on the ground and struggling feebly with death. His eyes were already
dull and his legs convulsed. Every now and then he shuddered
violently.
I looked at Lemaître, who felt as if he were losing his best friend.
And, indeed, is not our horse our best friend when we are
campaigning--the friend that serves us well to the very last, that
saves us time and again from death, and carries us until he can carry
us no longer? I dismounted and threw the reins to Lemaître:
"Don't grieve, my good fellow; it is a fine end for your 'Ramier.' He
might, like so many others, have died worn out with work or suffering
under some hedgerow. He has a soldier's death. All we can do is to cut
short his sufferings and send him quickly to rejoin his many good
comrades in the paradise of noble animals. For they have their
paradise, I am sure."
But Lemaître hardly seemed convinced. He shook his head sadly, and
said:
"Oh, _mon Lieutenant_! I shall never be able to replace him. Such a
good animal! such a fine creature! He jumped so well.... And his coat
was always so beautiful; he was so sleek and so easy to keep.... No, I
shall never find another like him."
"Oh! yes, you will."
However, I must confess my hand trembled as I drew my revolver. One
horse the less in a troop is somewhat the same as one child the less
in a family. And, besides, it means one trooper unmounted and the loss
of a sword in battle. Lemaître was right. "Ramier" was a good old
servant, one of the kind that never goes lame, can feed on anything or
on nothing, and never hurts anybody. It was hard to put an end to him;
but since he was done for....
I put the muzzle of my revolver into his ear. I did not wish him to
feel the cold metal; but his whole body shuddered, and his eye,
lighting up for a moment, seemed to reproach me. Paff! A short, sharp
report, and "Ramier" quivered for a moment. Then his sufferings
ceased, and his stiffening carcase added one more to the many that
strewed the country.
Whilst Lemaître slung his heavy package on his shoulders and went off
to return to the regiment with Corporal Madelaine, who was leading
"Attraction," I went back to my observation post, not far from Finet
and Vercherin. Silence and gloom still hung over Courgivault.
Suddenly, behind me, coming out of the wood, I saw a cavalry troop in
extended order, riding in our direction. They were _Chasseurs
d'Afrique_. I recognised them by the large numbers of white horses,
which made light patches upon the dark green of the thicket, and
almost at the same moment a dull report resounded in the distance. A
curious humming noise was heard above our heads, and a shell fell and
burst at the foot of the stacks in the possession of the Prussian
infantry. It came from one of our batteries of 75-millimetre guns,
which was already getting the range of Courgivault.
My message had reached the Colonel. The battle of the Marne had begun.
* * * * *
Under a superbly clear sky, lit up by myriads of stars, the brigade,
in a high state of delight, crossed the battlefield on returning to
camp. Above our heads the last shells sent by the enemy were bursting
in bouquets of fire. We paid no attention to them. Meeting some
battalions of infantry on their way to reinforce the line, we were
asked for news, and shouted: "Courgivault, Montceau ... taken, lost,
then retaken with the bayonet by the brave infantry of the M.
Division. Enemy's regiments annihilated by our artillery, which has
done magnificently...."
Little by little the firing died away along the whole line. Fires,
started by the shells, lit up the battlefield on every side, like
torches set ablaze for our glory. All hearts were filled with joy. It
hovered over the blood-stained country, from which arose a kind of
intoxication that took possession of our souls.
How splendid is the evening of a first victory!
IV. THE JAULGONNE AFFAIR
On September 9, at about eight o'clock in the evening, our advanced
scouts entered Montigny-les-Condé at the moment when the last dragoons
of the Prussian Guard were leaving it at full speed. Our pursuit was
stopped by the night, which was very dark. Large threatening clouds
were moving across the sky, making it impossible to see ten paces
ahead. Whilst the captains were hastily posting guards all round the
village, whilst the lieutenants were erecting barricades at all the
outlets and setting sentries over them, the quartermasters had all the
barns and stables thrown open. With the help of the inhabitants they
portioned out, as well as they could, the insufficient accommodation
among the men and the horses of the squadrons. In each troop camp
fires were lighted under shelter of the walls so that the enemy should
not see them.
What a dinner we had that evening! It was in a large room with a low
open roof supported by small beams. The walls were smoke-blackened and
dirty. On a chest placed near the door I can see still a big pile of
ration loaves, thrown together anyhow; and leaning over the hearth of
the large fireplace, lit up by the wood fire, was an unknown man who
was stirring something in a pot. Round the large table a score of
hungry and jaded but merry officers were fraternally sharing some
pieces of meat which the man took out of the pot.
The Captain and I ate out of the same plate and drank out of the same
metal cup, for crockery was scarce. The poor woman of the house ran
round the table, consumed by her eagerness to make everybody
comfortable. And in the farthest corner, away from the light, a very
old peasant, with a dazed look and haggard eyes, was watching the
unexpected scene. The company heartily cheered Captain C. for his
cleverness in finding and bringing to light, from some nook or other,
a large pitcher of rough wine.
For three days we had been pursuing and fighting the German army, and
we were tired out; but we had not felt it until the evening on
stopping to give our poor horses a little rest. Before the last
mouthful had been swallowed several of us were already snoring with
their heads on their arms upon the table.
The rest were talking about the situation. The enemy was retreating
rapidly on the Marne. He must have crossed it now, leaving as cover
for his retreat the division of the Cavalry of the Guard which our
brigade had been fighting unceasingly ever since the battle of
September 6. Would they have time to blow up all the bridges behind
them? Should we be obliged to wait until our sappers had built new
ones before we could resume our pursuit?
We were particularly anxious about two fine officers that our Colonel
had just sent out that night on a reconnaissance--F., of the
_Chasseurs d'Afrique_, and my old friend O., of our squadron. We
wondered anxiously whether they would be able to perform their
task--to get at all costs as far as the Marne, and let us know by dawn
whether the river could be crossed either at Mont Saint Père,
Jaulgonne, Passy-sur-Marne, or Dormans. Nothing could have been more
hazardous than these expeditions, made on a dark night across a
district still occupied by the enemy.
The night was short. Before day dawned the horses were saddled and the
men ready to mount. And as soon as the first rays of morning filtered
through, my squadron, which had been told off as advance guard of the
brigade, rapidly descended the steep slopes which commanded the small
town of Condé. A.'s troop led. My business was to reconnoitre the
eastern part of the town with mine, whilst F., with his troop, was to
see to the western quarters.
With sabres drawn, our Chasseurs distributed themselves briskly, by
squads, through the streets of the old city. The horses' hoofs
resounded cheerily on the paved streets between the old grey houses.
The inhabitants ventured out upon their doorsteps, in spite of the
early hour, with some hesitation at first, but glad indeed when they
saw our light-blue uniforms; they cheered, crying: "They are gone!...
they are gone!" But some old folk replied more calmly to my questions:
"_Monsieur l'Officier_, have a care. They were here an hour ago with a
large number of horses and guns. There was even a general, with his
whole staff, lodged at the great house up there.... We would not swear
that some of them are not there still."
I collected my troop, and then went quickly to the château which stood
at the northern entrance of Condé. It was rather a fine building, but
I had not time to notice its architectural style. Haste was necessary,
for the brigade behind me was due to arrive. As far as I remember, the
château formed a harmonious whole, and the different parts of it
showed up cheerfully against the dark foliage of the park, which was
still glittering after the night's rain. The building was in the form
of a horseshoe, and in the centre there was a kind of courtyard
bordered by two rows of orange trees in tubs.
I at once posted two guards, one on the road to provide against any
surprise and the other at the park entrance to prevent egress, in case
any fugitive should attempt to pass. Then, with the rest of my men, I
rode through the large gilded iron gates at a trot. In the avenue
which led to the house two men were standing motionless. One of them,
dressed in black and clean-shaven, appeared to be some old servant of
the family, the other must have been one of the gardeners. Their pale
faces and red eyes showed that they had had little sleep that night.
"Well, my friend," said I to one of them, "is there anybody left at
your place?"
"Sir," he answered, "I couldn't tell you; for I have not set foot in
the house since they left it. What I do know is that they feasted all
night and got horribly drunk. They have drunk the whole cellar dry,
and I shouldn't be surprised if some of them are still under the
table."
But when I asked him to come in with me, to act as guide for our
visit, he refused with a look of horror. He trembled all over at the
thought of seeing perchance one of the guests who had been forced upon
him. As there was no time to be lost, I told my men to dismount at
once, and gave orders to one corporal to search the right wing of the
building, to another to reconnoitre the left wing. I myself undertook
to see about the central block with the rest of my troop. We had to
make haste, so I instructed my subordinates to go quickly through the
different rooms and not to inspect them in detail.
The entrance door was wide open. Taking my revolver in my hand, I
entered the hall, which was in indescribable disorder. Orderlies had
evidently slept and had their meals there, for the stone floor was
littered with straw, and empty bottles, sardine-boxes, and pieces of
bread were lying about. But when I opened the door of the dining-room
I could not help pausing for a moment to look at the strange sight
before me. The grey light of that September morning came in through
four large windows and shone dimly upon the long table. The officers
of the Guard had certainly made their arrangements well. They had
levied contribution upon all the silver plate that could be found,
which was hardly necessary, for, as they had arrived too late to have
a proper meal prepared, they had to be content with what they had
brought with them. The contrast between the rich plate, some of it
broken, the empty silver dishes, and the empty tins of preserved meat
was strange indeed. But they had solaced themselves in the cellar.
Innumerable bottles, both empty and full, were piled upon the
furniture. Costly glasses of all shapes and sizes, some empty, others
still half full, were standing about in every direction. The white
tablecloth was soiled with large purple stains. The floor was littered
with bits of smashed glass. By the table, the chairs that had been
pushed back or overturned showed the number of drinkers to have been
about ten. An acrid smell of tobacco and wine hung about this scene
of an overnight orgy.
One thing I specially remember: the sight of an officer's cap, with a
red band, hanging from one of the branches of the large chandelier in
the centre of the room. And I could not help picturing to my mind the
head of the man it had belonged to, some _Rittmeister_, with an
eyeglass, fat pink cheeks and neck bulging over the collar of his
tunic. What a pity he had been able to decamp! That is the kind of
countenance we should so much have liked to see closer and face to
face.
But I could not wait. We rushed hastily through drawing-rooms turned
upside down, and bedrooms where the beds still bore traces of summary
use by heavy bodies. But we found no forgotten drunkard in them.
My two corporals were already waiting for us when we returned to the
courtyard. They had not found any one in their search. Quickly we
mounted, and passed rapidly out by the gilded gates. The old servant
and the gardener were still on the same spot, standing silent and
depressed. They said not a word to us, nor did they make any sign;
they seemed to be completely unhinged and incapable of understanding
what had happened.
I had hardly returned to the squadron when I saw a sight I can never
forget. At a turn in the road three horsemen came towards us covered
with blood. I recognised F., the officer of _Chasseurs d'Afrique_, who
had been sent out to reconnoitre the evening before. He had lost his
cap, and had his head bound up with a blood-stained handkerchief. His
left arm was likewise slung in an improvised bandage tied round his
neck. He was followed by two men who were also covered with wounds.
Their eyes shone bright and resolute in their feverish faces. One of
them, having no scabbard, was still holding his sword, which was
twisted and stained with blood. We pulled up instinctively and
saluted.
"I haven't been able to reach the Marne," said F., with disappointment
in his voice. "But, being fired upon by their outposts in the dark,
we charged and got through, and then charged through two villages
under a hail of bullets; and again we had to charge their outposts to
get back. You see, ... I have brought back two men out of eight, and
all my horses have been killed.... These horses"--pointing to his
own--"are those of three Uhlans we killed so as not to have to come
home on foot."
Certainly they were not riding the pretty little animals that make
such excellent mounts for our _Chasseurs d'Afrique_, but were perched
on three big mares with the heavy German equipment.
"But," F. repeated in a tone of vexation, "I wasn't able to get to the
Marne.... There were too many of them for us."
We pressed his unwounded hand warmly. Poor F.! Brave fellow! Not many
days afterwards he was to meet a glorious death charging once more,
with three Chasseurs, to rescue one of his men who had been wounded. A
more perfect type of cavalryman--I might say, of knight--was never
seen. He sleeps now, riddled with lance wounds, in the plains of
Champagne.
We had hardly left him when we caught sight of the reconnoitring party
of my comrade O., and were overjoyed to find that he had come back
unscathed with all his men. And yet he had had to face a fair number
of dangers--attacks by cyclists and pursuit by cavalry. At Crézancy,
where he arrived at three o'clock in the morning, he found the village
occupied and strongly held. There is only one bridge over the railway
there, and that is at the other end of the village. By good luck he
was able to get hold of one of the inhabitants; and he forced him, by
holding his revolver to his head, to guide him by all sorts of byways
so as to make a circuit without attracting attention and get to the
bridge. There he set forward at a gallop, and passed, in spite of
being fired on by the guard. At last he reached the Marne. The only
bridge he found intact for crossing the river was the bridge at
Jaulgonne, a slender, fragile suspension-bridge, but one that we
should be very glad to find if there was still time to use it. He then
hurried back through the woods, but not without having to run the
gauntlet of rifle fire several times more. He brought back information
which was to guide our advance.
It was seen at once that there was not a minute to lose. The Captain
detached me immediately, with my troop, to act as a flank-guard along
the line of wooded crests by which the road on the right was
commanded, whilst F., with his troop, crossed the Surmelin and the
railway which runs alongside of it, and went to carry out the same
task on the other side of the valley.
My job was difficult enough. In fact, the heights, which look down
upon the course of the Surmelin to the east, consist of a series of
ridges separated by narrow ravines at right angles to the river, and
these we had to cross to continue our route towards the north. The
enemy seemed to have withdrawn completely from this region, and the
cannon fire in the distance towards the east could hardly be heard.
At last, at about seven o'clock in the morning, we debouched upon the
valley of the Marne.
Whilst I sent some troopers along the road which winds by the Surmelin
to keep in touch with my Captain, I carefully inspected the right bank
of the Marne with my glasses. The scene would have tempted a painter,
and the labours of war do not prevent one from enjoying the charm of
such delightful pictures. The sun was gradually dispersing the mist of
the sullen morning, and was beginning to gild the wooded heights which
look down upon the two banks of the river. Everywhere a calm was
reigning, which seemed to promise a day of exquisite beauty. We might
have fancied that we were bent on some peaceful rural work favoured by
a radiant autumn morning. The Marne in this region winds in graceful
curves. It flows limpid and clear through a narrow valley carpeted
with green meadows and bordered, right and left, by gentle hills
dotted with woods. At our feet, peeping from the poplars and beeches
on the bank, we saw the white houses of dainty villages--Chartèves,
Jaulgonne, Varennes, and Barzy.
I directed my attention more particularly towards Jaulgonne, because
it was in that direction that the attempt to cross the river would be
made. The heights immediately above Jaulgonne rise steeply on the
north bank, and almost stand in the river. On the other hand, to the
south, on our side, the left bank of the Marne is bordered by
extensive meadows crossed by the railway and the high-road to Épernay.
The position therefore would have been very strong for the Germans, if
they had crossed to the other side of the river, for we should have
been obliged, before we could reach the bridge, to traverse a vast
open expanse which they could have kept under the fire of their
artillery. My Chasseurs, prompt to grasp the reason of things,
scrutinised the opposite bank no less intently than I. No movement
could be seen; nothing suggested the presence of troops among the
russet thickets which covered the sides of the silent hill. Could
they have already retired farther off? Could they have abandoned this
formidable position without any attempt to defend it?
At that moment one of my Chasseurs appeared, coming by the steep path
which led from the road to the wooded ridge on which we were. His
horse was panting, for the declivity was stiff, and he had had to
hasten. He brought me orders.
"_Mon Lieutenant_, the Captain has sent me to tell you to join him as
quickly as possible at the other end of the bridge. The first troop
has already crossed, but some of the enemy's horse have been seen on
the other side of the village."
As he said these words we heard some firing in the distance, which
sounded very distinct and sharp in the radiant peace of that beautiful
September morning. "Come, so much the better," thought I. "We have
engaged them. We shall have a good time." My men had already begun to
joke and to be more alert and abrupt in their movements. It was a
kind of joyous reaction which always affects troopers when they begin
to hear the guns and look forward to a good hard ride in which they,
like the rest of us, are always certain of getting the best of it.
In single file we went quickly down towards the plain by the stony,
slippery path. We soon reached the high-road, and then turned to the
left and came upon the long causeway bordered by poplars which led to
the bridge. Quite close to the bank I saw a small group of dismounted
cavalrymen, and soon recognised our Colonel with his Brigade Staff. He
was giving his orders to the Lieutenant-Colonel commanding the
_Chasseurs d'Afrique_. I went up to him to report, and learnt that the
first squadron had already crossed the river and occupied the village
on the other side. Some parties of German cavalry had been seen on the
neighbouring heights.
I got ready to rejoin my comrades at once. But patience was required
if the Marne was to be crossed. The bridge appeared to be a delicate
sort of toy hovering over the water. How could they dream of sending
thousands of men, horses, and guns over a thing so slender that it
looked as though it were supported by the fragile meshes of a spider's
web? Captain D. gave me the Colonel's precise orders: not to pass more
than four troopers at a time, and these at walking pace.
Taking the initiative in the movement, I started with my first four
Chasseurs. The bridge rang strangely under our horses' hoofs, and
seemed to me to oscillate in an alarming manner. Fortunately the enemy
was not on the other side; if he had been, our passage would have cost
us dear.
As I was making these reflections a violent fusillade burst out from
the edge of the woods overlooking Jaulgonne to the east. It must have
been directed upon the village, for no bullets whistled around us, so
it was probably our first squadron engaging the German cavalry. When I
got to the other end of the bridge my impatience increased. It was
torture to think of the time it would take to collect my thirty men
and hurry forward to help the others; and I noticed the same
impatience in my men's looks. Those who were on the bridge, walking
slowly and gently across, seemed to implore me to let them trot; but I
pretended not to understand, and the horses' feet continued to trample
heavily over the echoing bridge. At last all my men were over.
We fell in and reached Jaulgonne at a trot. On passing through it we
found several of the inhabitants on their doorsteps:
"_Monsieur l'Officier_, ... _Monsieur l'Officier_, will they come back
again?"
"Never!" I shouted, with conviction.
I stopped an orderly, who told me that the German cavalry were firing
on the exit from the town. How many of them he could not say, as they
were hidden in the woods. He told me, too, that the first squadron was
holding all the entrances to the north and east of the village except
the one on the river bank on the road to Marcilly, where my comrade F.
had posted his troop. I decided then to put myself at the disposal of
the party defending the chief exit from the village, the one that
opened into the road to Fismes. It was the most important one, for it
was in that direction that the Germans were retiring.
The village had been prevented from spreading further to the north by
the heights, which formed an abrupt barrier. It is built astride the
road to Fismes, which thus becomes its principal, if not its only,
street. I had then to go right through Jaulgonne before I could get
out of it in the direction of the firing. I soon did this, and found
the horses of the first squadron massed in the short alleys leading
out of the main street. I ordered my troop to dismount in a yard much
too small and very inconvenient. But the first thing to do was to
clear the causeway and shelter our horses from bullets, which might
enfilade the street if the fighting bore away towards the left. Then,
whilst a non-commissioned officer collected the squads for the action
on foot, I ran as far as the furthest houses of the village to
reconnoitre the ground and get orders.
I spied Major P. in a sheltered nook, still mounted, and he told me
of his anxiety about the situation. The enemy riflemen were invisible,
and were riddling the outskirts of the village, while we were unable
to reply; and some guns had been seen which were being got into
position. He advised me to go and see the captain of the first
squadron, who had been ordered to defend that entrance of the village,
and to place myself at his disposal in case of need.