"All right! Oh, Lord, I was so comfortable there!"
The noise of shuffling straw filled the barn.
"What's the time?" repeated somebody.
"Look out there! There's a rung missing in the ladder."
Noises of feet scraping against the ladder. An oath.
"Get the lantern!"
"Where is it?"
"Hanging behind the door."
The men groped about for their belongings.
"My képi!"
"Dashed if I can find the lantern! Come and help, can't you?"
"Sure it can't be two o'clock yet."
"Come along now, hurry up," cried a sergeant, opening the door.
"Anybody else still asleep?"
No one replied. Outside, it was very cold, and the night was dark. Not
a star was to be seen. Fires had been lit in the middle of the village,
and coffee was on the boil. The church, a diminutive chapel magnified
by the light from below, had almost the air of a cathedral, its spire
lost in the inky blackness of the sky. Fantastic shadows danced on
the walls, and the windows were momentarily lit up by red or green
lights. A crowd of poor people fleeing from the enemy were sleeping
in the nave, together with some soldiers who in vain had sought
shelter elsewhere. Through the front entrance, which was wide open,
the interior of the church looked mysterious, filled as it was with
fugitive lights and shadows, like those cast by a building on fire.
Under the vivid reflections of the stained-glass windows on the flags
I caught a glimpse of prostrate human figures. In the square, soldiers
coming and going between their fires threw enormous shadows on the
ground and on the walls of the houses.
Why this alarm? Had the enemy succeeded in crossing the frontier near
Stenay? We set off behind the infantry, whose tramp, tramp sounded like
the movement of a flock of sheep on the road. The night was alive with
moving but unseen forms. The breathing of hundreds of men on the march
was felt rather than heard; every now and then, as if from far off,
came a half-lost word. All this invisible life in movement seemed to
give off currents which traversed the night air like electricity.
In the distance we heard the sound of the guns towards which we were
marching.
Soon the first streaks of dawn lit up the wooded hills, which reared
their severe yet splendid crests between us and the Meuse. We passed
through Tailly--a village at the bottom of a ravine, consisting of a
few cottages, a church, and a cemetery.
* * * * *
When we arrived at Beauclair, in the valley of the Meuse, the
engagement appeared to have finished.
In front of the church the infantry who had just been in action were
resting amid their piled arms. The majority were pale--but some were
very red. They had thrown themselves down on the bare ground in the
sun, and not one of them moved a muscle. The stiffened features of
the sleepers were eloquent of tragic weariness as they lay there with
open coats and shirts, showing glimpses of naked chests. All were
indescribably dirty, their legs plastered with mud up to the knees.
The battery halted outside the last houses of the village, and we at
once set about making coffee. A hulking Tommy came up to ask for an
onion. We questioned him:
"So they've not succeeded in crossing the Meuse yet?"
"Oh, yes, they have!... One brigade got over all right ... but the
artillery had mown down the bridges behind them, and so we had a go at
them with fixed bayonets.... Lord! you don't know what that's like, you
chaps!... A charge!... It's awful!... Never known anything like it! If
there _is_ a Hell, I expect there's bayonet fighting always going on
there!... No! I mean it! Off you go, shouting.... Then one or two fall,
and after them lots of others.... And the more that fall the louder
you've got to shout so that the others will come along. And then when
at last you get to close quarters with 'em, why, you're just raving
mad, and you thrust and thrust.... But the first time you feel your
bayonet sink into a chap's stomach, you feel a bit queer.... It's all
soft, you've only got to shove a bit!... But it's harder to withdraw
clean! I was so damned gentle that I upset my fellow--a great big fat
chap with a red beard. I couldn't pull my bayonet out ... had to put
my foot on his chest, and felt him squirm under my tread. Here, have a
look at this!..."
He drew out his bayonet, which was red up to the cross-bar. As he went
away he stooped down and plucked a handful of grass to clean it.
The hours passed. The enemy appeared unwilling to make another attempt
to force the passage of the Meuse.
We heard that d'Amade had made a flank attack on the opposing German
army, and had taken Marville.
D'Amade! Well done, d'Amade! But ... was it true?
At Halles, a mile and a half from Beauclair, we encamped at the foot of
some high hills. The guns, which for some time past had been silent,
again began to thunder. The enemy was bombarding the heights above us.
As billets for the night we had been given a spacious barn. But when at
dusk we went there to get some sleep we found our straw covered with
foot-soldiers, rifles, and packs.
The artillerymen began swearing:
"Hallo, what the hell's all this? No more room left?"
There was a scrimmage to let us find places.
The barn had a loft above it to which a ladder gave access, and the
floor of which was worm-eaten. We stuffed up the holes with hay.
"There we are! As usual, the artillery above, and the infantry below.
That's all right.... But mind you don't take the ladder away!"
"Take care of your feet.... O-o-oh!"
"Why couldn't you say you were in the straw?"
"Now then, up you go!"
Five or six artillerymen were on the ladder at the same time. It bent
beneath their weight. Below, a foot-soldier stood motionless, holding a
candle in his hand.
"Look out! Don't want your spurs in my face, you know!"
"Growl away, old chap! Let's get up."
"The floor's giving way!... They'll fall through."
"Go on, climb up! It's less dangerous than the shells!"
"Damn it all, move up a bit, you fellows; otherwise there won't be room
for all of us!"
"Don't go there! There's a hole.... You'll fall on the Tommies down
below!"
Downstairs the infantry were grumbling:
"Can't you keep quiet, up there, eh? We want to sleep! And the straw's
all falling in our mouths!"
"If only it would stop yours!"
"Look out, you're on my stomach!"
"Sorry. Can't see an inch in here.... Can't you raise the lantern over
there?"
* * * * *
Again came the sound of a shell bursting in the distance. I hesitated
whether to take off my spurs and leggings, although I knew quite well
that I should sleep better without them. But, if there was an alarm,
should I be able to find them in the straw? Finally, I decided to keep
them on, nor did I unstrap my revolver holster, which was chafing my
side. I tightened my chin-strap so as not to lose my képi.
_Saturday, August 29_
Réveillé came at two o'clock, together with orders to start at once.
The Germans, we heard, had crossed the Meuse. But our artillery had no
doubt registered the course of the river. I could not understand why we
had not heard the guns.
In the darkness of the early dawn the road showed up yellow between the
blue-grey fields. On the way I recognized the yew-trees of a cemetery
in which some dead were being buried the day before.
We stopped in column on the steep ascent towards Tailly, and waited for
orders. The day broke behind the hills and gradually overspread the
whole horizon.
One by one the regiments of the 7th Division climbed up from the
ravine and passed us. The men looked haggard and tired. Their eyes
were hollow, and the faces of the youngest, drawn and sallow with
privations, were furrowed with lines. The corners of their mouths
drooped. Bending forward under the weight of their packs, in the
attitude of Christ bearing the Cross, the infantry toiled up the hill
as though it were a Calvary. At every hundred yards or so they halted
and re-hoisted their burdens with a jerk of their shoulders. Some of
them were holding out their rifles at arm's length, as though it were a
balance which helped them to march. Others were complaining that they
had had nothing to eat for two days. One of the 101st, a pale, lanky,
thin-faced fellow, with feverishly bright eyes, halted close to us and
stroked the chase of the gun.
"Lord," said he to Hutin, "you might as well put a shell through my
chest! At least there'd be an end of it!"
"Aren't you ashamed to talk like that?"
The other made a vague gesture, shrugged his shoulders, and went off
dragging one leg after him.
As soon as the infantry had gone by we were ordered to take up our
position on the plain, near the edge of the wood behind which the
regiments of the line were retreating.
I heard the Major repeat the order received to the Captain: "Prevent
the enemy from setting foot on the plateau. There are no more French in
front of you!"
"So we are still covering the retreat! A vile job!" said Millon, the
firing number, a good little Parisian chap, with a face like a girl.
In our present position we ran as great a risk from the rifle and
machine-gun fire as from the shells. Not far off on the edge of the
plateau, near the brush-shaped poplar, was a dark little copse whence
at any minute bullets might come buzzing about our ears. The Germans
might get their machine-guns there without being seen, rather than risk
coming out into the open. And what might we expect then? Oh, well!...
After all, that is what we had come there for.
"If we hadn't been sold, things would have gone very differently,"
growled Tuvache, a Breton farmer, who was brave enough under fire, but
who suffered from bad _morale_.
And, still obsessed by the idea of treason, he added:
"And the proof is that they've been able to cross the Meuse without
hindrance."
Bréjard made him stop talking.
"Why, you're worse than the others, you are! We're fighting from the
North Sea right down to Belfort, aren't we? Well, then, how can you
judge by one wretched little corner? Perhaps we're letting them advance
as far as this in order to surround 'em afterwards.... Some of you
chaps always seem to know more than your Generals.... And besides, all
this time the Russians are advancing. You let things be.... We shall
have 'em some day, never fear! And then they'll pay for this!"
We awaited the appearance of the heads of the enemy's columns, which
from one moment to another might emerge from the Tailly valley.
The plateau, shining with dew, had assumed that absolutely silent
immobility one so often notices in the country in the early hours of a
sunny morning.
Four black points suddenly appeared far down the road! Was it the
enemy's advanced guard? No. We were soon able to recognize three
stragglers and a cyclist. A troop in column of march followed them out
of the valley. In this order they could not be Germans. The column,
which proved to be a battalion of the 101st, passed by, and disappeared
down the road leading to the wood. But, in the rise and fall of the
valleyed country stretching on the north-west as far as the dark masses
of distant forests, Lieutenant Hély d'Oissel had discovered through his
field-glasses large masses of men marching westwards through sunken
roads which almost hid them from our view. Were they the enemy, or were
they the French troops which were occupying the heights of the Meuse
near Stenay and which were now retiring?
We had already experienced the same terrible uncertainty at Marville.
The Captain climbed up into an apple-tree in order to see better,
and the Major also tried to recognize the mysterious troops. But
neither could distinguish anything. A mist--the dampness of the night
evaporating--was already rising from the ground and veiling the
horizon. If those were German columns, they would threaten the flank of
the retreating army. A scout was sent off at a gallop to reconnoitre.
Time passed, and the columns disappeared. At last the scout came back;
the troops were French. He had seen parties of Chasseurs flanking them.
Our feet wet with dew, we once again became motionless and awaited the
enemy.
About midday we received orders to move to the edge of the plateau,
and take up position behind a clump of trees, in order to command the
Tailly valley and the hills on the south of Stenay. And, continually,
successive regiments of infantry emerged from the forest and passed us,
falling back.
"Dashed if I can fathom it!" said Hutin.
"Nor can I!"
It was very hot, and we were thirsty, but our water-bottles were empty.
We continued to wait until dusk, but the enemy did not appear.
Night had fallen when we were sent to encamp on the other side of the
woods.
The moon was rising clear of the tree-tops. The regular clatter of
hoofs and the monotonous roll of the vehicles blended together into a
sort of weary cradle-song, and made us sleepy after a time. In order
to suffer uncomplainingly all the hardships and miseries of war, we
would have asked no more than one hour of affection, of sympathetic
tenderness, in safety, at evening-time, after the long day spent in
watching or fighting.
The road was level, and we were hardly shaken at all; no one spoke, and
most of us slept or dozed.
No sound disturbed the stillness of the warm night save that of the
column on the march. Gradually we lost ourselves in pleasing reveries
and memories of the past, forgetting present dangers and distress. On
we jogged through space and time.... Lyons at night-time ... long rows
of lamps lighting the wharves and reflected in the Rhône ... above the
river the amphitheatre of Croix-Rousse with its lights scintillating
like golden points, and above them, again, the stars.... Where did the
town end, or where did the sky begin?... And the Mayenne in the bright
days of autumn and summer, its sombre waters sparkling like black
diamonds.... The memories which rose up before me gradually blurred the
scene of illusive reflections.
And perhaps I should die in a few hours' time....
Almost as if I myself had been able to write those beautiful verses of
Du Bellay, I felt the aching nostalgia of his words:
_Quand reverrai-je, hélas! de mon petit village
Fumer la cheminée, et en quelle saison
Reverrai-je le clos de ma pauvre maison,
Qui m'est une province et beaucoup d'avantage?_