"A good night at last, eh, Hutin?"
Hutin, still asleep, made no answer. Déprez called out:
"Now then, oats!"
Nobody was in a hurry. Two men, a confused mass of dark blue cloth,
quietly went on snoring amid the straw strewn under the chase of the
gun. Suddenly I thought I heard a familiar sound, and instinctively
turned to see whence it came.
"Down!" cried some one.
The men threw themselves down where they stood. In mid-air, above the
camp, a shell burst. In the still atmosphere the compact cloud of smoke
floated motionless among the thin grey mists.
"It's that aeroplane we saw yesterday we've got to thank for that,"
said Hutin, who had been fully awakened by the explosion.
"Yes, but it was too high."
"That's only a trial round to find the range. We shall get it hot in a
few minutes, you'll see!"
"Now then, bridle! Hook in! Quick!"
The camp at once became full of movement, the gunners hurrying to
their horses and limbers. In the twinkling of an eye the picket-lines
were wound round the hooks behind the limbers, and the teams were
ready to start. Again came the whistling of an approaching projectile.
The men merely rounded their backs without interrupting their work.
High-explosive shells now began to fall on Marville, and others,
hurtling over our heads, swooped down on the neighbouring hills which
the enemy doubtless believed manned by French artillery. The drivers,
leaning over their horses' necks, whipped up the teams, and the column
made off at a trot to take up position on the hills to the west of the
town, which dominated the Othain valley and the uplands on the other
side of the river, whence the enemy was approaching. A veritable hail
of lead, steel, and fire was raining upon Marville. One of the first
shells struck the steeple. The town was not visible from our position,
but large black columns of smoke were rising perpendicularly into the
sky, and there was no doubt that the place was in flames. Amid the roar
of the cannonade, which had now become an incessant thunder which rose,
fell, echoed, and rolled without intermission, it was difficult to
distinguish between shots coming from the enemy's guns and those fired
from ours. After a time, however, we were able to recognize the short
sharp barks of the ·75's in action.
"Attention! Gun-layers, forward!"
The men hurried up to the Captain.
"That tree like a brush ... in front...."
"We see it, sir!"
"That's your aiming-point. Plate 0, dial 150."
The men ran to the guns and layed them, the breeches coming to rest as
they closed on the shells. The gun-layers raised their hands.
"Ready!"
"First round," ordered the gun-commander.
The detachment stood by outside the wheels of the gun, the firing
number bending down to seize the lanyard.
"Fire!"
The gun reared like a frightened horse. I was shaken from head to foot,
my skull throbbing and my ears tingling as though with the jangle of
enormous bells which had been rung close to them. A long tongue of fire
had darted out of the muzzle, and the wind caused by the round raised
a cloud of dust round us. The ground quaked. I noticed an unpleasant
taste in my mouth--musty at first, and acrid after a few seconds. That
was the powder. I hardly knew whether I tasted it or whether I smelled
it. We continued firing, rapidly, without stopping, the movements
of the men co-ordinated, precise, and quick. There was no talking,
gestures sufficing to control the manoeuvre. The only words audible
were the range orders given by the Captain and repeated by the Nos. 1.
"Two thousand five hundred!"
"Fire!"
"Two thousand five hundred and twenty-five!"
"Fire!"
After the first round the gun was firmly settled, and the gun-layer and
the firing number now installed themselves on their seats behind the
shield. On firing, the steel barrel of the ·75 mm. gun recoils on the
guides of the hydraulic buffer, and then quietly and gently returns to
battery, ready for the next round. Behind the gun there was soon a heap
of blackened cartridge-cases, still smoking.
"Cease firing!"
The gunners stretched themselves out on the grass, and some began to
roll cigarettes.
Another aeroplane; the same black hawk silhouetted against the pale
blue sky which at every moment was getting brighter.
The men swore and shook their fists. What tyranny! It was marking us
down!
Suddenly the enemy's heavy artillery opened fire on the hills we were
occupying as well as on a neighbouring wood. It was time to change
position, since for us the most perilous moment is when the teams come
up to join the guns. A battery is then extremely vulnerable.
Before the enemy could correct his range the Major gave an order and
we moved off to take up a fresh position in a hollow on the plain.
The wide fields around us were bristling with stubble, and on the
left a few poplars, bordering a road, traced a green line on the bare
countryside. In front of us and behind stretched empty trenches.
Marville was still burning, the smoke blackening the whole of the
eastern sky. The sun was now high in the heavens, and poured a dazzling
light on the stubble-fields. We were suffering badly from hunger and
thirst. The din of the battle seemed continually to grow louder.
At the foot of some distant hills, still blue in the mist on the
south-eastern horizon, the Captain had perceived a column of artillery
or a convoy and large masses of men on the march. Were they French
troops, or was it the enemy? He was not sure. The mist and the distance
made it impossible to recognize the uniforms.
"We can't fire if those are French troops," said he.
Standing on an ammunition wagon he scanned the threatening horizon
through his field-glasses.
"If it's the enemy, they are outflanking us ... outflanking us! They'll
be in the woods in a moment.... We shan't be able to see them.... Go
and ask the Major."
The Major was no better informed than the Captain, the orders he had
received saying nothing about these hills. He also was using his
field-glasses, but could not distinguish the uniforms of the moving
masses. In his turn he muttered:
"If it's the enemy they're surrounding us!"
A mounted scout was hastily dispatched. We remained in suspense, a prey
to nervous excitement.
A single foot-soldier had stopped near the fourth gun. He had neither
pack nor rifle. We questioned him:
"Wounded?"
"No."
"Where have you come from?"
The Captain signalled for the man to be taken to him. The soldier, who
had thrown away his arms, did not hurry to obey.
"What are those troops down there?" asked the Captain. "French?"
"I don't know!"
"Well, where do you come from?"
The soldier waved his arm with a vague, comprehensive gesture which
embraced half the horizon.
"From over there!"
The Captain shrugged his shoulders.
"Yes, but where are the Germans? Do you know whether they have turned
Marville on the south?"
"No, sir.... You see, I was in a trench.... And the shells began to
come along--great big black ones.... First they burst behind us, a
hundred yards or more.... Then, of course, we didn't mind 'em. But soon
some of them fell right on us ... and then we ran!"
"But your officers?"
The man made a sign of ignorance. Nothing more could be got out of
him. Just at that moment a shell came hissing through the air, and he
at once made off at full speed, crouching as he ran. A few dislocated
words came back to us over his shoulder:
"_Ah! Bon Dieu de bon Dieu!_"
The shell burst on the other side of the road, and the moment after
three others exploded nearer still. The Captain had not ceased to
follow through his glasses the doubtful troops which, by now, had
nearly reached the woods. We waited anxiously, standing in a circle
round him.
"I believe they're French," said he. "Here, Lintier, have a look!
You've got good eyes."
Through the glasses I was able to distinguish the red of the breeches.
"Yes, they're French, sir. But where are they going to?"
The Captain made no reply, and I understood that once again our army
was in retreat.
A shower of shells poured down on the field behind us.
The enemy's fire, too much to the left and too high at first, was
getting nearer, and was now corrected as far as training went.
Our lives depended on the whim of a Prussian Captain and a slight
correction for elevation.
Just at that moment some sections of infantry suddenly appeared on the
edge of the plateau and hurriedly fell back. A company of the 101st had
come to man the trenches behind our guns.
The air began to vibrate again, and more shells fell, this time right
on the top of us. A splinter brushed by my head and clanged on the
armour of the ammunition wagon. Another shell plumped down in the
trench full of infantry. One, two, three seconds passed; then came a
groan and a cry. A man got up and fled, then another, and, finally, the
whole company. Their heads held low, and with bent knees, they scurried
off. Behind them a wounded man hastily unstrapped his pack, threw both
it and his gun to one side, and limped rapidly away.
A road orderly arrived with an envelope for the Major. Orders to
retire. We limbered up, and moved off at a walking pace. Under the
bright sun the stubble-field, with its entrails of black earth laid
bare by the gashes torn by the high-explosive shells, seemed to possess
something of the horror of a corpse mutilated with gaping wounds.
Near the points of burst clods of earth had been blown to a distance,
and, round the edge of the hole, the soil was raised in a circular
embankment. We were still threatened by sudden death. Some one asked:
"Why don't we go quicker?... We shall get done in!"
But I fancy that all of us were conscious that fatalism--which is, I
believe, the beginning of courage--had got a grip on us. The enemy
was firing without seeing us, and his shells seemed like the blows of
Fate descending from heaven. Why here rather than there? We did not
know, and the enemy assuredly did not know either. In that case, what
was the good of hurrying? Death might as easily overtake us a little
farther on. Useless to hurry, then; absolutely useless.... In front,
our officers, heel by heel, rode on, talking.
In the trench in which the shell had just burst a single soldier
remained behind. He was stretched out face downwards on a heap of straw
which he had gathered under him for greater comfort. Blood was oozing
from a wound in his back, making large black stains on the cloth, and
the straw underneath him was dyed crimson. Another splinter had hit
him in the back of the neck; his képi had fallen off and his face was
buried in the straw. All eyes were turned on him as we passed, but not
a word was said. What can one say about a burst shell or a dead man?
Another defeat! Just as in 1870!... Just as in 1870! We were all
obsessed by the same paralysing thought.
"They are devilish strong! Look at that!" said Déprez, pointing towards
the plateau where, as far as the eye could reach, swarms of French
infantry could be seen retreating. Latour, six hours' fighting; to-day,
hardly more. Beaten again! Oh, God!
We felt a blind rage against those who had fallen back. We did not
retreat last Saturday when we were in action by the willow-tree.
In the distance, towards Marville, columns of artillery were trailing
over the bare fields. A blue and red squadron was raising clouds of
dust. Waves of infantry, diminishing but still noticeable, dust-covered
cavalry, and black lines of artillery could be seen as far as the
horizon, moving under the scorching sun. The guns had ceased to roar
and there was absolute silence. The earth, parched and hot, exhaled a
vapour which seemed to follow the movements of the men. It was almost
as if the entire plateau had begun to march.
* * * * *
At Remoiville we came upon a beautiful château of the Early Renaissance
period, with severe lines of long terraces and lofty turrets over which
floated a white flag with a red cross. In the village not a soul was to
be seen. Doors and windows were all closed. A few hens were scratching
about on a manure heap, and a pig, which two gunners were killing in a
little sty black with refuse, raised piercing and discordant squeals.
And yet, on the threshold of one of the last houses, a wretched ruin
in the shadowy interior of which we caught a glimpse of a varnished
wardrobe, two old women, bent with age, watched us as we passed with
eyes which were hardly perceptible under their furrowed eyelids. Only
their fingers moved. Their silent and fixed stare, as keen as a steel
blade, followed us like a reproach. Oh, we know it well, the bitter
remorse of a retreat! A deep sense of shame oppressed us as we filed
through these villages which we were powerless to protect, which we
were abandoning to the fury of the enemy. Things in them assumed an
almost human expression; the fronts of the forsaken dwellings wore an
air of dejected suffering. Fancy, no doubt! Just imagination--but
poignant and vivid imagination, nevertheless, for to-morrow all these
villages might be burning and we, from our camp on the hills, should
see the crops and cottages flaming when the sun went down.
* * * * *
It seems that the Allies have beaten the Germans in the north and in
Alsace. At any rate the Communal and Army Bulletins, which are given
us sometimes, say so. Then how is it that we are saddled with this
terrible reproach by things and people whom we cannot defend against an
enemy too superior in numbers?
We waited some time at Remoiville, and then set off across the river,
which boasted a single bridge. The crossing was carried out in good
order. Then, by the only road, across the valleyed country where dark
green forests alternated with fresh pasture-land, the retreat of the
4th Army Corps began.
The western horizon was limited by a long range of blue hills of
magnificent outlines. It was doubtless upon these that the French
intended to stop and entrench themselves.
On the right of the road the interminable procession of artillery
and convoys continued: guns of all calibres, ammunition wagons,
forage wagons, carts, supply and store vehicles, division and corps
ambulances, and peasants' carts full of bleeding wounded, their heads
sometimes enveloped in lint turbans red with gore. Keeping to the left
the infantry marched abreast in good order down the road, which was
already badly cut up. In front of us rolled a 120 mm. battery. One of
the corporals had half a sheep hanging from his saddle.
The 10th Battery had lost all its guns, for when, about one o'clock,
the infantry gave up all resistance, the gunners could not limber
up, the enemy's fire having almost completely destroyed the teams.
Captain Jamain had been hit in the thigh by a shell splinter. We caught
sight of him as he lay stretched on a hay-cart among the wounded
foot-soldiers.
The forest, very dense and very dark in spite of the blazing sun,
deadened the tramp of the infantry on the march and the rumble of the
wheels.
In the ditches some foundered horses were standing with drooping heads
and half-closed eyes glassy with fatigue. Occasionally a wheel fouled
them, but they did not budge an inch. They would only lie down to die.
* * * * *
As it turned out, however, the 4th Army Corps was not going to await
the enemy on the hills which, in a series of ridges, commanded the
plain and the forest. Some one told me that the whole of Ruffey's Army
was falling back behind the Meuse. The general retreat continued along
the highway, but our Group turned aside down a by-road which led first
to a village swarming with troops, and then zigzagged up the wooded
hill-side.
We began the ascent. The sky had suddenly clouded over and the air
became sultry. A few drops of rain fell. The main road below, over
which the tide of retreating troops ebbed ceaselessly on between the
poplars bordering it on either side, looked like a canal filled with
black water and moved by a slow current.
The column halted, and we carefully wedged the wheels. The men were
tired, and hardly any words were spoken. The silence was only broken by
the jingling of the curb-chains as the horses stretched their necks,
and by the patter of the rain on the leaves.
We advanced another hundred yards or so, and at the next turn of
the road stopped again. A peasant's cart, filled with bedding, upon
which were sitting a woman--obviously pregnant--and an old lady, both
sheltering under a large umbrella, tried to pass the column. But
several of the ammunition wagons, of which the wheels had been badly
secured, had slid backwards and barred the way. A girl was driving the
heavy cart, which was being laboriously dragged up the hill by a mare
in foal between the shafts, and a colt in front, the latter pulling in
all directions. Both the girl and the animals stuck pluckily to their
job.
"Now then, come up!"
The mare threw herself into the collar, and, with our aid, they
eventually reached the head of the column, after which the way was
clear. The girl stopped the cart for a moment and caressed the nose
of the heavy animal, from whose haunches steam arose in clouds. We
exchanged a few words.
"Where are you going to?"
"We don't know. At any rate we must cross the Meuse.... We're late,
too. All those who had to go went this morning, when we first heard the
guns. But we didn't; we thought we would wait a little longer and see
what happened. But after all we had to go too. Best to go, isn't it?"
"Yes," we told them, "you'd better go."
"And the Germans are perfect savages, aren't they?"
"Yes."
"They'll burn our houses ... we shan't find anything when we come
back--nothing but ashes. Oh, it's awful!... Can't you kill them all?"
"If only we could!..."
"Now then, come up, old girl!"
The cart moved on.
"Good luck!" cried the girl over her shoulder.
"Thanks--good luck!"
Near the top of the hill was a large clearing in the woods, from which
the forest appeared like a magnificent mantle thrown over the shoulders
of the neighbouring crests, rounding their edges and softening their
outlines. From this point we could see the whole of the Woevre plain
we had just crossed as well as Remoiville and the plateau of Marville,
where, standing sharply out against the bare fields, was the dark line
of poplars near which we had been in action in the morning.
Here, in a field where the oats were only half cut, we prepared to
wait for the enemy. Our mission was to cover the retreat of the 4th
Army Corps, which still continued below on the main road over which an
interminable procession of Paris motor-omnibuses was now passing. The
sky had become overcast, and the heavy clouds banking up behind us, to
the west, threatened to shorten the daylight.
Advancing round the edge of the wood, in order not to reveal our
presence, the battery finally came to a halt on the outskirts of the
sloping forest, behind some clumps of trees which afforded good cover.
We unharnessed and placed the horses and limbers against the background
of foliage of which, from a long distance, they would seem to form
part. We hoped to have a quiet evening, especially as the next day
would probably be a very strenuous one. The two batteries which at
present formed the Group, that is to say only seven guns, would have to
hold up the enemy a sufficient time to ensure the retreat of the Army
Corps. But we hardly gave any heed to the morrow, being too tired to
think or reason.
We had still to take the horses to the pond in the village at the foot
of the hill, and started off down a steep and narrow path through the
wood. The only street of the hamlet was still crowded with troops.
Through the open window of the mayor's house I saw General Boëlle. He
looked grave but not worried, and I searched in vain for a sign of
uneasiness in his expression.
Infantrymen had piled arms on both sides of the road in front of the
houses. A flag in its case was lying across two piles. At the door of
the vicarage at least two hundred men were crowded together holding out
their water-bottles. The curé, it appeared, was giving them all his
wine. Some Chasseurs, their reins slung over their arms, stood waiting
for orders, smoking, their backs to the wall of the church. I overheard
some of their talk.
"So Mortier's dead, is he?"
"Yes. Got a bullet in the stomach."
"What did he say?"
"Nothing much.... He said, 'They've got me!' and he lay down clutching
his stomach with both hands. He rolled from side to side and said:
'Ah-a-a-ah! They've got me!' His horse, Balthazar, was sniffing at him.
He hadn't let go of the reins ... still held 'em just like I'm holding
these, over his arm. I heard him say, 'Poor old boy!' He was all
doubled up, and groaned and panted 'ouf-ouf!' and then all of a sudden
he stretched himself right out at full length.... One more Chasseur
less! His face wasn't a pretty sight, and I shut his eyes for him. Then
I broke off a branch from a tree and covered his face with it, as I
should like some one to do to me if I went under.... Must cover up the
dead somehow.... After that I came back with Balthazar."
When we had climbed back up the hill and regained our clearing many
of the foot-soldiers had already left, while others were strapping on
their packs and unpiling arms. We were informed that only one battalion
was to stay there and support us. I wondered what awful attack the next
day might hold in store.
A Captain of infantry accosted Astruc, who was astride Lieutenant Hély
d'Oissel's big horse.
"Hallo there, gunner!"
"Sir?"
"Well I'm shot if it isn't Tortue!"
"Tortue, sir? Who's Tortue?"
"Why, the horse I lost. That's him! There can't be any mistake.
Dismount now, quick, and hand him over!"
Astruc protested:
"But, sir, this horse belongs to our Lieutenant! I must take him back
to him. What would he say to me!"
"Well, I tell you to dismount. I suppose I know my own saddle, don't I?
And Tortue ... why, she knows me.... There! You see there's no doubt
about it. It's Tortue all right, my mare which I lost at Ethe."
"But, sir, this is a horse, not a mare."
The officer examined the animal more closely.
"Oh! ah! Why yes, it's true! Now that's odd ... most extraordinary! I
could have sworn it was Tortue...."
* * * * *
Night fell, the mist enveloping the trees round the clearing. Under
the black clouds passed yet another aeroplane, blacker even than they.
Could the pilot see us at that hour? If so we might expect a shower of
shells at daybreak. The machine pitched and tossed in the sky above the
clearing, for the wind had risen and was blowing in gusts from the west.
We had strewn some cut oats round the guns, as the night was chilly,
and it looked like rain. The wind, freshening into a gale, wrapped our
cloaks tightly round us and almost seemed to move the men themselves.
No light of any kind was to be seen on the plain over which our guns
were pointing, and which soon became shrouded in the impenetrable
darkness ahead. In one corner the clearing cut into the forest, and
here, where the thick brushwood rose like a black wall on either side,
we were allowed to light a fire. The wind blew in gusts on the flames,
which it first nearly extinguished and then rekindled, making the
shadows of the men flicker fantastically on the ground.
I was tired out--artillery fire creates an irresistible desire
to sleep--and I was also rather hungry. Not feeling possessed of
sufficient courage to wait for the meat to be cooked and the coffee
brewed, I devoured my ration of beef raw and stretched myself out in
the oats behind the ammunition wagon, where I was sheltered from the
wind.
_Wednesday, August 26_
Réveillé came at dawn, and we woke to find a thick fog enveloping the
battery. We were soaking with dew, and our benumbed and swollen limbs
moved jerkily and with difficulty. The uncertain half-light awoke in
us a feeling of anxiety and dread which, still heavy with sleep as we
were, it was hard to throw off.
Wrapped in our cloaks and standing motionless round the guns, we had
leisure to examine our situation in this clearing in the middle of
the forest. On the right, according to our officers, it was not known
whether there were any French troops. On this side the woods stretched
uninterruptedly from the ridges we were occupying as far as Remoiville.
On the left the movements of the 4th Army Corps were to be carried
out. It is said that normally an army corps takes ten hours to effect
a retreat along a single road. And this retreat had already been in
progress for more than fifteen hours.
Our position in the clearing was difficult in itself, and might
become positively perilous if the fog did not lift. Nothing could be
distinguished at a distance of fifty yards from the guns, and the enemy
might advance in the plain, threaten the retreating army, and take us
by surprise.
On all sides of us, therefore, were the woods and their shadows, the
Unknown and Unexpected. In front of us the enemy hidden in the mist;
behind, the Meuse; danger everywhere.
The thought of the Meuse was especially disturbing. When it should
become necessary for us to retire in our turn, the Germans, whom there
would be nothing to check on the right, might reach the river before
us. Possibly we should not find a single bridge left standing. We might
have to sacrifice ourselves for the defence of the army.
The hours dragged by. The mists seemed to be collecting on the flank of
the hills facing the Meuse, whence they were wafted by the west wind in
filmy, trailing clouds which gradually curled over the crests of the
hills, floated towards us, enveloping our batteries for an instant, and
then slowly sank down on the plain.
I have written these notes on my knee, my back resting against the
brass bottoms of the shells in the ammunition wagon, which was opened
out like a wardrobe. The men were standing about smoking, waiting for
orders.
* * * * *
At last, about eight o'clock, the sun shone over the top of the hill
and the fog, like a kind of impenetrable gauze, began to draw away in
front of us. One by one the trees reappeared, only the tops of the
loftiest remaining shrouded in the mist. Nothing stirred. The road,
black yesterday with men and horses now appeared absolutely white
between the meadows damp with dew and vividly green under the first
rays of the morning sun.
Lying flat on our chests in the grass in front of our guns, on a sort
of natural terrace between the stones descending the slope, we scanned
the plain. After a time everything seemed to move, and one had to make
an effort to dispel the illusion.
The men are saying that we may have to stay here two days. Surely
that cannot be possible? Somebody asserted that he had heard the
instructions given to the Major by a General:
"You'll stay there," said he, "as long as the position is tenable. I
rely on your instinct as an artilleryman."
Another man supported the first speaker.
"Yes, that's right. He said, 'Solente, I rely on your instinct as an
artilleryman.' Why, I heard him myself."
We also heard that last Saturday's engagement would be known as the
Battle of Ethe.
"No," said another. "It will be called the Battle of Virton."
"Ethe, Virton!... What the devil does it matter what it's called.
Seeing that we've had to retreat!..."
"Oh, yes, but all the same," said the trumpeter, "we ought to know.
Suppose you get back to your people and they ask you what engagements
you've been in. You'll answer, 'I've been fighting in Belgium.' 'Yes,'
they'll say, 'but Belgium is a big place--bigger than our commune! Were
you at Liége, or Brussels, or Copenhagen?' You would look a silly fool!"
The other shrugged his shoulders.
With the help of a bayonet we opened a box of bully-beef for the four
of us, and fell to. The only sound was that made by the hatchet of
one of the men who was chopping down a small birch-tree which might
conceivably interfere with the fire of his gun.
The silence was too intense, the immobility of the countryside too
complete. The enemy was there. We neither heard him nor saw him, but
that only rendered him the more sinister. The unwonted calm, when we
had braced ourselves up for battle, was terrifying, and our nerves
became overstrained.
I supposed that the retreat of the 4th Army Corps had by this time been
accomplished. Time passed, and the French army was still falling back,
while the enemy advanced cautiously, threading his way through the
woods.
Suddenly, about two o'clock, a machine-gun began to crackle quite close
by in the forest. A horseman galloped through the clearing and drew
rein beside the Major. We at once limbered up.
Was our retreat cut off? The staccato rattle of the machine-gun was
now accompanied by intermittent rifle-fire. We had to cross the
clearing diagonally in order to reach a forest path. Quite calmly, and
determined to save our guns, we got our rifles ready. But the column
crossed the close-cropped field without our hearing a single bullet,
and we gained the wood in safety. We had to hurry, for the road, even
if still open, might be closed at any moment.
Leaning over the necks of the horses in order to avoid the low-hanging
branches which threatened to drag them from their saddles, and gauging
by eye the narrow passage between the trees, the drivers urged their
teams forward with whip and spur.
The road was still open.... We arrived at Dun-sur-Meuse, where we had
to cross the river. The Captain assembled the non-commissioned officers:
"The bridge is mined. Warn your drivers to take care of the sacks on
each side of the bridge. They're full of melinite."
In order to let us through the sappers threw some planks across the pit
they had opened up in the centre of the bridge.
The hindmost vehicles of the column had not advanced two hundred yards
on the other side of the Meuse, when a loud explosion shook us on our
seats. The bridge had just been blown up. Behind us a large white cloud
of smoke curled up in thick volutes, masking half the town.
* * * * *
As we stood waiting for orders in a field, our guns in double column,
some one called out:
"There's the postmaster!"
"At last!"
"Letters! letters! A man to each gun!"
For eight days we had been waiting for news, and each man drew a little
aside in order to be alone as he read.
* * * * *
It seems certain that the battle of Saturday the 22nd will be known as
the battle of Virton.
_Thursday, August 27_
It had poured all night, and rain was still falling when we rose.
The thought of all the misery such weather must inevitably cause
spoiled the satisfaction we experienced at feeling fit and fresh after
ten hours' delicious sleep in a well-closed barn. Our horse-cloths
thrown over our heads like hoods and flapping against our calves, we
silently marched in scattered order along the churned-up road, our feet
squelching in the mud, and finally regained the park under the lashing
rain.
The horses, motionless, glistening with water but resigned, endeavoured
unceasingly to turn their tails to the rain. The stable-pickets had
succeeded in lighting fires but they had had to dig new hearths, for
those of the day before were swamped and black pieces of charred wood
were floating in them.
The men's cloaks were streaming and hung heavily in stiff folds from
their shoulders. Some of them had turned up their capes in order to
protect their heads. The gunners stood round about, holding their red
hands to the fire.
"Beastly rain! Two days more like this and we shall all get dysentery!"
"I'd rather die of that than be killed by a shell," said Hutin.
"No use trying to make coffee," growled Pelletier. "The fire doesn't
give out any heat.... It would take hours."
"It's the wood that won't burn. It only smokes."
"Blow on it, Millon!"
We turned our boot soles to the heat in order to dry them. The rain
hissed and spat in the fire.
"All the same," said the trumpeter, "if we hadn't been betrayed things
wouldn't have gone like this!"