When the Germans first poured over France, trenches were dug at
frequent intervals behind Paris and right down towards the great
seaport of Havre. Later on these earthworks were strengthened and
completed by the labour section of the Army Service Corps. A member
of the Corps, Private Ronald Barrow, tells the following experience
in connection with the work round Etretat. This village lies in a
rock-bound valley, at the end of which is an old Gothic church named
St. Vallery.
The ruins of this church were at first ordered to be destroyed in order
to give a clear sweep for the guns, but the colonel of Engineers in
charge decided not to proceed with this demolition. Hard by the ruins
was a tiny _auberge_, and it was here that Private Barrow encountered
Chrysale Duigin.
Barrow had been a school-teacher; and his knowledge of French gave
him the opportunity of making the young woman's acquaintance. Witty,
shrewd, spiteful, she was nevertheless a most interesting personage,
for she was beautiful, possessed means, and was full of little touches
of wisdom.
Chrysale had two lovers; one a fisherman, a rough, strong fellow, the
other a puny little conscript, who, in happier days, collected taxes.
Hervé, the conscript, had been invalided home from Verdun, having lost
his right arm. Galen, the fisherman, was exempt from military service.
Between the two there was naturally a great rivalry. Hervé said much,
and did nothing; Galen said nothing, and brooded.
Thus matters stood, until one evening Galen embarked on an armed
trawler that had been fitted out at the port to seek for mines
floating down the Channel towards Havre. He had become a _matelot_ in
the French navy. One morning at dawn the vessel was struck by a mine
outside the very roads of Etretat. Putting out, the lifeboat saved
only one man--Galen, the fisherman. In rescuing him one man was lost
overboard. That man was Hervé, Chrysale's lover, and Galen's rival in
her affections. Nothing more was seen of him. A heavy sea was running,
and he must have been carried away by the tide.
When Galen was brought ashore he was still unconscious. On his head was
a deep wound, where he had been struck by a boat-hook handled by one of
the rescuers. Taken to his house, Galen lay at death's door for some
days, but his great physical strength pulled him through. They saved
his life, but not his reason; his brain had become hopelessly deranged.
A fortnight later Barrow, who knew the principal actors in the pitiful
tale, saw one of the crew of the lifeboat. In the meantime, Barrow had
been employed on the docks at Havre.
"It's a sad enough story," said the fisherman, in response to Barrow's
questioning. "It's a pity we ever took young Hervé aboard with us."
"But Hervé did his best," responded Barrow. "He gave his life for
Galen."
"He gave his life, sure enough," grunted the fisherman; "but he gave
it unconsciously, unwillingly. It was Hervé that struck Galen the blow
with the boat-hook. Every man of the crew saw it was done with purpose."
Barrow understood it all. Hervé had struck at his rival, and Galen had
pulled his man overboard to perish. Thus love and jealousy flourish
just as lustily in wartime as in the piping days of peace.