his limbs, no doubt, were shattered. No matter! Forward! Forward! We
rushed on towards the wood, where we hoped to get some protection from
the avalanche of shells. A voice called out names behind me:
"Corporal David killed! Sergeant Flosse wounded; leg broken."
My men were running forward so impetuously that presently they were on
a level with me. What fine fellows! I half regretted that some hostile
troop was not waiting for us ambushed in the wood. We might have had a
splendid fight! But would there have been a fight at all? Would the
Prussians have ventured to measure themselves against these
dare-devils, whom danger excites instead of depressing? Well, we were
at the edge of the wood at last, waiting till the Major came up with
us.
Leaning against the trees, my Chasseurs took breath after their race.
I passed swiftly along the line to make sure that all my men were
safe. They were all there, and I was relieved to find that I had no
losses to deplore. The joys and sorrows of war had forged a bond
between us that nothing could break. I had soon learnt to know each
one of them, with his virtues and his faults, and I felt them to be,
without exception, worthy fellows and brave soldiers. Each time death
struck down one of them, I suffered as at the loss of a beloved
brother, and I believe they repaid my affection for them by perfect
trust.
The Major had now rejoined us. We were not to lose a moment in
responding to our Colonel's summons, and we were to remember that our
comrades of the second squadron were bearing the brunt of the enemy's
attack alone.
"Forward!"
We resumed our headlong advance. It was more difficult in the darkness
of the wood than on the soft earth of the fields. We stumbled over
roots, and got entangled in brambles; men fell, picked themselves up
again, and went on with an oath. There was no more chaff; all minds
were strung up to fever pitch, and strength was giving out, while the
storm of shrapnel continued overhead, cropping the branches, and
lighting up the tangle of leafless trees and bushes at intervals as if
with fireworks.
Suddenly I heard on my right, not far behind me, screams and calls for
help, rising above the turmoil of battle. I saw my men stop for a
moment, looking round. But they hurried on again at my orders without
a word.
"Forward!"
Time was precious. Every minute might be fatal to our brothers in
arms. We could now hear the familiar sound of our cavalry carbines
quite close to us. We were approaching the trenches where the second
squadron was making its heroic stand.
"Forward! Forward!"
We were all breathless from our frantic rush. But no one thought of
slackening speed. I turned round to some one who was trotting behind
me. It was my non-commissioned officer. Without a moment's loss of
time he had run to see what had caused the cries we had heard, and now
he had come back at the double to report to me.
"Sir, in the third troop, Sergeant Lagaraldi...."
"Well?"
"He's killed, ... and Corporal Durand too!"
"Ah!"
"And there are many wounded."
I made no answer. Oh! it was horrible! Two poor fellows so full of
life and spirits not an hour ago! In spite of myself I could not help
thinking for a few minutes of the two shattered, quivering bodies
lying among the grasses of the forest. But I thrust away the gruesome
vision resolutely. We could only think of doing our duty at this
supreme moment. Later we would remember the dead, weep for them, and
pray for them.
The darkness was no longer so dense. The tangle of trees in front of
us was less thick, the branches seemed to be opening out, we were near
the edge of the wood. And at the same time, in spite of the mad
beating of my heart and the buzzing in my ears, I was conscious that
the cannonade had ceased, at least in our direction, and that the
bullets were no longer coming so thickly. The German attack was
probably relaxing; there was to be a respite. So much the better! It
would enable us to pass from the wood to the trenches without much
danger, thanks to the darkness.
We had arrived! One by one our men slipped into the communication
trench. What a sense of well-being and of rest we all had! The little
passage in the earth, so uninviting as a rule, seemed to us as
desirable as the most sumptuous palace. We drew breath at last. We
felt almost safe. But still, there was no time to be lost.
While the Major hurried off to take the Colonel's orders I climbed up
on the parapet. Night had now fallen completely, but the moon was
rising. Indeed, it would have been almost as light as day but for a
slight mist which was spreading a diaphanous veil before our eyes. In
the foreground to the right I could barely guess the dim outline of
the battered mill and the burnt farm flanking the trench occupied by
the foot Chasseurs. Further off, however, I could vaguely distinguish
the row of trees that marked the first line of German trenches, about
250 yards away from us. To the left the mist had a reddish tinge. No
doubt yet another house was burning in the unhappy village of
Bixschoote.
There was a sudden silence in this little corner of the great
battlefield, as if our arrival in the firing line had been a
prearranged signal. On our right, too, the intensity of the fire upon
the trenches occupied by the ---- Territorials diminished. To the
left, on the other hand, the gun fire and rifle fire were incessant
in the direction of the bridge of Steenstraate, defended by the ----
Brigade of mounted Chasseurs. It seemed evident that the Germans,
having failed in their attempt to cross the Yser canal near us, were
making a fresh effort further to the north. However, it is not safe to
rely too absolutely even upon the most logical deductions, for very
often the event upsets the most careful calculations and frustrates
the wisest plans.
The moon was now shining with extraordinary brilliance, and the fog,
far from veiling its lustre, seemed to make it more disconcerting.
Persons assumed strange forms and the shapes of things were modified
or exaggerated. Our dazzled eyes were mocked by depressing
hallucinations; the smallest objects took on alarming proportions, and
whenever a slight breeze stirred the foliage of the beetroot field in
front of us we imagined we saw a line of snipers advancing.
I had great difficulty in preventing my men from firing. It was
necessary to eke out our cartridges with the utmost care, for, owing
to some mistake in the transmission of orders, our supplies had not
been replenished since the day before, and we had used a great many in
the fighting round Bixschoote. A like prudence was not, however,
observed all along the line, for every now and then the trenches would
be suddenly illuminated at a point where for a few seconds a useless
volley would ring out. Then everything relapsed into darkness and
immobility.
Towards Steenstraate, too, the firing seemed to be dying down. I
looked at my watch. It was half-past six. This was the hour when as a
rule our men began to feel hungry, and when in each troop the
Chasseurs would set out, pannikin in hand, towards the smoking
saucepan where the cook awaited them wielding his ladle with an
important air. But on this particular evening no one thought of
eating. We seemed all to feel that our work was not yet over, and that
we had still a weighty task on hand. It was certainly not the moment
to light fires and make soup; no doubt the Prussians were brewing
something for us of a different kind, and it would never do not to
return their compliments promptly.
Ready? Yes, we were ready. I turned and looked back into the trench.
All my brave fellows were standing, their eyes turned to me, and
seemed bent on divining by my attitude or gestures any new effort I
might be about to ask of them. The pale light of the moonbeams struck
full on their faces, leaving their bodies shrouded in the darkness of
the trench. What a strange and comforting spectacle it was! In every
eye I read calm courage and absolute confidence.
Whenever I feel weary or depressed, inclined to curse the slowness of
our advance and the thousand miseries of war, I need only do what I
did that evening. I need only turn to my Chasseurs and look into their
eyes without a word; there I read so many noble and touching things
that I am ashamed to have felt a momentary weakness.
They do not ask the why and the wherefore of things. They live from
day to day, weighed down by hard work. To them the actual fighting is
a rest and a delight. As soon as it is over they have to resume the
hard life of cavalrymen on active service, spend all their time
looking after their horses, fetching rations and forage, often from a
considerable distance, cleaning harness and arms, and every night
contriving some sort of quarters for themselves and their beasts in
the squalor of half-destroyed or abandoned villages, quarters they
must leave on the morrow. Yet nothing seems to depress them. They
preserve all the eagerness of the first few days and that imperishable
French gaiety which is an additional weapon for our troops.
That evening I felt them vibrating in unison with me more keenly than
ever.
There was little doubt that I should have to appeal to their courage
again presently, for something unusual was happening in front of us.
It was maddening not to be able to pierce the luminous mist, behind
which the enemy would be able to form up and take new positions
without our knowledge. Down behind the line of willows we could now
barely distinguish, we were aware of mysterious sounds, making a kind
of distant murmur. They must come from the rattle of arms, orders
given in whispers, footsteps slipping on the fat soil of plough-lands.
Listening heads craned over our parapets. Each man was trying to hear,
to understand, to see, and to divine, and each felt intuitively that
the enemy was about to renew his assault. The most absolute silence
and the most impressive calm reigned in our trenches. Yes, we were
ready for them! Let them come!
Then suddenly from the enemy's camp there rose a solemn, harmonious
hymn sung by hundreds of manly voices. We could not distinguish the
words uttered in the barbarian tongue. But the music was perfectly
audible, and I must confess that nothing caused me so much surprise
throughout this eventful evening. With what ardour and unanimity, and
also, I am bound to admit, with what art, these men proclaimed their
faith before rushing on death! One could imagine no more magnificent
temple for the prayers of soldiers about to offer up their lives than
the spacious firmament above and the luminous night around. We
listened, touched and delighted. The hymn continued for some time, and
the music seemed to me noble and inspiring; the voices were true and
the execution admirable. But, above all, the singing conveyed a
disturbing impression of disciplined and ordered piety. To what
lengths these men carry their love of command and obedience!
Suddenly the hymn broke off abruptly in a formidable uproar, above
which rose thousands of voices shouting:
"Hurrah! Hurrah! Cavalry! Cavalry!"
Then, dominating the tumult, we heard their trumpets sounding the
short, monotonous notes of the Prussian charge.
I leaped back into the trench.
"Independent fire!"
The whole French line burst into a violent and deafening fusillade.
Each man seemed full of blind rage, of an exasperated lust for
destruction. I saw them take aim rapidly, press the trigger, and
reload in feverish haste. I was deafened and bewildered by the
terrible noise of the firing in the narrow confines of the trench. To
our left, the machine-gun section of my friend F. kept up an infernal
racket.
But the German line had suddenly dropped to the ground. I could barely
distinguish a swarm of grey shadows running about in the fog. Then not
a single dark figure was visible on the pale background of the tragic
scene. How many of the bodies we could no longer make out must have
been lying lifeless, and how horrible their proximity must have been
to the living stretched side by side with them!
Our men had ceased firing of their own accord, and a strange silence
had succeeded to the deafening din. What was about to happen? Would
they dare to come on again? We hoped so with all our hearts, for we
felt that if we could keep our men in hand, and prevent them from
firing at random, the enemy could never get at us. But, above all, it
was essential to economise our ammunition, for if we were short of
cartridges, what resistance could we offer to a bayonet charge with
our little carbines reduced to silence?
The Germans must have been severely shaken, for they seemed afraid to
resume the attack. Nothing was moving in the bare plain that stretched
before us. During this respite an order came from the officer in
command, passing from mouth to mouth:
"Hand it on: No firing without the word of command."
Then silence fell on our trenches, heavy and complete as on the
landscape before us. Suddenly, on the place where the enemy's riflemen
had thrown themselves on the ground, we saw a slim shadow rise and
stand. The man had got up quietly, as if no danger threatened him.
And, in spite of everything, it was impossible not to admire the
gallantry of his act. He stood motionless for a second, leaning on his
sword or a stick; then he raised his arm slowly, and a hoarse voice
yelled:
"_Auf!_" [Up!]
Other voices repeated the word of command, and were answered by
renewed "hurrahs!" Then the heavy line of riflemen sprang up and again
rushed towards us:
"Fire! Fire!"
Once more our trenches belched forth their infernal fire. We could now
plainly see numbers of them fall; then they suddenly threw themselves
on the ground just as before. But instead of crouching motionless
among the beetroot they began to answer our fire. Innumerable bullets
whistled about us. I noted with joy that my men remained perfectly
steady; they were aiming and firing deliberately, whereas at other
points the fusillade was so violent that it cannot have been
efficacious. I was very glad not to have to reprove my brave
Chasseurs, for the uproar was so terrific that my voice would not have
carried beyond the two men nearest to me. I calculated the number of
cartridges each of them must have in reserve; twenty-five, perhaps
thirty. How would it all end? I was just thinking of ordering my troop
to cease firing, in order to reserve my ammunition for a supreme
effort, if this should be necessary.
But something happened which checked this decision. F.'s machine-guns
must have worked fearful havoc among our assailants, for suddenly,
without a cry and without an order, we saw them rise and make off
quickly right and left in the fog.
"Silence!"
I was obliged to intervene to subdue the joyous effervescence caused
in my troop. The men began to discuss their impressions in tones of
glee that might have become dangerous. Ladoucette's voice was heard,
as usual, above the din, calling upon his absent wife to admire his
exploits:
"Madame Ladoucette, if you could have seen that!"
But we had to be on the _qui vive_. The German attack had been
checked, but it might be renewed.
We were fully alive to the courage and tenacity of our enemies.
I could distinguish nothing ahead in the increasingly thick white fog.
All I could hear was the sound of pickaxes on the ground and the thud
of falling clods. The enemy had, no doubt, decided not to attack again
and were digging new trenches. They no longer uttered their
contemptuous guttural cries of "Cavalry! Cavalry!" They had learnt to
their cost that these French cavalrymen, at the sight of whom their
own are so ready to turn back, could hold their own equally well
against German infantry. I thought we might count on a little respite.
The battlefield was silent, save for the faint cries occasionally
uttered by the wounded.
I hastily detached two troopers to man the listening-posts, and they
slipped away silently. Then, as our Captain had unfortunately been
summoned to Elverdinghe that day on special duty, I went to look for
the Major to make my report to him. My men had seated themselves on
the rough ledges cut in the slope of the trench, their carbines
between their knees, and were talking together in low tones. As I
passed a friendly smile lit up their faces. I walked slowly along the
narrow trench, careful not to tread on the feet of the talkers.
As I approached a point where the trench, following the direction of
the wood, formed an abrupt angle, I heard two familiar voices
exchanging the following words:
"Fifty-two!... Tierce major...; three aces!"
"Capital!"
This was really the limit! I turned the corner and came upon Major B.
and F. seated on the ledge, quietly playing cards by the brilliant
moonlight. As their tiny retreat could not accommodate four players,
they were solacing themselves with a game of piquet.
Oh, all you who are of necessity far from the scene of conflict, good
Frenchmen and valiant Frenchwomen, how I should have liked you to see
this picture! No doubt you often wonder whether those who are
defending your homes against the accursed invader will be able to bear
the sufferings of this war to the bitter end; you fear that they may
be losing their good humour and their dashing spirits; you imagine
them brooding with careworn faces and anxious souls when, the
excitement of the encounter dying down, they think of what the morrow
may bring forth. How I wish you could have seen Major B. and the
gallant Lieutenant F. playing piquet in the trench where they had just
repulsed a furious German attack, which might have been renewed at any
moment!
I left them to go on with their game, and went in search of my comrade
O. I found him in the middle of his troop, talking amicably with his
men. After the enemy had ceased firing he had sent a party of sappers
to dig the graves of the two non-commissioned officers who had fallen
in the wood. We retired into a corner of the trench, and there he told
me of the grief he felt at this loss, a grief he was doing his best to
hide, so as not to injure the _moral_ of his troop. Lagaraldi had
just got his promotion, and was a soldier of the highest promise;
Durand was the model corporal, clean, cheerful, and active. And, even
if they had been but mediocre troopers, I knew too well what we
officers feel when we lose even a passable Chasseur, to wonder at the
melancholy of my charming young comrade.
Time went on, and there were no signs of a fresh attack. The enemy's
artillery seemed to be neglecting us, and to be bent upon the
destruction of the Boesinghe bridge, by which we had crossed the Yser.
His great shells flew over our heads with a sinister roar, and a few
seconds later we heard the explosion far behind us. The German
trenches in front of us were silent. A single shot fired at intervals
alone reminded us that they were not forsaken.
"_Mon Lieutenant_, it's all ready."
A corporal had come out of the wood to tell O. that the graves were dug.
When we had sent word to our chiefs, and placed our non-commissioned
officers in temporary command, our strange, sad procession of mourners
left the trenches and slipped through the thicket in single file. There
were four officers, the Lieutenant-Colonel, Major B., O., and myself and
four non-commissioned officers. It would have been dangerous to deplete
the firing line further.
With heavy hearts we retraced our steps through the wood we had so
lately passed through in all the exaltation of our advance. We knew
the moral anguish we were about to feel in rendering this last service
to our young brothers-in-arms. It was unhappily by no means the first
time we had held such a ceremony, but never had I been present at one
in such tragic circumstances, nor in such impressive surroundings. We
hurried along, almost running in our anxiety to return quickly to our
men. The branches caught at us and slashed our faces, the dead leaves
and twigs crackled under our tread. Above us the shells still sang
their funeral song.
We had now come in sight of the burial-ground. In the moonlight, at
the edge of the wood close to the spot where our gallant fellows had
fallen, we could distinguish newly-dug earth, and four silent men
standing beside it, their tunics thrown off, leaning on spade and
pickaxe. It was there.
In a little ravaged garden-plot, at the foot of great trees which
would guard these graves, they had dug two holes, which, by night,
looked extraordinarily deep and dark.
Ought we to lament or to envy the touching and simple burial rite of
soldiers? To me, nothing could be more beautiful than such a last
resting-place. Why should we desire richer tombs, sepulchral stones,
and sculptured monuments? We are all equal upon that field of death,
the battlefield at the close of day. And there can be no fitter shroud
for him who has fallen on that field than his soldier's cloak. A
little earth that will be grass-grown and flower-spangled again in the
spring, a simple cross of rough wood, a name, a regimental number, a
date--all this is better than the most splendid obsequies. And what
can be more touching than the poor little bunches of wild flowers
which the friends of the dead gather on the banks of ditches, and
which are to be seen days afterwards, faded and yet so fair, hanging
on the humble crosses? Such was to be the portion of Lagaraldi and
Durand. Why should we pity them? We will weep for them, we will not
pity them.
They were there, lying side by side in their cloaks, the turned-up
capes of which shrouded their heads, and we bared our own in silence.
Each of us, consciously or unconsciously, breathed a prayer, each set
his teeth and tried to restrain his tears.
But we were not destined to pray in peace to the end. At the moment
when the Lieutenant-Colonel was about to express our sorrow and
pronounce the last farewell the enemy's mortars, suddenly changing
their objective, began to bombard the part of the wood on the edge of
which we were standing.
What was their idea? Did they think our reserves were massed in the
wood? However this may have been, a formidable avalanche descended
above and around us. The first salvo literally cleared the wood close
by us. A great tree, cut through the middle, bent over for an instant
and then rolled gently to the ground with a great crackling of broken
boughs. At the same time the German bullets began to whistle round us
by thousands, apparently determined to draw us into their frenzied
saraband. Death seemed for a moment inevitable. We could not hesitate;
we had to take cover, or to be mown down by shot or shell.
Then--I shall remember the gruesome moment to my dying hour--we all
leaped into the only available shelter--crouching together in the
newly-dug graves. We were just in time.
Bullets flew past us; the great "coal-boxes" burst without
intermission. The uproar was tremendous, beyond anything we had ever
heard. It would be impossible to describe the horror of those minutes.
Those graves, all too spacious for the poor bodies we were about to
commit to them, were too small to shelter us. We pressed one against
the other in the strangest positions, hiding our heads between the
shoulders of those who were lying in front of us; we thought every
moment that the network of projectiles would be drawn more tightly
round us, and that one would fall into our holes, transforming them
into a ghastly charnel-house.
This idea occurred to me suddenly and obsessed me. Yes, yes, presently
the great snorting, whistling, pitiless thing would fall between O.
and me. We should feel nothing; there would be no pain. We should be
only a little heap of bloody clay, and to-morrow at daybreak our
comrades would but have to throw a few spadefuls of earth upon it.
They would put a plain wooden cross above, with our names and ranks,
the number of our regiment, a date: "November 3, 1914." And it would
be better than any sumptuous monument.
"Hush! Listen!"
Between two explosions, in spite of the noise of the German bullets,
we distinctly heard the crack of our carbines.
"Our men are fighting!"
We all understood, and with one bound we were up and running
frantically through the wood. How was it that none of us were killed?
How did we manage to escape the shells and bullets which were cropping
the branches and felling the trees around us? I shall never understand
or forget this experience.