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IN THE FIELD (1914-1915)
The Impressions of an Officer of Light Cavalry
by
MARCEL DUPONT
Translated by H. W. Hill
London
William Heinemann
London: William Heinemann, 1916.
TO
GENERAL CHERFILS
A TRIBUTE OF
SINCERE GRATITUDE
PREFACE
In the following pages the reader will find no tactical studies, no
military criticism, no vivid picture of a great battle. I have merely
tried to make a written record of some of the hours I have lived
through during the course of this war. A modest Lieutenant of
Chasseurs, I cannot claim to form any opinion as to the operations
which have been carried out for the last nine months on an immense
front. I only speak of things I have seen with my own eyes, in the
little corner of the battlefield occupied by my regiment.
It occurred to me that if I should come out of the deathly struggle
safe and sound, it would be a pleasure to me some day to read over
these notes of battle or bivouac. I thought, further, that my people
would be interested in them. So I tried to set down my impressions in
my intervals of leisure. Days of misery, days of joy, days of
battle.... What volumes one might write, if one were to follow our
squadrons day by day in their march!
I preferred to choose among many memories. I did not wish to compose
memoirs, but only to evoke the most tragic or the most touching
moments of my campaign. And, indeed, I have had only too many from
which to choose.
I shall rejoice if I have been able to revive some phases of the
tragedy in which we were the actors for my brothers-in-arms.
Further, I gladly offer these "impressions" to any non-combatants they
may interest. They must not look for the talents of a great
story-teller, nor the thrilling interest of a novel. All they will
find is the simple tale of an eyewitness, the unschooled effort of a
soldier more apt with the sword than with the pen.
M.D.
_The Editor of SOLDIERS' TALES will be glad to read diaries or
notebooks of those returning, in any capacity whatsoever, from the
Front with a view to inclusion in the Series. Contributions must
be strictly truthful and should be written with no effort at fine
writing. They are intended to tell truthfully the experiences and
the feelings of the writers. They should be sent by registered
post to the Editor, "Soldiers' Tales," 21, Bedford Street, W.C.,
and they may be accompanied by sketches and photographs. All
contributions printed will be well paid for. Contributions should
be of 30,000 words and upwards in length._
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. HOW I WENT TO THE FRONT 1
II. THE FIRST CHARGE 57
III. RECONNOITRING COURGIVAULT 76
IV. THE JAULGONNE AFFAIR 102
V. LOW MASS AND BENEDICTION 152
VI. A TRAGIC NIGHT IN THE TRENCHES 178
VII. SISTER GABRIELLE 226
VIII. CHRISTMAS NIGHT 258
I. HOW I WENT TO THE FRONT
The train was creeping along slowly in the soft night air. Seated on a
truss of hay in the horse-box with my own two horses and that of my
orderly, Wattrelot, I looked out through the gap left by the unclosed
sliding door. How slowly we were going! How often we stopped! I got
impatient as I thought of the hours we were losing whilst the other
fellows were fighting and reaping all the glory. Station after station
we passed; bridges, level crossings, tunnels. Everywhere I saw
soldiers guarding the line and the bayonets of the old chassepôts
glinting in the starlight. Now and again the train would suddenly pull
up for some mysterious reason. The three horses, frightened at being
brought into collision with each other, made the van echo to the
thunder of their hoofs as they slipped, stamped, and recovered their
balance. I got up to calm them with soothing words and caresses. By
the light of the wretched lantern swinging and creaking above the door
I could see their three heads, with pricked ears and uneasy eyes. They
were breathing hard and could not understand why they had been brought
away from their comfortable stable with its thick litter of clean
straw. _They_ were not thinking about the war, but they seemed to
understand that their good times were over, that they would have to
resign themselves to all sorts of discomforts, march unceasingly, pass
nights in camps under the pouring rain, keep their heavy equipment on
their backs for many days together, and not always get food when they
were hungry.
Then the train would set off again with a noise of tightened couplings
and creaking waggons. Whilst I was mechanically looking out at the
darkness, dotted here and there with the coloured lights of the
signals placed along the line, my straying thoughts would wander to
the fields of battle and try to picture the scene on my arrival at the
Front.
It was the 28th of August, nearly a month after the order had been
given for mobilisation. And the armies had been fighting for some days
already. What had happened? We could only glean part of the truth from
the short official announcements. We knew there had been hard fighting
at Charleroi, at Dinant, and in the direction of Nancy. But the result
had not been defined. I thought I could guess, however, that these
battles had not been decisive, but that they had cost both sides dear.
I was tempted to rejoice, fool that I was, to think that the first
great victories would not be won before I joined my regiment. I had
not yet been able to console myself for the ill-fortune that prevented
me from starting with the squadrons of the first line. And yet I had
to submit to regulations. The colonel was inflexible, and answered my
entreaties by quoting the inexorable rule: In every cavalry regiment
the sixth lieutenant in order of seniority must stay at the depôt to
help the major and the captain of the 5th squadron. They must
assemble, equip, and train the reserve squadrons of the regiment.
I shall never forget what those days were to me. Days of overwhelming
work, when, in a tropical heat, I was busy from sunrise to sunset,
entering the names of thousands of men, registering the horses, giving
certificates, and providing food for the lot. It needed some skill to
find billets for them all; the horses were lodged in stables, riding
establishments and yards, the men in every corner and nook of the vast
district. It was tiresome work, and would have been almost impossible
but for the general goodwill and admirable discipline. But all the
time I was thinking of the fellows away in Belgium boldly
reconnoitring the masses of Germans and coming into contact with the
enemy.
At last, at eleven o'clock on the 28th of August, the colonel's
telegram came ordering me to go at once and replace my young friend,
Second-Lieutenant de C., seriously wounded whilst reconnoitring. At
six o'clock in the evening I had packed my food, strapped on my kit,
and got my horses into the train. I set off with a light heart, and my
fellow-officers of the Reserve and of the Territorials, who were still
at the depôt, came to see me off.
But how slowly the train travelled, and what a long way off our little
garrison town in the west seemed to me when I thought of the firing
line out towards the north! I made up my mind to try to imitate my
faithful Wattrelot, who had been snoring in peace for ever so long. I
stretched myself on the golden straw and waited impatiently for the
dawn, dozing and dreaming.
At about eight o'clock in the morning the train stopped at the
concentration station of N. What a crowd, and yet what order and
precision in this formidable traffic! All the commissariat trains for
the army muster here before being sent off to different parts of the
Front. The numerous sidings were all covered with long rows of trucks.
In every direction engines getting up steam were panting and puffing.
In the middle of this hurly-burly men were on the move, some of them
calm, jaded and patient. These were the railwaymen, who went about in
a business-like way, pushing railway vans, counting packages, carrying
papers, checking lists, and giving information politely and willingly.
The rest were soldiers, lost, bewildered in the midst of this
entanglement of lines which seemed inextricable. They were asking each
other questions, swearing, laughing, protesting, and then they got
into a train and were promptly hauled out and sent to another. But,
with all this, there was no disorder, no lack of discipline.
Everywhere the same admirable composure reigned that I had already
noticed at the station of my little garrison town.
With Wattrelot's help, I tidied myself up for a visit to the military
authorities of the station. After many difficulties, and after passing
through the hands of a number of sentries and orderlies on duty, I
came into the presence of a kindly captain, to whom I stated my case:
"These are my marching orders, Captain; I am to join the ---- Light
Cavalry. Do you know where it is just now?"
The captain raised his hands to Heaven with a look of despair: "How am
I to know where any regiment is now? You can't expect it. All I can do
for you is to couple your truck on to the commissariat train of your
army corps. It will take you as far as the terminus, and there you
must see what you can do."
I went back to my horses. After various excursions hither and thither
which took up the whole morning I at last managed to get my horse-box
coupled to the train. Wattrelot and I, together with the Territorial
section that served as guard, were the only passengers. The whole
train was composed of vans stuffed with food supplies and mysterious
cases, packed into some separate vans carefully sealed. Our departure
was fixed for two o'clock, and meanwhile I had a chat with the
Territorial lieutenant who commanded our escort. I tried to find out
from him what had happened at the Front. He did not know any more than
I did, and merely told me how sorry he was for his own ill-luck: "You
know, our job is no joke. We start after luncheon, travel all the rest
of the day and part of the night, sleep where we can, and the next day
we go back again in the empty train. It takes still longer to get
back. And the day after we begin all over again."
And the worthy man quietly folded his hands on the "fair roundness" of
his figure. He looked a good sort of fellow. He did his job
conscientiously; put his men into the third-class compartments
assigned to them; saw that they had their cartridges, and gave them
some fatherly counsel; and then he invited me into the second-class
compartment reserved for him. But I declined, as I preferred to travel
with my horses. The train jolted off. The heat was tropical. We had
pushed our sliding-door wide open, and, seated on our packages, we
contemplated the smiling summer landscape as it passed slowly before
us. And I came to the conclusion that we had found out the pleasantest
way of travelling:--to have a railway carriage to yourself, where you
can stand up, walk about and lie down; to go at a pace that allows
you to enjoy the scenery of the countries you pass through; and to be
able to linger and admire such and such a view, such and such a
country mansion or monument of olden days! That is a hundred times
better than the shaking and rush of a _train de luxe_.
I was delighted and touched by the sympathetic interest shown in us by
the people. Everywhere old men, women and children waved their
handkerchiefs and called out, "Good luck!... Good luck!"
The worthy Territorials answered back as best they could. One felt
that all hearts were possessed with one and the same thought, wish,
and hope,--the hearts of the men who were going slowly up to battle,
and those of the people who watched them pass and sent their good
wishes with them.
At one station where we stopped a group of girls dressed in white were
waiting on the platform under the burning rays of the sun. With
simplicity, grace, and charming smiles they distributed chocolate,
bread, and fruit to all the men. The good fellows were so touched
that tears came to their eyes. One of them, an elderly man with a
small grey pointed beard, could not help saying: "But _we_ aren't
going to fight, you know. We are only here to take care of the train."
"That doesn't matter. That doesn't matter. Take it all the same. You
are soldiers, like the others.... _Vive la France!_" And all the
thirty Territorials, in deep and solemn tones, repeated "_Vive la
France!_"
What a change had come over these men who, people feared, were ripe
for revolt, undisciplined, and reckless! What kindness and grace in
the women who stay at home and suffer! An old railwayman said to me:
"It has been like that, Sir, from the first day of the mobilisation.
These girls pass their days and nights at the station. It is really
very good of them, for they won't make anything by it." The old
working man was right: "They won't make anything by it." And yet I am
sure that many soldiers who have passed that station on their way to
the Front will keep the same grateful remembrance that I still have.
I shall never forget the group of girls in white on the sunny platform
of the little station; I shall never forget the simple grace with
which they prevailed upon the men to accept the good things they
offered and even forced upon them. I thanked them as best I could, but
awkwardly enough, trying to interpret the thoughts of all those
soldiers. And when the train had started again on its panting course,
I felt sorry I had not been more eloquent in my speech; that I had
already forgotten the name of the little station, and never thought of
asking the names of our benefactresses.
We were now getting near the fighting zone, and I already felt that
there was a change in the state of mind of the people. They still
called out to us: "Good luck!... Good luck!" But earlier in the day
this greeting had been given with smiles and merry gestures; now it
was uttered in a serious and solemn tone. At the station gates and the
level crossings, the eyes of the women who looked at us were more sad
and profound. They fixed themselves upon ours, and seemed to speak to
us. And even when their lips did not move their eyes still said "Good
luck!... Good luck!"
We saw motor cars rushing along the roads, and could distinguish the
armbands on the men's sleeves, and rifles in the cars or lying in the
hoods. And yet daily life was going on as usual. There were workers in
the fields, tradespeople on the doorsteps of their shops, groups of
peasants just outside the hamlets. But yet a peculiar state of mind
was evident in each one of these people who were going on with their
daily work. And all these accumulated cares, all these stirred
imaginations, produced a strange atmosphere which infected everything,
seemed to impregnate the air we breathed, and quenched the gaiety of
the men in our train. Wattrelot and I were overcome by a kind of
religious emotion; we felt as though we were already breathing the air
of battle.
At about six o'clock we arrived at the station of L., where the train
stopped for a few minutes. The platforms were crowded with Staff
officers. A soldier assured me that the chief Headquarters were here.
I wanted to question some one and try to get some authoritative
information as to what was happening at the Front. It seemed to me
that I had a right to know, now that I was on the point of becoming
one of the actors in the tragedy in progress a few leagues off. But
directly I came up to these officers I felt my assurance fail me. They
looked disturbed and anxious. There was none of that merry animation
that had reigned in the interior and that I had expected to find
everywhere.
And then a strange and ridiculous fear came over me; the fear of being
looked upon as an intruder by these well-informed men who knew
everything. I imagined that they would spurn me with scorn, or that I
should cause them pain by forcing them to tell me truths people do not
like to repeat. It also occurred to me that I was too insignificant a
person to confront men so high in office, and that I should appear
importunate if I disturbed their reflections. But I was now quite sure
that the official announcements had not told us all. Without having
heard one word, I felt that things were not going so well as we had
hoped, as every day in our little town in the west we tried
passionately to divine the truth, devouring the few newspapers that
reached us.
A pang shot through me. I now felt alone and lost amongst these men
who seemed strangers to me. Crossing the rails, I got back to our
train, drawn up at some distance from the platforms. The sun was on
the horizon. In the red sky two monoplanes passed over our heads at no
great height. The noise of their engines made everybody look up. They
were flying north. And I felt a desire to rush upwards and overtake
one of them and take my seat close to the pilot, behind the propeller
which was spinning round and sending the wind of its giddy speed into
his face. I longed to be able to lift myself into the air above the
battlefields, and there, suspended in space, try to make out the
movements of the clashing nations.
I resolved to have a talk with the engine-driver of a train returning
to Paris empty. He told me in a few words that the French army was
retreating rapidly, that it had already recrossed the Belgian
frontier, and that at that moment it was fighting on French soil. He
told me this simply, with a touch of sadness in his voice, shaking his
head gently. He added no comments of his own, and I did not feel equal
to any reply. Full of foreboding, I returned to my train and
Wattrelot. He had heard what the engine-driver had told me, and he
said not a word, but looked out into the distance at the fiery sky. We
sat down side by side and said nothing.
So we were retreating. Then all our calculations and dreams were
shattered. All the fine plans we officers had sketched out together
were folly. We were wasting time when, bending over our maps, we
foresaw a skilful advance on the heels of Belgium's invaders, followed
by a huge victory, dearly bought, perhaps, but one that would upset
the German Colossus at a single blow. The whole thing was an illusion.
And I thought what a fool I had been. I thought of my regiment. How
much of it was there left? How many of those good fellows were lying
dead on foreign soil? How many friends should I never see again? For I
imagined things to be worse than they really were. I felt absolutely
despondent. What my mind conjured up was no longer a retreat in good
order but a rout.
The train had begun to move again. The sun had set, and over the
horizon there was but a streak of pale yellow sky lighting up the
country. I sat down in the open doorway with my legs dangling outside,
and as I breathed the first few whiffs of fresh air I felt somewhat
relieved. The calm around was such as to make one forget that we were
at war. Darkness came on by degrees.
Suddenly my heart began to beat faster, and I rose with a nervous
movement. Wattrelot too had started up from the straw he had been
lying on. We both exclaimed in one breath: "Cannon!" It was a mere
distant growl, hardly audible, and yet it was distinct enough to be a
subdued accompaniment to the thousand noises a train makes as it goes
along. We could not distinguish the shots, but gradually the dull
sound became louder and seemed to be wafted towards us by a gust of
air. Then it seemed to be further off again, and almost to die away,
and again to get louder. There is no other earthly sound like it. A
thunderstorm as it dies away is the only thing that could suggest the
impression we felt. It sends a kind of shiver all over the surface of
the body. Even our horses felt it. Their three heads were raised
uneasily, their eyes shone in the twilight, and they snorted noisily
through their dilated nostrils.
Leaning out, I saw the heads of the Territorials thrust out of the
windows. They, too, had heard the mysterious and stirring music. No
one spoke or joked. Their bodies, stretching out into space, seemed to
be asking questions and imploring to know the truth. We came nearer
to the sounds of the guns and could now distinguish the shots
following one another at short intervals. The air seemed to be shaken,
and we might have thought we were but a few paces off.
The train had pulled up sharply in the open country. It was still
light enough for us to make out the landscape--meadows covered with
long pale grass, bordered by willows and tall poplar trees gently
swaying in the evening breeze. In the background a thick wood shut in
the view. The railway line curved away to the right and was lost to
view in the growing darkness. Now that the train was motionless the
impressive voice of the cannon could be heard more distinctly. The
long luminous trails of the search-lights passed over the sky at
intervals.
Impatient at the delay, I got down and walked along the line to the
engine. It had stopped at a level crossing. At the side of the closed
barrier, on the doorstep of her hut, with the light shining upon her,
sat the wife of the gatekeeper, a child in her arms. She was a young
woman, fair and pale. She seemed somewhat uneasy, and yet had no idea
of quitting her post. She was talking in a low voice to the engine
driver and stoker of our train. I tried to get some information from
her. "_Mon Dieu, monsieur_," she said, "I know nothing, except that
the guns have been firing all day long since yesterday, and even at
times during the night. The sound comes chiefly from the direction of
G. Some soldiers, who went by just now with carts, told me the
Prussians got into the town yesterday, but that it was to be retaken
to-day; and that there were a great many dead and wounded."
My hopes revived a little. I saw at once in my mind the German attack
stopped on the river Oise, our armies recovering, drawing together and
driving the enemy back across the frontier. Our engine-driver
explained to me that we had come quite close to the terminus, but that
we should have to wait some time before we could get in. Other trains
had to be unloaded and shunted to make room.
I went back to my van. Night had fallen, and it must have been about
nine o'clock. The guns had suddenly ceased firing. Our lantern had
burnt itself out, and the rest of our wait was made more tedious by
darkness. An empty train passed us, and then silence fell once more
upon the spot where we waited anxiously to be allowed to go forward
towards our brothers-in-arms. Oh! how I longed to join them, even if
it were only in the middle of a bloody and difficult retreat; how I
longed to be delivered from my solitude!
At last, at about eleven o'clock, the train set off again without
whistling, and very slowly. It went along timidly, so to speak, and as
though it was afraid of coming into some unknown region which might be
full of mysteries and ambuscades. In the distance I saw some signal
lamps waved, and suddenly we stopped. What I then saw astounded me. I
had thought we should draw up at a large platform where gangs of men
would be waiting, in perfect order, to unload the train, sort out the
packages, and pile them up in their appointed places for the carts to
take them quietly away.
Instead of this the train stopped at some little distance from a small
station standing by itself in the open country. I could make out some
buildings, badly lighted, and around them a crowd of shadowy forms
moving about. And drawn up alongside of our train were countless
vehicles of all sorts and kinds in indescribable disorder, made all
the more confusing by the darkness. Some of them were drawn up in some
sort of a line. Others tried to edge themselves in and get a vacant
place among the entanglement of wheels and horses. The drivers were
abusing each other in forcible language. Every now and again there was
an outburst of laughter interspersed with oaths.
All this time officials were running down the platform with papers in
their hands, trying to read what was chalked on the vans. Enquiries
and shouts were heard:
"Where is the bread?"
"Over here."
"No, it's not."
"Where is the officer in charge?"
Matches were struck. The few lighted lanterns there were were snatched
from one hand by another. And in spite of all this apparent disorder
the work went rapidly forward. Men climbed in through the open doors.
Sacks and heavy cases were passed along. Porters, bending under their
loads, slipped through the maze of vans and carts to the one they
wanted and deposited their burdens.
After giving Wattrelot orders to prevent any one from invading our
horse-box I slipped out and went towards the station office to look
for the military commissary. I had great difficulty in making my way
through the crowd of men who seemed to be rushing to take the train by
assault in the darkness. Then I had to avoid breaking my neck in
getting across the maze of rails, the signal wires, and the open
ditches.
I got to the station. A number of wounded were there lying on the
platforms; about a hundred of them, with their clothes torn, and
covered with dust. They presented a sad picture. They were, it is
true, only slightly wounded; but it cuts one to the heart to see
soldiers in that plight, hauled out upon the ground without straw to
lie upon or any doctor to attend to them. However, they had all had
first-aid dressings. Below the bandages that bound their heads their
feverish eyes gleamed in the light of the lanterns. Their bandaged
arms were supported by pieces of linen tied behind their necks.
Several of them were sitting on baskets, casks and packages of all
kinds, and they were talking eagerly. Each man was relating, with
plenty of gesticulation, the great deeds he had taken part in or seen.
As I passed, I heard scraps of their conversation: "They were in the
first line of houses.... Then, old chap, our lieutenant rushed
forward.... You should have seen them scuttle...."
I was delighted to see that the _moral_ of those fine fellows didn't
seem in the least affected. To hear them you would have thought the
Germans had been driven back at all points.
I got a porter to tell me where the military commissary was. He
pointed out an Artillery lieutenant, in a cap with a white band,
talking to a group of officers. I introduced myself, and asked him if
he knew anything about the state of affairs. Like everybody else, he
could only give me very vague information. "However," he added, "I can
confirm what you have heard about G. The First Corps has just retaken
the town, which was defended by the Prussian Guard. It appears that
our fellows were wonderful, and that the enemy has suffered enormous
losses. However"--the lieutenant's voice trembled slightly, and the
shrug of his shoulders betrayed his despair--"I have orders to
evacuate the station, with all my men and my papers, so soon as the
last train has been unloaded. I am to fall back towards L. How is one
to understand what all this means?"
We looked at each other, without a word. Everybody felt dejected and
doubtful. Not to understand!... To have to obey without understanding
why! It was the first time I had really felt the grandeur of military
service. You must have a soul stoutly tempered to carry out an
order--no matter what, even if that order seems incomprehensible to
you. There must have been in that corner of France, on the edge of
that frontier which we had sworn should never be violated--there must
have been thousands of officers, thousands of soldiers who would have
given their lives rather than yield up one inch of ground. Then why
abandon that station? Why say so bluntly, "To-morrow you will have no
need to go so far north to bring supplies. We shall come nearer to
you; _we_ shall withdraw ..."?
There I was again, allowing my mind to wander and to suffer. I tried
to learn by what means I could get some information about my regiment.
"Well, it's very simple," said the Artillery lieutenant, very kindly.
"Your commissariat officer will certainly have to come with his convoy
to fetch supplies. Try to get hold of him. He will tell you all about
it."
I grasped his hand and went off, glad indeed at the thought of seeing
my regiment's uniform once more. And Providence seemed to guide me,
for I thought I saw the very man I was looking for in the little
booking office. But I had some difficulty in recognising him. He
looked aged and worn. His beard had grown quite grey. Bending over the
sill of the ticket office, he was in the act of spreading the contents
of a box of sardines upon a slice of bread. Yes, it was he. How tired
and disheartened he looked! I pushed the door open and rushed in:
"_Bonjour! Comment va?_"
"Ah!... It's you! What have you come here for, my poor fellow? Ah!
Things aren't looking very rosy...."
I plied him with questions, and he answered in short incoherent
sentences:
"Charleroi? Don't talk of it!... Our men? Grand!... A hecatomb....
Then ... the retreat ... day and night.... The Germans daren't.... Ah!
a nice business, isn't it? We're retreating."
He told me where the regiment was, in a huge farm a long way off. He
said he could take my canteen in one of his vans. As for me, I should
have to manage as best I could next day to join my comrades. It would
take some time to get my horses detrained, as the only platform was
still being used for the vans not yet unloaded. "Thanks," said I.
"Well, it's quite simple. To-morrow I go straight towards the cannon.
Good-night." And I went off to finish my sleepless night, lying beside
my horses. With my eyes fixed on the chink of the door, I waited, hour
after hour, for the daylight....
When dawn broke I had already got Wattrelot and a couple of railwaymen
who were still in the station to bring my horse-box up to the
platform. The three horses were quickly saddled and ready to start.
The freshness of the morning and the joy of feeling firm ground under
their feet again made them uncommonly lively. Indeed, Wattrelot came
near feeling the effects of their good spirits somewhat uncomfortably
as he was getting into the saddle.
At last we started at a quick trot along a white and dusty road which
led straight across fields still bathed in shadow. I went first in the
direction my friend had vaguely indicated the night before. Wattrelot
followed, leading my spare horse. The horses' footsteps resounded
strangely in this unknown country where nothing else could be heard.
Were we really at war? Everything seemed, on the contrary, to breathe
perfect tranquillity. What a change from the feverish bustle of the
station the evening before!
We rode through a rich and fertile countryside. The fields stretched
out one after another without end, covering the rounded flanks of the
undulating ground with their stubble, dotted with stacks and golden
sheaves. A few hedges and some clumps of trees broke the monotony of
the landscape. Here and there farms of imposing proportions appeared
among the foliage. No shots were to be heard, nor any sound of
marching troops. And this made me so uneasy that I began to wonder
whether something had not happened during the night to shift the scene
of the fighting without my knowledge. But I was about to see something
which was to remind me, better than the noise of cannon, that the
scene of the strife was not far off.
As the daylight became gradually brighter we distinguished figures
moving round some straw-stacks--folks who had collected there to pass
the night sheltered as much as possible from the cold and the morning
dew. I thought they were soldiers who had lost touch with their
regiments and had taken their brief night's rest in the open air. But
I soon saw my mistake. As by enchantment, as soon as the first rays of
the sun appeared the sleepers got up, and I saw that they were
civilians, mostly women and children. They were the unfortunate
country-folk who had fled before the barbarian hordes. They had
preferred to forsake their homes, to leave them to the invader, rather
than fall into his hands. They had fled, carrying with them the most
precious things they possessed. They had come away not knowing where
they would stop, nor where they could pass the night. And as soon as
the twilight came and found them exhausted on the interminable roads,
they had dropped down by the stacks grateful for a humble bed of
straw. There they had stretched their aching limbs, the mothers had
carefully made up little beds for their babies, families had nestled
closely together, and often whole villages had gathered in the same
fields and around the same stacks.
And when the daylight appeared they had got up hurriedly and the roads
were already crowded with mournful pilgrims seeking refuge further and
further inland. I must confess that I had not expected to see such a
sight. It made my heart ache. I was seized with a fury and longed to
be able to rush upon the enemy, drive him back across the frontier,
and restore the dwellings forsaken by these poor folks.
What human being, however cold-hearted, could help feeling deep pity
at the sight of those poor, weak and inoffensive creatures fleeing
before invasion? There were pitiable sights on every hand. A mother
pushing a perambulator containing several small children, whilst five
or six others were hanging on to her dress or trotting along around
her. Poor invalids, dragged, pushed, carried by all possible means,
sooner than be left in the hands of the Prussians. Old men helped
along by boys; infants carried by old men. And as they passed they all
cast a look of distress at the officer who rode quickly by, averting
his eyes. I thought I saw a reproach in those glances: they seemed to
say to me: "Why haven't you been able to defend us? Why have you let
them come into our country? See how we are suffering. Look at our
little children, who cannot walk any further. Where are we to go now
that, by your fault, we have left the homes of our childhood, and of
our fathers and our fathers' fathers? Is that what war is?" I urged
on my horse to get them out of my sight and to reach the fighting line
as quickly as I could.
Suddenly the report of a gun sounded straight in front of me. Further
off a few rifle shots were audible, and then guns again, accompanied
by concentrated rifle fire. A kind of shiver passed through my whole
body.
My first battle! I was going to take part in my first battle! I felt
really mad and intoxicated at the thought of at last realising the
dream of my life. But other feelings were mingled with it. I
reflected: "What effect will it have upon me? I expect I shall come
into the middle of the fight when I get over that ridge. Shall I duck
my head when I hear the bullets whistling and the shrapnel bursting
around me? I am determined to play the man. I know Wattrelot is close
by, trotting behind me. He mustn't see the least symptom of
nervousness in me."
The noise of the guns became louder. "By the way!... I wonder what
Wattrelot feels like!" I turned to look at him, and found his face a
bit pale; but directly he saw me glance at his blue north-country
eyes, his face lit up with a broad smile.
"Here we are, sir."
"Yes, Wattrelot, here we are. I'm sure you don't know what fear is!"
"Oh! no, sir."
"That's all right. Forward then! To the guns!"
We passed through a hamlet full of waggons and motors. Some orderlies
were loading them up with rations and boxes. On one of these I
happened to see the number of my own army corps. "I'm all right then,"
thought I, and turned to an adjutant of the Army Service Corps, who
was superintending the work.
"Do you know where the Staff of the ---- Corps is?" I asked.
The man shrugged his shoulders to show that he didn't, and that he
didn't care. What did it matter to him? His job was to get the goods
loaded, forget nothing, and then to go to his appointed post where he
would have to wait for further orders to unload his stuff in the
evening. He had enough to do. What did anything else matter to him?
However, he pointed in a vague manner: "They went over there...."
Off I started again over the wide undulating plain. The noise of the
cannonade became louder and louder, and I now perceived traces of the
work of death. At a turning of the road there were a couple of dead
horses that had been dragged into the ditch. I cannot say how painful
the sight was to me. Apparently a dead horse at the seat of war is a
trifle, and no doubt I should very soon see it with indifference. But
these were the first I had seen, and I could not help casting a glance
of pity at them. Poor beasts! A month before they had been showing off
their fine points in the well-kept stables of the artillery barracks.
When I saw them their stiffened corpses bore traces of all their
sufferings. Their harness had rubbed great sores in their flesh, in
more places than one. Their glazed eyes seemed to be still appealing
for pity. They had fallen down exhausted, finding it impossible to
keep up with their fellows. They had been quickly unharnessed, so as
not to block up the road; had been dragged on to the sunburnt grass,
and it was there no doubt the death-agony that had already lasted for
some hours had come to an end.
We went on, and, in the distance, here and there on the plain, which
now stretched before us for miles, we saw more of them. I wondered how
it was that so many horses had fallen in so short a time. It was not a
month since mobilisation had been ordered, and hardly ten days since
operations had begun. What a huge effort then the army must already
have made!
But I soon forgot the poor beasts, for we were nearing the scene of
the struggle. Behind the shelter of every swell in the ground were
ammunition waggons. I went up to one of these and was astonished at
what I saw. The limbers, which are always so smart in the
barrack-yard, with their grey paint, were covered with a thick coating
of dust or of hardened mud. The horses, dirty and thin, seemed ready
to drop. Their necks were covered with sores, and they were hanging
their heads to eat, but seemed not to have strength enough to take
their food. Drivers and non-commissioned officers were sprawling
about, sleeping heavily. Their cadaverous faces, beards of a week's
growth and drawn features showed even in their sleep how exhausted
they were. I could hardly recognise the original colour of their dingy
uniforms under the accumulation of stains and dust.
It was now eight o'clock in the morning. The sunshine was beating hot
upon the sleepers, but they seemed indifferent to this. They had
simply pulled the peaks of their caps over their eyes and were snoring
away, with their noses in the air and their mouths open. Beasts and
men together formed a group of creatures that seemed utterly depressed
and worn out. I could never have believed it possible to sleep under
such conditions, with the guns booming unceasingly in all directions.
I went up the nearest ridge and thence got a glimpse of a corner of
the battle. I had expected to see a sight similar to that which had
delighted us at manoeuvres; troops massed in all the depressions of
the ground, battalions advancing in good order along the roads, and
mounted men galloping about on the higher ground. But there was
nothing of the sort.
In front of me, about 600 yards off, and under cover of the brow of a
hill carpeted with russet stubble, I saw two batteries of artillery,
firing their guns. I looked intently. The pieces were in perfect line
and the gunners at their posts. The shots were fired at regular
intervals and with cool deliberation. The gunners took their time, and
seemed to be working very casually. I had expected to see them fairly
excited: the men running under a hail of shells, teams brought up at a
gallop as soon as a few salvoes had been fired, and the guns whirled
off at full speed and lined up in battery again some hundreds of
yards further off.
On the contrary, these guns seemed to be planted there for good. The
limbers, which were massed to the rear under cover of a slope, looked
very much like the sections of munitions I had seen just before. The
men were sleeping in the shadows of their horses, and the horses were
asleep on their feet in their appointed places. The only man standing
was a stout-looking adjutant who was walking up and down with his
hands in his pockets. With his eyes on the ground he seemed to be
counting his steps. And meanwhile, the two batteries went on firing
salvoes of four at a time. When one was finished there was a pause of
two or three minutes. Then the other battery took it up.
But Wattrelot interrupted my reverie: "Look over there, sir.... _Ça
barde!_" I looked in the direction he was pointing out. And now I no
longer felt the uneasy feeling that had come over me at the sight of
what was going on here. Above a height that overtopped the hill on
which I was, and about 1,500 yards away, the German shells were
bursting incessantly. We could distinctly hear the sharp sound of the
explosions. In the clear blue of the sky they made little white puffs
which vanished gradually and were replaced by others. Their gunners
could not have been firing with the same coolness as ours, for the
white puffs increased in number. The noise they were making on the
spot must have been deafening. From where I was we heard the
explosions following one upon another without intermission.
But what was most thrilling was to watch one of our own batteries in
action under this avalanche of projectiles. The slope on which it was
placed was in shadow still. Against this blue-grey background short
flames could be seen flashing for a second at the muzzles of the guns.
And the four reports reached us almost at the same moment. The gunners
could be seen just as calm under fire as the others here. The German
shells, that tried to scatter death among them, burst too high. They
were trying to annihilate this battery, which was no doubt causing
terrible ravages among their men. But the broken fragments fell wide,
and our gunners worked their pieces gallantly. This was something that
more than made up for my touch of disappointment at first. My hope
revived, and I started off at a trot straight in front of me, getting
past the ridge, under cover of which the pair of batteries were plying
their guns.
No sooner had I gained the further slope than I understood that what I
had seen hitherto was only the background of the battle. From this
spot a violent rifle fire was heard in every direction. In the meadows
were a large number of infantry sections crouching behind every
available bit of cover. On the opposite slope long lines of
skirmishers were deployed. And dotted about everywhere, above their
heads, rose puffs of smoke--white, black, and yellow--the German
shells bursting. The noise of them was incessant, and the spot where
we were seemed to me very quiet, in spite of the firing of the two
batteries close behind us.
Everything was wonderfully coloured by the sunshine. The red trousers
of the soldiers, lying in the grass, showed up brightly. The mess-tins
on their knapsacks and the smallest metal objects--buttons,
bayonet-hilts, belt-buckles--glittered at every movement. On my left,
in a dip of ground with a little river running down it, a gay little
village seemed to be overflowing with troops. I rode towards it in
haste, hoping to find a Staff there which could give me some
information.
The streets were, in fact, full of infantry, lying about or sitting
along the houses on both sides. In the middle of the main road was a
crowd of galloping orderlies, cyclists and motor-cyclists. I felt
rather bewildered in all this bustle. However, these people seemed to
know where they were going. They were, no doubt, carrying orders or
information. And yet I could see no chief officer who appeared to be
busying himself about the action or directing anything. Those who
were not sleeping were chatting in little groups. The soldiers of
different arms were all mixed together, which had, perhaps, a
picturesque effect, but was disconcerting.
Suddenly I heard some one call me by my name. I turned round and
hesitated a moment before I recognised in an artillery captain with a
red beard, a former friend who had been a lieutenant in a horse
battery at Lunéville. Yes, it was he. I recognised him by his grey
eyes, his hooked nose, and his ringing voice.
"Eh, _mon cher!_ What are you doing here? You look fresh and fit!...
What are you looking for? You seem to be at sea."
I explained my position to him, and asked him to tell me what had
happened.
"Oh! that would take too long. Your fellows were at Charleroi with us;
they had some experiences! But hang it if I know what they are doing
with us. We beat them yesterday, my friend. Our men and our guns did
wonders. And now there's talk of our retreating further south. I
don't understand it all. Ah! we have seen some hot work, and you will
make a rough beginning.... Looking for your regiment, are you? I
haven't seen it yet to-day. But you see that Staff right over there
behind those stacks?... Yes, where those shells are bursting....
That's General T. He can help you; only, you see, he's not exactly in
clover. T. has been splendid; always under fire, cheering on his men.
They say he wants to get killed so as not to see the retreat...."
I knew General T. well. He commanded a brigade in our garrison town of
R. And a kindly chief he was, clear-minded, frank, and plain-spoken. I
soon made up my mind to go to him and see what help I could get to
enable me to rejoin my regiment. It would be a pleasure, too, to see
him again.
I measured the distance with my eye--a kilometre, perhaps. There was
no road, and to go across the fields would not be very easy, as there
were walls and hedges round the meadows. I took the other way out of
the village, and just as Wattrelot and I were leaving it we saw some
wounded men arriving. They came slowly, helped along by their
comrades, and there were such a number of them that they blocked the
road. Those faces tied up with bandages clotted with perspiration,
dust, and blood; those coats hanging open; those shirts torn, and
showing lint and bandages reddened with blood; those poor bandaged
feet that had to be kept off the ground--all this made a painful
impression on me. No doubt this was because I was not accustomed to
such sights, for others hardly took any notice of it.
"The ambulance! Where is the ambulance?" cried the men who were
helping them along.
"At the station," answered some soldiers, hardly looking round; "go
straight on, and turn to the left when you get to the market-place."
And the sad procession went its way. I jumped the ditch at the side of
the road, and struck across the fields, spurring straight for General
T. At that moment the rifle fire became more violent. Some forward
movement was certainly beginning, for the infantry sections, that were
lying in cover at the bottom of the valley, began to climb up the
slope of the ridge on which I was galloping. Suddenly my horse swerved
sharply. He had just almost trodden upon a body lying on the other
side of the low wall of loose stones that I had just jumped. I drew
rein. A sob burst from my lips. Oh! I did not expect to see that so
suddenly. A score of corpses lay scattered on that sloping
stubble-field. They were Zouaves. They seemed almost to have been
placed there deliberately, for the bodies were lying at about an equal
distance from one another. They must have fallen there the day before
during an attack, and night had come before it had been possible to
bury them. Their rifles were still by their side, with the bayonets
fixed. The one nearest to us was lying with his face to the ground and
was still grasping his weapon. He was a handsome fellow, thin and
dark. No wound was visible, but his face was strikingly pale under
the red _chéchia_ which had been pulled down over his ears.
I looked at Wattrelot. The good fellow's eyes were filled with tears.
"Come!" thought I, "we must not give way like this."
"Wattrelot, my friend, we shall see plenty more. You know, they were
brave fellows who have been killed doing their duty. We must not pity
them...."