forgotten the anger and impatience that "Tourne-Toujours'" savage
temper had so often caused me. What had they done to my brave and
noble companion-in-arms? A bullet had struck him inside the left thigh
and, penetrating it, had made a horrible wound, as large as my hand,
from which the blood was streaming all down his leg. Two other bullets
had hit him, one in the flank, the other in the loins, leaving two
small red holes. The noble animal had brought me back safely, and
then, as he stood still on his four trembling legs, his neck raised,
his nostrils dilated, his ears pricked, he fixed his eyes on the
distance and seemed to look approaching death in the face. Poor
'Tourne-Toujours,' you could not divine the pain I felt as I patted
you, as gently as I should touch a little suffering child!
But I had to shake off the sadness that wrung my heart. The day was
gradually sinking, and Paquin had not come in. Two of the men quickly
put my saddle on the horse of one of the wounded troopers. Whilst
Surgeon-Major P., in the growing dusk, attended to the seriously
wounded men stretched on the grass, I made up my mind to go out and
see whether my little Chasseur was not still lying out on the scene of
the charge.
"Cahard, Finet, Mouniette, Vallée, I want you."
At a gentle trot we sallied out from the cover of the wood. My four
men, dispersed at wide intervals to my right and left, stood up in
their stirrups from time to time to get a better view.
The guns were silent. Now and again one or two isolated shots were
heard. Night had almost fallen. On the horizon a long reddish streak
of light still gave a feeble glow. Everything was becoming blurred and
mysterious. In front of us stretched the disquieting mass of the wood
that so lately had rained death on us. Above our heads flocks of black
birds were wheeling and croaking.
"Paquin!... Paquin!... Paquin!..."
My Chasseurs shouted their comrade's name; but no voice answered. We
were certainly on the ground the squadron had ridden over. Every now
and then we came across the body of a horse, marking our mournful
course. A poor mare with a broken leg neighed feebly, as if appealing
for help to her stable-companions.
"Paquin!... Paquin!... Paquin!..."
No response. We had to turn back and rejoin the others. War has many
of those moments of pain when we have to control our feelings--forget
those we love, those who are suffering, those who are dying--and think
of nothing but our regiment, our squadron, our troop. Paquin's name
would be marked on the roll as "missing"--a solemn word which means so
many things, a word that leaves a little hope, but gives rise to so
many fears.
Over the fields, under a brilliant moon, the squadron retired in
silence. Those who have served in war know that solemn moment when,
after a day's fighting, each corps arrives at its appointed place of
rest. It is the moment when in normal life nature falls asleep in the
peace of evening. It is the moment when in villages and farms lights
appear in the lower windows, behind which the family is seated around
the steaming soup-tureen after the day's work.
It is some time now since we have tasted the exquisite peace of those
moments. Instead, we have grown used to hearing over the wide country
a monotonous and barbarous uproar caused by the thousands of cannon,
limbers, vans, and vehicles of every kind which are the very life of
an army. All these things rumble along methodically in the dark,
clanking and creaking, towards a goal invisible and yet sure. Above
this huge chaos voices rise in various keys: soldiers astray asking
their road; van-drivers urging on their foot-sore teams; words of
command given by leaders striving, in the dark, to prevent confusion
among their units. This is the reverse of the shield of battle, the
moment when we feel weariness of mind and body and the infinite
sadness of remembering those who are no more....
Away in the distance two villages were in flames, luridly lighting up
some corners of the scene. That evening seemed to me sadder and more
distressing than ever....
III. RECONNOITRING COURGIVAULT
_September 5th._
The provisional brigade which had just been formed, with our regiment
and the _Chasseurs d'Afrique_ (African Light Cavalry), was paraded at
dawn by our Colonel, who had taken command of it. The united regiments
had been formed up under cover of a line of ridges, on the summit of
which the watchful scouts stood out against the sky, looking north.
The sun was already shining on the motley picture formed by the light
uniforms of the dismounted troopers and the motionless rows of horses.
They were all half asleep still.
The Colonel had drawn up the officers of the brigade in front of the
squadrons. He held a paper in his hand and read it to us in a resonant
voice, full of unfamiliar vibrations. On hearing the first few
sentences we drew closer around him as by instinct. We could not
believe our ears. It was the first time we had heard anything like it
since the outbreak of the war.
When he had finished we were all amazed. Had we not been told the day
before--when, together with the ---- Corps, we crossed the Grand Morin
closely pressed by the enemy's advance guard--had we not been told
that we were going to retire to the Seine? And now in a few noble,
simple words the Commander-in-Chief told us that the trials of that
hideous retreat were over, and that the day had come to take the
offensive. He asked us all to do our duty to the death and promised us
victory.
We returned to our squadrons in animated groups. Our delight was
quickly communicated to the troops, who understood at once. The men
exchanged jests and promises of fabulous exploits. They had already
forgotten the fatigues of the fortnight's retreat. What did they care
if their horses could hardly carry them further, and if many of them
would be incapable of galloping?
What did it matter?
My fellow-officers and I were already making wonderful plans. Those of
d'A., who had just finished his course of instruction as lieutenant at
Saumur with honours, comprised vast movements of complicated strategy.
They culminated in a prodigious but inevitable envelopment of the
German armies, De F., more prosaic than the other, dreamt of
Pantagruelian repasts liberally furnished with Rhine wines. O., a
sub-lieutenant, just fresh from the Military College--which he had
left with a No. 1, mind you--seemed like a young colt broken loose;
his delight knew no bounds. As for our captain, Captain de la N., our
kind and sympathetic chief, he was transfigured. The horrors of the
retreat had affected him painfully, but the few lines that had been
read to us had sufficed to restore all his joyous ardour.
"Captain, the Colonel wants an officer."
"Hurrah!" It was my turn for duty.... Just a few words of
congratulation, some hands stretched out to me, and I went, leaving a
general feeling of envy behind me. Here was I in the presence of the
Colonel, who, with a map in his hand and surrounded by the superior
officers, explained in a few short sentences what he required of me.
"Take the direction of Courgivault. Reconnoitre and find out whether
the village is occupied. You will report to me on the road which leads
straight from here to the village. The brigade will follow you in an
hour by the same road. I am sending two other parties towards such and
such villages."
And a few minutes afterwards I was on the road to Courgivault.
I chose from my troop a corporal and four reliable fellows who had
already given a good account of themselves. In advance I sent
Vercherin, as scout, well mounted on his horse "Cabri," whose powerful
haunches stood out above the tall oats. I had full confidence in his
vigilance and his shrewdness. I knew his clear blue eyes, and that, if
there were anything to be seen, he would see it better than any one
else. I knew also that I should have no need to spur his zeal.
On either side of me Corporal Madelaine, Finet, a sapper, Lemaître,
and my faithful orderly, Wattrelot, rode along in silence in extended
order at a considerable distance from one another. We had learnt by
experience since the beginning of the campaign. We were on our guard
now against Prussian bullets. We knew what ravages they made directly
our troopers were imprudent enough to cluster together. Thus we ran
fewer chances of being taken by surprise.
The weather was splendid. How delightful, thought I, would it have
been to walk over the fields, on a morning like this, with a gun under
my arm, behind a good dog, in quest of partridges or a hare. But I had
other game in view--no doubt more dangerous, but how much more
exciting!
The air was wonderfully clear, without the least trace of mist. The
smallest detail of hedge and ditch could be easily distinguished. Our
lungs breathed freely. We foresaw that the heat would be oppressive in
a few hours' time, but the fresh air of the night still lingered, and
bright pearls of dew still lay on the lucerne and stubble. What a joy
to be alive in such delicious surroundings, with the hope of victory
in one's heart!
I fancy that those who have not been in this war will not be able to
understand me, for I have not the skill to explain clearly what I feel
by means of written words. A more practised pen than mine is needed
for such a task, a mind more accustomed to analyse feelings.
I seem to have within me the inspiration of a strange power that makes
me light as air, and inclined to talk aloud to myself. And if I wanted
to speak I certainly should not find the words I wanted. Perhaps it is
that I simply want to shout, to cry "Hurrah!" again and again. It must
be that, for I find myself clenching my teeth instinctively to prevent
myself from giving way to such an untimely outburst.
Nevertheless, it would be a relief to be able to shout at the top of
my voice and sing hymns of glory confronting the enemy. I should like
to hear the whole army following my example behind me, to hear all the
bands and all the trumpets accompanying our advance with those
matchless war-songs which thrill the soul and bring tears to the eyes.
Here I was, on the contrary, in conditions of absolute calm, of the
most impressive silence conceivable. Until that day the country, at
that hour of the day, had echoed with the innumerable noises made by
an army in retreat. Thousands of cannon, limbers, and convoys had been
passing along all the roads and all practicable by-ways monotonously
and ceaselessly. Often, too, the first shots exchanged by the cavalry
scouts of both the hostile armies could be heard.
We heard nothing that day. In front nothing stirred: the country
seemed deserted; the fields forsaken. Not a living creature showed
itself.
Behind us, too, there was complete silence. But I knew that an entire
army was there, waiting for us to send information, before advancing
to the fight. That information would direct its blows.... I knew my
brigade was behind that rise in the ground, and that all, officers and
troopers alike, were impatient to rush upon my tracks to the attack. I
knew that behind them, lying by sections in the plough-land, thousands
and thousands of infantrymen had their eyes fixed in the direction I
was taking, and that hundreds and hundreds of guns were ready to pour
out death. But that disciplined multitude was silent and, as it were,
holding its breath, waiting for the order that was to hurl it forward.
I felt in excellent spirits.
It was upon _me_, and upon a few comrades, that the confidence of so
many soldiers rested. It was to be by _our_ directions that the
regiments were to rush forward, some here, some there, carrying death
and receiving death with, for the first time, the certainty of
conquering; since for the first time the Commander-in-Chief had said
that conquer they must. And not for an instant had I any fear of not
being equal to my task. On the contrary, it seemed to me that I had
been destined from all eternity to command this first offensive
reconnaissance of the campaign in France.... I felt my men's hearts
beating close to mine and in unison with mine.
I had consulted my map before breaking into a trot, and had noticed
that the road leading to Courgivault passed through two woods, not
very deep, but of considerable extent. I soon came in sight of one of
them, at about 500 yards distance, below a ridge which we had just
passed. I called out to Vercherin, who had begun to spur his horse
towards the wood, to stop. I knew that numbers of men had fallen by
having acted in this way--a way we have at manoeuvres, when the enemy
are our comrades with white badges on their caps, and when harmless
blank cartridges are used instead of bullets. We had very soon learnt
from the Germans themselves the way to reconnoitre a wood or a
village, and also how they must be held.
How much more dashing it would have been, more in the light cavalry
style, to ride full gallop, brandishing my sword, with my five little
Chasseurs into the nearest copse! But I knew then that if it were
occupied by the enemy their men would be lying down, one with the
soil, using the trees and bushes as cover, till the last moment. Then
not one of us would have come out alive.
We were reduced to employing against them their own tactics of mounted
infantry. The good old times of hussar charges are past--gone,
together with plumes, pelisses waving in the wind, Hungarian braiding,
and sabretaches. It would be senseless to continue to be a horseman in
order to fight men who are no longer cavalrymen and do not wish to be
so. We should fight at a disadvantage, and since the opening of the
campaign too many brave soldiers have paid with their lives for their
delight in epic fights _à la_ Lasalle.
I searched the edge of the wood carefully with my field-glasses.
Before entering it I wanted to be quite sure whether any movement
could be discovered, whether any of the brushwood showed signs of
being drawn aside by sharpshooters too eager for a shot. My men were
on the watch, crouching in attitudes that would have pleased Neuville,
their carbines ready, looking with all their eyes and listening with
all their ears. Nothing! I called Vercherin with a low whistle. The
silence was such that he heard it. He understood the sign I made him,
and, holding his carbine high, he went slowly towards the wood and got
into it quickly by the road.
My heart beat for a moment when I saw my scout getting near the thick
border-line of trees; but now I breathed again. We went in after him,
each one by a different opening, and we passed through it as quickly
as the horses' legs and the difficulties of the ground would allow. On
arriving at the further side I was glad to see my four companions
emerging, almost at the same moment, from the thick woody tangle. I
could see their grave and confident faces turned towards me. On the
ridge in front of us, near a solitary tree, stood Vercherin, clear
against the sky and motionless.
We had soon rejoined him, and from this height we saw on the next hill
the second wood which hid the village of Courgivault from our view,
about a kilometre further off. I feared very much that this second
barrier might be used by the enemy as a formidable line of defence,
and on that account I ordered the approach to be made with still
greater precautions than before. But, as in the first case, we found
it empty, and passed through without let or hindrance.
I expected to see Courgivault at once, but a rise in the ground hid it
still. I took advantage of this natural cover for getting my men
forward without risking a shot. Then, still preceded by Vercherin, we
debouched on the plateau on which the village stood.
Those who have found themselves in a similar situation know by
experience the sudden emotion that is felt when one sees a few
hundred yards off the objective of one's mission, the decisive point
one has to reach, cost what it may; the point where one is almost sure
to find the enemy in hiding, where one has a suspicion that he sees
one, is watching one, silently following all one's movements, and only
waiting for the opportunity of picking one off by an unerring shot.
I stopped my men for a moment. Surrounded by green meadows and
stubble-fields dotted with apple-trees, lay the grey outskirts of the
village It was a very ordinary collection of houses, some of them big
farms, others humble cottages. The tiled roofs formed a reddish mass,
and above them rose the squat church tower. With my glasses I could
distinguish the clock-dial, and could see the time--a quarter past
six.
But this clock seemed to be the only thing in the village with any
life in it. I looked in vain into the gardens and orchards, which
formed a belt of flowers and foliage, for signs of the peaceful
animation of country life. And yet it was the time of day when one
usually sees housewives coming out of the cowsheds, with their sleeves
tucked up and their feet in clogs, carrying pails full of fresh
milk--the time when the heavy carts and reaping machines lumber slowly
along the brown roads on their way to the day's work. Was it the war
that had driven away all those poor village folk, or was it the rough
fist of the Teuton that kept them prisoners locked up in their cellars
and threatened with revolvers?
And yet, from where I stood, nothing could lead me to suppose that the
village was occupied by the enemy. I could not distinguish any work of
defence. There did not seem to be any barricade protecting the
entrance. No sentinel was visible at the corners of the stacks or
under the trees.
To the south of the village, pointing in our direction, the imposing
bulk of a large farm protruded, like the prow of a ship. It seemed to
form an advanced bastion of a fortress, represented by Courgivault.
Its walls were high and white. At the end a strong round tower was
planted, roofed with slates; and this enhanced the likeness to a
miniature donjon. The road we had followed, winding between the
fields, passed, so far as we could judge, in front of its principal
entrance. Opposite this entrance there was apparently another road at
right angles to the first, its direction marked by a line of trees
which bordered it. Along this road, separated by short intervals, a
dozen big stacks had the appearance of a threatening line of battle
facing us, so as to bar our approach to the village.
All these things were steeped in the same atmosphere of silence, which
certainly had a more tragic effect than the din of battle. I was
impressed with the idea that the two armies had withdrawn in opposite
directions, and that we were left behind, forgotten, at 100 kilometres
distance from both of them.
But we had to come to the point. At a sign from me Vercherin reached
the first tree of a long row of poplars. The row started from the farm
and bordered the road we were following up to about 100 yards from
the outer wall. By slipping along from one tree to another he would be
able to get near in comparative safety. Suddenly I saw him stop
quickly and, standing up in his stirrups, look straight ahead towards
the stacks.
There was no need for him to make any sign to me. I understood that he
saw something, and I galloped up to him at once. He was as calm as
usual, only his blue eyes were a little more dilated, and he spoke
more rapidly, with an accent I had not heard before.
"_Mon Lieutenant_, ... there behind that stack, it seemed to me ... I
thought I saw a head rise above the grass...."
I looked in the direction he pointed to with his carbine, which he
held at arm's length. I saw nothing but the silent and peaceful
village; I had the same impression of a hateful and depressing void.
And, strange to say, our two horses, whose reins had been hanging
loose on their necks, appeared to be suddenly seized with a
simultaneous terror, and both at once turned right round. I managed
to bring mine back by applying the spur, and while Vercherin, who was
carried further, came back slowly, I used my glasses again, to make a
closer inspection of all the points of the village.
Then, at the very moment that I was putting the glasses to my eyes, I
saw, at less than 100 yards distance, a whole line of sharpshooters,
dressed in grey, rise quickly in front of me. For one short moment a
terrible pang shot through us. How many were there? Perhaps 300. And
almost at the same time a formidable volley of rifle shots rang out.
They had been watching us for a long time. Lying in the grass that
lined the road leading to the farm or else behind the stacks, with the
admirable discipline which makes them so formidable, they had carried
out their orders. Not one of them had shown himself. The _Hauptmann_
(captain) alone, no doubt, put up his head from time to time in order
to judge the favourable moment for ordering them to fire. It was he,
no doubt, very fortunately for us, who had been perceived by
Vercherin just for one moment. If it had not been for the prudence
which we had gained by experience not one of us would have escaped.
Fortunately every one of my men had kept the place exactly that I had
assigned him. Not one of them flinched under the storm. And yet,
Heaven knows what sinister music the bullets played around our ears!
We had to be off.
I made a sign which was quickly understood. We all turned and galloped
off towards the little depression we had emerged from just before. The
bullets accompanied us with their hateful hissing, which made us duck
our heads instinctively. But inwardly I rejoiced at their eagerness to
lay us low, for in their hurry they aimed badly.
We had almost reached our shelter when I suddenly saw to the right of
me "Ramier," Lemaître's horse, fall like a log. As I was trying to
stop my mare, who showed an immoderate desire to put herself out of
danger, I saw both horse and rider struggling for a moment on the
ground, forming a confused mixture of hoofs in the air and waving
arms. Then "Ramier" got up and set off alone, neighing sadly, and with
a limping trot that did not look very promising.
But Lemaître was already on his legs, putting his crushed shako
straight on his head. A bit stunned, he seemed to collect his ideas
for an instant, and then I saw his good-natured ruddy face turned
towards me. It lit up with a broad grin.
"Any damage, old fellow?" I asked.
"Nothing broken, sir."
"Hurry up, then."
And there was Lemaître, striding along with his short legs and heavy
boots, jumping ditches and banks with a nimbleness of which I declare
I should not have thought him capable. It is curious to note the
agility the report of a rifle volley lends to the legs of a dismounted
trooper. Lemaître came in to the shelter in the valley as soon as I
did; and almost at the same time Finet, the sapper, brought in his old
road-companion "Ramier," which he had been able to catch. It was
painful to see the poor animal; his lameness had already become more
marked. He could only get along with great difficulty, and his eyes
showed he was in pain.
I glanced hurriedly at the spot where the bullet had struck him. The
small hole could hardly be seen against the brown skin, just at the
point of the left buttock.
"Just wait here for us; I shall be back in a moment."
I wanted to see if to the east of the village I could note anything
interesting, and I turned round towards my other troopers, whose
horses were panting behind us. I was horrified to see Corporal
Madelaine's face streaming with blood.
"It is nothing, sir ...; it passed in front of my nose."
He wiped his face with the back of his hand. It had indeed been grazed
by a bullet. One half-inch more, and the good fellow's nose would have
been carried off. Fortunately the skin was hardly broken. Madelaine
went on:
"It's nothing; ... but my mare...."
He had dismounted, and with a look of distress showed me his horse's
blood-stained thigh. "Attraction" was the name of his pretty and
delicate little grey mare, which he loved and cared for passionately.
A bullet had pierced her thigh right through, and the blood had flowed
down her leg. I calmed him by saying, "Come, come; it will be nothing.
Go on foot behind that wood, and get quietly under cover with
Lemaître. I will soon come and join you."
And I went off with Vercherin, Finet, and Wattrelot. I tried to get
round to the right of Courgivault. But now that the first shots had
been fired we were not allowed to come nearer. As soon as we appeared
a violent fusillade burst from the outskirts of the village, which
forced us to beat a rapid retreat. There was no longer any doubt about
it; Courgivault was occupied, and occupied in strength.
Under the shelter of a bank I quickly dismounted, and Wattrelot took
my horse's bridle. Whilst I knelt on one knee and on the other wrote
my report for the Colonel, Vercherin and Finet, at an interval of 100
yards, kept a good look-out on the ridge for the enemy's movements. I
handed my message to Wattrelot:
"Take this to the Colonel, and quickly. I will wait here for the
brigade."
I then rode slowly to the corner of the wood, where Madelaine and
Lemaître were posted, whilst Wattrelot went off at a trot across the
stubble. But a sad sight was awaiting me.