"Cut off my thumb!"
"Yes, unless you want to keep it on like that. Here, wait a moment...."
A Colonial infantryman had just been brought in, the blood gushing from
a large wound in his shoulder. The medical officer knelt down beside
him and feverishly felt about with his fingers among the torn shreds of
flesh, trying to pinch the artery.
"Cut off my thumb!..." echoed in my ears.
I quickly made up my mind. Seizing a compress and a strip of rolled
lint from the table I managed with the aid of my left hand and teeth
to bandage my wound in a rough-and-ready fashion, and without being
observed by the officers, who were intent upon the severed artery, I
slipped out of the hospital.
I knew that I should find the other divisional hospitals at
Canny-sur-Matz, about a mile and a half from Fresnières.
I came upon a café still open in spite of the shells, and bought a
flask of brandy. I placed my revolver holster on my left side, within
reach of my sound hand, for night was coming on, and often, under cover
of the darkness, patrols of German cavalry managed to slip between the
network of French outposts and supports.
The Canny road made a wide detour, so I decided to strike across
country. The steeple of the village church, standing out sharply
against the crimson sky, would serve as a guide.
My hand continued to bleed. I kept up my strength with frequent pulls
at my brandy-flask and felt confident that I should be able to reach
the next hospital.
On a sloping field, near a square-shaped hayrick, some infantry lay
stretched out, their red breeches making bright patches in the shadowy
grass. A passing puff of wind bore with it a disquieting smell. The
arm of one of the prostrate soldiers on the top of the knoll stretched
straight up in the air, motionless against the clearness of the western
sky-line.
Dead men!
I was about to go on my way, when in the shadow of the hayrick I saw
a human figure crouching over one of the bodies. The man had not seen
me.... He turned the corpse over and began to search it. I at once
cocked my revolver, and carefully, without trembling, aimed at the
looter. I was about to pull the trigger when a sudden fear stopped me.
I could see his movements quite clearly, but his face, turned sideways
against the dark background of the hayrick, was not discernible. The
thought that he might be a gendarme identifying the dead made me lower
my weapon.
"What are you doing there?" I shouted.
The man jumped as though stung by a whip-lash, and stood up, his
features sharply defined against the clear sky. I saw that he was
wearing a flat cap with a broad peak.
"Mind your own business and I'll mind mine!" he retorted. With that he
made off, running in zigzags under the menace of my revolver, like an
animal trying to cover its tracks.
I fired ... he stopped a moment. Had I hit him? A streak of light
flashed out from his shadow, and a bullet hummed past my ear. Off he
went again but, just as he was about to disappear behind a bush, I
fired a second time. I thought I saw him fall among the brambles.
* * * * *
I arrived at Canny, where a red lantern shining through the darkness
marked the entrance to the hospital. Wounded were stretched out in
the porch, and the yard was full of them. The medical officers were
hard at work in a veranda adjoining the main building. Through the
multicoloured glass windows a diffused light filtered slowly, vaguely
illuminating the men stretched on the straw. Now and again, when the
door of the veranda opened, a rectangle of crude light spread along the
ground, showing up a line of stretchers and the suffering faces of the
severely wounded who were waiting for first aid. Two orderlies carried
off the first stretcher of the row. The door swung to behind them and
the yard was again plunged in a flickering half-light.
I stood there, very tired, looking stupidly at the scene. My hand was
still bleeding, but only drop by drop now.