
arms and watched his admirable soldiers who, moved by almost superhuman
brotherly devotion, braved the fire and retarded for a moment the enemy’s
march so as to permit their comrades to escape. The Colonel watched, and
great tears of pride and of anxiety ran down his tanned cheeks. When,
once in one’s life, one has had the privilege of seeing such a deed, it
lives with one for ever.
We now crawled across the railway. The machine-guns mowed the fields of
beetroot as if they had been shaved off with a razor. Seven of us took
this way and we all got through, I don’t know how, without being touched.
Then we slipped between the infantry sections which were advancing in
skirmishing order on all sides. Some minutes later we were behind a ridge
under cover and in safety. We reached a little shanty where we sheltered
for a long time, and from the loft of which we could still fire on the
enemy.
Towards 9 o’clock the musketry fire gradually diminished. We left the
farm only when the artillery duel began. The shells came a bit too close,
and there was the risk of the house falling in on us.
We went in search of the horses two kilomètres off, and retirement was
decided on because of the need for food and rest. When I caught up the
column at the trot I counted 47 led horses, which means that 47 men had
fallen. Desonney’s troop had an officer and 14 men missing out of 28. We
had lost a major, two captains, two lieutenants and many comrades, but we
had made it possible for two army corps to come up.
A mere handful of men had put up a fight against three divisions. A fine
page in the history of the regiment!
My greatcoat was handed round the squadron. A bullet had pierced the
cloth four times under the heart, another twice through the arm, three
others over the ribs.
* * * * *
Eight days afterwards, at Clarques, near Saint-Omer, where we were
resting, promotions were made to replace the non-commissioned officers
who had fallen gloriously that day. I was made sergeant-major.