waver; then it commenced to descend slowly and leisurely until finally
dying from sight. And then the darkness was more impenetrable than
ever.
The fusillade had burst out from the enemy's trenches more violently
than ever the moment the wan, pale light of the star irradiated the
earth. Now the darkness has again descended, the firing does not
decrease. Rather the whistling of bullets increases. Other star shells
rise and burst; on each occasion I see the rank of my men, one
pressing against the other, necks extended, watching closely the
course of the star.
A bullet strikes a metal object behind me, doubtless some old
water-flask. The sound brings me to attention again. I listen to the
bullets, their whining, the dead thud they make against the trunks of
the trees, the lash-like hissing they make when flying far towards the
trenches of the reserve, the long-drawn, the musical note of those
flying still higher and passing over the hilltop into space.
The steps of someone approaching are heard. Someone is coming, walking
evenly and steadily, through the mortal hail. I see the man is erect;
he is following the line of the trenches; from time to time he halts
and bends a little, as though to speak to those in the trench, well
sheltered from the shots. Then he rises and, quite erect, continues on
his way, thrusting aside the brambles with a stick in his hand. In
this way, with the same appearance of indifference and nonchalance, he
passes through the leaden tempest raging about the terrain which
separates us from the neighbouring trench. A few yards from me he
seems to hesitate, moves back a little while looking about him, then
in a low voice he calls my name.
"I am here," I say. "Can you hear me? Come towards my voice."
And Porchon, seating himself tranquilly on the parapet, his legs in
the trench, his head and body exposed to the bullets, offers me his
hand, saying:
"Good evening, old man."
And there he remains, joking and laughing and jeering at the fears of
the men, which had not abated since sunset.
"You know Timmie, the deaf man, he saw about four hundred Germans in a
heap. I took him by the arm and dragged him over towards the wood. He
fought like a man possessed. I had to release him at last, as he would
have screamed. And so I went forward all alone; and this cursed Timmie
said--yes, my boy, he said: 'Oh! Lieutenant, God permits you to walk
over there!'"
He lowered his voice to tell me that one of the sentries had been
wounded by his comrades when the firing just started. He commenced to
laugh again, relating how a sergeant, seeing him walking along the
parapet when the firing was heaviest, began to call himself
indescribable things, jumped out of the trench and swore he would
remain outside until daybreak, and only after enormous trouble and
threats of punishment had Porchon induced him to get down again with
his men. He further confided in me that he was rather perturbed at the
shortage of cartridges and that he had dispatched a messenger to the
commander for a further supply.
"I should not fire unless it becomes absolutely urgent," he said. "A
strong Boche patrol entered the ravine a short time ago, when the star
shells went up. I know it has returned now. Butrel has been to see.
They won't budge again to-night. This firing means nothing. Let it
pass."
With a quick jump he came to his feet again.
"Listen to me," I cried. "I am going with you."
He refused decidedly. "No, no! Your place is here. You must remain."
I watched him move away towards the left, halt several times again and
seat himself to talk more easily. As soon as the men saw him they said
to one another:
"It is Lieutenant Porchon."
In this way his progress is announced, causing calmness and confidence
right along the line.
At last he returns and jumps down into the trench between Boulier and
myself.
"Ouf!" he exclaimed, "but things were looking rather nasty with us. I
believe I was right in making my little tour. Half-past two in the
morning; time is drawing on. All will go well now until daylight."
Boulier suddenly exclaimed:
"All the same, Lieutenant, it is not an ordinary thing that you have
done. There were a thousand chances of your being wounded. And that
would have been my fault, the fault of we good-for-nothings. Yes, it
would have been our fault--don't let us talk about it!"
"To every man his business," replied Porchon. "If I had been you,
Boulier, I would not have risked my skin as I have done. Just reflect
a little, and you will understand."
Then, laughing still that laugh of a twenty-year-old boy, he taps me
on the shoulder and says:
"To-day is the 5th, the day of our relief. Unless I am very much
mistaken we shall sleep to-night in our beds. Good-bye for the moment.
I am going back to my men."
Boulier, near me, his elbows on the parapet, watched him vanish amid
the shadows. And he repeated to himself softly and without ceasing:
"Ah! what a man!... What a man! Heavens!... What a man!"
An intense emotion seemed to grip him by the throat, and the feeling
in his voice shows that he is stirred to the heart's depth.
"Ah! What a man!... What a man!"
And that was all he could say.
_Monday, October 5th._
Porchon brings me some news. When the quartermaster came to announce
that the relief would take place this evening, he confided in him that
we were going to change our position. Porchon hums gaily:
"We go no more to the woods,
For we have dined!"
"You will perceive," he cries, "that my latest effort as an improviser
is more conspicuous than ever. Those words do none the less adequately
express my meaning because they were sung. The woods bore one; they
suffocate one; one can see nothing; soon now we shall have a plain
before us. Tell me what you will think on finding yourself perched on
the side of a hill, with the summit, which you must take, whatever the
cost, before your eyes? It will be exciting at least! And then it is
so clear and distinct. One understands what is required of one. Ah!
but we're going to have gay days over there: days of saps, of mine
warfare, of assaults."
"Is it far from here?" I ask.
"Not very far. A few miles away to the east. It is just before the
heights, a snug little corner in a valley. I love its name, because it
has such a clear and open sound. Positively, it will give one real
pleasure to fight in such a place."
"And this name?" I ask.
"Esparges!"
THE END
_Printed at The Chapel River Press, Kingston, Surrey._
Transcriber's Note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as
printed.
Words printed in italics are marked with underlines: _italics_.
The cover of this ebook was created by the transcriber and is hereby
placed in the public domain.