_Sunday, August 30_
This morning we marched for hours through clouds of dust, the sun
scorching the backs of our necks. The men were thirsty and continually
spat out the clayey saliva which clogged their mouths. The battery
halted in a valley on the outskirts of a village--Villers-devant-Dun, I
think it was--where the sound of the guns seemed to come from the west
and south as well as from the east and north. This was a surprise, and
at first made us uneasy. Janvier, for the hundredth time, said:
"That's it! We are surrounded!"
He was haunted by this idea. However, it was not long before we
discovered that the illusion was solely caused by an exceptionally
clear echo. In reality the fighting was going on near Dun-sur-Meuse.
We crowded round the fountain, on the surrounding wall of which the
last _Bulletin des Communes_ was pasted. But first we each drank, in
great gulps, at least a quart of fresh water. Afterwards we read the
news. All was going well! Nevertheless, it was announced that Mulhouse
had been retaken. Apparently, then, it had been lost. We exchanged
impressions:
"Well, Hutin?"
"Not bad," he answered rather dubiously, "but they don't say anything
about our little show of last week."
Bréjard, on the contrary, was filled with an optimism which nothing
could damp:
"Virton, Marville--why, all that is a mere nothing on a front as long
as this! We've had to give a little in some sectors, that's all.... But
otherwise things are going quite all right!"
"All the same, it isn't nice to find ourselves in one of the sectors
which have to give way," answered Hutin.
"All that will change. We're going to be reinforced.... They say that
De Langle is only a day's march off."
"He'll have to hurry up if he wants to find any of the 4th Infantry
left!"
That was true. The regiments of the line, especially those of the 8th
Division, had suffered terribly. Some battalions had been diminished by
two-thirds, and, since the Battle of Virton, many companies were not
more than fifty or eighty strong, and had lost all their officers. How
we wished that De Langle would arrive!
In the ever-thickening dust and overpowering heat we returned by the
same road to the positions we had occupied the day before at Tailly.
It seemed to us that we had uselessly wasted more than seven hours
marching in a large circle.
* * * * *
Another aeroplane appeared. This oppression was becoming unbearable!
We felt like a flock of frightened sparrows beneath the shadow of
the hawk. The Germans have improved and developed the aerial arm
to an enormous extent, and, unfortunately, our ·75's are unable to
hit aeroplanes, the mobility of the gun on the carriage not being
sufficient. It is necessary to dig a pit for the spade, and before this
is finished the machine is always out of range.
The aviator who had just flown over us had thrown out a star in order
to mark the situation of one of our batteries in position on the
heights commanding the river. The guns at once moved off, and took up
a fresh position elsewhere. Shortly afterwards shells began to fall on
the hill they had been occupying--enormous shells, which made the earth
quake for miles around and withered the grass with their dirty, pungent
smoke.
"I expect those are the famous 22 cm. shells" said the Captain.
We had nothing to do. Towards Stenay the horizon was deserted and
motionless. For several hours heavy shells continued to fall in threes,
making black holes in the green meadows in which not a soul remained.
We were obviously within range of the guns from which they were fired,
and we had no guarantee that we should not be hit if the enemy lifted
his fire a little.
* * * * *
I was struck by the marvellous faculty of adaptability which forms the
basis of human nature. One becomes accustomed to danger just as one
becomes accustomed to the most cruel privations, or to the uncertainty
of the morrow.
Before the war I used to wonder how it was that old men nearing the
extreme limits of existence could continue to live undisturbed in
the imminent shadow of death. But now I understand. For us the risk
of death has become an element of daily life with which one coolly
reckons, which no longer astonishes, and terrifies less. Besides, a
soldier's everyday life is a school for courage. Familiarity with the
same dangers eventually leaves the human animal unmoved. One's nerves
no longer quiver; the conscious and constant effort to keep control
over oneself is successful in the end. Therein lies the secret of
all military courage. Men are not born brave; they become brave. The
instinct to be conquered is more or less resistant--that is all.
Moreover, one must live, on the field of battle just as elsewhere; it
is necessary to become accustomed to this new existence, no matter
how perilous or harsh it may be. And what renders it difficult--more,
intolerable--is fear, the fear that throttles and paralyses. It has to
be conquered, and, finally, one does conquer it.
Apart from the necessity of living as well as can possibly be managed,
the greatest disciplinary factors in the life of a soldier under fire
are a sense of duty and a respect for other people's opinion--in a
word, honour. This is not a discovery; it is merely a personal opinion.
It must also be confessed that this training in courage is far more
easy for us than for the foot-soldiers--the least fortunate of all the
fighting forces. A gunner under fire is literally unable to run away.
The whole battery would see him--his dishonour would be palpable,
irretrievable. Now fear, in its more acute manifestations, seems to me
necessarily to imply annihilation of will-power. A man incapable of
controlling himself sufficiently to face danger bravely will, in the
majority of cases, be equally incapable of facing the intolerable shame
of public flight. Flight of this kind would necessitate an exercise
of will--almost a kind of bravery. The infantryman is often isolated
when under fire; when the shrapnel bullets are humming above him a
man lying down at a distance of four yards from another is virtually
alone. Concern for his own safety monopolizes all his faculties and
he may succumb to the temptation to stop and lie low, or to sneak off
to one side and then take to flight. When he rejoins his company in
the evening he may declare that he lost his squad or that he fought
elsewhere. Perhaps he is not believed, and possibly he was aware
beforehand that no one would believe him; but at least he will have
escaped the intolerable ignominy of running away before the eyes of all.
To remain under fire is by no means easy, but to keep cool in the
heat of a modern engagement is harder still. At first fear makes one
perspire and tremble. It is irresistible. Death seems inevitable. The
danger is unknown, and is magnified a thousandfold by the imagination.
One makes no attempt to analyse it. The bursting of the shells and
their acrid smoke together with the shrapnel are the main causes of
the first feeling of terror. And yet neither the flashes of melinite,
nor the noise of the explosions, nor the smoke are the real danger; but
they accompany the danger, and at first one is attacked by all three at
once. Soon, however, one learns to discriminate. The smoke is harmless,
and the whistling of the shells indicates in what direction they are
coming. One no longer crouches down unnecessarily, and only seeks
shelter knowingly, when it is imperative to do so. Danger no longer
masters but is mastered. That is the great difference.
In order to form an exact idea of the effects of a shell, I went with
Hutin to examine a field full of Jerusalem artichokes in which a heavy
projectile had just fallen. In the centre of the field we found a
funnel-shaped hole about ten yards in diameter, so regular in shape
that it could only have been made by a howitzer shell. This kind of
projectile strikes the ground almost perpendicularly, and buries itself
deep in the soft soil, throwing up enormous quantities of earth as
it bursts. Many of the steel splinters are lost in the depths of the
ground, and the murderous cone of dispersion is thereby proportionately
reduced.
The truth of this can be easily confirmed. In the present case the
farther we went from the hole the higher was the point at which the
artichokes had been shorn off, and at a dozen paces or so from the edge
of the crater the shrapnel had only reached the heads of the highest
stems. It follows therefore that a man lying very near the point of
impact would probably not have been hit. Next came a circular zone
which was entirely unscathed, but a little farther on the falling
bullets and splinters had mown off leaves and stems, and a man lying
down here would have risked quite as much as if he had remained
standing.
When thus coldly examined a shell loses much of its moral effect.
The actual organization of the artillery also stimulates a gunner's
courage. The foot-soldier, cavalryman, and sapper are units in
themselves, whereas for us the only unit is the gun. The seven men
serving it are the closely connected, interdependent organs of a thing
which becomes alive--the gun in action.
In consequence of the links existing between the seven men among
themselves and between each of them and the gun, any faint-heartedness
is rendered more obvious, its consequences much greater, and the
shame it bears in its wake more crushing. Moreover, in this complete
solidarity the effluvia which create psychological contagion are
easily developed; one or two gunners who stick resolutely and calmly to
their posts are often able to inspire the whole detachment with courage.
* * * * *
To-day was a day of undisturbed quiet. Over towards Tailly and Stenay
nothing revealed the presence of the enemy.
When evening approached we were again sent off to encamp on the other
side of the woods. There was a glorious summer sunset, and through the
dark depths of the trees the road opened up a mysterious avenue at the
end of which glowed a western sky more varied in hues than a rainbow.
All sound of battle had ceased. Gradually the sky darkened and night
fell. As yesterday, the artillery rolled monotonously on through the
shadowy woods.
One by one the stars were veiled by a rising mist, and the sky became
opalescent with a nocturnal luminosity that flooded the stretches of
the forest, which, from the crests of the hills, could be seen rising
and falling as far as the eye could reach. But underneath the trees
the darkness was intense, and the road would have seemed a trench dug
deep in the earth itself but for an occasional infantry bivouac, the
embers of which glowed faintly through the brushwood, and but for a
damp scent of mint and other herbs which rose from the dark undergrowth
mingled with a certain sensuous smell of animality. We were surrounded
by a delicious freshness with which we filled our lungs and which made
us shiver slightly.
Millon, who was sitting next to me on the limber-box, told me the story
of his life. It was a sad and simple history. Only twenty, with his
girl's face and roguish yet infantile eyes, he had nevertheless long
been the bread-winner of a family, and now his mother--"my old mother"
as he said in a tone full of deep affection--had been left alone in
Paris with another child, still very young, whose delicate constitution
and highly strung nerves were the cause of continual alarm. He told me
of past misfortunes still fresh in his memory, of the present anxiety
of his people in Paris, and of material worries.
"Ah," he sighed, "if only my old mother could see me to-night, safe and
sound on the limber!"
* * * * *
In the field where the battery halted we had almost to fight in order
to get a few armfuls of straw. The gunners of a battery which had
arrived before us had stretched themselves out haphazard on a fallen
hayrick. They had twenty times more straw than they needed, but when we
tried to pull a little from under them the awakening of the overwrought
sleepers was terrifying. They shouted, cursed, and threatened. Finally
they fell asleep again, growling and grunting under their breath like a
pack of surly dogs.
_Monday, August 31_
The guns awoke us early, and we prepared to return to meet the enemy.
About seven o'clock we found ourselves back in Tailly, where we learnt
that the day before the enemy had been pushed back as far as the Meuse,
and that Beauclair and Halles were now entirely in French hands.
Standing in column of route in the village we awaited orders. The
German artillery began to bombard the neighbouring hills.
In the market-place was a hay-cart in which were lying three wounded
Uhlans. An officer, his hands behind his back, was walking up and down
in front of the cart. Some women and children were standing round them
in a group, silently contemplating the Germans. One or two of the
gunners joined them out of curiosity. The Uhlans looked at them with
sad and troubled blue eyes.
"They aren't such an ugly set as I should have thought," declared
Tuvache.
"No?" said Millon. "I suppose you thought they had got a third eye in
the middle of their foreheads, like the inhabitants of the moon!"
Tuvache shrugged his shoulders:
"No, only I had an idea they were uglier. They don't look as bad as all
that!"
* * * * *
There was severe fighting this morning in the Beauclair Gap, through
which the enemy tried to force a passage. The incessant din of the
battle sounded from afar like the rising tide beating on a rocky shore.
"Forward! Trot!"
After having proceeded some three hundred yards down the Beauclair road
we again halted. Soldiers were coming back from the lines, some of them
wounded in the hands or arms, and others in the shoulders. All of them
were bandaged. They stopped to ask us for water or cigarettes, and we
exchanged a few words with them:
"Are we advancing?"
"No, but we are holding our ground. It is their machine-guns that are
the trouble. They're just awful!"
"Are you in pain?"
"No!"
"What does it feel like, a bullet?"
"It burns a bit, but it doesn't hurt much."
Some others, wounded in the leg, began to pass by. These were evidently
in great pain. They were perspiring with fatigue and heat, for the sun,
now in the zenith, was beating straight down in the hollow through
which the road wound. Many were helping themselves along by the aid of
sticks cut from the hedges.
An officer's horse went by, led by a stretcher-bearer and bearing a
foot-soldier whose thigh had been broken by a shell. The wounded man
was clutching the animal's mane with both hands, his right leg hanging
helpless. Just above the knee was a rent in his breeches through which
the blood flowed freely, running down to his boot and dripping thence
to the ground. His eyes were closed and his bloodshot eyelids, pale
lips, and the red beard covering his long, bony jaws, made him look
like one crucified.
"Can you manage to hold out?" asked the stretcher-bearer.
"Are we still far from the ambulance?"
"No, not far now. If you feel faint let me know and I'll put you down.
Does it hurt much?"
"Yes, and it's bleeding.... Look at the blood on the road!"
"That's nothing. Hold on to the mane!"
An ambulance passed full of seriously wounded. Instead of being laid
down they had been propped up against the sides of the carriage so that
it should hold more. Under the green tilt I caught a glimpse of one
man with a face the colour of white marble whose head was rolling on
his shoulders, and of another who was streaming with blood. A huge and
swarthy corporal was sharing the box with the driver. His gun between
his knees and one hand on his hip, he was sitting bolt upright with a
grave and determined air, his head enveloped in a turban of crimson
lint. Blood was trickling into his right eye, which, in its red-rimmed
orbit, looked strangely white, and from thence ran down his drooping
moustache, matting the hairs of his beard, and finally dropping on to
his broad chest in black splashes and streams.
One of the wounded who had been waiting for a long time, sitting by the
roadside, caught hold of a carriage which dragged him on.
"Please stop and let me get up!"
"We've no more room, I'm afraid!"
"I can't walk."
"But as you see we're full up!"
"Can't I get on the step?"
"Yes, if you can manage it!"
But the vehicle still went on. A gunner helped the man on to the step.
At the end of a sunken road, in the shade of some tall poplars with
dense foliage which the sun only penetrated in places, two Medical
Corps officers had improvised a sort of operating-table on trestles.
Some wounded laid out on the slope were waiting their turn to be
bandaged. Among the stones a thin, dark-coloured stream of water
was flowing, partially washing away the pools of blood and bits of
red-stained cotton-wool and linen. The air was pervaded by a stale
odour like that of a chemist's shop, mingled with the damp smell of
running water.
A Captain was brought up in a stretcher, on both sides of which his
arms hung limply down. A hospital orderly cut off the sleeves of
his tunic, and he was then placed on the operating-table. He was an
ugly sight as he lay there with his blood-stained bare arms and his
sleeveless blue tunic encircling his body. While his wounds were being
dressed he gave long-drawn sighs of pain.
"Right about wheel!"
We set off up a steep incline across the fields to take up position
on the heights overlooking the Beauclair Gap and the road we had
just left. The battery was backed by a spur of the hills which hid
Tailly from view except for the spire of the steeple, surmounted by a
weather-cock, which seemed to rise out of the earth behind us.
In this position we were visible to the enemy through the V-shaped gap
between the hills commanding the Meuse. We could see the woods and
fields beyond Beauclair occupied by the Germans, and which the French
batteries ahead of us were covering with shrapnel shell from behind the
sheltering ridges. In the fields in the distance the German infantry
debouching from the woods looked like an army of black insects on a
bright green lawn. We immediately opened fire, and under our shells the
enemy hastily regained the woods, which we then began to bombard.
The action seemed to be going favourably for us this morning. Some
French batteries had advanced by the Beauclair road and were now
engaged in the gap. On the hills surrounding us in a semicircle other
batteries which, like ours, had taken up positions on the counterslope,
and others still farther off, near the hills directly above the Meuse,
thundered incessantly, the position of the invisible guns being
revealed by clouds of dust and flashes of fire showing up against the
greenery. The firing of these batteries was so violent that little by
little the air became cloudy. An acrid atmosphere of smoke and dust
invaded the valley, in which the numberless echoes multiplied the roar
of the guns as the sound-waves met and intermingled. We were surrounded
by a loud and continual humming and buzzing which deafened us and
almost paralysed our other senses.
"Cease firing!"
The detachments became motionless round the guns. It was already midday.
Suddenly the enemy began to bombard Tailly and the pine-woods
commanding our position. Some limbers which since the early morning
had been waiting on the outskirts of the woods moved off hurriedly. A
section of infantry emerged from the smoke of a high-explosive shell.
"Take cover!" ordered Captain de Brisoult.
The fire of the French artillery gradually slackened. A volley of
shrapnel shells burst over the valley where our teams were waiting for
us, and a fuse sang loud and long through the air. Nobody seemed to be
wounded. The limbers standing motionless in the sunshine made a black
square on the grass.
The enemy appeared to have registered the position of a battery
installed on the other side of the pine-woods, and, under a perfect
hail of howitzer shells, the guns were brought back one by one through
the woods.
Hutin, who had taken shelter behind the shield, suddenly stood up in
order to see. He crossed his arms.
"Yes, that's it!" he growled.
"What is it? But take cover!"
"That's it! Retreat! Oh, my God!"
I also stood up. Sure enough, sections of infantry were crossing the
ridges and falling back.
"Take cover, you idiots!" yelled Bréjard.
A shell swooped down. The splinters whistled through the air and the
displaced earth pattered round us on the dry field. I had stooped down
instinctively, but Hutin had not moved, being too much occupied in
observing the retreat of the infantry, which was becoming more general
every moment.
"There you are," said he, "now it will be our turn.... I bet ... we
shall retire too.... Here's an A.D.C. coming up.... Oh, if we're always
going to retire like that we may as well take a train!"
As he had suspected, the A.D.C. brought orders for us to retreat. The
teams trotted up the slope to join the guns. The moment was critical,
and, as ill-luck would have it, the first gun, in position on the
counterslope, began to roll downhill as soon as the spade, which had
been solidly jammed in the ground by the recoil, had been pulled out.
It took eight of us to drag the gun back, and at every instant we
asked ourselves whether we should succeed in assembling the train. The
drivers began to lose their nerve, and backed the horses at random,
this way and that.
"Now then, all together.... Whoa, there, whoa!... Steady!... Whoa back!"
A final pull, and we had limbered up.
"Ready!"
The team started.
Beyond the village of Tailly the hill we had to ascend in order to
reach the plateau was very steep, especially where the road skirted the
stone wall of the cemetery.
Some foot-soldiers resting on both sides of the way had taken off
their packs and piled arms. Sitting in the grass they watched us go by
with that absent and stupefied look peculiar to men just returned from
the firing-line. Suddenly a shrapnel shell, the whistling approach of
which had been drowned by the rumble of the vehicles, burst above the
cemetery. Some of the soldiers promptly dived into the ditch, and
others fell on their knees close to the wall, shielding their heads
with their packs. Two men, who had remained standing, stupidly hid
their heads in the thick hedge. On the limbers we bent our shoulders
and the drivers whipped up the horses.
At one point the road was visible to the enemy, but when we discovered
this it was already too late to stop.
A volley of shells.... Over! We had escaped by a hair's breadth.
We formed up ready for action in the same position as the day before,
overlooking the neighbouring ridges, where the tall poplars served
as aiming-points. The third battery, which had been with us on the
Saturday, had opened up some fine trenches here. But the limbers had
hardly had time to range up on the edge of a copse when high-explosive
shell began to fall round us.
How had the enemy been able to discover our new position? We were
carefully covered, and were invisible to him on all sides, nor had we
yet fired a single shot, so that our presence had not been betrayed by
smoke or flashes. No aeroplane was in the sky. Then how had we been
seen?...
We sheltered in the trenches.
"It isn't at us that they're firing," said Hutin.
"Then what are they firing at?"
"I think we've got to thank those fat old dragoons they saw passing on
the road for this! They're aiming at the road."
But the dragoons got farther and farther away, and the enemy continued
to fire in our direction. There was no doubt that he was aware that
there was a battery in position here. Had we been betrayed by signal
by a spy hiding somewhere behind us? I carefully scrutinized the
surrounding country, but could see nothing.
Some shells fell a few yards off the guns, smothering the battery in
smoke and dust, and shaking us at the bottom of our trenches. I heard
the Major shout:
"Take cover on the right!"
While the Captain and Lieutenant remained at their observation-posts
the gunners hurriedly moved out of the line of fire of the howitzers.
But as we ran along the road across the fields in view of the enemy a
Staff passed by. I was seized with sudden anger. The horsemen would
get us killed! The party consisted of about twenty officers in whose
centre rode a General, a little, thin man with grey hair. A gaily
coloured troop of blue and red Chasseurs followed them. The scream of
approaching shells at once made itself heard, and thrilled long in the
air. The Chasseurs and officers saluted, but the little General made no
movement. This time the enemy had fired too low.
"To your guns!"
The Captain thought he had discovered the battery bombarding us:
"Layers!" he called.
Feverishly, beneath the shells, we prepared for action.
"Echelon at fifteen. First gun, a hundred and fifty; second gun, a
hundred and sixty-five.... Third...."
The fuse-setters repeated the corrector and the range.
"Sixteen.... Three thousand five hundred...."
"In threes, traverse! By the right, each battery!..."
"First gun ... fire!... Second...."
The rapid movements of serving the guns electrified us. In the
deafening din made by the battery in full action orders had to be
shouted. We no longer heard the enemy's guns; they were silenced by the
roar of our own. We forgot the shrapnel, which nevertheless continued
to fall.
Suddenly the howitzer fire slackened, and then ceased.
"They're getting hit!" said Hutin, bending over the sighting gear.
"Fire!" answered the No. 1.
"Ready!"
"Fire!... Fire!..."
On the plateau behind us companies were retiring in extended order.
* * * * *
Night fell. We also received orders to retire. It seemed as if the
earth and the woods were absorbing such light as was left. The
movements of the infantry in the distance were lost in the undulations
of the ground. The men seemed to become incorporated with the fields,
and dissolved, disappearing from view.
Near a dark shell-crater lay a red heap. A soldier was lying stretched
on his back, one of his legs blown off by a shell, leaving a torn,
bluish-red stump through which he had emptied his veins. The lucerne
leaves and earth under him were glued together with blood. The man's
head had been thrown back in his agony, and the Adam's apple jutted out
amid the distended muscles of his neck. His glassy eyes were wide open,
and his lips dead white. He still grasped his broken rifle, and his
képi had rolled underneath his shoulder.
_Tuesday, September 1_
A long night march. It was past one o'clock in the morning when at last
we halted, and we still had to make our soup, water the horses and give
them their oats. This done, we fell into a deep sleep.
About four o'clock the sergeant on duty came and shook us one by one.
He was greeted with growls.
"Alarm!"
"What misery! Can't we even sleep for an hour!"
It was veritable torture to keep our eyes open. Our limbs were stiff,
our heads heavy, and our loins ached. The weather was foggy and cold.
We clambered on to the limbers and started off. Numbness at once seized
our feet and then our knees, mounting rapidly. Our heads rolled from
side to side, and we gradually lost consciousness. Some of the drivers
were sleeping on their horses. They slipped more and more to one side
and, just as they were about to fall, were awakened by instinct and
sat straight up in the saddle again. But a moment after one could see
them through the gloom, once more subsiding and gradually slipping,
slipping....
Where were we going to? Perhaps the army had been obliged to fall back
below Verdun, because the enemy, who had undoubtedly got a footing on
the hills on the left bank of the Meuse, near Stenay, was threatening
their left flank. But we knew nothing for certain, and were too tired
to think, too tired even to fear! Each man's one desire was to sleep a
whole day through.
At daybreak we halted near Landres in a sloping field full of
plum-trees. Unless counter-orders arrived we were to stay there and
rest for twenty-four hours.
We lit fires and started shaking the plum-trees.
Suddenly a cry broke out:
"The postmaster!"
It was answered by a hoarse--almost savage--shout, and the men
literally mobbed the N.C.O. who was carrying a sackful of letters.
News at last! Some of the letters had been on the way for a fortnight;
ours, it seemed, were not being delivered. What anxiety the people at
home were in!
After we had read our correspondence Hutin called me:
"Are you coming to wash your linen?"
"Yes."
We hung up our tunics on the low-hanging branches of the plum-trees,
and, our shirts under our arms and with bodies bare save for our
braces, walked down to the river.
We spent a quiet morning eating, smoking, and writing. At midday the
short, sharp reports of the ·75's began to sound on the next range of
hills. At one o'clock we received orders to advance and support a group
of artillery engaged on the heights north of Landres.
Hardly had we taken up position when an aeroplane passed overhead.
A German machine, evidently; so far we had seen no others. Almost
immediately afterwards shells began to fall around us, but again, as
if by a miracle, the battery remained unscathed in the middle of the
bursting shrapnel and the smoke of melinite. But that would not always
happen!
* * * * *
Ah! if only I escape the hecatomb, how I shall appreciate life! I never
imagined that there could be an intense joy in breathing, in opening
one's eyes to the light, in letting it penetrate one, in being hot, in
being cold--even in suffering. I thought that only certain hours had
any value, and heedlessly let the others slip past. If I see the end
of this war, I shall know how to suck from each moment its full meed
of pleasure, and feel each second of life as it passes by, like some
deliciously cool water trickling between one's fingers. I almost fancy
that I shall continually pause, interrupting a phrase or suspending a
gesture, and tell myself again and again: "I live! I live!"
And to think that in a few moments, perhaps, I shall only be a
shapeless mass of bleeding flesh at the bottom of a shell-hole!
* * * * *
There was nothing to do under the shrapnel-fire. The Captain surveyed
the plain with exasperating calmness.
Presently the enemy increased his range, and the shells passed overhead
and burst in the valley, on a road where we could see first lines of
wagons making off at a gallop in thick clouds of dust.
Orders arrived.... We were to return to Landres.
A deep hole had been made in the road by a shell, and near-by lay the
hashed remains of a horse--a limbless, decapitated body. The head,
lying on the edge of the ditch, and apparently intact, seemed to be
looking at this body with a surprised expression in its big, still
unclouded eyes. A shred of flesh and chestnut skin had been blown to
the top of a neighbouring slope. The shell crater, in which lay the
intestines surrounded with purple blood rapidly blackening in the sun,
exhaled a smell of decay and excrement--a sickening odour which nearly
made us ill.
It seemed that the senior N.C.O. who had been riding this horse had
escaped without a scratch.
A regiment of Chasseurs was slowly descending the high hill overlooking
Landres on the north-east.
The setting sun no longer lit up the depths of the valley where we had
parked our guns, but, by contrast, illuminated the more magnificently
the steep incline down which the red and blue squadrons were
descending in good order, their drawn sabres glinting in the gorgeous
orange-coloured light. The Chasseurs passed close by us, and then rode
up the opposite side of the valley towards the sun, whose red disk
still peeped over the hilltop. As they crossed the summit the horsemen
were silhouetted for a moment against the horizon.
I was tired out, and in spite of my efforts began to fall asleep. I
had the impression that in order to keep awake I should have to adopt
the attitude of the sentries of old--one finger raised, commanding
silence.
_Wednesday, September 2_
Last night the horses were not unharnessed, and we ourselves had hardly
four hours' sleep on the bare ground, where it is so difficult to get
proper rest.
It was still dark when we set off again, down a road flanked with dense
woods. The night was dark and filled with weird, grey shadows cast by
the first, almost imperceptible rays of the pallid dawn. I was drowsing
on the shaking ammunition wagon, to which one becomes accustomed after
a time, when I was awakened by the crackling of broken wood and the
heavy thud of a fall. I looked about me, but saw nothing. Then, through
the rumbling of the wheels, I fancied I heard a plaintive cry mingled
with sobs. Yes.... I now distinctly heard the clear voice of a little
girl, calling:
"Mother! Mother!"
On a heap of stones by the roadside I was now able to see the wheel
of an overturned cart, a human form on the ground, and round it the
shadows of kneeling children.
Some more sobs; then the little voice called again:
"Mother! Mother!... Oh, mother, do answer!"
The column continued on its way. A convulsive, heartrending wail,
rising from a throat choked by anguish, seemed to echo in my breast:
"Mother!"
We should have liked to stop, to make inquiries, and help if we could.
There were several children. Had their mother fainted? Perhaps. Was
there a man with them? Suppose there was not!... I was sorely tempted
to jump down from the ammunition wagon and run back, but I knew that I
should not be able to rejoin the battery. A horseman dismounted, saying:
"I'll stop the medical officer when he comes up.... We'll catch you up
at the trot!"
We were carried on by the slow-marching column. So great was the horror
of that which had happened on the side of the road that I was kept
awake despite my weariness, and saw the daylight slowly creeping in. I
think I shall always hear that little voice crying "Mother!" and the
sound of the children's sobs in the grey dawn.
On reaching the main road we had to halt and let the infantry of the
7th Division pass. The Army Corps was retiring. Some one said that we
were going to entrain.
To entrain! Why? To go where? It appeared that we had been relieved on
the Meuse by fresh troops, and that the 4th Corps was to be re-formed.
We were going to rest, then--to sleep! But we had heard that so often
during the last eight days! Could we believe it? And yet it must be
true, for this part of the country would surely not be left defenceless.
Down the road, wave upon wave, with the swishing noise of open sluices,
battalion succeeded battalion. The soldiers seemed fairly cheerful;
there were even some who sang.
The 101st Infantry swung by.
"Is the 102nd behind you?" asked Tuvache.
"Yes."
"I ask because my brother is in it."
The long column still filed by. At last, several minutes later, the
brother arrived.
"Hi! Tuvache!"
One of the men turned round:
"Hallo! It's you!"
The two brothers simply shook hands, but their joy at meeting again
could be read in their eyes.
"So you're all right?"
"Yes, and you?"
"As you see ... quite all right."
"I'm glad...."
"Had any news from home?"
"Yes, yesterday. They're all well, and they told me to give you their
love if I saw you, and to give you half the postal order they sent me."
The soldier searched in his pocket.
"The only thing is that I haven't been able to get hold of the
postmaster to cash it. But, if you want it...."
"No, you keep it! I've got more money than I want."
"All right, then. Uncle and auntie both sent their love.... Hallo! I
mustn't lose my company.... I believe we're going to rest a bit...."
"They say so. In that case we shall see each other again soon.... So
long!"
Their hands met. The infantryman made a step forward.
"I'll tell them I've seen you when I write."
"Yes, so will I!"
The man ran on, shouldering his way through the ranks. Occasionally we
saw his hand raised above the heads, waving good-bye.
Following behind the regiments of the 7th Division we began a march
of exasperating slowness. It was very hot, and the dust raised by the
infantry smothered and stifled us. At intervals, by the roadside, dead
horses were lying.
On reaching Châtel we turned to the left down a clear road and at
last were able to trot. Across the fields and valleys, as far as
the horizon, a long line of grey dust clouding the trees marked the
Varennes road which the division was following.
It was noon, and it seemed to me that we must have journeyed ten or
twelve miles since we started at dawn. But suddenly we heard the guns
again--not very far away, towards the north-east.
Near the village of Apremont on the outskirts of the forest of Argonne,
in which the head of our column had already penetrated, three shells
burst.
Then the enemy was following us! Was there no one to stop him? Had we
not been replaced? Did it mean defeat ... invasion ... France laid open?
Abreast of our column lines of carts were lumbering along the road. The
whole population was flying from the enemy--old women, girls, mothers
with babies at the breast, and swarms of children. These unhappy little
ones were saving that which was most precious to them--their existence;
the women and girls--their honour, a little money, often a household
pet, such as a dog, a cat, or a bird in a cage....
The poorest were on foot. A family of four were making their way
through the woods led by an old man with careworn features. Over his
shoulder he carried a stick, on the end of which was tied a large
wicker basket covered with a white cloth. At his side dangled a
game-bag crammed to its utmost capacity. He was followed up the narrow
forest path by a young woman leading a fat red cow with one hand,
while with the other she held a shaggy-haired dog in leash by means
of a handkerchief fastened to its collar. A little girl was clinging
to her skirts, and letting herself be dragged along. Behind them
came an old woman, bent almost double by age and by the weight of a
grape-gatherer's cask full of linen which she was carrying on her back.
She hobbled along, leaning heavily on a stick.
* * * * *
Where were all these poor people going to? Many had not the vaguest
notion, and confessed as much. They were going straight ahead, into
those parts of France which the Germans would not reach.
"What is the use of staying?" asked an old man querulously. "They'll
burn everything just the same, and I'd rather find myself ruined
and roofless here, but free, rather than back yonder where I should
be in the hands of the Germans. Besides, I've my daughter-in-law to
think of--the wife of my son, who is a gunner like you. She's with
child--seven months gone--and when she heard the guns begin yesterday
the pains came on. At first I thought she was going to be confined;
but it passed off. But I thought we had better leave at once. These
beasts of Germans, who violate and disembowel women ... who knows
whether they would have respected her condition?... Last night we found
a road-mender's hut to sleep in, but I don't know what we shall do
to-night.... And I'm afraid she'll get ill. Just now she's sleeping in
the cart. I must take care that she doesn't get ill! My son left her in
my charge."
Pointing in the direction our column was following, I asked the old man:
"Where does this road lead to?"
"Where?" he replied, a wrathful look suddenly coming into his eyes.
"Why, Châlons and Paris ... the whole of France!"
And, shaking his head, he added bitterly:
"Oh, my God!"
"You see they're half again as many as we are."
He did not answer immediately, but, after a moment or two, he said:
"I saw '70.... It's just the same as in '70."
* * * * *
The battery rolled on till we had crossed the whole of Argonne. At
Servon, a village on the fringe of the woods, where the infantry were
making a long halt, we stopped for a few minutes. It was two o'clock.
We led the horses down to the drinking-place, near a mill on the bank
of the green Aisne. The animals waded breast-high into the stream,
where they stood puffing and snorting, splashing the men, who, with
rolled-up trousers, were also paddling with enjoyment in the cool water.
Finally, near Ville-sur-Tourbe, we parked our guns. Presumably we were
to entrain the same evening at the station close by.
The forebodings which had seized me in the morning when I saw the enemy
advancing behind us had in no way diminished. Were we going to entrain
and leave the road open to the invaders? Would they not surround the
troops operating in Belgium and those advancing in Alsace?... But were
the French still in Belgium and in Alsace? How we wished that we could
know the truth, whatever it might be!
* * * * *
To-night the men were surly and despondent, and one and all were
anxious to escape fatigue duty. Déprez found himself confronted on all
sides by the same sulkiness and apathy.
"Tuvache, go and fetch water!"
"But I went yesterday!... It's more than half a mile!... Why can't some
of the others have a turn?..."
"Well, Laillé, did you go yesterday?"
"No."
"Right then, off you go!"
"Oh, but...."
"I'm not asking for your opinion, you know...."
"Some of 'em never go...."
"I tell you once again to go and fetch water!"
"Well, at any rate, you won't order me to do anything else afterwards?"
"No."
Grasping a skin water-bag in each hand Laillé slouched off, dragging
his steps and hunching his shoulders.
* * * * *
We were informed that we were not going to entrain at Ville-sur-Tourbe.
We had to swallow our soup boiling hot and eat the meat raw, after
which we set off again in the crimson-tinted twilight. Refugees were
camping in the fields on either side of the road, where they had
prepared to pass the night stretched out on straw strewn beneath their
carts, which would afford but poor protection from the morning chill
and dew. Infants in long clothes were sleeping in cradles.
We were marching southwards. The moon had risen, and straight ahead
shone a solitary, magnificent star. Presently we reached a dark and
deserted town--Sainte-Menehould--where it was too dark to see the
names of the streets. The road was in lamentable repair, and the
horses stumbled and the guns jolted. Perspectives of abandoned streets
were prolonged by the moon.... Finally we saw ahead the red lamp of a
railway station, where, for a moment, I thought we should entrain. But
we did not even halt.
Under the wan and yellow moonlight, which magnified the distances, the
country once again spread itself out in long valleys, where no troops
were moving and where no sentinel could be seen.
_Thursday, September 3_
Towards midnight we halted, and almost immediately afterwards orders
arrived. Our original instructions had been to move on at daybreak, but
the orders just to hand were to the effect that we should remain here.
So we were able to sleep until past nine o'clock.
* * * * *
A never-ending stream of refugees was now flowing down the dusty road.
* * * * *
We again heard a rumour that we had been replaced on the Meuse by the
6th Army Corps; and that we were going into Haute-Alsace under the
command of General d'Amade. This name, which was very popular, elicited
general enthusiasm.
"Now it will be different!"
I questioned a Chasseur, one of General Boëlle's orderlies, but either
the man knew nothing, or he would not tell what he knew.
* * * * *
The carts of the refugees had to be lined up on one side of the road
in order to make way for the infantry of the 2nd Army Corps arriving
from Clermont-en-Argonne and Sainte-Menehould. These troops seemed to
have suffered less severely than the regiments of the 4th Corps, but
they had no more notion as to their destination than we. They also
spoke of d'Amade, of successes in the north, and of naval victories.
They appeared to be quite unaware that the Germans were advancing
behind us. But were they really advancing? Was it not merely a fresh
allotment of French troops? How we wished that it were!
_Friday, September 4_
It was still night when we broke up the camp. After a whole day solely
spent in eating and sleeping, we should have felt much refreshed had
we not been tortured with diarrhoea. The Medical Officer had no more
bismuth or paregoric elixir left, and we had no choice but to chew
blackthorn bark.
The horses were even more exhausted than the men. Many had been
slightly injured in the engagements on Monday and Tuesday, and their
wounds were suppurating. No one seemed to trouble about them, and that
was not the worst, for some of them had to suffer the stupid remedies
applied by the ignorant drivers. I saw one man urinate on his horse's
pastern, which had been cut by a shell splinter. Nearly all the animals
were lame as the result of kicks received at night-time, when the
worn-out stable-pickets fall asleep. Seldom taken out of the traces
and hardly ever unharnessed, the straps, cruppers, and especially the
crupper-loops had made large sores on them which were covered all day
long with flies. And, besides all this, the poor beasts, like the men,
were weakened by incessant diarrhoea.
All the morning we marched on, through Givry-en-Argonne, Sommeilles,
Nettancourt, and Brabant, the milestones being at first marked "Meuse"
and then "Marne." The dust half veiled the austere, regular hills of
the beautiful country and the magnificent reaches of the forest of
Argonne sloping away to the east.
About noon we reached Revigny-aux-Vaux, a pretty little white-walled
town surrounded by fields and pasture-lands, where we parked our guns
on the bank of the Ornain, close to the station. As we were leading the
horses down to the river a man dressed like an artisan, who was sitting
by the side of the road, accosted me:
"Where are you gunners from?"
"From the Hauts-de-Meuse, over by Dun and Stenay. We've been replaced
there by fresh troops."
"Replaced?"
"Yes--they say by the 6th Army Corps."
"Pooh, that's all rot!... You've just turned tail!... Yes ... simply
that!... Do you know where the Prussians are?" he added, getting up.
I felt chilled by a sudden fear. Misery was plainly written on the
fellow's bony, emaciated face. When sitting he had not seemed nearly so
tall or thin.
He stretched out a long arm, and with a shaking hand pointed to the
north-west.
"They're just outside Châlons, the Prussians!"