After a short march we engaged the French to the northeast of Donchéry.
On this side of the Meuse the enemy had only his rear-guard, whose
task was to cover the crossing of the main French armies, a movement
which was almost exclusively effected at Sedan and Donchéry. We stuck
close to the heels of our opponents, who did not retreat completely
till darkness began to fall. The few bridges left did not allow him to
withdraw his forces altogether as quickly as his interest demanded.
Thus it came about that an uncommonly murderous nocturnal street
fight took place in Donchéry which was burning at every corner. The
French fought with immense energy; an awful slaughter was the result.
Man against man! That "man against man!" is the most terrible thing
I have experienced in war. Nobody can tell afterwards how many he
has killed. You have gripped your opponent, who is sometimes weaker,
sometimes stronger than yourself. In the light of the burning houses
you observe that the white of his eyes has turned red; his mouth is
covered with a thick froth. With head uncovered, with disheveled hair,
the uniform unbuttoned and mostly ragged, you stab, hew, scratch, bite
and strike about you like a wild animal. It means life or death. You
fight for your life. No quarter is given. You only hear the gasping,
groaning, jerky breathing. You only think of your own life, of death,
of home. In feverish haste, as in a whirlwind, old memories are rushing
through your mind. Yet you get more excited from minute to minute, for
exhaustion tries to master you; but that must not be--not now! And
again the fight is renewed; again there is hewing, stabbing, biting.
Without rifle, without any weapon in a life and death struggle. You or
I. I? I?--Never! you! The exertion becomes superhuman. Now a thrust,
a vicious bite, and you are the victor. Victor for the moment, for
already the next man, who has just finished off one of your mates, is
upon you--. You suddenly remember that you have a dagger about you.
After a hasty fumbling you find it in the prescribed place. A swift
movement and the dagger buries itself deeply in the body of the other
man.
Onward! onward! new enemies are coming up, real enemies. How clearly
the thought suddenly flashes on you that that man is your enemy, that
he is seeking to take your life, that he bites, strikes, and scratches,
tries to force you down and plant his dagger in your heart. Again you
use your dagger. Thank heavens! He is down. Saved!-- Still, you must
have that dagger back! You pull it out of his chest. A jet of warm
blood rushes out of the gaping wound and strikes your face. Human
blood, warm human blood! You shake yourself, horror strikes you for
only a few seconds. The next one approaches; again you have to defend
your skin. Again and again the mad murdering is repeated, all night
long--....