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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12330-0.txt b/12330-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a1342aa --- /dev/null +++ b/12330-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4640 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12330 *** + +A VOLUNTEER POILU + +by Henry Sheahan + + + + +To Professor Charles Townsend Copeland of Harvard University + +Dear Copey, + +At Verdun I thought of you, and the friendly hearth of Hollis 15 seemed +very far away from the deserted, snow-swept streets of the tragic city. +Then suddenly I remembered how you had encouraged me and many others to +go over and help in any way that we could; I remembered your keen +understanding of the Epic, and the deep sympathy with human beings which +you taught those whose privilege it was to be your pupils. And so you +did not seem so far away after all, but closer to the heart of the war +than any other friend I had. + +I dedicate this book to you with grateful affection after many years of +friendship. + +Henry + + + + + +Topsfield, September, 1916 + +Preface + +I have ventured to call this book A Volunteer Poilu principally because +we were known to the soldiers of the Bois-le-Prêtre as "les Poilus +Américains." Then, too, it was my ambition to do for my comrades, the +French private soldiers, what other books have done for the soldiers of +other armies. The title chosen, however, was more than complimentary; it +was but just. In recognition of the work of the Section during the +summer, it was, in October, 1915, formally adopted into the French army; +a French officer became its administrative head, and the drivers were +given the same papers, pay, and discipline as their French comrades. + +I wish to thank many of my old friends of Section II, who have aided me +in the writing of this book. + +HENRY SHEAHAN + + + + +Contents + +I. THE ROCHAMBEAU S'EN VA-T-EN GUERRE + +A war-time voyage--The Rochambeau--Loading ammunition and food +supplies--Personalities on board--The dyestuffs agent--The machine +lathes man--The Swede from Minnesota who was on his way to the Foreign +Legion--His subsequent history--The talk aboard--The French officer--His +philosophy of war--Ernest Psichari--Arrival at Bordeaux--The Arabs at +the docks--The convalescent soldiers-- Across La Beauce--The French +countryside in war-time. + + +II. AN UNKNOWN PARIS IN THE NIGHT AND RAIN. + +Paris, rain, and darkness--The Gardens of the Tuileries--The +dormitory--The hospital at night--Beginning of the Champagne +offensive--The Gare de la Chapelle at two in the morning--The +wounded--The Zouave stretcher-bearers--The Arabs in the abandoned +school--Suburban Paris at dawn--The home of the deaconesses. + + +III. THE GREAT SWATHE OF THE LINES + +Nancy--The porter's story--Getting to the front--What the phrase "the +front" really means--The sense of the front--The shell zone--The zone of +quiet--My quarters in the shelled house--The fire shells--Bombarded at +night--Death of the soldier fireman. + + +IV. LA FORET DE BOIS-LE-PRETRE + +Le Bois-le-Prêtre--Description--History--Les Glycines, "Wisteria +Villa"--The Road to the trenches--At the trenches--The painter's idea of +"le sinistre dans l'art"--The sign post--The zone of violence--The +Quart-en-Réserve--The village caught in the torment of the lines--The +dead on the barbed wire--"The Road to Metz." + + +V. THE TRENCHES IN THE "WOOD OF DEATH." + +The Trenches--Organization--Nature of the war--Food, shelters, clothing, +ammunition, etc.--A typical day in the trenches--Trench shells or +"crapouilots"--In the abri--The tunnel--The doctrinaire lieutenant of +engineers. + + +VI. THE GERMANS ATTACK + +The piano at Montauville--An interrupted concert--At the Quart--The +battle for the ridge of the Wood--Fall of the German +aeroplane--Psychology of the men in the trenches--Religion in the +trenches-- + + +VII. THE TOWN IN THE TRENCHES + +Poor old "Pont"--Description of the town--A civilian's story--The house +of the Captain of the Papal Zouaves--Church of St. Laurent--The Cemetery +and its guardian. + + +VIII. MESSIEURS LES POILUS DE LA GRANDE GUERRE + +En repos--A village of troops--Manners and morals--The concert--journal +of the Bois-le-Prêtre--Various poilus. + + +IX. PREPARING THE DEFENSE OF VERDUN + +En permission--State of France--The France of 1905 and the France of +1915--The class of 1917--Bar-le-Duc--The air raid--Called to Verdun. + + +X. THE GREAT DAYS OF VERDUN + +Verdun in 1912--Verdun on the night of the first great attack--The +hospital--The shelled cross road--The air shell--The pastry cook's +story--The cultivateur of the Valois and the crater at Douaumont--The +pompiers of Verdun--"Do you want to see an odd sight?"--Verdun in storm +and desolation. + + + + + + +A Volunteer Poilu + +Chapter I + +The Rochambeau S'en Va-t-en Guerre + +Moored alongside a great two-storied pier, with her bow to the land, the +cargo and passenger boat, Rochambeau, of the Compagnie Générale was +being loaded with American supplies for the France of the Great War. A +hot August sun struck spots and ripples of glancing radiance from the +viscous, oily surface of the foul basin in which she lay inert; the air +was full of sounds, the wheezing of engines, the rattling of cog-checks, +and the rumble of wheels and hoofs which swept, in sultry puffs of noise +and odor, from the pavements on the land. Falling from the exhausts, a +round, silvery-white cascade poured into the dark lane between the wharf +and the deck, and sounded a monotonous, roaring underchord to the +intermingled dins. At the sun-bathed bow, a derrick gang lowered bags of +flour into the open well of the hold; there were commands in French, a +chugging, and a hissing of steam, and a giant's clutch of dusty, +hundred-kilo flour-bags from Duluth would swing from the wharf to the +Rochambeau, sink, and disappear. In some way the unfamiliar language, +and the sight of the thickset, French sailor-men, so evidently all of +one race, made the Rochambeau, moored in the shadow of the sky-scrapers, +seem mysteriously alien. But among the workers in the hold, who could be +seen when they stood on the floor of the open hatchway, was a young, +red-headed, American longshoreman clad in the trousers part of a suit of +brown-check overalls; sweat and grime had befouled his rather foolish, +freckled face, and every time that a bunch of flour-bags tumbled to the +floor of the well, he would cry to an invisible somebody--"More +dynamite, Joe, more dynamite!" + +Walking side by side, like ushers in a wedding procession, two of the +ship's officers made interminable rounds of the deck. Now and then they +stopped and looked over the rail at the loading operations, and once in +low tones they discussed the day's communiqué. "Pas grand' chose" +(nothing of importance), said he whom I took to be the elder, a bearded, +seafaring kind of man. "We have occupied a crater in the Argonne, and +driven back a German patrol (une patrouille Boche) in the region of +Nomény." The younger, blond, pale, with a wispy yellow mustache, +listened casually, his eyes fixed on the turbulence below. The derrick +gang were now stowing away clusters of great wooden boxes marked the +Something Arms Company. "My brother says that American bullets are +filled with powder of a very good quality" (d'une très bonne qualité), +remarked the latter. "By the way, how is your brother?" asked the +bearded man. "Very much better," answered the other; "the last fragment +(éclat) was taken out of his thigh just before we left Bordeaux." They +continued their walk, and three little French boys wearing English +sailor hats took their places at the rail. + +As the afternoon advanced, a yellow summer sun, sinking to a level with +the upper fringes of the city haze, gave a signal for farewells; and +little groups retired to quieter corners for good-byes. There was a good +deal of worrying about submarines; one heard fragments of +conversations--"They never trouble the Bordeaux route"--"Absolutely +safe, je t'assure"; and in the accents of Iowa the commanding advice, +"Now, don't worry!" "Good-bye, Jim! Good-bye, Maggie!" cried a rotund, +snappy American drummer, and was answered with cheery, honest wishes for +"the success of his business." Two young Americans with the same +identical oddity of gait walked to and fro, and a little black +Frenchman, with a frightful star-shaped scar at the corner of his mouth, +paraded lonelily. A middle-aged French woman, rouged and dyed back to +the thirties, and standing in a nimbus of perfume, wept at the going of +a younger woman, and ruined an elaborate make-up with grotesque +traceries of tears. "Give him my love," she sobbed; "tell him that the +business is doing splendidly and that he is not to buy any of Lafitte's +laces next time he goes to Paris en permission." A little later, the +Rochambeau, with slow majesty, backed into the channel, and turned her +bow to the east. + +The chief interest of the great majority of her passengers was +commercial; there were American drummers keen to line their pockets with +European profits; there were French commis voyageurs who had been +selling articles of French manufacture which had formerly been made by +the Germans; there were half-official persons who had been on missions +to American ammunition works; and there was a diplomat or two. From the +sample trunks on board you could have taken anything from a pair of +boots to a time fuse. Altogether, an interesting lot. Palandeau, a +middle-aged Frenchman with a domed, bald forehead like Socrates or +Verlaine, had been in America selling eau-de-cologne. + +"Then you are getting out something new?" I asked. + +"Yes, and no," he answered. "Our product is the old-fashioned +eau-de-cologne water with the name 'Farina' on it." + +"But in America we associate eau-de-cologne with the Germans," said I. +"Doesn't the bottle say 'Johann Maria Farina'? Surely the form of the +name is German." + +"But that was not his name, monsieur; he was a Frenchman, and called +himself 'Jean Marie.' Yes, really, the Germans stole the manufacture +from the French. Consider the name of the article, 'eau-de-cologne,' is +not that French?" + +"Yes," I admitted. + +"Alors," said Palandeau; "the blocus has simply given us the power to +reclaim trade opportunities justly ours. Therefore we have printed a new +label telling the truth about Farina, and the Boche 'Johann Maria' is +'kapout.'" + +"Do you sell much of it?" + +"Quantities! Our product is superior to the Boche article, and has the +glamour of an importation. I await the contest without uneasiness." + +"What contest?" + +"When Jean Marie meets Johann Maria--après la guerre," said Palandeau +with a twinkle in his eye. + +In the deck chair next to mine sat a dark, powerfully built young Iowan +with the intensely masculine head of a mediaeval soldier. There was a +bit of curl to the dark-brown hair which swept his broad, low forehead, +his brown eyes were devoid of fear or imagination, his jaw was set, and +the big, aggressive head rested on a short, muscular neck. He had been a +salesman of machine tools till the "selling end" came to a standstill. + +"But didn't the munitions traffic boom the machine-tool industry?" I +asked. + +"Sure it did. You ought to have seen what people will do to get a lathe. +You know about all that you need to make shells is a machine lathe. You +can't get a lathe in America for love or money--for anything"--he made a +swift, complete gesture--"all making shells. There isn't a junk factory +in America that hasn't been pawed over by guys looking for lathes--and +my God! what prices! Knew a bird named Taylor who used to make water +pipes in Utica, New York--had a stinking little lathe he paid two +hundred dollars for, and sold it last year for two thousand. My firm had +so many orders for months ahead that it didn't pay them to have +salesmen--so they offered us jobs inside; but, God, I can't stand indoor +work, so I thought I'd come over here and get into the war. I used to be +in the State Cavalry. You ought to have seen how sore all those Iowa +Germans were on me for going," he laughed. "Had a hell of row with a guy +named Schultz." + +Limping slightly, an enormous, grizzled man approached us and sat down +by the side of the ex-machinist. Possibly a yellow-gray suit, cut in the +bathrobe American style, made him look larger than he was, and though +heavily built and stout, there was something about him which suggested +ill health. One might have thought him a prosperous American business +man on his way to Baden-Baden. He had a big nose, big mouth, a hard eye, +and big, freckled hands which he nervously opened and closed. + +"See that feller over there?" He pointed to a spectacled individual who +seemed lost in melancholy speculation at the rail--"Says he's a Belgian +lieutenant. Been over here trying to get cloth. Says he can't get it, +the firms over here haven't got the colors. Just think of it, there +isn't a pound of Bernheim's blue in the whole country!" + +"I thought we were beginning to make dyes of our own," said the Iowan. + +"Oh, yes, but we haven't got the hang of it yet. The product is pretty +poor. Most of the people who need dyes are afraid to use the American +colors, but they've got to take what they can get. Friend of mine, Lon +Seeger, of Seeger, Seeger & Hall, the carpet people in Hackensack, had +twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of mats spoiled on him last week by +using home dyes." + +The Belgian lieutenant, still standing by the rail, was talking with +another passenger, and some fragments of the conversation drifted to our +ears. I caught the words--"My sister--quite unexpected--barely +escaped--no doubt of it--I myself saw near Malines--perfectly +dreadful--tout-à -fait terrible." + +"Twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of mats all spoiled, colors ran, +didn't set, no good. This war is raising the devil with the United +States textiles. Maybe the Germans won't get a glad hand when they come +back. We hear that they're going to flood the market with good, +low-priced dyes so as to bust up the new American plants. Haven't you +heard them hollerin' for tariff protection? I'm going over to look up a +new green dye the French are getting out. We hear it's pretty good +stuff. What are you boys doing, looking for contracts?" + +The Iowan replied that he hoped to get into an English cavalry regiment, +and I mentioned the corps I had joined. + +"Well, don't get killed," exclaimed the dye-stuffs agent paternally, and +settled down in his chair for a nap. + +It was the third day out; the ocean was still the salty green color of +the American waters, and big, oily, unrippled waves were rising and +falling under the August sun. From the rail I saw coming toward us over +the edge of the earth, a small tramp steamer marked with two white +blotches which, as the vessel neared, resolved themselves into painted +reproductions of the Swedish flag. Thus passed the Thorvald, carrying a +mark of the war across the lonely seas. + +"That's a Swedish boat," said a voice at my elbow. + +"Yes," I replied. + +A boy about eighteen or nineteen, with a fine, clear complexion, a downy +face, yellow hair, and blue eyes, was standing beside me. There was +something psychologically wrong with his face; it had that look in it +which makes you want to see if you still have your purse. + +"We see that flag pretty often out in Minnesota," he continued. + +"What's your name?" I asked. + +"Oscar Petersen," he answered. + +"Going over to enlist?" I hazarded. + +"You bet," he replied--and an instant later--"Are you?" + +I told him of my intention. Possibly because we were in for the same +kind of experience he later became communicative. He had run away from +home at the age of fourteen, spent his sixteenth year in a reform +school, and the rest of his time as a kind of gangster in Chicago. I +can't imagine a more useless existence than the one he revealed. At +length he "got sick of the crowd and got the bug to go to war," as he +expressed it, and wrote to his people to tell them he was starting, but +received no answer. "My father was a Bible cuss," he remarked +cheerfully,--"never got over my swiping the minister's watch." + +A Chicago paper had printed his picture and a "story" about his going to +enlist in the Foreign Legion--"popular young man very well known in +the--th ward," said the article. He showed me, too, an extraordinary +letter he had received via the newspaper, a letter written in pencil on +the cheapest, shabbiest sheet of ruled note-paper, and enclosing five +dollars. "I hope you will try to avenge the Lusitania," it said among +other things. The letter was signed by a woman. + +"Do you speak French?" I asked. + +"Not a word," he replied. "I want to be put with the Americans or the +Swedes. I speak good Swedish." + +Months later, on furlough, I saw in a hospital at Lyons a college +classmate who had served in the Foreign Legion. "Did you know a fellow +named Petersen?" I asked. + +"Yes, I knew him," answered my friend; "he lifted a fifty-franc note +from me and got killed before I could get it back." + +"How did it happen?" + +"Went through my pockets, I imagine." + +"Oh, no, I meant how did he get killed?" "Stray shell sailed in as we +were going through a village, and caught him and two of the other boys." + +"You must not make your friend talk too much," mumbled an old Sister of +Charity rather crossly. + +The two young men with the same identical oddity of gait were salesmen +of artificial legs, each one a wearer and demonstrator of his wares. The +first, from Ohio, had lost his leg in a railroad accident two years +before, and the second, a Virginian with a strong accent, had been done +for in a motor-car smashup. One morning the man from Ohio gave us a kind +of danse macabre on the deck; rolling his trouser leg high above his +artificial shin, he walked, leaped, danced, and ran. "Can you beat +that?" he asked with pardonable pride. "Think what these will mean to +the soldiers." Meanwhile, with slow care, the Virginian explained the +ingenious mechanism. + +Strange tatters of conversation rose from the deck. "Poor child, she +lost her husband at the beginning of the war"--"Third shipment of +hosses"--"I was talking with a feller from the Atlas Steel +Company"--"Edouard is somewhere near Arras"; there were disputes about +the outcome of the war, and arguments over profits. A voluble French +woman, whose husband was a pastry cook in a New York hotel before he +joined the forces, told me how she had wandered from one war movie to +another hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband, and had finally seen +"some one who resembled him strongly" on the screen in Harlem. She had a +picture of him, a thin, moody fellow with great, saber whiskers like +Rostand's and a high, narrow forehead curving in on the sides between +the eyebrows and the hair. "He is a Chasseur alpin," she said with a +good deal of pride, "and they are holding his place for him at the +hotel. He was wounded last month in the shoulder. I am going to the +hospital at Lyons to see him." The day's sunset was at its end, and a +great mass of black clouds surged over the eastern horizon, turning the +seas ahead to a leaden somberness that lowered in menacing contrast to +the golden streaks of dying day. The air freshened, salvos of rain fell +hissing into the dark waters, and violet cords of lightning leaped +between sea and sky. Echoing thunder rolled long through unseen abysses. +In the deserted salon I found the young Frenchman with the star-shaped +scar reading an old copy of "La Revue." He had been an officer in the +Chasseurs-à -pied until a fearful wound had incapacitated him for further +service, and had then joined the staff of a great, conservative Parisian +weekly. The man was a disciple of Ernest Psichari, the soldier mystic +who died so superbly at Charleroi in the dreadful days before the Marne. +From him I learned something of the French conception of the idea of +war. It was not uninteresting to compare the French point of view with +the German, and we talked late into the night while the ship was +plunging through the storm. An article in the review, "La Psychologie +des Barbares," was the starting-point of our conversation. + +"You must remember that the word 'barbarian' which we apply to the +Germans, is understood by the French intellectually," said he. "Not only +do German atrocities seem barbarous, but their thought also. Consider +the respective national conceptions of the idea of war. To the Germans, +war is an end in itself, and in itself and in all its effects perfect +and good. To the French mind, this conception of war is barbaric, for +war is not good in itself and may be fatal to both victor and +vanquished." (He spoke a beautiful, lucid French with a sort of military +preciseness.) + +"It was Ernest Psichari who revealed to us the raison d'être of arms in +modern life, and taught us the meaning of war. To him, war was no savage +ruée, but the discipline of history for which every nation must be +prepared, a terrible discipline neither to be sought, nor rejected when +proffered. Thus the Boches, once their illusion of the glory of war is +smashed, have nothing to fall back on, but the French point of view is +stable and makes for a good morale. Psichari was the intellectual leader +of that movement for the regeneration of the army which has saved +France. When the doctrines of pacificism began to be preached in France, +and cries of 'A bas l'armée' were heard in the streets, Psichari showed +that the army was the only institution left in our industrialized world +with the old ideals and the power to teach them. Quand on a tout dit, +the military ideals of honor, duty, and sacrifice of one's all for the +common good are the fundamentals of. character. Psichari turned this +generation from a generation of dreamers to a generation of soldiers, +knowing why they were soldiers, glad to be soldiers. The army saved the +morale of France when the Church had lost its hold, and the public +schools had been delivered to the creatures of sentimental doctrinaire +government. Was it not a pity that Psichari should have died so young?" + +"Did you know him?" I asked. + +"Yes; I saw something of him in Africa. The mystery of the East had +profoundly stirred him. He was a dark, serious fellow with something of +the profile of his grandfather, Ernest Renan. At Charleroi, after an +heroic stand, he and every man of his squad died beside the guns they +served." + +Long after, at the Bois-le-Prêtre, I went to the trenches to get a young +sergeant. His friends had with clumsy kindness gathered together his +little belongings and put them in the ambulance. "As tu trouvé mon +livre?" (Have you found my book?) he asked anxiously, and they tossed +beside the stretcher a trench-mired copy of Psichari's "L'Appel des +Armes." + +One morning, just at dawn, we drew near a low, sandy coast, and anchored +at the mouth of the great estuary of the Gironde. A spindly lighthouse +was flashing, seeming more to reflect the sunlight from outside than to +be burning within, and a current the color of coffee and cream with a +dash of vermilion in it, went by us mottled with patches of floating +mud. From the deck one had an extraordinary view, a ten-mile sweep of +the strangely colored water, the hemisphere of the heavens all of one +greenish-blue tint, and a narrow strip of nondescript, sandy coast +suspended somehow between the strange sea and unlovely sky. At noon, the +Rochambeau began at a good speed her journey up the river, passing +tile-roofed villages and towns built of pumice-gray stone, and great +flat islands covered with acres upon acres of leafy, bunchy vines. There +was a scurry to the rail; some one cried, "Voilà des Boches," and I saw +working in a vineyard half a dozen men in gray-green German regimentals. +A poilu in a red cap was standing nonchalantly beside them. As the +Rochambeau, following the channel, drew incredibly close to the bank, +the Germans leaned on their hoes and watched us pass, all save one, who +continued to hoe industriously round the roots of the vines, ignoring us +with a Roman's disdain. "Comme ils sont laids" (How ugly they are), said +a voice. There was no surprise in the tone, which expressed the expected +confirmation of a past judgment. It was the pastry cook's voluble wife +who had spoken. The land through which we were passing, up to that time +simply the pleasant countryside of the Bordelais, turned in an instant +to the France of the Great War. + +Late in the afternoon, the river, slowly narrowing, turned a great bend, +and the spires of Bordeaux, violet-gray in the smoky rose of early +twilight, were seen just ahead. A broad, paved, dirty avenue, with the +river on one side and a row of shabby houses on the other, led from the +docks to the city, and down this street, marching with Oriental dignity, +came a troop of Arabs. There was a picture of a fat sous-officier +leading, of brown-white rags and mantles waving in the breeze blowing +from the harbor, of lean, muscular, black-brown legs, and dark, +impassive faces. "Algerian recruits," said an officer of the boat. It +was a first glimpse at the universality of the war; it held one's mind +to realize that while some were quitting their Devon crofts, others were +leaving behind them the ancestral well at the edges of the ancient +desert. A faint squeaking of strange pipes floated on the twilight air. + +There came an official examination of our papers, done in a businesslike +way, the usual rumpus of the customs, and we were free to land in +France. That evening a friend and I had dinner in a great café opening +on the principal square in Bordeaux, and tried to analyze the difference +between the Bordeaux of the past and the Bordeaux of the war. The ornate +restaurant, done in a kind of Paris Exhibition style, and decorated with +ceiling frescoes of rosy, naked Olympians floating in golden mists and +sapphire skies, was full of movement and light, crowds passed by on the +sidewalks, there were sounds--laughter. + +"Looks just the same to me," said my friend, an American journalist who +had been there in 1912. "Of course there are more soldiers. Outside of +that, and a lack of taxicabs and motorcars, the town has not changed." + +But there was a difference, and a great difference. There was a terrible +absence of youth. Not that youth was entirely absent from the tables and +the trottoirs; it was visible, putty-faced and unhealthy-looking, afraid +to meet the gaze of a man in uniform, the pitiable jeunesse that could +not pass the physical examination of the army. Most of the other young +men who bent over the tables talking, or leaned back on a divan to smoke +cigarettes, were strangers, and I saw many who were unquestionably +Roumanians or Greeks. A little apart, at a corner table, a father and +mother were dining with a boy in a uniform much too large for him;--I +fancied from the cut of his clothes that he belonged to a young squad +still under instruction in the garrisons, and that he was enjoying a +night off with his family. Screened from the rest by a clothes rack, a +larky young lieutenant was discreetly conversing with a "daughter of +joy," and an elderly English officer, severely proper and correct, was +reading "Punch" and sipping red wine in Britannic isolation. Across the +street an immense poster announced, "Conference in aid of the Belgian +Red Cross--the German Outrages in Louvain, Malines, and +Liège--illustrated." + +We finished our dinner, which was good and not costly, and started to +walk to our hotel. Hardly had we turned the corner of the Place, when +the life of Bordeaux went out like a torch extinguished by the wind. It +was still early in the evening, there was a sound of an orchestra +somewhere behind, yet ahead of us, lonely and still, with its shops +closed and its sidewalks deserted, was one of the greater streets of +Bordeaux. Through the drawn curtains of second stories over little +groceries and baker-shops shone the yellow light of lamps. What had +happened to the Jean, Paul, and Pierre of this dark street since the war +began? What tragedies of sorrow and loneliness might these silent +windows not conceal? And every French city is much the same; one notices +in them all the subtle lack of youth, and the animation of the great +squares in contrast to the somber loneliness of streets and quarters +which once were alive and gay. At the Place de l'Opéra in Paris, the +whirlpool of Parisian life is still turning, but the great streets +leading away from the Place de l'Étoile are quiet. Young and old, +laborer and shopkeeper, boulevardier and apache are far away holding the +tragic lines. + +The next morning at the station, I had my first glimpse of that mighty +organization which surrounds the militaire. There was a special entrance +for soldiers and a special exit for soldiers, and at both of these a +long file of blue-clad poilus waited for the countersigning of their +furlough slips and military tickets. The mud of the trenches still +stained the bottom edges of their overcoats, and their steel helmets +were dented and dull. There was something fine about the faces +collectively; there was a certain look of tried endurance and perils +bravely borne. I heard those on furlough telling the names of their home +villages to the officer in charge,--pleasant old names, Saint-Pierre aux +Vignes, La Tour du Roi. + +A big, obese, middle-aged civilian dressed in a hideous greenish suit, +and wearing a pancake cap, sat opposite me in the compartment I had +chosen. There was a hard, unfriendly look in his large, fat-encircled +eyes, a big mustache curved straight out over his lips, and the short +finger nails of his square, puffy fingers were deeply rimmed with dirt. +He caught sight of me reading a copy of an English weekly, and after +staring at me with an interest not entirely free from a certain +hostility, retreated behind the pages of the "Matin," and began picking +his teeth. Possibly he belonged to that provincial and prejudiced +handful to whom England will always be "Perfidious Albion," or else he +took me for an English civilian dodging military service. The French +press was following the English recruiting campaign very closely, and +the system of volunteer service was not without its critics. +"Conscription being considered in England" (On discute la conscription +en Angleterre), announced the "Matin" discreetly. + +It was high noon; the train had arrived at Angoulême, and was taking +aboard a crowd of convalescents. On the station platform, their faces +relentlessly illumined by the brilliant light, stood about thirty +soldiers; a few were leaning on canes, one was without a right arm, some +had still the pallor of the sick, others seemed able-bodied and hearty. +Every man wore on the bosom of his coat about half a dozen little +aluminum medals dangling from bows of tricolor ribbon. "Pour les +blessés, s'il vous plaît," cried a tall young woman in the costume and +blue cape of a Red-Cross nurse as she walked along the platform shaking +a tin collection box under the windows of the train. + +To our compartment came three of the convalescents. One was a sturdy, +farmhand sort of fellow, with yellow hair and a yellow mustache--the +kind of man who might have been a Norman; he wore khaki puttees, brown +corduroy trousers, and a jacket which fitted his heavy, vigorous figure +rather snugly. Another was a little soul dressed in the "blue horizon" +from head to foot, a homely little soul with an egg-shaped head, +brown-green eyes, a retreating chin, and irregular teeth. The last, +wearing the old tenue, black jacket and red trousers, was a good-looking +fellow with rather handsome brown eyes. Comfortably stretched in a +corner, the Norman was deftly cutting slices of bread and meat which he +offered to his companions. Catching sight of my English paper, all three +stared at me with an interest and friendliness that was in psychological +contrast to the attitude of the obese civilian. + +"Anglais?" asked the Norman. + +The civilian watched for my answer. + +"Non--Américain," I replied. + +"Tiens," they said politely. + +"Do you speak English?" asked the homely one. + +"Yes," I answered. + +The Norman fished a creased dirty letter and a slip of paper from his +wallet and handed them to me for inspection. + +"I found them in a trench we shared with the English," he explained. +"These puttees are English; a soldier gave them to me." He exhibited his +legs with a good deal of satisfaction. + +I examined the papers that had been given me. The first was a medical +prescription for an anti-lice ointment and the second an illiterate +letter extremely difficult to decipher, mostly about somebody whom the +writer was having trouble to manage, "now that you aren't here." I +translated as well as I could for an attentive audience. "Toujours les +totos," they cried merrily when I explained the prescription. A spirit +of good-fellowship pervaded the compartment, till even the suspicious +civilian unbent, and handed round post-card photographs of his two sons +who were somewhere en Champagne. Not a one of the three soldiers could +have been much over twenty-one, but they were not boys, but men, serious +men, tried and disciplined by war. The homely one gave me one of his +many medals which he wore "to please the good Sisters"; on one side in +an oval of seven stars was the Virgin Mary, and on the other, the +determined features of General Joffre. + +Just at sundown we crossed the great plain of La Beauce. Distant +villages and pointed spires stood silhouetted in violet-black against +the burning midsummer sky and darkness was falling upon the sweeping +golden plain. We passed hamlet after hamlet closed and shuttered, though +the harvests had been gathered and stacked. There was something very +tragic in those deserted, outlying farms. The train began to rattle +through the suburbs of Paris. By the window stood the Norman looking out +on the winking red and violet lights of the railroad yard. "This Paris?" +he asked. "I never expected to see Paris. How the war sets one to +traveling!" + + + + +Chapter 2 + +An Unknown Paris in the Night and Rain + + + +It was Sunday morning, the bells were ringing to church, and I was +strolling in the gardens of the Tuileries. A bright morning sun was +drying the dewy lawns and the wet marble bodies of the gods and +athletes, the leaves on the trees were falling, and the French autumn, +so slow, so golden, and so melancholy, had begun. At the end of the +mighty vista of the Champs Élysées, the Arc de Triomphe rose, brown and +vaporous in the exhalations of the quiet city, and an aeroplane was +maneuvering over the Place de la Concorde, a moving speck of white and +silver in the soft, September blue. From a near-by Punch and Judy show +the laughter of little children floated down the garden in outbursts of +treble shrillness. "Villain, monster, scoundrel," squeaked a voice. +Flopped across the base of the stage, the arms hanging downwards, was a +prostrate doll which a fine manikin in a Zouave's uniform belabored with +a stick; suddenly it stirred, and, with a comic effect, lifted its +puzzled, wooden head to the laughing children. Beneath a little Prussian +helmet was the head of William of Germany, caricatured with Parisian +skill into a scowling, green fellow with a monster black mustache turned +up to his eyes. "Lie down!" cried the Zouave doll imperiously. "Here is +a love pat for thee from a French Zouave, my big Boche." And he struck +him down again with his staff. + +Soldiers walked in the garden,--permissionnaires (men on furlough) out +for an airing with their rejoicing families, smart young English +subalterns, and rosy-fleshed, golden-haired Flemings of the type that +Rubens drew. But neither their presence nor the sight of an occasional +mutilé (soldier who has lost a limb), pathetically clumsy on his new +crutches, quite sent home the presence of the war. The normal life of +the city was powerful enough to engulf the disturbance, the theaters +were open, there were the same crowds on the boulevards, and the same +gossipy spectators in the sidewalk cafés. After a year of war the +Parisians were accustomed to soldiers, cripples, and people in mourning. +The strongest effect of the war was more subtle of definition, it was a +change in the temper of the city. Since the outbreak of the war, the +sham Paris that was "Gay Paree" had disappeared, and the real Paris, the +Paris of tragic memories and great men, had taken its place. An old +Parisian explained the change to me in saying, "Paris has become more +French." Deprived of the foreigner, the city adapted itself to a taste +more Gallic; faced with the realities of war, it exchanged its +artificiality for that sober reasonableness which is the normal attitude +of the nation. + +At noon I left the garden and strolled down the Champs Élysées to the +Porte Maillot. The great salesrooms of the German motor-car dealers had +been given by the Government to a number of military charities who had +covered the trade signs with swathes and rosettes of their national +colors. Under the banner of the Belgians, in the quondam hop of the +Mercedes, was an exhibition of leather knickknacks, baskets, and dolls +made by the blind and mutilated soldiers. The articles--children's toys +for the most part, dwarfs that rolled over and over on a set of parallel +bars, Alsatian lasses with flaxen hair, and gay tops--were exposed on a +row of tables a few feet back from the window. By the Porte Maillot, +some of the iron saw-horses with sharpened points, which had formed part +of the barricade built there in the days of the Great Retreat, lay, a +villainous, rusty heap, in a grassy ditch of the city wall; a few stumps +of the trees that had been then cut down were still visible, and from a +railroad tie embedded in the sidewalk hung six links of a massive chain. +Through this forgotten flotsam on the great shore of the war, the quiet +crowds went in and out of the Maillot entrance to the Bois de Boulogne. +There was a sense of order and security in the air. I took a seat on the +terrace of a little restaurant. The garçon was a small man in the +fifties, inclined to corpulence, with a large head, large, blue-gray +eyes, purplish lips, and blue-black hair cut pompadour. As we watched +the orderly, Sunday crowds going to the great park, we fell into +conversation about the calmness of Paris. "Yes, it is calm," he said; +"we are all waiting (nous attendons). We know that the victory will be +ours at the finish. But all we can do is to wait. I have two sons at the +front." He had struck the keynote. Paris is calmly waiting--waiting for +the end of the war, for victory, for the return of her children. + +Yet in this great, calm city, with its vaporous browns and slaty blues, +and its characteristic acrid smell of gasoline fumes, was another Paris, +a terrible Paris, which I was that night to see. Early in the afternoon +a dull haze of leaden clouds rose in the southwest. It began to rain. + +In a great garret of the hospital, under a high French roof, was the +dormitory of the volunteers attached to the Paris Ambulance Section. At +night, this great space was lit by only one light, a battered electric +reading-lamp standing on a kind of laboratory table in the center of the +floor, and window curtains of dark-blue cambric, waving mysteriously in +the night wind, were supposed to hide even this glimmer from the eyes of +raiding Zeppelins. Looking down, early in the evening, into the great +quadrangle of the institution, one saw the windows of the opposite wing +veiled with this mysterious blue, and heard all the feverish unrest of a +hospital, the steps on the tiled corridors, the running of water in the +bathroom taps, the hard clatter of surgical vessels, and sometimes the +cry of a patient having a painful wound dressed. But late at night the +confused murmur of the battle between life and death had subsided, the +lights in the wards were extinguished, and only the candle of the night +nurse, seen behind a screen, and the stertorous breathing of the many +sleepers, brought back the consciousness of human life. I have often +looked into the wards as I returned from night calls to the station +where we received the wounded, and been conscious, as I peered silently +into that flickering obscurity, of the vague unrest of sleepers, of the +various attitudes assumed, the arms outstretched, the upturned throats, +and felt, too, in the still room, the mystic presence of the Angel of +Pain. + +It was late at night, and I stood looking out of my window over the +roofs of Neuilly to the great, darkened city just beyond. From somewhere +along the tracks of the "Little Belt" railway came a series of piercing +shrieks from a locomotive whistle. It was raining hard, drumming on the +slate roof of the dormitory, and somewhere below a gutter gurgled +foolishly. Far away in the corridor a gleam of yellow light shone from +the open door of an isolation room where a nurse was watching by a +patient dying of gangrene. Two comrades who had been to the movies at +the Gaumont Palace near the Place Clichy began to talk in sibilant +whispers of the evening's entertainment, and one of them said, "That war +film was a corker; did you spot the big cuss throwing the grenades?" +"Yuh, damn good," answered the other pulling his shirt over his head. It +was a strange crew that inhabited these quarters; there were idealists, +dreamers, men out of work, simple rascals and adventurers of all kinds. +To my right slept a big, young Westerner, from some totally unknown +college in Idaho, who was a humanitarian enthusiast to the point of +imbecility, and to the left a middle-aged rogue who indulged in secret +debauches of alcohol and water he cajoled from the hospital orderlies. +Yet this obscure and motley community was America's contribution to +France. I fell asleep. + +"Up, birds!" + +The lieutenant of the Paris Section, a mining engineer with a +picturesque vocabulary of Nevadan profanity, was standing in his pajama +trousers at the head of the room, holding a lantern in his hand. "Up, +birds!" he called again. "Call's come in for Lah Chapelle." There were +uneasy movements under the blankets, inmates of adjoining beds began to +talk to each other, and some lit their bedside candles. The chief went +down both sides of the dormitory, flashing his lantern before each bed, +ragging the sleepy. "Get up, So-and-So. Well, I must say, Pete, you have +a hell of a nerve." There were glimpses of candle flames, bare bodies +shivering in the damp cold, and men sitting on beds, winding on their +puttees. "Gee! listen to it rain," said somebody. "What time is it?" +"Twenty minutes past two." Soon the humming and drumming of the motors +in the yard sounded through the roaring of the downpour. + +Down in the yard I found Oiler, my orderly, and our little Ford +ambulance, number fifty-three. One electric light, of that sickly yellow +color universal in France, was burning over the principal entrance to +the hospital, just giving us light enough to see our way out of the +gates. Down the narrow, dark Boulevard Inkerman we turned, and then out +on to a great street which led into the "outer" boulevard of De +Batignolles and Clichy. To that darkness with which the city, in fear of +raiding aircraft, has hidden itself, was added the continuous, pouring +rain. In the light of our lamps, the wet, golden trees of the black, +silent boulevards shone strangely, and the illuminated advertising +kiosks which we passed, one after the other at the corners of great +streets, stood lonely and drenched, in the swift, white touch of our +radiance. Black and shiny, the asphalt roadway appeared to go on in a +straight line forever and forever. + +Neither in residential, suburban Neuilly nor in deserted Montmartre was +there a light to be seen, but when we drew into the working quarter of +La Chapelle, lights appeared in the windows, as if some toiler of the +night was expected home or starting for his labor, and vague forms, +battling with the rain or in refuge under the awning of a café, were now +and then visible. From the end of the great, mean rue de La Chapelle the +sounds of the unrest of the railroad yards began to be heard, for this +street leads to the freight-houses near the fortifications. Our +objective was a great freight station which the Government, some months +before, had turned into a receiving-post for the wounded; it lay on the +edge of the yard, some distance in from the street, behind a huddle of +smaller sheds and outbuildings. To our surprise the rue de La Chapelle +was strewn with ambulances rushing from the station, and along two sides +of the great yard, where the merchandise trucks had formerly turned in, +six or seven hundred more ambulances were waiting. We turned out of the +dark, rain-swept city into this hurly-burly of shouts, snorting of +engines, clashing of gears, and whining of brakes, illuminated with a +thousand intermeshing beams of headlights across whose brilliance the +rain fell in sloping, liquid rods. "Quick, a small car this way!" cried +some one in an authoritative tone, and number fifty-three ran up an +inclined plane into the enormous shed which had been reserved for the +loading of the wounded into the ambulances. + +We entered a great, high, white-washed, warehouse kind of place, about +four hundred feet long by four hundred feet wide, built of wood +evidently years before. In the middle of this shed was an open space, +and along the walls were rows of ambulances. Brancardiers +(stretcher-bearers; from brancard, a stretcher) were loading wounded +into these cars, and as soon as one car was filled, it would go out of +the hall and another would take its place. There was an infernal din; +the place smelled like a stuffy garage, and was full of blue gasoline +fumes; and across this hurly-burly, which was increasing every minute, +were carried the wounded, often nothing but human bundles of dirty blue +cloth and fouled bandages. Every one of these wounded soldiers was +saturated with mud, a gray-white mud that clung moistly to their +overcoats, or, fully dry, colored every part of the uniform with its +powder. One saw men that appeared to have rolled over and over in a +puddle bath of this whitish mud, and sometimes there was seen a sinister +mixture of blood and mire. There is nothing romantic about a wounded +soldier, for his condition brings a special emphasis on our human +relation to ordinary meat. Dirty, exhausted, unshaven, smelling of the +trenches, of his wounds, and of the antiseptics on his wounds, the +soldier comes from the train a sight for which only the great heart of +Francis of Assisi could have adequate pity. + +Oiler and I went through an opening in a canvas partition into that part +of the great shed where the wounded were being unloaded from the trains. +In width, this part measured four hundred feet, but in length it ran to +eight hundred. In two rows of six each, separated by an aisle about +eight feet wide, were twelve little houses, about forty feet square, +built of stucco, each one painted a different color. The woodwork of the +exterior was displayed through the plaster in the Elizabethan fashion, +and the little sheds were clean, solidly built, and solidly roofed. In +one of these constructions was the bureau of the staff which assigned +the wounded to the hospitals, in another was a fully equipped +operating-room, and in the others, rows of stretcher-horses, twenty-five +to a side, on which the wounded were laid until a hospital number had +been assigned them. A slip, with these hospital numbers on it, the names +of the patients, and the color of the little house in which they were to +be found, was then given to the chauffeur of an ambulance, who, with +this slip in hand and followed by a number of stretcher-bearers, +immediately gathered his patients. A specimen slip might run thus--"To +Hospital 32, avenue de Iéna, Paul Chaubard, red barraque, Jules Adamy, +green barraque, and Alphonse Fort, ochre barraque." + +To give a French touch to the scene, this great space, rapidly filling +with human beings in an appalling state of misery, as the aftermath of +the offensive broke on us, was decorated with evergreen trees and shrubs +so that the effect was that of an indoor fair or exhibition; you felt as +if you might get samples of something at each barraque, as the French +termed the little houses. To the side of these there was a platform, and +a sunken track running along the wall, and behind, a great open space +set with benches for those of the wounded able to walk. Some fifty +great, cylindrical braziers, which added a strange bit of rosy, fiery +color to the scene, warmed this space. When the wounded had begun to +arrive at about midnight, a regiment of Zouaves was at hand to help the +regular stretcher-bearers; these Zouaves were all young, "husky" men +dressed in the baggy red trousers and short blue jacket of their classic +uniform, and their strength was in as much of a contrast to the weakness +of those whom they handled as their gay uniform was in contrast to the +miry, horizon blue of the combatants. There was something grotesque in +seeing two of these powerful fellows carrying to the wagons a dirty blue +bundle of a human being. + +With a piercing shriek, that cut like a gash through the uproar of the +ambulance engines, a sanitary train, the seventh since midnight, came +into the station, and so smoothly did it run by, its floors on a level +with the main floor, that it seemed an illusion, like a stage train. On +the platform stood some Zouaves waiting to unload the passengers, while +others cleared the barraques and helped the feeble to the ambulances. +There was a steady line of stretchers going out, yet the station was so +full that hardly a bit of the vast floor space was unoccupied. One +walked down a narrow path between a sea of bandaged bodies. Shouldering +what baggage they had, those able to walk plodded in a strange, slow +tempo to the waiting automobiles. All by themselves were about a hundred +poor, ragged Germans, wounded prisoners, brothers of the French in this +terrible fraternity of pain. + +About four or five hundred assis (those able to sit up) were waiting on +benches at the end of the hall. Huddled round the rosy, flickering +braziers, they sat profoundly silent in the storm and din that moved +about them, rarely conversing with each other. I imagine that the +stupefaction, which is the physiological reaction of an intense +emotional and muscular effort, had not yet worn away. There were fine +heads here and there. Forgetful of his shattered arm, an old fellow, +with the face of Henri Quatre, eagle nose, beard, and all, sat with his +head sunken on his chest in mournful contemplation, and a fine-looking, +black-haired, dragoon kind of youth with the wildest of eyes clung like +grim death to a German helmet. The same expression of resigned fatalism +was common to all. + +Sometimes the chauffeurs who were waiting for their clients got a chance +to talk to one of the soldiers. Eager for news, they clustered round the +wounded man, bombarding him with questions. + +"Are the Boches retreating?" + +"When did it begin?" + +"Just where is the attack located?" + +"Are things going well for us?" + +The soldier, a big young fellow with a tanned face, somewhat pale from +the shock of a ripped-up forearm, answered the questions good-naturedly, +though the struggle had been on so great a scale that he could only tell +about his own hundred feet of trench. Indeed the substance of his +information was that there had been a terrible bombardment of the German +lines, and then an attack by the French which was still in progress. + +"Are we going to break clear through the lines?" + +The soldier shrugged his shoulders. "They hope to," he replied. + +Just beyond us, in one of the thousand stretchers on the floor, a small +bearded man had died. With his left leg and groin swathed in bandages, +he lay flat on his back, his mouth open, muddy, dirty, and dead. From +time to time the living on each side stole curious, timid glances at +him. Then, suddenly, some one noticed the body, and two +stretcher-bearers carried it away, and two more brought a living man +there in its place. + +The turmoil continued to increase. At least a thousand motor-ambulances, +mobilized from all over the region of Paris, were now on hand to carry +away the human wreckage of the great offensive. Ignorant of the ghastly +army at its doors, Paris slept. The rain continued to fall heavily. + +"Eh la, comrade." + +A soldier in the late thirties, with a pale, refined face, hailed me +from his stretcher. + +"You speak French?" + +I nodded. + +"I am going to ask you to do me a favor--write to my wife who is here in +Paris, and tell her that I am safe and shall let her know at once what +hospital I am sent to. I shall be very grateful." + +He let his shoulders sink to the stretcher again and I saw him now and +then looking for me in the crowd. Catching my eye, he smiled. + +A train full of Algerian troops came puffing into the station, the +uproar hardly rising above the general hubbub. The passengers who were +able to walk got out first, some limping, some walking firmly with a +splendid Eastern dignity. These men were Arabs and Moors from Algeria +and Tunisia, who had enlisted in the colonial armies. There was a great +diversity of size and racial type among them, some being splendid, big +men of the type one imagines Othello to have been, some chunkier and +more bullet-headed, and others tall and lean with interesting aquiline +features. I fancy that the shorter, rounder-skulled ones were those with +a dash of black blood. The uniform, of khaki-colored woolen, consisted +of a simple, short-waisted jacket, big baggy trousers, puttees, and a +red fez or a steel helmet with the lunar crescent and "R.F." for its +device. We heard rumors about their having attacked a village. Advancing +in the same curious tempo as the French, they passed to the braziers and +the wooden benches. Last of all from the train, holding his bandaged arm +against his chest, a native corporal with the features of a desert +tribesman advanced with superb, unconscious stateliness. As the +Algerians sat round the braziers, their uniforms and brown skins +presented a contrast to the pallor of the French in their bedraggled +blue, but there was a marked similarity of facial expression. A certain +racial odor rose from the Orientals. + +My first assignment, two Algerians and two Frenchmen, took me to an +ancient Catholic high school which had just been improvised into a +hospital for the Oriental troops. It lay, dirty, lonely, and grim, just +to one side of a great street on the edge of Paris, and had not been +occupied since its seizure by the State. Turning in through an enormous +door, lit by a gas globe flaring and flickering in the torrents of rain, +we found ourselves in an enormous, dark courtyard, where a half-dozen +ambulances were already waiting to discharge their clients. Along one +wall there was a flight of steps, and from somewhere beyond the door at +the end of this stair shone the faintest glow of yellow light. + +It came from the door of a long-disused schoolroom, now turned into the +receiving-hall of this strange hospital. The big, high room was lit by +one light only, a kerosene hand lamp standing on the teacher's desk, and +so smoked was the chimney that the wick gave hardly more light than a +candle. There was just enough illumination to see about thirty Algerians +sitting at the school desks, their big bodies crammed into the little +seats, and to distinguish others lying in stretchers here and there upon +the floor. At the teacher's table a little French adjutant with a trim, +black mustache and a soldier interpreter were trying to discover the +identity of their visitors. + +"Number 2215," (numéro deux mille deux cent quinze), the officer cried; +and the interpreter, leaning over the adjutant's shoulder to read the +name, shouted, "Méhémet Ali." + +There was no answer, and the Algerians looked round at each other, for +all the world like children in a school. It was very curious to see +these dark, heavy, wild faces bent over these disused desks. + +"Number 2168" (numéro deux mille cent soixante huit), cried the +adjutant. + +"Abdullah Taleb," cried the interpreter. + +"Moi," answered a voice from a stretcher in the shadows of the floor. + +"Take him to room six," said the adjutant, indicating the speaker to a +pair of stretcher-bearers. In the quieter pauses the rain was heard +beating on the panes. + +There are certain streets in Paris, equally unknown to tourist and +Parisian--obscure, narrow, cobble-stoned lanes, lined by walls +concealing little orchards and gardens. So provincial is their +atmosphere that it would be the easiest thing in the world to believe +one's self on the fringe of an old town, just where little bourgeois +villas begin to overlook the fields; but to consider one's self just +beyond the heart of Paris is almost incredible. Down such a street, in a +great garden, lay the institution to which our two Frenchmen were +assigned. We had a hard time finding it in the night and rain, but at +length, discovering the concierge's bell, we sent a vigorous peal +clanging through the darkness. Oiler lifted the canvas flap of the +ambulance to see about our patients. + +"All right in there, boys?" + +"Yes," answered a voice. + +"Not cold?" + +"Non. Are we at the hospital?" + +"Yes; we are trying to wake up the concierge." + +There was a sound of a key in a lock, and a small, dark woman opened the +door. She was somewhat spinstery in type, her thin, black hair was +neatly parted in the middle, and her face was shrewd, but not unkindly. + +"Deux blessés (two wounded), madame," said I. + +The woman pulled a wire loop inside the door, and a far-off bell +tinkled. + +"Come in," she said. "The porter will be here immediately." + +We stepped into a little room with a kind of English look to it, and a +carbon print of the Sistine Madonna on the wall. + +"Are they seriously wounded?" she asked. + +"I cannot say." + +A sound of shuffling, slippered feet was heard, and the porter, a small, +beefy, gray-haired man in the fifties, wearing a pair of rubber boots, +and a rain-coat over a woolen night-dress, came into the room. + +"Two wounded have arrived," said the lady. "You are to help these +messieurs get out the stretchers." + +The porter looked out of the door at the tail-light of the ambulance, +glowing red behind its curtain of rain. + +"Mon Dieu, what a deluge!" he exclaimed, and followed us forth. With an +"Easy there," and "Lift now," we soon had both of our clients out of the +ambulance and indoors. They lay on the floor of the odd, stiff, little +room, strange intruders of its primness; the first, a big, heavy, +stolid, young peasant with enormous, flat feet, and the second a small, +nervous, city lad, with his hair in a bang and bright, uneasy eyes. The +mud-stained blue of the uniforms seemed very strange, indeed, beside the +Victorian furniture upholstered in worn, cherry-red plush. A middle-aged +servant--a big-boned, docile-looking kind of creature, probably the +porter's wife--entered, followed by two other women, the last two +wearing the same cut of prim black waist and skirt, and the same pattern +of white wristlets and collar. We then carried the two soldiers upstairs +to a back room, where the old servant had filled a kind of enamel +dishpan with soapy water. Very gently and deftly the beefy old porter +and his wife took off the fouled, blood-stained uniforms of the two +fighting men, and washed their bodies, while she who had opened the door +stood by and superintended all. The feverish, bright-eyed fellow seemed +to be getting weaker, but the big peasant conversed with the old woman +in a low, steady tone, and told her that there had been a big action. + +When Oiler and I came downstairs, two little glasses of sherry and a +plate of biscuits were hospitably waiting for us. There was something +distinctly English in the atmosphere of the room and in the demeanor of +the two prim ladies who stood by. It roused my curiosity. Finally one of +them said:-- + +"Are you English, gentlemen?" + +"No," we replied; "Americans." + +"I thought you might be English," she replied in that language, which +she spoke very clearly and fluently. "Both of us have been many years in +England. We are French Protestant deaconesses, and this is our home. It +is not a hospital. But when the call for more accommodations for the +wounded came in, we got ready our two best rooms. The soldiers upstairs +are our first visitors." + +The old porter came uneasily down the stair. "Mademoiselle Pierre says +that the doctor must come at once," he murmured, "the little fellow (le +petit) is not doing well." + +We thanked the ladies gratefully for the refreshment, for we were cold +and soaked to the skin. Then we went out again to the ambulance and the +rain. A faint pallor of dawn was just beginning. Later in the morning, I +saw a copy of the "Matin" attached to a kiosk; it said something about +"Grande Victoire." + +Thus did the great offensive in Champagne come to the city of Paris, +bringing twenty thousand men a day to the station of La Chapelle. For +three days and nights the Americans and all the other ambulance squads +drove continuously. It was a terrible phase of the conflict to see, but +he who neither sees nor understands it cannot realize the soul of the +war. Later, at the trenches, I saw phases of the war that were +spiritual, heroic, and close to the divine, but this phase was, in its +essence, profoundly animal. + + + + +Chapter III + +The Great Swathe of the Lines + + + +The time was coming when I was to see the mysterious region whence came +the wounded of La Chapelle, and, a militaire myself, share the life of +the French soldier. Late one evening in October, I arrived in Nancy and +went to a hotel I had known well before the war. An old porter, a man of +sixty, with big, bowed shoulders, gray hair, and a florid face almost +devoid of expression, carried up my luggage, and as I looked at him, +standing in the doorway, a simple figure in his striped black and yellow +vest and white apron, I wondered just what effect the war had had on +him. Through the open window of the room, seen over the dark silhouette +of the roofs of Nancy, shone the glowing red sky and rolling smoke of +the vast munition works at Pompey and Frouard. + +"You were not here when I came to the hotel two years ago," said I. + +"No," he answered; "I have been here only since November, 1914." + +"You are a Frenchman? There was a Swiss here, then." + +"Yes, indeed, I am Français, monsieur. The Swiss is now a waiter in a +café of the Place Stanislas. It is something new to me to be a hotel +porter." + +"Tiens. What did you do?" + +"I drove a coal team, monsieur." + +"How, then, did you happen to come here?" + +"I used to deliver coal to the hotel. One day I heard that the Swiss had +gone to the café to take the place of a garçon whose class had just been +called out. I was getting sick of carrying the heavy sacks of coal, and +being always out of doors, so I applied for the porter's job." + +"You are satisfied with the change." + +"Oh, yes, indeed, monsieur." + +"I suppose you have kinsmen at the front." + +"Only my sister's son, monsieur." + +"In the active forces?" + +"No, he is a reservist. He is a man thirty-five years of age. He was +wounded by a shrapnel ball in the groin early in the spring, but is now +at the front again." + +"What does he do en civil?" + +"He is a furniture-maker, monsieur." + +He showed no sign of unrest at my catechizing, and plodded off down the +green velvet carpet to the landing-stage of the elevator. In the street +below a crowd was coming out of the silky white radiance of the lobby of +a cinema into the violet rays thrown upon the sidewalk from the +illuminated sign over the theater door. There are certain French cities +to which the war has brought a real prosperity, and Nancy was then one +of them. The thousands of refugees from the frontier villages and the +world of military officials and soldier workmen mobilized in the +ammunition factories had added to the population till it was actually +greater than it had been before the war, and with this new population +had come a development of the city's commercial life. The middle class +was making money, the rich were getting richer, and Nancy, hardly more +than eighteen or nineteen miles from the trenches, forgot its danger +till, on the first day of January, 1916, the Germans fired several +shells from a giant mortar or a marine piece into the town, one of which +scattered the fragments of a big five-story apartment house all over +Nancy. And on that afternoon thirty thousand people left the city. + +The day on which I was to go across the great swathe of the front to the +first-line trenches dawned cool and sunny. I use the word "swathe" +purposely, for only by that image can the real meaning of the phrase +"the front" be understood. The thick, black line which figures on the +war-maps is a great swathe of country running, with a thousand little +turns and twists that do not interfere with its general regularity, from +the summits of the Vosges to the yellow dunes of the North Sea. The +relation of the border of this swathe to the world beyond is the +relation of sea to land along an irregular and indented coast. Here an +isolated, strategic point, fiercely defended by the Germans, has +extended the border of the swathe beyond the usual limits, and villages +thirteen and fourteen miles from the actual lines have been pounded to +pieces by long-range artillery in the hope of destroying the enemy's +communications; there the trenches cross an obscure, level moor upon +whose possession nothing particular depends, and the swathe narrows to +the villages close by the lines. This swathe, which begins with the +French communications, passes the French trenches, leaps "No Man's +Land," and continues beyond the German trenches to the German +communications, averages about twenty-two miles in width. The territory +within this swathe is inhabited by soldiers, ruled by soldiers, worked +by soldiers, and organized for war. + +Sometimes the transition between civilian life and the life of the +swathe is abrupt, as, for instance, at Verdun, where the villages beyond +the lines have been emptied of civilian inhabitants to make room for the +soldiery; but at other times the change is gradual and the peasants +continue to work fields almost in the shadow of the trenches. Since the +line of trenches was organized by the Germans only after a series of +engagements along the front, during which the battle-line oscillated +over a wide territory, the approach to the swathe is often through a +region of desolated villages sometimes far removed from the present +trenches. Such is the state of affairs in the region of the Marne, the +Argonne, and on the southern bank of the Moselle. Moss-overgrown and +silent, these villages often stand deserted in the fields at the +entrance to the swathe, fit heralds of the desolation that lies beyond. + +Imagine, then, the French half of the swathe extending from the edge of +the civilian world to the barbed-wire entanglements of No Man's Land. +Within this territory, in the trenches, in the artillery positions, in +the villages where troops are quartered (and they are quartered in every +village of the swathe), and along all the principal turns and corners of +the roads, a certain number of shells fall every twenty-four hours, the +number of shells per locality increasing as one advances toward the +first lines. There are certain disputed regions, that of Verdun in +particular, where literally the whole great swathe has been pounded to +pieces, till hardly one stone of a village remains on another, and +during the recent offensive in the Somme the British are said to have +systematically wiped out every village, hamlet, and road behind the +German trenches to a depth of eighteen miles. Yet, protected from rifle +bullets and the majority of shells by a great wooded hill, the +inhabitants of M------, one mile from the lines of the Bois-le-Prêtre, +did a thriving business selling fruit to the soldiers, and I once saw an +old peasant woman, who was digging potatoes in her garden when a small +shell burst about two hundred feet from her, shake her fist toward the +German lines, mutter something, and plod angrily home to her cellar. +There are rarely any children close to the trenches, but in villages +that are only occasionally shelled, the school is open, and the class +hurries to the cellar at the first alarm. + +The lieutenant of the American Section, à young Frenchman who spoke +English not only fluently, but also with distinction, came to Nancy to +take me to the front. It was a clear, sunny morning, and the rumble of +the commercial life of Nancy, somewhat later in starting than our own, +was just beginning to be heard. Across the street from the +breakfast-room of the hotel, a young woman wearing a little black cape +over her shoulders rolled up the corrugated iron shutter of a +confectioner's shop and began to set the window with the popular +patriotic candy boxes, aluminum models of a "seventy-five" shell tied +round with a bow of narrow tricolor ribbon; a baker's boy in a white +apron and blue jumpers went by carrying a basket of bread on his head; +and from the nearby tobacconist's, a spruce young lieutenant dressed in +a black uniform emerged lighting a cigarette. At nine in the morning I +was contemplating a side street of busy, orderly, sunlit Nancy; that +night I was in a cellar seeking refuge from fire shells. + +"Please give me all your military papers," said my officer. I handed +over all the cards, permits, and licenses that had been given me, and he +examined them closely. + +"Allons, let us go," he said to his chauffeur, a young soldier wearing +the insignia of the motor-transportation corps. + +"How long does it take us to get to the lines, mon lieutenant?" + +"About an hour. Our headquarters are thirty kilomètres distant." + +The big, war-gray Panhard began to move. I looked round, eager to notice +anything that marked our transition from peace to war. Beyond the Nancy, +built in the Versailles style by the exiled Stanislaus, lay the +industrial Nancy which has grown up since the development of the iron +mines of French Lorraine in the eighties. Through this ugly huddle we +passed first: there were working men on the sidewalks, gamins in the +gutters,--nothing to remind one of the war. + +"Halt!" + +At a turn in the road near the outskirts of the city, a sentry, a small, +gray-haired man, had stepped out before the car. From the door of a +neighboring wineshop, a hideous old woman, her uncombed, tawny yellow +hair messed round her coarse, shiny face, came out to look at us. + +"Your papers, please," said a red-faced, middle-aged sergeant wearing a +brown corduroy uniform, who, walking briskly on enormous fat legs, had +followed the sentry out into the street. The lieutenant produced the +military permit to travel in the army zone--the ordre de mouvement, a +printed form on a blue sheet about the size of a leaf of typewriter +paper. + +"Pass," said the sergeant, and saluted. The sentry retired to his post +on the sidewalk. At the door of the wineshop the woman continued to +stare at us with an animal curiosity. Possibly our English-like uniforms +had attracted her attention; the French are very curious about les +Anglais. Over the roof of an ugly row of working men's barracks, built +of mortar and trimmed with dingy brick, came the uproar of a great +industry, the humming clang of saws, the ringing of iron on iron, and +the heart-beat thump of a great hammer that shook the earth. In a vast, +detached building five great furnaces were crowned with tufts of pinkish +fire, workmen were crossing the cindery yard dragging little carts and +long strips of iron, and a long line of open freight cars was being +emptied of coal. + +"They are making shells," said the lieutenant in the tone that he might +have said, "They are making candy." + +Another sentry held us up at the bridge where the road crosses the +Moselle as it issues from the highlands to the southwest. + +Beyond the bridge, running almost directly north to Metz, lay the +historic valley of the Moselle. Great, bare hills, varying between seven +hundred and a thousand feet in height, and often carved by erosion into +strange, high triangles and abrupt mesas, formed the valley wall. The +ground color of the hills was a warm buff-brown with a good deal of +iron-red in it, and the sky above was of a light, friendly blue. A +strange, Egyptian emerald of new wheat, a certain deep cobalt of cloud +shadows, and a ruddy brownness of field and moor are the colors of +Lorraine. Here and there, on the meadows of the river and the steep +flanks of the hills, were ancient, red-roofed villages. Across the +autumnal fields the smoke and flame of squalid Pompey loomed strangely. + +There were signs of the war at Marbache, fourteen kilomètres from Nancy, +slight signs, to be sure, but good ones--the presence of a military +smithy for the repair of army wagons, several of which stood by on rusty +wheels, and a view of some twenty or thirty artillery caissons parked +under the trees. But it was at B------, sixteen kilomètres from Nancy, +and sixteen from the lines, that I first felt the imminence of the war. +The morning train from Nancy had just stopped, to go no farther for fear +of shells, and beyond the station the tracks of the once busy Nancy-Metz +railroad advanced, rusty, unused, and overgrown with grass, into the +danger zone. Far behind now lay civilian Pompey, and Marbache shared by +soldiers and civilians. B------was distinctly a village of the soldiery. +The little hamlet, now the junction where the wagon-trains supplying the +soldiery meet the great artery of the railroad, was built on the banks +of a canal above the river. The color of these villages in Lorraine is +rather lovely, for the walls of the houses, built of the local +buff-yellow stone and ferrous sand, are of a warm, brown tone that goes +well with the roofs of claret-red tile and the brown landscape. A +glorious sky of silvery white cloud masses, pierced with sunlight and +islanded with soft blue, shone over the soldier village. There were no +combatants in it when we passed through, only the old poilus who drove +the wagons to the trenches and the army hostlers who looked after the +animals. There were pictures of soldier grooms leading horses down a +narrow, slimy street between brown, mud-spattered walls to a +drinking-trough; of horses lined up along a house wall being briskly +curry-combed by big, thick-set fellows in blousy white overalls and blue +fatigue caps; and of doors of stables opening on the road showing a +bedding of brown straw on the earthen floor. There was a certain stench, +too, the smell of horse-fouled mud that mixed with that odor I later was +able to classify as the smell of war. For the war has a smell that +clings to everything miltary, fills the troop-trains, hospitals, and +cantonments, and saturates one's own clothing, a smell compounded of +horse, chemicals, sweat, mud, dirt, and human beings. At the guarded +exit of the village to the shell zone was a little military cemetery in +which rows of wooden crosses stood with the regularity of pins in a +paper. + +Two kilomètres farther on, at Dieulouard, we drew into the shell zone. A +cottage had been struck the day before, and the shell, arriving by the +roof, had blown part of the front wall out into the street. In the +façade of the house, to the left of a door hanging crazily on its +hinges, an irregular oval hole, large enough to drive a motor-car +through, rose from the ground and came to a point just below the +overhang of the roof. The edges of the broken stone were clean and new +in contrast to the time-soiled outer wall of the dwelling. + +A pile of this clean stone lay on the ground at the outer opening of the +orifice, mixed with fragments of red tiles. + +"They killed two there yesterday," said the lieutenant, pointing out the +débris. + +The village, a farming hamlet transformed by the vicinity of a great +foundry into something neither a village nor a town, was full of +soldiers; there were soldiers in the streets, soldiers standing in +doorways, soldiers cooking over wood fires, soldiers everywhere. And +looking at the muddy village-town full of men in uniforms of blue, old +uniforms of blue, muddy uniforms of blue, in blue that was blue-gray and +blue-green from wear and exposure to the weather, I realized that the +old days of beautiful, half-barbaric uniforms were gone forever, and +that, in place of the old romantic war of cavalry charges and great +battles in the open, a new, more terrible war had been created, a war +that had not the chivalric externals of the old. + +After Dieulouard began the swathe of stillness. + +Following the western bank of the canal of the Moselle the road made a +great curve round the base of a hill descending to the river, and then +mounted a little spur of the valley wall. Beyond the spur the road went +through lonely fields, in which were deserted farmhouses surrounded by +acres of neglected vines, now rank and Medusa-like in their weedy +profusion. Every once in a while, along a rise, stood great burlap +screens so arranged one behind the other as to give the effect of a +continuous line when seen from a certain angle. + +"What are those for?" + +"To hide the road from the Germans. Do you see that little village down +there on the crest? The Boches have an observatory there, and shell the +road whenever they see anything worth shelling." + +A strange stillness pervaded the air; not a stillness of death and +decay, but the stillness of life that listens. The sun continued to +shine on the brown moorland hills across the gray-green river, the world +was quite the same, yet one sensed that something had changed. A village +lay ahead of us, disfigured by random shells and half deserted. Beyond +the still, shell-spattered houses, a great wood rose, about a mile and a +half away, on a ridge that stood boldly against the sky. Running from +the edge of the trees down across an open slope to the river was a +brownish line that stood in a little contrast to the yellower grass. +Suddenly, there slowly rose from this line a great puff of grayish-black +smoke which melted away in the clear, autumnal air. + +"See," said our lieutenant calmly, with no more emotion than he would +have shown at a bonfire--"those are the German trenches. We have just +fired a shell into them." + +Two minutes more took us into the dead, deserted city of Pont-à -Mousson. +The road was now everywhere screened carefully with lengths of +light-brown burlap, and there was not a single house that did not bear +witness to the power of a shell. The sense of "the front" began to +possess me, never to go, the sense of being in the vicinity of a +tremendous power. A ruined village, or a deserted town actually on the +front does not bring to mind any impression of decay, for the intellect +tends rather to consider t\& means by which the destruction has been +accomplished. One sees villages of the swathes so completely blown to +pieces that they are literally nothing but earthy mounds of rubbish, and +seeing them thus, in a plain still fiercely disputed night and day +between one's own side and the invisible enemy, the mind feels itself in +the presence of force, titanic, secret, and hostile. + +Beyond Pont-à -Mousson the road led directly to the trenches of the +Bois-le-Prêtre, less than half a mile away. But the disputed trenches +were hidden behind the trees, and I could not see them. Through the +silence of the deserted town sounded the muffled boom of shells and +trench engines bursting in the wood beyond, and every now and then +clouds of gray-black smoke from the explosion would rise above the brown +leaves of the ash trees. The smoke of these explosions rose straight +upwards in a foggy column, such as a locomotive might make if, halted on +its tracks somewhere in the wood, it had put coal on its fires. + +With the next day I began my service at the trenches, but the war began +for me that very night. + +A room in a bourgeois flat on the third floor of a deserted apartment +house had been assigned me. It was nine o'clock, and I was getting ready +to roll up in my blankets and go to sleep. Beneath the starlit heavens +the street below was black as pitch save when a trench light, floating +serenely down the sky, illuminated with its green-white glow the curving +road and the line of dark, abandoned, half-ruinous villas. There was not +a sound to be heard outside of an occasional rifle shot in the trenches, +sounding for all the world like the click of giant croquet balls. I went +round to the rear of the house and looked out of the kitchen windows to +the lines. A little action, some quarrel of sentries, perhaps, was going +on behind the trees, just where the wooded ridge sloped to the river. +Trench light after trench light rose, showing the disused railroad track +running across the un-harvested fields. Gleaming palely through the +French window at which I was standing, the radiance revealed the +deserted kitchen, the rusty stove, the dusty pans, and the tarnished +water-tap above the stone sink. The hard, wooden crash of grenades broke +upon my ears. + +My own room was lit by the yellow flame of a solitary candle, rising, +untroubled by the slightest breath of wind, straight into the air. A +large rug of old-rose covered the floor, an old-rose velvet canopy +draped a long table, hanging down at the corners in straight, heavy +creases, and the wallpaper was a golden yellow with faint stripes of +silvery-gray glaze. By the side of the wooden bed stood a high cabinet +holding about fifty terra-cotta and porcelain figurines, shiny +shepherdesses with shiny pink cheeks, Louis XV peasants with rakes on +their shoulders, and three little dogs made of a material the color of +cocoa. The gem of the collection was an eighteenth-century porcelain of +a youth and a maid sitting on opposite sides of a curved bench over +whose center rose a blossoming bush. The youth, dressed in black, and +wearing yellow stockings, looked with an amorous smile at the girl in +her gorgeous dress of flowering brocade. + +A marbly-white fireplace stood in the corner, overhung by a great Louis +XV mirror with a gilt frame of rich, voluptuous curves. On the mantel +lay a scarf of old-rose velvet smelling decidedly musty. Alone, apart, +upon this mantel, as an altar, stood a colored plaster bust of Jeanne +d'Arc, showing her in the beauty of her winsome youth. The pale, girlish +face dominated the shadowy room with its dreamy, innocent loveliness. + +There came a knock at the door, and so still was the town and the house +that the knock had the effect of something dramatic and portentous. A +big man, with bulging, pink cheeks, a large, chestnut mustache, and +brown eyes full of philosophic curiosity, stood in the doorway. The +uniform that he was wearing was unusually neat and clean. + +"So you are the American I am to have as neighbor," said he. + +"Yes," I replied. + +"I am the caporal in charge of the dépôt of the engineers in the +cellar," continued my visitor, "and I thought I'd come in and see how +you were." + +I invited him to enter. + +"Do you find yourself comfortable here, son?" + +"Yes. I consider myself privileged to have the use of the room. Have a +cigarette?" + +"Are these American cigarettes?" + +"Yes." + +"Your American tobacco is fine, son. But in America everybody is a +millionaire and has the best of everything--isn't that so? I should like +to go to America." + +"A Frenchman is never happy out of France." + +Comfortably seated in a big, ugly chair, he puffed his cigarette and +meditated. + +"Perhaps you are right," he admitted. "We Frenchmen love the good +things, and think we can get them in France better than anywhere else. +The solid satisfactions of life--good wine--good cheese." He paused. +"You see, son, all that (tout ça) is an affair of mine--in civilian life +(dans le civil) I am a grocer at Macon in Bourgogne." + +For a little while we talked of Burgundy, which I had often visited in +my student days at Lyons. There came another pause, and the Burgundian +said:-- + +"Well, what do you think of this big racket (ce grand fracas)?" + +"I have not seen enough of it to say." + +"Well, I think you are going to get a taste of it to-night. I heard our +artillery men (nos artiflots) early this morning firing their long-range +cannon, and every time they do that the Boches throw shells into +Pont-à -Mousson. I have been expecting an answer all day. If they start +in to-night, get up and come down cellar, son. This house was struck by +a shell two weeks ago." + +The shadowy, candlelit room and the dark city became at his words more +mysterious and hostile. The atmosphere seemed pervaded by some obscure, +endless, dreadful threat. It was getting toward ten o'clock. + +"Is this the only room you have? I have never been in this suite." + +"No, there is another room. Would you like to see it?" + +He followed me into a small chamber from which everything had been +stripped except a bedside table, a chair, and a crayon portrait of a +woman. The picture, slightly tinted with flesh color, was that of a +bourgeoise on the threshold of the fifties, and the still candle-flame +brought out in distinct relief the heavy, obese countenance, the hair +curled in artificial ringlets, and the gold crucifix which she wore on +her large bosom. The Burgundian's attention centered on this picture, +which he examined with the air of a connoisseur of female beauty. + +"Lord, how ugly she is!" he exclaimed. "She might well have stayed. Such +an old dragon would have no reason to fear the Boches." And he laughed +heartily from his rich lips and pulled his mustache. + +"Don't forget to hurry to the cellar, son," he called as he went away. + +At his departure the lonely night closed in on me again. Far, far away +sounded the booming of cannon. + +I am a light sleeper, and the arrival of the first shell awakened me. +Kicking off my blankets, I sat up in bed just in time to catch the swift +ebb of a heavy concussion. A piece of glass, dislodged from a broken +pane by the tremor, fell in a treble tinkle to the floor. For a minute +or two there was a full, heavy silence, and then several objects rolled +down the roof and fell over the gutters into the street. It sounded as +if some one had emptied a hodful of coal onto the house-roof from the +height of the clouds. Another silence followed. Suddenly it was broken +by a swift, complete sound, a heavy boom-roar, and on the heels of this +noise came a throbbing, whistling sigh that, at first faint as the sound +of ocean on a distant beach, increased with incredible speed to a +whistling swish, ending in a HISH of tremendous volume and a roaring, +grinding burst. The sound of a great shell is never a pure bang; one +hears, rather, the end of the arriving HISH, the explosion, and the +tearing disintegration of the thick wall of iron in one grinding +hammer-blow of terrific violence. On the heels of this second shell came +voices in the dark street, and the rosy glow of fire from somewhere +behind. More lumps, fragments of shell that had been shot into the air +by the explosion, rained down upon the roof. I got up and went to the +kitchen window. A house on one of the silent streets between the city +and the lines was on fire, great volumes of smoke were rolling off into +the starlit night, and voices were heard all about murmuring in the +shadows. I hurried on my clothes and went down to the cellar. + +The light of two candles hanging from a shelf in loops of wire revealed +a clean, high cellar; a mess of straw was strewn along one wall, and a +stack of shovels and picks, some of them wrapped in paper, was banked +against the other. In the straw lay three oldish men, fully clad in the +dark-blue uniform which in old times had signaled the Engineer Corps; +one dozed with his head on his arm, the other two were stretched out +flat in the mysterious grossness of sleep. A door from the cellar to a +sunken garden was open, and through this opening streamed the intense +radiance of the rising fire. At the opening stood three men, my visitor +of the evening, a little, wrinkled man with Napoleon III whiskers and +imperial, and an old, dwarfish fellow with a short neck, a bullet head, +and close-clipped hair. Catching sight of me, the Burgundian said:-- + +"Well, son, you see it is hammering away (ça tape) ce soir." + +Hearing another shell, he slammed the door, and stepped to the right +behind the stone wall of the cellar. + +"Very bad," croaked the dwarf. "The Boches are throwing fire shells." + +"And they will fire shrapnel at the poor bougres who have to put out the +fires," said the little man with the imperial. + +"So they will, those knaves," croaked the dwarf in a voice entirely free +from any emotion. "That fire must be down on the Boulevard Ney," said +the bearded man. + +"There is another beginning just to the right," said the Burgundian in +the tone of one retailing interesting but hardly useful information. + +"There will be others," croaked the dwarf, who, leaning against the +cellar wall, was trying to roll a cigarette with big, square, fumbling +fingers. And looking at a big, gray-haired man in the hay, who had +turned over and was beginning to snore, he added: "Look at the new man. +He sleeps well, that fellow" (ce type là ). + +"He looks like a Breton," said the man with the imperial. + +"An Auvergnat--an Auvergnat," replied the dwarf in a tone that was meant +to be final. + +The soldier, who had just been sent down from Paris to take the place of +another recently invalided home, snored on, unconscious of our scrutiny. +The light from the fires outside cast a rosy glow on his weather-worn +features and sparse, silvery hair. His own curiosity stirred, the +corporal looked at his list. + +"He came from Lyons," he announced. "His name is Alphonse Reboulet." + +"I am glad he is not an Auvergnat," growled the dwarf. "We should have +all had fleas." + +A shell burst very near, and a bitter odor of explosives came swirling +through the doorway. A fragment of the shell casing struck a window +above us, and a large piece of glass fell by the doorway and broke into +splinters. The first fire was dying down, but two others were burning +briskly. The soldiers waited for the end of the bombardment, as they +might have waited for the end of a thunderstorm. + +"Tiens--here comes the shrapnel," exclaimed the Burgundian. And he +slammed the door swiftly. + +A high, clear whistle cleaved the flame-lit sky, and about thirty small +shrapnel shells burst beyond us. + +"They try to prevent any one putting out the fires," said the Burgundian +confidentially. "They get the range from the light of the flames." + +Another dreadful rafale (volley) of shrapnel, at the rate of ten or +fifteen a minute, came speeding from the German lines. + +"They are firing on the other house, now." + +"Who puts out the fires?" + +"The territorials who police and clean up the town. Some of them live +two doors below." + +The Burgundian pointed down the garden to a door opening, like our own, +on to an area below the level of the street. Suddenly, a gate opening on +a back lane swung back, and two soldiers entered, one carrying the feet +and the other the shoulders of a third. The body hung clumsily between +them like a piece of old sacking. + +"Tiens--someone is wounded," said the Burgundian. "Go, thou, Badel, and +see who it is." + +The dwarf plodded off obediently. + +"It is Palester," he announced on his return, "the type that had the +swollen jaw last month." + +"What's the matter with him?" + +"He's been killed." + + + + + +Chapter IV + +La Forêt De Bois-Le-Pretre + + + +Beginning at the right bank of the Meuse, a vast plateau of bare, +desolate moorland sweeps eastward to the Moselle, and descends to the +river in a number of great, wooded ridges perpendicular to the +northward-flowing stream. The town of Pont-à -Mousson lies an apron of +meadowland spread between two of these ridges, the ridge of Puvenelle +and the ridge of the Bois-le-Prêtre. The latter is the highest of all +the spurs of the valley. Rising from the river about half a mile to the +north of the city, it ascends swiftly to the level of the plateau, and +was seen from our headquarters as a long, wooded ridge blocking the +sky-line to the northwest. The hamlet of Maidières, in which our +headquarters were located, lies just at the foot of Puvenelle, at a +point where the amphitheater of Pont-à -Mousson, crowding between the two +ridges, becomes a steep-walled valley sharply tilted to the west. + +The Bois-le-Prêtre dominated at once the landscape and our minds. Its +existence was the one great fact in the lives of some fifty thousand +Frenchmen, Germans, and a handful of exiled Americans; it had dominated +and ended the lives of the dead; it would dominate the imagination of +the future. Yet, looking across the brown walls and claret roofs of the +hamlet of Maidières, there was nothing to be seen but a grassy slope, +open fields, a reddish ribbon of road, a wreck of a villa burned by a +fire shell, and a wood. The autumn had turned the leaves of the trees, +seemingly without exception, to a leathery brown, and in almost all +lights the trunks of the trees were a cold, purplish slate. Such was the +forest which, battle-areas excepted, has cost more lives than any other +point along the line. The wood had been contested trench by trench, +literally foot by foot. It was at once the key to the Saint-Mihiel +salient and the city of Metz. + +The Saint-Mihiel salient--"the hernia," as the French call it--begins at +the Bois-le-Prêtre. Pivoting on The Wood, the lines turn sharply inland, +cross the desolate plateau of La Woevre, attain the Meuse at +Saint-Mihiel, turn again, and ascend the river to the Verdunois. The +salient, as dangerous for the Germans as it is troublesome for the +French, represents the limit of a German offensive directed against Toul +in October, 1914. That the French retreated was due to the fact that the +plateau was insufficiently protected, many of the regiments having been +rushed north to the great battle then raging on the Aisne. + +Only one railroad center lies in the territory of the salient, +Thiaucourt in Woevre. This pleasant little moorland town, locally famous +for its wine, is connected with Metz by two single-track railroad lines, +one coming via Conflans, and the other by Arnaville on the Moselle. At +Vilcey-sur-Mad, these lines unite, and follow to Thiaucourt the only +practicable railroad route, the valley of the Rupt (brook) de Mad. + +Thus the domination of Thiaucourt, or the valley of the Rupt de Mad, by +French artillery would break the railroad communications between the +troops keeping the salient and their base of supplies, Metz. And the +fate of Metz itself hangs on the control of the Bois-le-Prêtre. + +Metz is the heart of the German organization on the western front: the +railroad center, the supply station, the troop dépôt. A blow at Metz +would affect the security of every German soldier between Alsace and the +Belgian frontier. But if the French can drive the Germans out of the +Bois-le-Prêtre and establish big howitzers on the crest the Germans are +still holding, there will soon be no more Metz. The French guns will +destroy the city as the German cannon destroyed Verdun. + +When the Germans, therefore, retired to the trenches after the battles +of September and October, 1914, they took to the ground on the heights +of the Bois-le-Prêtre, a terrain far enough ahead of Thiaucourt and Metz +to preserve these centers from the danger of being shelled. On the crest +of the highest ridge along the valley, admirably ambushed in a thick +forest, they waited for the coming of the French. And the French came. + +They came, young and old, slum-dweller and country schoolmaster, rich +young noble and Corsican peasant, to the storming of the wood, upheld by +one vision, the unbroken, grassy slope that stretched from behind the +German lines to the town of Thiaucourt. In the trenches behind the slaty +trunks of the great ash trees, Bavarian peasants, Saxons, and +round-headed Wurttem-burgers, the olive-green, jack-booted Boches, +awaited their coming, determined to hold the wood, the salient, and the +city. + +A year later the Bois-le-Prêtre (the Priest Wood), with its perfume of +ecclesiastical names that reminds one of the odor of incense in an old +church, had become the Bois de la Mort (the Wood of Death). + +The house in which our bureau was located was once the summer residence +of a rich ironmaster who had fled to Paris at the beginning of the war. +If there is an architectural style of German origin known as the +"Neo-Classic," which affects large, windowless spaces framed in +pilasters of tile, and decorations and insets of omelet-yellow and +bottle-green glazed brick, "Wisteria Villa" is of that school. It stood +behind a high wall of iron spikes on the road leading from Maidières to +the trenches, a high, Germano-Pompeian country house, topped by a roof +rich in angles, absurd windows, and unexpected gables. There are huge, +square, French-roofed houses in New England villages built by local +richessîmes of Grant's time, and still called by neighbors "the Jinks +place" or the "Levi Oates place"; Wisteria Villa had something of the +same social relation to the commune of Maidières. Grotesque and ugly, it +was not to be despised; it had character in its way. + +Our social center was the dining-room of the villa. Exclusive of the +kitchen range, it boasted the only stove in the house, a queerly shaped +"Salamandre," a kind of Franklin stove with mica doors. The walls were +papered an ugly chocolate brown with a good deal of red in it, and the +borders, doors, and fireplace frame were stained a color trembling +between mission green and oak brown. The room was rectangular and too +high for its width. There were pictures. On each side of the fireplace, +profiles toward the chimney, hung concave plaques of Dutch girls. To the +left of the door was a yellowed etching of the tower of the château of +Heidelberg, and to the right a very small oil painting, in an ornate +gilt frame three inches deep, of a beach by moonlight. About two or +three hundred books, bound in boards and red leather, stood behind the +cracked glass of a bookcase in the corner; they were very "jeune fille," +and only the romances of Georges Ohnet appeared to have been read. The +thousand cupboards of the house were full of dusty knickknacks, old +umbrellas, hats, account-books, and huge boxes holding the débris of +sets of checkers, dominoes, and ivory chessmen. An enlarged photograph +of the family hung on the walls of a bedroom; it had been taken at +somebody's marriage, and showed the group standing on the front steps, +the same steps that were later to be blown to pieces by a shell. One saw +the bride, the groom, and about twenty relatives, including a boy in +short trousers, a wide, white collar, and an old-fashioned, fluffy bow +tie. Anxious to be included in the picture, the driver of the bridal +barouche has craned his neck forward. On the evidence of the costumes, +the picture had been taken about 1902. + +Our bureau in the cellar of Wisteria Villa was connected directly with +the trenches. When a man had been wounded, he was carried to the poste +de secours in the rear lines, and it was our duty to go to this trench +post and carry the patient to the hospital at the nearest rail-head. The +bureau of the Section was in charge of two Frenchmen who shared the +labor of attending to the telephone and keeping the books. + +A hundred yards beyond Wisteria Villa, at a certain corner, the +principal road to the trenches divided into three branches, and in order +to interfere as much as possible with communications, the Germans daily +shelled this strategic point. A comrade and I had the curiosity to keep +an exact record of a week's shelling. It must be remembered that the +corner was screened from the Germans, who fired casually in the hope of +hitting something and annoying the French. The cannons shelling the +corner were usually "seventy-sevens," the German quick-firing pieces +that correspond to the French "seventy-fives." + +Monday, ten shells at 6.30, two at 7.10, five at 11.28, twenty at +intervals between 2.15 and 2.45, a swift rafale of some sixteen at 4.12, +another rafale of twenty at 8, and occasional shells between 9 and +midnight. + +Tuesday, two big shells at mid-day. + +Wednesday, rafales at 9.14, 11, 2.18, 4.30, and 6.20. + +Thursday--no shells. + +Friday, twelve at intervals between 10.16 and 12.20. Solitary big shell +at 1.05. Another big shell at 3. Some fifteen stray shells between 5 and +midnight. + +Saturday--no shells. + +Sunday--About five shells an hour between 4 in the afternoon and +midnight. + +I give the number of shells falling at this corner as a concrete +instance of what was happening at a dozen other points along the road. +The fire of the German batteries was as capricious as the play of a +search-light; one week, the corner and three or four other points would +catch it, the next week the corner and another set of localities. And +there were periods, sometimes ten days to two weeks long, when hardly a +shell was fired at any road. Then, after a certain sense of security had +begun to take form, a rafale would come screaming over, blow a horse and +wagon to pieces, and leave one or two blue figures huddled in the mud. +But the French replied to each shell and every rafale, in addition to +firing at random all the day and a good deal of the night. There was +hardly a night that Wisteria Villa did not rock to the sound of French +guns fired at 2 and 3 in the morning. But the average day at +Pont-à -Mousson was a day of random silences. The war had all the +capricious-ness of the sea--of uncertain weather. There were hours of +calm in the day, during which the desolate silence of the front flooded +swiftly over the landscape; there were interruptions of great violence, +sometimes desultory, sometimes beginning, in obedience to a human will, +at a certain hour. The outbreak would commence with the orderliness of a +clock striking, and continue the greater part of the day, rocking the +deserted town with its clamor. Hearing it, the soldiers en repos would +say, talking of The Wood, "It sings (ça chante)," or, "It knocks (ça +tape) up there to-day." The smoke of the bursting shells hung over The +Wood in a darkish, gray-blue fog. But since The Wood had a personality +for us, many would say simply, "Listen to The Wood." + +The shell expresses one idea--energy. The cylinder of iron, piercing the +air at a terrific speed, sings a song of swift, appalling energy, of +which the final explosion is the only fitting culmination. One gets, +too, an idea of an unbending volition in the thing. After a certain time +at the front the ear learns to distinguish the sound of a big shell from +a small shell, and to know roughly whether or not one is in the danger +zone. It was a grim jest with us that it took ten days to qualify as a +shell expert, and at the end of two weeks all those who qualified +attended the funeral of those who had failed. Life at The Wood had an +interesting uncertainty. + +A quarter of a mile beyond the corner, on the slope of Puvenelle +opposite The Wood, stood Montauville, the last habitable village of the +region. To the south of it rose the wooded slopes of Puvenelle; to the +north, seen across a marshy meadow, were the slope and the ridge of the +Bois-le-Prêtre. The dirty, mud-spattered village was caught between the +leathery sweeps of two wooded ridges. Three winding roads, tramped into +a pie of mire, crossed the grassy slope of The Wood, and disappeared +into the trees at the top. Though less than a mile from the first German +line, the village, because of its protection from shells by a spur of +the Bois-le-Prêtre, was in remarkably good condition; the only building +to show conspicuous damage being the church, whose steeple had been +twice struck. It was curious to see pigeons flying in and out of the +belfry through the shell rents in the roof. Here and there, among the +uncultivated fields of those who had fled, were the green fields of some +one who had stayed. A woman of seventy still kept open her grocery shop; +it was extraordinarily dirty, full of buzzing flies, and smelled of +spilled wine. + +"Why did you stay?" I asked her. + +"Because I did not want to leave the village. Of course my daughter +wanted me to come to Dijon. Imagine me in Dijon, I, who have been to +Nancy only once! A fine figure I should make in Dijon in my sabots!" + +"And you are not afraid of the shells?" + +"Oh, I should be afraid of them if I ever went out in the street. But I +never leave my shop." + +And so she stayed, selling the three staples of the French front, +Camembert cheese, Norwegian sardines, and cakes of chocolate. But +Montauville was far from safe. It was there that I first saw a man +killed. I had been talking to a sentry, a small young fellow of +twenty-one or two, with yellow hair and gray-blue eyes full of +weariness. He complained of a touch of jaundice, and wished heartily +that the whole affaire--meaning the war in general--was finished. He was +very anxious to know if the Americans thought the Boches were going to +win. Some vague idea of winning the war just to get even with the Boches +seemed to be in his mind. I assured him that American opinion was +optimistic in regard to the chances of the Allies, and strolled away. +Hardly had I gone ten feet, when a "seventy-seven" shell, arriving +without warning, went Zip-bang, and, turning to crouch to the wall, I +saw the sentry crumple up in the mud. It was as if he were a rubber +effigy of a man blown up with air, and some one had suddenly ripped the +envelope. His rifle fell from him, and he, bending from the waist, +leaned face down into the mud. I was the first to get to him. The young, +discontented face was full of the gray street mud, there was mud in the +hollows of the eyes, in the mouth, in the fluffy mustache. A chunk of +the shell had ripped open the left breast to the heart. Down his sleeve, +as down a pipe, flowed a hasty drop, drop, drop of blood that mixed with +the mire. + +Several times a day, at stated hours, the numbers of German missiles +that had fallen into the trenches of the Bois-le-Prêtre, together with +French answers to them, would be telephoned to headquarters. The soldier +in charge of the telephone was an instructor in Latin in a French +provincial university, a tall, stoop- shouldered man, with an +indefinite, benevolent smile curiously framed on thin lips. Probably +very much of a scholar by training and feeling, he had accepted his +military destiny, and was as much a poilu as anybody. During his leisure +hours he was busy writing a "Comparison of the Campaign on the Marne and +the Aisne with Caesar's battles against the Belgian Confederacy." He had +a paper edition of the Gallic Wars which he carried round with him. One +day he explained his thesis to me. He drew a plan with a green pencil on +a piece of paper. + +"See, mon ami," he exclaimed, "here is the Aisne, Caesar's Axona; here +is Berry-au-Bac; here was Caesar, here were the invaders, here was +General French, here Foch, here Von Kluck. Curious, isn't it--two +thousand years afterward?" His eyes for an instant filled with dreamy +perplexity. A little while later I would hear him mechanically +telephoning. "Poste A--five 'seventy-seven' shells, six mines, twelve +trench shells; answer--ten 'seventy-five' shells, eight mines, eighteen +trench shells; Poste B--two 'seventy-seven' shells, one mine, six +grenades; answer--fifteen 'seventy-five' shells; Poste C--one 'two +hundred and ten' shell, fifty mines; answer--sixty mines; Poste D--" + +At Dieulouard I had entered the shell zone; at Pont-à -Mousson, I crossed +the borders of the zone of quiet; at Montauville began the last +zone--the zone of invisibility and violence. Civilian life ended at the +western end of the village street with the abruptness of a man brought +face to face with a high wall. Beyond the village a road was seen +climbing the grassy slope of Puvenelle, to disappear as it neared the +summit of the ridge in a brown wood. It was just an ordinary hill road +of Lorraine, but the fact that it was the direct road to the trenches +invested this climbing, winding, silent length with extraordinary +character. The gate of the zone of violence, every foot of it bore some +scar of the war, now trivial, now gigantic--always awesome in the power +and volition it revealed. One passed from the sight of a brown puddle, +scooped in the surface of the street by an exploding shell, to a view of +a magnificent ash tree splintered by some projectile. It is a very rare +thing to see a sinister landscape, but this whole road was sinister. I +used to discuss this sinister quality with a distinguished French artist +who as a poilu was the infirmier, or medical service man, attached to a +squad of engineers working in a quarry frequently shelled. In this +frightful place we discussed la qualité du sinistre dans l'art (the +sinister in art) as calmly as if we were two Parisian critics sitting on +the benches of the Luxembourg Gardens. As the road advanced into the +wood, there was hardly a wayside tree that had not been struck by a +shell. Branches hung dead from trees, twigs had been lopped off by stray +fragments, great trunks were split apart as if by lightning. "Nature as +Nature is never sinister," said the artist; "it is when there is a +disturbance of the relations between Nature and human life that you have +the sinister. Have you ever seen the villages beyond Ravenna overwhelmed +by the bogs? There you see the sinister. Here Man is making Nature +unlivable for Man." He stroked his fine silky beard meditatively--"This +will all end when the peasants plant again." As we talked, a shell, +intended for the batteries behind, burst high above us. + +Skirting the ravine, now wooded, between Puvenelle and the +Bois-le-Prêtre, the road continued westward till it emerged upon the +high plateau of La Woevre; the last kilomètre being in full view of the +Germans entrenched on the ridge across the rapidly narrowing, rising +ravine. Along this visible space the trees and bushes by the roadside +were matted by shell fire into an inextricable confusion of destruction, +and through the wisps and splinters of this ruin was seen the ridge of +the Bois-le-Prêtre rapidly attaining the level of the moor. At length +the forest of Puvenelle, the ravine, and the Bois-le-Prêtre ended +together in a rolling sweep of furzy fields cut off to the west and +north by a vast billow of the moor which, like the rim of a saucer, +closed the wide horizon. Continuing straight ahead, the Puvenelle road +mounted this rise, dipped and disappeared. Halfway between the edge of +the forest of Puvenelle and this crest stood an abandoned inn, a +commonplace building made of buff-brown moorland stone trimmed with red +brick. Close by this inn, at right angles to the Puvenelle road, another +road turned to the north and likewise disappeared over the lift in the +moor. At the corner stood a government signpost of iron slightly bent +back, bearing in gray-white letters on its clay-blue plaque the +legend--Thiaucourt, 12 kilomètres Metz, 25 kilomètres. + +There was not a soul anywhere in sight; I was surrounded with evidences +of terrific violence--the shattered trees, the shell holes in the road, +the brown-lipped craters in the earth of the fields, the battered inn; +but there was not a sign of the creators of this devastation. A +northwest wind blew in great salvos across the mournful, lonely plateau, +rippling the furze, and brought to my ears the pounding of shells from +behind the rise. When I got to this rim a soldier, a big, blond fellow +of the true Gaulois type with drooping yellow mustaches, climbed slowly +out of a hole in the ground. The effect was startling. I had arrived at +the line where the earth of France completely swallows up the army. This +disappearance of life in a decor of intense action is one of the most +striking things of the war. All about in the surface of the earth were +little, square, sooty holes that served as chimneys, and here and there +rectangular, grave-like openings in the soil showing three or four big +steps descending to a subterranean hut. Fifty feet away not a sign of +human life could be distinguished. Six feet under the ground, framed in +the doorway of a hut, a young, black-haired fellow in a dark-brown +jersey stood smiling pleasantly up at us; it was he who was to be my +guide to the various postes and trenches that I had need to know. He +came up to greet me. + +"Better bring him down here," growled a voice from somewhere in the +earth. "There have been bullets crossing the road all afternoon." + +"I am going to show him the Quart-en-Réserve first." + +The Quart-en-Réserve (Reserved Quarter) was the section of the +Bois-le-Prêtre which, because of its situation on the crest of the great +ridge, had been the most fiercely contested. We crept up on the edge of +the ridge and looked over. An open, level field some three hundred yards +wide swept from the Thiaucourt road to the edges of the Bois-le-Prêtre; +across this field ran in the most confused manner a strange pattern of +brown lines that disappeared among the stumps and poles of the haggard +wood to the east. To the northwest of this plateau, on the road ahead of +us, stood a ruined village caught in the torment of the lines. Here and +there, in some twenty or thirty places scattered over the scarred +plateau, the smoke of trench shells rose in little curling puffs of +gray-black that quickly dissolved in the wind. + +"The Quart is never quiet," said my guide. "It is now half ours, half +theirs." + +Close to the ground, a blot of light flashed swifter than a stroke of +lightning, and a heavier, thicker smoke rolled away. + +"That is one of ours. We are answering their trench shells with an +occasional 'one hundred and twenty." + +"How on earth is it that everybody is not killed?" + +"Because the regiment has occupied the Quart so long that we know every +foot, every turn, every shelter of it. When we see a trench shell +coming, we know just where to go. It is only the newcomers who get +killed. Two months past, when a new regiment occupied the Quart during +our absence en repos, it lost twenty-five men in one day." + +The first trench that I entered was a simple trench about seven feet +deep, with no trimmings whatsoever, just such a trench as might have +been dug for the accommodation of a large water conduit. We walked on a +narrow board walk very slippery with cheesy, red-brown mire. From time +to time the hammer crash of a shell sounded uncomfortably near, and bits +of dirt and pebbles, dislodged by the concussion, fell from the wall of +the passage. The only vista was the curving wall of the long +communication trench and the soft sky of Lorraine, lit with the pleasant +sunlight of middle afternoon, and islanded with great golden-white cloud +masses. My guide and I might have been the last persons left in a world +of strange and terrible noises. The boyau (communication trench) began +to turn and wind about in the most perplexing manner, and we entered a +veritable labyrinth. This extraordinary, baffling complexity is due +primarily to the fact that the trenches advance and retreat, rise and +fall, in order to take advantage of the opportunities for defense +afforded by every change in the topography of the region. I remember one +area along the front consisting of two round, grassy hills divided by a +small, grassy valley whose floor rose gently to a low ridge connecting +the two heights. In this terrain the defensive line began on the first +hill as a semicircle edging the grassy slopes presented to the enemy, +then retreated, sinking some forty feet, to take advantage of the +connecting link of upland at the head of the ravine, and took +semicircular form again on the flat, broad summit of the second hill. In +the meadows at the base of these hills a brook flowing from the ravine +had created a great swamp, somewhat in the shape of a wedge pointing +outward from the mouth of the valley. The lines of the enemy, edging +this tract of mire, were consequently in the shape of an open V. Thus +the military situation at this particular point may be pictorially +represented by a salient semicircle, a dash, and another salient +semicircle faced by a wide, open V. Imagine such a situation complicated +by offensive and counter-offensive, during which the French have seized +part of the hills and the German part of the plain, till the whole +region is a madman's maze of barbed wire, earthy lines, trenches,--some +of them untenable by either side and still full of the dead who fell in +the last combat,--shell holes, and fortified craters. Such was something +of the situation in that wind-swept plain at the edge of the +Bois-le-Prêtre. I leave for other chapters the account of an average day +in the trenches and the story of the great German attack, preferring to +tell here of the general impressions made by the appearance of the +trenches themselves. Two pictures stand out, particularly, the dead on +the barbed wire, and the village called "Fey au Rats" at night. + +"The next line is the first line. Speak in whispers now, for if the +Boches hear us we shall get a shower of hand-grenades." + +I turned into a deep, wide trench whose floor had been trodden into a +slop of cheesy, brown mire which clung to the big hobnailed boots of the +soldiers. Every foot or so along the parapet there was a rifle slit, +made by the insertion of a wedge-shaped wooden box into the wall of +brownish sandbags, and the sentries stood about six feet apart. The +trench had the hushed quiet of a sickroom. + +"Do you want to see the Boches? Here; come, put your eye to this rifle +slit." + +A horizontal tangle of barbed wire lay before me, the shapeless gully of +an empty trench, and, thirty-five feet away, another blue-gray tangle of +barbed wire and a low ripple of the brownish earth. As I looked, one of +the random silences of the front stole swiftly into the air. French +trench and German trench were perfectly silent; you could have heard the +ticking of a watch. + +"You never see them?" + +"Only when we attack them or they attack us." + +An old poilu, with a friendly smile revealing a jagged reef of yellow +teeth, whispered to me amiably:-- + +"See them? Good Lord, it's bad enough to smell them. You ought to thank +the good God, young man, that the wind is carrying it over our heads." + +"Any wounded to-day?" + +"Yes; a corporal had his leg ripped up about half an hour ago." + +At a point a mile or so farther down the moor I looked again out of a +rifle box. No Man's Land had widened to some three hundred feet of +waving furze, over whose surface gusts of wind passed as over the +surface of the sea. About fifty feet from the German trenches was a +swathe of barbed wire supported on a row of five stout, wooden posts. So +thickly was the wire strung that the eye failed to distinguish the +individual filaments and saw only the rows of brown-black posts filled +with a steely purple mist. Upon this mist hung masses of weather-beaten +blue rags whose edges waved in the wind. + +"Des camarades" (comrades), said my guide very quietly. + +A month later I saw the ruined village of Fey-en-Haye by the light of +the full golden shield of the Hunters' Moon. The village had been taken +from the Germans in the spring, and was now in the French lines, which +crossed the village street and continued right on through the houses. +"The first village on the road to Metz" had tumbled, in piles and mounds +of rubbish, out on a street grown high with grass. Moonlight poured into +the roofless cottages, escaping by shattered walls and jagged rents, and +the mounds of débris took on fantastic outlines and cast strange +shadows. In the middle of the village street stood two wooden crosses +marking the graves of soldiers. It was the Biblical "Abomination of +Desolation." + +Looking at Fey from the end of the village street, I slowly realized +that it was not without inhabitants. Wandering through the grass, +scurrying over the rubbish heaps, running in and out of the crumbling +thresholds were thousands and thousands of rats. + +Across the bright sky came a whirring hum, the sound of the motors of +aeroplanes on the way to bombard the railroad station at Metz. I looked +up, but there was nothing to be seen. The humming died away. The bent +signpost at the corner of the deserted moorland road, with its arrow and +its directions, somehow seemed a strange, shadowy symbol of the +impossibility of the attainment of many human aspirations. + + + + +Chapter V + +The Trenches In The "Wood Of Death" + + + +So great has been the interest in the purely military side of the +struggle that one is apt to forget that the war is worth study as the +supreme occupation of many great nations, whose every energy, physical, +moral, and economic, has been put to its service, and relentlessly +tested in its fiery furnace. A future historian may find the war more +interesting, when considered as the supreme achievement of the +industrial civilization of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, than +as a mere vortex in the age-old ocean of European political strife. +There is something awe-inspiring in the spectacle of all the continuous +and multitudinous activity of a great nation feeding, by a thousand +channels, a thousand rills, to the embattled furrows of the zone of +violence. + +By a strange decree of fate, a new warfare has come into being, +admirably adapted to the use and the testing of all our faculties, +organizations, and inventions--trench warfare. The principal element of +this modern warfare is lack of mobility. + +The lines advance, the lines retreat, but never once, since the +establishment of the present trench swathe, have the lines of either +combatant been pushed clear out of the normal zone of hostilities. The +fierce, invisible combats are limited to the first-line positions, +averaging a mile each way behind No Man's Land. This stationary +character has made the war a daily battle; it has robbed war of all its +ancient panoply, its cavalry, its uniforms brilliant as the sun, and has +turned it into the national business. I dislike to use the word +"business," with its usual atmosphere of orderly bargaining; I intend +rather to call up an idea more familiar to American minds--the idea of a +great intricate organization with a corporate volition. The war of +to-day is a business, the people are the stockholders, and the object of +the organization is the wisest application of violence to the enemy. + +To this end, in numberless secteurs along the front, special +narrow-gauge railroad lines have been built directly from the railroad +station at the edge of the shell zone to the artillery positions. To +this end the trenches have been gathered into a special telephone system +so that General Joffre at Chantilly can talk to any officers or soldiers +anywhere along the great swathe. The food, supplies, clothing, and +ammunition are delivered every day at the gate of the swathe, and calmly +redistributed to the trenches by a sort of military express system. + +Only one thing ever disturbs the vast, orderly system. The bony fingers +of Death will persist in getting into the cogs of the machine. + +The front is divided, according to military exigencies, into a number of +roughly equal lengths called secteurs. Each secteur is an administrative +unit with its own government and its own system adapted to the local +situation. The heart of this unit is the railroad station at which the +supplies arrive for the shell zone; in a normal secteur, one military +train arrives every day bringing the needed supplies, and one hospital +train departs, carrying the sick and wounded to the hospitals. The +station at the front is always a scene of considerable activity, +especially when the train arrives; there are pictures of old poilus in +red trousers pitching out yellow hay for the horses, commissary officers +getting their rations, and artilleurs stacking shells. + +The train not being able to continue into the shell zone, the supplies +are carried to the distributing station at the trenches in a convoy of +wagons, called the ravitaillement. Every single night, somewhere along +the road, each side tries to smash up the other's ravitaillement. To +avoid this, the ravitaillement wagons start at different hours after +dark, now at dusk, now at midnight. Sometimes, close by the trenches on +a clear, still night, the plashing and creaking of the enemy's wagons +can be heard through the massacred trees. I remember being shelled along +one bleak stretch of moorland road just after a drenching December rain. +The trench lights rising over The Wood, three miles away, made the wet +road glow with a tarnished glimmer, and burnished the muddy pools into +mirrors of pale light. The ravitaillement creaked along in the darkness. +Suddenly a shell fell about a hundred yards away, and the wagons brought +up jerkily, the harnesses rattling. For ten minutes the Germans shelled +the length of road just ahead of us, but no shell came closer to us than +the first one. About thirty "seventy-seven" shells burst, some on the +road, some on the edges of the fields; we saw them as flashes of +reddish-violet light close to the ground. In the middle of the mêlée a +trench light rose, showing the line of halted gray wagons, the +motionless horses, and the helmeted drivers. The whole affair passed in +silence. When it was judged that the last shell had fallen, whips +cracked like pistol shots, and the line lumbered on again. + +The food came to us fresh every day in a freight car fitted up like a +butcher's shop, in charge of a poilu who was a butcher in civilian life. +"So many men--so many grammes," and he would cut you off a slice. There +was a daily potato ration, and a daily extra, this last from a list ten +articles long which began again every ten days, and included beans, +macaroni, lentils, rice, and cheese. The French army is very well and +plenteously fed. Coffee, sugar, wine, and even tea are ungrudgingly +furnished. These foods are taken directly to the rear of the trenches +where the regimental cooks have their traveling kitchens. Once the food +is prepared, the cooks--the beloved cuistots--take it to the trenches in +great, steaming kettles and distribute it to the men individually. As +for clothing, every regiment has a regimental tailor shop and supply of +uniforms in the village where they go to repos. I have often seen the +soldier tailor of one of the regiments, a little Alsatian Jew, sewing up +the shell rents in a comrade's greatcoat. He had his shop in a pleasant +kitchen, and used to sit beside the fire sewing as calmly as an old +woman. + +The sanitary arrangements of the trenches are the usual army latrines, +and very severe punishments are inflicted for any fouling. + +If a man is wounded, the medical service man of his squad (infirmier), +or one of the stretcher-bearers (brancardiers), takes him as quickly as +possible to the regimental medical post in the rear lines. If the trench +is getting heavily shelled, and the wound is slight, the attendant takes +the man to a shelter and applies first aid until a time comes when he +and his patient can proceed to the rear with reasonable safety. At this +rear post the regimental surgeon cleans the wound, stops the bleeding, +and sends for the ambulance, which, at the Bois-le-Prêtre, came right +into the heart of the trenches by sunken roads that were in reality +broad trenches. The man is then taken to the hospital that his condition +requires, the slightly wounded to one hospital, and those requiring an +operation to another. The French surgical hospitals all along the front +are marvels of cleanliness and order. The heart of each hospital is the +power plant, which sterilizes the water, runs the electric lights, and +works the X-ray generator. Mounted on an automobile body, it is always +ready to decamp in case the locality gets too dangerous. You find these +great, lumbering affairs, half steamroller, half donkey-engine, in the +courtyards of old castles, schools, and great private houses close by +the front. + +The first-line trenches, in a position at all contested, are very apt +still to preserve the hurried arrangement of their first plan, which is +sometimes hardly any plan at all. It must be admitted that the Germans +have the advantage in the great majority of places, for theirs was the +first choice, and they entrenched themselves, as far as possible, along +the crests of the eastern hills of France, in a line long prepared for +just such an exigency. It has been the frightfully difficult task of the +Allies, these two years, not only to hold the positions at the foot of +these hills, in which they were at a tactical disadvantage, all their +movements being visible to the Boches on the crests above them, but also +to attack an enemy entrenched in a strong position of his own choosing. +To-day at one point along the line, the French and Germans may share the +dominating crest of a position, at another point, they may be equally +matched, and at another, such as Les Eparges, the French, after fearful +losses, have carried the coveted eminence. One phase of the business of +violence is the work of the military undertaker attached to each +secteur, who writes down in his little red book the names of the day's +dead, and arranges for the wooden cross at the head of each fresh grave. +Every day along the front is a battle in which thousands of men die. + +The eastern hills of France, those pleasant rolling heights above +Rheims, Verdun, and old, provincial Pont-à -Mousson, have been literally +gorged with blood. It being out of the question to strengthen or rectify +very much the front-line trenches close to the enemy, the effort has +taken place in the rear lines. Wherever there is a certain security, the +rear lines of all the important strategic points have been converted +into veritable subterranean fortresses. The floor plan of these trenches +is an adaptation of the military theory of fortification--with its +angles, salients, and bastions--to the topography of the region. The +gigantic concrete walls of the bomb-proof shelters, the little forts to +shelter the machine guns, and the concrete passages in the rear-line +trenches will appear as heavy and massive to future generations as Roman +masonry appears to us. There are, of course, many unimportant little +links of the trench system, upon whose holding nothing depends and for +whose domination neither side cares to spend the life of a single +soldier, that have only an apology for a second position. The war needs +the money for the preparation of important places. At vital points there +may be the tremendously powerful second line, a third line, and even a +fourth line. The region between Verdun and the lines, for instance, is +the most fearful snarl of barbed wire, pits, and buried explosives that +could be imagined. The distance would have to be contested inch by inch. + +The trench theory is built about the soldier. It must preserve him as +far as possible from artillery and from an infantry attack. The defenses +begin with barbed wire; then come the rifles and the machine guns; and +behind them the light artillery, the "seventy-fives," and the heavy +artillery, the "one hundred and twenties," "two hundred and twenties," +and, now, an immense howitzer whose real caliber has been carefully +concealed. To take a trench position means the crossing of the +entanglements of No Man's Land under fire from artillery, rifles, and +machine guns, an almost impossible proceeding. An advance is possible +only after the opposing trenches have been made untenable by the +concentration of artillery fire. The great offensives begin by blowing +the first lines absolutely to pieces; this accomplished, the attacking +infantry advances to the vacated trenches under the rifle fire of those +few whom the terrible deluge of shells has not killed or crazed, works +toward the strong second position under a concentrated artillery fire of +the retreating enemy as terrible as its own, fights its way heroically +into the second position, and stops there. The great line has been bent, +has been dented, but never broken. An offensive must cover at least +twenty miles of front, for if the break is too narrow the attacking +troops will be massacred by the enemy artillery at both ends of the +broken first lines. If the front lines are one mile deep, the artillery +must put twenty-five square miles of trenches hors de combat, a task +that takes millions of shells. By the time that the first line has been +destroyed and the troops have reached the second line, the shells and +the men are pretty well used up. A great successful offensive on the +western front is theoretically possible, given millions of men, but +practically impossible. Outside of important local gains, the great +western offensives have been failures. Champagne was a failure, the +Calais drive was a failure, Verdun was a failure, and the drive on the +Somme has only bent the lines. The Germans may shorten their lines +because of a lack of men, but I firmly believe that neither their line +nor the Allies' line will ever be broken. What will be the end if the +Allies cannot wrest from Germany, Belgium and that part of northern +France she is holding for ransom--to obtain good terms at the peace +congress? Is Germany slowly, very slowly going under, or are we going to +witness complete European exhaustion? Whatever happens, poor, mourning, +desolated France will hold to the end. + +In localities where no great offensive is contemplated, and the business +of violence has become a routine, the object of the commander is to keep +the enemy on the qui-vive, demoralize him by killing and wounding his +soldiers, and prevent him from strengthening his first lines. Relations +take on the character of an exchange; one day the French throw a +thousand mines (high-explosive trench shells) into the German lines, and +the next day the Germans throw a thousand back. The French smash up a +village where German troops are en repos; while it is being done, the +Germans begin to blow a French village to pieces. In the trenches the +individual soldiers throw grenades at each other, and wish that the +whole tiresome business was done with. They have two weeks in the +trenches and two weeks out of them in a cantonment behind the lines. The +period in the trenches is divided between the first lines and the rear +lines of the first position. Often on my way to the trenches at night I +would pass a regiment coming to repos. Silent, vaguely seen, in broken +step the regiment passed. Sometimes a shell would come whistling in. + +There was one part of the Bois-le-Prêtre region upon which nothing +depended, and the war had there settled into the casual exchange of +powder and old iron that obtains upon two thirds of the front. At the +entrance to this position, in the shadow of a beautiful clump of ash +trees, stood the rustic shelters of the regimental cooks. From behind +the wall of trees came a terrifying crash. The war-gray, iron field +kitchen, which the army slang calls a contre-torpilleur (torpedo-boat +destroyer), stood in a little clearing of the wood; there was nothing +beautiful to the machine, which was simply an iron box, two feet high +and four feet square, mounted on big wheels, and fitted with a high oval +chimney. A halo of kitcheny smell floated about it, and the open door of +its fire-box, in which brands were burning furiously, and a jet of vapor +from somewhere, gave it quite the appearance of an odd steam engine. +Beside the contre-torpilleur stood the two cooks, both unusually small +in stature. One was about thirty-two or three years old, chunky, and +gifted with short, strong, hairy arms; the other was much slighter, +younger, and so juvenile of face that his downy mustache was almost +invisible. I knew these men very well; one, the older, was a farmhand in +a village of Touraine, and the other, an errand boy in a bookbinding +works at Saint-Denis. The war had turned them into regimental cooks, +though it was the older man who did most of the cooking, while the boy +occupied himself with gathering wood and distributing the food. The +latter once confessed to me that when he heard that Americans were +coming to the Bois-le-Prêtre, he had expected to see Indians, and that +he and his comrades had joked, half in jest, half in earnest, about the +Boches going to lose their scalps. The other was famous for an episode +of the July attacks: cornered in the trench by a Boche, he had emptied +his kettle of hot soup over the man's head and finished him off with a +knife. They waved friendlily at me. The farmhand, in particular, was one +of the pleasantest fellows who ever breathed; and still fond, like a +true good man of Touraine, of a Rabelaisian jest. + +The road now entered the wood, and continued straight ahead down a +pleasant vista of young ash trees. Suddenly a trench, bearing its name +in little black, dauby letters on a piece of yellow board the size of a +shingle, began by the side of the forest road, and I went down into it +as I might have gone down cellar. The Boyau Poincaré--such was its +title--began to curve and twist in the manner of trenches, and I came +upon a corner in the first line known as "Three Dead Men," because after +the capture of the wood, three dead Germans were found there in +mysterious, lifelike attitudes. The names of trenches on the French +front often reflect that deep, native instinct to poetry possessed by +simple peoples--the instinct that created the English ballads and the +exquisite mediaeval French legends of the saints. Other trench names +were symbolic, or patriotic, or political; we had the "Trench of the +Great Revenge," the "Trench of France," the "Trench of Aristide" +(meaning Briand), and the "Boulevard Joffre." + +Beyond "Les Trois Morts," began the real lines of the position, and as I +wound my way through them to the first lines, the pleasant forest of +autumnal branches thinned to a wood of trees bare as telegraph poles. It +had taken me half an hour to get from the cook's shelters to the first +lines, and during that time I had not heard one single explosion. In the +first trench the men stood casually by their posts at the parapet, their +bluish coats in an interesting contrast to the brown wall of the trench. +Behind the sentries, who peered through the rifle slits every once in a +while, flowed the usual populace of the first-line trench, passing as +casually as if they were on a Parisian sidewalk, officers as miry as +their men, poilus of the Engineer Corps with an eye to the state of the +rifle boxes, and an old, unshaven soldier in light-brown corduroy +trousers and blue jacket, who volunteered the information that the +Boches had thrown a grenade at him as he turned the corner "down +there"--"It didn't go off." So calm an atmosphere pervaded the cold, +sunny, autumnal afternoon that the idea "the trenches" took on the +proportions of a gigantic hoax; we might have been masqueraders in the +trenches after the war was over. And the Germans were only seventy-five +feet away, across those bare poles, stumps, and matted dead brown +leaves! + +"Attention!" + +The atmosphere of the trench changed in a second. Every head in sight +looked up searchingly at the sky. Just over the trees, distinctly seen, +was a little, black, cylindrical package somersaulting through the air. +In another second everybody had calculated the spot in which it was +about to land, and those whom it threatened had swiftly found shelter, +either by continuing down the trench to a sharp turn, running into the +door of an abri (shelter), or simply snuggling into a hole dug in the +side of the trench. There was a moment of full, complete silence between +the time when everybody had taken refuge and the explosion of the trench +shell. The missile burst with that loud hammer pound made by a +thick-walled iron shell, and lay smoking in the withered leaves. + +"It begins--it begins," said an old poilu, tossing his head. "Now we +shall have those pellets all afternoon." + +An instant after the burst the trench relaxed; some of the sentries +looked back to see where the shell had fallen, others paid no attention +to it whatsoever. Once again the quiet was disturbed by a muffled boom +somewhere ahead of us, and everybody calculated and took refuge exactly +as before. The shells began to come, one on the heels of the other with +alarming frequency; hardly had one burst when another was discovered in +the air. The poilus, who had taken the first shells as a matter of +course, good-naturedly even, began to get as cross as peevish +schoolboys. It was decidedly too much of a good thing. Finally the order +was given for every one except the sentinels, who were standing under +the occasional shelters of beams and earth bridged across the trench, to +retire to the abris. I saw one of the exposed sentinels as I withdrew, a +big, heavily built, young fellow with a face as placid as that of a farm +animal; his rifle leaned against the earth of the trench, and the shadow +of the shelter fell on his expressionless features. The next sentinel +was a man in the late thirties, a tall, nervous soldier with a fierce, +aggressive face. + +The abri to which we retired was about twenty-five feet long and eight +feet wide, and had a door at either end. The hut had been dug right in +the crude, calcareous rock of Lorraine, and the beams of the roof were +deeply set into these natural walls. Along the front wall ran a corridor +about a foot wide, and between this corridor and the rear wall was a +raised platform about seven feet wide piled with hay. Sprawled in this +hay, in various attitudes, were about fifteen men, the squad that had +just completed its sentry service. Two candles hung from the massive +roof and flickered in the draughts between the two doors, revealing, in +rare periods of radiance, a shelf along the wall over the sleepers' +heads piled with canteens, knapsacks, and helmets. In the middle of the +rock wall by the corridor a semicircular funnel had been carved out to +serve as a fireplace, and at its base a flameless fire of beautiful, +crumbling red brands was glowing. This hearth cut in the living rock was +very wonderful and beautiful. Suddenly a trench shell landed right on +the roof of the abri, shaking little fragments of stone down into the +fire on the hearth. The soldiers, who sat hunched up on the edge of the +platform, their feet in the corridor, gave vent to a burst of anger that +had its source in exasperation. + +"This is going too far."--"Why don't they answer?"--"Are those dirty +cows (the classic sales vaches) going to keep this up all afternoon?" + +"Really, now, this is getting to be a real nuisance." Suddenly two forms +loomed large in the left doorway, and the stolid sentry of whom I have +spoken limped in on the arm of an infirmier. Voices murmured in the +obscurity, "Who is wounded?"--"Somebody wounded?" And dreamy-eyed ones +sat up in the straw. The stolid one--he could not have been much over +twenty-one or two--sat down on the edge of the straw near the fireplace, +his face showing no emotion, only a pallor. He had a painful but not +serious wound; a small fragment of iron, from a shell that had fallen +directly into the trench, had lodged in the bones of his foot. He took +off his big, ugly shoe and rested the blood-stained sock on the straw. +Voices like echoes traveled the length of the shelter--"Is it thou, +Jarnac?"--"Art thou wounded, Jarnac?" "Yes," answered the big fellow in +a bass whisper. He was a peasant of the Woevre, one of a stolid, +laborious race. + +"The lieutenant has gone to the telephone shelter to ring up the +batteries," said the infirmier. "Good," said a vibrant, masculine voice +somewhere in the straw. + +A shell coming toward you from the enemy makes a good deal of noise, but +it is not to be compared to the noise made by one's own shells rushing +on a slant just over one's head to break in the enemy's trenches +seventy-five feet away. A swift rafale of some fifty "seventy-five" +shells passed whistling like the great wind of the Apocalypse, which is +to blow when the firmament collapses. Looking through the rifle slit, +after the rafale was over, I could see puffs of smoke apparently rising +out of the carpet of dead leaves. The nervous man, the other sentry, +held up his finger for us not to make the slightest noise and +whispered,-- + +"I heard somebody yell." + +"Where?" + +"Over there by that stump." + +We strained our ears to catch a sound, but heard nothing. + +"I heard the yell plainly," replied the sentry. + +The news seemed to give some satisfaction. At any rate, the Germans +stopped their trench shells. The quiet hush of late afternoon was at +hand. Soon the cook came down the trench with kettles of hot soup. + +Five months have passed since I last saw the inhabitants of this abri, +the tenants of the "Ritz-Marmite." How many are still alive? What has +happened to this fine, brave crowd of Frenchmen, gentlemen all, bons +camarades? I have seen them on guard in a heavy winter snowstorm, when +the enemy was throwing grenades which, exploding, blew purplish-black +smudges on the snow; I have seen them so bemired in mud and slop that +they looked like effigies of brownish earth; I have watched them wading +through communication trenches that were veritable canals. And this is +the third year of the war. + +The most interesting of the lot mentally was a young Socialist named +Hippolyte. He was a sous-lieutenant of the Engineers, and had quarters +of his own in the rear of the trenches, where one was always sure to +find books on social questions lying round in the hay. When the war +began he was just finishing his law course at the University of +Montpellier. A true son of the South, he was dark, short, but well +proportioned, with small hands and feet. The distinguishing features of +his countenance were his eyes and mouth--the eyes, eloquent, alert, +almost Italian; the mouth, full, firm, and dogmatic. The great orators +of the Midi must have resembled him in their youth. He was a Socialist +and a pacifist à outrance, continuing his dream of universal fraternity +in the midst of war. His work lay in building a tunnel under the +Germans, by which he hoped to blow part of the German trenches, Teutons +and all, sky-high. + +The tunneï (sape) began in the third line, at a door hi the wall of the +trench strongly framed in wooden beams the size of railroad ties. At +occasional intervals along the passage the roof was reinforced by a +frame of these beams, so that the sape had the businesslike, +professional look of a gallery in a coal mine. Descending steeply to a +point twelve feet beyond the entrance, it then went at a gentle incline +under No Man's Land, and ended beneath the German trenches. It was the +original intention to blow up part of the German first line, but it +being one day discovered that the Germans were building a tunnel +parallel to the French one, it was decided to blow up the French safe so +that the explosion would spend its force underground, and cause the +walls of the German tunnel to cave in on its makers. I happened to see +the tunnel the morning of the day it was blown up. The French had +stopped working for fear of being overheard by the Germans. It was a +ticklish situation. Were the Germans aware of the French tunnel? If so, +they would blow up their own at once. Were they still continuing their +labor? The earth of the French might burst apart anyminute and rain down +again in a dreadful shower of clods, stones, and mangled bodies. + +Alone, quiet, at the end of the passage under the German lines sat an +old poilu, the sentinel of the tunnel. He was an old coal miner of the +North. The light of a candle showed his quiet, bearded face, grave as +the countenance of some sculptured saint on the portico of a Gothic +church, and revealed the wrinkles and lines of many years of labor. The +sentinel held a microphone to his ears; the poles of it disappearing +into the wall of damp earth separating us from the Boches. + +Hippolyte whispered, "You hear them?" + +The old man nodded his head, and gave the microphone to his officer. I +saw Hippolyte listen. Then, without a word, he handed it to me. All that +I could hear was a faint tapping. + +"The Boches," whispered Hippolyte. + +The French blew up the sape early in the afternoon, at a time when they +felt sure the Germans were at work in their tunnel. I saw the result the +next day. A saucer-shaped depression about twenty-five feet in diameter, +and perhaps two feet deep, had appeared in No Man's Land. Even the +stumps of two trees had sunk and tilted. + +It was Hippolyte who had turned on the electricity. I once talked the +matter over with him. He became at once intense, Latin, doctrinaire. + +"How do you reconcile your theories of fraternity to what you have to +do?" + +"I do not have to reconcile my theories to my office; I am furthering my +theories." + +"How so?" + +"By combating the Boches. Without them we might have realized our idea +of universal peace and fraternity. Voilà l'ennemi! The race is a +poisonous race, serpents, massacreurs! I wish I could smother as many of +them every day as I did yesterday." + +During my service I did not meet another soldier whose hatred of the +Germans was comparable to that of this advocate of universal love. + +I left the trenches just at dusk. Above the dreadful depression in No +Man's Land shone a bronzy sky against which the trees raised their +haggard silhouettes. There was hardly a sound in the whole length of The +Wood. A mist came up making haloes round the rising winter stars. + + + + +Chapter VI + +The Germans Attack + + +The schoolmaster (instituteur) and the schoolmistress (institutrice) of +Montauville were a married couple, and had a flat of four rooms on the +second story of the schoolhouse. The kitchen of this fiat had been +struck by a shell, and was still a mess of plaster, bits of stone, and +glass, and a fragment had torn clear through the sooty bottom of a +copper saucepan still hanging on the wall. In one of the rooms, else +quite bare of furniture, was an upright piano. Sometimes while stationed +at Montauville, I whiled away the waits between calls to the trenches in +playing this instrument. + +It was about nine o'clock in the morning, and thus far not a single call +had come in. The sun was shining very brightly in a sky washed clear by +a night of rain, the morning mists were rising from the wood, and up and +down the very muddy street walked little groups of soldiers. I drew up +the rickety stool and began to play the waltz from "The Count of +Luxembourg." In a short time I heard the sound of tramping on the stairs +voices. In came three poilus--a pale boy with a weary, gentle expression +in his rather faded blue eyes; a dark, heavy fellow of twenty-five or +six, with big wrists, big, muscular hands, and a rather unpleasant, +lowering face; and a little, middle-aged man with straightforward, +friendly hazel eyes and a pointed beard. The pale, boyish one carried a +violin made from a cigar box under his arm, just such a violin as the +darkies make down South. This violin was very beautifully made, and +decorated with a rustic design. I stopped playing. + +"Don't, don't," cried the dark, big fellow; "we haven't heard any music +for a long time. Please keep on. Jacques, here, will accompany you." + +"I never heard the waltz," said the violinist; "but if you play it over +for me once or twice, I'll try to get the air--if you would like to have +me to," he added with a shy, gentle courtesy. + +So I played the rather banal waltz again, till the lad caught the tune. +He hit it amazingly well, and his ear was unusually true. The dark one +had been in Canada and was hungry for American rag-time. "'The Good Old +Summer Time'--you know that? 'Harrigan'--you know that?" he said in +English. The rag-time of "Harrigan" floated out on the street of +Montauville. But I did not care to play things which could have no +violin obligato, so I began to play what I remembered of waltzes dear to +every Frenchman's heart--the tunes of the "Merry Widow." "Sylvia" went +off with quite a dash. The concert was getting popular. Somebody wanted +to send for a certain Alphonse who had an occarina. Two other poilus, +men in the forties, came up, their dark-brown, horseshoe beards making +them look like brothers. Side by side against the faded paper on the +sunny wall they stood, surveying us contentedly. The violinist, who +turned out to be a Norman, played a solo--some music-hall fantasy, I +imagine. The next number was the ever popular "Tipperaree," which every +single poilu in the French army has learned to sing in a kind of +English. Our piano-violin duet hit off this piece even better than the +"Merry Widow." I thanked Heaven that I was not called on to translate +it, a feat frequently demanded of the American drivers. The song is +silly enough in the King's English, but in lucid, exact French, it sinks +to positive imbecility. + +"You play, don't you?" said the violinist to the small bearded man. + +"A little," he replied modestly. + +"Please play." + +The little man sat down at the piano, meditated a minute, and began to +play the rich chords of Rachmaninof's "Prelude." He got about half +through, when Zip-bang! a small shell burst down the street. The dark +fellow threw open the French window. The poilus were scurrying to +shelter. The pianist continued with the "Prelude." + +Zip-bang! Zip-bang! Zshh--Bang--Bang. Bang-Bang! + +The piano stopped. Everybody listened. The village was still as death. +Suddenly down the street came the rattle of a volley of rifle shots. +Over this sound rose the choked, metallic notes of a bugle-call. The +rifle shots continued. The ominous popping of machine guns resounded. +The village, recovering from its silence, filled with murmurs. Bang! +Bang! Bang I Bang! went some more shells. The same knowledge took +definite shape in our minds. + +"An attack!" + +The violinist, clutching his instrument, hurried down the stairs +followed by all the others, leaving the chords of the uncompleted +"Prelude" to hang in the startled air. Shells were popping +everywhere--crashes of smoke and violence--in the roads, in the fields, +and overhead. The Germans were trying to isolate the few detachments en +repos in the village, and prevent reinforcements coming from Dieulouard +or any other place. To this end all the roads between Pont-à -Mousson and +the trenches, and the roads leading directly to the trenches, were being +shelled. + +"Go at once to Poste C!" + +The winding road lay straight ahead, and just at the end of the village +street, the Germans had established a tir de barrage. This meant that a +shell was falling at that particular point about once every fifty +seconds. I heard two rafales break there as I was grinding up the +machine. Up the slope of the Montauville hill came several of the other +drivers. Tyler, of New York, a comrade who united remarkable bravery to +the kindest of hearts, followed close behind me, also evidently bound +for Poste C. German bullets, fired wildly from the ridge of The Wood +over the French trenches, sang across the Montauville valley, lodging in +the trees of Puvenelle behind us with a vicious tspt; shells broke here +and there on the stretch leading to the Quart-en-Réserve, throwing the +small rocks of the road surfacing wildly in every direction. The French +batteries to our left were firing at the Germans, the German batteries +were firing at the French trenches and the roads, and the machine guns +rattled ceaselessly. I saw the poilus hurrying up the muddy roads of the +slope of the Bois-le-Prêtre--vague masses of moving blue on the brown +ways. A storm of shells was breaking round certain points in the road +and particularly at the entrance to The Wood. I wondered what had become +of the audience at the concert. Various sounds, transit of shells, +bursting of shells, crashing of near-by cannon, and rat-tat-tat-tat! of +mitrailleuses played the treble to a roar formed of echoes and +cadences--the roar of battle. The Wood of Death (Le Bois de la Mort) was +singing again. + +That day's attack was an attempt by the Germans to take back from the +French the eastern third of the Quart-en-Réserve and the rest of the +adjoining ridge half hidden in the shattered trees. At the top of the +plateau, by the rise in the moorland I described in the preceding +chapter, I had an instant's view of the near-by battle, for the focus +was hardly more than four hundred yards away. There was a glimpse of +human beings in the Quart--soldiers in green, soldiers in blue--the very +fact that anybody was to be seen there was profoundly stirring. They +were fighting in No Man's Land. Tyler and I watched for a second, +wondering what scenes of agony, of heroism, of despair were being +enacted in that dreadful field by the ruined wood. + +We hurried our wounded to the hospital, passing on our way detachments +of soldiers rushing toward The Wood from the villages of the region. +Three or four big shells had just fallen in Dieulouard, and the village +was deserted and horribly still. The wind carried the roar of the attack +to our ears. In three quarters of an hour, I was back again at the same +moorland poste, to which an order of our commander had attached me. +Montauville was full of wounded. I had three on stretchers inside, one +beside me on the seat, and two others on the front mudguards. And The +Wood continued to sing. From Montauville I could hear the savage yells +and cries which accompanied the fighting. + +Half an hour after the beginning of the attack, the war invaded the sky, +with the coming of the German reconnoitering aeroplanes. One went to +watch the roads leading to The Wood along the plateau, one went to watch +the Dieulouard road, and the other hovered over the scene of the combat. +The sky was soon dotted with the puffs of smoke left by the exploding +shells of the special anti-aircraft "seventy- fives." These puffs +blossomed from a pin-point of light to a vaporous, gray-white puff-ball +about the size of the full moon, and then dissolved in the air or blew +about in streaks and wisps. These cloudlets, fired at an aviator flying +along a certain line, often were gathered by the eye into arrangements +resembling constellations. The three machines were very high, and had a +likeness to little brown and silver insects. + +The Boche watching the conflict appeared to hang almost immobile over +the Quart. With a striking suddenness, another machine appeared behind +him and above him. So unexpected was the approach of this second +aeroplane that its appearance had a touch of the miraculous. It might +have been created at that very moment in the sky. The Frenchman--for it +was an aviator from the parc at Toul, since killed at Verdun, poor +fellow--swooped beneath his antagonist and fired his machine gun at him. +The German answered with two shots of a carbine. The Frenchman fired +again. Suddenly the German machine flopped to the right and swooped +down; it then flopped to the left, the tail of the machine flew up, and +the apparatus fell, not so swiftly as one might expect, down a thousand +feet into The Wood. When I saw the wreckage, a few days afterwards, it +looked like the spilt contents of â waste-paper basket, and the +aviators, a pilot and an observer, had had to be collected from all over +the landscape. The French buried them with full military honors. + +Thanks to the use of a flame machine, the Germans succeeded in regaining +the part of the ridge they had lost, but the French made it so hot for +them that they abandoned it, and the contested trenches now lie in No +Man's Land. All that night the whole Wood was illuminated, trench light +after trench light rising over the dark branches. There would be a +rocket like the trail of bronze-red powder sparks hanging for an instant +in the sky, then a loud Plop! and the French light would spread out its +parachute and sail slowly down the sky toward the river. The German +lights (fusées éclairantes), cartridges of magnesium fired from a gun +resembling a shotgun, burned only during their dazzling trajectory. At +midnight the sky darkened with low, black rain clouds, upon whose +surface the constant cannon fire flashed in pools of violet-white light. +Coming down from the plateau at two in the morning, I could see sharp +jabs of cannon fire for thirty miles along the front on the other side +of the Moselle. + +Just after this attack a doctor of the army service was walking through +the trenches in which the French had made their stand. He noticed +something oddly skewered to a tree. He knocked it down with a stone, and +a human heart fell at his feet. + +The most interesting question of the whole business is, "How do the +soldiers stand it?" At the beginning of my own service, I thought +Pont-à -Mousson, with its ruins, its danger, and its darkness, the most +awful place on the face of the earth. After a little while, I grew +accustomed to the décor, and when the time came for me to leave it, I +went with as much regret as if I were leaving the friendliest, most +peaceful of towns. First the décor, growing familiar, lost the keener +edges of its horror, and then the life of the front--the violence, the +destruction, the dying and the dead--all became casual, part of the +day's work. A human being is profoundly affected by those about him; +thus, when a new soldier finds himself for the first time in a trench, +he is sustained by the attitude of the veterans. Violence becomes the +commonplace; shells, gases, and flames are the things that life is made +of. The war is another lesson in the power of the species to adapt +itself to circumstances. When this power of adaptability has been +reinforced by a tenacious national will "to see the thing through," men +will stand hell itself. The slow, dogged determination of the British +cannot be more powerful than the resolution of the French. Their +decision to continue at all costs has been reached by a purely +intellectual process, and to enforce it, they have called upon those +ancient foundations of the French character, the sober reasonableness +and unbending will they inherit from Rome. + +And a new religion has risen in the trenches, a faith much more akin to +Mahomet than to Christ. It is a fatalism of action. The soldier finds +his salvation in the belief that nothing will happen to him until his +hour comes, and the logical corollary of this belief, that it does no +good to worry, is his rock of ages. It is a curious thing to see +poilus--peasants, artisans, scholars--completely in the grip of this +philosophy. There has been a certain return to the Church of Rome, for +which several reasons exist, the greatest being that the war has made +men turn to spiritual things. Only an animal could be confronted with +the pageant of heroism, the glory of sacrifice, and the presence of +Death, and not be moved to a contemplation of the fountain-head of these +sublime mysteries. But it is the upper class which in particular has +returned to the Church. Before the war, rationalist and genial skeptic, +the educated Frenchman went to church because it was the thing to do, +and because non-attendance would weaken an institution which the world +was by no means ready to lay aside. This same educated Frenchman, +brought face to face with the mystery of human existence, has felt a +real need of spiritual support, and consequently returned to the Church +of his fathers. + +The religious revival is a return of upper-class prodigals to the fold, +and a rekindling of the chilled brands of the faith of the amiably +skeptical. The great mass of the nation has felt this spiritual force, +but because the mass of the nation was always Catholic, nothing much has +changed. I failed to find any trace of conversions among the still +hostile working men of the towns, and the bred-in-the-bone Socialists. +The rallying of the conservative classes about the Cross is also due to +the fact that the war has exposed the mediocrity and sterile windiness +of the old socialistic governments; this misgovernment the upper classes +have determined to end once they return from the trenches, and +remembering that the Church of Rome was the enemy of the past +administrations, cannot help regarding her with a certain friendliness. +But this issue of past misgovernment will be fought out on purely +secular grounds, and the Church will be only a sympathizer behind the +fray. The manner in which the French priests have fought and died is +worthy of the admiration of the world. Never in the history of any +country has the national religion been so closely enmeshed in the +national life. The older clergy, as a rule, have been attached to the +medical services of the front, serving as hospital orderlies and +stretcher-bearers, but the younger priests have been put right into the +army and are fighting to-day as common soldiers. There are hundreds of +officer-priests--captains and lieutenants of the regular army. + +But the real religion of the front is the philosophy of Mahomet. Life +will end only when Death has been decreed by Fate, and the Boches are +the unbelievers. After all, Islam in its great days was a virile faith, +the faith of a race of soldiers. + + + + +Chapter VII + +The Town In The Trenches + + + +At the beginning of the war the German plan of campaign was to take +France on the flank by marching through Belgium, and once the success of +this northern venture assured, strike at the Verdun-Belfort line which +had baffled them in the first instance. Had they not lost the battle of +the Marne, this second venture might have proved successful, for the +body of the French army was fighting in the north, and the remaining +troops would have been discouraged by the capture of Paris. On the eve +of the battle of the Marne the campaign seeming to be well in hand in +the north, a German invasion of Lorraine began, one army striking at the +defenses of the great plateau which slopes from the Vosges to the +Moselle, and the other attempting to ascend the valley of the river. It +was this second army which entered Pont-à -Mousson. + +Immediately following the declaration of hostilities the troops who had +been quartered in the town were withdrawn, and the town was left open to +the enemy who, going very cautiously, was on his way from Metz. For +several weeks in August, this city, almost directly on the frontier, saw +no soldiers, French or German. It was a time of dramatic suspense. The +best recital of it I ever heard came from the lips of the housekeeper of +Wisteria Villa, a splendid, brave French woman who had never left her +post. She was short, of a clear, tanned complexion, and always had her +hair tightly rolled up in a little classic pug. She was as fearless of +shells as a soldier in the trenches, and once went to a deserted +orchard, practically in the trenches, to get some apples for Messieurs +les Américains. When asked why she did not get them at a safer place, +she replied that she did not have to pay for these apples as the land +belonged to her father! Her ear for shells was the most accurate of the +neighborhood, and when a deafening crash would shake the kettles on the +stove and rattle the teacups, she could tell you exactly from what +direction it had come and the probable caliber. I remember one morning +seeing her wash dishes while the Germans were shelling the corner I have +already described. The window over the sink opened directly on the +dangerous area, and she might have been killed any minute by a flying +eclat. Standing with her hands in the soapy water, or wiping dry the +hideous blue-and-white dinner service of Wisteria Villa, she never even +bothered to look up to see where the shells were landing. Two +"seventy-sevens" went off with a horrid pop; "Those are only +'seventy-sevens,'" she murmured as if to herself. A fearful swish was +next heard and the house rocked to the din of an explosion. "That's a +'two hundred and ten'--the rogues--oh, the rogues!" she exclaimed in the +tone she might have used in scolding a depraved boy. + +At night, when the kitchen was cleared up, she sat down to write her +daily letter to her soldier son, and once this duty finished, liked +nothing better than a friendly chat. She knew the history of +Pont-à -Mousson and Montauville and the inhabitants thereof by heart; she +had tales to tell of the shrewdness of the peasants and diverting +anecdotes of their manners and morals. These stories she told very well +and picturesquely. + +"The first thing we saw was the President's poster saying not to be +alarmed, that the measures of military preparation were required by +circumstances (les événements) and did not mean war. Then over this bill +the maire posted a notice that in case of a real mobilization (une +mobilisation sérieuse) they would ring the tocsin. At eleven o'clock the +tocsin rang, oh, la la, monsieur, what a fracas! All the bells in the +town, Saint-Martin, Saint-Laurent, the hôtel de ville. Immediately all +our troops went away. We did not want to see them go. 'We shall be back +again,' they said. They liked Pont-à -Mousson. Such good young fellows! +The butcher's wife has heard that only fifty-five of the six hundred who +were here are alive. They were of the active forces (de l'active). A +great many people followed the soldiers. So for two weeks we were left +all alone, wondering what was to become of us. And all the time we heard +frightful stories about the villages beyond Nancy. On the nth of August +we heard cannon for the first time, and on the 12th and the 14th we were +bombarded. On the 4th of September, at five o'clock in the evening, the +bells began to ring again. Everybody ran out to find the reason. Les +Allemands--they were not then called Boches--were coming. Baoum! went +the bridge over the Moselle. Everybody went into their houses, so that +the Germans came down streets absolutely deserted. I peeked from my +window blind. The Boches came down the road from Norroy, les Uhlans, the +infantry--how big and ugly they all were. And their officers were so +stiff (raide). They were not like our bons petits soldats Français. In +the morning I went out to get some bread. + +"'Eh là , good woman' (bonne femme), said a grand Boche to me. + +"'What do you want?' said I. + +"'Are there any soldats français in the town?' said the Boche. + +"'How should I know?' I answered. + +"'You do not want to tell, good woman.' + +"'I do not know.' + +"'Are there any francs-tireurs (civilian snipers) in this town?' + +"'Don't bother me; I'm going for some bread.' + +"During the night all the clocks had been changed to German time. Many +of the Boches spoke French. There were Alsatians and Lorrains who did +not like the fracas at all. Yes, the Boches behaved themselves all right +at Pont-à -Mousson--there were some vulgarities (grossièretés). One of +the soldiers, a big blond, went down the street wearing an ostrich +feather hat and a woman's union suit and chemise. It was a scandale. But +uncle laughed to kill himself; he was peeping out through the blinds. +Right in front of my door were ten cannon, and all the street was full +of artillery. Well we had four days of this, hearing never a word from +the French side. + +"On the night of the 9th I heard a good deal of noise, and somebody woke +up the Boches sous-officiers who were quartered in a house across the +street. I saw lights and heard shouts. I was peeping out of my window +all the time. The dark street filled with soldiers. I saw their officers +lashing them to make them hurry. They harnessed the artillery horses to +the guns, and at four o'clock in the morning there was not a single +Boche in Pont-à -Mousson. They had all gone away in the night, taking +with them the German flag on the city hall. You know, monsieur, on the +night of the 9th they received news of the battle of the Marne. + +"For five days more we saw neither Français nor Boches. Finally some +French dragoons came down the road from Dieulouard, and little by little +other soldiers came too. But, hélas, monsieur, the Boches were waiting +for them in the Bois-le-Prêtre." + +Such was the way that Pont-à -Mousson did not become Mussenbruck. The +episode is an agreeable interlude of decency in the history of German +occupations, for that atrocities were perpetrated in Nomény, just across +the river, is beyond question. I have talked with survivors. At +Pont-à -Mousson everything was orderly; six miles to the east, houses +were burned over the heads of the inhabitants, and women and children +brutally massacred. + +I best remember the little city as it was one afternoon in early +December. The population of 17,000 had then shrunk to about 900, and +only a little furtive life lingered in the town. My promenade began at +the river-bank by the wooden footbridge crossing from the shore to the +remaining arches of the graceful eighteenth-century stone bridge blown +up in September, 1914. There is always something melancholy about a +ruined bridge, perhaps because the structure symbolizes a patient human +victory over the material world. There was something intensely tragic in +the view of the wrecked quarter of Saint-Martin, seen across the deep, +greenish, wintry river, and in the great curve of the broad flood +sullenly hurrying to Metz. At the end of the bridge, ancient and gray, +rose the two round towers of the fifteenth-century parish church, with +that blind, solemn look to them the towers of Notre Dame possess, and +beyond this edifice, a tile-roofed town and the great triangular hill +called the Mousson. It was dangerous to cross the bridge, because German +snipers occasionally fired at it, so I contented myself with looking +down the river. Beyond the Bois-le-Prêtre, the next ridge to rise from +the river was a grassy spur bearing the village of Norroy on its back. +You could see the hill, only four kilomètres away, the brown walls of +the village, the red roofs, and sometimes the glint of sunlight on a +window; but for us the village might have been on another planet. All +social and economic relations with Norroy had ceased since September, +1914, and reflecting on this fact, the invisible wall of the trenches +became more than a mere military wall, became a barrier to every human +relation and peaceful tie. + +A sentry stood by the ruined bridge, a small, well-knit man with +beautiful silver-gray hair, blue eyes, and pink cheeks; his uniform was +exceptionally clean, and he appeared to be some decent burgher torn from +his customary life. I fell into conversation with him. He recollected +that his father, a veteran of 1870, had prophesied the present war. + +"'We shall see them again, the spiked helmets (les casques à pointe),' +said my father--'we shall see them again.' + +"'Why?' I asked him. + +"'Because they have eaten of us, and will be hungry once more.'" + +The principal street of the town led from this bridge to a great square, +and continued straight on toward Maidières and Montauville. The +sidewalks around this square were in arcades under the houses, for the +second story of every building projected for seven or eight feet over +the first and rested on a line of arches at the edge of the street. To +avoid damage from shells bursting in the open space, every one of these +arcades, and there were perhaps a hundred all told, had been plugged +with sandbags, so that the square had an odd, blind look. A little life +flickered in the damp, dark alleys behind these obstructions. There was +a tobacco shop, kept by two pretty young women whom the younger soldiers +were always jollying, a wineshop, a tailorshop, and a bookstore, always +well supplied with the great Parisian weeklies, which one found later in +odd corners of shelters in the trenches. Occasionally a soldier bought a +serious book when it was to be found in the dusty files of the +"Collection Nelson"; I remember seeing a young lieutenant of artillery +buying Ségur's "Histoire de la Grande Armée en 1812," and another taking +Flaubert's "Un cÅ“ur simple." But the military life, roughly lived, and +shared with simple people, appears to make even the wisest boyish, and +after a while at the front the intellect will not read anything +intellectual. It simply won't, perhaps because it can't. The soldier +mind delights in rough, genial, and simple jokes. A sergeant, whom I +knew to be a distinguished young scholar in civilian life, was always +throwing messages wrapped round a stone into the German trenches; the +messages were killingly funny, amiably indecent, and very jejune. +Invariably they provoked a storm of grenades, and sometimes epistles in +the same vein from the Boches. In spite of the vicious pang of the +grenades, there was an absurd "Boys-will-be-boys" air to the whole +performance. Conversation, however, did not sink to this boyish level, +and the rag-tag and bob-tail of one's cultivation found its outlet in +speech. + +At the end of this street was the railroad crossing, the passage à +niveau, and the station in a jungle of dead grass and brambles. Like the +bridge, its rustiness and weediness was a dreadful symbol of the +cessation of human activity, and the blue enamel signpost lettered in +white with the legend, "Metz--32 kilomètres," was another reminder of +the town to which the French aspired with all the fierce intensity of +crusaders longing for Jerusalem. It was impossible to get away from the +omnipresence of the name of the fated city--it stared at you from +obscure street corners, and was to be found on the covers of printed +books and post-cards. I saw the city once from the top of the hill of +the Mousson; its cathedral towers pierced the blue mists of the brown +moorlands, and it appeared phantasmal and tremendously distant. Yet for +those towers countless men had died, were dying, would die. A French +soldier who had made the ascent with me pointed out Metz the much +desired. + +"Are you going to get it?" I asked. "Perhaps so," he replied gravely. +"After so many sacrifices." (Après tant de sacrifices.) He made no +gesture, but I know that his vision included the soldiers' cemetery at +the foot of the Mousson hill. It lay, a rust-colored field, on the steep +hillside just at the border of the town, and was new, raw, and dreadful. +The guardian of the cemetery, an old veteran of 1870, once took me +through the place. He was a very lean, hooped-over old man with a big, +aquiline nose, blue-gray eyes framed in red lids, and a huge, +yellowish-white mustache. First he showed me the hideous picture of the +civilian cemetery, in which giant shells had torn open the tombs, hurled +great sarcophagi a distance of fifty feet, and dug craters in the rows +of graves. Though the civilian authorities had done what they could to +put the place in order, there were still memories of the disturbed dead +to whom the war had denied rest. Coming to the military cemetery, the +guardian whispered, pointing to the new mounds with his rustic cane, "I +have two colonels, three commandants, and a captain. Yes, two colonels" +(deux colonels). Following his staff, my eye looked at the graves as if +it expected to see the living men or their effigies. Somewhat apart lay +another grave. "Voilà un colonel boche," said the sexton; "and a +lieutenant boche--and fifty soldats boches." + +The destroyed quarter of Pont-à -Mousson lay between the main street and +the flank of the Bois-le-Prêtre. The quarter was almost totally +deserted, probably not more than ten houses being inhabited out of +several thousand. The streets that led into it had grass growing high in +the gutters, and a velvety moss wearing a winter rustiness grew packed +between the paving-stones. Beyond the main street, la rue Fabvrier went +straight down this loneliness, and halted or turned at a clump of +wrecked houses a quarter of a mile away. Over this clump, slately-purple +and cold, appeared the Bois-le-Prêtre, and every once in a while a puffy +cloud of greenish-brown or gray-black would float solemnly over the +crests of the trees. This stretch of la rue Fabvrier was one of the most +melancholy pictures it was possible to see. Hardly a house had been +spared by the German shells; there were pock-marks and pits of shell +fragments in the plaster, window glass outside, and holes in walls and +roofs. I wandered down the street, passing the famous miraculous statue +of the Virgin of Pont-à -Mousson. The image, only a foot or two high and +quite devoid of facial expression, managed somehow to express emotion in +the outstretched arms, drooping in a gesture at once of invitation and +acceptance. A shell had maculated the wall on each side and above the +statue, but the little niche and canopy were quite untouched. The heavy +sound of my soldier boots went dump! clump! down the silence. + +At the end of the road, in the fields on the slope, a beautiful +eighteenth-century house stood behind a mossy green wall. It was just +such a French house as is the analogue of our brick mansions of Georgian +days; it was two stories high and had a great front room on each side of +an entry on both floors, each room being lighted with two +well-proportioned French windows. The outer walls were a golden brown, +and the roof, which curved in gently from the four sides to central +ridge, a very beautiful rich red. The house had the atmosphere of the +era of the French Revolution; one's fancy could people it with soberly +dressed provincial grandees. A pare of larches and hemlocks lay about +it, concealing in their silent obscurity an artificial lake heavily +coated with a pea-soup scum. + +Beyond the house lay the deserted rose-garden, rank and grown to weeds. +On some of the bushes were cankered, frozen buds. In the center of the +garden, at the meeting-point of several paths, a mossy fountain was +flowing into a greenish basin shaped like a seashell, and in this basin +a poilu was washing his clothes. He was a man of thirty-eight or nine, +big, muscular, out-of-doors looking; whistling, he washed his gray +underclothes with the soap the army furnishes, wrung them, and tossed +them over the rose-bushes to dry. + +"Does anybody live in this house?" + +"Yes, a squad of travailleurs." + +A regiment of travailleurs is attached to every secteur of trenches. +These soldiers, depending, I believe, on the Engineer Corps, are +quartered just behind the lines, and go to them every day to put them in +order, repair the roads, and do all the manual labor. Humble folk these, +peasants, ditch-diggers, road-menders, and village carpenters. Those at +Pont-à -Mousson were nearly all fathers of families, and it was one of +the sights of the war most charged with true pathos to see these +gray-haired men marching to the trenches with their shovels on their +shoulders. + +"Are you comfortable?" + +"Oh, yes. We live very quietly. I, being a stonemason and a carpenter, +stay behind and keep the house in repair. In summer we have our little +vegetable gardens down behind those trees where the Boches can't see +us." + +"Can I see the house?" + +"Surely; just wait till I have finished sousing these clothes." + +The room on the ground floor to the left of the hallway was imposing in +a stately Old-World way. The rooms in Wisteria Villa were rooms for +personages from Zola; this room was inhabited by ghosts from the pages +of Balzac. It was large, high, and square; the walls were hung with a +golden scroll design printed on ancient yellow silk; the furniture was +of some rich brown finish with streaks and lusters of bronzy yellow, and +a glass chandelier, all spangles and teardrops of crystal, hung from a +round golden panel in the ceiling. Over a severe Louis XVI mantel was a +large oil portrait of Pius IX, and on the opposite wall a portrait head +of a very beautiful young girl. Chestnut hair, parted in the fashion of +the late sixties, formed a silky frame round an oval face, and the +features were small and well proportioned. The most remarkable part of +the countenance were the curiously level eyes. The calm, +apart-from-the-world character of the expression in the eyes was in +interesting contrast to the good-natured and somewhat childish look in +the eyes of the old Pope. + +"Who lived here?" + +"An old man (un vieux). He was a captain of the Papal Zouaves in his +youth. See here, read the inscription on the portrait--'Presented by His +Holiness to a champion (défenseur) of the Church.'" + +"Is he still alive?" + +"He died three months ago in Paris. I should hate to die before I see +how the war is going to end. I imagine he would have been willing to +last a bit longer." + +"And this picture on the right, the jeune fille?" + +"That was his daughter, an only child. She became a nun, and died when +she was still young. The old man's gardener comes round from time to +time to see if the place is all right. It is a pity he is not here; he +could tell you all about them." + +"You are very fortunate not to have been blown to pieces. Surely you are +very near the trenches." + +"Near enough--yes, indeed. A communication trench comes right into the +cellar. But it is quiet in this part of The Wood. There is a regiment of +old Boches in the trenches opposite our territorials, fathers of +families (pères de familles), just as they are. We fire rifles at each +other from time to time just to remember it is war (c'est la guerre). We +share the crest together here; nothing depends on it. What good should +we do in killing each other? Besides it would be a waste of shells." + +"How do you know that the Boches opposite you are old?" + +"We see them from time to time. They are great hands at a parley. The +first thing they tell you is the number of children they have. I met an +old Boche not long ago down by the river. He held up two fingers to show +that he had two children, put his hand out just above his knee to show +the height of his first child, and raised it just above his waist to +show the height of the second. So I held up five fingers to show him I +had five children, when the Lord knows I have only one. But I did not +want to be beaten by a Boche." + +A sound of voices was heard beneath us, and the clang of the shovels +being placed against the stone walls of the cellar. + +"Those are the travailleurs. The sergeant will be coming in and I must +report to him. Good-bye, American friend, and come again." + +A melancholy dusk was beginning as I turned home from the romantic +house, and the deserted streets were filling with purplish shadows. The +concussion of exploding shells had blown almost all the glass out of the +windows of the Church of St. Laurent, and the few brilliant red and +yellow fragments that still clung to the twisted leaden frames reminded +me of the autumn leaves that sometimes cling to winter-stricken trees. +The interior of the church was swept and garnished, and about twenty +candles with golden flames, slowly waving in the drafts from the ruined +windows, shone beneath a statue of the Virgin. There was not another +soul in the church. A terrible silence fell with the gathering darkness. +In a little wicker basket at the foot of the benignant mother were about +twenty photographs of soldiers, some in little brassy frames with spots +of verdigris on them, some the old-fashioned "cabinet" kind, some on +simple post-cards. There was a young, dark Zouave who stood with his +hand on an ugly little table, a sergeant of the Engineer Corps with a +vacant, uninteresting face, and two young infantry men, brothers, on the +same shabby finger-marked post-card. Pious hands had left them thus in +the care of the unhappy mother, "Marie, consolatrice des malheureux." + +The darkness of midnight was beginning at Pont-à -Mousson, for the town +was always as black as a pit. On my way home I saw a furtive knife edge +of yellow light here and there under a door. The sentry stood by his +shuttered lantern. Suddenly the first of the trench lights flowered in +the sky over the long dark ridge of the Bois-le-Prétre. + + + + +Chapter VIII + +Messieurs Les Poilus De La Grande Guerre + + + +The word "poilu," now applied to a French soldier, means literally "a +hairy one," but the term is understood metaphorically. Since time +immemorial the possession of plenty of bodily hair has served to +indicate a certain sturdy, male bearishness, and thus the French, long +before the war, called any good, powerful fellow--"un véritable poilu." +The term has been found applied to soldiers of the Napoleonic wars. The +French soldier of to-day, coming from the trenches looking like a +well-digger, but contented, hearty, and strong, is the poilu par +excellence. + +The origin of the term "Boche," meaning a German, has been treated in a +thousand articles, and controversy has raged over it. The probable +origin of the term, however, lies in the Parisian slang word "caboche," +meaning an ugly head. This became shortened to "Boche," and was applied +to foreigners of Germanic origin, in exactly the way that the +American-born laborer applies the contemptuous term "square-head" to his +competitors from northern Europe. The word "Boche" cannot be translated +by anything except "Boche," any more than our word "Wop," meaning an +Italian, can be turned into French. The same attitude, half banter, half +race contempt, lies at the heart of both terms. + +When the poilus have faced the Boches for two weeks in the trenches, +they march down late at night to a village behind the lines, far enough +away from the batteries to be out of danger of everything except +occasional big shells, and near enough to be rushed up to the front in +case of an attack. There they are quartered in houses, barns, sheds, and +cellars, in everything that can decently house and shelter a man. These +two weeks of repos are the poilus' elysium, for they mean rest from +strain, safety, and comparative comfort. The English have behind their +lines model villages with macadam roads, concrete sidewalks, a water +system, a sewer system, and all kinds of schemes to make the soldiers +happy; the French have to be contented with an ordinary Lorraine +village, kept in good order by the Medical Corps, but quite destitute of +anything as chic as the British possess. + +The village of cantonnement is pretty sure to be the usual brown-walled, +red-roofed village of Lorraine clumped round its parish church or +mouldering castle. In such a French village there is always a hall, +usually over the largest wineshop, called the "Salle de Fêtes," and this +hall serves for the concert each regiment gives while en repos. The +Government provides for, indeed insists upon, a weekly bath, and the +bathhouse, usually some converted factory or large shed, receives its +daily consignments of companies, marching up to the douches as solemnly +as if they were going to church. Round the army continues the often busy +life of the village, for to many such a hamlet the presence of a +multitude of soldiers is a great economic boon. Grocery-shops, in +particular, do a rushing business, for any soldier who has a sou is glad +to vary the government menu with such delicacies as pâtés de foie gras, +little sugar biscuits, and the well- beloved tablet of chocolate. + +While the grocery-man (l'épicier) is fighting somewhere in the north or +in the Argonne, madame l'épicière stays at home and serves the +customers. At her side is her own father, an old fellow wearing big +yellow sabots, and perhaps the grocer's son and heir, a boy about twelve +years old. Madame is dressed entirely in black, not because she is in +mourning, but because it is the rural fashion; she wears a knitted +shoulder cape, a high black collar, and moves in a brisk, businesslike +way; the two men wear the blue-check overalls persons of their calling +affect, in company with very clean white collars and rather dirty, +frayed bow ties of unlovely patterns. Along the counter stand the +poilus, young, old, small, and large, all wearing various fadings of the +horizon blue, and helmets often dented. "Some pâté de foie gras, madame, +s'il vous plaît." "Oui, monsieur." "How much is this cheese, maman?" +cries the boy in a shrill treble. In the barrel-haunted darkness at the +rear of the shop, the old man fumbles round for some tins of jelly. The +poilu is very fond of sweets. Sometimes swish bang! a big shell comes in +unexpectedly, and shopkeepers and clients hurry, at a decent tempo, to +the cellar. There, in the earthy obscurity, one sits down on empty +herring-boxes and vegetable cases to wait calmly for the exasperating +Boches to finish their nonsense. There is a smell of kerosene oil and +onions in the air. A lantern, always on hand for just such an emergency, +burns in a corner. "Have you had a bad time in the trenches this week, +Monsieur Levrault?" says the épicière to a big, stolid soldier who is a +regular customer. + +"No, quite passable, Madame Champaubert." + +"And Monsieur Petticollot, how is he?" + +"Very well, thank you, madame. His captain was killed by a rifle grenade +last week." + +"Oh, the poor man." + +Crash goes a shell. Everybody wonders where it has fallen. In a few +seconds the éclats rain down into the street. + +"Dirty animals," says the voice of the old man in the darkest of all the +corners. + +Madame Champaubert begins the story of how a cousin of hers who keeps a +grocery-shop at Mailly, near the frontier, was cheated by a Boche +tinware salesman. The cellar listens sympathetically. The boy says +nothing, but keeps his eyes fixed on the soldiers. In about twenty +minutes the bombardment ends, and the bolder ones go out to ascertain +the damage. The soldier's purchases are lying on the counter. These he +stuffs into his musette, the cloth wallet beloved of the poilu, and +departs. The colonel's cook comes in; he has got hold of a good ham and +wants to deck it out with herbs and capers. Has madame any capers? While +she is getting them, the colonel's cook retails the cream of all the +regimental gossip. + +These people of Lorraine who have stayed behind, "Lorrains," the French +term them, are thoroughly French, though there is some German blood in +their veins. This Teuton addition is of very ancient date, being due to +the constant invasions which have swept up the valley of the Moselle. +This intermingling of the races, however, continued right up to 1870, +but since then the union of French and German stock has been rare. It +was most frequent, perhaps, during the years between 1804 and 1850, when +Napoleon's domination of the principalities and states along the Rhine +led to a French social and commercial invasion of Rhenish Germany, an +invasion which ended only with the growth of German nationalism. The +middle classes in particular intermarried because they were more apt to +be engaged in commerce. But since 1870, two barriers, one geographic +--annexed Lorraine, and one intellectual--hatred, have kept the +neighbors apart. The Lorrain of to-day, no matter what his ancestors +were, is a thorough Frenchman. These Lorrains are between medium height +and tall, strongly built, with light, tawny hair, good color, and a +brownish complexion. + +The poilus who come to the village en repos are from every part of +France, and are of all ages between nineteen and forty-five. I remember +seeing a boy aged only fourteen who had enlisted, and was a regular +member of an artillery regiment. The average regiment includes men of +every class and caste, for every Frenchman who can shoulder a gun is in +the war. Thus the dusty little soldier who is standing by Poste A, may +be So-and-So the sculptor, the next man to him is simple Jacques who has +a little farm near Bourges, and the man beyond, Emile, the notary's +clerk. It is this amazing fraternity that makes the French army the +greatest army in the world. The officers of a regiment of the active +forces (by l'armée active you are to understand the army actually in the +garrisons and under arms from year to year) are army officers by +profession; the officers of the reserve regiments are either retired +officers of the regular army or men who have voluntarily followed the +severe courses in the officers' training-school. Thus the colonel and +three of the commandants of a certain regiment were ex-officers of the +regular army, while all the other officers, captains, lieutenants, and +so forth, were citizens who followed civilian pursuits. Captain X was a +famous lawyer, Captain B a small merchant in a little known provincial +town, Captain C a photographer. Any Frenchman who has the requisite +education can become an officer if he is willing to devote more of his +time, than is by law required, to military service. Thus the French army +is the soul of democracy, and the officer understands, and is understood +by, his men. The spirit of the French army is remarkably fraternal, and +this fraternity is at once social and mystical. It has a social origin, +for the poilus realize that the army rests on class justice and equal +opportunity; it has a mystical strength, because war has taught the men +that it is only the human being that counts, and that comradeship is +better than insistence on the rights and virtues of pomps and prides. +After having been face to face with death for two years, a man learns +something about the true values of human life. + +The men who tramp into the village at one and two o'clock in the morning +are men who have for two weeks been under a strain that two years of +experience has robbed of its tensity. But strain it is, nevertheless, as +the occasional carrying of a maniac reveals. They know very well why +they are fighting; even the most ignorant French laborer has some idea +as to what the affair is all about. The Boches attacked France who was +peacefully minding her own business; it was the duty of all Frenchmen to +defend France, so everybody went to the war. And since the war has gone +on for so long, it must be seen through to the very end. Not a single +poilu wants peace or is ready for peace. And the French, unlike the +English, have continually under their eyes the spectacle of their +devastated land. Yet I heard no ferocious talk about the Germans, no +tales of French cruelty toward German prisoners. + +Nevertheless, a German prisoner who had been taken in the Bois-le-Prêtre +confessed to me a horror of the French breaking through into Germany. +Looking round to see if any one was listening, he said in English, for +he was an educated man--"Just remember the French Revolution. Just +remember the French Revolution. God! what cruelties. You remember +Carrier at Nantes, don't you, my dear sir? All the things we are said to +have done in Belgium--" But here the troop of prisoners was hurried to +one side, and I never saw the man again. An army will always have all +kinds of people in it, the good, the bad, the degenerate, the depraved, +the brutal; and these types will act according to their natures. But I +can't imagine several regiments of French poilus doing in little German +towns what the Germans did at Nomeny. The backbone of the French army, +as he is the backbone of France, is the French peasant. In spite of De +Maupassant's ugly tales of the Norman country people, and Zola's studies +of the sordid, almost bestial, life of certain unhappy, peasant +families, the French peasant (cultivateur) is a very fine fellow. He has +three very good qualities, endurance, patience, and willingness to work. +Apart from these characteristics, he is an excellent fellow by himself; +not jovial, to be sure, but solid, self-respecting, and glad to make +friends when there is a chance that the friendship will be a real one. +He does not care very much for the working men of the towns, the +ouvriers, with their fantastic theories of universal brotherhood and +peace, and he hates the deputé whom the working man elects as he hates a +vine fungus. A needless timidity, some fear of showing himself off as a +simpleton, has kept him from having his just influence in French +politics; but the war is freeing him from these shackles, and when peace +comes, he will make himself known: that is, if there are any peasants +left to vote. + +Another thing about the peasantry is that trench warfare does not weary +them, the constant contact with the earth having nothing unusual in it. +A friend of mine, the younger son of a great landed family of the +province of Anjou, was captain of a company almost exclusively composed +of peasants of his native region; he loved them as if they were his +children, and they would follow him anywhere. The little company, almost +to a man, was wiped out in the battles round Verdun. In a letter I +received from this officer, a few days before his death, he related this +anecdote. His company was waiting, in a new trench in a new region, for +the Germans to attack. Suddenly the tension was relieved by a fierce +little discussion carried on entirely in whispers. His soldiers appeared +to be studying the earth of the trench. "What's the trouble about?" he +asked. Came the answer, "They are quarreling as to whether the earth of +this trench would best support cabbages or turnips." + +It is rare to find a French workman (ouvrier) in the trenches. They have +all been taken out and sent home to make shells. + +The little group to which I was most attached, and for whose hospitality +and friendly greeting I shall always be a debtor, consisted of Belin, a +railroad clerk; Bonnefon, a student at the École des Beaux-Arts; Magne, +a village schoolmaster in the Dauphiné; and Grétry, proprietor of a +butcher's shop in the Latin Quarter of Paris. Belin and Magne had +violins which they left in the care of a café-keeper in the village, and +used to play on them just before dinner. The dinner was served in the +house of the village woman who prepared the food of these four, for +sous-officiers are entitled to eat by themselves if they can find any +one kind enough to look after the cooking. If they can't, then they have +to rely entirely on the substantial but hardly delicious cuisine of +their regimental cuistot. However, at this village, Madame Brun, the +widow of the local carpenter, had offered to take the popotte, as the +French term an officer's mess. We ate in a room half parlor, half +bedchamber, decorated exclusively with holy pictures. This was a good +specimen menu--bread, vermicelli soup, apple fritters, potato salad, +boiled beef, red wine, and coffee. Of this dinner, the Government +furnished the potatoes, the bread, the meat, the coffee, the wine, and +the condiments; private purses paid for the fritters, the vermicelli, +and the bits of onion in the salad. Standing round their barns the +private soldiers were having a tasty stew of meat and potatoes cooked by +the field kitchen, bread, and a cupful of boiled lentils (known in the +army as "edible bedbugs"), all washed down with the army pinard, or red +wine. + +This village in which the troops were lodged revealed in an interesting +way the course of French history. Across the river on a rise was a cross +commemorating the victory of the Emperor Jo vin over the invading +Germans in 371, and sunken in the bed of the Moselle were still seen +lengths of Roman dikes. The heart of the village, however, was the +corpse of a fourteenth-century castle which Richelieu had dismantled in +1630. Its destiny had been a curious one. Dismantled by Richelieu, +sacked in the French Revolution, it had finally become a kind of +gigantic mediaeval apartment house for the peasants of the region. The +salle d'honneur was cut up into little rooms, the room of the seigneur +became a haymow, and the cellars of the towers were used to store +potatoes in. About twenty little chimneys rose over the old, dilapidated +battlements. A haymow in this castle was the most picturesque thing I +ever saw in a cantonment. It was the wreck of a lofty and noble +fifteenth-century room, the ceiling, still a rich red brown, was +supported on beautiful square beams, and a cross-barred window of the +Renaissance, of which only the stonework remained, commanded a fine view +over the river. The walls of the room were of stone, whitewashed years +before, and the floor was an ordinary barn floor made of common planks +and covered with a foot of new, clean hay. In the center of the southern +wall was a Gothic fireplace, still black and ashy within. On the corners +of this mantel hung clusters of canteens, guns were stacked by it, and a +blue overcoat was rolled up at its base. An old man, the proprietor of +the loft, followed us up, made signs that he was completely deaf, and +traced in the dust on the floor the date, 1470. + +The concerts were held in the "Salle de Fêtes," a hall in which, during +peace time, the village celebrates its little festivals. It was an ugly, +bare shed with a sloping roof resting on iron girders painted clay +white, but the poilus had beautified it with a home-made stage and +rustic greenery. The proscenium arch, painted by Bonnefon, was +pearl-gray in color and decorated with panels of gilt stripes; and a +shield showing the lictor's rods, a red liberty cap and the letters "R. +F." served as a headpiece. The scenery, also the work of Bonnefon, +represented a Versailles kind of garden full of statues and very watery +fountains. There was no curtain. Just below the stage a semicircle of +chairs had been arranged for the officers of the regiment, and behind +these were wooden benches and a large space for standing room. By the +time the concert was supposed to begin, every bench was filled, and +standing room was at a premium. Suddenly there were cries of "Le +Colonel," and everybody stood up as the fine-looking old colonel and his +staff took their places. The orchestra, composed of a pianist, a few +violinists, and a flute-player, began to play the "Marseillaise." When +the music was over, and everybody decently quiet, the concert began. + +"Le Camarade Tollot, of the Théâtre des Variétés de Paris will recite +'Le Dernier Drapeau,'" shouted the announcer. Le Camarade Tollot walked +on the stage and bowed, a big, important young man with a lion's mane of +dark hair. Then, striking an attitude, he recited in the best French, +ranting style, a rhymed tale of a battle in which many regiments charged +together, flags flying. One by one the flags fell to the ground as the +bearers were cut down by the withering fire of the enemy; all save one +who struggled on. It was a fine, old-fashioned, dramatic +"will-he-get-there-yes-he-will-he-falls" sort of thing. "Il tombe," said +le Camarade Tollot, in what used to be called the "oratorical +orotund"--"il tombe." There was a full pause. He was wounded. He rose +staggering to his feet. All the other flags were down. He advanced--the +last flag (le dernier drapeau) reached the enemy--and died just as his +comrades, heartened by his courage, had rallied and were charging to +victory. A tremendous storm of applause greeted the speaker, who favored +us with the recital of a short, sentimental poem as an encore. + +The next number was thus announced: "Le Camarade Millet will sound, +first, all the French bugle-calls and then the Boche ones." Le Camarade +Millet, a big man with a fine horseshoe beard, stood at the edge of the +stage, said, "la Charge français" and blew it on the bugle; then "la +Charge boche," and blew that. "La Retraite français--La Retraite boche," +etc. Another salvo of applause was given to le Camarade Millet. + +"Le Camarade Roland." + +Le Camarade Roland was about twenty-one or two years old, but his eyes +were old and wise, and he had evidently seen life. He was dark-haired +and a little below medium height. The red scar of a wound appeared just +below his left ear. After marking time with his feet, he began a kind of +patter song about having a telephone, every verse of which ended, "Oh, +la la, j'ai le téléphone chez moi" (I've a telephone in my house). "I +know who is unfaithful now--who have horns upon their brow," the singer +told of surprising secrets and unsuspected affaires de cÅ“ur. The silly, +music-hall song may seem banal now, but it amused us hugely then. "Le +Camarade Duclos." + +"Oh, if you could have seen your son, My mother, my mother, Oh, if you +could have seen your son, With the regiment"--sang Camarade Duclos, +another old-eyed youngster. There was amiable adventure with an amiable +"blonde" (oh, if you could have seen your son); another with a "jolie +brune" (oh, ma mère, ma mère); and still another leçon d'amour. The +refrain had a catchy lilt to it, and the poilus began humming it. + +"Le Camarade Salvatore." + +The newcomer was a big, obese Corsican mountaineer, with a pleasant, +round face and brown eyes. He advanced quietly to the side of the stage +holding a ten-sou tin flute in his hand, and when he began to play, for +an instant I forgot all about the Bois-le-Prêtre, the trenches, and +everything else. The man was a born musician. I never heard anything +more tender and sweet than the little melody he played. The poilus +listened in profound silence, and when he had finished, a kind of sigh +exhaled from the hearts of the audience. + +There followed another singer, a violinist, and a clown whose song of a +soldier on furlough finished with these appreciated couplets:-- + +"The Government says it is the thing To have a baby every spring; So +when your son Is twenty-one, He'll come to the trenches and take papa's +place. So do your duty by the race." + +In the uproar of cheers of "That's right," and so on, the concert ended. + +The day after the concert was Sunday, and at about ten o'clock that +morning a young soldier with a fluffy, yellow chin beard came down the +muddy street shouting, "le Mouchoir, le Mouchoir." About two or three +hundred paper sheets were clutched tightly in his left hand, and he was +selling them for a sou apiece. Little groups of poilus gathered round +the soldier newsboy; I saw some of them laughing as they went away. The +paper was the trench paper of the Bois-le-Prêtre, named the "Mouchoir" +(the handkerchief) from a famous position thus called in the Bois. The +jokes in it were like the jokes in a local minstrel show, puns on local +names, jests about the Boches, and good-humored satire. The spirit of +the "Mouchoir" was whole-heartedly amateur. Thus the issue which +followed a heavy snowfall contained this genuine wish:-- + +"Oh, snow, Please go, Leave the trench Of the French; Cross the band Of +No Man's Land To where the Boche lies. Freeze him, Squeeze him, Soak +him, Choke him, Cover him, Smother him, Till the beggar dies." + +This is far from an exact translation, but the idea and the spirit have +been faithfully preserved. The "Mouchoir" was always a bit more +squeamish than the average, rollicking trench journal, for it was issued +by a group of medical service men who were almost all priests. Indeed, +there were some issues that combined satire, puns, and piety in a +terrifying manner. Its editors printed it in the cellar of the church, +using a simple sheet of gelatine for their press. + +I wandered in to see the church. The usual number of civilians were to +be seen, and a generous sprinkling of soldiers. Through the open door of +the edifice the sounds of a mine-throwing competition at the Bois +occasionally drifted. The abbé, a big, dark man of thirty-four or five, +with a deep, resonant voice and positive gestures, had come to the +sermon. + +"Brethren," said he, "in place of a sermon this morning, I shall read +the annual exposition of our Christian faith" (exposition de la foi +chrétienne). He began reading from a little book a historical account of +the creation and the temptation, and so concise was the language and so +certain his voice that I had the sensation of listening to a series of +events that had actually taken place. He might have been reading the +communiqué. "Le premier homme was called Adam, and la première femme, +Eve. Certain angels began a revolt against God; they are called the bad +angels or the demons." (Certains anges se sont mis en revolte contre +Dieu; il sont appelles les mauvais anges ou les démons.) "And from this +original sin arrives all the troubles, Death to which the human race is +subjected." Such was the discourse I heard in the church by the trenches +to the accompaniment of the distant chanting of The Wood. + +Going by again late in the afternoon, I saw the end of an officer's +funeral. The body, in a wooden box covered with the tricolor, was being +carried out between two files of muddy soldiers, who stood at attention, +bayonets fixed. A peasant's cart, a tumbril, was waiting to take the +body to the cemetery; the driver was having a hard time con-trolling a +foolish and restive horse. The colonel, a fine-looking man in the +sixties, came last from the church, and stood on the steps surrounded by +his officers. The dusk was falling. + +"Officiers, sous-officiers, soldats. + +"Lieutenant de Blanchet, whose death we deplore, was a gallant officer, +a true comrade, and a loyal Frenchman. In order that France might live, +he was willing to close his eyes on her forever." + +The officer advanced to the tumbril and holding his hand high said:-- + +"Farewell--de Blanchet, we say unto thee the eternal adieu." + +The door of the church was wide open. The sacristan put out the candles, +and the smoke from them rose like incense into the air. The tumbril +rattled away in the dusk. My mind returned again to the phrases of the +sermon,--original sin, death, life, of a sudden, seemed strangely +grotesque. + +It would be hard to find any one more courteous and kind than the French +officer. A good deal of the success of the American Ambulance Field +Sections in France is due to the hospitality and bon acceuil of the +French, and to the work of the French officers attached to the Sections. +In Lieutenant Kuhlman, who commanded at Pont-à -Mousson, every American +had a good friend and tactful, hard-working officer; in Lieutenant Maas, +who commanded at Verdun, the qualities of administrative ability and +perfect courtesy were most happily joined. + +The principal characteristic of the French soldier is his +reasonableness. + + + + +Chapter IX + +Preparing The Defense Of Verdun + + + +Every three months, if the military situation will allow of it and every +other man in his group has likewise been away, the French soldier gets a +six days' furlough. The slips of paper which are then given out are +called feuilles de permission, and the lucky soldier is called a +permissionnaire. When the combats that gave the Bois-le-Prêtre its +sinister nickname began to peter out, the poilus who had done the +fighting were accorded these little vacations, and almost every +afternoon the straggling groups of joyous permissionnaires were seen on +the road between the trenches and the station. The expression on the +faces was never that of having been rescued from a living hell; it +expressed joy and prospect of a good time rather than deliverance. + +When I got my permission, a comrade took me to the station at a certain +rail-head where a special train started for Paris, and by paying extra I +was allowed to travel second class. I shall not dwell on the journey +because I did not meet a single human being worth recording during the +trip. At eight at night I arrived in Paris. So varied had been my +experiences at the front that had I stepped out into a dark and deserted +city I should not have been surprised. The poilu, when he sees the city +lights again, almost feels like saying, "Why, it is still here!" Many of +them look frankly at the women, not in the spirit of gallant adventure, +but out of pure curiosity. In spite of the French reputation for roguish +licentiousness, the sex question never seems to intrude very much along +the battle-line, perhaps because there is so little to suggest it. +Certainly conversation at the front ignores sex altogether, and speech +there is remarkably decent and clean. Of course, when music-hall songs +are sung at the concerts, the other sex is sometimes more than casually +mentioned. It is the comic papers which are responsible for the myth +that the period of furlough is spent in a Roman orgy; this is, of +course, true of some few, but for the great majority the reverse rules, +and une permission is spent in a typically French way, paying formal +calls to the oldest friends of the family, being with the family as much +as possible, and attending to such homely affairs as the purchase of +socks and underclothes. In the evening brave Jacques or Georges or +François is visited by all his old cronies, who gather round the hero +and ask him questions, and he is solemnly kissed by all his relatives. +One evening is sure to be consecrated to a grand family reunion at a +restaurant. + +I determined to observe, during my permission, the new France which has +come into being since the outbreak of the war, and the attitude of the +French toward their allies. I knew the old France pretty well. Putting +any ridiculous ideas of French decadence aside, the France of the last +ten years did not have the international standing of an older France. +The Delcassé incident had revealed a France evidently untaught by the +lesson of 1870, and if the Moroccan question ended in a French victory, +it was frankly won by getting behind the petticoats of England. The +nation was unprepared for war, torn by political strife, and in a +position to be ruthlessly trampled on by the Germans. The France of +1900-13 is not a very pleasant France to remember. + +For one thing, the bitter strife aroused by the breaking of the +Concordat and the seizure of the property of the Church was slowly +crystallizing into an icy hatred, the worst in the world, the hatred of +a man who has been robbed. The Church Separation Law may have been right +in theory, and with the liberal tendencies of the reformers one may have +every sympathy, but the fact remains that the sale and dispersion of the +ecclesiastical property passed in a storm of corruption and graft. +Properties worth many thousands of dollars were juggled among political +henchmen, sold for a song, and sold again at a great profit. Even as the +Southerners complain of the Reconstruction rather than of the Civil War, +so do the French Catholics complain, not of the law, but of its +aftermath. The Socialist- Labor Party exultant, the Catholic Party +wronged and revengeful, and all the other thousand parties of the French +Government at one another's throats, there seemed little hope for the +real France. The tragedy of the thing lay in the fact that this disunion +and strife was caused by the excess of a good quality; in other words, +that the remarkable ability of every Frenchman to think for himself was +destroying the national unity. + +Meanwhile, what was the state of the army and navy? + +The Minister of War of the radicals who had triumphed was General André, +a narrow, bigoted doctrinaire. The force behind the evil work of this +man can be hardly realized by those who are unfamiliar with the passion +with which the French invest the idea. There are times when the French, +the most brilliant people in the world as a nation, seem to lack mental +brakes--when the idea so obsesses them, that they become fanatics,--not +the emotional, English type of fanatic, but a cold, hard-headed, +intellectual Latin type. The radical Frenchman says, "Are the Gospels +true?" "Presumably no, according to modern science and historical +research." "Then away with everything founded on the Gospels," he +replies; and begins a cold-blooded, highly intellectual campaign of +destruction. Thus it is that the average French church or public +building of any antiquity, whether it be in Paris or in an obscure +village, has been so often mutilated that it is only a shadow of itself. +France is strewn with wrecks of buildings embodying disputed ideas. And +worst of all, these buildings were rarely sacked by a mob; the +revolutionary commune, in many cases, paying laborers to smash windows +and destroy sculpture at so much a day. + +André believed it his mission to extirpate all conservatism, whether +Catholic or not, from the army. In a few short months, by a campaign of +delation and espionage, he had completely disorganized the army, the +only really national institution left in France. Officers of standing, +suspected of any reactionary political tendency, were discharged by the +thousand; and officers against whom no charge could be brought were +refused ammunition, even though they were stationed at a ticklish point +on the frontier. At the same time a like disorganization was taking +place in the navy, the evil genius of the Marine being the Minister +Camille Pelletan. + +Those who saw, in 1912, the ceremonies attendant on the deposition of +the bones of Jean Jacques Rousseau in the Pantheon were sick at heart. +Never had the Government of France sunk so low. The Royalists shouted, +the extreme radicals hooted, and when the carriage of Fallières passed, +it was seen that humorists had somehow succeeded in writing jocose +inscriptions on the presidential carriage. The head of the French +nation, a short, pudgy man, the incarnation of pontifying mediocrity, +went by with an expression on his face like that of a terrified, +elderly, pink rabbit. The bescrawled carriage and its humiliated +occupant passed by to an accompaniment of jeering. Everybody--parties +and populace--was jeering. The scene was disgusting. + +The election of Poincaré, a man of genuine distinction, was a sign of +better times. Millerand became Minister of War, and began the +reorganization of the army, thus making possible the victory of the +Marne. But a petty intrigue led by a group of radicals caused the +resignation of this minister at a time when the First Balkan War +threatened to engulf Europe. The maneuver was inexcusable. Messimy, an +attaché of the group who had led the attack, took Millerand's place. +When the war broke out, Messimy was invited to make himself scarce, and +Millerand returned to his post. Thanks to him, the army was as ready as +an army in a democratic country can be. + +The France of 1915-16 is a new France. The nation has learned that if it +is to live it must cease tearing itself to pieces, and all parties are +united in a "Holy Union" (l'Union Sacrée). Truce in the face of a common +danger or a real union? Will it last? Alarmists whisper that when the +war is over, the army will settle its score with the politicians. Others +predict a great victory for the radicals, because the industrial classes +are safe at home making shells while the conservative peasants are being +killed off in the trenches. Everybody in France is saying, "What will +happen when the army comes home?" There is to-day only one man in France +completely trusted by all classes--General Joffre, and if by any chance +there should be political troubles after the war, the army and the +nation will look to him. + +The French fully realize what the English alliance has meant to them, +and are grateful for Engish aid. As the titanic character of England's +mighty effort becomes clearer, the sympathy with England will increase. +Of course one cannot expect the French to understand the state of mind +which insists upon a volunteer system in the face of the deadliest and +most terrible foe. The attitude of the English to sport has rather +perplexed them, and they did not like the action of some English +officers in bringing a pack of hounds to the Flanders front. It was +thought that officers should be soldiers first and sportsmen afterward, +and the knowledge that dilettante English officers were riding to hounds +while the English nation was resisting conscription and Jean, Jacques, +and Pierre were doing the fighting and dying in the trenches, provoked a +secret and bitter disdain. + +But since the British have got into the war as a nation, this secret +disdain has been forgotten, and the poilu has taken "le Tommie" to his +heart. + +I heard only the friendliest criticism of the Russians. + +It is a rather delicate task to say what the French think of the +Americans, for the real truth is that they think of us but rarely. Our +quarrel with Germany over the submarines interested them somewhat, but +this interest rapidly died away when it became evident that we were not +going to do anything about it. They see our flag over countless charity +dépôts, hospitals, and benevolent institutions, and are grateful. The +poilu would be glad to see us in the fray simply because of the aid we +should bring, but he is reasonable enough to know that the United States +can keep out of the mêlée without losing any moral prestige. The only +hostile criticism of America that I heard came from doctrinaires who saw +the war as a conflict between autocracy and democracy, and if you grant +that this point of view is the right one, these thinkers have a right to +despise us. But the Frenchman knows that the Allies represent something +more than "virtue-on-a-rampage." + +In Lyons I saw a sight at once ludicrous and pathetic. Two little +dragoons of the class of 1917, stripling boys of eighteen or nineteen at +the most, walked across the public square; their uniforms were too large +for them, the skirts of their great blue mantles barely hung above the +dust of the street, and their enormous warlike helmets and flowing +horse-tails were ill-suited to their boyish heads. As I looked at them, +I thought of the blue bundles I had seen drying upon the barbed wire, +and felt sick at the brutality of the whole awful business. The sun was +shining over the bluish mists of Lyons, and the bell of old Saint-Jean +was ringing. Two Zouaves, stone blind, went by guided by a little, fat +infirmier. At the frontier, the General Staff was preparing the defense +of Verdun. + +One great nation, for the sake of a city valueless from a military point +of view, was preparing to kill several hundred thousand of its citizens, +and another great nation, anxious to retain the city, was preparing +calmly for a parallel hecatomb. There is something awful and dreadful +about the orderliness of a great offensive, for while one's imagination +is grasped by the grandeur and the organization of the thing, all one's +faculties of intellect are revolted by the stark brutality of death en +masse. + +Early in February we were called to Bar-le-Duc, a pleasant old city some +distance behind Verdun. Several hundred thousand men were soon going to +be killed and wounded, and the city was in a feverish haste of +preparation. So many thousand cans of ether, so many thousand pounds of +lint, so many million shells, so many ambulances, so many hundred +thousand litres of gasoline. Nobody knew when the Germans were going to +strike. + +During the winter great activity in the German trenches near Verdun had +led the French to expect an attack, but it was not till the end of +January that aeroplane reconnoitering made certain the imminence of an +offensive. As a first step in countering it, the French authorities +prepared in the villages surrounding Bar-le-Duc a number of dépôts for +troops, army supplies, and ammunition. Of this organization, Bar-le-Duc +was the key. The preparations for the counter-attack were there +centralized. Day after day convoys of motor-lorries carrying troops +ground into town and disappeared to the eastward; big mortars mounted on +trucks came rattling over the pavements to go no one knew where; and +khaki-clad troops, troupes d'attaque, tanned Marocains and chunky, +bull-necked Zouaves, crossed the bridge over the Ornain and marched +away. At the turn in the road a new transparency had been erected, with +VERDUN printed on it in huge letters. Now and then a soldier, catching +sight of it, would nudge his comrade. + +On the 18th we were told to be in readiness to go at any minute and +permissions to leave the barrack yard were recalled. + +The attack began with an air raid on Bar-le-Duc. I was working on my +engine in the sunlit barrack yard when I heard a muffled Pom! somewhere +to the right. Two French drivers who were putting a tire on their car +jumped up with a "Qu'est-ce que c'est que ça?" We stood together looking +round. Beyond a wall on the other side of the river great volumes of +brownish smoke were rolling up, and high in the air, brown and silvery, +like great locusts, were two German aeroplanes. + +"Nom d'un chien, il y'en a plusieurs," said one of the Frenchmen, +pointing out four, five, seven, nine aeroplanes. One seemed to hang +immobile over the barrack yard. I fancy we all had visions of what would +happen if a bomb hit the near-by gasoline reserve. Men ran across the +yard to the shelter of the dormitories; some, caught as we were in the +open, preferred to take a chance on dropping flat under a car. A +whistling scream, a kind of shrill, increasing shriek, sounded in the +air and ended in a crash. Smoke rolled up heavily in another direction. +Another whistle, another crash, another and another and another. The +last building struck shot up great tongues of flame. "C'est la gare," +said somebody. Across the yard a comrade's arm beckoned me, "Come on, +we've got to help put out the fires!" + +The streets were quite deserted; horses and wagons abandoned to their +fate were, however, quietly holding their places. Faces, emotionally +divided between fear and strong interest, peered at us as we ran by, +disappearing at the first whistle of a bomb, for all the world like +hermit-crabs into their shells. A whistle sent us both scurrying into a +passageway; the shell fell with a wicked hiss, and, scattering the +paving-stones to the four winds, blew a shallow crater in the roadway. A +big cart horse, hit in the neck and forelegs by fragments of the shell, +screamed hideously. Right at the bridge, the sentry, an old territorial, +was watching the whole scene from his flimsy box with every appearance +of unconcern. + +Not the station itself, but a kind of baggage-shed was on fire. A hose +fed by an old-fashioned seesaw pump was being played on the flames. +Officials of the railroad company ran to and fro shouting unintelligible +orders. For five minutes more the German aeroplanes hovered overhead, +then slowly melted away into the sky to the south-east. The raid had +lasted, I imagine, just about twenty minutes. + +That night, fearing another raid, all lights were extinguished in the +town and at the barracks. Before rolling up in my blankets, I went out +into the yard to get a few breaths of fresh air. Through the night air, +rising and falling with the wind, I heard in one of the random silences +of the night a low, distant drumming of artillery. + + + + +Chapter X + + + +The Great Days of Verdun + +The Verdun I saw in April, 1913, was an out-of-the-way provincial city +of little importance outside of its situation as the nucleus of a great +fortress. There were two cities--an old one, la ville des évêques, on a +kind of acropolis rising from the left bank of the Meuse, and a newer +one built on the meadows of the river. Round the acropolis Vauban had +built a citadel whose steep, green-black walls struck root in the mean +streets and narrow lanes on the slopes. Sunless by-ways, ill-paved and +sour with the odor of surface drainage, led to it. Always picturesque, +the old town now and then took on a real beauty. There were fine, +shield-bearing doorways of the Renaissance to be seen, Gothic windows in +greasy walls, and here and there at a street corner a huddle of +half-timbered houses in a high contrast of invading sunlight and +retreating shade. From the cathedral parapet, there was a view of the +distant forts, and a horizontal sweep of the unharvested, buff-brown +moorlands. + +"Un peu morte," say the French who knew Verdun before the war. The new +town was without distinction. It was out of date. It had none of the +glories that the province copies from Paris, no boulevards, no grandes +aertères. Such life as there was, was military. Rue Mazel was bright +with the gold braid and scarlet of the fournisseurs militaires, and in +the late afternoon chic young officers enlivened the provincial +dinginess with a brave show of handsome uniforms. All day long squads of +soldiers went flick! flack! up and down the street and bugle-calls +sounded piercingly from the citadel. The soldiery submerged the civil +population. + +With no industries of any importance, and becoming less and less of an +economic center as the depopulation of the Woevre continued, Verdun +lived for its garrison. A fortress since Roman days, the city could not +escape its historic destiny. Remembering the citadel, the buttressed +cathedral, the soldiery, and the military tradition, the visitor felt +himself to be in a soldier's country strong with the memory of many +wars. + +The next day, at noon, we were ordered to go to M------, and at 12.15 we +were in convoy formation in the road by the barracks wall. The great +route nationale from Bar-le-Duc to Verdun runs through a rolling, +buff-brown moorland, poor in villages and arid and desolate in aspect. +Now it sinks through moorland valleys, now it cuts bowl-shaped +depressions in which the spring rains have bred green quagmires, and +now, rising, leaps the crest of a hill commanding a landscape of +ocean-like immensity. + +Gray segments of the road disappear ahead behind fuzzy monticules; a +cloud of wood-smoke hangs low over some invisible village in a fold of +the moor, and patches of woodland lie like mantles on the barren slopes. +Great swathes of barbed wire, a quarter of a mile in width, advancing +and retreating, rising and falling with the geographical nature of the +defensive position, disappear on both sides to the horizon. And so thick +is this wire spread, that after a certain distance the eye fails to +distinguish the individual threads and sees only rows of stout black +posts filled with a steely, purple mist. + +We went though several villages, being greeted in every one with the +inevitable error, Anglais! We dodged interminable motor-convoys carrying +troops, the poilus sitting unconcernedly along the benches at the side, +their rifles tight between their knees. At midnight we arrived at +B------, four miles and a half west of Verdun. The night was clear and +bitter cold; the ice-blue winter stars were westering. Refugees tramped +past in the darkness. By the sputtering light of a match, I saw a woman +go by with a cat in a canary cage; the animal moved uneasily, its eyes +shone with fear. A middle-aged soldier went by accompanying an old woman +and a young girl. Many pushed baby carriages ahead of them full of +knick-knacks and packages. + +The crossroad where the ambulances turned off was a maze of beams of +light from the autos. There was shouting of orders which nobody could +carry out. Wounded, able to walk, passed through the beams of the lamps, +the red of their bloodstains, detached against the white of the +bandages, presenting the sharpest of contrasts in the silvery glare. At +the station, men who had died in the ambulances were dumped hurriedly in +a plot of grass by the side of the roadway and covered with a blanket. +Never was there seen such a bedlam! But on the main road the great +convoys moved smoothly on as if held together by an invisible chain. A +smouldering in the sky told of fires in Verdun. + +From a high hill between B------and Verdun I got my first good look at +the bombardment. From the edge of earth and sky, far across the +moorlands, ray after ray of violet-white fire made a swift stab at the +stars. Mingled with the rays, now seen here, now there, the +reddish-violet semicircle of the great mortars flared for the briefest +instant above the horizon. From the direction of this inferno came a +loud roaring, a rumbling and roaring, increasing in volume--the sound of +a great river tossing huge rocks through subterranean abysses. Every +little while a great shell, falling in the city, would blow a great hole +of white in the night, and so thundering was the crash of arrival that +we almost expected to see the city sink into the earth. + +Terrible in the desolation of the night, on fire, haunted by specters of +wounded men who crept along the narrow lanes by the city walls, Verdun +was once more undergoing the destinies of war. The shells were falling +along rue Mazel and on the citadel. A group of old houses by the Meuse +had burnt to rafters of flickering flame, and as I passed them, one +collapsed into the flooded river in a cloud of hissing steam. + +In order to escape shells, the wounded were taking the obscure by-ways +of the town. Our wounded had started to walk to the ambulance station +with the others, but, being weak and exhausted, had collapsed on the +way. They were waiting for us at a little house just beyond the walls. +Said one to the other, "As-tu-vu Maurice?" and the other answered +without any emotion, "II est mort." + +The 24th was the most dreadful day. The wind and snow swept the heights +of the desolate moor, seriously interfering with the running of the +automobiles. Here and there, on a slope, a lorry was stuck in the slush, +though the soldier passengers were out of it and doing their best to +push it along. The cannonade was still so intense that, in intervals +between the heavier snow-flurries, I could see the stabs of fire in the +brownish sky. Wrapped in sheepskins and muffled to the ears in knitted +scarves that might have come from New England, the territorials who had +charge of the road were filling the ruts with crushed rock. Exhaustion +had begun to tell on the horses; many lay dead and snowy in the frozen +fields. A detachment of khaki-clad, red-fezzed colonial troops passed +by, bent to the storm. The news was of the most depressing sort. The +wounded could give you only the story of their part of the line, and you +heard over and over again, "Nous avons reculés." A detachment of cavalry +was at hand; their casques and dark-blue mantles gave them a crusading +air. And through the increasing cold and darkness of late afternoon, +troops, cannons, horsemen, and motor-trucks vanished toward the edge of +the moor where flashed with increasing brilliance the rays of the +artillery. + +I saw some German prisoners for the first time at T---, below Verdun. +They had been marched down from the firing-line. Young men in the +twenties for the most part, they seemed even more war-worn than the +French. The hideous, helot-like uniform of the German private hung +loosely on their shoulders, and the color of their skin was unhealthy +and greenish. They were far from appearing starved; I noticed two or +three who looked particularly sound and hearty. Nevertheless, they were +by no means as sound-looking as the ruddier French. + +The poilus crowded round to see them, staring into their faces without +the least malevolence. At last--at last--voilà enfin des Boches! A +little to the side stood a strange pair, two big men wearing an odd kind +of grayish protector and apron over their bodies. Against a near-by wall +stood a kind of flattish tank to which a long metallic hose was +attached. The French soldiers eyed them with contempt and disgust. I +caught the words, "Flame-throwers!" + +I do not know what we should have done at Verdun without Lieutenant +Roeder, our mechanical officer. All the boys behaved splendidly, but +Lieutenant Roeder had the tremendously difficult task of keeping the +Section going when the rolling-stock was none too good, and fearful +weather and too constant usage had reduced some of the wagons to wrecks. +It was all the finer of him because he was by profession a +bacteriologist. Still very young, he had done distinguished work. Simply +because there was no one else to attend to the mechanical department, he +had volunteered for this most tiresome and disagreeable task. There is +not a single driver in Section II who does not owe much to the friendly +counsel, splendid courage, and keen mind of George Roeder. + +A few miles below Verdun, on a narrow strip of meadowland between the +river and the northern bluffs, stood an eighteenth-century château and +the half-dozen houses of its dependents. The hurrying river had flooded +the low fields and then retreated, turning the meadows and pasturages to +bright green, puddly marshes, malodorous with swampy exhalations. Beyond +the swirls and currents of the river and its vanishing islands of +pale-green pebbles, rose the brown, deserted hills of the Hauts de +Meuse. The top of one height had been pinched into the rectangle of a +fortress; little forests ran along the sky-line of the heights, and a +narrow road, slanting across a spur of the valley, climbed and +disappeared. + +The château itself was a huge, three-story box of gray-white stone with +a slate roof, a little turret en poivrière at each corner, and a +graceless classic doorway in the principal façade. A wide double gate, +with a coronet in a tarnished gold medallion set in the iron arch-piece, +gave entrance to this place through a kind of courtyard formed by the +rear of the château and the walls of two low wings devoted to the +stables and the servants' quarters. Within, a high clump of dark- green +myrtle, ringed with muddy, rut-scarred turf, marked the theoretical +limits of a driveway. Along the right-hand wall stood the rifles of the +wounded, and in a corner, a great snarled pile of bayonets, belts, +cartridge-boxes, gas-mask satchels, greasy tin boxes of anti-lice +ointment, and dented helmets. A bright winter sunlight fell on walls +dank from the river mists, and heightened the austerity of the +landscape. Beyond a bend in the river lay the smoke of the battle of +Douaumont; shells broke, pin-points of light, in the upper fringes of +the haze. + +The château had been a hospital since the beginning of the war. A heavy +smell of ether and iodoform lay about it, mixed with the smell of the +war. This effluvia of an army, mixed with the sharper reek of +anaesthetics, was the atmosphere of the hospital. The great rush of +wounded had begun. Every few minutes the ambulances slopped down a miry +byway, and turned in the gates; tired, putty-faced hospital attendants +took out the stretchers and the nouveaux clients; mussy bundles of blue +rags and bloody blankets turned into human beings; an overworked, +nervous médecin chef shouted contradictory orders at the brancardiers, +and passed into real crises of hysterical rage. + +"Avancez!" he would scream at the bewildered chauffeurs of the +ambulances; and an instant later, "Reculez! Reculez!" + +The wounded in the stretchers, strewn along the edges of the driveway, +raised patient, tired eyes at his snarling. + +Another doctor, a little bearded man wearing a white apron and the red +velvet képi of an army physician, questioned each batch of new arrivals. +Deep lines of fatigue had traced themselves under his kindly eyes; his +thin face had a dreadful color. Some of the wounded had turned their +eyes from the sun; others, too weak to move, lay stonily blinking. +Almost expressionless, silent, they resigned themselves to the +attendants as if these men were the deaf ministers of some inexorable +power. + +The surgeon went from stretcher to stretcher looking at the diagnosis +cards attached at the poste de secours, stopping occasionally to ask the +fatal question, "As-tu craché du sang?" (Have you spit blood?) A thin +oldish man with a face full of hollows like that of an old horse, +answered "Oui," faintly. Close by, an artilleryman, whose cannon had +burst, looked with calm brown eyes out of a cooked and bluish face. +Another, with a soldier's tunic thrown capewise over his naked torso, +trembled in his thin blanket, and from the edges of a cotton and +lint-pad dressing hastily stuffed upon a shoulder wound, an occasional +drop of blood slid down his lean chest. + +A little to one side, the cooks of the hospital, in their greasy aprons, +watched the performance with a certain calm interest. In a few minutes +the wounded were sorted and sent to the various wards. I was ordered to +take three men who had been successfully operated on to the barracks for +convalescents several miles away. + +A highway and an unused railroad, both under heavy fire from German guns +on the Hauts de Meuse, passed behind the château and along the foot of +the bluffs. There were a hundred shell holes in the marshes between the +road and the river, black-lipped craters in the sedgy green; there were +ugly punches in the brown earth of the bluffs, and deep scoops in the +surface of the road. The telephone wires, cut by shell fragments, fell +in stiff, draping lines to the ground. Every once in a while a shell +would fall into the river, causing a silvery gray geyser to hang for an +instant above the green eddies of the Meuse. A certain village along +this highway was the focal point of the firing. Many of the houses had +been blown to pieces, and fragments of red tile, bits of shiny glass, +and lumps of masonry were strewn all over the deserted street. + +As I hurried along, two shells came over, one sliding into the river +with a Hip! and the other landing in a house about two hundred yards +away. A vast cloud of grayish-black smoke befogged the cottage, and a +section of splintered timber came buzzing through the air and fell into +a puddle. From the house next to the one struck, a black cat came +slinking, paused for an indecisive second in the middle of the street, +and ran back again. Through the canvas partition of the ambulance, I +heard the voices of my convalescents. "No more marmites!" I cried to +them as I swung down a road out of shell reach. I little knew what was +waiting for us beyond the next village. + +A regiment of Zouaves going up to the line was resting at the crossroad, +and the regimental wagons, drawn up in waiting line, blocked the narrow +road completely. At the angle between the two highways, under the four +trees planted by pious custom of the Meuse, stood a cross of thick +planks. From each arm of the cross, on wine-soaked straps, dangled, like +a bunch of grapes, a cluster of dark-blue canteens; rifles were stacked +round its base, and under the trees stood half a dozen clipped-headed, +bull-necked Zouaves. A rather rough-looking adjutant, with a bullet head +disfigured by a frightful scar at the corner of his mouth, rode up and +down the line to see if all was well. Little groups were handing round a +half loaf of army bread, and washing it down with gulps of wine. + +"Hello, sport!" they cried at me; and the favorite "All right," and +"Tommy!" + +The air was heavy with the musty smell of street mud that never dries +during winter time, mixed with the odor of the tired horses, who stood, +scarcely moving, backed away from their harnesses against the +mire-gripped wagons. Suddenly the order to go on again was given; the +carters snapped their whips, the horses pulled, the noisy, lumbering, +creaky line moved on, and the men fell in behind, in any order. + +I started my car again and looked for an opening through the mêlée. + +Beyond the cross, the road narrowed and flanked one of the southeastern +forts of the city. A meadow, which sloped gently upward from the road to +the abrupt hillside of the fortress, had been used as a place of +encampment and had been trodden into a surface of thick cheesy mire. +Here and there were the ashes of fires. There were hundreds of such +places round the moorland villages between Verdun and Bar-le-Duc. The +fort looked squarely down on Verdun, and over its grassy height came the +drumming of the battle, and the frequent crash of big shells falling +into the city. + +In a corner lay the anatomical relics of some horses killed by an +air-bomb the day before. And even as I noted them, I heard the muffled +Pom! Pom! Pom! of anti-aircraft guns. My back was to the river and I +could not see what was going on. + +"What is it?" I said to a Zouave who was plodding along beside the +ambulance. + +"Des Boches--crossing the river." + +The regiment plodded on as before. Now and then a soldier would stop and +look up at the aeroplanes. + +"He's coming!" I heard a voice exclaim. + +Suddenly, the adjutant whom I had seen before came galloping down the +line, shouting, "Arrêtez! Arrêtez! Pas de mouvement!" + +A current of tension ran down the troop with as much reality as a +current of water runs down hill. I wondered whether the Boche had seen +us. + +"Is he approaching?" I asked. + +"Yes." + +Ahead of me was a one-horse wagon, and ahead of that a wagon with two +horses carrying the medical supplies. The driver of the latter, an +oldish, thick-set, wine-faced fellow, got down an instant from his +wagon, looked at the Boche, and resumed his seat. A few seconds later, +there sounded the terrifying scream of an air-bomb, a roar, and I found +myself in a bitter swirl of smoke. The shell had fallen right between +the horses of the two-horse wagon, blowing the animals to pieces, +splintering the wagon, and killing the driver. Something sailed swiftly +over my head, and landed just behind the ambulance. It was a chunk of +the skull of one of the horses. The horse attached to the wagon ahead of +me went into a frenzy of fear and backed his wagon into my ambulance, +smashing the right lamp. In the twinkling of an eye, the soldiers +dispersed. Some ran into the fields. Others crouched in the wayside +ditch. A cart upset. Another bomb dropped screaming in a field and +burst; a cloud of smoke rolled away down the meadow. + +When the excitement had subsided, it was found that a soldier had been +wounded. The bodies of the horses were rolled over into the ditch, the +wreck of the wagon was dragged to the miry field, and the regiment went +on. In a very short time I got to the hospital and delivered my +convalescents. + +My way home ran through the town of S------, an ugly, overgrown village +of the Verdunois, given up to the activities of the staff directing the +battle. The headquarters building was the hôtel de ville, a large +eighteenth-century edifice, in an acre of trampled mud a little distance +from the street. Before the building flowed the great highway from +Bar-le-Duc to Verdun; relays of motor lorries went by, and gendarmes, +organized into a kind of traffic squad, stood every hundred feet or so. +The atmosphere of S------at the height of the battle was one of calm +organization; it would not have been hard to believe that the +motor-lorries and unemotional men were at the service of some great +master-work of engineering. There was something of the holiday in the +attitude of the inhabitants of the place; they watched the motor show +exactly as they might have watched a circus parade. + +"Les voilà ," said somebody. + +A little bemedaled group appeared on the steps of the hôtel de ville. +Dominating it was Joffre. Above middle height, silver-haired, elderly, +he has a certain paternal look which his eye belies; Joffre's eye is the +hard eye of a commander-in-chief, the military eye, the eye of an Old +Testament father if you will. De Castelnau was speaking, making no +gestures--an old man with an ashen skin, deep-set eye and great hooked +nose, a long cape concealed the thick, age-settled body. Poincaré stood +listening, with a look at once worried and brave, the ghost of a sad +smile lingering on a sensitive mouth. Last of all came Pétain, the +protégé of De Castelnau, who commanded at Verdun--a tall, square-built +man, not un-English in his appearance, with grizzled hair and the sober +face of a thinker. But his mouth and jaw are those of a man of action, +and the look in his gray eyes is always changing. Now it is speculative +and analytic, now steely and cold. + +In the shelter of a doorway stood a group of territorials, getting their +first real news of the battle from a Paris newspaper. I heard "Nous +avons reculé--huit kilomètres--le général Pétain--" A motor-lorry +drowned out the rest. + +That night we were given orders to be ready to evacuate the château in +case the Boches advanced. The drivers slept in the ambulances, rising at +intervals through the night to warm their engines. The buzz of the +motors sounded through the tall pines of the château park, drowning out +the rumbling of the bombardment and the monotonous roaring of the flood. +Now and then a trench light, rising like a spectral star over the lines +on the Hauts de Meuse, would shine reflected in the river. At intervals +attendants carried down the swampy paths to the chapel the bodies of +soldiers who had died during the night. The cannon flashing was +terrific. Just before dawn, half a dozen batteries of "seventy-fives" +came in a swift trot down the shelled road; the men leaned over on their +steaming horses, the harnesses rattled and jingled, and the cavalcade +swept on, outlined a splendid instant against the mortar flashes and the +streaks of day. + +On my morning trip a soldier with bandaged arm was put beside me on the +front seat. He was about forty years old; a wiry black beard gave a +certain fullness to his thin face, and his hands were pudgy and short of +finger. When he removed his helmet, I saw that he was bald. A bad cold +caused him to speak in a curious whispering tone, giving to everything +he said the character of a grotesque confidence. + +"What do you do en civil?" he asked. + +I told him. + +"I am a pastry cook," he went on; "my specialty is Saint-Denis apple +tarts." + +A marmite intended for the road landed in the river as he spoke. + +"Have you ever had one? They are very good when made with fresh cream." +He sighed. + +"How did you get wounded?" said I. + +"Éclat d'obus," he replied, as if that were the whole story. After a +pause he added, "Douaumont--yesterday." + +I thought of the shells I had seen bursting over the fort. + +"Do you put salt in chocolate?" he asked professionally. + +"Not as a rule," I replied. + +"It improves it," he pursued, as if he were revealing a confidential +dogma. "The Boche bread is bad, very bad, much worse than a year ago. +Full of crumbles and lumps. Dégoûtant!" + +The ambulance rolled up to the evacuation station, and my pastry cook +alighted. + +"When the war is over, come to my shop," he whispered benevolently, "and +you shall have some tartes aux pommes à la mode de Saint-Denis with my +wife and me." + +"With fresh cream?" I asked. + +"Of course," he replied seriously. + +I accepted gratefully, and the good old soul gave me his address. + +In the afternoon a sergeant rode with me. He was somewhere between +twenty-eight and thirty, thick-set of body, with black hair and the +tanned and ruddy complexion of outdoor folk. The high collar of a +dark-blue sweater rose over his great coat and circled a muscular +throat; his gray socks were pulled country-wise outside of the legs of +his blue trousers. He had an honest, pleasant face; there was a certain +simple, wholesome quality about the man. In the piping times of peace, +he was a cultivateur in the Valois, working his own little farm; he was +married and had two little boys. At Douaumont, a fragment of a shell had +torn open his left hand. + +"The Boches are not going to get through up there?" + +"Not now. As long as we hold the heights, Verdun is safe." His simple +French, innocent of argot, had a good country twang. "But oh, the people +killed! Comme il y a des gens tués!" He pronounced the final s of the +word gens in the manner of the Valois. + +"Ça s'accroche aux arbres," he continued. + +The vagueness of the ça had a dreadful quality in it that made you see +trees and mangled bodies. "We had to hold the crest of Douaumont under a +terrible fire, and clear the craters on the slope when the Germans tried +to fortify them. Our 'seventy-fives' dropped shells into the big craters +as I would drop stones into a pond. Pauvres gens!" + +The phrase had an earth-wide sympathy in it, a feeling that the +translation "poor folks" does not render. He had taken part in a strange +incident. There had been a terrible corps-à -corps in one of the craters +which had culminated in a victory for the French; but the lieutenant of +his company had left a kinsman behind with the dead and wounded. Two +nights later, the officer and the sergeant crawled down the dreadful +slope to the crater where the combat had taken place, in the hope of +finding the wounded man. They could hear faint cries and moans from the +crater before they got to it. The light of a pocket flash-lamp showed +them a mass of dead and wounded on the floor of the crater--"un tas de +mourants et de cadavres," as he expressed it. + +After a short search, they found the man for whom they were looking; he +was still alive but unconscious. They were dragging him out when a +German, hideously wounded, begged them to kill him. + +"Moi, je n'ai plus jambes," he repeated in French; "pitié, tuez-moi." + +He managed to make the lieutenant see that if he went away and left +them, they would all die in the agonies of thirst and open wounds. A +little flickering life still lingered in a few; there were vague râles +in the darkness. A rafale of shells fell on the slope; the violet glares +outlined the mouth of the crater. + +"Ferme tes yeux" (shut your eyes), said the lieutenant to the German. +The Frenchmen scrambled over the edge of the crater with their +unconscious burden, and then, from a little distance, threw +hand-grenades into the pit till all the moaning died away. + +Two weeks later, when the back of the attack had been broken and the +organization of the defense had developed into a trusted routine, I went +again to Verdun. The snow was falling heavily, covering the piles of +débris and sifting into the black skeletons of the burned houses. +Untrodden in the narrow streets lay the white snow. Above the Meuse, +above the ugly burned areas in the old town on the slope, rose the +shell-spattered walls of the citadel and the cathedral towers of the +still, tragic town. The drumming of the bombardment had died away. The +river was again in flood. In a deserted wine-shop on a side street well +protected from shells by a wall of sandbags was a post of territorials. + +To the tragedy of Verdun, these men were the chorus; there was something +Sophoclean in this group of older men alone in the silence and ruin of +the beleaguered city. A stove filled with wood from the wrecked houses +gave out a comfortable heat, and in an alley-way, under cover, stood a +two-wheeled hose cart, and an old-fashioned seesaw fire pump. There were +old clerks and bookkeepers among the soldier firemen--retired gendarmes +who had volunteered, a country schoolmaster, and a shrewd peasant from +the Lyonnais. Watch was kept from the heights of the citadel, and the +outbreak of fire in any part of the city was telephoned to the shop. On +that day only a few explosive shells had fallen. + +"Do you want to see something odd, mon vieux?" said one of the pompiers +to me; and he led me through a labyrinth of cellars to a cold, deserted +house. The snow had blown through the shell-splintered window-panes. In +the dining-room stood a table, the cloth was laid and the silver spread; +but a green feathery fungus had grown in a dish of food and broken +straws of dust floated on the wine in the glasses. The territorial took +my arm, his eyes showing the pleasure of my responding curiosity, and +whispered,-- + +"There were officers quartered here who were called very suddenly. I saw +the servant of one of them yesterday; they have all been killed." + +Outside there was not a flash from the batteries on the moor. The snow +continued to fall, and darkness, coming on the swift wings of the storm, +fell like a mantle over the desolation of the city. + + +The End + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12330 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1353997 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12330 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12330) diff --git a/old/12330-0.txt b/old/12330-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..185f89f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12330-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5016 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Volunteer Poilu, by Henry Sheahan + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: A Volunteer Poilu + +Author: Henry Sheahan + +Release Date: May 12, 2004 [eBook #12330] +[Most recently updated: August 17, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: A. Langley + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VOLUNTEER POILU *** + + + + +A VOLUNTEER POILU + +by Henry Sheahan + + + + +To Professor Charles Townsend Copeland of Harvard University + +Dear Copey, + +At Verdun I thought of you, and the friendly hearth of Hollis 15 seemed +very far away from the deserted, snow-swept streets of the tragic city. +Then suddenly I remembered how you had encouraged me and many others to +go over and help in any way that we could; I remembered your keen +understanding of the Epic, and the deep sympathy with human beings which +you taught those whose privilege it was to be your pupils. And so you +did not seem so far away after all, but closer to the heart of the war +than any other friend I had. + +I dedicate this book to you with grateful affection after many years of +friendship. + +Henry + + + + + +Topsfield, September, 1916 + +Preface + +I have ventured to call this book A Volunteer Poilu principally because +we were known to the soldiers of the Bois-le-Prêtre as "les Poilus +Américains." Then, too, it was my ambition to do for my comrades, the +French private soldiers, what other books have done for the soldiers of +other armies. The title chosen, however, was more than complimentary; it +was but just. In recognition of the work of the Section during the +summer, it was, in October, 1915, formally adopted into the French army; +a French officer became its administrative head, and the drivers were +given the same papers, pay, and discipline as their French comrades. + +I wish to thank many of my old friends of Section II, who have aided me +in the writing of this book. + +HENRY SHEAHAN + + + + +Contents + +I. THE ROCHAMBEAU S'EN VA-T-EN GUERRE + +A war-time voyage--The Rochambeau--Loading ammunition and food +supplies--Personalities on board--The dyestuffs agent--The machine +lathes man--The Swede from Minnesota who was on his way to the Foreign +Legion--His subsequent history--The talk aboard--The French officer--His +philosophy of war--Ernest Psichari--Arrival at Bordeaux--The Arabs at +the docks--The convalescent soldiers-- Across La Beauce--The French +countryside in war-time. + + +II. AN UNKNOWN PARIS IN THE NIGHT AND RAIN. + +Paris, rain, and darkness--The Gardens of the Tuileries--The +dormitory--The hospital at night--Beginning of the Champagne +offensive--The Gare de la Chapelle at two in the morning--The +wounded--The Zouave stretcher-bearers--The Arabs in the abandoned +school--Suburban Paris at dawn--The home of the deaconesses. + + +III. THE GREAT SWATHE OF THE LINES + +Nancy--The porter's story--Getting to the front--What the phrase "the +front" really means--The sense of the front--The shell zone--The zone of +quiet--My quarters in the shelled house--The fire shells--Bombarded at +night--Death of the soldier fireman. + + +IV. LA FORET DE BOIS-LE-PRETRE + +Le Bois-le-Prêtre--Description--History--Les Glycines, "Wisteria +Villa"--The Road to the trenches--At the trenches--The painter's idea of +"le sinistre dans l'art"--The sign post--The zone of violence--The +Quart-en-Réserve--The village caught in the torment of the lines--The +dead on the barbed wire--"The Road to Metz." + + +V. THE TRENCHES IN THE "WOOD OF DEATH." + +The Trenches--Organization--Nature of the war--Food, shelters, clothing, +ammunition, etc.--A typical day in the trenches--Trench shells or +"crapouilots"--In the abri--The tunnel--The doctrinaire lieutenant of +engineers. + + +VI. THE GERMANS ATTACK + +The piano at Montauville--An interrupted concert--At the Quart--The +battle for the ridge of the Wood--Fall of the German +aeroplane--Psychology of the men in the trenches--Religion in the +trenches-- + + +VII. THE TOWN IN THE TRENCHES + +Poor old "Pont"--Description of the town--A civilian's story--The house +of the Captain of the Papal Zouaves--Church of St. Laurent--The Cemetery +and its guardian. + + +VIII. MESSIEURS LES POILUS DE LA GRANDE GUERRE + +En repos--A village of troops--Manners and morals--The concert--journal +of the Bois-le-Prêtre--Various poilus. + + +IX. PREPARING THE DEFENSE OF VERDUN + +En permission--State of France--The France of 1905 and the France of +1915--The class of 1917--Bar-le-Duc--The air raid--Called to Verdun. + + +X. THE GREAT DAYS OF VERDUN + +Verdun in 1912--Verdun on the night of the first great attack--The +hospital--The shelled cross road--The air shell--The pastry cook's +story--The cultivateur of the Valois and the crater at Douaumont--The +pompiers of Verdun--"Do you want to see an odd sight?"--Verdun in storm +and desolation. + + + + + + +A Volunteer Poilu + +Chapter I + +The Rochambeau S'en Va-t-en Guerre + +Moored alongside a great two-storied pier, with her bow to the land, the +cargo and passenger boat, Rochambeau, of the Compagnie Générale was +being loaded with American supplies for the France of the Great War. A +hot August sun struck spots and ripples of glancing radiance from the +viscous, oily surface of the foul basin in which she lay inert; the air +was full of sounds, the wheezing of engines, the rattling of cog-checks, +and the rumble of wheels and hoofs which swept, in sultry puffs of noise +and odor, from the pavements on the land. Falling from the exhausts, a +round, silvery-white cascade poured into the dark lane between the wharf +and the deck, and sounded a monotonous, roaring underchord to the +intermingled dins. At the sun-bathed bow, a derrick gang lowered bags of +flour into the open well of the hold; there were commands in French, a +chugging, and a hissing of steam, and a giant's clutch of dusty, +hundred-kilo flour-bags from Duluth would swing from the wharf to the +Rochambeau, sink, and disappear. In some way the unfamiliar language, +and the sight of the thickset, French sailor-men, so evidently all of +one race, made the Rochambeau, moored in the shadow of the sky-scrapers, +seem mysteriously alien. But among the workers in the hold, who could be +seen when they stood on the floor of the open hatchway, was a young, +red-headed, American longshoreman clad in the trousers part of a suit of +brown-check overalls; sweat and grime had befouled his rather foolish, +freckled face, and every time that a bunch of flour-bags tumbled to the +floor of the well, he would cry to an invisible somebody--"More +dynamite, Joe, more dynamite!" + +Walking side by side, like ushers in a wedding procession, two of the +ship's officers made interminable rounds of the deck. Now and then they +stopped and looked over the rail at the loading operations, and once in +low tones they discussed the day's communiqué. "Pas grand' chose" +(nothing of importance), said he whom I took to be the elder, a bearded, +seafaring kind of man. "We have occupied a crater in the Argonne, and +driven back a German patrol (une patrouille Boche) in the region of +Nomény." The younger, blond, pale, with a wispy yellow mustache, +listened casually, his eyes fixed on the turbulence below. The derrick +gang were now stowing away clusters of great wooden boxes marked the +Something Arms Company. "My brother says that American bullets are +filled with powder of a very good quality" (d'une très bonne qualité), +remarked the latter. "By the way, how is your brother?" asked the +bearded man. "Very much better," answered the other; "the last fragment +(éclat) was taken out of his thigh just before we left Bordeaux." They +continued their walk, and three little French boys wearing English +sailor hats took their places at the rail. + +As the afternoon advanced, a yellow summer sun, sinking to a level with +the upper fringes of the city haze, gave a signal for farewells; and +little groups retired to quieter corners for good-byes. There was a good +deal of worrying about submarines; one heard fragments of +conversations--"They never trouble the Bordeaux route"--"Absolutely +safe, je t'assure"; and in the accents of Iowa the commanding advice, +"Now, don't worry!" "Good-bye, Jim! Good-bye, Maggie!" cried a rotund, +snappy American drummer, and was answered with cheery, honest wishes for +"the success of his business." Two young Americans with the same +identical oddity of gait walked to and fro, and a little black +Frenchman, with a frightful star-shaped scar at the corner of his mouth, +paraded lonelily. A middle-aged French woman, rouged and dyed back to +the thirties, and standing in a nimbus of perfume, wept at the going of +a younger woman, and ruined an elaborate make-up with grotesque +traceries of tears. "Give him my love," she sobbed; "tell him that the +business is doing splendidly and that he is not to buy any of Lafitte's +laces next time he goes to Paris en permission." A little later, the +Rochambeau, with slow majesty, backed into the channel, and turned her +bow to the east. + +The chief interest of the great majority of her passengers was +commercial; there were American drummers keen to line their pockets with +European profits; there were French commis voyageurs who had been +selling articles of French manufacture which had formerly been made by +the Germans; there were half-official persons who had been on missions +to American ammunition works; and there was a diplomat or two. From the +sample trunks on board you could have taken anything from a pair of +boots to a time fuse. Altogether, an interesting lot. Palandeau, a +middle-aged Frenchman with a domed, bald forehead like Socrates or +Verlaine, had been in America selling eau-de-cologne. + +"Then you are getting out something new?" I asked. + +"Yes, and no," he answered. "Our product is the old-fashioned +eau-de-cologne water with the name 'Farina' on it." + +"But in America we associate eau-de-cologne with the Germans," said I. +"Doesn't the bottle say 'Johann Maria Farina'? Surely the form of the +name is German." + +"But that was not his name, monsieur; he was a Frenchman, and called +himself 'Jean Marie.' Yes, really, the Germans stole the manufacture +from the French. Consider the name of the article, 'eau-de-cologne,' is +not that French?" + +"Yes," I admitted. + +"Alors," said Palandeau; "the blocus has simply given us the power to +reclaim trade opportunities justly ours. Therefore we have printed a new +label telling the truth about Farina, and the Boche 'Johann Maria' is +'kapout.'" + +"Do you sell much of it?" + +"Quantities! Our product is superior to the Boche article, and has the +glamour of an importation. I await the contest without uneasiness." + +"What contest?" + +"When Jean Marie meets Johann Maria--après la guerre," said Palandeau +with a twinkle in his eye. + +In the deck chair next to mine sat a dark, powerfully built young Iowan +with the intensely masculine head of a mediaeval soldier. There was a +bit of curl to the dark-brown hair which swept his broad, low forehead, +his brown eyes were devoid of fear or imagination, his jaw was set, and +the big, aggressive head rested on a short, muscular neck. He had been a +salesman of machine tools till the "selling end" came to a standstill. + +"But didn't the munitions traffic boom the machine-tool industry?" I +asked. + +"Sure it did. You ought to have seen what people will do to get a lathe. +You know about all that you need to make shells is a machine lathe. You +can't get a lathe in America for love or money--for anything"--he made a +swift, complete gesture--"all making shells. There isn't a junk factory +in America that hasn't been pawed over by guys looking for lathes--and +my God! what prices! Knew a bird named Taylor who used to make water +pipes in Utica, New York--had a stinking little lathe he paid two +hundred dollars for, and sold it last year for two thousand. My firm had +so many orders for months ahead that it didn't pay them to have +salesmen--so they offered us jobs inside; but, God, I can't stand indoor +work, so I thought I'd come over here and get into the war. I used to be +in the State Cavalry. You ought to have seen how sore all those Iowa +Germans were on me for going," he laughed. "Had a hell of row with a guy +named Schultz." + +Limping slightly, an enormous, grizzled man approached us and sat down +by the side of the ex-machinist. Possibly a yellow-gray suit, cut in the +bathrobe American style, made him look larger than he was, and though +heavily built and stout, there was something about him which suggested +ill health. One might have thought him a prosperous American business +man on his way to Baden-Baden. He had a big nose, big mouth, a hard eye, +and big, freckled hands which he nervously opened and closed. + +"See that feller over there?" He pointed to a spectacled individual who +seemed lost in melancholy speculation at the rail--"Says he's a Belgian +lieutenant. Been over here trying to get cloth. Says he can't get it, +the firms over here haven't got the colors. Just think of it, there +isn't a pound of Bernheim's blue in the whole country!" + +"I thought we were beginning to make dyes of our own," said the Iowan. + +"Oh, yes, but we haven't got the hang of it yet. The product is pretty +poor. Most of the people who need dyes are afraid to use the American +colors, but they've got to take what they can get. Friend of mine, Lon +Seeger, of Seeger, Seeger & Hall, the carpet people in Hackensack, had +twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of mats spoiled on him last week by +using home dyes." + +The Belgian lieutenant, still standing by the rail, was talking with +another passenger, and some fragments of the conversation drifted to our +ears. I caught the words--"My sister--quite unexpected--barely +escaped--no doubt of it--I myself saw near Malines--perfectly +dreadful--tout-à -fait terrible." + +"Twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of mats all spoiled, colors ran, +didn't set, no good. This war is raising the devil with the United +States textiles. Maybe the Germans won't get a glad hand when they come +back. We hear that they're going to flood the market with good, +low-priced dyes so as to bust up the new American plants. Haven't you +heard them hollerin' for tariff protection? I'm going over to look up a +new green dye the French are getting out. We hear it's pretty good +stuff. What are you boys doing, looking for contracts?" + +The Iowan replied that he hoped to get into an English cavalry regiment, +and I mentioned the corps I had joined. + +"Well, don't get killed," exclaimed the dye-stuffs agent paternally, and +settled down in his chair for a nap. + +It was the third day out; the ocean was still the salty green color of +the American waters, and big, oily, unrippled waves were rising and +falling under the August sun. From the rail I saw coming toward us over +the edge of the earth, a small tramp steamer marked with two white +blotches which, as the vessel neared, resolved themselves into painted +reproductions of the Swedish flag. Thus passed the Thorvald, carrying a +mark of the war across the lonely seas. + +"That's a Swedish boat," said a voice at my elbow. + +"Yes," I replied. + +A boy about eighteen or nineteen, with a fine, clear complexion, a downy +face, yellow hair, and blue eyes, was standing beside me. There was +something psychologically wrong with his face; it had that look in it +which makes you want to see if you still have your purse. + +"We see that flag pretty often out in Minnesota," he continued. + +"What's your name?" I asked. + +"Oscar Petersen," he answered. + +"Going over to enlist?" I hazarded. + +"You bet," he replied--and an instant later--"Are you?" + +I told him of my intention. Possibly because we were in for the same +kind of experience he later became communicative. He had run away from +home at the age of fourteen, spent his sixteenth year in a reform +school, and the rest of his time as a kind of gangster in Chicago. I +can't imagine a more useless existence than the one he revealed. At +length he "got sick of the crowd and got the bug to go to war," as he +expressed it, and wrote to his people to tell them he was starting, but +received no answer. "My father was a Bible cuss," he remarked +cheerfully,--"never got over my swiping the minister's watch." + +A Chicago paper had printed his picture and a "story" about his going to +enlist in the Foreign Legion--"popular young man very well known in +the--th ward," said the article. He showed me, too, an extraordinary +letter he had received via the newspaper, a letter written in pencil on +the cheapest, shabbiest sheet of ruled note-paper, and enclosing five +dollars. "I hope you will try to avenge the Lusitania," it said among +other things. The letter was signed by a woman. + +"Do you speak French?" I asked. + +"Not a word," he replied. "I want to be put with the Americans or the +Swedes. I speak good Swedish." + +Months later, on furlough, I saw in a hospital at Lyons a college +classmate who had served in the Foreign Legion. "Did you know a fellow +named Petersen?" I asked. + +"Yes, I knew him," answered my friend; "he lifted a fifty-franc note +from me and got killed before I could get it back." + +"How did it happen?" + +"Went through my pockets, I imagine." + +"Oh, no, I meant how did he get killed?" "Stray shell sailed in as we +were going through a village, and caught him and two of the other boys." + +"You must not make your friend talk too much," mumbled an old Sister of +Charity rather crossly. + +The two young men with the same identical oddity of gait were salesmen +of artificial legs, each one a wearer and demonstrator of his wares. The +first, from Ohio, had lost his leg in a railroad accident two years +before, and the second, a Virginian with a strong accent, had been done +for in a motor-car smashup. One morning the man from Ohio gave us a kind +of danse macabre on the deck; rolling his trouser leg high above his +artificial shin, he walked, leaped, danced, and ran. "Can you beat +that?" he asked with pardonable pride. "Think what these will mean to +the soldiers." Meanwhile, with slow care, the Virginian explained the +ingenious mechanism. + +Strange tatters of conversation rose from the deck. "Poor child, she +lost her husband at the beginning of the war"--"Third shipment of +hosses"--"I was talking with a feller from the Atlas Steel +Company"--"Edouard is somewhere near Arras"; there were disputes about +the outcome of the war, and arguments over profits. A voluble French +woman, whose husband was a pastry cook in a New York hotel before he +joined the forces, told me how she had wandered from one war movie to +another hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband, and had finally seen +"some one who resembled him strongly" on the screen in Harlem. She had a +picture of him, a thin, moody fellow with great, saber whiskers like +Rostand's and a high, narrow forehead curving in on the sides between +the eyebrows and the hair. "He is a Chasseur alpin," she said with a +good deal of pride, "and they are holding his place for him at the +hotel. He was wounded last month in the shoulder. I am going to the +hospital at Lyons to see him." The day's sunset was at its end, and a +great mass of black clouds surged over the eastern horizon, turning the +seas ahead to a leaden somberness that lowered in menacing contrast to +the golden streaks of dying day. The air freshened, salvos of rain fell +hissing into the dark waters, and violet cords of lightning leaped +between sea and sky. Echoing thunder rolled long through unseen abysses. +In the deserted salon I found the young Frenchman with the star-shaped +scar reading an old copy of "La Revue." He had been an officer in the +Chasseurs-à -pied until a fearful wound had incapacitated him for further +service, and had then joined the staff of a great, conservative Parisian +weekly. The man was a disciple of Ernest Psichari, the soldier mystic +who died so superbly at Charleroi in the dreadful days before the Marne. +From him I learned something of the French conception of the idea of +war. It was not uninteresting to compare the French point of view with +the German, and we talked late into the night while the ship was +plunging through the storm. An article in the review, "La Psychologie +des Barbares," was the starting-point of our conversation. + +"You must remember that the word 'barbarian' which we apply to the +Germans, is understood by the French intellectually," said he. "Not only +do German atrocities seem barbarous, but their thought also. Consider +the respective national conceptions of the idea of war. To the Germans, +war is an end in itself, and in itself and in all its effects perfect +and good. To the French mind, this conception of war is barbaric, for +war is not good in itself and may be fatal to both victor and +vanquished." (He spoke a beautiful, lucid French with a sort of military +preciseness.) + +"It was Ernest Psichari who revealed to us the raison d'être of arms in +modern life, and taught us the meaning of war. To him, war was no savage +ruée, but the discipline of history for which every nation must be +prepared, a terrible discipline neither to be sought, nor rejected when +proffered. Thus the Boches, once their illusion of the glory of war is +smashed, have nothing to fall back on, but the French point of view is +stable and makes for a good morale. Psichari was the intellectual leader +of that movement for the regeneration of the army which has saved +France. When the doctrines of pacificism began to be preached in France, +and cries of 'A bas l'armée' were heard in the streets, Psichari showed +that the army was the only institution left in our industrialized world +with the old ideals and the power to teach them. Quand on a tout dit, +the military ideals of honor, duty, and sacrifice of one's all for the +common good are the fundamentals of. character. Psichari turned this +generation from a generation of dreamers to a generation of soldiers, +knowing why they were soldiers, glad to be soldiers. The army saved the +morale of France when the Church had lost its hold, and the public +schools had been delivered to the creatures of sentimental doctrinaire +government. Was it not a pity that Psichari should have died so young?" + +"Did you know him?" I asked. + +"Yes; I saw something of him in Africa. The mystery of the East had +profoundly stirred him. He was a dark, serious fellow with something of +the profile of his grandfather, Ernest Renan. At Charleroi, after an +heroic stand, he and every man of his squad died beside the guns they +served." + +Long after, at the Bois-le-Prêtre, I went to the trenches to get a young +sergeant. His friends had with clumsy kindness gathered together his +little belongings and put them in the ambulance. "As tu trouvé mon +livre?" (Have you found my book?) he asked anxiously, and they tossed +beside the stretcher a trench-mired copy of Psichari's "L'Appel des +Armes." + +One morning, just at dawn, we drew near a low, sandy coast, and anchored +at the mouth of the great estuary of the Gironde. A spindly lighthouse +was flashing, seeming more to reflect the sunlight from outside than to +be burning within, and a current the color of coffee and cream with a +dash of vermilion in it, went by us mottled with patches of floating +mud. From the deck one had an extraordinary view, a ten-mile sweep of +the strangely colored water, the hemisphere of the heavens all of one +greenish-blue tint, and a narrow strip of nondescript, sandy coast +suspended somehow between the strange sea and unlovely sky. At noon, the +Rochambeau began at a good speed her journey up the river, passing +tile-roofed villages and towns built of pumice-gray stone, and great +flat islands covered with acres upon acres of leafy, bunchy vines. There +was a scurry to the rail; some one cried, "Voilà des Boches," and I saw +working in a vineyard half a dozen men in gray-green German regimentals. +A poilu in a red cap was standing nonchalantly beside them. As the +Rochambeau, following the channel, drew incredibly close to the bank, +the Germans leaned on their hoes and watched us pass, all save one, who +continued to hoe industriously round the roots of the vines, ignoring us +with a Roman's disdain. "Comme ils sont laids" (How ugly they are), said +a voice. There was no surprise in the tone, which expressed the expected +confirmation of a past judgment. It was the pastry cook's voluble wife +who had spoken. The land through which we were passing, up to that time +simply the pleasant countryside of the Bordelais, turned in an instant +to the France of the Great War. + +Late in the afternoon, the river, slowly narrowing, turned a great bend, +and the spires of Bordeaux, violet-gray in the smoky rose of early +twilight, were seen just ahead. A broad, paved, dirty avenue, with the +river on one side and a row of shabby houses on the other, led from the +docks to the city, and down this street, marching with Oriental dignity, +came a troop of Arabs. There was a picture of a fat sous-officier +leading, of brown-white rags and mantles waving in the breeze blowing +from the harbor, of lean, muscular, black-brown legs, and dark, +impassive faces. "Algerian recruits," said an officer of the boat. It +was a first glimpse at the universality of the war; it held one's mind +to realize that while some were quitting their Devon crofts, others were +leaving behind them the ancestral well at the edges of the ancient +desert. A faint squeaking of strange pipes floated on the twilight air. + +There came an official examination of our papers, done in a businesslike +way, the usual rumpus of the customs, and we were free to land in +France. That evening a friend and I had dinner in a great café opening +on the principal square in Bordeaux, and tried to analyze the difference +between the Bordeaux of the past and the Bordeaux of the war. The ornate +restaurant, done in a kind of Paris Exhibition style, and decorated with +ceiling frescoes of rosy, naked Olympians floating in golden mists and +sapphire skies, was full of movement and light, crowds passed by on the +sidewalks, there were sounds--laughter. + +"Looks just the same to me," said my friend, an American journalist who +had been there in 1912. "Of course there are more soldiers. Outside of +that, and a lack of taxicabs and motorcars, the town has not changed." + +But there was a difference, and a great difference. There was a terrible +absence of youth. Not that youth was entirely absent from the tables and +the trottoirs; it was visible, putty-faced and unhealthy-looking, afraid +to meet the gaze of a man in uniform, the pitiable jeunesse that could +not pass the physical examination of the army. Most of the other young +men who bent over the tables talking, or leaned back on a divan to smoke +cigarettes, were strangers, and I saw many who were unquestionably +Roumanians or Greeks. A little apart, at a corner table, a father and +mother were dining with a boy in a uniform much too large for him;--I +fancied from the cut of his clothes that he belonged to a young squad +still under instruction in the garrisons, and that he was enjoying a +night off with his family. Screened from the rest by a clothes rack, a +larky young lieutenant was discreetly conversing with a "daughter of +joy," and an elderly English officer, severely proper and correct, was +reading "Punch" and sipping red wine in Britannic isolation. Across the +street an immense poster announced, "Conference in aid of the Belgian +Red Cross--the German Outrages in Louvain, Malines, and +Liège--illustrated." + +We finished our dinner, which was good and not costly, and started to +walk to our hotel. Hardly had we turned the corner of the Place, when +the life of Bordeaux went out like a torch extinguished by the wind. It +was still early in the evening, there was a sound of an orchestra +somewhere behind, yet ahead of us, lonely and still, with its shops +closed and its sidewalks deserted, was one of the greater streets of +Bordeaux. Through the drawn curtains of second stories over little +groceries and baker-shops shone the yellow light of lamps. What had +happened to the Jean, Paul, and Pierre of this dark street since the war +began? What tragedies of sorrow and loneliness might these silent +windows not conceal? And every French city is much the same; one notices +in them all the subtle lack of youth, and the animation of the great +squares in contrast to the somber loneliness of streets and quarters +which once were alive and gay. At the Place de l'Opéra in Paris, the +whirlpool of Parisian life is still turning, but the great streets +leading away from the Place de l'Étoile are quiet. Young and old, +laborer and shopkeeper, boulevardier and apache are far away holding the +tragic lines. + +The next morning at the station, I had my first glimpse of that mighty +organization which surrounds the militaire. There was a special entrance +for soldiers and a special exit for soldiers, and at both of these a +long file of blue-clad poilus waited for the countersigning of their +furlough slips and military tickets. The mud of the trenches still +stained the bottom edges of their overcoats, and their steel helmets +were dented and dull. There was something fine about the faces +collectively; there was a certain look of tried endurance and perils +bravely borne. I heard those on furlough telling the names of their home +villages to the officer in charge,--pleasant old names, Saint-Pierre aux +Vignes, La Tour du Roi. + +A big, obese, middle-aged civilian dressed in a hideous greenish suit, +and wearing a pancake cap, sat opposite me in the compartment I had +chosen. There was a hard, unfriendly look in his large, fat-encircled +eyes, a big mustache curved straight out over his lips, and the short +finger nails of his square, puffy fingers were deeply rimmed with dirt. +He caught sight of me reading a copy of an English weekly, and after +staring at me with an interest not entirely free from a certain +hostility, retreated behind the pages of the "Matin," and began picking +his teeth. Possibly he belonged to that provincial and prejudiced +handful to whom England will always be "Perfidious Albion," or else he +took me for an English civilian dodging military service. The French +press was following the English recruiting campaign very closely, and +the system of volunteer service was not without its critics. +"Conscription being considered in England" (On discute la conscription +en Angleterre), announced the "Matin" discreetly. + +It was high noon; the train had arrived at Angoulême, and was taking +aboard a crowd of convalescents. On the station platform, their faces +relentlessly illumined by the brilliant light, stood about thirty +soldiers; a few were leaning on canes, one was without a right arm, some +had still the pallor of the sick, others seemed able-bodied and hearty. +Every man wore on the bosom of his coat about half a dozen little +aluminum medals dangling from bows of tricolor ribbon. "Pour les +blessés, s'il vous plaît," cried a tall young woman in the costume and +blue cape of a Red-Cross nurse as she walked along the platform shaking +a tin collection box under the windows of the train. + +To our compartment came three of the convalescents. One was a sturdy, +farmhand sort of fellow, with yellow hair and a yellow mustache--the +kind of man who might have been a Norman; he wore khaki puttees, brown +corduroy trousers, and a jacket which fitted his heavy, vigorous figure +rather snugly. Another was a little soul dressed in the "blue horizon" +from head to foot, a homely little soul with an egg-shaped head, +brown-green eyes, a retreating chin, and irregular teeth. The last, +wearing the old tenue, black jacket and red trousers, was a good-looking +fellow with rather handsome brown eyes. Comfortably stretched in a +corner, the Norman was deftly cutting slices of bread and meat which he +offered to his companions. Catching sight of my English paper, all three +stared at me with an interest and friendliness that was in psychological +contrast to the attitude of the obese civilian. + +"Anglais?" asked the Norman. + +The civilian watched for my answer. + +"Non--Américain," I replied. + +"Tiens," they said politely. + +"Do you speak English?" asked the homely one. + +"Yes," I answered. + +The Norman fished a creased dirty letter and a slip of paper from his +wallet and handed them to me for inspection. + +"I found them in a trench we shared with the English," he explained. +"These puttees are English; a soldier gave them to me." He exhibited his +legs with a good deal of satisfaction. + +I examined the papers that had been given me. The first was a medical +prescription for an anti-lice ointment and the second an illiterate +letter extremely difficult to decipher, mostly about somebody whom the +writer was having trouble to manage, "now that you aren't here." I +translated as well as I could for an attentive audience. "Toujours les +totos," they cried merrily when I explained the prescription. A spirit +of good-fellowship pervaded the compartment, till even the suspicious +civilian unbent, and handed round post-card photographs of his two sons +who were somewhere en Champagne. Not a one of the three soldiers could +have been much over twenty-one, but they were not boys, but men, serious +men, tried and disciplined by war. The homely one gave me one of his +many medals which he wore "to please the good Sisters"; on one side in +an oval of seven stars was the Virgin Mary, and on the other, the +determined features of General Joffre. + +Just at sundown we crossed the great plain of La Beauce. Distant +villages and pointed spires stood silhouetted in violet-black against +the burning midsummer sky and darkness was falling upon the sweeping +golden plain. We passed hamlet after hamlet closed and shuttered, though +the harvests had been gathered and stacked. There was something very +tragic in those deserted, outlying farms. The train began to rattle +through the suburbs of Paris. By the window stood the Norman looking out +on the winking red and violet lights of the railroad yard. "This Paris?" +he asked. "I never expected to see Paris. How the war sets one to +traveling!" + + + + +Chapter 2 + +An Unknown Paris in the Night and Rain + + + +It was Sunday morning, the bells were ringing to church, and I was +strolling in the gardens of the Tuileries. A bright morning sun was +drying the dewy lawns and the wet marble bodies of the gods and +athletes, the leaves on the trees were falling, and the French autumn, +so slow, so golden, and so melancholy, had begun. At the end of the +mighty vista of the Champs Élysées, the Arc de Triomphe rose, brown and +vaporous in the exhalations of the quiet city, and an aeroplane was +maneuvering over the Place de la Concorde, a moving speck of white and +silver in the soft, September blue. From a near-by Punch and Judy show +the laughter of little children floated down the garden in outbursts of +treble shrillness. "Villain, monster, scoundrel," squeaked a voice. +Flopped across the base of the stage, the arms hanging downwards, was a +prostrate doll which a fine manikin in a Zouave's uniform belabored with +a stick; suddenly it stirred, and, with a comic effect, lifted its +puzzled, wooden head to the laughing children. Beneath a little Prussian +helmet was the head of William of Germany, caricatured with Parisian +skill into a scowling, green fellow with a monster black mustache turned +up to his eyes. "Lie down!" cried the Zouave doll imperiously. "Here is +a love pat for thee from a French Zouave, my big Boche." And he struck +him down again with his staff. + +Soldiers walked in the garden,--permissionnaires (men on furlough) out +for an airing with their rejoicing families, smart young English +subalterns, and rosy-fleshed, golden-haired Flemings of the type that +Rubens drew. But neither their presence nor the sight of an occasional +mutilé (soldier who has lost a limb), pathetically clumsy on his new +crutches, quite sent home the presence of the war. The normal life of +the city was powerful enough to engulf the disturbance, the theaters +were open, there were the same crowds on the boulevards, and the same +gossipy spectators in the sidewalk cafés. After a year of war the +Parisians were accustomed to soldiers, cripples, and people in mourning. +The strongest effect of the war was more subtle of definition, it was a +change in the temper of the city. Since the outbreak of the war, the +sham Paris that was "Gay Paree" had disappeared, and the real Paris, the +Paris of tragic memories and great men, had taken its place. An old +Parisian explained the change to me in saying, "Paris has become more +French." Deprived of the foreigner, the city adapted itself to a taste +more Gallic; faced with the realities of war, it exchanged its +artificiality for that sober reasonableness which is the normal attitude +of the nation. + +At noon I left the garden and strolled down the Champs Élysées to the +Porte Maillot. The great salesrooms of the German motor-car dealers had +been given by the Government to a number of military charities who had +covered the trade signs with swathes and rosettes of their national +colors. Under the banner of the Belgians, in the quondam hop of the +Mercedes, was an exhibition of leather knickknacks, baskets, and dolls +made by the blind and mutilated soldiers. The articles--children's toys +for the most part, dwarfs that rolled over and over on a set of parallel +bars, Alsatian lasses with flaxen hair, and gay tops--were exposed on a +row of tables a few feet back from the window. By the Porte Maillot, +some of the iron saw-horses with sharpened points, which had formed part +of the barricade built there in the days of the Great Retreat, lay, a +villainous, rusty heap, in a grassy ditch of the city wall; a few stumps +of the trees that had been then cut down were still visible, and from a +railroad tie embedded in the sidewalk hung six links of a massive chain. +Through this forgotten flotsam on the great shore of the war, the quiet +crowds went in and out of the Maillot entrance to the Bois de Boulogne. +There was a sense of order and security in the air. I took a seat on the +terrace of a little restaurant. The garçon was a small man in the +fifties, inclined to corpulence, with a large head, large, blue-gray +eyes, purplish lips, and blue-black hair cut pompadour. As we watched +the orderly, Sunday crowds going to the great park, we fell into +conversation about the calmness of Paris. "Yes, it is calm," he said; +"we are all waiting (nous attendons). We know that the victory will be +ours at the finish. But all we can do is to wait. I have two sons at the +front." He had struck the keynote. Paris is calmly waiting--waiting for +the end of the war, for victory, for the return of her children. + +Yet in this great, calm city, with its vaporous browns and slaty blues, +and its characteristic acrid smell of gasoline fumes, was another Paris, +a terrible Paris, which I was that night to see. Early in the afternoon +a dull haze of leaden clouds rose in the southwest. It began to rain. + +In a great garret of the hospital, under a high French roof, was the +dormitory of the volunteers attached to the Paris Ambulance Section. At +night, this great space was lit by only one light, a battered electric +reading-lamp standing on a kind of laboratory table in the center of the +floor, and window curtains of dark-blue cambric, waving mysteriously in +the night wind, were supposed to hide even this glimmer from the eyes of +raiding Zeppelins. Looking down, early in the evening, into the great +quadrangle of the institution, one saw the windows of the opposite wing +veiled with this mysterious blue, and heard all the feverish unrest of a +hospital, the steps on the tiled corridors, the running of water in the +bathroom taps, the hard clatter of surgical vessels, and sometimes the +cry of a patient having a painful wound dressed. But late at night the +confused murmur of the battle between life and death had subsided, the +lights in the wards were extinguished, and only the candle of the night +nurse, seen behind a screen, and the stertorous breathing of the many +sleepers, brought back the consciousness of human life. I have often +looked into the wards as I returned from night calls to the station +where we received the wounded, and been conscious, as I peered silently +into that flickering obscurity, of the vague unrest of sleepers, of the +various attitudes assumed, the arms outstretched, the upturned throats, +and felt, too, in the still room, the mystic presence of the Angel of +Pain. + +It was late at night, and I stood looking out of my window over the +roofs of Neuilly to the great, darkened city just beyond. From somewhere +along the tracks of the "Little Belt" railway came a series of piercing +shrieks from a locomotive whistle. It was raining hard, drumming on the +slate roof of the dormitory, and somewhere below a gutter gurgled +foolishly. Far away in the corridor a gleam of yellow light shone from +the open door of an isolation room where a nurse was watching by a +patient dying of gangrene. Two comrades who had been to the movies at +the Gaumont Palace near the Place Clichy began to talk in sibilant +whispers of the evening's entertainment, and one of them said, "That war +film was a corker; did you spot the big cuss throwing the grenades?" +"Yuh, damn good," answered the other pulling his shirt over his head. It +was a strange crew that inhabited these quarters; there were idealists, +dreamers, men out of work, simple rascals and adventurers of all kinds. +To my right slept a big, young Westerner, from some totally unknown +college in Idaho, who was a humanitarian enthusiast to the point of +imbecility, and to the left a middle-aged rogue who indulged in secret +debauches of alcohol and water he cajoled from the hospital orderlies. +Yet this obscure and motley community was America's contribution to +France. I fell asleep. + +"Up, birds!" + +The lieutenant of the Paris Section, a mining engineer with a +picturesque vocabulary of Nevadan profanity, was standing in his pajama +trousers at the head of the room, holding a lantern in his hand. "Up, +birds!" he called again. "Call's come in for Lah Chapelle." There were +uneasy movements under the blankets, inmates of adjoining beds began to +talk to each other, and some lit their bedside candles. The chief went +down both sides of the dormitory, flashing his lantern before each bed, +ragging the sleepy. "Get up, So-and-So. Well, I must say, Pete, you have +a hell of a nerve." There were glimpses of candle flames, bare bodies +shivering in the damp cold, and men sitting on beds, winding on their +puttees. "Gee! listen to it rain," said somebody. "What time is it?" +"Twenty minutes past two." Soon the humming and drumming of the motors +in the yard sounded through the roaring of the downpour. + +Down in the yard I found Oiler, my orderly, and our little Ford +ambulance, number fifty-three. One electric light, of that sickly yellow +color universal in France, was burning over the principal entrance to +the hospital, just giving us light enough to see our way out of the +gates. Down the narrow, dark Boulevard Inkerman we turned, and then out +on to a great street which led into the "outer" boulevard of De +Batignolles and Clichy. To that darkness with which the city, in fear of +raiding aircraft, has hidden itself, was added the continuous, pouring +rain. In the light of our lamps, the wet, golden trees of the black, +silent boulevards shone strangely, and the illuminated advertising +kiosks which we passed, one after the other at the corners of great +streets, stood lonely and drenched, in the swift, white touch of our +radiance. Black and shiny, the asphalt roadway appeared to go on in a +straight line forever and forever. + +Neither in residential, suburban Neuilly nor in deserted Montmartre was +there a light to be seen, but when we drew into the working quarter of +La Chapelle, lights appeared in the windows, as if some toiler of the +night was expected home or starting for his labor, and vague forms, +battling with the rain or in refuge under the awning of a café, were now +and then visible. From the end of the great, mean rue de La Chapelle the +sounds of the unrest of the railroad yards began to be heard, for this +street leads to the freight-houses near the fortifications. Our +objective was a great freight station which the Government, some months +before, had turned into a receiving-post for the wounded; it lay on the +edge of the yard, some distance in from the street, behind a huddle of +smaller sheds and outbuildings. To our surprise the rue de La Chapelle +was strewn with ambulances rushing from the station, and along two sides +of the great yard, where the merchandise trucks had formerly turned in, +six or seven hundred more ambulances were waiting. We turned out of the +dark, rain-swept city into this hurly-burly of shouts, snorting of +engines, clashing of gears, and whining of brakes, illuminated with a +thousand intermeshing beams of headlights across whose brilliance the +rain fell in sloping, liquid rods. "Quick, a small car this way!" cried +some one in an authoritative tone, and number fifty-three ran up an +inclined plane into the enormous shed which had been reserved for the +loading of the wounded into the ambulances. + +We entered a great, high, white-washed, warehouse kind of place, about +four hundred feet long by four hundred feet wide, built of wood +evidently years before. In the middle of this shed was an open space, +and along the walls were rows of ambulances. Brancardiers +(stretcher-bearers; from brancard, a stretcher) were loading wounded +into these cars, and as soon as one car was filled, it would go out of +the hall and another would take its place. There was an infernal din; +the place smelled like a stuffy garage, and was full of blue gasoline +fumes; and across this hurly-burly, which was increasing every minute, +were carried the wounded, often nothing but human bundles of dirty blue +cloth and fouled bandages. Every one of these wounded soldiers was +saturated with mud, a gray-white mud that clung moistly to their +overcoats, or, fully dry, colored every part of the uniform with its +powder. One saw men that appeared to have rolled over and over in a +puddle bath of this whitish mud, and sometimes there was seen a sinister +mixture of blood and mire. There is nothing romantic about a wounded +soldier, for his condition brings a special emphasis on our human +relation to ordinary meat. Dirty, exhausted, unshaven, smelling of the +trenches, of his wounds, and of the antiseptics on his wounds, the +soldier comes from the train a sight for which only the great heart of +Francis of Assisi could have adequate pity. + +Oiler and I went through an opening in a canvas partition into that part +of the great shed where the wounded were being unloaded from the trains. +In width, this part measured four hundred feet, but in length it ran to +eight hundred. In two rows of six each, separated by an aisle about +eight feet wide, were twelve little houses, about forty feet square, +built of stucco, each one painted a different color. The woodwork of the +exterior was displayed through the plaster in the Elizabethan fashion, +and the little sheds were clean, solidly built, and solidly roofed. In +one of these constructions was the bureau of the staff which assigned +the wounded to the hospitals, in another was a fully equipped +operating-room, and in the others, rows of stretcher-horses, twenty-five +to a side, on which the wounded were laid until a hospital number had +been assigned them. A slip, with these hospital numbers on it, the names +of the patients, and the color of the little house in which they were to +be found, was then given to the chauffeur of an ambulance, who, with +this slip in hand and followed by a number of stretcher-bearers, +immediately gathered his patients. A specimen slip might run thus--"To +Hospital 32, avenue de Iéna, Paul Chaubard, red barraque, Jules Adamy, +green barraque, and Alphonse Fort, ochre barraque." + +To give a French touch to the scene, this great space, rapidly filling +with human beings in an appalling state of misery, as the aftermath of +the offensive broke on us, was decorated with evergreen trees and shrubs +so that the effect was that of an indoor fair or exhibition; you felt as +if you might get samples of something at each barraque, as the French +termed the little houses. To the side of these there was a platform, and +a sunken track running along the wall, and behind, a great open space +set with benches for those of the wounded able to walk. Some fifty +great, cylindrical braziers, which added a strange bit of rosy, fiery +color to the scene, warmed this space. When the wounded had begun to +arrive at about midnight, a regiment of Zouaves was at hand to help the +regular stretcher-bearers; these Zouaves were all young, "husky" men +dressed in the baggy red trousers and short blue jacket of their classic +uniform, and their strength was in as much of a contrast to the weakness +of those whom they handled as their gay uniform was in contrast to the +miry, horizon blue of the combatants. There was something grotesque in +seeing two of these powerful fellows carrying to the wagons a dirty blue +bundle of a human being. + +With a piercing shriek, that cut like a gash through the uproar of the +ambulance engines, a sanitary train, the seventh since midnight, came +into the station, and so smoothly did it run by, its floors on a level +with the main floor, that it seemed an illusion, like a stage train. On +the platform stood some Zouaves waiting to unload the passengers, while +others cleared the barraques and helped the feeble to the ambulances. +There was a steady line of stretchers going out, yet the station was so +full that hardly a bit of the vast floor space was unoccupied. One +walked down a narrow path between a sea of bandaged bodies. Shouldering +what baggage they had, those able to walk plodded in a strange, slow +tempo to the waiting automobiles. All by themselves were about a hundred +poor, ragged Germans, wounded prisoners, brothers of the French in this +terrible fraternity of pain. + +About four or five hundred assis (those able to sit up) were waiting on +benches at the end of the hall. Huddled round the rosy, flickering +braziers, they sat profoundly silent in the storm and din that moved +about them, rarely conversing with each other. I imagine that the +stupefaction, which is the physiological reaction of an intense +emotional and muscular effort, had not yet worn away. There were fine +heads here and there. Forgetful of his shattered arm, an old fellow, +with the face of Henri Quatre, eagle nose, beard, and all, sat with his +head sunken on his chest in mournful contemplation, and a fine-looking, +black-haired, dragoon kind of youth with the wildest of eyes clung like +grim death to a German helmet. The same expression of resigned fatalism +was common to all. + +Sometimes the chauffeurs who were waiting for their clients got a chance +to talk to one of the soldiers. Eager for news, they clustered round the +wounded man, bombarding him with questions. + +"Are the Boches retreating?" + +"When did it begin?" + +"Just where is the attack located?" + +"Are things going well for us?" + +The soldier, a big young fellow with a tanned face, somewhat pale from +the shock of a ripped-up forearm, answered the questions good-naturedly, +though the struggle had been on so great a scale that he could only tell +about his own hundred feet of trench. Indeed the substance of his +information was that there had been a terrible bombardment of the German +lines, and then an attack by the French which was still in progress. + +"Are we going to break clear through the lines?" + +The soldier shrugged his shoulders. "They hope to," he replied. + +Just beyond us, in one of the thousand stretchers on the floor, a small +bearded man had died. With his left leg and groin swathed in bandages, +he lay flat on his back, his mouth open, muddy, dirty, and dead. From +time to time the living on each side stole curious, timid glances at +him. Then, suddenly, some one noticed the body, and two +stretcher-bearers carried it away, and two more brought a living man +there in its place. + +The turmoil continued to increase. At least a thousand motor-ambulances, +mobilized from all over the region of Paris, were now on hand to carry +away the human wreckage of the great offensive. Ignorant of the ghastly +army at its doors, Paris slept. The rain continued to fall heavily. + +"Eh la, comrade." + +A soldier in the late thirties, with a pale, refined face, hailed me +from his stretcher. + +"You speak French?" + +I nodded. + +"I am going to ask you to do me a favor--write to my wife who is here in +Paris, and tell her that I am safe and shall let her know at once what +hospital I am sent to. I shall be very grateful." + +He let his shoulders sink to the stretcher again and I saw him now and +then looking for me in the crowd. Catching my eye, he smiled. + +A train full of Algerian troops came puffing into the station, the +uproar hardly rising above the general hubbub. The passengers who were +able to walk got out first, some limping, some walking firmly with a +splendid Eastern dignity. These men were Arabs and Moors from Algeria +and Tunisia, who had enlisted in the colonial armies. There was a great +diversity of size and racial type among them, some being splendid, big +men of the type one imagines Othello to have been, some chunkier and +more bullet-headed, and others tall and lean with interesting aquiline +features. I fancy that the shorter, rounder-skulled ones were those with +a dash of black blood. The uniform, of khaki-colored woolen, consisted +of a simple, short-waisted jacket, big baggy trousers, puttees, and a +red fez or a steel helmet with the lunar crescent and "R.F." for its +device. We heard rumors about their having attacked a village. Advancing +in the same curious tempo as the French, they passed to the braziers and +the wooden benches. Last of all from the train, holding his bandaged arm +against his chest, a native corporal with the features of a desert +tribesman advanced with superb, unconscious stateliness. As the +Algerians sat round the braziers, their uniforms and brown skins +presented a contrast to the pallor of the French in their bedraggled +blue, but there was a marked similarity of facial expression. A certain +racial odor rose from the Orientals. + +My first assignment, two Algerians and two Frenchmen, took me to an +ancient Catholic high school which had just been improvised into a +hospital for the Oriental troops. It lay, dirty, lonely, and grim, just +to one side of a great street on the edge of Paris, and had not been +occupied since its seizure by the State. Turning in through an enormous +door, lit by a gas globe flaring and flickering in the torrents of rain, +we found ourselves in an enormous, dark courtyard, where a half-dozen +ambulances were already waiting to discharge their clients. Along one +wall there was a flight of steps, and from somewhere beyond the door at +the end of this stair shone the faintest glow of yellow light. + +It came from the door of a long-disused schoolroom, now turned into the +receiving-hall of this strange hospital. The big, high room was lit by +one light only, a kerosene hand lamp standing on the teacher's desk, and +so smoked was the chimney that the wick gave hardly more light than a +candle. There was just enough illumination to see about thirty Algerians +sitting at the school desks, their big bodies crammed into the little +seats, and to distinguish others lying in stretchers here and there upon +the floor. At the teacher's table a little French adjutant with a trim, +black mustache and a soldier interpreter were trying to discover the +identity of their visitors. + +"Number 2215," (numéro deux mille deux cent quinze), the officer cried; +and the interpreter, leaning over the adjutant's shoulder to read the +name, shouted, "Méhémet Ali." + +There was no answer, and the Algerians looked round at each other, for +all the world like children in a school. It was very curious to see +these dark, heavy, wild faces bent over these disused desks. + +"Number 2168" (numéro deux mille cent soixante huit), cried the +adjutant. + +"Abdullah Taleb," cried the interpreter. + +"Moi," answered a voice from a stretcher in the shadows of the floor. + +"Take him to room six," said the adjutant, indicating the speaker to a +pair of stretcher-bearers. In the quieter pauses the rain was heard +beating on the panes. + +There are certain streets in Paris, equally unknown to tourist and +Parisian--obscure, narrow, cobble-stoned lanes, lined by walls +concealing little orchards and gardens. So provincial is their +atmosphere that it would be the easiest thing in the world to believe +one's self on the fringe of an old town, just where little bourgeois +villas begin to overlook the fields; but to consider one's self just +beyond the heart of Paris is almost incredible. Down such a street, in a +great garden, lay the institution to which our two Frenchmen were +assigned. We had a hard time finding it in the night and rain, but at +length, discovering the concierge's bell, we sent a vigorous peal +clanging through the darkness. Oiler lifted the canvas flap of the +ambulance to see about our patients. + +"All right in there, boys?" + +"Yes," answered a voice. + +"Not cold?" + +"Non. Are we at the hospital?" + +"Yes; we are trying to wake up the concierge." + +There was a sound of a key in a lock, and a small, dark woman opened the +door. She was somewhat spinstery in type, her thin, black hair was +neatly parted in the middle, and her face was shrewd, but not unkindly. + +"Deux blessés (two wounded), madame," said I. + +The woman pulled a wire loop inside the door, and a far-off bell +tinkled. + +"Come in," she said. "The porter will be here immediately." + +We stepped into a little room with a kind of English look to it, and a +carbon print of the Sistine Madonna on the wall. + +"Are they seriously wounded?" she asked. + +"I cannot say." + +A sound of shuffling, slippered feet was heard, and the porter, a small, +beefy, gray-haired man in the fifties, wearing a pair of rubber boots, +and a rain-coat over a woolen night-dress, came into the room. + +"Two wounded have arrived," said the lady. "You are to help these +messieurs get out the stretchers." + +The porter looked out of the door at the tail-light of the ambulance, +glowing red behind its curtain of rain. + +"Mon Dieu, what a deluge!" he exclaimed, and followed us forth. With an +"Easy there," and "Lift now," we soon had both of our clients out of the +ambulance and indoors. They lay on the floor of the odd, stiff, little +room, strange intruders of its primness; the first, a big, heavy, +stolid, young peasant with enormous, flat feet, and the second a small, +nervous, city lad, with his hair in a bang and bright, uneasy eyes. The +mud-stained blue of the uniforms seemed very strange, indeed, beside the +Victorian furniture upholstered in worn, cherry-red plush. A middle-aged +servant--a big-boned, docile-looking kind of creature, probably the +porter's wife--entered, followed by two other women, the last two +wearing the same cut of prim black waist and skirt, and the same pattern +of white wristlets and collar. We then carried the two soldiers upstairs +to a back room, where the old servant had filled a kind of enamel +dishpan with soapy water. Very gently and deftly the beefy old porter +and his wife took off the fouled, blood-stained uniforms of the two +fighting men, and washed their bodies, while she who had opened the door +stood by and superintended all. The feverish, bright-eyed fellow seemed +to be getting weaker, but the big peasant conversed with the old woman +in a low, steady tone, and told her that there had been a big action. + +When Oiler and I came downstairs, two little glasses of sherry and a +plate of biscuits were hospitably waiting for us. There was something +distinctly English in the atmosphere of the room and in the demeanor of +the two prim ladies who stood by. It roused my curiosity. Finally one of +them said:-- + +"Are you English, gentlemen?" + +"No," we replied; "Americans." + +"I thought you might be English," she replied in that language, which +she spoke very clearly and fluently. "Both of us have been many years in +England. We are French Protestant deaconesses, and this is our home. It +is not a hospital. But when the call for more accommodations for the +wounded came in, we got ready our two best rooms. The soldiers upstairs +are our first visitors." + +The old porter came uneasily down the stair. "Mademoiselle Pierre says +that the doctor must come at once," he murmured, "the little fellow (le +petit) is not doing well." + +We thanked the ladies gratefully for the refreshment, for we were cold +and soaked to the skin. Then we went out again to the ambulance and the +rain. A faint pallor of dawn was just beginning. Later in the morning, I +saw a copy of the "Matin" attached to a kiosk; it said something about +"Grande Victoire." + +Thus did the great offensive in Champagne come to the city of Paris, +bringing twenty thousand men a day to the station of La Chapelle. For +three days and nights the Americans and all the other ambulance squads +drove continuously. It was a terrible phase of the conflict to see, but +he who neither sees nor understands it cannot realize the soul of the +war. Later, at the trenches, I saw phases of the war that were +spiritual, heroic, and close to the divine, but this phase was, in its +essence, profoundly animal. + + + + +Chapter III + +The Great Swathe of the Lines + + + +The time was coming when I was to see the mysterious region whence came +the wounded of La Chapelle, and, a militaire myself, share the life of +the French soldier. Late one evening in October, I arrived in Nancy and +went to a hotel I had known well before the war. An old porter, a man of +sixty, with big, bowed shoulders, gray hair, and a florid face almost +devoid of expression, carried up my luggage, and as I looked at him, +standing in the doorway, a simple figure in his striped black and yellow +vest and white apron, I wondered just what effect the war had had on +him. Through the open window of the room, seen over the dark silhouette +of the roofs of Nancy, shone the glowing red sky and rolling smoke of +the vast munition works at Pompey and Frouard. + +"You were not here when I came to the hotel two years ago," said I. + +"No," he answered; "I have been here only since November, 1914." + +"You are a Frenchman? There was a Swiss here, then." + +"Yes, indeed, I am Français, monsieur. The Swiss is now a waiter in a +café of the Place Stanislas. It is something new to me to be a hotel +porter." + +"Tiens. What did you do?" + +"I drove a coal team, monsieur." + +"How, then, did you happen to come here?" + +"I used to deliver coal to the hotel. One day I heard that the Swiss had +gone to the café to take the place of a garçon whose class had just been +called out. I was getting sick of carrying the heavy sacks of coal, and +being always out of doors, so I applied for the porter's job." + +"You are satisfied with the change." + +"Oh, yes, indeed, monsieur." + +"I suppose you have kinsmen at the front." + +"Only my sister's son, monsieur." + +"In the active forces?" + +"No, he is a reservist. He is a man thirty-five years of age. He was +wounded by a shrapnel ball in the groin early in the spring, but is now +at the front again." + +"What does he do en civil?" + +"He is a furniture-maker, monsieur." + +He showed no sign of unrest at my catechizing, and plodded off down the +green velvet carpet to the landing-stage of the elevator. In the street +below a crowd was coming out of the silky white radiance of the lobby of +a cinema into the violet rays thrown upon the sidewalk from the +illuminated sign over the theater door. There are certain French cities +to which the war has brought a real prosperity, and Nancy was then one +of them. The thousands of refugees from the frontier villages and the +world of military officials and soldier workmen mobilized in the +ammunition factories had added to the population till it was actually +greater than it had been before the war, and with this new population +had come a development of the city's commercial life. The middle class +was making money, the rich were getting richer, and Nancy, hardly more +than eighteen or nineteen miles from the trenches, forgot its danger +till, on the first day of January, 1916, the Germans fired several +shells from a giant mortar or a marine piece into the town, one of which +scattered the fragments of a big five-story apartment house all over +Nancy. And on that afternoon thirty thousand people left the city. + +The day on which I was to go across the great swathe of the front to the +first-line trenches dawned cool and sunny. I use the word "swathe" +purposely, for only by that image can the real meaning of the phrase +"the front" be understood. The thick, black line which figures on the +war-maps is a great swathe of country running, with a thousand little +turns and twists that do not interfere with its general regularity, from +the summits of the Vosges to the yellow dunes of the North Sea. The +relation of the border of this swathe to the world beyond is the +relation of sea to land along an irregular and indented coast. Here an +isolated, strategic point, fiercely defended by the Germans, has +extended the border of the swathe beyond the usual limits, and villages +thirteen and fourteen miles from the actual lines have been pounded to +pieces by long-range artillery in the hope of destroying the enemy's +communications; there the trenches cross an obscure, level moor upon +whose possession nothing particular depends, and the swathe narrows to +the villages close by the lines. This swathe, which begins with the +French communications, passes the French trenches, leaps "No Man's +Land," and continues beyond the German trenches to the German +communications, averages about twenty-two miles in width. The territory +within this swathe is inhabited by soldiers, ruled by soldiers, worked +by soldiers, and organized for war. + +Sometimes the transition between civilian life and the life of the +swathe is abrupt, as, for instance, at Verdun, where the villages beyond +the lines have been emptied of civilian inhabitants to make room for the +soldiery; but at other times the change is gradual and the peasants +continue to work fields almost in the shadow of the trenches. Since the +line of trenches was organized by the Germans only after a series of +engagements along the front, during which the battle-line oscillated +over a wide territory, the approach to the swathe is often through a +region of desolated villages sometimes far removed from the present +trenches. Such is the state of affairs in the region of the Marne, the +Argonne, and on the southern bank of the Moselle. Moss-overgrown and +silent, these villages often stand deserted in the fields at the +entrance to the swathe, fit heralds of the desolation that lies beyond. + +Imagine, then, the French half of the swathe extending from the edge of +the civilian world to the barbed-wire entanglements of No Man's Land. +Within this territory, in the trenches, in the artillery positions, in +the villages where troops are quartered (and they are quartered in every +village of the swathe), and along all the principal turns and corners of +the roads, a certain number of shells fall every twenty-four hours, the +number of shells per locality increasing as one advances toward the +first lines. There are certain disputed regions, that of Verdun in +particular, where literally the whole great swathe has been pounded to +pieces, till hardly one stone of a village remains on another, and +during the recent offensive in the Somme the British are said to have +systematically wiped out every village, hamlet, and road behind the +German trenches to a depth of eighteen miles. Yet, protected from rifle +bullets and the majority of shells by a great wooded hill, the +inhabitants of M------, one mile from the lines of the Bois-le-Prêtre, +did a thriving business selling fruit to the soldiers, and I once saw an +old peasant woman, who was digging potatoes in her garden when a small +shell burst about two hundred feet from her, shake her fist toward the +German lines, mutter something, and plod angrily home to her cellar. +There are rarely any children close to the trenches, but in villages +that are only occasionally shelled, the school is open, and the class +hurries to the cellar at the first alarm. + +The lieutenant of the American Section, à young Frenchman who spoke +English not only fluently, but also with distinction, came to Nancy to +take me to the front. It was a clear, sunny morning, and the rumble of +the commercial life of Nancy, somewhat later in starting than our own, +was just beginning to be heard. Across the street from the +breakfast-room of the hotel, a young woman wearing a little black cape +over her shoulders rolled up the corrugated iron shutter of a +confectioner's shop and began to set the window with the popular +patriotic candy boxes, aluminum models of a "seventy-five" shell tied +round with a bow of narrow tricolor ribbon; a baker's boy in a white +apron and blue jumpers went by carrying a basket of bread on his head; +and from the nearby tobacconist's, a spruce young lieutenant dressed in +a black uniform emerged lighting a cigarette. At nine in the morning I +was contemplating a side street of busy, orderly, sunlit Nancy; that +night I was in a cellar seeking refuge from fire shells. + +"Please give me all your military papers," said my officer. I handed +over all the cards, permits, and licenses that had been given me, and he +examined them closely. + +"Allons, let us go," he said to his chauffeur, a young soldier wearing +the insignia of the motor-transportation corps. + +"How long does it take us to get to the lines, mon lieutenant?" + +"About an hour. Our headquarters are thirty kilomètres distant." + +The big, war-gray Panhard began to move. I looked round, eager to notice +anything that marked our transition from peace to war. Beyond the Nancy, +built in the Versailles style by the exiled Stanislaus, lay the +industrial Nancy which has grown up since the development of the iron +mines of French Lorraine in the eighties. Through this ugly huddle we +passed first: there were working men on the sidewalks, gamins in the +gutters,--nothing to remind one of the war. + +"Halt!" + +At a turn in the road near the outskirts of the city, a sentry, a small, +gray-haired man, had stepped out before the car. From the door of a +neighboring wineshop, a hideous old woman, her uncombed, tawny yellow +hair messed round her coarse, shiny face, came out to look at us. + +"Your papers, please," said a red-faced, middle-aged sergeant wearing a +brown corduroy uniform, who, walking briskly on enormous fat legs, had +followed the sentry out into the street. The lieutenant produced the +military permit to travel in the army zone--the ordre de mouvement, a +printed form on a blue sheet about the size of a leaf of typewriter +paper. + +"Pass," said the sergeant, and saluted. The sentry retired to his post +on the sidewalk. At the door of the wineshop the woman continued to +stare at us with an animal curiosity. Possibly our English-like uniforms +had attracted her attention; the French are very curious about les +Anglais. Over the roof of an ugly row of working men's barracks, built +of mortar and trimmed with dingy brick, came the uproar of a great +industry, the humming clang of saws, the ringing of iron on iron, and +the heart-beat thump of a great hammer that shook the earth. In a vast, +detached building five great furnaces were crowned with tufts of pinkish +fire, workmen were crossing the cindery yard dragging little carts and +long strips of iron, and a long line of open freight cars was being +emptied of coal. + +"They are making shells," said the lieutenant in the tone that he might +have said, "They are making candy." + +Another sentry held us up at the bridge where the road crosses the +Moselle as it issues from the highlands to the southwest. + +Beyond the bridge, running almost directly north to Metz, lay the +historic valley of the Moselle. Great, bare hills, varying between seven +hundred and a thousand feet in height, and often carved by erosion into +strange, high triangles and abrupt mesas, formed the valley wall. The +ground color of the hills was a warm buff-brown with a good deal of +iron-red in it, and the sky above was of a light, friendly blue. A +strange, Egyptian emerald of new wheat, a certain deep cobalt of cloud +shadows, and a ruddy brownness of field and moor are the colors of +Lorraine. Here and there, on the meadows of the river and the steep +flanks of the hills, were ancient, red-roofed villages. Across the +autumnal fields the smoke and flame of squalid Pompey loomed strangely. + +There were signs of the war at Marbache, fourteen kilomètres from Nancy, +slight signs, to be sure, but good ones--the presence of a military +smithy for the repair of army wagons, several of which stood by on rusty +wheels, and a view of some twenty or thirty artillery caissons parked +under the trees. But it was at B------, sixteen kilomètres from Nancy, +and sixteen from the lines, that I first felt the imminence of the war. +The morning train from Nancy had just stopped, to go no farther for fear +of shells, and beyond the station the tracks of the once busy Nancy-Metz +railroad advanced, rusty, unused, and overgrown with grass, into the +danger zone. Far behind now lay civilian Pompey, and Marbache shared by +soldiers and civilians. B------was distinctly a village of the soldiery. +The little hamlet, now the junction where the wagon-trains supplying the +soldiery meet the great artery of the railroad, was built on the banks +of a canal above the river. The color of these villages in Lorraine is +rather lovely, for the walls of the houses, built of the local +buff-yellow stone and ferrous sand, are of a warm, brown tone that goes +well with the roofs of claret-red tile and the brown landscape. A +glorious sky of silvery white cloud masses, pierced with sunlight and +islanded with soft blue, shone over the soldier village. There were no +combatants in it when we passed through, only the old poilus who drove +the wagons to the trenches and the army hostlers who looked after the +animals. There were pictures of soldier grooms leading horses down a +narrow, slimy street between brown, mud-spattered walls to a +drinking-trough; of horses lined up along a house wall being briskly +curry-combed by big, thick-set fellows in blousy white overalls and blue +fatigue caps; and of doors of stables opening on the road showing a +bedding of brown straw on the earthen floor. There was a certain stench, +too, the smell of horse-fouled mud that mixed with that odor I later was +able to classify as the smell of war. For the war has a smell that +clings to everything miltary, fills the troop-trains, hospitals, and +cantonments, and saturates one's own clothing, a smell compounded of +horse, chemicals, sweat, mud, dirt, and human beings. At the guarded +exit of the village to the shell zone was a little military cemetery in +which rows of wooden crosses stood with the regularity of pins in a +paper. + +Two kilomètres farther on, at Dieulouard, we drew into the shell zone. A +cottage had been struck the day before, and the shell, arriving by the +roof, had blown part of the front wall out into the street. In the +façade of the house, to the left of a door hanging crazily on its +hinges, an irregular oval hole, large enough to drive a motor-car +through, rose from the ground and came to a point just below the +overhang of the roof. The edges of the broken stone were clean and new +in contrast to the time-soiled outer wall of the dwelling. + +A pile of this clean stone lay on the ground at the outer opening of the +orifice, mixed with fragments of red tiles. + +"They killed two there yesterday," said the lieutenant, pointing out the +débris. + +The village, a farming hamlet transformed by the vicinity of a great +foundry into something neither a village nor a town, was full of +soldiers; there were soldiers in the streets, soldiers standing in +doorways, soldiers cooking over wood fires, soldiers everywhere. And +looking at the muddy village-town full of men in uniforms of blue, old +uniforms of blue, muddy uniforms of blue, in blue that was blue-gray and +blue-green from wear and exposure to the weather, I realized that the +old days of beautiful, half-barbaric uniforms were gone forever, and +that, in place of the old romantic war of cavalry charges and great +battles in the open, a new, more terrible war had been created, a war +that had not the chivalric externals of the old. + +After Dieulouard began the swathe of stillness. + +Following the western bank of the canal of the Moselle the road made a +great curve round the base of a hill descending to the river, and then +mounted a little spur of the valley wall. Beyond the spur the road went +through lonely fields, in which were deserted farmhouses surrounded by +acres of neglected vines, now rank and Medusa-like in their weedy +profusion. Every once in a while, along a rise, stood great burlap +screens so arranged one behind the other as to give the effect of a +continuous line when seen from a certain angle. + +"What are those for?" + +"To hide the road from the Germans. Do you see that little village down +there on the crest? The Boches have an observatory there, and shell the +road whenever they see anything worth shelling." + +A strange stillness pervaded the air; not a stillness of death and +decay, but the stillness of life that listens. The sun continued to +shine on the brown moorland hills across the gray-green river, the world +was quite the same, yet one sensed that something had changed. A village +lay ahead of us, disfigured by random shells and half deserted. Beyond +the still, shell-spattered houses, a great wood rose, about a mile and a +half away, on a ridge that stood boldly against the sky. Running from +the edge of the trees down across an open slope to the river was a +brownish line that stood in a little contrast to the yellower grass. +Suddenly, there slowly rose from this line a great puff of grayish-black +smoke which melted away in the clear, autumnal air. + +"See," said our lieutenant calmly, with no more emotion than he would +have shown at a bonfire--"those are the German trenches. We have just +fired a shell into them." + +Two minutes more took us into the dead, deserted city of Pont-à -Mousson. +The road was now everywhere screened carefully with lengths of +light-brown burlap, and there was not a single house that did not bear +witness to the power of a shell. The sense of "the front" began to +possess me, never to go, the sense of being in the vicinity of a +tremendous power. A ruined village, or a deserted town actually on the +front does not bring to mind any impression of decay, for the intellect +tends rather to consider t\& means by which the destruction has been +accomplished. One sees villages of the swathes so completely blown to +pieces that they are literally nothing but earthy mounds of rubbish, and +seeing them thus, in a plain still fiercely disputed night and day +between one's own side and the invisible enemy, the mind feels itself in +the presence of force, titanic, secret, and hostile. + +Beyond Pont-à -Mousson the road led directly to the trenches of the +Bois-le-Prêtre, less than half a mile away. But the disputed trenches +were hidden behind the trees, and I could not see them. Through the +silence of the deserted town sounded the muffled boom of shells and +trench engines bursting in the wood beyond, and every now and then +clouds of gray-black smoke from the explosion would rise above the brown +leaves of the ash trees. The smoke of these explosions rose straight +upwards in a foggy column, such as a locomotive might make if, halted on +its tracks somewhere in the wood, it had put coal on its fires. + +With the next day I began my service at the trenches, but the war began +for me that very night. + +A room in a bourgeois flat on the third floor of a deserted apartment +house had been assigned me. It was nine o'clock, and I was getting ready +to roll up in my blankets and go to sleep. Beneath the starlit heavens +the street below was black as pitch save when a trench light, floating +serenely down the sky, illuminated with its green-white glow the curving +road and the line of dark, abandoned, half-ruinous villas. There was not +a sound to be heard outside of an occasional rifle shot in the trenches, +sounding for all the world like the click of giant croquet balls. I went +round to the rear of the house and looked out of the kitchen windows to +the lines. A little action, some quarrel of sentries, perhaps, was going +on behind the trees, just where the wooded ridge sloped to the river. +Trench light after trench light rose, showing the disused railroad track +running across the un-harvested fields. Gleaming palely through the +French window at which I was standing, the radiance revealed the +deserted kitchen, the rusty stove, the dusty pans, and the tarnished +water-tap above the stone sink. The hard, wooden crash of grenades broke +upon my ears. + +My own room was lit by the yellow flame of a solitary candle, rising, +untroubled by the slightest breath of wind, straight into the air. A +large rug of old-rose covered the floor, an old-rose velvet canopy +draped a long table, hanging down at the corners in straight, heavy +creases, and the wallpaper was a golden yellow with faint stripes of +silvery-gray glaze. By the side of the wooden bed stood a high cabinet +holding about fifty terra-cotta and porcelain figurines, shiny +shepherdesses with shiny pink cheeks, Louis XV peasants with rakes on +their shoulders, and three little dogs made of a material the color of +cocoa. The gem of the collection was an eighteenth-century porcelain of +a youth and a maid sitting on opposite sides of a curved bench over +whose center rose a blossoming bush. The youth, dressed in black, and +wearing yellow stockings, looked with an amorous smile at the girl in +her gorgeous dress of flowering brocade. + +A marbly-white fireplace stood in the corner, overhung by a great Louis +XV mirror with a gilt frame of rich, voluptuous curves. On the mantel +lay a scarf of old-rose velvet smelling decidedly musty. Alone, apart, +upon this mantel, as an altar, stood a colored plaster bust of Jeanne +d'Arc, showing her in the beauty of her winsome youth. The pale, girlish +face dominated the shadowy room with its dreamy, innocent loveliness. + +There came a knock at the door, and so still was the town and the house +that the knock had the effect of something dramatic and portentous. A +big man, with bulging, pink cheeks, a large, chestnut mustache, and +brown eyes full of philosophic curiosity, stood in the doorway. The +uniform that he was wearing was unusually neat and clean. + +"So you are the American I am to have as neighbor," said he. + +"Yes," I replied. + +"I am the caporal in charge of the dépôt of the engineers in the +cellar," continued my visitor, "and I thought I'd come in and see how +you were." + +I invited him to enter. + +"Do you find yourself comfortable here, son?" + +"Yes. I consider myself privileged to have the use of the room. Have a +cigarette?" + +"Are these American cigarettes?" + +"Yes." + +"Your American tobacco is fine, son. But in America everybody is a +millionaire and has the best of everything--isn't that so? I should like +to go to America." + +"A Frenchman is never happy out of France." + +Comfortably seated in a big, ugly chair, he puffed his cigarette and +meditated. + +"Perhaps you are right," he admitted. "We Frenchmen love the good +things, and think we can get them in France better than anywhere else. +The solid satisfactions of life--good wine--good cheese." He paused. +"You see, son, all that (tout ça) is an affair of mine--in civilian life +(dans le civil) I am a grocer at Macon in Bourgogne." + +For a little while we talked of Burgundy, which I had often visited in +my student days at Lyons. There came another pause, and the Burgundian +said:-- + +"Well, what do you think of this big racket (ce grand fracas)?" + +"I have not seen enough of it to say." + +"Well, I think you are going to get a taste of it to-night. I heard our +artillery men (nos artiflots) early this morning firing their long-range +cannon, and every time they do that the Boches throw shells into +Pont-à -Mousson. I have been expecting an answer all day. If they start +in to-night, get up and come down cellar, son. This house was struck by +a shell two weeks ago." + +The shadowy, candlelit room and the dark city became at his words more +mysterious and hostile. The atmosphere seemed pervaded by some obscure, +endless, dreadful threat. It was getting toward ten o'clock. + +"Is this the only room you have? I have never been in this suite." + +"No, there is another room. Would you like to see it?" + +He followed me into a small chamber from which everything had been +stripped except a bedside table, a chair, and a crayon portrait of a +woman. The picture, slightly tinted with flesh color, was that of a +bourgeoise on the threshold of the fifties, and the still candle-flame +brought out in distinct relief the heavy, obese countenance, the hair +curled in artificial ringlets, and the gold crucifix which she wore on +her large bosom. The Burgundian's attention centered on this picture, +which he examined with the air of a connoisseur of female beauty. + +"Lord, how ugly she is!" he exclaimed. "She might well have stayed. Such +an old dragon would have no reason to fear the Boches." And he laughed +heartily from his rich lips and pulled his mustache. + +"Don't forget to hurry to the cellar, son," he called as he went away. + +At his departure the lonely night closed in on me again. Far, far away +sounded the booming of cannon. + +I am a light sleeper, and the arrival of the first shell awakened me. +Kicking off my blankets, I sat up in bed just in time to catch the swift +ebb of a heavy concussion. A piece of glass, dislodged from a broken +pane by the tremor, fell in a treble tinkle to the floor. For a minute +or two there was a full, heavy silence, and then several objects rolled +down the roof and fell over the gutters into the street. It sounded as +if some one had emptied a hodful of coal onto the house-roof from the +height of the clouds. Another silence followed. Suddenly it was broken +by a swift, complete sound, a heavy boom-roar, and on the heels of this +noise came a throbbing, whistling sigh that, at first faint as the sound +of ocean on a distant beach, increased with incredible speed to a +whistling swish, ending in a HISH of tremendous volume and a roaring, +grinding burst. The sound of a great shell is never a pure bang; one +hears, rather, the end of the arriving HISH, the explosion, and the +tearing disintegration of the thick wall of iron in one grinding +hammer-blow of terrific violence. On the heels of this second shell came +voices in the dark street, and the rosy glow of fire from somewhere +behind. More lumps, fragments of shell that had been shot into the air +by the explosion, rained down upon the roof. I got up and went to the +kitchen window. A house on one of the silent streets between the city +and the lines was on fire, great volumes of smoke were rolling off into +the starlit night, and voices were heard all about murmuring in the +shadows. I hurried on my clothes and went down to the cellar. + +The light of two candles hanging from a shelf in loops of wire revealed +a clean, high cellar; a mess of straw was strewn along one wall, and a +stack of shovels and picks, some of them wrapped in paper, was banked +against the other. In the straw lay three oldish men, fully clad in the +dark-blue uniform which in old times had signaled the Engineer Corps; +one dozed with his head on his arm, the other two were stretched out +flat in the mysterious grossness of sleep. A door from the cellar to a +sunken garden was open, and through this opening streamed the intense +radiance of the rising fire. At the opening stood three men, my visitor +of the evening, a little, wrinkled man with Napoleon III whiskers and +imperial, and an old, dwarfish fellow with a short neck, a bullet head, +and close-clipped hair. Catching sight of me, the Burgundian said:-- + +"Well, son, you see it is hammering away (ça tape) ce soir." + +Hearing another shell, he slammed the door, and stepped to the right +behind the stone wall of the cellar. + +"Very bad," croaked the dwarf. "The Boches are throwing fire shells." + +"And they will fire shrapnel at the poor bougres who have to put out the +fires," said the little man with the imperial. + +"So they will, those knaves," croaked the dwarf in a voice entirely free +from any emotion. "That fire must be down on the Boulevard Ney," said +the bearded man. + +"There is another beginning just to the right," said the Burgundian in +the tone of one retailing interesting but hardly useful information. + +"There will be others," croaked the dwarf, who, leaning against the +cellar wall, was trying to roll a cigarette with big, square, fumbling +fingers. And looking at a big, gray-haired man in the hay, who had +turned over and was beginning to snore, he added: "Look at the new man. +He sleeps well, that fellow" (ce type là ). + +"He looks like a Breton," said the man with the imperial. + +"An Auvergnat--an Auvergnat," replied the dwarf in a tone that was meant +to be final. + +The soldier, who had just been sent down from Paris to take the place of +another recently invalided home, snored on, unconscious of our scrutiny. +The light from the fires outside cast a rosy glow on his weather-worn +features and sparse, silvery hair. His own curiosity stirred, the +corporal looked at his list. + +"He came from Lyons," he announced. "His name is Alphonse Reboulet." + +"I am glad he is not an Auvergnat," growled the dwarf. "We should have +all had fleas." + +A shell burst very near, and a bitter odor of explosives came swirling +through the doorway. A fragment of the shell casing struck a window +above us, and a large piece of glass fell by the doorway and broke into +splinters. The first fire was dying down, but two others were burning +briskly. The soldiers waited for the end of the bombardment, as they +might have waited for the end of a thunderstorm. + +"Tiens--here comes the shrapnel," exclaimed the Burgundian. And he +slammed the door swiftly. + +A high, clear whistle cleaved the flame-lit sky, and about thirty small +shrapnel shells burst beyond us. + +"They try to prevent any one putting out the fires," said the Burgundian +confidentially. "They get the range from the light of the flames." + +Another dreadful rafale (volley) of shrapnel, at the rate of ten or +fifteen a minute, came speeding from the German lines. + +"They are firing on the other house, now." + +"Who puts out the fires?" + +"The territorials who police and clean up the town. Some of them live +two doors below." + +The Burgundian pointed down the garden to a door opening, like our own, +on to an area below the level of the street. Suddenly, a gate opening on +a back lane swung back, and two soldiers entered, one carrying the feet +and the other the shoulders of a third. The body hung clumsily between +them like a piece of old sacking. + +"Tiens--someone is wounded," said the Burgundian. "Go, thou, Badel, and +see who it is." + +The dwarf plodded off obediently. + +"It is Palester," he announced on his return, "the type that had the +swollen jaw last month." + +"What's the matter with him?" + +"He's been killed." + + + + + +Chapter IV + +La Forêt De Bois-Le-Pretre + + + +Beginning at the right bank of the Meuse, a vast plateau of bare, +desolate moorland sweeps eastward to the Moselle, and descends to the +river in a number of great, wooded ridges perpendicular to the +northward-flowing stream. The town of Pont-à -Mousson lies an apron of +meadowland spread between two of these ridges, the ridge of Puvenelle +and the ridge of the Bois-le-Prêtre. The latter is the highest of all +the spurs of the valley. Rising from the river about half a mile to the +north of the city, it ascends swiftly to the level of the plateau, and +was seen from our headquarters as a long, wooded ridge blocking the +sky-line to the northwest. The hamlet of Maidières, in which our +headquarters were located, lies just at the foot of Puvenelle, at a +point where the amphitheater of Pont-à -Mousson, crowding between the two +ridges, becomes a steep-walled valley sharply tilted to the west. + +The Bois-le-Prêtre dominated at once the landscape and our minds. Its +existence was the one great fact in the lives of some fifty thousand +Frenchmen, Germans, and a handful of exiled Americans; it had dominated +and ended the lives of the dead; it would dominate the imagination of +the future. Yet, looking across the brown walls and claret roofs of the +hamlet of Maidières, there was nothing to be seen but a grassy slope, +open fields, a reddish ribbon of road, a wreck of a villa burned by a +fire shell, and a wood. The autumn had turned the leaves of the trees, +seemingly without exception, to a leathery brown, and in almost all +lights the trunks of the trees were a cold, purplish slate. Such was the +forest which, battle-areas excepted, has cost more lives than any other +point along the line. The wood had been contested trench by trench, +literally foot by foot. It was at once the key to the Saint-Mihiel +salient and the city of Metz. + +The Saint-Mihiel salient--"the hernia," as the French call it--begins at +the Bois-le-Prêtre. Pivoting on The Wood, the lines turn sharply inland, +cross the desolate plateau of La Woevre, attain the Meuse at +Saint-Mihiel, turn again, and ascend the river to the Verdunois. The +salient, as dangerous for the Germans as it is troublesome for the +French, represents the limit of a German offensive directed against Toul +in October, 1914. That the French retreated was due to the fact that the +plateau was insufficiently protected, many of the regiments having been +rushed north to the great battle then raging on the Aisne. + +Only one railroad center lies in the territory of the salient, +Thiaucourt in Woevre. This pleasant little moorland town, locally famous +for its wine, is connected with Metz by two single-track railroad lines, +one coming via Conflans, and the other by Arnaville on the Moselle. At +Vilcey-sur-Mad, these lines unite, and follow to Thiaucourt the only +practicable railroad route, the valley of the Rupt (brook) de Mad. + +Thus the domination of Thiaucourt, or the valley of the Rupt de Mad, by +French artillery would break the railroad communications between the +troops keeping the salient and their base of supplies, Metz. And the +fate of Metz itself hangs on the control of the Bois-le-Prêtre. + +Metz is the heart of the German organization on the western front: the +railroad center, the supply station, the troop dépôt. A blow at Metz +would affect the security of every German soldier between Alsace and the +Belgian frontier. But if the French can drive the Germans out of the +Bois-le-Prêtre and establish big howitzers on the crest the Germans are +still holding, there will soon be no more Metz. The French guns will +destroy the city as the German cannon destroyed Verdun. + +When the Germans, therefore, retired to the trenches after the battles +of September and October, 1914, they took to the ground on the heights +of the Bois-le-Prêtre, a terrain far enough ahead of Thiaucourt and Metz +to preserve these centers from the danger of being shelled. On the crest +of the highest ridge along the valley, admirably ambushed in a thick +forest, they waited for the coming of the French. And the French came. + +They came, young and old, slum-dweller and country schoolmaster, rich +young noble and Corsican peasant, to the storming of the wood, upheld by +one vision, the unbroken, grassy slope that stretched from behind the +German lines to the town of Thiaucourt. In the trenches behind the slaty +trunks of the great ash trees, Bavarian peasants, Saxons, and +round-headed Wurttem-burgers, the olive-green, jack-booted Boches, +awaited their coming, determined to hold the wood, the salient, and the +city. + +A year later the Bois-le-Prêtre (the Priest Wood), with its perfume of +ecclesiastical names that reminds one of the odor of incense in an old +church, had become the Bois de la Mort (the Wood of Death). + +The house in which our bureau was located was once the summer residence +of a rich ironmaster who had fled to Paris at the beginning of the war. +If there is an architectural style of German origin known as the +"Neo-Classic," which affects large, windowless spaces framed in +pilasters of tile, and decorations and insets of omelet-yellow and +bottle-green glazed brick, "Wisteria Villa" is of that school. It stood +behind a high wall of iron spikes on the road leading from Maidières to +the trenches, a high, Germano-Pompeian country house, topped by a roof +rich in angles, absurd windows, and unexpected gables. There are huge, +square, French-roofed houses in New England villages built by local +richessîmes of Grant's time, and still called by neighbors "the Jinks +place" or the "Levi Oates place"; Wisteria Villa had something of the +same social relation to the commune of Maidières. Grotesque and ugly, it +was not to be despised; it had character in its way. + +Our social center was the dining-room of the villa. Exclusive of the +kitchen range, it boasted the only stove in the house, a queerly shaped +"Salamandre," a kind of Franklin stove with mica doors. The walls were +papered an ugly chocolate brown with a good deal of red in it, and the +borders, doors, and fireplace frame were stained a color trembling +between mission green and oak brown. The room was rectangular and too +high for its width. There were pictures. On each side of the fireplace, +profiles toward the chimney, hung concave plaques of Dutch girls. To the +left of the door was a yellowed etching of the tower of the château of +Heidelberg, and to the right a very small oil painting, in an ornate +gilt frame three inches deep, of a beach by moonlight. About two or +three hundred books, bound in boards and red leather, stood behind the +cracked glass of a bookcase in the corner; they were very "jeune fille," +and only the romances of Georges Ohnet appeared to have been read. The +thousand cupboards of the house were full of dusty knickknacks, old +umbrellas, hats, account-books, and huge boxes holding the débris of +sets of checkers, dominoes, and ivory chessmen. An enlarged photograph +of the family hung on the walls of a bedroom; it had been taken at +somebody's marriage, and showed the group standing on the front steps, +the same steps that were later to be blown to pieces by a shell. One saw +the bride, the groom, and about twenty relatives, including a boy in +short trousers, a wide, white collar, and an old-fashioned, fluffy bow +tie. Anxious to be included in the picture, the driver of the bridal +barouche has craned his neck forward. On the evidence of the costumes, +the picture had been taken about 1902. + +Our bureau in the cellar of Wisteria Villa was connected directly with +the trenches. When a man had been wounded, he was carried to the poste +de secours in the rear lines, and it was our duty to go to this trench +post and carry the patient to the hospital at the nearest rail-head. The +bureau of the Section was in charge of two Frenchmen who shared the +labor of attending to the telephone and keeping the books. + +A hundred yards beyond Wisteria Villa, at a certain corner, the +principal road to the trenches divided into three branches, and in order +to interfere as much as possible with communications, the Germans daily +shelled this strategic point. A comrade and I had the curiosity to keep +an exact record of a week's shelling. It must be remembered that the +corner was screened from the Germans, who fired casually in the hope of +hitting something and annoying the French. The cannons shelling the +corner were usually "seventy-sevens," the German quick-firing pieces +that correspond to the French "seventy-fives." + +Monday, ten shells at 6.30, two at 7.10, five at 11.28, twenty at +intervals between 2.15 and 2.45, a swift rafale of some sixteen at 4.12, +another rafale of twenty at 8, and occasional shells between 9 and +midnight. + +Tuesday, two big shells at mid-day. + +Wednesday, rafales at 9.14, 11, 2.18, 4.30, and 6.20. + +Thursday--no shells. + +Friday, twelve at intervals between 10.16 and 12.20. Solitary big shell +at 1.05. Another big shell at 3. Some fifteen stray shells between 5 and +midnight. + +Saturday--no shells. + +Sunday--About five shells an hour between 4 in the afternoon and +midnight. + +I give the number of shells falling at this corner as a concrete +instance of what was happening at a dozen other points along the road. +The fire of the German batteries was as capricious as the play of a +search-light; one week, the corner and three or four other points would +catch it, the next week the corner and another set of localities. And +there were periods, sometimes ten days to two weeks long, when hardly a +shell was fired at any road. Then, after a certain sense of security had +begun to take form, a rafale would come screaming over, blow a horse and +wagon to pieces, and leave one or two blue figures huddled in the mud. +But the French replied to each shell and every rafale, in addition to +firing at random all the day and a good deal of the night. There was +hardly a night that Wisteria Villa did not rock to the sound of French +guns fired at 2 and 3 in the morning. But the average day at +Pont-à -Mousson was a day of random silences. The war had all the +capricious-ness of the sea--of uncertain weather. There were hours of +calm in the day, during which the desolate silence of the front flooded +swiftly over the landscape; there were interruptions of great violence, +sometimes desultory, sometimes beginning, in obedience to a human will, +at a certain hour. The outbreak would commence with the orderliness of a +clock striking, and continue the greater part of the day, rocking the +deserted town with its clamor. Hearing it, the soldiers en repos would +say, talking of The Wood, "It sings (ça chante)," or, "It knocks (ça +tape) up there to-day." The smoke of the bursting shells hung over The +Wood in a darkish, gray-blue fog. But since The Wood had a personality +for us, many would say simply, "Listen to The Wood." + +The shell expresses one idea--energy. The cylinder of iron, piercing the +air at a terrific speed, sings a song of swift, appalling energy, of +which the final explosion is the only fitting culmination. One gets, +too, an idea of an unbending volition in the thing. After a certain time +at the front the ear learns to distinguish the sound of a big shell from +a small shell, and to know roughly whether or not one is in the danger +zone. It was a grim jest with us that it took ten days to qualify as a +shell expert, and at the end of two weeks all those who qualified +attended the funeral of those who had failed. Life at The Wood had an +interesting uncertainty. + +A quarter of a mile beyond the corner, on the slope of Puvenelle +opposite The Wood, stood Montauville, the last habitable village of the +region. To the south of it rose the wooded slopes of Puvenelle; to the +north, seen across a marshy meadow, were the slope and the ridge of the +Bois-le-Prêtre. The dirty, mud-spattered village was caught between the +leathery sweeps of two wooded ridges. Three winding roads, tramped into +a pie of mire, crossed the grassy slope of The Wood, and disappeared +into the trees at the top. Though less than a mile from the first German +line, the village, because of its protection from shells by a spur of +the Bois-le-Prêtre, was in remarkably good condition; the only building +to show conspicuous damage being the church, whose steeple had been +twice struck. It was curious to see pigeons flying in and out of the +belfry through the shell rents in the roof. Here and there, among the +uncultivated fields of those who had fled, were the green fields of some +one who had stayed. A woman of seventy still kept open her grocery shop; +it was extraordinarily dirty, full of buzzing flies, and smelled of +spilled wine. + +"Why did you stay?" I asked her. + +"Because I did not want to leave the village. Of course my daughter +wanted me to come to Dijon. Imagine me in Dijon, I, who have been to +Nancy only once! A fine figure I should make in Dijon in my sabots!" + +"And you are not afraid of the shells?" + +"Oh, I should be afraid of them if I ever went out in the street. But I +never leave my shop." + +And so she stayed, selling the three staples of the French front, +Camembert cheese, Norwegian sardines, and cakes of chocolate. But +Montauville was far from safe. It was there that I first saw a man +killed. I had been talking to a sentry, a small young fellow of +twenty-one or two, with yellow hair and gray-blue eyes full of +weariness. He complained of a touch of jaundice, and wished heartily +that the whole affaire--meaning the war in general--was finished. He was +very anxious to know if the Americans thought the Boches were going to +win. Some vague idea of winning the war just to get even with the Boches +seemed to be in his mind. I assured him that American opinion was +optimistic in regard to the chances of the Allies, and strolled away. +Hardly had I gone ten feet, when a "seventy-seven" shell, arriving +without warning, went Zip-bang, and, turning to crouch to the wall, I +saw the sentry crumple up in the mud. It was as if he were a rubber +effigy of a man blown up with air, and some one had suddenly ripped the +envelope. His rifle fell from him, and he, bending from the waist, +leaned face down into the mud. I was the first to get to him. The young, +discontented face was full of the gray street mud, there was mud in the +hollows of the eyes, in the mouth, in the fluffy mustache. A chunk of +the shell had ripped open the left breast to the heart. Down his sleeve, +as down a pipe, flowed a hasty drop, drop, drop of blood that mixed with +the mire. + +Several times a day, at stated hours, the numbers of German missiles +that had fallen into the trenches of the Bois-le-Prêtre, together with +French answers to them, would be telephoned to headquarters. The soldier +in charge of the telephone was an instructor in Latin in a French +provincial university, a tall, stoop- shouldered man, with an +indefinite, benevolent smile curiously framed on thin lips. Probably +very much of a scholar by training and feeling, he had accepted his +military destiny, and was as much a poilu as anybody. During his leisure +hours he was busy writing a "Comparison of the Campaign on the Marne and +the Aisne with Caesar's battles against the Belgian Confederacy." He had +a paper edition of the Gallic Wars which he carried round with him. One +day he explained his thesis to me. He drew a plan with a green pencil on +a piece of paper. + +"See, mon ami," he exclaimed, "here is the Aisne, Caesar's Axona; here +is Berry-au-Bac; here was Caesar, here were the invaders, here was +General French, here Foch, here Von Kluck. Curious, isn't it--two +thousand years afterward?" His eyes for an instant filled with dreamy +perplexity. A little while later I would hear him mechanically +telephoning. "Poste A--five 'seventy-seven' shells, six mines, twelve +trench shells; answer--ten 'seventy-five' shells, eight mines, eighteen +trench shells; Poste B--two 'seventy-seven' shells, one mine, six +grenades; answer--fifteen 'seventy-five' shells; Poste C--one 'two +hundred and ten' shell, fifty mines; answer--sixty mines; Poste D--" + +At Dieulouard I had entered the shell zone; at Pont-à -Mousson, I crossed +the borders of the zone of quiet; at Montauville began the last +zone--the zone of invisibility and violence. Civilian life ended at the +western end of the village street with the abruptness of a man brought +face to face with a high wall. Beyond the village a road was seen +climbing the grassy slope of Puvenelle, to disappear as it neared the +summit of the ridge in a brown wood. It was just an ordinary hill road +of Lorraine, but the fact that it was the direct road to the trenches +invested this climbing, winding, silent length with extraordinary +character. The gate of the zone of violence, every foot of it bore some +scar of the war, now trivial, now gigantic--always awesome in the power +and volition it revealed. One passed from the sight of a brown puddle, +scooped in the surface of the street by an exploding shell, to a view of +a magnificent ash tree splintered by some projectile. It is a very rare +thing to see a sinister landscape, but this whole road was sinister. I +used to discuss this sinister quality with a distinguished French artist +who as a poilu was the infirmier, or medical service man, attached to a +squad of engineers working in a quarry frequently shelled. In this +frightful place we discussed la qualité du sinistre dans l'art (the +sinister in art) as calmly as if we were two Parisian critics sitting on +the benches of the Luxembourg Gardens. As the road advanced into the +wood, there was hardly a wayside tree that had not been struck by a +shell. Branches hung dead from trees, twigs had been lopped off by stray +fragments, great trunks were split apart as if by lightning. "Nature as +Nature is never sinister," said the artist; "it is when there is a +disturbance of the relations between Nature and human life that you have +the sinister. Have you ever seen the villages beyond Ravenna overwhelmed +by the bogs? There you see the sinister. Here Man is making Nature +unlivable for Man." He stroked his fine silky beard meditatively--"This +will all end when the peasants plant again." As we talked, a shell, +intended for the batteries behind, burst high above us. + +Skirting the ravine, now wooded, between Puvenelle and the +Bois-le-Prêtre, the road continued westward till it emerged upon the +high plateau of La Woevre; the last kilomètre being in full view of the +Germans entrenched on the ridge across the rapidly narrowing, rising +ravine. Along this visible space the trees and bushes by the roadside +were matted by shell fire into an inextricable confusion of destruction, +and through the wisps and splinters of this ruin was seen the ridge of +the Bois-le-Prêtre rapidly attaining the level of the moor. At length +the forest of Puvenelle, the ravine, and the Bois-le-Prêtre ended +together in a rolling sweep of furzy fields cut off to the west and +north by a vast billow of the moor which, like the rim of a saucer, +closed the wide horizon. Continuing straight ahead, the Puvenelle road +mounted this rise, dipped and disappeared. Halfway between the edge of +the forest of Puvenelle and this crest stood an abandoned inn, a +commonplace building made of buff-brown moorland stone trimmed with red +brick. Close by this inn, at right angles to the Puvenelle road, another +road turned to the north and likewise disappeared over the lift in the +moor. At the corner stood a government signpost of iron slightly bent +back, bearing in gray-white letters on its clay-blue plaque the +legend--Thiaucourt, 12 kilomètres Metz, 25 kilomètres. + +There was not a soul anywhere in sight; I was surrounded with evidences +of terrific violence--the shattered trees, the shell holes in the road, +the brown-lipped craters in the earth of the fields, the battered inn; +but there was not a sign of the creators of this devastation. A +northwest wind blew in great salvos across the mournful, lonely plateau, +rippling the furze, and brought to my ears the pounding of shells from +behind the rise. When I got to this rim a soldier, a big, blond fellow +of the true Gaulois type with drooping yellow mustaches, climbed slowly +out of a hole in the ground. The effect was startling. I had arrived at +the line where the earth of France completely swallows up the army. This +disappearance of life in a decor of intense action is one of the most +striking things of the war. All about in the surface of the earth were +little, square, sooty holes that served as chimneys, and here and there +rectangular, grave-like openings in the soil showing three or four big +steps descending to a subterranean hut. Fifty feet away not a sign of +human life could be distinguished. Six feet under the ground, framed in +the doorway of a hut, a young, black-haired fellow in a dark-brown +jersey stood smiling pleasantly up at us; it was he who was to be my +guide to the various postes and trenches that I had need to know. He +came up to greet me. + +"Better bring him down here," growled a voice from somewhere in the +earth. "There have been bullets crossing the road all afternoon." + +"I am going to show him the Quart-en-Réserve first." + +The Quart-en-Réserve (Reserved Quarter) was the section of the +Bois-le-Prêtre which, because of its situation on the crest of the great +ridge, had been the most fiercely contested. We crept up on the edge of +the ridge and looked over. An open, level field some three hundred yards +wide swept from the Thiaucourt road to the edges of the Bois-le-Prêtre; +across this field ran in the most confused manner a strange pattern of +brown lines that disappeared among the stumps and poles of the haggard +wood to the east. To the northwest of this plateau, on the road ahead of +us, stood a ruined village caught in the torment of the lines. Here and +there, in some twenty or thirty places scattered over the scarred +plateau, the smoke of trench shells rose in little curling puffs of +gray-black that quickly dissolved in the wind. + +"The Quart is never quiet," said my guide. "It is now half ours, half +theirs." + +Close to the ground, a blot of light flashed swifter than a stroke of +lightning, and a heavier, thicker smoke rolled away. + +"That is one of ours. We are answering their trench shells with an +occasional 'one hundred and twenty." + +"How on earth is it that everybody is not killed?" + +"Because the regiment has occupied the Quart so long that we know every +foot, every turn, every shelter of it. When we see a trench shell +coming, we know just where to go. It is only the newcomers who get +killed. Two months past, when a new regiment occupied the Quart during +our absence en repos, it lost twenty-five men in one day." + +The first trench that I entered was a simple trench about seven feet +deep, with no trimmings whatsoever, just such a trench as might have +been dug for the accommodation of a large water conduit. We walked on a +narrow board walk very slippery with cheesy, red-brown mire. From time +to time the hammer crash of a shell sounded uncomfortably near, and bits +of dirt and pebbles, dislodged by the concussion, fell from the wall of +the passage. The only vista was the curving wall of the long +communication trench and the soft sky of Lorraine, lit with the pleasant +sunlight of middle afternoon, and islanded with great golden-white cloud +masses. My guide and I might have been the last persons left in a world +of strange and terrible noises. The boyau (communication trench) began +to turn and wind about in the most perplexing manner, and we entered a +veritable labyrinth. This extraordinary, baffling complexity is due +primarily to the fact that the trenches advance and retreat, rise and +fall, in order to take advantage of the opportunities for defense +afforded by every change in the topography of the region. I remember one +area along the front consisting of two round, grassy hills divided by a +small, grassy valley whose floor rose gently to a low ridge connecting +the two heights. In this terrain the defensive line began on the first +hill as a semicircle edging the grassy slopes presented to the enemy, +then retreated, sinking some forty feet, to take advantage of the +connecting link of upland at the head of the ravine, and took +semicircular form again on the flat, broad summit of the second hill. In +the meadows at the base of these hills a brook flowing from the ravine +had created a great swamp, somewhat in the shape of a wedge pointing +outward from the mouth of the valley. The lines of the enemy, edging +this tract of mire, were consequently in the shape of an open V. Thus +the military situation at this particular point may be pictorially +represented by a salient semicircle, a dash, and another salient +semicircle faced by a wide, open V. Imagine such a situation complicated +by offensive and counter-offensive, during which the French have seized +part of the hills and the German part of the plain, till the whole +region is a madman's maze of barbed wire, earthy lines, trenches,--some +of them untenable by either side and still full of the dead who fell in +the last combat,--shell holes, and fortified craters. Such was something +of the situation in that wind-swept plain at the edge of the +Bois-le-Prêtre. I leave for other chapters the account of an average day +in the trenches and the story of the great German attack, preferring to +tell here of the general impressions made by the appearance of the +trenches themselves. Two pictures stand out, particularly, the dead on +the barbed wire, and the village called "Fey au Rats" at night. + +"The next line is the first line. Speak in whispers now, for if the +Boches hear us we shall get a shower of hand-grenades." + +I turned into a deep, wide trench whose floor had been trodden into a +slop of cheesy, brown mire which clung to the big hobnailed boots of the +soldiers. Every foot or so along the parapet there was a rifle slit, +made by the insertion of a wedge-shaped wooden box into the wall of +brownish sandbags, and the sentries stood about six feet apart. The +trench had the hushed quiet of a sickroom. + +"Do you want to see the Boches? Here; come, put your eye to this rifle +slit." + +A horizontal tangle of barbed wire lay before me, the shapeless gully of +an empty trench, and, thirty-five feet away, another blue-gray tangle of +barbed wire and a low ripple of the brownish earth. As I looked, one of +the random silences of the front stole swiftly into the air. French +trench and German trench were perfectly silent; you could have heard the +ticking of a watch. + +"You never see them?" + +"Only when we attack them or they attack us." + +An old poilu, with a friendly smile revealing a jagged reef of yellow +teeth, whispered to me amiably:-- + +"See them? Good Lord, it's bad enough to smell them. You ought to thank +the good God, young man, that the wind is carrying it over our heads." + +"Any wounded to-day?" + +"Yes; a corporal had his leg ripped up about half an hour ago." + +At a point a mile or so farther down the moor I looked again out of a +rifle box. No Man's Land had widened to some three hundred feet of +waving furze, over whose surface gusts of wind passed as over the +surface of the sea. About fifty feet from the German trenches was a +swathe of barbed wire supported on a row of five stout, wooden posts. So +thickly was the wire strung that the eye failed to distinguish the +individual filaments and saw only the rows of brown-black posts filled +with a steely purple mist. Upon this mist hung masses of weather-beaten +blue rags whose edges waved in the wind. + +"Des camarades" (comrades), said my guide very quietly. + +A month later I saw the ruined village of Fey-en-Haye by the light of +the full golden shield of the Hunters' Moon. The village had been taken +from the Germans in the spring, and was now in the French lines, which +crossed the village street and continued right on through the houses. +"The first village on the road to Metz" had tumbled, in piles and mounds +of rubbish, out on a street grown high with grass. Moonlight poured into +the roofless cottages, escaping by shattered walls and jagged rents, and +the mounds of débris took on fantastic outlines and cast strange +shadows. In the middle of the village street stood two wooden crosses +marking the graves of soldiers. It was the Biblical "Abomination of +Desolation." + +Looking at Fey from the end of the village street, I slowly realized +that it was not without inhabitants. Wandering through the grass, +scurrying over the rubbish heaps, running in and out of the crumbling +thresholds were thousands and thousands of rats. + +Across the bright sky came a whirring hum, the sound of the motors of +aeroplanes on the way to bombard the railroad station at Metz. I looked +up, but there was nothing to be seen. The humming died away. The bent +signpost at the corner of the deserted moorland road, with its arrow and +its directions, somehow seemed a strange, shadowy symbol of the +impossibility of the attainment of many human aspirations. + + + + +Chapter V + +The Trenches In The "Wood Of Death" + + + +So great has been the interest in the purely military side of the +struggle that one is apt to forget that the war is worth study as the +supreme occupation of many great nations, whose every energy, physical, +moral, and economic, has been put to its service, and relentlessly +tested in its fiery furnace. A future historian may find the war more +interesting, when considered as the supreme achievement of the +industrial civilization of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, than +as a mere vortex in the age-old ocean of European political strife. +There is something awe-inspiring in the spectacle of all the continuous +and multitudinous activity of a great nation feeding, by a thousand +channels, a thousand rills, to the embattled furrows of the zone of +violence. + +By a strange decree of fate, a new warfare has come into being, +admirably adapted to the use and the testing of all our faculties, +organizations, and inventions--trench warfare. The principal element of +this modern warfare is lack of mobility. + +The lines advance, the lines retreat, but never once, since the +establishment of the present trench swathe, have the lines of either +combatant been pushed clear out of the normal zone of hostilities. The +fierce, invisible combats are limited to the first-line positions, +averaging a mile each way behind No Man's Land. This stationary +character has made the war a daily battle; it has robbed war of all its +ancient panoply, its cavalry, its uniforms brilliant as the sun, and has +turned it into the national business. I dislike to use the word +"business," with its usual atmosphere of orderly bargaining; I intend +rather to call up an idea more familiar to American minds--the idea of a +great intricate organization with a corporate volition. The war of +to-day is a business, the people are the stockholders, and the object of +the organization is the wisest application of violence to the enemy. + +To this end, in numberless secteurs along the front, special +narrow-gauge railroad lines have been built directly from the railroad +station at the edge of the shell zone to the artillery positions. To +this end the trenches have been gathered into a special telephone system +so that General Joffre at Chantilly can talk to any officers or soldiers +anywhere along the great swathe. The food, supplies, clothing, and +ammunition are delivered every day at the gate of the swathe, and calmly +redistributed to the trenches by a sort of military express system. + +Only one thing ever disturbs the vast, orderly system. The bony fingers +of Death will persist in getting into the cogs of the machine. + +The front is divided, according to military exigencies, into a number of +roughly equal lengths called secteurs. Each secteur is an administrative +unit with its own government and its own system adapted to the local +situation. The heart of this unit is the railroad station at which the +supplies arrive for the shell zone; in a normal secteur, one military +train arrives every day bringing the needed supplies, and one hospital +train departs, carrying the sick and wounded to the hospitals. The +station at the front is always a scene of considerable activity, +especially when the train arrives; there are pictures of old poilus in +red trousers pitching out yellow hay for the horses, commissary officers +getting their rations, and artilleurs stacking shells. + +The train not being able to continue into the shell zone, the supplies +are carried to the distributing station at the trenches in a convoy of +wagons, called the ravitaillement. Every single night, somewhere along +the road, each side tries to smash up the other's ravitaillement. To +avoid this, the ravitaillement wagons start at different hours after +dark, now at dusk, now at midnight. Sometimes, close by the trenches on +a clear, still night, the plashing and creaking of the enemy's wagons +can be heard through the massacred trees. I remember being shelled along +one bleak stretch of moorland road just after a drenching December rain. +The trench lights rising over The Wood, three miles away, made the wet +road glow with a tarnished glimmer, and burnished the muddy pools into +mirrors of pale light. The ravitaillement creaked along in the darkness. +Suddenly a shell fell about a hundred yards away, and the wagons brought +up jerkily, the harnesses rattling. For ten minutes the Germans shelled +the length of road just ahead of us, but no shell came closer to us than +the first one. About thirty "seventy-seven" shells burst, some on the +road, some on the edges of the fields; we saw them as flashes of +reddish-violet light close to the ground. In the middle of the mêlée a +trench light rose, showing the line of halted gray wagons, the +motionless horses, and the helmeted drivers. The whole affair passed in +silence. When it was judged that the last shell had fallen, whips +cracked like pistol shots, and the line lumbered on again. + +The food came to us fresh every day in a freight car fitted up like a +butcher's shop, in charge of a poilu who was a butcher in civilian life. +"So many men--so many grammes," and he would cut you off a slice. There +was a daily potato ration, and a daily extra, this last from a list ten +articles long which began again every ten days, and included beans, +macaroni, lentils, rice, and cheese. The French army is very well and +plenteously fed. Coffee, sugar, wine, and even tea are ungrudgingly +furnished. These foods are taken directly to the rear of the trenches +where the regimental cooks have their traveling kitchens. Once the food +is prepared, the cooks--the beloved cuistots--take it to the trenches in +great, steaming kettles and distribute it to the men individually. As +for clothing, every regiment has a regimental tailor shop and supply of +uniforms in the village where they go to repos. I have often seen the +soldier tailor of one of the regiments, a little Alsatian Jew, sewing up +the shell rents in a comrade's greatcoat. He had his shop in a pleasant +kitchen, and used to sit beside the fire sewing as calmly as an old +woman. + +The sanitary arrangements of the trenches are the usual army latrines, +and very severe punishments are inflicted for any fouling. + +If a man is wounded, the medical service man of his squad (infirmier), +or one of the stretcher-bearers (brancardiers), takes him as quickly as +possible to the regimental medical post in the rear lines. If the trench +is getting heavily shelled, and the wound is slight, the attendant takes +the man to a shelter and applies first aid until a time comes when he +and his patient can proceed to the rear with reasonable safety. At this +rear post the regimental surgeon cleans the wound, stops the bleeding, +and sends for the ambulance, which, at the Bois-le-Prêtre, came right +into the heart of the trenches by sunken roads that were in reality +broad trenches. The man is then taken to the hospital that his condition +requires, the slightly wounded to one hospital, and those requiring an +operation to another. The French surgical hospitals all along the front +are marvels of cleanliness and order. The heart of each hospital is the +power plant, which sterilizes the water, runs the electric lights, and +works the X-ray generator. Mounted on an automobile body, it is always +ready to decamp in case the locality gets too dangerous. You find these +great, lumbering affairs, half steamroller, half donkey-engine, in the +courtyards of old castles, schools, and great private houses close by +the front. + +The first-line trenches, in a position at all contested, are very apt +still to preserve the hurried arrangement of their first plan, which is +sometimes hardly any plan at all. It must be admitted that the Germans +have the advantage in the great majority of places, for theirs was the +first choice, and they entrenched themselves, as far as possible, along +the crests of the eastern hills of France, in a line long prepared for +just such an exigency. It has been the frightfully difficult task of the +Allies, these two years, not only to hold the positions at the foot of +these hills, in which they were at a tactical disadvantage, all their +movements being visible to the Boches on the crests above them, but also +to attack an enemy entrenched in a strong position of his own choosing. +To-day at one point along the line, the French and Germans may share the +dominating crest of a position, at another point, they may be equally +matched, and at another, such as Les Eparges, the French, after fearful +losses, have carried the coveted eminence. One phase of the business of +violence is the work of the military undertaker attached to each +secteur, who writes down in his little red book the names of the day's +dead, and arranges for the wooden cross at the head of each fresh grave. +Every day along the front is a battle in which thousands of men die. + +The eastern hills of France, those pleasant rolling heights above +Rheims, Verdun, and old, provincial Pont-à -Mousson, have been literally +gorged with blood. It being out of the question to strengthen or rectify +very much the front-line trenches close to the enemy, the effort has +taken place in the rear lines. Wherever there is a certain security, the +rear lines of all the important strategic points have been converted +into veritable subterranean fortresses. The floor plan of these trenches +is an adaptation of the military theory of fortification--with its +angles, salients, and bastions--to the topography of the region. The +gigantic concrete walls of the bomb-proof shelters, the little forts to +shelter the machine guns, and the concrete passages in the rear-line +trenches will appear as heavy and massive to future generations as Roman +masonry appears to us. There are, of course, many unimportant little +links of the trench system, upon whose holding nothing depends and for +whose domination neither side cares to spend the life of a single +soldier, that have only an apology for a second position. The war needs +the money for the preparation of important places. At vital points there +may be the tremendously powerful second line, a third line, and even a +fourth line. The region between Verdun and the lines, for instance, is +the most fearful snarl of barbed wire, pits, and buried explosives that +could be imagined. The distance would have to be contested inch by inch. + +The trench theory is built about the soldier. It must preserve him as +far as possible from artillery and from an infantry attack. The defenses +begin with barbed wire; then come the rifles and the machine guns; and +behind them the light artillery, the "seventy-fives," and the heavy +artillery, the "one hundred and twenties," "two hundred and twenties," +and, now, an immense howitzer whose real caliber has been carefully +concealed. To take a trench position means the crossing of the +entanglements of No Man's Land under fire from artillery, rifles, and +machine guns, an almost impossible proceeding. An advance is possible +only after the opposing trenches have been made untenable by the +concentration of artillery fire. The great offensives begin by blowing +the first lines absolutely to pieces; this accomplished, the attacking +infantry advances to the vacated trenches under the rifle fire of those +few whom the terrible deluge of shells has not killed or crazed, works +toward the strong second position under a concentrated artillery fire of +the retreating enemy as terrible as its own, fights its way heroically +into the second position, and stops there. The great line has been bent, +has been dented, but never broken. An offensive must cover at least +twenty miles of front, for if the break is too narrow the attacking +troops will be massacred by the enemy artillery at both ends of the +broken first lines. If the front lines are one mile deep, the artillery +must put twenty-five square miles of trenches hors de combat, a task +that takes millions of shells. By the time that the first line has been +destroyed and the troops have reached the second line, the shells and +the men are pretty well used up. A great successful offensive on the +western front is theoretically possible, given millions of men, but +practically impossible. Outside of important local gains, the great +western offensives have been failures. Champagne was a failure, the +Calais drive was a failure, Verdun was a failure, and the drive on the +Somme has only bent the lines. The Germans may shorten their lines +because of a lack of men, but I firmly believe that neither their line +nor the Allies' line will ever be broken. What will be the end if the +Allies cannot wrest from Germany, Belgium and that part of northern +France she is holding for ransom--to obtain good terms at the peace +congress? Is Germany slowly, very slowly going under, or are we going to +witness complete European exhaustion? Whatever happens, poor, mourning, +desolated France will hold to the end. + +In localities where no great offensive is contemplated, and the business +of violence has become a routine, the object of the commander is to keep +the enemy on the qui-vive, demoralize him by killing and wounding his +soldiers, and prevent him from strengthening his first lines. Relations +take on the character of an exchange; one day the French throw a +thousand mines (high-explosive trench shells) into the German lines, and +the next day the Germans throw a thousand back. The French smash up a +village where German troops are en repos; while it is being done, the +Germans begin to blow a French village to pieces. In the trenches the +individual soldiers throw grenades at each other, and wish that the +whole tiresome business was done with. They have two weeks in the +trenches and two weeks out of them in a cantonment behind the lines. The +period in the trenches is divided between the first lines and the rear +lines of the first position. Often on my way to the trenches at night I +would pass a regiment coming to repos. Silent, vaguely seen, in broken +step the regiment passed. Sometimes a shell would come whistling in. + +There was one part of the Bois-le-Prêtre region upon which nothing +depended, and the war had there settled into the casual exchange of +powder and old iron that obtains upon two thirds of the front. At the +entrance to this position, in the shadow of a beautiful clump of ash +trees, stood the rustic shelters of the regimental cooks. From behind +the wall of trees came a terrifying crash. The war-gray, iron field +kitchen, which the army slang calls a contre-torpilleur (torpedo-boat +destroyer), stood in a little clearing of the wood; there was nothing +beautiful to the machine, which was simply an iron box, two feet high +and four feet square, mounted on big wheels, and fitted with a high oval +chimney. A halo of kitcheny smell floated about it, and the open door of +its fire-box, in which brands were burning furiously, and a jet of vapor +from somewhere, gave it quite the appearance of an odd steam engine. +Beside the contre-torpilleur stood the two cooks, both unusually small +in stature. One was about thirty-two or three years old, chunky, and +gifted with short, strong, hairy arms; the other was much slighter, +younger, and so juvenile of face that his downy mustache was almost +invisible. I knew these men very well; one, the older, was a farmhand in +a village of Touraine, and the other, an errand boy in a bookbinding +works at Saint-Denis. The war had turned them into regimental cooks, +though it was the older man who did most of the cooking, while the boy +occupied himself with gathering wood and distributing the food. The +latter once confessed to me that when he heard that Americans were +coming to the Bois-le-Prêtre, he had expected to see Indians, and that +he and his comrades had joked, half in jest, half in earnest, about the +Boches going to lose their scalps. The other was famous for an episode +of the July attacks: cornered in the trench by a Boche, he had emptied +his kettle of hot soup over the man's head and finished him off with a +knife. They waved friendlily at me. The farmhand, in particular, was one +of the pleasantest fellows who ever breathed; and still fond, like a +true good man of Touraine, of a Rabelaisian jest. + +The road now entered the wood, and continued straight ahead down a +pleasant vista of young ash trees. Suddenly a trench, bearing its name +in little black, dauby letters on a piece of yellow board the size of a +shingle, began by the side of the forest road, and I went down into it +as I might have gone down cellar. The Boyau Poincaré--such was its +title--began to curve and twist in the manner of trenches, and I came +upon a corner in the first line known as "Three Dead Men," because after +the capture of the wood, three dead Germans were found there in +mysterious, lifelike attitudes. The names of trenches on the French +front often reflect that deep, native instinct to poetry possessed by +simple peoples--the instinct that created the English ballads and the +exquisite mediaeval French legends of the saints. Other trench names +were symbolic, or patriotic, or political; we had the "Trench of the +Great Revenge," the "Trench of France," the "Trench of Aristide" +(meaning Briand), and the "Boulevard Joffre." + +Beyond "Les Trois Morts," began the real lines of the position, and as I +wound my way through them to the first lines, the pleasant forest of +autumnal branches thinned to a wood of trees bare as telegraph poles. It +had taken me half an hour to get from the cook's shelters to the first +lines, and during that time I had not heard one single explosion. In the +first trench the men stood casually by their posts at the parapet, their +bluish coats in an interesting contrast to the brown wall of the trench. +Behind the sentries, who peered through the rifle slits every once in a +while, flowed the usual populace of the first-line trench, passing as +casually as if they were on a Parisian sidewalk, officers as miry as +their men, poilus of the Engineer Corps with an eye to the state of the +rifle boxes, and an old, unshaven soldier in light-brown corduroy +trousers and blue jacket, who volunteered the information that the +Boches had thrown a grenade at him as he turned the corner "down +there"--"It didn't go off." So calm an atmosphere pervaded the cold, +sunny, autumnal afternoon that the idea "the trenches" took on the +proportions of a gigantic hoax; we might have been masqueraders in the +trenches after the war was over. And the Germans were only seventy-five +feet away, across those bare poles, stumps, and matted dead brown +leaves! + +"Attention!" + +The atmosphere of the trench changed in a second. Every head in sight +looked up searchingly at the sky. Just over the trees, distinctly seen, +was a little, black, cylindrical package somersaulting through the air. +In another second everybody had calculated the spot in which it was +about to land, and those whom it threatened had swiftly found shelter, +either by continuing down the trench to a sharp turn, running into the +door of an abri (shelter), or simply snuggling into a hole dug in the +side of the trench. There was a moment of full, complete silence between +the time when everybody had taken refuge and the explosion of the trench +shell. The missile burst with that loud hammer pound made by a +thick-walled iron shell, and lay smoking in the withered leaves. + +"It begins--it begins," said an old poilu, tossing his head. "Now we +shall have those pellets all afternoon." + +An instant after the burst the trench relaxed; some of the sentries +looked back to see where the shell had fallen, others paid no attention +to it whatsoever. Once again the quiet was disturbed by a muffled boom +somewhere ahead of us, and everybody calculated and took refuge exactly +as before. The shells began to come, one on the heels of the other with +alarming frequency; hardly had one burst when another was discovered in +the air. The poilus, who had taken the first shells as a matter of +course, good-naturedly even, began to get as cross as peevish +schoolboys. It was decidedly too much of a good thing. Finally the order +was given for every one except the sentinels, who were standing under +the occasional shelters of beams and earth bridged across the trench, to +retire to the abris. I saw one of the exposed sentinels as I withdrew, a +big, heavily built, young fellow with a face as placid as that of a farm +animal; his rifle leaned against the earth of the trench, and the shadow +of the shelter fell on his expressionless features. The next sentinel +was a man in the late thirties, a tall, nervous soldier with a fierce, +aggressive face. + +The abri to which we retired was about twenty-five feet long and eight +feet wide, and had a door at either end. The hut had been dug right in +the crude, calcareous rock of Lorraine, and the beams of the roof were +deeply set into these natural walls. Along the front wall ran a corridor +about a foot wide, and between this corridor and the rear wall was a +raised platform about seven feet wide piled with hay. Sprawled in this +hay, in various attitudes, were about fifteen men, the squad that had +just completed its sentry service. Two candles hung from the massive +roof and flickered in the draughts between the two doors, revealing, in +rare periods of radiance, a shelf along the wall over the sleepers' +heads piled with canteens, knapsacks, and helmets. In the middle of the +rock wall by the corridor a semicircular funnel had been carved out to +serve as a fireplace, and at its base a flameless fire of beautiful, +crumbling red brands was glowing. This hearth cut in the living rock was +very wonderful and beautiful. Suddenly a trench shell landed right on +the roof of the abri, shaking little fragments of stone down into the +fire on the hearth. The soldiers, who sat hunched up on the edge of the +platform, their feet in the corridor, gave vent to a burst of anger that +had its source in exasperation. + +"This is going too far."--"Why don't they answer?"--"Are those dirty +cows (the classic sales vaches) going to keep this up all afternoon?" + +"Really, now, this is getting to be a real nuisance." Suddenly two forms +loomed large in the left doorway, and the stolid sentry of whom I have +spoken limped in on the arm of an infirmier. Voices murmured in the +obscurity, "Who is wounded?"--"Somebody wounded?" And dreamy-eyed ones +sat up in the straw. The stolid one--he could not have been much over +twenty-one or two--sat down on the edge of the straw near the fireplace, +his face showing no emotion, only a pallor. He had a painful but not +serious wound; a small fragment of iron, from a shell that had fallen +directly into the trench, had lodged in the bones of his foot. He took +off his big, ugly shoe and rested the blood-stained sock on the straw. +Voices like echoes traveled the length of the shelter--"Is it thou, +Jarnac?"--"Art thou wounded, Jarnac?" "Yes," answered the big fellow in +a bass whisper. He was a peasant of the Woevre, one of a stolid, +laborious race. + +"The lieutenant has gone to the telephone shelter to ring up the +batteries," said the infirmier. "Good," said a vibrant, masculine voice +somewhere in the straw. + +A shell coming toward you from the enemy makes a good deal of noise, but +it is not to be compared to the noise made by one's own shells rushing +on a slant just over one's head to break in the enemy's trenches +seventy-five feet away. A swift rafale of some fifty "seventy-five" +shells passed whistling like the great wind of the Apocalypse, which is +to blow when the firmament collapses. Looking through the rifle slit, +after the rafale was over, I could see puffs of smoke apparently rising +out of the carpet of dead leaves. The nervous man, the other sentry, +held up his finger for us not to make the slightest noise and +whispered,-- + +"I heard somebody yell." + +"Where?" + +"Over there by that stump." + +We strained our ears to catch a sound, but heard nothing. + +"I heard the yell plainly," replied the sentry. + +The news seemed to give some satisfaction. At any rate, the Germans +stopped their trench shells. The quiet hush of late afternoon was at +hand. Soon the cook came down the trench with kettles of hot soup. + +Five months have passed since I last saw the inhabitants of this abri, +the tenants of the "Ritz-Marmite." How many are still alive? What has +happened to this fine, brave crowd of Frenchmen, gentlemen all, bons +camarades? I have seen them on guard in a heavy winter snowstorm, when +the enemy was throwing grenades which, exploding, blew purplish-black +smudges on the snow; I have seen them so bemired in mud and slop that +they looked like effigies of brownish earth; I have watched them wading +through communication trenches that were veritable canals. And this is +the third year of the war. + +The most interesting of the lot mentally was a young Socialist named +Hippolyte. He was a sous-lieutenant of the Engineers, and had quarters +of his own in the rear of the trenches, where one was always sure to +find books on social questions lying round in the hay. When the war +began he was just finishing his law course at the University of +Montpellier. A true son of the South, he was dark, short, but well +proportioned, with small hands and feet. The distinguishing features of +his countenance were his eyes and mouth--the eyes, eloquent, alert, +almost Italian; the mouth, full, firm, and dogmatic. The great orators +of the Midi must have resembled him in their youth. He was a Socialist +and a pacifist à outrance, continuing his dream of universal fraternity +in the midst of war. His work lay in building a tunnel under the +Germans, by which he hoped to blow part of the German trenches, Teutons +and all, sky-high. + +The tunneï (sape) began in the third line, at a door hi the wall of the +trench strongly framed in wooden beams the size of railroad ties. At +occasional intervals along the passage the roof was reinforced by a +frame of these beams, so that the sape had the businesslike, +professional look of a gallery in a coal mine. Descending steeply to a +point twelve feet beyond the entrance, it then went at a gentle incline +under No Man's Land, and ended beneath the German trenches. It was the +original intention to blow up part of the German first line, but it +being one day discovered that the Germans were building a tunnel +parallel to the French one, it was decided to blow up the French safe so +that the explosion would spend its force underground, and cause the +walls of the German tunnel to cave in on its makers. I happened to see +the tunnel the morning of the day it was blown up. The French had +stopped working for fear of being overheard by the Germans. It was a +ticklish situation. Were the Germans aware of the French tunnel? If so, +they would blow up their own at once. Were they still continuing their +labor? The earth of the French might burst apart anyminute and rain down +again in a dreadful shower of clods, stones, and mangled bodies. + +Alone, quiet, at the end of the passage under the German lines sat an +old poilu, the sentinel of the tunnel. He was an old coal miner of the +North. The light of a candle showed his quiet, bearded face, grave as +the countenance of some sculptured saint on the portico of a Gothic +church, and revealed the wrinkles and lines of many years of labor. The +sentinel held a microphone to his ears; the poles of it disappearing +into the wall of damp earth separating us from the Boches. + +Hippolyte whispered, "You hear them?" + +The old man nodded his head, and gave the microphone to his officer. I +saw Hippolyte listen. Then, without a word, he handed it to me. All that +I could hear was a faint tapping. + +"The Boches," whispered Hippolyte. + +The French blew up the sape early in the afternoon, at a time when they +felt sure the Germans were at work in their tunnel. I saw the result the +next day. A saucer-shaped depression about twenty-five feet in diameter, +and perhaps two feet deep, had appeared in No Man's Land. Even the +stumps of two trees had sunk and tilted. + +It was Hippolyte who had turned on the electricity. I once talked the +matter over with him. He became at once intense, Latin, doctrinaire. + +"How do you reconcile your theories of fraternity to what you have to +do?" + +"I do not have to reconcile my theories to my office; I am furthering my +theories." + +"How so?" + +"By combating the Boches. Without them we might have realized our idea +of universal peace and fraternity. Voilà l'ennemi! The race is a +poisonous race, serpents, massacreurs! I wish I could smother as many of +them every day as I did yesterday." + +During my service I did not meet another soldier whose hatred of the +Germans was comparable to that of this advocate of universal love. + +I left the trenches just at dusk. Above the dreadful depression in No +Man's Land shone a bronzy sky against which the trees raised their +haggard silhouettes. There was hardly a sound in the whole length of The +Wood. A mist came up making haloes round the rising winter stars. + + + + +Chapter VI + +The Germans Attack + + +The schoolmaster (instituteur) and the schoolmistress (institutrice) of +Montauville were a married couple, and had a flat of four rooms on the +second story of the schoolhouse. The kitchen of this fiat had been +struck by a shell, and was still a mess of plaster, bits of stone, and +glass, and a fragment had torn clear through the sooty bottom of a +copper saucepan still hanging on the wall. In one of the rooms, else +quite bare of furniture, was an upright piano. Sometimes while stationed +at Montauville, I whiled away the waits between calls to the trenches in +playing this instrument. + +It was about nine o'clock in the morning, and thus far not a single call +had come in. The sun was shining very brightly in a sky washed clear by +a night of rain, the morning mists were rising from the wood, and up and +down the very muddy street walked little groups of soldiers. I drew up +the rickety stool and began to play the waltz from "The Count of +Luxembourg." In a short time I heard the sound of tramping on the stairs +voices. In came three poilus--a pale boy with a weary, gentle expression +in his rather faded blue eyes; a dark, heavy fellow of twenty-five or +six, with big wrists, big, muscular hands, and a rather unpleasant, +lowering face; and a little, middle-aged man with straightforward, +friendly hazel eyes and a pointed beard. The pale, boyish one carried a +violin made from a cigar box under his arm, just such a violin as the +darkies make down South. This violin was very beautifully made, and +decorated with a rustic design. I stopped playing. + +"Don't, don't," cried the dark, big fellow; "we haven't heard any music +for a long time. Please keep on. Jacques, here, will accompany you." + +"I never heard the waltz," said the violinist; "but if you play it over +for me once or twice, I'll try to get the air--if you would like to have +me to," he added with a shy, gentle courtesy. + +So I played the rather banal waltz again, till the lad caught the tune. +He hit it amazingly well, and his ear was unusually true. The dark one +had been in Canada and was hungry for American rag-time. "'The Good Old +Summer Time'--you know that? 'Harrigan'--you know that?" he said in +English. The rag-time of "Harrigan" floated out on the street of +Montauville. But I did not care to play things which could have no +violin obligato, so I began to play what I remembered of waltzes dear to +every Frenchman's heart--the tunes of the "Merry Widow." "Sylvia" went +off with quite a dash. The concert was getting popular. Somebody wanted +to send for a certain Alphonse who had an occarina. Two other poilus, +men in the forties, came up, their dark-brown, horseshoe beards making +them look like brothers. Side by side against the faded paper on the +sunny wall they stood, surveying us contentedly. The violinist, who +turned out to be a Norman, played a solo--some music-hall fantasy, I +imagine. The next number was the ever popular "Tipperaree," which every +single poilu in the French army has learned to sing in a kind of +English. Our piano-violin duet hit off this piece even better than the +"Merry Widow." I thanked Heaven that I was not called on to translate +it, a feat frequently demanded of the American drivers. The song is +silly enough in the King's English, but in lucid, exact French, it sinks +to positive imbecility. + +"You play, don't you?" said the violinist to the small bearded man. + +"A little," he replied modestly. + +"Please play." + +The little man sat down at the piano, meditated a minute, and began to +play the rich chords of Rachmaninof's "Prelude." He got about half +through, when Zip-bang! a small shell burst down the street. The dark +fellow threw open the French window. The poilus were scurrying to +shelter. The pianist continued with the "Prelude." + +Zip-bang! Zip-bang! Zshh--Bang--Bang. Bang-Bang! + +The piano stopped. Everybody listened. The village was still as death. +Suddenly down the street came the rattle of a volley of rifle shots. +Over this sound rose the choked, metallic notes of a bugle-call. The +rifle shots continued. The ominous popping of machine guns resounded. +The village, recovering from its silence, filled with murmurs. Bang! +Bang! Bang I Bang! went some more shells. The same knowledge took +definite shape in our minds. + +"An attack!" + +The violinist, clutching his instrument, hurried down the stairs +followed by all the others, leaving the chords of the uncompleted +"Prelude" to hang in the startled air. Shells were popping +everywhere--crashes of smoke and violence--in the roads, in the fields, +and overhead. The Germans were trying to isolate the few detachments en +repos in the village, and prevent reinforcements coming from Dieulouard +or any other place. To this end all the roads between Pont-à -Mousson and +the trenches, and the roads leading directly to the trenches, were being +shelled. + +"Go at once to Poste C!" + +The winding road lay straight ahead, and just at the end of the village +street, the Germans had established a tir de barrage. This meant that a +shell was falling at that particular point about once every fifty +seconds. I heard two rafales break there as I was grinding up the +machine. Up the slope of the Montauville hill came several of the other +drivers. Tyler, of New York, a comrade who united remarkable bravery to +the kindest of hearts, followed close behind me, also evidently bound +for Poste C. German bullets, fired wildly from the ridge of The Wood +over the French trenches, sang across the Montauville valley, lodging in +the trees of Puvenelle behind us with a vicious tspt; shells broke here +and there on the stretch leading to the Quart-en-Réserve, throwing the +small rocks of the road surfacing wildly in every direction. The French +batteries to our left were firing at the Germans, the German batteries +were firing at the French trenches and the roads, and the machine guns +rattled ceaselessly. I saw the poilus hurrying up the muddy roads of the +slope of the Bois-le-Prêtre--vague masses of moving blue on the brown +ways. A storm of shells was breaking round certain points in the road +and particularly at the entrance to The Wood. I wondered what had become +of the audience at the concert. Various sounds, transit of shells, +bursting of shells, crashing of near-by cannon, and rat-tat-tat-tat! of +mitrailleuses played the treble to a roar formed of echoes and +cadences--the roar of battle. The Wood of Death (Le Bois de la Mort) was +singing again. + +That day's attack was an attempt by the Germans to take back from the +French the eastern third of the Quart-en-Réserve and the rest of the +adjoining ridge half hidden in the shattered trees. At the top of the +plateau, by the rise in the moorland I described in the preceding +chapter, I had an instant's view of the near-by battle, for the focus +was hardly more than four hundred yards away. There was a glimpse of +human beings in the Quart--soldiers in green, soldiers in blue--the very +fact that anybody was to be seen there was profoundly stirring. They +were fighting in No Man's Land. Tyler and I watched for a second, +wondering what scenes of agony, of heroism, of despair were being +enacted in that dreadful field by the ruined wood. + +We hurried our wounded to the hospital, passing on our way detachments +of soldiers rushing toward The Wood from the villages of the region. +Three or four big shells had just fallen in Dieulouard, and the village +was deserted and horribly still. The wind carried the roar of the attack +to our ears. In three quarters of an hour, I was back again at the same +moorland poste, to which an order of our commander had attached me. +Montauville was full of wounded. I had three on stretchers inside, one +beside me on the seat, and two others on the front mudguards. And The +Wood continued to sing. From Montauville I could hear the savage yells +and cries which accompanied the fighting. + +Half an hour after the beginning of the attack, the war invaded the sky, +with the coming of the German reconnoitering aeroplanes. One went to +watch the roads leading to The Wood along the plateau, one went to watch +the Dieulouard road, and the other hovered over the scene of the combat. +The sky was soon dotted with the puffs of smoke left by the exploding +shells of the special anti-aircraft "seventy- fives." These puffs +blossomed from a pin-point of light to a vaporous, gray-white puff-ball +about the size of the full moon, and then dissolved in the air or blew +about in streaks and wisps. These cloudlets, fired at an aviator flying +along a certain line, often were gathered by the eye into arrangements +resembling constellations. The three machines were very high, and had a +likeness to little brown and silver insects. + +The Boche watching the conflict appeared to hang almost immobile over +the Quart. With a striking suddenness, another machine appeared behind +him and above him. So unexpected was the approach of this second +aeroplane that its appearance had a touch of the miraculous. It might +have been created at that very moment in the sky. The Frenchman--for it +was an aviator from the parc at Toul, since killed at Verdun, poor +fellow--swooped beneath his antagonist and fired his machine gun at him. +The German answered with two shots of a carbine. The Frenchman fired +again. Suddenly the German machine flopped to the right and swooped +down; it then flopped to the left, the tail of the machine flew up, and +the apparatus fell, not so swiftly as one might expect, down a thousand +feet into The Wood. When I saw the wreckage, a few days afterwards, it +looked like the spilt contents of â waste-paper basket, and the +aviators, a pilot and an observer, had had to be collected from all over +the landscape. The French buried them with full military honors. + +Thanks to the use of a flame machine, the Germans succeeded in regaining +the part of the ridge they had lost, but the French made it so hot for +them that they abandoned it, and the contested trenches now lie in No +Man's Land. All that night the whole Wood was illuminated, trench light +after trench light rising over the dark branches. There would be a +rocket like the trail of bronze-red powder sparks hanging for an instant +in the sky, then a loud Plop! and the French light would spread out its +parachute and sail slowly down the sky toward the river. The German +lights (fusées éclairantes), cartridges of magnesium fired from a gun +resembling a shotgun, burned only during their dazzling trajectory. At +midnight the sky darkened with low, black rain clouds, upon whose +surface the constant cannon fire flashed in pools of violet-white light. +Coming down from the plateau at two in the morning, I could see sharp +jabs of cannon fire for thirty miles along the front on the other side +of the Moselle. + +Just after this attack a doctor of the army service was walking through +the trenches in which the French had made their stand. He noticed +something oddly skewered to a tree. He knocked it down with a stone, and +a human heart fell at his feet. + +The most interesting question of the whole business is, "How do the +soldiers stand it?" At the beginning of my own service, I thought +Pont-à -Mousson, with its ruins, its danger, and its darkness, the most +awful place on the face of the earth. After a little while, I grew +accustomed to the décor, and when the time came for me to leave it, I +went with as much regret as if I were leaving the friendliest, most +peaceful of towns. First the décor, growing familiar, lost the keener +edges of its horror, and then the life of the front--the violence, the +destruction, the dying and the dead--all became casual, part of the +day's work. A human being is profoundly affected by those about him; +thus, when a new soldier finds himself for the first time in a trench, +he is sustained by the attitude of the veterans. Violence becomes the +commonplace; shells, gases, and flames are the things that life is made +of. The war is another lesson in the power of the species to adapt +itself to circumstances. When this power of adaptability has been +reinforced by a tenacious national will "to see the thing through," men +will stand hell itself. The slow, dogged determination of the British +cannot be more powerful than the resolution of the French. Their +decision to continue at all costs has been reached by a purely +intellectual process, and to enforce it, they have called upon those +ancient foundations of the French character, the sober reasonableness +and unbending will they inherit from Rome. + +And a new religion has risen in the trenches, a faith much more akin to +Mahomet than to Christ. It is a fatalism of action. The soldier finds +his salvation in the belief that nothing will happen to him until his +hour comes, and the logical corollary of this belief, that it does no +good to worry, is his rock of ages. It is a curious thing to see +poilus--peasants, artisans, scholars--completely in the grip of this +philosophy. There has been a certain return to the Church of Rome, for +which several reasons exist, the greatest being that the war has made +men turn to spiritual things. Only an animal could be confronted with +the pageant of heroism, the glory of sacrifice, and the presence of +Death, and not be moved to a contemplation of the fountain-head of these +sublime mysteries. But it is the upper class which in particular has +returned to the Church. Before the war, rationalist and genial skeptic, +the educated Frenchman went to church because it was the thing to do, +and because non-attendance would weaken an institution which the world +was by no means ready to lay aside. This same educated Frenchman, +brought face to face with the mystery of human existence, has felt a +real need of spiritual support, and consequently returned to the Church +of his fathers. + +The religious revival is a return of upper-class prodigals to the fold, +and a rekindling of the chilled brands of the faith of the amiably +skeptical. The great mass of the nation has felt this spiritual force, +but because the mass of the nation was always Catholic, nothing much has +changed. I failed to find any trace of conversions among the still +hostile working men of the towns, and the bred-in-the-bone Socialists. +The rallying of the conservative classes about the Cross is also due to +the fact that the war has exposed the mediocrity and sterile windiness +of the old socialistic governments; this misgovernment the upper classes +have determined to end once they return from the trenches, and +remembering that the Church of Rome was the enemy of the past +administrations, cannot help regarding her with a certain friendliness. +But this issue of past misgovernment will be fought out on purely +secular grounds, and the Church will be only a sympathizer behind the +fray. The manner in which the French priests have fought and died is +worthy of the admiration of the world. Never in the history of any +country has the national religion been so closely enmeshed in the +national life. The older clergy, as a rule, have been attached to the +medical services of the front, serving as hospital orderlies and +stretcher-bearers, but the younger priests have been put right into the +army and are fighting to-day as common soldiers. There are hundreds of +officer-priests--captains and lieutenants of the regular army. + +But the real religion of the front is the philosophy of Mahomet. Life +will end only when Death has been decreed by Fate, and the Boches are +the unbelievers. After all, Islam in its great days was a virile faith, +the faith of a race of soldiers. + + + + +Chapter VII + +The Town In The Trenches + + + +At the beginning of the war the German plan of campaign was to take +France on the flank by marching through Belgium, and once the success of +this northern venture assured, strike at the Verdun-Belfort line which +had baffled them in the first instance. Had they not lost the battle of +the Marne, this second venture might have proved successful, for the +body of the French army was fighting in the north, and the remaining +troops would have been discouraged by the capture of Paris. On the eve +of the battle of the Marne the campaign seeming to be well in hand in +the north, a German invasion of Lorraine began, one army striking at the +defenses of the great plateau which slopes from the Vosges to the +Moselle, and the other attempting to ascend the valley of the river. It +was this second army which entered Pont-à -Mousson. + +Immediately following the declaration of hostilities the troops who had +been quartered in the town were withdrawn, and the town was left open to +the enemy who, going very cautiously, was on his way from Metz. For +several weeks in August, this city, almost directly on the frontier, saw +no soldiers, French or German. It was a time of dramatic suspense. The +best recital of it I ever heard came from the lips of the housekeeper of +Wisteria Villa, a splendid, brave French woman who had never left her +post. She was short, of a clear, tanned complexion, and always had her +hair tightly rolled up in a little classic pug. She was as fearless of +shells as a soldier in the trenches, and once went to a deserted +orchard, practically in the trenches, to get some apples for Messieurs +les Américains. When asked why she did not get them at a safer place, +she replied that she did not have to pay for these apples as the land +belonged to her father! Her ear for shells was the most accurate of the +neighborhood, and when a deafening crash would shake the kettles on the +stove and rattle the teacups, she could tell you exactly from what +direction it had come and the probable caliber. I remember one morning +seeing her wash dishes while the Germans were shelling the corner I have +already described. The window over the sink opened directly on the +dangerous area, and she might have been killed any minute by a flying +eclat. Standing with her hands in the soapy water, or wiping dry the +hideous blue-and-white dinner service of Wisteria Villa, she never even +bothered to look up to see where the shells were landing. Two +"seventy-sevens" went off with a horrid pop; "Those are only +'seventy-sevens,'" she murmured as if to herself. A fearful swish was +next heard and the house rocked to the din of an explosion. "That's a +'two hundred and ten'--the rogues--oh, the rogues!" she exclaimed in the +tone she might have used in scolding a depraved boy. + +At night, when the kitchen was cleared up, she sat down to write her +daily letter to her soldier son, and once this duty finished, liked +nothing better than a friendly chat. She knew the history of +Pont-à -Mousson and Montauville and the inhabitants thereof by heart; she +had tales to tell of the shrewdness of the peasants and diverting +anecdotes of their manners and morals. These stories she told very well +and picturesquely. + +"The first thing we saw was the President's poster saying not to be +alarmed, that the measures of military preparation were required by +circumstances (les événements) and did not mean war. Then over this bill +the maire posted a notice that in case of a real mobilization (une +mobilisation sérieuse) they would ring the tocsin. At eleven o'clock the +tocsin rang, oh, la la, monsieur, what a fracas! All the bells in the +town, Saint-Martin, Saint-Laurent, the hôtel de ville. Immediately all +our troops went away. We did not want to see them go. 'We shall be back +again,' they said. They liked Pont-à -Mousson. Such good young fellows! +The butcher's wife has heard that only fifty-five of the six hundred who +were here are alive. They were of the active forces (de l'active). A +great many people followed the soldiers. So for two weeks we were left +all alone, wondering what was to become of us. And all the time we heard +frightful stories about the villages beyond Nancy. On the nth of August +we heard cannon for the first time, and on the 12th and the 14th we were +bombarded. On the 4th of September, at five o'clock in the evening, the +bells began to ring again. Everybody ran out to find the reason. Les +Allemands--they were not then called Boches--were coming. Baoum! went +the bridge over the Moselle. Everybody went into their houses, so that +the Germans came down streets absolutely deserted. I peeked from my +window blind. The Boches came down the road from Norroy, les Uhlans, the +infantry--how big and ugly they all were. And their officers were so +stiff (raide). They were not like our bons petits soldats Français. In +the morning I went out to get some bread. + +"'Eh là , good woman' (bonne femme), said a grand Boche to me. + +"'What do you want?' said I. + +"'Are there any soldats français in the town?' said the Boche. + +"'How should I know?' I answered. + +"'You do not want to tell, good woman.' + +"'I do not know.' + +"'Are there any francs-tireurs (civilian snipers) in this town?' + +"'Don't bother me; I'm going for some bread.' + +"During the night all the clocks had been changed to German time. Many +of the Boches spoke French. There were Alsatians and Lorrains who did +not like the fracas at all. Yes, the Boches behaved themselves all right +at Pont-à -Mousson--there were some vulgarities (grossièretés). One of +the soldiers, a big blond, went down the street wearing an ostrich +feather hat and a woman's union suit and chemise. It was a scandale. But +uncle laughed to kill himself; he was peeping out through the blinds. +Right in front of my door were ten cannon, and all the street was full +of artillery. Well we had four days of this, hearing never a word from +the French side. + +"On the night of the 9th I heard a good deal of noise, and somebody woke +up the Boches sous-officiers who were quartered in a house across the +street. I saw lights and heard shouts. I was peeping out of my window +all the time. The dark street filled with soldiers. I saw their officers +lashing them to make them hurry. They harnessed the artillery horses to +the guns, and at four o'clock in the morning there was not a single +Boche in Pont-à -Mousson. They had all gone away in the night, taking +with them the German flag on the city hall. You know, monsieur, on the +night of the 9th they received news of the battle of the Marne. + +"For five days more we saw neither Français nor Boches. Finally some +French dragoons came down the road from Dieulouard, and little by little +other soldiers came too. But, hélas, monsieur, the Boches were waiting +for them in the Bois-le-Prêtre." + +Such was the way that Pont-à -Mousson did not become Mussenbruck. The +episode is an agreeable interlude of decency in the history of German +occupations, for that atrocities were perpetrated in Nomény, just across +the river, is beyond question. I have talked with survivors. At +Pont-à -Mousson everything was orderly; six miles to the east, houses +were burned over the heads of the inhabitants, and women and children +brutally massacred. + +I best remember the little city as it was one afternoon in early +December. The population of 17,000 had then shrunk to about 900, and +only a little furtive life lingered in the town. My promenade began at +the river-bank by the wooden footbridge crossing from the shore to the +remaining arches of the graceful eighteenth-century stone bridge blown +up in September, 1914. There is always something melancholy about a +ruined bridge, perhaps because the structure symbolizes a patient human +victory over the material world. There was something intensely tragic in +the view of the wrecked quarter of Saint-Martin, seen across the deep, +greenish, wintry river, and in the great curve of the broad flood +sullenly hurrying to Metz. At the end of the bridge, ancient and gray, +rose the two round towers of the fifteenth-century parish church, with +that blind, solemn look to them the towers of Notre Dame possess, and +beyond this edifice, a tile-roofed town and the great triangular hill +called the Mousson. It was dangerous to cross the bridge, because German +snipers occasionally fired at it, so I contented myself with looking +down the river. Beyond the Bois-le-Prêtre, the next ridge to rise from +the river was a grassy spur bearing the village of Norroy on its back. +You could see the hill, only four kilomètres away, the brown walls of +the village, the red roofs, and sometimes the glint of sunlight on a +window; but for us the village might have been on another planet. All +social and economic relations with Norroy had ceased since September, +1914, and reflecting on this fact, the invisible wall of the trenches +became more than a mere military wall, became a barrier to every human +relation and peaceful tie. + +A sentry stood by the ruined bridge, a small, well-knit man with +beautiful silver-gray hair, blue eyes, and pink cheeks; his uniform was +exceptionally clean, and he appeared to be some decent burgher torn from +his customary life. I fell into conversation with him. He recollected +that his father, a veteran of 1870, had prophesied the present war. + +"'We shall see them again, the spiked helmets (les casques à pointe),' +said my father--'we shall see them again.' + +"'Why?' I asked him. + +"'Because they have eaten of us, and will be hungry once more.'" + +The principal street of the town led from this bridge to a great square, +and continued straight on toward Maidières and Montauville. The +sidewalks around this square were in arcades under the houses, for the +second story of every building projected for seven or eight feet over +the first and rested on a line of arches at the edge of the street. To +avoid damage from shells bursting in the open space, every one of these +arcades, and there were perhaps a hundred all told, had been plugged +with sandbags, so that the square had an odd, blind look. A little life +flickered in the damp, dark alleys behind these obstructions. There was +a tobacco shop, kept by two pretty young women whom the younger soldiers +were always jollying, a wineshop, a tailorshop, and a bookstore, always +well supplied with the great Parisian weeklies, which one found later in +odd corners of shelters in the trenches. Occasionally a soldier bought a +serious book when it was to be found in the dusty files of the +"Collection Nelson"; I remember seeing a young lieutenant of artillery +buying Ségur's "Histoire de la Grande Armée en 1812," and another taking +Flaubert's "Un cÅ“ur simple." But the military life, roughly lived, and +shared with simple people, appears to make even the wisest boyish, and +after a while at the front the intellect will not read anything +intellectual. It simply won't, perhaps because it can't. The soldier +mind delights in rough, genial, and simple jokes. A sergeant, whom I +knew to be a distinguished young scholar in civilian life, was always +throwing messages wrapped round a stone into the German trenches; the +messages were killingly funny, amiably indecent, and very jejune. +Invariably they provoked a storm of grenades, and sometimes epistles in +the same vein from the Boches. In spite of the vicious pang of the +grenades, there was an absurd "Boys-will-be-boys" air to the whole +performance. Conversation, however, did not sink to this boyish level, +and the rag-tag and bob-tail of one's cultivation found its outlet in +speech. + +At the end of this street was the railroad crossing, the passage à +niveau, and the station in a jungle of dead grass and brambles. Like the +bridge, its rustiness and weediness was a dreadful symbol of the +cessation of human activity, and the blue enamel signpost lettered in +white with the legend, "Metz--32 kilomètres," was another reminder of +the town to which the French aspired with all the fierce intensity of +crusaders longing for Jerusalem. It was impossible to get away from the +omnipresence of the name of the fated city--it stared at you from +obscure street corners, and was to be found on the covers of printed +books and post-cards. I saw the city once from the top of the hill of +the Mousson; its cathedral towers pierced the blue mists of the brown +moorlands, and it appeared phantasmal and tremendously distant. Yet for +those towers countless men had died, were dying, would die. A French +soldier who had made the ascent with me pointed out Metz the much +desired. + +"Are you going to get it?" I asked. "Perhaps so," he replied gravely. +"After so many sacrifices." (Après tant de sacrifices.) He made no +gesture, but I know that his vision included the soldiers' cemetery at +the foot of the Mousson hill. It lay, a rust-colored field, on the steep +hillside just at the border of the town, and was new, raw, and dreadful. +The guardian of the cemetery, an old veteran of 1870, once took me +through the place. He was a very lean, hooped-over old man with a big, +aquiline nose, blue-gray eyes framed in red lids, and a huge, +yellowish-white mustache. First he showed me the hideous picture of the +civilian cemetery, in which giant shells had torn open the tombs, hurled +great sarcophagi a distance of fifty feet, and dug craters in the rows +of graves. Though the civilian authorities had done what they could to +put the place in order, there were still memories of the disturbed dead +to whom the war had denied rest. Coming to the military cemetery, the +guardian whispered, pointing to the new mounds with his rustic cane, "I +have two colonels, three commandants, and a captain. Yes, two colonels" +(deux colonels). Following his staff, my eye looked at the graves as if +it expected to see the living men or their effigies. Somewhat apart lay +another grave. "Voilà un colonel boche," said the sexton; "and a +lieutenant boche--and fifty soldats boches." + +The destroyed quarter of Pont-à -Mousson lay between the main street and +the flank of the Bois-le-Prêtre. The quarter was almost totally +deserted, probably not more than ten houses being inhabited out of +several thousand. The streets that led into it had grass growing high in +the gutters, and a velvety moss wearing a winter rustiness grew packed +between the paving-stones. Beyond the main street, la rue Fabvrier went +straight down this loneliness, and halted or turned at a clump of +wrecked houses a quarter of a mile away. Over this clump, slately-purple +and cold, appeared the Bois-le-Prêtre, and every once in a while a puffy +cloud of greenish-brown or gray-black would float solemnly over the +crests of the trees. This stretch of la rue Fabvrier was one of the most +melancholy pictures it was possible to see. Hardly a house had been +spared by the German shells; there were pock-marks and pits of shell +fragments in the plaster, window glass outside, and holes in walls and +roofs. I wandered down the street, passing the famous miraculous statue +of the Virgin of Pont-à -Mousson. The image, only a foot or two high and +quite devoid of facial expression, managed somehow to express emotion in +the outstretched arms, drooping in a gesture at once of invitation and +acceptance. A shell had maculated the wall on each side and above the +statue, but the little niche and canopy were quite untouched. The heavy +sound of my soldier boots went dump! clump! down the silence. + +At the end of the road, in the fields on the slope, a beautiful +eighteenth-century house stood behind a mossy green wall. It was just +such a French house as is the analogue of our brick mansions of Georgian +days; it was two stories high and had a great front room on each side of +an entry on both floors, each room being lighted with two +well-proportioned French windows. The outer walls were a golden brown, +and the roof, which curved in gently from the four sides to central +ridge, a very beautiful rich red. The house had the atmosphere of the +era of the French Revolution; one's fancy could people it with soberly +dressed provincial grandees. A pare of larches and hemlocks lay about +it, concealing in their silent obscurity an artificial lake heavily +coated with a pea-soup scum. + +Beyond the house lay the deserted rose-garden, rank and grown to weeds. +On some of the bushes were cankered, frozen buds. In the center of the +garden, at the meeting-point of several paths, a mossy fountain was +flowing into a greenish basin shaped like a seashell, and in this basin +a poilu was washing his clothes. He was a man of thirty-eight or nine, +big, muscular, out-of-doors looking; whistling, he washed his gray +underclothes with the soap the army furnishes, wrung them, and tossed +them over the rose-bushes to dry. + +"Does anybody live in this house?" + +"Yes, a squad of travailleurs." + +A regiment of travailleurs is attached to every secteur of trenches. +These soldiers, depending, I believe, on the Engineer Corps, are +quartered just behind the lines, and go to them every day to put them in +order, repair the roads, and do all the manual labor. Humble folk these, +peasants, ditch-diggers, road-menders, and village carpenters. Those at +Pont-à -Mousson were nearly all fathers of families, and it was one of +the sights of the war most charged with true pathos to see these +gray-haired men marching to the trenches with their shovels on their +shoulders. + +"Are you comfortable?" + +"Oh, yes. We live very quietly. I, being a stonemason and a carpenter, +stay behind and keep the house in repair. In summer we have our little +vegetable gardens down behind those trees where the Boches can't see +us." + +"Can I see the house?" + +"Surely; just wait till I have finished sousing these clothes." + +The room on the ground floor to the left of the hallway was imposing in +a stately Old-World way. The rooms in Wisteria Villa were rooms for +personages from Zola; this room was inhabited by ghosts from the pages +of Balzac. It was large, high, and square; the walls were hung with a +golden scroll design printed on ancient yellow silk; the furniture was +of some rich brown finish with streaks and lusters of bronzy yellow, and +a glass chandelier, all spangles and teardrops of crystal, hung from a +round golden panel in the ceiling. Over a severe Louis XVI mantel was a +large oil portrait of Pius IX, and on the opposite wall a portrait head +of a very beautiful young girl. Chestnut hair, parted in the fashion of +the late sixties, formed a silky frame round an oval face, and the +features were small and well proportioned. The most remarkable part of +the countenance were the curiously level eyes. The calm, +apart-from-the-world character of the expression in the eyes was in +interesting contrast to the good-natured and somewhat childish look in +the eyes of the old Pope. + +"Who lived here?" + +"An old man (un vieux). He was a captain of the Papal Zouaves in his +youth. See here, read the inscription on the portrait--'Presented by His +Holiness to a champion (défenseur) of the Church.'" + +"Is he still alive?" + +"He died three months ago in Paris. I should hate to die before I see +how the war is going to end. I imagine he would have been willing to +last a bit longer." + +"And this picture on the right, the jeune fille?" + +"That was his daughter, an only child. She became a nun, and died when +she was still young. The old man's gardener comes round from time to +time to see if the place is all right. It is a pity he is not here; he +could tell you all about them." + +"You are very fortunate not to have been blown to pieces. Surely you are +very near the trenches." + +"Near enough--yes, indeed. A communication trench comes right into the +cellar. But it is quiet in this part of The Wood. There is a regiment of +old Boches in the trenches opposite our territorials, fathers of +families (pères de familles), just as they are. We fire rifles at each +other from time to time just to remember it is war (c'est la guerre). We +share the crest together here; nothing depends on it. What good should +we do in killing each other? Besides it would be a waste of shells." + +"How do you know that the Boches opposite you are old?" + +"We see them from time to time. They are great hands at a parley. The +first thing they tell you is the number of children they have. I met an +old Boche not long ago down by the river. He held up two fingers to show +that he had two children, put his hand out just above his knee to show +the height of his first child, and raised it just above his waist to +show the height of the second. So I held up five fingers to show him I +had five children, when the Lord knows I have only one. But I did not +want to be beaten by a Boche." + +A sound of voices was heard beneath us, and the clang of the shovels +being placed against the stone walls of the cellar. + +"Those are the travailleurs. The sergeant will be coming in and I must +report to him. Good-bye, American friend, and come again." + +A melancholy dusk was beginning as I turned home from the romantic +house, and the deserted streets were filling with purplish shadows. The +concussion of exploding shells had blown almost all the glass out of the +windows of the Church of St. Laurent, and the few brilliant red and +yellow fragments that still clung to the twisted leaden frames reminded +me of the autumn leaves that sometimes cling to winter-stricken trees. +The interior of the church was swept and garnished, and about twenty +candles with golden flames, slowly waving in the drafts from the ruined +windows, shone beneath a statue of the Virgin. There was not another +soul in the church. A terrible silence fell with the gathering darkness. +In a little wicker basket at the foot of the benignant mother were about +twenty photographs of soldiers, some in little brassy frames with spots +of verdigris on them, some the old-fashioned "cabinet" kind, some on +simple post-cards. There was a young, dark Zouave who stood with his +hand on an ugly little table, a sergeant of the Engineer Corps with a +vacant, uninteresting face, and two young infantry men, brothers, on the +same shabby finger-marked post-card. Pious hands had left them thus in +the care of the unhappy mother, "Marie, consolatrice des malheureux." + +The darkness of midnight was beginning at Pont-à -Mousson, for the town +was always as black as a pit. On my way home I saw a furtive knife edge +of yellow light here and there under a door. The sentry stood by his +shuttered lantern. Suddenly the first of the trench lights flowered in +the sky over the long dark ridge of the Bois-le-Prétre. + + + + +Chapter VIII + +Messieurs Les Poilus De La Grande Guerre + + + +The word "poilu," now applied to a French soldier, means literally "a +hairy one," but the term is understood metaphorically. Since time +immemorial the possession of plenty of bodily hair has served to +indicate a certain sturdy, male bearishness, and thus the French, long +before the war, called any good, powerful fellow--"un véritable poilu." +The term has been found applied to soldiers of the Napoleonic wars. The +French soldier of to-day, coming from the trenches looking like a +well-digger, but contented, hearty, and strong, is the poilu par +excellence. + +The origin of the term "Boche," meaning a German, has been treated in a +thousand articles, and controversy has raged over it. The probable +origin of the term, however, lies in the Parisian slang word "caboche," +meaning an ugly head. This became shortened to "Boche," and was applied +to foreigners of Germanic origin, in exactly the way that the +American-born laborer applies the contemptuous term "square-head" to his +competitors from northern Europe. The word "Boche" cannot be translated +by anything except "Boche," any more than our word "Wop," meaning an +Italian, can be turned into French. The same attitude, half banter, half +race contempt, lies at the heart of both terms. + +When the poilus have faced the Boches for two weeks in the trenches, +they march down late at night to a village behind the lines, far enough +away from the batteries to be out of danger of everything except +occasional big shells, and near enough to be rushed up to the front in +case of an attack. There they are quartered in houses, barns, sheds, and +cellars, in everything that can decently house and shelter a man. These +two weeks of repos are the poilus' elysium, for they mean rest from +strain, safety, and comparative comfort. The English have behind their +lines model villages with macadam roads, concrete sidewalks, a water +system, a sewer system, and all kinds of schemes to make the soldiers +happy; the French have to be contented with an ordinary Lorraine +village, kept in good order by the Medical Corps, but quite destitute of +anything as chic as the British possess. + +The village of cantonnement is pretty sure to be the usual brown-walled, +red-roofed village of Lorraine clumped round its parish church or +mouldering castle. In such a French village there is always a hall, +usually over the largest wineshop, called the "Salle de Fêtes," and this +hall serves for the concert each regiment gives while en repos. The +Government provides for, indeed insists upon, a weekly bath, and the +bathhouse, usually some converted factory or large shed, receives its +daily consignments of companies, marching up to the douches as solemnly +as if they were going to church. Round the army continues the often busy +life of the village, for to many such a hamlet the presence of a +multitude of soldiers is a great economic boon. Grocery-shops, in +particular, do a rushing business, for any soldier who has a sou is glad +to vary the government menu with such delicacies as pâtés de foie gras, +little sugar biscuits, and the well- beloved tablet of chocolate. + +While the grocery-man (l'épicier) is fighting somewhere in the north or +in the Argonne, madame l'épicière stays at home and serves the +customers. At her side is her own father, an old fellow wearing big +yellow sabots, and perhaps the grocer's son and heir, a boy about twelve +years old. Madame is dressed entirely in black, not because she is in +mourning, but because it is the rural fashion; she wears a knitted +shoulder cape, a high black collar, and moves in a brisk, businesslike +way; the two men wear the blue-check overalls persons of their calling +affect, in company with very clean white collars and rather dirty, +frayed bow ties of unlovely patterns. Along the counter stand the +poilus, young, old, small, and large, all wearing various fadings of the +horizon blue, and helmets often dented. "Some pâté de foie gras, madame, +s'il vous plaît." "Oui, monsieur." "How much is this cheese, maman?" +cries the boy in a shrill treble. In the barrel-haunted darkness at the +rear of the shop, the old man fumbles round for some tins of jelly. The +poilu is very fond of sweets. Sometimes swish bang! a big shell comes in +unexpectedly, and shopkeepers and clients hurry, at a decent tempo, to +the cellar. There, in the earthy obscurity, one sits down on empty +herring-boxes and vegetable cases to wait calmly for the exasperating +Boches to finish their nonsense. There is a smell of kerosene oil and +onions in the air. A lantern, always on hand for just such an emergency, +burns in a corner. "Have you had a bad time in the trenches this week, +Monsieur Levrault?" says the épicière to a big, stolid soldier who is a +regular customer. + +"No, quite passable, Madame Champaubert." + +"And Monsieur Petticollot, how is he?" + +"Very well, thank you, madame. His captain was killed by a rifle grenade +last week." + +"Oh, the poor man." + +Crash goes a shell. Everybody wonders where it has fallen. In a few +seconds the éclats rain down into the street. + +"Dirty animals," says the voice of the old man in the darkest of all the +corners. + +Madame Champaubert begins the story of how a cousin of hers who keeps a +grocery-shop at Mailly, near the frontier, was cheated by a Boche +tinware salesman. The cellar listens sympathetically. The boy says +nothing, but keeps his eyes fixed on the soldiers. In about twenty +minutes the bombardment ends, and the bolder ones go out to ascertain +the damage. The soldier's purchases are lying on the counter. These he +stuffs into his musette, the cloth wallet beloved of the poilu, and +departs. The colonel's cook comes in; he has got hold of a good ham and +wants to deck it out with herbs and capers. Has madame any capers? While +she is getting them, the colonel's cook retails the cream of all the +regimental gossip. + +These people of Lorraine who have stayed behind, "Lorrains," the French +term them, are thoroughly French, though there is some German blood in +their veins. This Teuton addition is of very ancient date, being due to +the constant invasions which have swept up the valley of the Moselle. +This intermingling of the races, however, continued right up to 1870, +but since then the union of French and German stock has been rare. It +was most frequent, perhaps, during the years between 1804 and 1850, when +Napoleon's domination of the principalities and states along the Rhine +led to a French social and commercial invasion of Rhenish Germany, an +invasion which ended only with the growth of German nationalism. The +middle classes in particular intermarried because they were more apt to +be engaged in commerce. But since 1870, two barriers, one geographic +--annexed Lorraine, and one intellectual--hatred, have kept the +neighbors apart. The Lorrain of to-day, no matter what his ancestors +were, is a thorough Frenchman. These Lorrains are between medium height +and tall, strongly built, with light, tawny hair, good color, and a +brownish complexion. + +The poilus who come to the village en repos are from every part of +France, and are of all ages between nineteen and forty-five. I remember +seeing a boy aged only fourteen who had enlisted, and was a regular +member of an artillery regiment. The average regiment includes men of +every class and caste, for every Frenchman who can shoulder a gun is in +the war. Thus the dusty little soldier who is standing by Poste A, may +be So-and-So the sculptor, the next man to him is simple Jacques who has +a little farm near Bourges, and the man beyond, Emile, the notary's +clerk. It is this amazing fraternity that makes the French army the +greatest army in the world. The officers of a regiment of the active +forces (by l'armée active you are to understand the army actually in the +garrisons and under arms from year to year) are army officers by +profession; the officers of the reserve regiments are either retired +officers of the regular army or men who have voluntarily followed the +severe courses in the officers' training-school. Thus the colonel and +three of the commandants of a certain regiment were ex-officers of the +regular army, while all the other officers, captains, lieutenants, and +so forth, were citizens who followed civilian pursuits. Captain X was a +famous lawyer, Captain B a small merchant in a little known provincial +town, Captain C a photographer. Any Frenchman who has the requisite +education can become an officer if he is willing to devote more of his +time, than is by law required, to military service. Thus the French army +is the soul of democracy, and the officer understands, and is understood +by, his men. The spirit of the French army is remarkably fraternal, and +this fraternity is at once social and mystical. It has a social origin, +for the poilus realize that the army rests on class justice and equal +opportunity; it has a mystical strength, because war has taught the men +that it is only the human being that counts, and that comradeship is +better than insistence on the rights and virtues of pomps and prides. +After having been face to face with death for two years, a man learns +something about the true values of human life. + +The men who tramp into the village at one and two o'clock in the morning +are men who have for two weeks been under a strain that two years of +experience has robbed of its tensity. But strain it is, nevertheless, as +the occasional carrying of a maniac reveals. They know very well why +they are fighting; even the most ignorant French laborer has some idea +as to what the affair is all about. The Boches attacked France who was +peacefully minding her own business; it was the duty of all Frenchmen to +defend France, so everybody went to the war. And since the war has gone +on for so long, it must be seen through to the very end. Not a single +poilu wants peace or is ready for peace. And the French, unlike the +English, have continually under their eyes the spectacle of their +devastated land. Yet I heard no ferocious talk about the Germans, no +tales of French cruelty toward German prisoners. + +Nevertheless, a German prisoner who had been taken in the Bois-le-Prêtre +confessed to me a horror of the French breaking through into Germany. +Looking round to see if any one was listening, he said in English, for +he was an educated man--"Just remember the French Revolution. Just +remember the French Revolution. God! what cruelties. You remember +Carrier at Nantes, don't you, my dear sir? All the things we are said to +have done in Belgium--" But here the troop of prisoners was hurried to +one side, and I never saw the man again. An army will always have all +kinds of people in it, the good, the bad, the degenerate, the depraved, +the brutal; and these types will act according to their natures. But I +can't imagine several regiments of French poilus doing in little German +towns what the Germans did at Nomeny. The backbone of the French army, +as he is the backbone of France, is the French peasant. In spite of De +Maupassant's ugly tales of the Norman country people, and Zola's studies +of the sordid, almost bestial, life of certain unhappy, peasant +families, the French peasant (cultivateur) is a very fine fellow. He has +three very good qualities, endurance, patience, and willingness to work. +Apart from these characteristics, he is an excellent fellow by himself; +not jovial, to be sure, but solid, self-respecting, and glad to make +friends when there is a chance that the friendship will be a real one. +He does not care very much for the working men of the towns, the +ouvriers, with their fantastic theories of universal brotherhood and +peace, and he hates the deputé whom the working man elects as he hates a +vine fungus. A needless timidity, some fear of showing himself off as a +simpleton, has kept him from having his just influence in French +politics; but the war is freeing him from these shackles, and when peace +comes, he will make himself known: that is, if there are any peasants +left to vote. + +Another thing about the peasantry is that trench warfare does not weary +them, the constant contact with the earth having nothing unusual in it. +A friend of mine, the younger son of a great landed family of the +province of Anjou, was captain of a company almost exclusively composed +of peasants of his native region; he loved them as if they were his +children, and they would follow him anywhere. The little company, almost +to a man, was wiped out in the battles round Verdun. In a letter I +received from this officer, a few days before his death, he related this +anecdote. His company was waiting, in a new trench in a new region, for +the Germans to attack. Suddenly the tension was relieved by a fierce +little discussion carried on entirely in whispers. His soldiers appeared +to be studying the earth of the trench. "What's the trouble about?" he +asked. Came the answer, "They are quarreling as to whether the earth of +this trench would best support cabbages or turnips." + +It is rare to find a French workman (ouvrier) in the trenches. They have +all been taken out and sent home to make shells. + +The little group to which I was most attached, and for whose hospitality +and friendly greeting I shall always be a debtor, consisted of Belin, a +railroad clerk; Bonnefon, a student at the École des Beaux-Arts; Magne, +a village schoolmaster in the Dauphiné; and Grétry, proprietor of a +butcher's shop in the Latin Quarter of Paris. Belin and Magne had +violins which they left in the care of a café-keeper in the village, and +used to play on them just before dinner. The dinner was served in the +house of the village woman who prepared the food of these four, for +sous-officiers are entitled to eat by themselves if they can find any +one kind enough to look after the cooking. If they can't, then they have +to rely entirely on the substantial but hardly delicious cuisine of +their regimental cuistot. However, at this village, Madame Brun, the +widow of the local carpenter, had offered to take the popotte, as the +French term an officer's mess. We ate in a room half parlor, half +bedchamber, decorated exclusively with holy pictures. This was a good +specimen menu--bread, vermicelli soup, apple fritters, potato salad, +boiled beef, red wine, and coffee. Of this dinner, the Government +furnished the potatoes, the bread, the meat, the coffee, the wine, and +the condiments; private purses paid for the fritters, the vermicelli, +and the bits of onion in the salad. Standing round their barns the +private soldiers were having a tasty stew of meat and potatoes cooked by +the field kitchen, bread, and a cupful of boiled lentils (known in the +army as "edible bedbugs"), all washed down with the army pinard, or red +wine. + +This village in which the troops were lodged revealed in an interesting +way the course of French history. Across the river on a rise was a cross +commemorating the victory of the Emperor Jo vin over the invading +Germans in 371, and sunken in the bed of the Moselle were still seen +lengths of Roman dikes. The heart of the village, however, was the +corpse of a fourteenth-century castle which Richelieu had dismantled in +1630. Its destiny had been a curious one. Dismantled by Richelieu, +sacked in the French Revolution, it had finally become a kind of +gigantic mediaeval apartment house for the peasants of the region. The +salle d'honneur was cut up into little rooms, the room of the seigneur +became a haymow, and the cellars of the towers were used to store +potatoes in. About twenty little chimneys rose over the old, dilapidated +battlements. A haymow in this castle was the most picturesque thing I +ever saw in a cantonment. It was the wreck of a lofty and noble +fifteenth-century room, the ceiling, still a rich red brown, was +supported on beautiful square beams, and a cross-barred window of the +Renaissance, of which only the stonework remained, commanded a fine view +over the river. The walls of the room were of stone, whitewashed years +before, and the floor was an ordinary barn floor made of common planks +and covered with a foot of new, clean hay. In the center of the southern +wall was a Gothic fireplace, still black and ashy within. On the corners +of this mantel hung clusters of canteens, guns were stacked by it, and a +blue overcoat was rolled up at its base. An old man, the proprietor of +the loft, followed us up, made signs that he was completely deaf, and +traced in the dust on the floor the date, 1470. + +The concerts were held in the "Salle de Fêtes," a hall in which, during +peace time, the village celebrates its little festivals. It was an ugly, +bare shed with a sloping roof resting on iron girders painted clay +white, but the poilus had beautified it with a home-made stage and +rustic greenery. The proscenium arch, painted by Bonnefon, was +pearl-gray in color and decorated with panels of gilt stripes; and a +shield showing the lictor's rods, a red liberty cap and the letters "R. +F." served as a headpiece. The scenery, also the work of Bonnefon, +represented a Versailles kind of garden full of statues and very watery +fountains. There was no curtain. Just below the stage a semicircle of +chairs had been arranged for the officers of the regiment, and behind +these were wooden benches and a large space for standing room. By the +time the concert was supposed to begin, every bench was filled, and +standing room was at a premium. Suddenly there were cries of "Le +Colonel," and everybody stood up as the fine-looking old colonel and his +staff took their places. The orchestra, composed of a pianist, a few +violinists, and a flute-player, began to play the "Marseillaise." When +the music was over, and everybody decently quiet, the concert began. + +"Le Camarade Tollot, of the Théâtre des Variétés de Paris will recite +'Le Dernier Drapeau,'" shouted the announcer. Le Camarade Tollot walked +on the stage and bowed, a big, important young man with a lion's mane of +dark hair. Then, striking an attitude, he recited in the best French, +ranting style, a rhymed tale of a battle in which many regiments charged +together, flags flying. One by one the flags fell to the ground as the +bearers were cut down by the withering fire of the enemy; all save one +who struggled on. It was a fine, old-fashioned, dramatic +"will-he-get-there-yes-he-will-he-falls" sort of thing. "Il tombe," said +le Camarade Tollot, in what used to be called the "oratorical +orotund"--"il tombe." There was a full pause. He was wounded. He rose +staggering to his feet. All the other flags were down. He advanced--the +last flag (le dernier drapeau) reached the enemy--and died just as his +comrades, heartened by his courage, had rallied and were charging to +victory. A tremendous storm of applause greeted the speaker, who favored +us with the recital of a short, sentimental poem as an encore. + +The next number was thus announced: "Le Camarade Millet will sound, +first, all the French bugle-calls and then the Boche ones." Le Camarade +Millet, a big man with a fine horseshoe beard, stood at the edge of the +stage, said, "la Charge français" and blew it on the bugle; then "la +Charge boche," and blew that. "La Retraite français--La Retraite boche," +etc. Another salvo of applause was given to le Camarade Millet. + +"Le Camarade Roland." + +Le Camarade Roland was about twenty-one or two years old, but his eyes +were old and wise, and he had evidently seen life. He was dark-haired +and a little below medium height. The red scar of a wound appeared just +below his left ear. After marking time with his feet, he began a kind of +patter song about having a telephone, every verse of which ended, "Oh, +la la, j'ai le téléphone chez moi" (I've a telephone in my house). "I +know who is unfaithful now--who have horns upon their brow," the singer +told of surprising secrets and unsuspected affaires de cÅ“ur. The silly, +music-hall song may seem banal now, but it amused us hugely then. "Le +Camarade Duclos." + +"Oh, if you could have seen your son, My mother, my mother, Oh, if you +could have seen your son, With the regiment"--sang Camarade Duclos, +another old-eyed youngster. There was amiable adventure with an amiable +"blonde" (oh, if you could have seen your son); another with a "jolie +brune" (oh, ma mère, ma mère); and still another leçon d'amour. The +refrain had a catchy lilt to it, and the poilus began humming it. + +"Le Camarade Salvatore." + +The newcomer was a big, obese Corsican mountaineer, with a pleasant, +round face and brown eyes. He advanced quietly to the side of the stage +holding a ten-sou tin flute in his hand, and when he began to play, for +an instant I forgot all about the Bois-le-Prêtre, the trenches, and +everything else. The man was a born musician. I never heard anything +more tender and sweet than the little melody he played. The poilus +listened in profound silence, and when he had finished, a kind of sigh +exhaled from the hearts of the audience. + +There followed another singer, a violinist, and a clown whose song of a +soldier on furlough finished with these appreciated couplets:-- + +"The Government says it is the thing To have a baby every spring; So +when your son Is twenty-one, He'll come to the trenches and take papa's +place. So do your duty by the race." + +In the uproar of cheers of "That's right," and so on, the concert ended. + +The day after the concert was Sunday, and at about ten o'clock that +morning a young soldier with a fluffy, yellow chin beard came down the +muddy street shouting, "le Mouchoir, le Mouchoir." About two or three +hundred paper sheets were clutched tightly in his left hand, and he was +selling them for a sou apiece. Little groups of poilus gathered round +the soldier newsboy; I saw some of them laughing as they went away. The +paper was the trench paper of the Bois-le-Prêtre, named the "Mouchoir" +(the handkerchief) from a famous position thus called in the Bois. The +jokes in it were like the jokes in a local minstrel show, puns on local +names, jests about the Boches, and good-humored satire. The spirit of +the "Mouchoir" was whole-heartedly amateur. Thus the issue which +followed a heavy snowfall contained this genuine wish:-- + +"Oh, snow, Please go, Leave the trench Of the French; Cross the band Of +No Man's Land To where the Boche lies. Freeze him, Squeeze him, Soak +him, Choke him, Cover him, Smother him, Till the beggar dies." + +This is far from an exact translation, but the idea and the spirit have +been faithfully preserved. The "Mouchoir" was always a bit more +squeamish than the average, rollicking trench journal, for it was issued +by a group of medical service men who were almost all priests. Indeed, +there were some issues that combined satire, puns, and piety in a +terrifying manner. Its editors printed it in the cellar of the church, +using a simple sheet of gelatine for their press. + +I wandered in to see the church. The usual number of civilians were to +be seen, and a generous sprinkling of soldiers. Through the open door of +the edifice the sounds of a mine-throwing competition at the Bois +occasionally drifted. The abbé, a big, dark man of thirty-four or five, +with a deep, resonant voice and positive gestures, had come to the +sermon. + +"Brethren," said he, "in place of a sermon this morning, I shall read +the annual exposition of our Christian faith" (exposition de la foi +chrétienne). He began reading from a little book a historical account of +the creation and the temptation, and so concise was the language and so +certain his voice that I had the sensation of listening to a series of +events that had actually taken place. He might have been reading the +communiqué. "Le premier homme was called Adam, and la première femme, +Eve. Certain angels began a revolt against God; they are called the bad +angels or the demons." (Certains anges se sont mis en revolte contre +Dieu; il sont appelles les mauvais anges ou les démons.) "And from this +original sin arrives all the troubles, Death to which the human race is +subjected." Such was the discourse I heard in the church by the trenches +to the accompaniment of the distant chanting of The Wood. + +Going by again late in the afternoon, I saw the end of an officer's +funeral. The body, in a wooden box covered with the tricolor, was being +carried out between two files of muddy soldiers, who stood at attention, +bayonets fixed. A peasant's cart, a tumbril, was waiting to take the +body to the cemetery; the driver was having a hard time con-trolling a +foolish and restive horse. The colonel, a fine-looking man in the +sixties, came last from the church, and stood on the steps surrounded by +his officers. The dusk was falling. + +"Officiers, sous-officiers, soldats. + +"Lieutenant de Blanchet, whose death we deplore, was a gallant officer, +a true comrade, and a loyal Frenchman. In order that France might live, +he was willing to close his eyes on her forever." + +The officer advanced to the tumbril and holding his hand high said:-- + +"Farewell--de Blanchet, we say unto thee the eternal adieu." + +The door of the church was wide open. The sacristan put out the candles, +and the smoke from them rose like incense into the air. The tumbril +rattled away in the dusk. My mind returned again to the phrases of the +sermon,--original sin, death, life, of a sudden, seemed strangely +grotesque. + +It would be hard to find any one more courteous and kind than the French +officer. A good deal of the success of the American Ambulance Field +Sections in France is due to the hospitality and bon acceuil of the +French, and to the work of the French officers attached to the Sections. +In Lieutenant Kuhlman, who commanded at Pont-à -Mousson, every American +had a good friend and tactful, hard-working officer; in Lieutenant Maas, +who commanded at Verdun, the qualities of administrative ability and +perfect courtesy were most happily joined. + +The principal characteristic of the French soldier is his +reasonableness. + + + + +Chapter IX + +Preparing The Defense Of Verdun + + + +Every three months, if the military situation will allow of it and every +other man in his group has likewise been away, the French soldier gets a +six days' furlough. The slips of paper which are then given out are +called feuilles de permission, and the lucky soldier is called a +permissionnaire. When the combats that gave the Bois-le-Prêtre its +sinister nickname began to peter out, the poilus who had done the +fighting were accorded these little vacations, and almost every +afternoon the straggling groups of joyous permissionnaires were seen on +the road between the trenches and the station. The expression on the +faces was never that of having been rescued from a living hell; it +expressed joy and prospect of a good time rather than deliverance. + +When I got my permission, a comrade took me to the station at a certain +rail-head where a special train started for Paris, and by paying extra I +was allowed to travel second class. I shall not dwell on the journey +because I did not meet a single human being worth recording during the +trip. At eight at night I arrived in Paris. So varied had been my +experiences at the front that had I stepped out into a dark and deserted +city I should not have been surprised. The poilu, when he sees the city +lights again, almost feels like saying, "Why, it is still here!" Many of +them look frankly at the women, not in the spirit of gallant adventure, +but out of pure curiosity. In spite of the French reputation for roguish +licentiousness, the sex question never seems to intrude very much along +the battle-line, perhaps because there is so little to suggest it. +Certainly conversation at the front ignores sex altogether, and speech +there is remarkably decent and clean. Of course, when music-hall songs +are sung at the concerts, the other sex is sometimes more than casually +mentioned. It is the comic papers which are responsible for the myth +that the period of furlough is spent in a Roman orgy; this is, of +course, true of some few, but for the great majority the reverse rules, +and une permission is spent in a typically French way, paying formal +calls to the oldest friends of the family, being with the family as much +as possible, and attending to such homely affairs as the purchase of +socks and underclothes. In the evening brave Jacques or Georges or +François is visited by all his old cronies, who gather round the hero +and ask him questions, and he is solemnly kissed by all his relatives. +One evening is sure to be consecrated to a grand family reunion at a +restaurant. + +I determined to observe, during my permission, the new France which has +come into being since the outbreak of the war, and the attitude of the +French toward their allies. I knew the old France pretty well. Putting +any ridiculous ideas of French decadence aside, the France of the last +ten years did not have the international standing of an older France. +The Delcassé incident had revealed a France evidently untaught by the +lesson of 1870, and if the Moroccan question ended in a French victory, +it was frankly won by getting behind the petticoats of England. The +nation was unprepared for war, torn by political strife, and in a +position to be ruthlessly trampled on by the Germans. The France of +1900-13 is not a very pleasant France to remember. + +For one thing, the bitter strife aroused by the breaking of the +Concordat and the seizure of the property of the Church was slowly +crystallizing into an icy hatred, the worst in the world, the hatred of +a man who has been robbed. The Church Separation Law may have been right +in theory, and with the liberal tendencies of the reformers one may have +every sympathy, but the fact remains that the sale and dispersion of the +ecclesiastical property passed in a storm of corruption and graft. +Properties worth many thousands of dollars were juggled among political +henchmen, sold for a song, and sold again at a great profit. Even as the +Southerners complain of the Reconstruction rather than of the Civil War, +so do the French Catholics complain, not of the law, but of its +aftermath. The Socialist- Labor Party exultant, the Catholic Party +wronged and revengeful, and all the other thousand parties of the French +Government at one another's throats, there seemed little hope for the +real France. The tragedy of the thing lay in the fact that this disunion +and strife was caused by the excess of a good quality; in other words, +that the remarkable ability of every Frenchman to think for himself was +destroying the national unity. + +Meanwhile, what was the state of the army and navy? + +The Minister of War of the radicals who had triumphed was General André, +a narrow, bigoted doctrinaire. The force behind the evil work of this +man can be hardly realized by those who are unfamiliar with the passion +with which the French invest the idea. There are times when the French, +the most brilliant people in the world as a nation, seem to lack mental +brakes--when the idea so obsesses them, that they become fanatics,--not +the emotional, English type of fanatic, but a cold, hard-headed, +intellectual Latin type. The radical Frenchman says, "Are the Gospels +true?" "Presumably no, according to modern science and historical +research." "Then away with everything founded on the Gospels," he +replies; and begins a cold-blooded, highly intellectual campaign of +destruction. Thus it is that the average French church or public +building of any antiquity, whether it be in Paris or in an obscure +village, has been so often mutilated that it is only a shadow of itself. +France is strewn with wrecks of buildings embodying disputed ideas. And +worst of all, these buildings were rarely sacked by a mob; the +revolutionary commune, in many cases, paying laborers to smash windows +and destroy sculpture at so much a day. + +André believed it his mission to extirpate all conservatism, whether +Catholic or not, from the army. In a few short months, by a campaign of +delation and espionage, he had completely disorganized the army, the +only really national institution left in France. Officers of standing, +suspected of any reactionary political tendency, were discharged by the +thousand; and officers against whom no charge could be brought were +refused ammunition, even though they were stationed at a ticklish point +on the frontier. At the same time a like disorganization was taking +place in the navy, the evil genius of the Marine being the Minister +Camille Pelletan. + +Those who saw, in 1912, the ceremonies attendant on the deposition of +the bones of Jean Jacques Rousseau in the Pantheon were sick at heart. +Never had the Government of France sunk so low. The Royalists shouted, +the extreme radicals hooted, and when the carriage of Fallières passed, +it was seen that humorists had somehow succeeded in writing jocose +inscriptions on the presidential carriage. The head of the French +nation, a short, pudgy man, the incarnation of pontifying mediocrity, +went by with an expression on his face like that of a terrified, +elderly, pink rabbit. The bescrawled carriage and its humiliated +occupant passed by to an accompaniment of jeering. Everybody--parties +and populace--was jeering. The scene was disgusting. + +The election of Poincaré, a man of genuine distinction, was a sign of +better times. Millerand became Minister of War, and began the +reorganization of the army, thus making possible the victory of the +Marne. But a petty intrigue led by a group of radicals caused the +resignation of this minister at a time when the First Balkan War +threatened to engulf Europe. The maneuver was inexcusable. Messimy, an +attaché of the group who had led the attack, took Millerand's place. +When the war broke out, Messimy was invited to make himself scarce, and +Millerand returned to his post. Thanks to him, the army was as ready as +an army in a democratic country can be. + +The France of 1915-16 is a new France. The nation has learned that if it +is to live it must cease tearing itself to pieces, and all parties are +united in a "Holy Union" (l'Union Sacrée). Truce in the face of a common +danger or a real union? Will it last? Alarmists whisper that when the +war is over, the army will settle its score with the politicians. Others +predict a great victory for the radicals, because the industrial classes +are safe at home making shells while the conservative peasants are being +killed off in the trenches. Everybody in France is saying, "What will +happen when the army comes home?" There is to-day only one man in France +completely trusted by all classes--General Joffre, and if by any chance +there should be political troubles after the war, the army and the +nation will look to him. + +The French fully realize what the English alliance has meant to them, +and are grateful for Engish aid. As the titanic character of England's +mighty effort becomes clearer, the sympathy with England will increase. +Of course one cannot expect the French to understand the state of mind +which insists upon a volunteer system in the face of the deadliest and +most terrible foe. The attitude of the English to sport has rather +perplexed them, and they did not like the action of some English +officers in bringing a pack of hounds to the Flanders front. It was +thought that officers should be soldiers first and sportsmen afterward, +and the knowledge that dilettante English officers were riding to hounds +while the English nation was resisting conscription and Jean, Jacques, +and Pierre were doing the fighting and dying in the trenches, provoked a +secret and bitter disdain. + +But since the British have got into the war as a nation, this secret +disdain has been forgotten, and the poilu has taken "le Tommie" to his +heart. + +I heard only the friendliest criticism of the Russians. + +It is a rather delicate task to say what the French think of the +Americans, for the real truth is that they think of us but rarely. Our +quarrel with Germany over the submarines interested them somewhat, but +this interest rapidly died away when it became evident that we were not +going to do anything about it. They see our flag over countless charity +dépôts, hospitals, and benevolent institutions, and are grateful. The +poilu would be glad to see us in the fray simply because of the aid we +should bring, but he is reasonable enough to know that the United States +can keep out of the mêlée without losing any moral prestige. The only +hostile criticism of America that I heard came from doctrinaires who saw +the war as a conflict between autocracy and democracy, and if you grant +that this point of view is the right one, these thinkers have a right to +despise us. But the Frenchman knows that the Allies represent something +more than "virtue-on-a-rampage." + +In Lyons I saw a sight at once ludicrous and pathetic. Two little +dragoons of the class of 1917, stripling boys of eighteen or nineteen at +the most, walked across the public square; their uniforms were too large +for them, the skirts of their great blue mantles barely hung above the +dust of the street, and their enormous warlike helmets and flowing +horse-tails were ill-suited to their boyish heads. As I looked at them, +I thought of the blue bundles I had seen drying upon the barbed wire, +and felt sick at the brutality of the whole awful business. The sun was +shining over the bluish mists of Lyons, and the bell of old Saint-Jean +was ringing. Two Zouaves, stone blind, went by guided by a little, fat +infirmier. At the frontier, the General Staff was preparing the defense +of Verdun. + +One great nation, for the sake of a city valueless from a military point +of view, was preparing to kill several hundred thousand of its citizens, +and another great nation, anxious to retain the city, was preparing +calmly for a parallel hecatomb. There is something awful and dreadful +about the orderliness of a great offensive, for while one's imagination +is grasped by the grandeur and the organization of the thing, all one's +faculties of intellect are revolted by the stark brutality of death en +masse. + +Early in February we were called to Bar-le-Duc, a pleasant old city some +distance behind Verdun. Several hundred thousand men were soon going to +be killed and wounded, and the city was in a feverish haste of +preparation. So many thousand cans of ether, so many thousand pounds of +lint, so many million shells, so many ambulances, so many hundred +thousand litres of gasoline. Nobody knew when the Germans were going to +strike. + +During the winter great activity in the German trenches near Verdun had +led the French to expect an attack, but it was not till the end of +January that aeroplane reconnoitering made certain the imminence of an +offensive. As a first step in countering it, the French authorities +prepared in the villages surrounding Bar-le-Duc a number of dépôts for +troops, army supplies, and ammunition. Of this organization, Bar-le-Duc +was the key. The preparations for the counter-attack were there +centralized. Day after day convoys of motor-lorries carrying troops +ground into town and disappeared to the eastward; big mortars mounted on +trucks came rattling over the pavements to go no one knew where; and +khaki-clad troops, troupes d'attaque, tanned Marocains and chunky, +bull-necked Zouaves, crossed the bridge over the Ornain and marched +away. At the turn in the road a new transparency had been erected, with +VERDUN printed on it in huge letters. Now and then a soldier, catching +sight of it, would nudge his comrade. + +On the 18th we were told to be in readiness to go at any minute and +permissions to leave the barrack yard were recalled. + +The attack began with an air raid on Bar-le-Duc. I was working on my +engine in the sunlit barrack yard when I heard a muffled Pom! somewhere +to the right. Two French drivers who were putting a tire on their car +jumped up with a "Qu'est-ce que c'est que ça?" We stood together looking +round. Beyond a wall on the other side of the river great volumes of +brownish smoke were rolling up, and high in the air, brown and silvery, +like great locusts, were two German aeroplanes. + +"Nom d'un chien, il y'en a plusieurs," said one of the Frenchmen, +pointing out four, five, seven, nine aeroplanes. One seemed to hang +immobile over the barrack yard. I fancy we all had visions of what would +happen if a bomb hit the near-by gasoline reserve. Men ran across the +yard to the shelter of the dormitories; some, caught as we were in the +open, preferred to take a chance on dropping flat under a car. A +whistling scream, a kind of shrill, increasing shriek, sounded in the +air and ended in a crash. Smoke rolled up heavily in another direction. +Another whistle, another crash, another and another and another. The +last building struck shot up great tongues of flame. "C'est la gare," +said somebody. Across the yard a comrade's arm beckoned me, "Come on, +we've got to help put out the fires!" + +The streets were quite deserted; horses and wagons abandoned to their +fate were, however, quietly holding their places. Faces, emotionally +divided between fear and strong interest, peered at us as we ran by, +disappearing at the first whistle of a bomb, for all the world like +hermit-crabs into their shells. A whistle sent us both scurrying into a +passageway; the shell fell with a wicked hiss, and, scattering the +paving-stones to the four winds, blew a shallow crater in the roadway. A +big cart horse, hit in the neck and forelegs by fragments of the shell, +screamed hideously. Right at the bridge, the sentry, an old territorial, +was watching the whole scene from his flimsy box with every appearance +of unconcern. + +Not the station itself, but a kind of baggage-shed was on fire. A hose +fed by an old-fashioned seesaw pump was being played on the flames. +Officials of the railroad company ran to and fro shouting unintelligible +orders. For five minutes more the German aeroplanes hovered overhead, +then slowly melted away into the sky to the south-east. The raid had +lasted, I imagine, just about twenty minutes. + +That night, fearing another raid, all lights were extinguished in the +town and at the barracks. Before rolling up in my blankets, I went out +into the yard to get a few breaths of fresh air. Through the night air, +rising and falling with the wind, I heard in one of the random silences +of the night a low, distant drumming of artillery. + + + + +Chapter X + + + +The Great Days of Verdun + +The Verdun I saw in April, 1913, was an out-of-the-way provincial city +of little importance outside of its situation as the nucleus of a great +fortress. There were two cities--an old one, la ville des évêques, on a +kind of acropolis rising from the left bank of the Meuse, and a newer +one built on the meadows of the river. Round the acropolis Vauban had +built a citadel whose steep, green-black walls struck root in the mean +streets and narrow lanes on the slopes. Sunless by-ways, ill-paved and +sour with the odor of surface drainage, led to it. Always picturesque, +the old town now and then took on a real beauty. There were fine, +shield-bearing doorways of the Renaissance to be seen, Gothic windows in +greasy walls, and here and there at a street corner a huddle of +half-timbered houses in a high contrast of invading sunlight and +retreating shade. From the cathedral parapet, there was a view of the +distant forts, and a horizontal sweep of the unharvested, buff-brown +moorlands. + +"Un peu morte," say the French who knew Verdun before the war. The new +town was without distinction. It was out of date. It had none of the +glories that the province copies from Paris, no boulevards, no grandes +aertères. Such life as there was, was military. Rue Mazel was bright +with the gold braid and scarlet of the fournisseurs militaires, and in +the late afternoon chic young officers enlivened the provincial +dinginess with a brave show of handsome uniforms. All day long squads of +soldiers went flick! flack! up and down the street and bugle-calls +sounded piercingly from the citadel. The soldiery submerged the civil +population. + +With no industries of any importance, and becoming less and less of an +economic center as the depopulation of the Woevre continued, Verdun +lived for its garrison. A fortress since Roman days, the city could not +escape its historic destiny. Remembering the citadel, the buttressed +cathedral, the soldiery, and the military tradition, the visitor felt +himself to be in a soldier's country strong with the memory of many +wars. + +The next day, at noon, we were ordered to go to M------, and at 12.15 we +were in convoy formation in the road by the barracks wall. The great +route nationale from Bar-le-Duc to Verdun runs through a rolling, +buff-brown moorland, poor in villages and arid and desolate in aspect. +Now it sinks through moorland valleys, now it cuts bowl-shaped +depressions in which the spring rains have bred green quagmires, and +now, rising, leaps the crest of a hill commanding a landscape of +ocean-like immensity. + +Gray segments of the road disappear ahead behind fuzzy monticules; a +cloud of wood-smoke hangs low over some invisible village in a fold of +the moor, and patches of woodland lie like mantles on the barren slopes. +Great swathes of barbed wire, a quarter of a mile in width, advancing +and retreating, rising and falling with the geographical nature of the +defensive position, disappear on both sides to the horizon. And so thick +is this wire spread, that after a certain distance the eye fails to +distinguish the individual threads and sees only rows of stout black +posts filled with a steely, purple mist. + +We went though several villages, being greeted in every one with the +inevitable error, Anglais! We dodged interminable motor-convoys carrying +troops, the poilus sitting unconcernedly along the benches at the side, +their rifles tight between their knees. At midnight we arrived at +B------, four miles and a half west of Verdun. The night was clear and +bitter cold; the ice-blue winter stars were westering. Refugees tramped +past in the darkness. By the sputtering light of a match, I saw a woman +go by with a cat in a canary cage; the animal moved uneasily, its eyes +shone with fear. A middle-aged soldier went by accompanying an old woman +and a young girl. Many pushed baby carriages ahead of them full of +knick-knacks and packages. + +The crossroad where the ambulances turned off was a maze of beams of +light from the autos. There was shouting of orders which nobody could +carry out. Wounded, able to walk, passed through the beams of the lamps, +the red of their bloodstains, detached against the white of the +bandages, presenting the sharpest of contrasts in the silvery glare. At +the station, men who had died in the ambulances were dumped hurriedly in +a plot of grass by the side of the roadway and covered with a blanket. +Never was there seen such a bedlam! But on the main road the great +convoys moved smoothly on as if held together by an invisible chain. A +smouldering in the sky told of fires in Verdun. + +From a high hill between B------and Verdun I got my first good look at +the bombardment. From the edge of earth and sky, far across the +moorlands, ray after ray of violet-white fire made a swift stab at the +stars. Mingled with the rays, now seen here, now there, the +reddish-violet semicircle of the great mortars flared for the briefest +instant above the horizon. From the direction of this inferno came a +loud roaring, a rumbling and roaring, increasing in volume--the sound of +a great river tossing huge rocks through subterranean abysses. Every +little while a great shell, falling in the city, would blow a great hole +of white in the night, and so thundering was the crash of arrival that +we almost expected to see the city sink into the earth. + +Terrible in the desolation of the night, on fire, haunted by specters of +wounded men who crept along the narrow lanes by the city walls, Verdun +was once more undergoing the destinies of war. The shells were falling +along rue Mazel and on the citadel. A group of old houses by the Meuse +had burnt to rafters of flickering flame, and as I passed them, one +collapsed into the flooded river in a cloud of hissing steam. + +In order to escape shells, the wounded were taking the obscure by-ways +of the town. Our wounded had started to walk to the ambulance station +with the others, but, being weak and exhausted, had collapsed on the +way. They were waiting for us at a little house just beyond the walls. +Said one to the other, "As-tu-vu Maurice?" and the other answered +without any emotion, "II est mort." + +The 24th was the most dreadful day. The wind and snow swept the heights +of the desolate moor, seriously interfering with the running of the +automobiles. Here and there, on a slope, a lorry was stuck in the slush, +though the soldier passengers were out of it and doing their best to +push it along. The cannonade was still so intense that, in intervals +between the heavier snow-flurries, I could see the stabs of fire in the +brownish sky. Wrapped in sheepskins and muffled to the ears in knitted +scarves that might have come from New England, the territorials who had +charge of the road were filling the ruts with crushed rock. Exhaustion +had begun to tell on the horses; many lay dead and snowy in the frozen +fields. A detachment of khaki-clad, red-fezzed colonial troops passed +by, bent to the storm. The news was of the most depressing sort. The +wounded could give you only the story of their part of the line, and you +heard over and over again, "Nous avons reculés." A detachment of cavalry +was at hand; their casques and dark-blue mantles gave them a crusading +air. And through the increasing cold and darkness of late afternoon, +troops, cannons, horsemen, and motor-trucks vanished toward the edge of +the moor where flashed with increasing brilliance the rays of the +artillery. + +I saw some German prisoners for the first time at T---, below Verdun. +They had been marched down from the firing-line. Young men in the +twenties for the most part, they seemed even more war-worn than the +French. The hideous, helot-like uniform of the German private hung +loosely on their shoulders, and the color of their skin was unhealthy +and greenish. They were far from appearing starved; I noticed two or +three who looked particularly sound and hearty. Nevertheless, they were +by no means as sound-looking as the ruddier French. + +The poilus crowded round to see them, staring into their faces without +the least malevolence. At last--at last--voilà enfin des Boches! A +little to the side stood a strange pair, two big men wearing an odd kind +of grayish protector and apron over their bodies. Against a near-by wall +stood a kind of flattish tank to which a long metallic hose was +attached. The French soldiers eyed them with contempt and disgust. I +caught the words, "Flame-throwers!" + +I do not know what we should have done at Verdun without Lieutenant +Roeder, our mechanical officer. All the boys behaved splendidly, but +Lieutenant Roeder had the tremendously difficult task of keeping the +Section going when the rolling-stock was none too good, and fearful +weather and too constant usage had reduced some of the wagons to wrecks. +It was all the finer of him because he was by profession a +bacteriologist. Still very young, he had done distinguished work. Simply +because there was no one else to attend to the mechanical department, he +had volunteered for this most tiresome and disagreeable task. There is +not a single driver in Section II who does not owe much to the friendly +counsel, splendid courage, and keen mind of George Roeder. + +A few miles below Verdun, on a narrow strip of meadowland between the +river and the northern bluffs, stood an eighteenth-century château and +the half-dozen houses of its dependents. The hurrying river had flooded +the low fields and then retreated, turning the meadows and pasturages to +bright green, puddly marshes, malodorous with swampy exhalations. Beyond +the swirls and currents of the river and its vanishing islands of +pale-green pebbles, rose the brown, deserted hills of the Hauts de +Meuse. The top of one height had been pinched into the rectangle of a +fortress; little forests ran along the sky-line of the heights, and a +narrow road, slanting across a spur of the valley, climbed and +disappeared. + +The château itself was a huge, three-story box of gray-white stone with +a slate roof, a little turret en poivrière at each corner, and a +graceless classic doorway in the principal façade. A wide double gate, +with a coronet in a tarnished gold medallion set in the iron arch-piece, +gave entrance to this place through a kind of courtyard formed by the +rear of the château and the walls of two low wings devoted to the +stables and the servants' quarters. Within, a high clump of dark- green +myrtle, ringed with muddy, rut-scarred turf, marked the theoretical +limits of a driveway. Along the right-hand wall stood the rifles of the +wounded, and in a corner, a great snarled pile of bayonets, belts, +cartridge-boxes, gas-mask satchels, greasy tin boxes of anti-lice +ointment, and dented helmets. A bright winter sunlight fell on walls +dank from the river mists, and heightened the austerity of the +landscape. Beyond a bend in the river lay the smoke of the battle of +Douaumont; shells broke, pin-points of light, in the upper fringes of +the haze. + +The château had been a hospital since the beginning of the war. A heavy +smell of ether and iodoform lay about it, mixed with the smell of the +war. This effluvia of an army, mixed with the sharper reek of +anaesthetics, was the atmosphere of the hospital. The great rush of +wounded had begun. Every few minutes the ambulances slopped down a miry +byway, and turned in the gates; tired, putty-faced hospital attendants +took out the stretchers and the nouveaux clients; mussy bundles of blue +rags and bloody blankets turned into human beings; an overworked, +nervous médecin chef shouted contradictory orders at the brancardiers, +and passed into real crises of hysterical rage. + +"Avancez!" he would scream at the bewildered chauffeurs of the +ambulances; and an instant later, "Reculez! Reculez!" + +The wounded in the stretchers, strewn along the edges of the driveway, +raised patient, tired eyes at his snarling. + +Another doctor, a little bearded man wearing a white apron and the red +velvet képi of an army physician, questioned each batch of new arrivals. +Deep lines of fatigue had traced themselves under his kindly eyes; his +thin face had a dreadful color. Some of the wounded had turned their +eyes from the sun; others, too weak to move, lay stonily blinking. +Almost expressionless, silent, they resigned themselves to the +attendants as if these men were the deaf ministers of some inexorable +power. + +The surgeon went from stretcher to stretcher looking at the diagnosis +cards attached at the poste de secours, stopping occasionally to ask the +fatal question, "As-tu craché du sang?" (Have you spit blood?) A thin +oldish man with a face full of hollows like that of an old horse, +answered "Oui," faintly. Close by, an artilleryman, whose cannon had +burst, looked with calm brown eyes out of a cooked and bluish face. +Another, with a soldier's tunic thrown capewise over his naked torso, +trembled in his thin blanket, and from the edges of a cotton and +lint-pad dressing hastily stuffed upon a shoulder wound, an occasional +drop of blood slid down his lean chest. + +A little to one side, the cooks of the hospital, in their greasy aprons, +watched the performance with a certain calm interest. In a few minutes +the wounded were sorted and sent to the various wards. I was ordered to +take three men who had been successfully operated on to the barracks for +convalescents several miles away. + +A highway and an unused railroad, both under heavy fire from German guns +on the Hauts de Meuse, passed behind the château and along the foot of +the bluffs. There were a hundred shell holes in the marshes between the +road and the river, black-lipped craters in the sedgy green; there were +ugly punches in the brown earth of the bluffs, and deep scoops in the +surface of the road. The telephone wires, cut by shell fragments, fell +in stiff, draping lines to the ground. Every once in a while a shell +would fall into the river, causing a silvery gray geyser to hang for an +instant above the green eddies of the Meuse. A certain village along +this highway was the focal point of the firing. Many of the houses had +been blown to pieces, and fragments of red tile, bits of shiny glass, +and lumps of masonry were strewn all over the deserted street. + +As I hurried along, two shells came over, one sliding into the river +with a Hip! and the other landing in a house about two hundred yards +away. A vast cloud of grayish-black smoke befogged the cottage, and a +section of splintered timber came buzzing through the air and fell into +a puddle. From the house next to the one struck, a black cat came +slinking, paused for an indecisive second in the middle of the street, +and ran back again. Through the canvas partition of the ambulance, I +heard the voices of my convalescents. "No more marmites!" I cried to +them as I swung down a road out of shell reach. I little knew what was +waiting for us beyond the next village. + +A regiment of Zouaves going up to the line was resting at the crossroad, +and the regimental wagons, drawn up in waiting line, blocked the narrow +road completely. At the angle between the two highways, under the four +trees planted by pious custom of the Meuse, stood a cross of thick +planks. From each arm of the cross, on wine-soaked straps, dangled, like +a bunch of grapes, a cluster of dark-blue canteens; rifles were stacked +round its base, and under the trees stood half a dozen clipped-headed, +bull-necked Zouaves. A rather rough-looking adjutant, with a bullet head +disfigured by a frightful scar at the corner of his mouth, rode up and +down the line to see if all was well. Little groups were handing round a +half loaf of army bread, and washing it down with gulps of wine. + +"Hello, sport!" they cried at me; and the favorite "All right," and +"Tommy!" + +The air was heavy with the musty smell of street mud that never dries +during winter time, mixed with the odor of the tired horses, who stood, +scarcely moving, backed away from their harnesses against the +mire-gripped wagons. Suddenly the order to go on again was given; the +carters snapped their whips, the horses pulled, the noisy, lumbering, +creaky line moved on, and the men fell in behind, in any order. + +I started my car again and looked for an opening through the mêlée. + +Beyond the cross, the road narrowed and flanked one of the southeastern +forts of the city. A meadow, which sloped gently upward from the road to +the abrupt hillside of the fortress, had been used as a place of +encampment and had been trodden into a surface of thick cheesy mire. +Here and there were the ashes of fires. There were hundreds of such +places round the moorland villages between Verdun and Bar-le-Duc. The +fort looked squarely down on Verdun, and over its grassy height came the +drumming of the battle, and the frequent crash of big shells falling +into the city. + +In a corner lay the anatomical relics of some horses killed by an +air-bomb the day before. And even as I noted them, I heard the muffled +Pom! Pom! Pom! of anti-aircraft guns. My back was to the river and I +could not see what was going on. + +"What is it?" I said to a Zouave who was plodding along beside the +ambulance. + +"Des Boches--crossing the river." + +The regiment plodded on as before. Now and then a soldier would stop and +look up at the aeroplanes. + +"He's coming!" I heard a voice exclaim. + +Suddenly, the adjutant whom I had seen before came galloping down the +line, shouting, "Arrêtez! Arrêtez! Pas de mouvement!" + +A current of tension ran down the troop with as much reality as a +current of water runs down hill. I wondered whether the Boche had seen +us. + +"Is he approaching?" I asked. + +"Yes." + +Ahead of me was a one-horse wagon, and ahead of that a wagon with two +horses carrying the medical supplies. The driver of the latter, an +oldish, thick-set, wine-faced fellow, got down an instant from his +wagon, looked at the Boche, and resumed his seat. A few seconds later, +there sounded the terrifying scream of an air-bomb, a roar, and I found +myself in a bitter swirl of smoke. The shell had fallen right between +the horses of the two-horse wagon, blowing the animals to pieces, +splintering the wagon, and killing the driver. Something sailed swiftly +over my head, and landed just behind the ambulance. It was a chunk of +the skull of one of the horses. The horse attached to the wagon ahead of +me went into a frenzy of fear and backed his wagon into my ambulance, +smashing the right lamp. In the twinkling of an eye, the soldiers +dispersed. Some ran into the fields. Others crouched in the wayside +ditch. A cart upset. Another bomb dropped screaming in a field and +burst; a cloud of smoke rolled away down the meadow. + +When the excitement had subsided, it was found that a soldier had been +wounded. The bodies of the horses were rolled over into the ditch, the +wreck of the wagon was dragged to the miry field, and the regiment went +on. In a very short time I got to the hospital and delivered my +convalescents. + +My way home ran through the town of S------, an ugly, overgrown village +of the Verdunois, given up to the activities of the staff directing the +battle. The headquarters building was the hôtel de ville, a large +eighteenth-century edifice, in an acre of trampled mud a little distance +from the street. Before the building flowed the great highway from +Bar-le-Duc to Verdun; relays of motor lorries went by, and gendarmes, +organized into a kind of traffic squad, stood every hundred feet or so. +The atmosphere of S------at the height of the battle was one of calm +organization; it would not have been hard to believe that the +motor-lorries and unemotional men were at the service of some great +master-work of engineering. There was something of the holiday in the +attitude of the inhabitants of the place; they watched the motor show +exactly as they might have watched a circus parade. + +"Les voilà ," said somebody. + +A little bemedaled group appeared on the steps of the hôtel de ville. +Dominating it was Joffre. Above middle height, silver-haired, elderly, +he has a certain paternal look which his eye belies; Joffre's eye is the +hard eye of a commander-in-chief, the military eye, the eye of an Old +Testament father if you will. De Castelnau was speaking, making no +gestures--an old man with an ashen skin, deep-set eye and great hooked +nose, a long cape concealed the thick, age-settled body. Poincaré stood +listening, with a look at once worried and brave, the ghost of a sad +smile lingering on a sensitive mouth. Last of all came Pétain, the +protégé of De Castelnau, who commanded at Verdun--a tall, square-built +man, not un-English in his appearance, with grizzled hair and the sober +face of a thinker. But his mouth and jaw are those of a man of action, +and the look in his gray eyes is always changing. Now it is speculative +and analytic, now steely and cold. + +In the shelter of a doorway stood a group of territorials, getting their +first real news of the battle from a Paris newspaper. I heard "Nous +avons reculé--huit kilomètres--le général Pétain--" A motor-lorry +drowned out the rest. + +That night we were given orders to be ready to evacuate the château in +case the Boches advanced. The drivers slept in the ambulances, rising at +intervals through the night to warm their engines. The buzz of the +motors sounded through the tall pines of the château park, drowning out +the rumbling of the bombardment and the monotonous roaring of the flood. +Now and then a trench light, rising like a spectral star over the lines +on the Hauts de Meuse, would shine reflected in the river. At intervals +attendants carried down the swampy paths to the chapel the bodies of +soldiers who had died during the night. The cannon flashing was +terrific. Just before dawn, half a dozen batteries of "seventy-fives" +came in a swift trot down the shelled road; the men leaned over on their +steaming horses, the harnesses rattled and jingled, and the cavalcade +swept on, outlined a splendid instant against the mortar flashes and the +streaks of day. + +On my morning trip a soldier with bandaged arm was put beside me on the +front seat. He was about forty years old; a wiry black beard gave a +certain fullness to his thin face, and his hands were pudgy and short of +finger. When he removed his helmet, I saw that he was bald. A bad cold +caused him to speak in a curious whispering tone, giving to everything +he said the character of a grotesque confidence. + +"What do you do en civil?" he asked. + +I told him. + +"I am a pastry cook," he went on; "my specialty is Saint-Denis apple +tarts." + +A marmite intended for the road landed in the river as he spoke. + +"Have you ever had one? They are very good when made with fresh cream." +He sighed. + +"How did you get wounded?" said I. + +"Éclat d'obus," he replied, as if that were the whole story. After a +pause he added, "Douaumont--yesterday." + +I thought of the shells I had seen bursting over the fort. + +"Do you put salt in chocolate?" he asked professionally. + +"Not as a rule," I replied. + +"It improves it," he pursued, as if he were revealing a confidential +dogma. "The Boche bread is bad, very bad, much worse than a year ago. +Full of crumbles and lumps. Dégoûtant!" + +The ambulance rolled up to the evacuation station, and my pastry cook +alighted. + +"When the war is over, come to my shop," he whispered benevolently, "and +you shall have some tartes aux pommes à la mode de Saint-Denis with my +wife and me." + +"With fresh cream?" I asked. + +"Of course," he replied seriously. + +I accepted gratefully, and the good old soul gave me his address. + +In the afternoon a sergeant rode with me. He was somewhere between +twenty-eight and thirty, thick-set of body, with black hair and the +tanned and ruddy complexion of outdoor folk. The high collar of a +dark-blue sweater rose over his great coat and circled a muscular +throat; his gray socks were pulled country-wise outside of the legs of +his blue trousers. He had an honest, pleasant face; there was a certain +simple, wholesome quality about the man. In the piping times of peace, +he was a cultivateur in the Valois, working his own little farm; he was +married and had two little boys. At Douaumont, a fragment of a shell had +torn open his left hand. + +"The Boches are not going to get through up there?" + +"Not now. As long as we hold the heights, Verdun is safe." His simple +French, innocent of argot, had a good country twang. "But oh, the people +killed! Comme il y a des gens tués!" He pronounced the final s of the +word gens in the manner of the Valois. + +"Ça s'accroche aux arbres," he continued. + +The vagueness of the ça had a dreadful quality in it that made you see +trees and mangled bodies. "We had to hold the crest of Douaumont under a +terrible fire, and clear the craters on the slope when the Germans tried +to fortify them. Our 'seventy-fives' dropped shells into the big craters +as I would drop stones into a pond. Pauvres gens!" + +The phrase had an earth-wide sympathy in it, a feeling that the +translation "poor folks" does not render. He had taken part in a strange +incident. There had been a terrible corps-à -corps in one of the craters +which had culminated in a victory for the French; but the lieutenant of +his company had left a kinsman behind with the dead and wounded. Two +nights later, the officer and the sergeant crawled down the dreadful +slope to the crater where the combat had taken place, in the hope of +finding the wounded man. They could hear faint cries and moans from the +crater before they got to it. The light of a pocket flash-lamp showed +them a mass of dead and wounded on the floor of the crater--"un tas de +mourants et de cadavres," as he expressed it. + +After a short search, they found the man for whom they were looking; he +was still alive but unconscious. They were dragging him out when a +German, hideously wounded, begged them to kill him. + +"Moi, je n'ai plus jambes," he repeated in French; "pitié, tuez-moi." + +He managed to make the lieutenant see that if he went away and left +them, they would all die in the agonies of thirst and open wounds. A +little flickering life still lingered in a few; there were vague râles +in the darkness. A rafale of shells fell on the slope; the violet glares +outlined the mouth of the crater. + +"Ferme tes yeux" (shut your eyes), said the lieutenant to the German. +The Frenchmen scrambled over the edge of the crater with their +unconscious burden, and then, from a little distance, threw +hand-grenades into the pit till all the moaning died away. + +Two weeks later, when the back of the attack had been broken and the +organization of the defense had developed into a trusted routine, I went +again to Verdun. The snow was falling heavily, covering the piles of +débris and sifting into the black skeletons of the burned houses. +Untrodden in the narrow streets lay the white snow. Above the Meuse, +above the ugly burned areas in the old town on the slope, rose the +shell-spattered walls of the citadel and the cathedral towers of the +still, tragic town. The drumming of the bombardment had died away. The +river was again in flood. In a deserted wine-shop on a side street well +protected from shells by a wall of sandbags was a post of territorials. + +To the tragedy of Verdun, these men were the chorus; there was something +Sophoclean in this group of older men alone in the silence and ruin of +the beleaguered city. A stove filled with wood from the wrecked houses +gave out a comfortable heat, and in an alley-way, under cover, stood a +two-wheeled hose cart, and an old-fashioned seesaw fire pump. There were +old clerks and bookkeepers among the soldier firemen--retired gendarmes +who had volunteered, a country schoolmaster, and a shrewd peasant from +the Lyonnais. Watch was kept from the heights of the citadel, and the +outbreak of fire in any part of the city was telephoned to the shop. On +that day only a few explosive shells had fallen. + +"Do you want to see something odd, mon vieux?" said one of the pompiers +to me; and he led me through a labyrinth of cellars to a cold, deserted +house. The snow had blown through the shell-splintered window-panes. In +the dining-room stood a table, the cloth was laid and the silver spread; +but a green feathery fungus had grown in a dish of food and broken +straws of dust floated on the wine in the glasses. The territorial took +my arm, his eyes showing the pleasure of my responding curiosity, and +whispered,-- + +"There were officers quartered here who were called very suddenly. I saw +the servant of one of them yesterday; they have all been killed." + +Outside there was not a flash from the batteries on the moor. The snow +continued to fall, and darkness, coming on the swift wings of the storm, +fell like a mantle over the desolation of the city. + + +The End + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VOLUNTEER POILU *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our website which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + diff --git a/old/12330-0.zip b/old/12330-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..309a37a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12330-0.zip diff --git a/old/old/12330-8.txt b/old/old/12330-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..692fd9c --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/12330-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5064 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Volunteer Poilu, by Henry Sheahan + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Volunteer Poilu + +Author: Henry Sheahan + +Release Date: May 12, 2004 [EBook #12330] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VOLUNTEER POILU *** + + + + +Produced by A. Langley + + + + +A VOLUNTEER POILU + +by Henry Sheahan + + + + +To Professor Charles Townsend Copeland of Harvard University + +Dear Copey, + +At Verdun I thought of you, and the friendly hearth of Hollis 15 seemed +very far away from the deserted, snow-swept streets of the tragic city. +Then suddenly I remembered how you had encouraged me and many others to +go over and help in any way that we could; I remembered your keen +understanding of the Epic, and the deep sympathy with human beings which +you taught those whose privilege it was to be your pupils. And so you +did not seem so far away after all, but closer to the heart of the war +than any other friend I had. + +I dedicate this book to you with grateful affection after many years of +friendship. + +Henry + + + + + +Topsfield, September, 1916 + +Preface + +I have ventured to call this book A Volunteer Poilu principally because +we were known to the soldiers of the Bois-le-Prêtre as "les Poilus +Américains." Then, too, it was my ambition to do for my comrades, the +French private soldiers, what other books have done for the soldiers of +other armies. The title chosen, however, was more than complimentary; it +was but just. In recognition of the work of the Section during the +summer, it was, in October, 1915, formally adopted into the French army; +a French officer became its administrative head, and the drivers were +given the same papers, pay, and discipline as their French comrades. + +I wish to thank many of my old friends of Section II, who have aided me +in the writing of this book. + +HENRY SHEAHAN + + + + +Contents + +I. THE ROCHAMBEAU S'EN VA-T-EN GUERRE + +I A war-time voyage--The Rochambeau--Loading ammunition and food +supplies--Personalities on board--The dyestuffs agent--The machine +lathes man--The Swede from Minnesota who was on his way to the Foreign +Legion--His subsequent history--The talk aboard--The French officer--His +philosophy of war--Ernest Psichari--Arrival at Bordeaux--The Arabs at +the docks--The convalescent soldiers-- Across La Beauce--The French +countryside in war-time. + + +II. AN UNKNOWN PARIS IN THE NIGHT AND RAIN. + +Paris, rain, and darkness--The Gardens of the Tuileries--The +dormitory--The hospital at night--Beginning of the Champagne +offensive--The Gare de la Chapelle at two in the morning--The +wounded--The Zouave stretcher-bearers--The Arabs in the abandoned +school--Suburban Paris at dawn--The home of the deaconesses. + + +III. THE GREAT SWATHE OF THE LINES + +Nancy--The porter's story--Getting to the front--What the phrase "the +front" really means--The sense of the front--The shell zone--The zone of +quiet--My quarters in the shelled house--The fire shells--Bombarded at +night--Death of the soldier fireman. + + +IV. LA FORET DE BOIS-LE-PRETRE + +Le Bois-le-Prêtre--Description--History--Les Glycines, "Wisteria +Villa"--The Road to the trenches--At the trenches--The painter's idea of +"le sinistre dans l'art"--The sign post--The zone of violence--The +Quart-en-Réserve--The village caught in the torment of the lines--The +dead on the barbed wire--"The Road to Metz." + + +V. THE TRENCHES IN THE "WOOD OF DEATH." + +The Trenches--Organization--Nature of the war--Food, shelters, clothing, +ammunition, etc.--A typical day in the trenches--Trench shells or +"crapouilots"--In the abri--The tunnel--The doctrinaire lieutenant of +engineers. + + +VI. THE GERMANS ATTACK + +The piano at Montauville--An interrupted concert--At the Quart--The +battle for the ridge of the Wood--Fall of the German +aeroplane--Psychology of the men in the trenches--Religion in the +trenches-- + + +VII. THE TOWN IN THE TRENCHES + +Poor old "Pont"--Description of the town--A civilian's story--The house +of the Captain of the Papal Zouaves--Church of St. Laurent--The Cemetery +and its guardian. + + +VIII. MESSIEURS LES POILUS DE LA GRANDE GUERRE + +En repos--A village of troops--Manners and morals--The concert--journal +of the Bois-le-Prêtre--Various poilus. + + +IX. PREPARING THE DEFENSE OF VERDUN + +En permission--State of France--The France of 1905 and the France of +1915--The class of 1917--Bar-le-Duc--The air raid--Called to Verdun. + + +X. THE GREAT DAYS OF VERDUN + +Verdun in 1912--Verdun on the night of the first great attack--The +hospital--The shelled cross road--The air shell--The pastry cook's +story--The cultivateur of the Valois and the crater at Douaumont--The +pompiers of Verdun--"Do you want to see an odd sight?"--Verdun in storm +and desolation. + + + + + + +A Volunteer Poilu + +Chapter I + +The Rochambeau S'en Va-t-en Guerre + +Moored alongside a great two-storied pier, with her bow to the land, the +cargo and passenger boat, Rochambeau, of the Compagnie Générale was +being loaded with American supplies for the France of the Great War. A +hot August sun struck spots and ripples of glancing radiance from the +viscous, oily surface of the foul basin in which she lay inert; the air +was full of sounds, the wheezing of engines, the rattling of cog-checks, +and the rumble of wheels and hoofs which swept, in sultry puffs of noise +and odor, from the pavements on the land. Falling from the exhausts, a +round, silvery-white cascade poured into the dark lane between the wharf +and the deck, and sounded a monotonous, roaring underchord to the +intermingled dins. At the sun-bathed bow, a derrick gang lowered bags of +flour into the open well of the hold; there were commands in French, a +chugging, and a hissing of steam, and a giant's clutch of dusty, +hundred-kilo flour-bags from Duluth would swing from the wharf to the +Rochambeau, sink, and disappear. In some way the unfamiliar language, +and the sight of the thickset, French sailor-men, so evidently all of +one race, made the Rochambeau, moored in the shadow of the sky-scrapers, +seem mysteriously alien. But among the workers in the hold, who could be +seen when they stood on the floor of the open hatchway, was a young, +red-headed, American longshoreman clad in the trousers part of a suit of +brown-check overalls; sweat and grime had befouled his rather foolish, +freckled face, and every time that a bunch of flour-bags tumbled to the +floor of the well, he would cry to an invisible somebody--"More +dynamite, Joe, more dynamite!" + +Walking side by side, like ushers in a wedding procession, two of the +ship's officers made interminable rounds of the deck. Now and then they +stopped and looked over the rail at the loading operations, and once in +low tones they discussed the day's communiqué. "Pas grand' chose" +(nothing of importance), said he whom I took to be the elder, a bearded, +seafaring kind of man. "We have occupied a crater in the Argonne, and +driven back a German patrol (une patrouille Boche) in the region of +Nomény." The younger, blond, pale, with a wispy yellow mustache, +listened casually, his eyes fixed on the turbulence below. The derrick +gang were now stowing away clusters of great wooden boxes marked the +Something Arms Company. "My brother says that American bullets are +filled with powder of a very good quality" (d'une très bonne qualité), +remarked the latter. "By the way, how is your brother?" asked the +bearded man. "Very much better," answered the other; "the last fragment +(éclat) was taken out of his thigh just before we left Bordeaux." They +continued their walk, and three little French boys wearing English +sailor hats took their places at the rail. + +As the afternoon advanced, a yellow summer sun, sinking to a level with +the upper fringes of the city haze, gave a signal for farewells; and +little groups retired to quieter corners for good-byes. There was a good +deal of worrying about submarines; one heard fragments of +conversations--"They never trouble the Bordeaux route"--"Absolutely +safe, je t'assure"; and in the accents of Iowa the commanding advice, +"Now, don't worry!" "Good-bye, Jim! Good-bye, Maggie!" cried a rotund, +snappy American drummer, and was answered with cheery, honest wishes for +"the success of his business." Two young Americans with the same +identical oddity of gait walked to and fro, and a little black +Frenchman, with a frightful star-shaped scar at the corner of his mouth, +paraded lonelily. A middle-aged French woman, rouged and dyed back to +the thirties, and standing in a nimbus of perfume, wept at the going of +a younger woman, and ruined an elaborate make-up with grotesque +traceries of tears. "Give him my love," she sobbed; "tell him that the +business is doing splendidly and that he is not to buy any of Lafitte's +laces next time he goes to Paris en permission." A little later, the +Rochambeau, with slow majesty, backed into the channel, and turned her +bow to the east. + +The chief interest of the great majority of her passengers was +commercial; there were American drummers keen to line their pockets with +European profits; there were French commis voyageurs who had been +selling articles of French manufacture which had formerly been made by +the Germans; there were half-official persons who had been on missions +to American ammunition works; and there was a diplomat or two. From the +sample trunks on board you could have taken anything from a pair of +boots to a time fuse. Altogether, an interesting lot. Palandeau, a +middle-aged Frenchman with a domed, bald forehead like Socrates or +Verlaine, had been in America selling eau-de-cologne. + +"Then you are getting out something new?" I asked. + +"Yes, and no," he answered. "Our product is the old-fashioned +eau-de-cologne water with the name 'Farina' on it." + +"But in America we associate eau-de-cologne with the Germans," said I. +"Doesn't the bottle say 'Johann Maria Farina'? Surely the form of the +name is German." + +"But that was not his name, monsieur; he was a Frenchman, and called +himself 'Jean Marie.' Yes, really, the Germans stole the manufacture +from the French. Consider the name of the article, 'eau-de-cologne,' is +not that French?" + +"Yes," I admitted. + +"Alors," said Palandeau; "the blocus has simply given us the power to +reclaim trade opportunities justly ours. Therefore we have printed a new +label telling the truth about Farina, and the Boche 'Johann Maria' is +'kapout.'" + +"Do you sell much of it?" + +"Quantities! Our product is superior to the Boche article, and has the +glamour of an importation. I await the contest without uneasiness." + +"What contest?" + +"When Jean Marie meets Johann Maria--après la guerre," said Palandeau +with a twinkle in his eye. + +In the deck chair next to mine sat a dark, powerfully built young Iowan +with the intensely masculine head of a mediaeval soldier. There was a +bit of curl to the dark-brown hair which swept his broad, low forehead, +his brown eyes were devoid of fear or imagination, his jaw was set, and +the big, aggressive head rested on a short, muscular neck. He had been a +salesman of machine tools till the "selling end" came to a standstill. + +"But didn't the munitions traffic boom the machine-tool industry?" I +asked. + +"Sure it did. You ought to have seen what people will do to get a lathe. +You know about all that you need to make shells is a machine lathe. You +can't get a lathe in America for love or money--for anything"--he made a +swift, complete gesture--"all making shells. There isn't a junk factory +in America that hasn't been pawed over by guys looking for lathes--and +my God! what prices! Knew a bird named Taylor who used to make water +pipes in Utica, New York--had a stinking little lathe he paid two +hundred dollars for, and sold it last year for two thousand. My firm had +so many orders for months ahead that it didn't pay them to have +salesmen--so they offered us jobs inside; but, God, I can't stand indoor +work, so I thought I'd come over here and get into the war. I used to be +in the State Cavalry. You ought to have seen how sore all those Iowa +Germans were on me for going," he laughed. "Had a hell of row with a guy +named Schultz." + +Limping slightly, an enormous, grizzled man approached us and sat down +by the side of the ex-machinist. Possibly a yellow-gray suit, cut in the +bathrobe American style, made him look larger than he was, and though +heavily built and stout, there was something about him which suggested +ill health. One might have thought him a prosperous American business +man on his way to Baden-Baden. He had a big nose, big mouth, a hard eye, +and big, freckled hands which he nervously opened and closed. + +"See that feller over there?" He pointed to a spectacled individual who +seemed lost in melancholy speculation at the rail--"Says he's a Belgian +lieutenant. Been over here trying to get cloth. Says he can't get it, +the firms over here haven't got the colors. Just think of it, there +isn't a pound of Bernheim's blue in the whole country!" + +"I thought we were beginning to make dyes of our own," said the Iowan. + +"Oh, yes, but we haven't got the hang of it yet. The product is pretty +poor. Most of the people who need dyes are afraid to use the American +colors, but they've got to take what they can get. Friend of mine, Lon +Seeger, of Seeger, Seeger & Hall, the carpet people in Hackensack, had +twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of mats spoiled on him last week by +using home dyes." + +The Belgian lieutenant, still standing by the rail, was talking with +another passenger, and some fragments of the conversation drifted to our +ears. I caught the words--"My sister--quite unexpected--barely +escaped--no doubt of it--I myself saw near Malines--perfectly +dreadful--tout-à-fait terrible." + +"Twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of mats all spoiled, colors ran, +didn't set, no good. This war is raising the devil with the United +States textiles. Maybe the Germans won't get a glad hand when they come +back. We hear that they're going to flood the market with good, +low-priced dyes so as to bust up the new American plants. Haven't you +heard them hollerin' for tariff protection? I'm going over to look up a +new green dye the French are getting out. We hear it's pretty good +stuff. What are you boys doing, looking for contracts?" + +The Iowan replied that he hoped to get into an English cavalry regiment, +and I mentioned the corps I had joined. + +"Well, don't get killed," exclaimed the dye-stuffs agent paternally, and +settled down in his chair for a nap. + +It was the third day out; the ocean was still the salty green color of +the American waters, and big, oily, unrippled waves were rising and +falling under the August sun. From the rail I saw coming toward us over +the edge of the earth, a small tramp steamer marked with two white +blotches which, as the vessel neared, resolved themselves into painted +reproductions of the Swedish flag. Thus passed the Thorvald, carrying a +mark of the war across the lonely seas. + +"That's a Swedish boat," said a voice at my elbow. + +"Yes," I replied. + +A boy about eighteen or nineteen, with a fine, clear complexion, a downy +face, yellow hair, and blue eyes, was standing beside me. There was +something psychologically wrong with his face; it had that look in it +which makes you want to see if you still have your purse. + +"We see that flag pretty often out in Minnesota," he continued. + +"What's your name?" I asked. + +"Oscar Petersen," he answered. + +"Going over to enlist?" I hazarded. + +"You bet," he replied--and an instant later--"Are you?" + +I told him of my intention. Possibly because we were in for the same +kind of experience he later became communicative. He had run away from +home at the age of fourteen, spent his sixteenth year in a reform +school, and the rest of his time as a kind of gangster in Chicago. I +can't imagine a more useless existence than the one he revealed. At +length he "got sick of the crowd and got the bug to go to war," as he +expressed it, and wrote to his people to tell them he was starting, but +received no answer. "My father was a Bible cuss," he remarked +cheerfully,--"never got over my swiping the minister's watch." + +A Chicago paper had printed his picture and a "story" about his going to +enlist in the Foreign Legion--"popular young man very well known in +the--th ward," said the article. He showed me, too, an extraordinary +letter he had received via the newspaper, a letter written in pencil on +the cheapest, shabbiest sheet of ruled note-paper, and enclosing five +dollars. "I hope you will try to avenge the Lusitania," it said among +other things. The letter was signed by a woman. + +"Do you speak French?" I asked. + +"Not a word," he replied. "I want to be put with the Americans or the +Swedes. I speak good Swedish." + +Months later, on furlough, I saw in a hospital at Lyons a college +classmate who had served in the Foreign Legion. "Did you know a fellow +named Petersen?" I asked. + +"Yes, I knew him," answered my friend; "he lifted a fifty-franc note +from me and got killed before I could get it back." + +"How did it happen?" + +"Went through my pockets, I imagine." + +"Oh, no, I meant how did he get killed?" "Stray shell sailed in as we +were going through a village, and caught him and two of the other boys." + +"You must not make your friend talk too much," mumbled an old Sister of +Charity rather crossly. + +The two young men with the same identical oddity of gait were salesmen +of artificial legs, each one a wearer and demonstrator of his wares. The +first, from Ohio, had lost his leg in a railroad accident two years +before, and the second, a Virginian with a strong accent, had been done +for in a motor-car smashup. One morning the man from Ohio gave us a kind +of danse macabre on the deck; rolling his trouser leg high above his +artificial shin, he walked, leaped, danced, and ran. "Can you beat +that?" he asked with pardonable pride. "Think what these will mean to +the soldiers." Meanwhile, with slow care, the Virginian explained the +ingenious mechanism. + +Strange tatters of conversation rose from the deck. "Poor child, she +lost her husband at the beginning of the war"--"Third shipment of +hosses"--"I was talking with a feller from the Atlas Steel +Company"--"Edouard is somewhere near Arras"; there were disputes about +the outcome of the war, and arguments over profits. A voluble French +woman, whose husband was a pastry cook in a New York hotel before he +joined the forces, told me how she had wandered from one war movie to +another hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband, and had finally seen +"some one who resembled him strongly" on the screen in Harlem. She had a +picture of him, a thin, moody fellow with great, saber whiskers like +Rostand's and a high, narrow forehead curving in on the sides between +the eyebrows and the hair. "He is a Chasseur alpin," she said with a +good deal of pride, "and they are holding his place for him at the +hotel. He was wounded last month in the shoulder. I am going to the +hospital at Lyons to see him." The day's sunset was at its end, and a +great mass of black clouds surged over the eastern horizon, turning the +seas ahead to a leaden somberness that lowered in menacing contrast to +the golden streaks of dying day. The air freshened, salvos of rain fell +hissing into the dark waters, and violet cords of lightning leaped +between sea and sky. Echoing thunder rolled long through unseen abysses. +In the deserted salon I found the young Frenchman with the star-shaped +scar reading an old copy of "La Revue." He had been an officer in the +Chasseurs-à-pied until a fearful wound had incapacitated him for further +service, and had then joined the staff of a great, conservative Parisian +weekly. The man was a disciple of Ernest Psichari, the soldier mystic +who died so superbly at Charleroi in the dreadful days before the Marne. +From him I learned something of the French conception of the idea of +war. It was not uninteresting to compare the French point of view with +the German, and we talked late into the night while the ship was +plunging through the storm. An article in the review, "La Psychologie +des Barbares," was the starting-point of our conversation. + +"You must remember that the word 'barbarian' which we apply to the +Germans, is understood by the French intellectually," said he. "Not only +do German atrocities seem barbarous, but their thought also. Consider +the respective national conceptions of the idea of war. To the Germans, +war is an end in itself, and in itself and in all its effects perfect +and good. To the French mind, this conception of war is barbaric, for +war is not good in itself and may be fatal to both victor and +vanquished." (He spoke a beautiful, lucid French with a sort of military +preciseness.) + +"It was Ernest Psichari who revealed to us the raison d'être of arms in +modern life, and taught us the meaning of war. To him, war was no savage +ruée, but the discipline of history for which every nation must be +prepared, a terrible discipline neither to be sought, nor rejected when +proffered. Thus the Boches, once their illusion of the glory of war is +smashed, have nothing to fall back on, but the French point of view is +stable and makes for a good morale. Psichari was the intellectual leader +of that movement for the regeneration of the army which has saved +France. When the doctrines of pacificism began to be preached in France, +and cries of 'A bas l'armée' were heard in the streets, Psichari showed +that the army was the only institution left in our industrialized world +with the old ideals and the power to teach them. Quand on a tout dit, +the military ideals of honor, duty, and sacrifice of one's all for the +common good are the fundamentals of. character. Psichari turned this +generation from a generation of dreamers to a generation of soldiers, +knowing why they were soldiers, glad to be soldiers. The army saved the +morale of France when the Church had lost its hold, and the public +schools had been delivered to the creatures of sentimental doctrinaire +government. Was it not a pity that Psichari should have died so young?" + +"Did you know him?" I asked. + +"Yes; I saw something of him in Africa. The mystery of the East had +profoundly stirred him. He was a dark, serious fellow with something of +the profile of his grandfather, Ernest Renan. At Charleroi, after an +heroic stand, he and every man of his squad died beside the guns they +served." + +Long after, at the Bois-le-Prêtre, I went to the trenches to get a young +sergeant. His friends had with clumsy kindness gathered together his +little belongings and put them in the ambulance. "As tu trouvé mon +livre?" (Have you found my book?) he asked anxiously, and they tossed +beside the stretcher a trench-mired copy of Psichari's "L'Appel des +Armes." + +One morning, just at dawn, we drew near a low, sandy coast, and anchored +at the mouth of the great estuary of the Gironde. A spindly lighthouse +was flashing, seeming more to reflect the sunlight from outside than to +be burning within, and a current the color of coffee and cream with a +dash of vermilion in it, went by us mottled with patches of floating +mud. From the deck one had an extraordinary view, a ten-mile sweep of +the strangely colored water, the hemisphere of the heavens all of one +greenish-blue tint, and a narrow strip of nondescript, sandy coast +suspended somehow between the strange sea and unlovely sky. At noon, the +Rochambeau began at a good speed her journey up the river, passing +tile-roofed villages and towns built of pumice-gray stone, and great +flat islands covered with acres upon acres of leafy, bunchy vines. There +was a scurry to the rail; some one cried, "Voilà des Boches," and I saw +working in a vineyard half a dozen men in gray-green German regimentals. +A poilu in a red cap was standing nonchalantly beside them. As the +Rochambeau, following the channel, drew incredibly close to the bank, +the Germans leaned on their hoes and watched us pass, all save one, who +continued to hoe industriously round the roots of the vines, ignoring us +with a Roman's disdain. "Comme ils sont laids" (How ugly they are), said +a voice. There was no surprise in the tone, which expressed the expected +confirmation of a past judgment. It was the pastry cook's voluble wife +who had spoken. The land through which we were passing, up to that time +simply the pleasant countryside of the Bordelais, turned in an instant +to the France of the Great War. + +Late in the afternoon, the river, slowly narrowing, turned a great bend, +and the spires of Bordeaux, violet-gray in the smoky rose of early +twilight, were seen just ahead. A broad, paved, dirty avenue, with the +river on one side and a row of shabby houses on the other, led from the +docks to the city, and down this street, marching with Oriental dignity, +came a troop of Arabs. There was a picture of a fat sous-officier +leading, of brown-white rags and mantles waving in the breeze blowing +from the harbor, of lean, muscular, black-brown legs, and dark, +impassive faces. "Algerian recruits," said an officer of the boat. It +was a first glimpse at the universality of the war; it held one's mind +to realize that while some were quitting their Devon crofts, others were +leaving behind them the ancestral well at the edges of the ancient +desert. A faint squeaking of strange pipes floated on the twilight air. + +There came an official examination of our papers, done in a businesslike +way, the usual rumpus of the customs, and we were free to land in +France. That evening a friend and I had dinner in a great café opening +on the principal square in Bordeaux, and tried to analyze the difference +between the Bordeaux of the past and the Bordeaux of the war. The ornate +restaurant, done in a kind of Paris Exhibition style, and decorated with +ceiling frescoes of rosy, naked Olympians floating in golden mists and +sapphire skies, was full of movement and light, crowds passed by on the +sidewalks, there were sounds--laughter. + +"Looks just the same to me," said my friend, an American journalist who +had been there in 1912. "Of course there are more soldiers. Outside of +that, and a lack of taxicabs and motorcars, the town has not changed." + +But there was a difference, and a great difference. There was a terrible +absence of youth. Not that youth was entirely absent from the tables and +the trottoirs; it was visible, putty-faced and unhealthy-looking, afraid +to meet the gaze of a man in uniform, the pitiable jeunesse that could +not pass the physical examination of the army. Most of the other young +men who bent over the tables talking, or leaned back on a divan to smoke +cigarettes, were strangers, and I saw many who were unquestionably +Roumanians or Greeks. A little apart, at a corner table, a father and +mother were dining with a boy in a uniform much too large for him;--I +fancied from the cut of his clothes that he belonged to a young squad +still under instruction in the garrisons, and that he was enjoying a +night off with his family. Screened from the rest by a clothes rack, a +larky young lieutenant was discreetly conversing with a "daughter of +joy," and an elderly English officer, severely proper and correct, was +reading "Punch" and sipping red wine in Britannic isolation. Across the +street an immense poster announced, "Conference in aid of the Belgian +Red Cross--the German Outrages in Louvain, Malines, and +Liège--illustrated." + +We finished our dinner, which was good and not costly, and started to +walk to our hotel. Hardly had we turned the corner of the Place, when +the life of Bordeaux went out like a torch extinguished by the wind. It +was still early in the evening, there was a sound of an orchestra +somewhere behind, yet ahead of us, lonely and still, with its shops +closed and its sidewalks deserted, was one of the greater streets of +Bordeaux. Through the drawn curtains of second stories over little +groceries and baker-shops shone the yellow light of lamps. What had +happened to the Jean, Paul, and Pierre of this dark street since the war +began? What tragedies of sorrow and loneliness might these silent +windows not conceal? And every French city is much the same; one notices +in them all the subtle lack of youth, and the animation of the great +squares in contrast to the somber loneliness of streets and quarters +which once were alive and gay. At the Place de l'Opéra in Paris, the +whirlpool of Parisian life is still turning, but the great streets +leading away from the Place de l'Étoile are quiet. Young and old, +laborer and shopkeeper, boulevardier and apache are far away holding the +tragic lines. + +The next morning at the station, I had my first glimpse of that mighty +organization which surrounds the militaire. There was a special entrance +for soldiers and a special exit for soldiers, and at both of these a +long file of blue-clad poilus waited for the countersigning of their +furlough slips and military tickets. The mud of the trenches still +stained the bottom edges of their overcoats, and their steel helmets +were dented and dull. There was something fine about the faces +collectively; there was a certain look of tried endurance and perils +bravely borne. I heard those on furlough telling the names of their home +villages to the officer in charge,--pleasant old names, Saint-Pierre aux +Vignes, La Tour du Roi. + +A big, obese, middle-aged civilian dressed in a hideous greenish suit, +and wearing a pancake cap, sat opposite me in the compartment I had +chosen. There was a hard, unfriendly look in his large, fat-encircled +eyes, a big mustache curved straight out over his lips, and the short +finger nails of his square, puffy fingers were deeply rimmed with dirt. +He caught sight of me reading a copy of an English weekly, and after +staring at me with an interest not entirely free from a certain +hostility, retreated behind the pages of the "Matin," and began picking +his teeth. Possibly he belonged to that provincial and prejudiced +handful to whom England will always be "Perfidious Albion," or else he +took me for an English civilian dodging military service. The French +press was following the English recruiting campaign very closely, and +the system of volunteer service was not without its critics. +"Conscription being considered in England" (On discute la conscription +en Angleterre), announced the "Matin" discreetly. + +It was high noon; the train had arrived at Angoulême, and was taking +aboard a crowd of convalescents. On the station platform, their faces +relentlessly illumined by the brilliant light, stood about thirty +soldiers; a few were leaning on canes, one was without a right arm, some +had still the pallor of the sick, others seemed able-bodied and hearty. +Every man wore on the bosom of his coat about half a dozen little +aluminum medals dangling from bows of tricolor ribbon. "Pour les +blessés, s'il vous plaît," cried a tall young woman in the costume and +blue cape of a Red-Cross nurse as she walked along the platform shaking +a tin collection box under the windows of the train. + +To our compartment came three of the convalescents. One was a sturdy, +farmhand sort of fellow, with yellow hair and a yellow mustache--the +kind of man who might have been a Norman; he wore khaki puttees, brown +corduroy trousers, and a jacket which fitted his heavy, vigorous figure +rather snugly. Another was a little soul dressed in the "blue horizon" +from head to foot, a homely little soul with an egg-shaped head, +brown-green eyes, a retreating chin, and irregular teeth. The last, +wearing the old tenue, black jacket and red trousers, was a good-looking +fellow with rather handsome brown eyes. Comfortably stretched in a +corner, the Norman was deftly cutting slices of bread and meat which he +offered to his companions. Catching sight of my English paper, all three +stared at me with an interest and friendliness that was in psychological +contrast to the attitude of the obese civilian. + +"Anglais?" asked the Norman. + +The civilian watched for my answer. + +"Non--Américain," I replied. + +"Tiens," they said politely. + +"Do you speak English?" asked the homely one. + +"Yes," I answered. + +The Norman fished a creased dirty letter and a slip of paper from his +wallet and handed them to me for inspection. + +"I found them in a trench we shared with the English," he explained. +"These puttees are English; a soldier gave them to me." He exhibited his +legs with a good deal of satisfaction. + +I examined the papers that had been given me. The first was a medical +prescription for an anti-lice ointment and the second an illiterate +letter extremely difficult to decipher, mostly about somebody whom the +writer was having trouble to manage, "now that you aren't here." I +translated as well as I could for an attentive audience. "Toujours les +totos," they cried merrily when I explained the prescription. A spirit +of good-fellowship pervaded the compartment, till even the suspicious +civilian unbent, and handed round post-card photographs of his two sons +who were somewhere en Champagne. Not a one of the three soldiers could +have been much over twenty-one, but they were not boys, but men, serious +men, tried and disciplined by war. The homely one gave me one of his +many medals which he wore "to please the good Sisters"; on one side in +an oval of seven stars was the Virgin Mary, and on the other, the +determined features of General Joffre. + +Just at sundown we crossed the great plain of La Beauce. Distant +villages and pointed spires stood silhouetted in violet-black against +the burning midsummer sky and darkness was falling upon the sweeping +golden plain. We passed hamlet after hamlet closed and shuttered, though +the harvests had been gathered and stacked. There was something very +tragic in those deserted, outlying farms. The train began to rattle +through the suburbs of Paris. By the window stood the Norman looking out +on the winking red and violet lights of the railroad yard. "This Paris?" +he asked. "I never expected to see Paris. How the war sets one to +traveling!" + + + + +Chapter 2 + +An Unknown Paris in the Night and Rain + + + +It was Sunday morning, the bells were ringing to church, and I was +strolling in the gardens of the Tuileries. A bright morning sun was +drying the dewy lawns and the wet marble bodies of the gods and +athletes, the leaves on the trees were falling, and the French autumn, +so slow, so golden, and so melancholy, had begun. At the end of the +mighty vista of the Champs Élysées, the Arc de Triomphe rose, brown and +vaporous in the exhalations of the quiet city, and an aeroplane was +maneuvering over the Place de la Concorde, a moving speck of white and +silver in the soft, September blue. From a near-by Punch and Judy show +the laughter of little children floated down the garden in outbursts of +treble shrillness. "Villain, monster, scoundrel," squeaked a voice. +Flopped across the base of the stage, the arms hanging downwards, was a +prostrate doll which a fine manikin in a Zouave's uniform belabored with +a stick; suddenly it stirred, and, with a comic effect, lifted its +puzzled, wooden head to the laughing children. Beneath a little Prussian +helmet was the head of William of Germany, caricatured with Parisian +skill into a scowling, green fellow with a monster black mustache turned +up to his eyes. "Lie down!" cried the Zouave doll imperiously. "Here is +a love pat for thee from a French Zouave, my big Boche." And he struck +him down again with his staff. + +Soldiers walked in the garden,--permissionnaires (men on furlough) out +for an airing with their rejoicing families, smart young English +subalterns, and rosy-fleshed, golden-haired Flemings of the type that +Rubens drew. But neither their presence nor the sight of an occasional +mutilé (soldier who has lost a limb), pathetically clumsy on his new +crutches, quite sent home the presence of the war. The normal life of +the city was powerful enough to engulf the disturbance, the theaters +were open, there were the same crowds on the boulevards, and the same +gossipy spectators in the sidewalk cafés. After a year of war the +Parisians were accustomed to soldiers, cripples, and people in mourning. +The strongest effect of the war was more subtle of definition, it was a +change in the temper of the city. Since the outbreak of the war, the +sham Paris that was "Gay Paree" had disappeared, and the real Paris, the +Paris of tragic memories and great men, had taken its place. An old +Parisian explained the change to me in saying, "Paris has become more +French." Deprived of the foreigner, the city adapted itself to a taste +more Gallic; faced with the realities of war, it exchanged its +artificiality for that sober reasonableness which is the normal attitude +of the nation. + +At noon I left the garden and strolled down the Champs Élysées to the +Porte Maillot. The great salesrooms of the German motor-car dealers had +been given by the Government to a number of military charities who had +covered the trade signs with swathes and rosettes of their national +colors. Under the banner of the Belgians, in the quondam hop of the +Mercedes, was an exhibition of leather knickknacks, baskets, and dolls +made by the blind and mutilated soldiers. The articles--children's toys +for the most part, dwarfs that rolled over and over on a set of parallel +bars, Alsatian lasses with flaxen hair, and gay tops--were exposed on a +row of tables a few feet back from the window. By the Porte Maillot, +some of the iron saw-horses with sharpened points, which had formed part +of the barricade built there in the days of the Great Retreat, lay, a +villainous, rusty heap, in a grassy ditch of the city wall; a few stumps +of the trees that had been then cut down were still visible, and from a +railroad tie embedded in the sidewalk hung six links of a massive chain. +Through this forgotten flotsam on the great shore of the war, the quiet +crowds went in and out of the Maillot entrance to the Bois de Boulogne. +There was a sense of order and security in the air. I took a seat on the +terrace of a little restaurant. The garçon was a small man in the +fifties, inclined to corpulence, with a large head, large, blue-gray +eyes, purplish lips, and blue-black hair cut pompadour. As we watched +the orderly, Sunday crowds going to the great park, we fell into +conversation about the calmness of Paris. "Yes, it is calm," he said; +"we are all waiting (nous attendons). We know that the victory will be +ours at the finish. But all we can do is to wait. I have two sons at the +front." He had struck the keynote. Paris is calmly waiting--waiting for +the end of the war, for victory, for the return of her children. + +Yet in this great, calm city, with its vaporous browns and slaty blues, +and its characteristic acrid smell of gasoline fumes, was another Paris, +a terrible Paris, which I was that night to see. Early in the afternoon +a dull haze of leaden clouds rose in the southwest. It began to rain. + +In a great garret of the hospital, under a high French roof, was the +dormitory of the volunteers attached to the Paris Ambulance Section. At +night, this great space was lit by only one light, a battered electric +reading-lamp standing on a kind of laboratory table in the center of the +floor, and window curtains of dark-blue cambric, waving mysteriously in +the night wind, were supposed to hide even this glimmer from the eyes of +raiding Zeppelins. Looking down, early in the evening, into the great +quadrangle of the institution, one saw the windows of the opposite wing +veiled with this mysterious blue, and heard all the feverish unrest of a +hospital, the steps on the tiled corridors, the running of water in the +bathroom taps, the hard clatter of surgical vessels, and sometimes the +cry of a patient having a painful wound dressed. But late at night the +confused murmur of the battle between life and death had subsided, the +lights in the wards were extinguished, and only the candle of the night +nurse, seen behind a screen, and the stertorous breathing of the many +sleepers, brought back the consciousness of human life. I have often +looked into the wards as I returned from night calls to the station +where we received the wounded, and been conscious, as I peered silently +into that flickering obscurity, of the vague unrest of sleepers, of the +various attitudes assumed, the arms outstretched, the upturned throats, +and felt, too, in the still room, the mystic presence of the Angel of +Pain. + +It was late at night, and I stood looking out of my window over the +roofs of Neuilly to the great, darkened city just beyond. From somewhere +along the tracks of the "Little Belt" railway came a series of piercing +shrieks from a locomotive whistle. It was raining hard, drumming on the +slate roof of the dormitory, and somewhere below a gutter gurgled +foolishly. Far away in the corridor a gleam of yellow light shone from +the open door of an isolation room where a nurse was watching by a +patient dying of gangrene. Two comrades who had been to the movies at +the Gaumont Palace near the Place Clichy began to talk in sibilant +whispers of the evening's entertainment, and one of them said, "That war +film was a corker; did you spot the big cuss throwing the grenades?" +"Yuh, damn good," answered the other pulling his shirt over his head. It +was a strange crew that inhabited these quarters; there were idealists, +dreamers, men out of work, simple rascals and adventurers of all kinds. +To my right slept a big, young Westerner, from some totally unknown +college in Idaho, who was a humanitarian enthusiast to the point of +imbecility, and to the left a middle-aged rogue who indulged in secret +debauches of alcohol and water he cajoled from the hospital orderlies. +Yet this obscure and motley community was America's contribution to +France. I fell asleep. + +"Up, birds!" + +The lieutenant of the Paris Section, a mining engineer with a +picturesque vocabulary of Nevadan profanity, was standing in his pajama +trousers at the head of the room, holding a lantern in his hand. "Up, +birds!" he called again. "Call's come in for Lah Chapelle." There were +uneasy movements under the blankets, inmates of adjoining beds began to +talk to each other, and some lit their bedside candles. The chief went +down both sides of the dormitory, flashing his lantern before each bed, +ragging the sleepy. "Get up, So-and-So. Well, I must say, Pete, you have +a hell of a nerve." There were glimpses of candle flames, bare bodies +shivering in the damp cold, and men sitting on beds, winding on their +puttees. "Gee! listen to it rain," said somebody. "What time is it?" +"Twenty minutes past two." Soon the humming and drumming of the motors +in the yard sounded through the roaring of the downpour. + +Down in the yard I found Oiler, my orderly, and our little Ford +ambulance, number fifty-three. One electric light, of that sickly yellow +color universal in France, was burning over the principal entrance to +the hospital, just giving us light enough to see our way out of the +gates. Down the narrow, dark Boulevard Inkerman we turned, and then out +on to a great street which led into the "outer" boulevard of De +Batignolles and Clichy. To that darkness with which the city, in fear of +raiding aircraft, has hidden itself, was added the continuous, pouring +rain. In the light of our lamps, the wet, golden trees of the black, +silent boulevards shone strangely, and the illuminated advertising +kiosks which we passed, one after the other at the corners of great +streets, stood lonely and drenched, in the swift, white touch of our +radiance. Black and shiny, the asphalt roadway appeared to go on in a +straight line forever and forever. + +Neither in residential, suburban Neuilly nor in deserted Montmartre was +there a light to be seen, but when we drew into the working quarter of +La Chapelle, lights appeared in the windows, as if some toiler of the +night was expected home or starting for his labor, and vague forms, +battling with the rain or in refuge under the awning of a café, were now +and then visible. From the end of the great, mean rue de La Chapelle the +sounds of the unrest of the railroad yards began to be heard, for this +street leads to the freight-houses near the fortifications. Our +objective was a great freight station which the Government, some months +before, had turned into a receiving-post for the wounded; it lay on the +edge of the yard, some distance in from the street, behind a huddle of +smaller sheds and outbuildings. To our surprise the rue de La Chapelle +was strewn with ambulances rushing from the station, and along two sides +of the great yard, where the merchandise trucks had formerly turned in, +six or seven hundred more ambulances were waiting. We turned out of the +dark, rain-swept city into this hurly-burly of shouts, snorting of +engines, clashing of gears, and whining of brakes, illuminated with a +thousand intermeshing beams of headlights across whose brilliance the +rain fell in sloping, liquid rods. "Quick, a small car this way!" cried +some one in an authoritative tone, and number fifty-three ran up an +inclined plane into the enormous shed which had been reserved for the +loading of the wounded into the ambulances. + +We entered a great, high, white-washed, warehouse kind of place, about +four hundred feet long by four hundred feet wide, built of wood +evidently years before. In the middle of this shed was an open space, +and along the walls were rows of ambulances. Brancardiers +(stretcher-bearers; from brancard, a stretcher) were loading wounded +into these cars, and as soon as one car was filled, it would go out of +the hall and another would take its place. There was an infernal din; +the place smelled like a stuffy garage, and was full of blue gasoline +fumes; and across this hurly-burly, which was increasing every minute, +were carried the wounded, often nothing but human bundles of dirty blue +cloth and fouled bandages. Every one of these wounded soldiers was +saturated with mud, a gray-white mud that clung moistly to their +overcoats, or, fully dry, colored every part of the uniform with its +powder. One saw men that appeared to have rolled over and over in a +puddle bath of this whitish mud, and sometimes there was seen a sinister +mixture of blood and mire. There is nothing romantic about a wounded +soldier, for his condition brings a special emphasis on our human +relation to ordinary meat. Dirty, exhausted, unshaven, smelling of the +trenches, of his wounds, and of the antiseptics on his wounds, the +soldier comes from the train a sight for which only the great heart of +Francis of Assisi could have adequate pity. + +Oiler and I went through an opening in a canvas partition into that part +of the great shed where the wounded were being unloaded from the trains. +In width, this part measured four hundred feet, but in length it ran to +eight hundred. In two rows of six each, separated by an aisle about +eight feet wide, were twelve little houses, about forty feet square, +built of stucco, each one painted a different color. The woodwork of the +exterior was displayed through the plaster in the Elizabethan fashion, +and the little sheds were clean, solidly built, and solidly roofed. In +one of these constructions was the bureau of the staff which assigned +the wounded to the hospitals, in another was a fully equipped +operating-room, and in the others, rows of stretcher-horses, twenty-five +to a side, on which the wounded were laid until a hospital number had +been assigned them. A slip, with these hospital numbers on it, the names +of the patients, and the color of the little house in which they were to +be found, was then given to the chauffeur of an ambulance, who, with +this slip in hand and followed by a number of stretcher-bearers, +immediately gathered his patients. A specimen slip might run thus--"To +Hospital 32, avenue de Iéna, Paul Chaubard, red barraque, Jules Adamy, +green barraque, and Alphonse Fort, ochre barraque." + +To give a French touch to the scene, this great space, rapidly filling +with human beings in an appalling state of misery, as the aftermath of +the offensive broke on us, was decorated with evergreen trees and shrubs +so that the effect was that of an indoor fair or exhibition; you felt as +if you might get samples of something at each barraque, as the French +termed the little houses. To the side of these there was a platform, and +a sunken track running along the wall, and behind, a great open space +set with benches for those of the wounded able to walk. Some fifty +great, cylindrical braziers, which added a strange bit of rosy, fiery +color to the scene, warmed this space. When the wounded had begun to +arrive at about midnight, a regiment of Zouaves was at hand to help the +regular stretcher-bearers; these Zouaves were all young, "husky" men +dressed in the baggy red trousers and short blue jacket of their classic +uniform, and their strength was in as much of a contrast to the weakness +of those whom they handled as their gay uniform was in contrast to the +miry, horizon blue of the combatants. There was something grotesque in +seeing two of these powerful fellows carrying to the wagons a dirty blue +bundle of a human being. + +With a piercing shriek, that cut like a gash through the uproar of the +ambulance engines, a sanitary train, the seventh since midnight, came +into the station, and so smoothly did it run by, its floors on a level +with the main floor, that it seemed an illusion, like a stage train. On +the platform stood some Zouaves waiting to unload the passengers, while +others cleared the barraques and helped the feeble to the ambulances. +There was a steady line of stretchers going out, yet the station was so +full that hardly a bit of the vast floor space was unoccupied. One +walked down a narrow path between a sea of bandaged bodies. Shouldering +what baggage they had, those able to walk plodded in a strange, slow +tempo to the waiting automobiles. All by themselves were about a hundred +poor, ragged Germans, wounded prisoners, brothers of the French in this +terrible fraternity of pain. + +About four or five hundred assis (those able to sit up) were waiting on +benches at the end of the hall. Huddled round the rosy, flickering +braziers, they sat profoundly silent in the storm and din that moved +about them, rarely conversing with each other. I imagine that the +stupefaction, which is the physiological reaction of an intense +emotional and muscular effort, had not yet worn away. There were fine +heads here and there. Forgetful of his shattered arm, an old fellow, +with the face of Henri Quatre, eagle nose, beard, and all, sat with his +head sunken on his chest in mournful contemplation, and a fine-looking, +black-haired, dragoon kind of youth with the wildest of eyes clung like +grim death to a German helmet. The same expression of resigned fatalism +was common to all. + +Sometimes the chauffeurs who were waiting for their clients got a chance +to talk to one of the soldiers. Eager for news, they clustered round the +wounded man, bombarding him with questions. + +"Are the Boches retreating?" + +"When did it begin?" + +"Just where is the attack located?" + +"Are things going well for us?" + +The soldier, a big young fellow with a tanned face, somewhat pale from +the shock of a ripped-up forearm, answered the questions good-naturedly, +though the struggle had been on so great a scale that he could only tell +about his own hundred feet of trench. Indeed the substance of his +information was that there had been a terrible bombardment of the German +lines, and then an attack by the French which was still in progress. + +"Are we going to break clear through the lines?" + +The soldier shrugged his shoulders. "They hope to," he replied. + +Just beyond us, in one of the thousand stretchers on the floor, a small +bearded man had died. With his left leg and groin swathed in bandages, +he lay flat on his back, his mouth open, muddy, dirty, and dead. From +time to time the living on each side stole curious, timid glances at +him. Then, suddenly, some one noticed the body, and two +stretcher-bearers carried it away, and two more brought a living man +there in its place. + +The turmoil continued to increase. At least a thousand motor-ambulances, +mobilized from all over the region of Paris, were now on hand to carry +away the human wreckage of the great offensive. Ignorant of the ghastly +army at its doors, Paris slept. The rain continued to fall heavily. + +"Eh la, comrade." + +A soldier in the late thirties, with a pale, refined face, hailed me +from his stretcher. + +"You speak French?" + +I nodded. + +"I am going to ask you to do me a favor--write to my wife who is here in +Paris, and tell her that I am safe and shall let her know at once what +hospital I am sent to. I shall be very grateful." + +He let his shoulders sink to the stretcher again and I saw him now and +then looking for me in the crowd. Catching my eye, he smiled. + +A train full of Algerian troops came puffing into the station, the +uproar hardly rising above the general hubbub. The passengers who were +able to walk got out first, some limping, some walking firmly with a +splendid Eastern dignity. These men were Arabs and Moors from Algeria +and Tunisia, who had enlisted in the colonial armies. There was a great +diversity of size and racial type among them, some being splendid, big +men of the type one imagines Othello to have been, some chunkier and +more bullet-headed, and others tall and lean with interesting aquiline +features. I fancy that the shorter, rounder-skulled ones were those with +a dash of black blood. The uniform, of khaki-colored woolen, consisted +of a simple, short-waisted jacket, big baggy trousers, puttees, and a +red fez or a steel helmet with the lunar crescent and "R.F." for its +device. We heard rumors about their having attacked a village. Advancing +in the same curious tempo as the French, they passed to the braziers and +the wooden benches. Last of all from the train, holding his bandaged arm +against his chest, a native corporal with the features of a desert +tribesman advanced with superb, unconscious stateliness. As the +Algerians sat round the braziers, their uniforms and brown skins +presented a contrast to the pallor of the French in their bedraggled +blue, but there was a marked similarity of facial expression. A certain +racial odor rose from the Orientals. + +My first assignment, two Algerians and two Frenchmen, took me to an +ancient Catholic high school which had just been improvised into a +hospital for the Oriental troops. It lay, dirty, lonely, and grim, just +to one side of a great street on the edge of Paris, and had not been +occupied since its seizure by the State. Turning in through an enormous +door, lit by a gas globe flaring and flickering in the torrents of rain, +we found ourselves in an enormous, dark courtyard, where a half-dozen +ambulances were already waiting to discharge their clients. Along one +wall there was a flight of steps, and from somewhere beyond the door at +the end of this stair shone the faintest glow of yellow light. + +It came from the door of a long-disused schoolroom, now turned into the +receiving-hall of this strange hospital. The big, high room was lit by +one light only, a kerosene hand lamp standing on the teacher's desk, and +so smoked was the chimney that the wick gave hardly more light than a +candle. There was just enough illumination to see about thirty Algerians +sitting at the school desks, their big bodies crammed into the little +seats, and to distinguish others lying in stretchers here and there upon +the floor. At the teacher's table a little French adjutant with a trim, +black mustache and a soldier interpreter were trying to discover the +identity of their visitors. + +"Number 2215," (numéro deux mille deux cent quinze), the officer cried; +and the interpreter, leaning over the adjutant's shoulder to read the +name, shouted, "Méhémet Ali." + +There was no answer, and the Algerians looked round at each other, for +all the world like children in a school. It was very curious to see +these dark, heavy, wild faces bent over these disused desks. + +"Number 2168" (numéro deux mille cent soixante huit), cried the +adjutant. + +"Abdullah Taleb," cried the interpreter. + +"Moi," answered a voice from a stretcher in the shadows of the floor. + +"Take him to room six," said the adjutant, indicating the speaker to a +pair of stretcher-bearers. In the quieter pauses the rain was heard +beating on the panes. + +There are certain streets in Paris, equally unknown to tourist and +Parisian--obscure, narrow, cobble-stoned lanes, lined by walls +concealing little orchards and gardens. So provincial is their +atmosphere that it would be the easiest thing in the world to believe +one's self on the fringe of an old town, just where little bourgeois +villas begin to overlook the fields; but to consider one's self just +beyond the heart of Paris is almost incredible. Down such a street, in a +great garden, lay the institution to which our two Frenchmen were +assigned. We had a hard time finding it in the night and rain, but at +length, discovering the concierge's bell, we sent a vigorous peal +clanging through the darkness. Oiler lifted the canvas flap of the +ambulance to see about our patients. + +"All right in there, boys?" + +"Yes," answered a voice. + +"Not cold?" + +"Non. Are we at the hospital?" + +"Yes; we are trying to wake up the concierge." + +There was a sound of a key in a lock, and a small, dark woman opened the +door. She was somewhat spinstery in type, her thin, black hair was +neatly parted in the middle, and her face was shrewd, but not unkindly. + +"Deux blessés (two wounded), madame," said I. + +The woman pulled a wire loop inside the door, and a far-off bell +tinkled. + +"Come in," she said. "The porter will be here immediately." + +We stepped into a little room with a kind of English look to it, and a +carbon print of the Sistine Madonna on the wall. + +"Are they seriously wounded?" she asked. + +"I cannot say." + +A sound of shuffling, slippered feet was heard, and the porter, a small, +beefy, gray-haired man in the fifties, wearing a pair of rubber boots, +and a rain-coat over a woolen night-dress, came into the room. + +"Two wounded have arrived," said the lady. "You are to help these +messieurs get out the stretchers." + +The porter looked out of the door at the tail-light of the ambulance, +glowing red behind its curtain of rain. + +"Mon Dieu, what a deluge!" he exclaimed, and followed us forth. With an +"Easy there," and "Lift now," we soon had both of our clients out of the +ambulance and indoors. They lay on the floor of the odd, stiff, little +room, strange intruders of its primness; the first, a big, heavy, +stolid, young peasant with enormous, flat feet, and the second a small, +nervous, city lad, with his hair in a bang and bright, uneasy eyes. The +mud-stained blue of the uniforms seemed very strange, indeed, beside the +Victorian furniture upholstered in worn, cherry-red plush. A middle-aged +servant--a big-boned, docile-looking kind of creature, probably the +porter's wife--entered, followed by two other women, the last two +wearing the same cut of prim black waist and skirt, and the same pattern +of white wristlets and collar. We then carried the two soldiers upstairs +to a back room, where the old servant had filled a kind of enamel +dishpan with soapy water. Very gently and deftly the beefy old porter +and his wife took off the fouled, blood-stained uniforms of the two +fighting men, and washed their bodies, while she who had opened the door +stood by and superintended all. The feverish, bright-eyed fellow seemed +to be getting weaker, but the big peasant conversed with the old woman +in a low, steady tone, and told her that there had been a big action. + +When Oiler and I came downstairs, two little glasses of sherry and a +plate of biscuits were hospitably waiting for us. There was something +distinctly English in the atmosphere of the room and in the demeanor of +the two prim ladies who stood by. It roused my curiosity. Finally one of +them said:-- + +"Are you English, gentlemen?" + +"No," we replied; "Americans." + +"I thought you might be English," she replied in that language, which +she spoke very clearly and fluently. "Both of us have been many years in +England. We are French Protestant deaconesses, and this is our home. It +is not a hospital. But when the call for more accommodations for the +wounded came in, we got ready our two best rooms. The soldiers upstairs +are our first visitors." + +The old porter came uneasily down the stair. "Mademoiselle Pierre says +that the doctor must come at once," he murmured, "the little fellow (le +petit) is not doing well." + +We thanked the ladies gratefully for the refreshment, for we were cold +and soaked to the skin. Then we went out again to the ambulance and the +rain. A faint pallor of dawn was just beginning. Later in the morning, I +saw a copy of the "Matin" attached to a kiosk; it said something about +"Grande Victoire." + +Thus did the great offensive in Champagne come to the city of Paris, +bringing twenty thousand men a day to the station of La Chapelle. For +three days and nights the Americans and all the other ambulance squads +drove continuously. It was a terrible phase of the conflict to see, but +he who neither sees nor understands it cannot realize the soul of the +war. Later, at the trenches, I saw phases of the war that were +spiritual, heroic, and close to the divine, but this phase was, in its +essence, profoundly animal. + + + + +Chapter III + +The Great Swathe of the Lines + + + +The time was coming when I was to see the mysterious region whence came +the wounded of La Chapelle, and, a militaire myself, share the life of +the French soldier. Late one evening in October, I arrived in Nancy and +went to a hotel I had known well before the war. An old porter, a man of +sixty, with big, bowed shoulders, gray hair, and a florid face almost +devoid of expression, carried up my luggage, and as I looked at him, +standing in the doorway, a simple figure in his striped black and yellow +vest and white apron, I wondered just what effect the war had had on +him. Through the open window of the room, seen over the dark silhouette +of the roofs of Nancy, shone the glowing red sky and rolling smoke of +the vast munition works at Pompey and Frouard. + +"You were not here when I came to the hotel two years ago," said I. + +"No," he answered; "I have been here only since November, 1914." + +"You are a Frenchman? There was a Swiss here, then." + +"Yes, indeed, I am Français, monsieur. The Swiss is now a waiter in a +café of the Place Stanislas. It is something new to me to be a hotel +porter." + +"Tiens. What did you do?" + +"I drove a coal team, monsieur." + +"How, then, did you happen to come here?" + +"I used to deliver coal to the hotel. One day I heard that the Swiss had +gone to the café to take the place of a garçon whose class had just been +called out. I was getting sick of carrying the heavy sacks of coal, and +being always out of doors, so I applied for the porter's job." + +"You are satisfied with the change." + +"Oh, yes, indeed, monsieur." + +"I suppose you have kinsmen at the front." + +"Only my sister's son, monsieur." + +"In the active forces?" + +"No, he is a reservist. He is a man thirty-five years of age. He was +wounded by a shrapnel ball in the groin early in the spring, but is now +at the front again." + +"What does he do en civil?" + +"He is a furniture-maker, monsieur." + +He showed no sign of unrest at my catechizing, and plodded off down the +green velvet carpet to the landing-stage of the elevator. In the street +below a crowd was coming out of the silky white radiance of the lobby of +a cinema into the violet rays thrown upon the sidewalk from the +illuminated sign over the theater door. There are certain French cities +to which the war has brought a real prosperity, and Nancy was then one +of them. The thousands of refugees from the frontier villages and the +world of military officials and soldier workmen mobilized in the +ammunition factories had added to the population till it was actually +greater than it had been before the war, and with this new population +had come a development of the city's commercial life. The middle class +was making money, the rich were getting richer, and Nancy, hardly more +than eighteen or nineteen miles from the trenches, forgot its danger +till, on the first day of January, 1916, the Germans fired several +shells from a giant mortar or a marine piece into the town, one of which +scattered the fragments of a big five-story apartment house all over +Nancy. And on that afternoon thirty thousand people left the city. + +The day on which I was to go across the great swathe of the front to the +first-line trenches dawned cool and sunny. I use the word "swathe" +purposely, for only by that image can the real meaning of the phrase +"the front" be understood. The thick, black line which figures on the +war-maps is a great swathe of country running, with a thousand little +turns and twists that do not interfere with its general regularity, from +the summits of the Vosges to the yellow dunes of the North Sea. The +relation of the border of this swathe to the world beyond is the +relation of sea to land along an irregular and indented coast. Here an +isolated, strategic point, fiercely defended by the Germans, has +extended the border of the swathe beyond the usual limits, and villages +thirteen and fourteen miles from the actual lines have been pounded to +pieces by long-range artillery in the hope of destroying the enemy's +communications; there the trenches cross an obscure, level moor upon +whose possession nothing particular depends, and the swathe narrows to +the villages close by the lines. This swathe, which begins with the +French communications, passes the French trenches, leaps "No Man's +Land," and continues beyond the German trenches to the German +communications, averages about twenty-two miles in width. The territory +within this swathe is inhabited by soldiers, ruled by soldiers, worked +by soldiers, and organized for war. + +Sometimes the transition between civilian life and the life of the +swathe is abrupt, as, for instance, at Verdun, where the villages beyond +the lines have been emptied of civilian inhabitants to make room for the +soldiery; but at other times the change is gradual and the peasants +continue to work fields almost in the shadow of the trenches. Since the +line of trenches was organized by the Germans only after a series of +engagements along the front, during which the battle-line oscillated +over a wide territory, the approach to the swathe is often through a +region of desolated villages sometimes far removed from the present +trenches. Such is the state of affairs in the region of the Marne, the +Argonne, and on the southern bank of the Moselle. Moss-overgrown and +silent, these villages often stand deserted in the fields at the +entrance to the swathe, fit heralds of the desolation that lies beyond. + +Imagine, then, the French half of the swathe extending from the edge of +the civilian world to the barbed-wire entanglements of No Man's Land. +Within this territory, in the trenches, in the artillery positions, in +the villages where troops are quartered (and they are quartered in every +village of the swathe), and along all the principal turns and corners of +the roads, a certain number of shells fall every twenty-four hours, the +number of shells per locality increasing as one advances toward the +first lines. There are certain disputed regions, that of Verdun in +particular, where literally the whole great swathe has been pounded to +pieces, till hardly one stone of a village remains on another, and +during the recent offensive in the Somme the British are said to have +systematically wiped out every village, hamlet, and road behind the +German trenches to a depth of eighteen miles. Yet, protected from rifle +bullets and the majority of shells by a great wooded hill, the +inhabitants of M------, one mile from the lines of the Bois-le-Prêtre, +did a thriving business selling fruit to the soldiers, and I once saw an +old peasant woman, who was digging potatoes in her garden when a small +shell burst about two hundred feet from her, shake her fist toward the +German lines, mutter something, and plod angrily home to her cellar. +There are rarely any children close to the trenches, but in villages +that are only occasionally shelled, the school is open, and the class +hurries to the cellar at the first alarm. + +The lieutenant of the American Section, à young Frenchman who spoke +English not only fluently, but also with distinction, came to Nancy to +take me to the front. It was a clear, sunny morning, and the rumble of +the commercial life of Nancy, somewhat later in starting than our own, +was just beginning to be heard. Across the street from the +breakfast-room of the hotel, a young woman wearing a little black cape +over her shoulders rolled up the corrugated iron shutter of a +confectioner's shop and began to set the window with the popular +patriotic candy boxes, aluminum models of a "seventy-five" shell tied +round with a bow of narrow tricolor ribbon; a baker's boy in a white +apron and blue jumpers went by carrying a basket of bread on his head; +and from the nearby tobacconist's, a spruce young lieutenant dressed in +a black uniform emerged lighting a cigarette. At nine in the morning I +was contemplating a side street of busy, orderly, sunlit Nancy; that +night I was in a cellar seeking refuge from fire shells. + +"Please give me all your military papers," said my officer. I handed +over all the cards, permits, and licenses that had been given me, and he +examined them closely. + +"Allons, let us go," he said to his chauffeur, a young soldier wearing +the insignia of the motor-transportation corps. + +"How long does it take us to get to the lines, mon lieutenant?" + +"About an hour. Our headquarters are thirty kilomètres distant." + +The big, war-gray Panhard began to move. I looked round, eager to notice +anything that marked our transition from peace to war. Beyond the Nancy, +built in the Versailles style by the exiled Stanislaus, lay the +industrial Nancy which has grown up since the development of the iron +mines of French Lorraine in the eighties. Through this ugly huddle we +passed first: there were working men on the sidewalks, gamins in the +gutters,--nothing to remind one of the war. + +"Halt!" + +At a turn in the road near the outskirts of the city, a sentry, a small, +gray-haired man, had stepped out before the car. From the door of a +neighboring wineshop, a hideous old woman, her uncombed, tawny yellow +hair messed round her coarse, shiny face, came out to look at us. + +"Your papers, please," said a red-faced, middle-aged sergeant wearing a +brown corduroy uniform, who, walking briskly on enormous fat legs, had +followed the sentry out into the street. The lieutenant produced the +military permit to travel in the army zone--the ordre de mouvement, a +printed form on a blue sheet about the size of a leaf of typewriter +paper. + +"Pass," said the sergeant, and saluted. The sentry retired to his post +on the sidewalk. At the door of the wineshop the woman continued to +stare at us with an animal curiosity. Possibly our English-like uniforms +had attracted her attention; the French are very curious about les +Anglais. Over the roof of an ugly row of working men's barracks, built +of mortar and trimmed with dingy brick, came the uproar of a great +industry, the humming clang of saws, the ringing of iron on iron, and +the heart-beat thump of a great hammer that shook the earth. In a vast, +detached building five great furnaces were crowned with tufts of pinkish +fire, workmen were crossing the cindery yard dragging little carts and +long strips of iron, and a long line of open freight cars was being +emptied of coal. + +"They are making shells," said the lieutenant in the tone that he might +have said, "They are making candy." + +Another sentry held us up at the bridge where the road crosses the +Moselle as it issues from the highlands to the southwest. + +Beyond the bridge, running almost directly north to Metz, lay the +historic valley of the Moselle. Great, bare hills, varying between seven +hundred and a thousand feet in height, and often carved by erosion into +strange, high triangles and abrupt mesas, formed the valley wall. The +ground color of the hills was a warm buff-brown with a good deal of +iron-red in it, and the sky above was of a light, friendly blue. A +strange, Egyptian emerald of new wheat, a certain deep cobalt of cloud +shadows, and a ruddy brownness of field and moor are the colors of +Lorraine. Here and there, on the meadows of the river and the steep +flanks of the hills, were ancient, red-roofed villages. Across the +autumnal fields the smoke and flame of squalid Pompey loomed strangely. + +There were signs of the war at Marbache, fourteen kilomètres from Nancy, +slight signs, to be sure, but good ones--the presence of a military +smithy for the repair of army wagons, several of which stood by on rusty +wheels, and a view of some twenty or thirty artillery caissons parked +under the trees. But it was at B------, sixteen kilomètres from Nancy, +and sixteen from the lines, that I first felt the imminence of the war. +The morning train from Nancy had just stopped, to go no farther for fear +of shells, and beyond the station the tracks of the once busy Nancy-Metz +railroad advanced, rusty, unused, and overgrown with grass, into the +danger zone. Far behind now lay civilian Pompey, and Marbache shared by +soldiers and civilians. B------was distinctly a village of the soldiery. +The little hamlet, now the junction where the wagon-trains supplying the +soldiery meet the great artery of the railroad, was built on the banks +of a canal above the river. The color of these villages in Lorraine is +rather lovely, for the walls of the houses, built of the local +buff-yellow stone and ferrous sand, are of a warm, brown tone that goes +well with the roofs of claret-red tile and the brown landscape. A +glorious sky of silvery white cloud masses, pierced with sunlight and +islanded with soft blue, shone over the soldier village. There were no +combatants in it when we passed through, only the old poilus who drove +the wagons to the trenches and the army hostlers who looked after the +animals. There were pictures of soldier grooms leading horses down a +narrow, slimy street between brown, mud-spattered walls to a +drinking-trough; of horses lined up along a house wall being briskly +curry-combed by big, thick-set fellows in blousy white overalls and blue +fatigue caps; and of doors of stables opening on the road showing a +bedding of brown straw on the earthen floor. There was a certain stench, +too, the smell of horse-fouled mud that mixed with that odor I later was +able to classify as the smell of war. For the war has a smell that +clings to everything miltary, fills the troop-trains, hospitals, and +cantonments, and saturates one's own clothing, a smell compounded of +horse, chemicals, sweat, mud, dirt, and human beings. At the guarded +exit of the village to the shell zone was a little military cemetery in +which rows of wooden crosses stood with the regularity of pins in a +paper. + +Two kilomètres farther on, at Dieulouard, we drew into the shell zone. A +cottage had been struck the day before, and the shell, arriving by the +roof, had blown part of the front wall out into the street. In the +façade of the house, to the left of a door hanging crazily on its +hinges, an irregular oval hole, large enough to drive a motor-car +through, rose from the ground and came to a point just below the +overhang of the roof. The edges of the broken stone were clean and new +in contrast to the time-soiled outer wall of the dwelling. + +A pile of this clean stone lay on the ground at the outer opening of the +orifice, mixed with fragments of red tiles. + +"They killed two there yesterday," said the lieutenant, pointing out the +débris. + +The village, a farming hamlet transformed by the vicinity of a great +foundry into something neither a village nor a town, was full of +soldiers; there were soldiers in the streets, soldiers standing in +doorways, soldiers cooking over wood fires, soldiers everywhere. And +looking at the muddy village-town full of men in uniforms of blue, old +uniforms of blue, muddy uniforms of blue, in blue that was blue-gray and +blue-green from wear and exposure to the weather, I realized that the +old days of beautiful, half-barbaric uniforms were gone forever, and +that, in place of the old romantic war of cavalry charges and great +battles in the open, a new, more terrible war had been created, a war +that had not the chivalric externals of the old. + +After Dieulouard began the swathe of stillness. + +Following the western bank of the canal of the Moselle the road made a +great curve round the base of a hill descending to the river, and then +mounted a little spur of the valley wall. Beyond the spur the road went +through lonely fields, in which were deserted farmhouses surrounded by +acres of neglected vines, now rank and Medusa-like in their weedy +profusion. Every once in a while, along a rise, stood great burlap +screens so arranged one behind the other as to give the effect of a +continuous line when seen from a certain angle. + +"What are those for?" + +"To hide the road from the Germans. Do you see that little village down +there on the crest? The Boches have an observatory there, and shell the +road whenever they see anything worth shelling." + +A strange stillness pervaded the air; not a stillness of death and +decay, but the stillness of life that listens. The sun continued to +shine on the brown moorland hills across the gray-green river, the world +was quite the same, yet one sensed that something had changed. A village +lay ahead of us, disfigured by random shells and half deserted. Beyond +the still, shell-spattered houses, a great wood rose, about a mile and a +half away, on a ridge that stood boldly against the sky. Running from +the edge of the trees down across an open slope to the river was a +brownish line that stood in a little contrast to the yellower grass. +Suddenly, there slowly rose from this line a great puff of grayish-black +smoke which melted away in the clear, autumnal air. + +"See," said our lieutenant calmly, with no more emotion than he would +have shown at a bonfire--"those are the German trenches. We have just +fired a shell into them." + +Two minutes more took us into the dead, deserted city of Pont-à-Mousson. +The road was now everywhere screened carefully with lengths of +light-brown burlap, and there was not a single house that did not bear +witness to the power of a shell. The sense of "the front" began to +possess me, never to go, the sense of being in the vicinity of a +tremendous power. A ruined village, or a deserted town actually on the +front does not bring to mind any impression of decay, for the intellect +tends rather to consider t\& means by which the destruction has been +accomplished. One sees villages of the swathes so completely blown to +pieces that they are literally nothing but earthy mounds of rubbish, and +seeing them thus, in a plain still fiercely disputed night and day +between one's own side and the invisible enemy, the mind feels itself in +the presence of force, titanic, secret, and hostile. + +Beyond Pont-à-Mousson the road led directly to the trenches of the +Bois-le-Prêtre, less than half a mile away. But the disputed trenches +were hidden behind the trees, and I could not see them. Through the +silence of the deserted town sounded the muffled boom of shells and +trench engines bursting in the wood beyond, and every now and then +clouds of gray-black smoke from the explosion would rise above the brown +leaves of the ash trees. The smoke of these explosions rose straight +upwards in a foggy column, such as a locomotive might make if, halted on +its tracks somewhere in the wood, it had put coal on its fires. + +With the next day I began my service at the trenches, but the war began +for me that very night. + +A room in a bourgeois flat on the third floor of a deserted apartment +house had been assigned me. It was nine o'clock, and I was getting ready +to roll up in my blankets and go to sleep. Beneath the starlit heavens +the street below was black as pitch save when a trench light, floating +serenely down the sky, illuminated with its green-white glow the curving +road and the line of dark, abandoned, half-ruinous villas. There was not +a sound to be heard outside of an occasional rifle shot in the trenches, +sounding for all the world like the click of giant croquet balls. I went +round to the rear of the house and looked out of the kitchen windows to +the lines. A little action, some quarrel of sentries, perhaps, was going +on behind the trees, just where the wooded ridge sloped to the river. +Trench light after trench light rose, showing the disused railroad track +running across the un-harvested fields. Gleaming palely through the +French window at which I was standing, the radiance revealed the +deserted kitchen, the rusty stove, the dusty pans, and the tarnished +water-tap above the stone sink. The hard, wooden crash of grenades broke +upon my ears. + +My own room was lit by the yellow flame of a solitary candle, rising, +untroubled by the slightest breath of wind, straight into the air. A +large rug of old-rose covered the floor, an old-rose velvet canopy +draped a long table, hanging down at the corners in straight, heavy +creases, and the wallpaper was a golden yellow with faint stripes of +silvery-gray glaze. By the side of the wooden bed stood a high cabinet +holding about fifty terra-cotta and porcelain figurines, shiny +shepherdesses with shiny pink cheeks, Louis XV peasants with rakes on +their shoulders, and three little dogs made of a material the color of +cocoa. The gem of the collection was an eighteenth-century porcelain of +a youth and a maid sitting on opposite sides of a curved bench over +whose center rose a blossoming bush. The youth, dressed in black, and +wearing yellow stockings, looked with an amorous smile at the girl in +her gorgeous dress of flowering brocade. + +A marbly-white fireplace stood in the corner, overhung by a great Louis +XV mirror with a gilt frame of rich, voluptuous curves. On the mantel +lay a scarf of old-rose velvet smelling decidedly musty. Alone, apart, +upon this mantel, as an altar, stood a colored plaster bust of Jeanne +d'Arc, showing her in the beauty of her winsome youth. The pale, girlish +face dominated the shadowy room with its dreamy, innocent loveliness. + +There came a knock at the door, and so still was the town and the house +that the knock had the effect of something dramatic and portentous. A +big man, with bulging, pink cheeks, a large, chestnut mustache, and +brown eyes full of philosophic curiosity, stood in the doorway. The +uniform that he was wearing was unusually neat and clean. + +"So you are the American I am to have as neighbor," said he. + +"Yes," I replied. + +"I am the caporal in charge of the dépôt of the engineers in the +cellar," continued my visitor, "and I thought I'd come in and see how +you were." + +I invited him to enter. + +"Do you find yourself comfortable here, son?" + +"Yes. I consider myself privileged to have the use of the room. Have a +cigarette?" + +"Are these American cigarettes?" + +"Yes." + +"Your American tobacco is fine, son. But in America everybody is a +millionaire and has the best of everything--isn't that so? I should like +to go to America." + +"A Frenchman is never happy out of France." + +Comfortably seated in a big, ugly chair, he puffed his cigarette and +meditated. + +"Perhaps you are right," he admitted. "We Frenchmen love the good +things, and think we can get them in France better than anywhere else. +The solid satisfactions of life--good wine--good cheese." He paused. +"You see, son, all that (tout ça) is an affair of mine--in civilian life +(dans le civil) I am a grocer at Macon in Bourgogne." + +For a little while we talked of Burgundy, which I had often visited in +my student days at Lyons. There came another pause, and the Burgundian +said:-- + +"Well, what do you think of this big racket (ce grand fracas)?" + +"I have not seen enough of it to say." + +"Well, I think you are going to get a taste of it to-night. I heard our +artillery men (nos artiflots) early this morning firing their long-range +cannon, and every time they do that the Boches throw shells into +Pont-à-Mousson. I have been expecting an answer all day. If they start +in to-night, get up and come down cellar, son. This house was struck by +a shell two weeks ago." + +The shadowy, candlelit room and the dark city became at his words more +mysterious and hostile. The atmosphere seemed pervaded by some obscure, +endless, dreadful threat. It was getting toward ten o'clock. + +"Is this the only room you have? I have never been in this suite." + +"No, there is another room. Would you like to see it?" + +He followed me into a small chamber from which everything had been +stripped except a bedside table, a chair, and a crayon portrait of a +woman. The picture, slightly tinted with flesh color, was that of a +bourgeoise on the threshold of the fifties, and the still candle-flame +brought out in distinct relief the heavy, obese countenance, the hair +curled in artificial ringlets, and the gold crucifix which she wore on +her large bosom. The Burgundian's attention centered on this picture, +which he examined with the air of a connoisseur of female beauty. + +"Lord, how ugly she is!" he exclaimed. "She might well have stayed. Such +an old dragon would have no reason to fear the Boches." And he laughed +heartily from his rich lips and pulled his mustache. + +"Don't forget to hurry to the cellar, son," he called as he went away. + +At his departure the lonely night closed in on me again. Far, far away +sounded the booming of cannon. + +I am a light sleeper, and the arrival of the first shell awakened me. +Kicking off my blankets, I sat up in bed just in time to catch the swift +ebb of a heavy concussion. A piece of glass, dislodged from a broken +pane by the tremor, fell in a treble tinkle to the floor. For a minute +or two there was a full, heavy silence, and then several objects rolled +down the roof and fell over the gutters into the street. It sounded as +if some one had emptied a hodful of coal onto the house-roof from the +height of the clouds. Another silence followed. Suddenly it was broken +by a swift, complete sound, a heavy boom-roar, and on the heels of this +noise came a throbbing, whistling sigh that, at first faint as the sound +of ocean on a distant beach, increased with incredible speed to a +whistling swish, ending in a HISH of tremendous volume and a roaring, +grinding burst. The sound of a great shell is never a pure bang; one +hears, rather, the end of the arriving HISH, the explosion, and the +tearing disintegration of the thick wall of iron in one grinding +hammer-blow of terrific violence. On the heels of this second shell came +voices in the dark street, and the rosy glow of fire from somewhere +behind. More lumps, fragments of shell that had been shot into the air +by the explosion, rained down upon the roof. I got up and went to the +kitchen window. A house on one of the silent streets between the city +and the lines was on fire, great volumes of smoke were rolling off into +the starlit night, and voices were heard all about murmuring in the +shadows. I hurried on my clothes and went down to the cellar. + +The light of two candles hanging from a shelf in loops of wire revealed +a clean, high cellar; a mess of straw was strewn along one wall, and a +stack of shovels and picks, some of them wrapped in paper, was banked +against the other. In the straw lay three oldish men, fully clad in the +dark-blue uniform which in old times had signaled the Engineer Corps; +one dozed with his head on his arm, the other two were stretched out +flat in the mysterious grossness of sleep. A door from the cellar to a +sunken garden was open, and through this opening streamed the intense +radiance of the rising fire. At the opening stood three men, my visitor +of the evening, a little, wrinkled man with Napoleon III whiskers and +imperial, and an old, dwarfish fellow with a short neck, a bullet head, +and close-clipped hair. Catching sight of me, the Burgundian said:-- + +"Well, son, you see it is hammering away (ça tape) ce soir." + +Hearing another shell, he slammed the door, and stepped to the right +behind the stone wall of the cellar. + +"Very bad," croaked the dwarf. "The Boches are throwing fire shells." + +"And they will fire shrapnel at the poor bougres who have to put out the +fires," said the little man with the imperial. + +"So they will, those knaves," croaked the dwarf in a voice entirely free +from any emotion. "That fire must be down on the Boulevard Ney," said +the bearded man. + +"There is another beginning just to the right," said the Burgundian in +the tone of one retailing interesting but hardly useful information. + +"There will be others," croaked the dwarf, who, leaning against the +cellar wall, was trying to roll a cigarette with big, square, fumbling +fingers. And looking at a big, gray-haired man in the hay, who had +turned over and was beginning to snore, he added: "Look at the new man. +He sleeps well, that fellow" (ce type là). + +"He looks like a Breton," said the man with the imperial. + +"An Auvergnat--an Auvergnat," replied the dwarf in a tone that was meant +to be final. + +The soldier, who had just been sent down from Paris to take the place of +another recently invalided home, snored on, unconscious of our scrutiny. +The light from the fires outside cast a rosy glow on his weather-worn +features and sparse, silvery hair. His own curiosity stirred, the +corporal looked at his list. + +"He came from Lyons," he announced. "His name is Alphonse Reboulet." + +"I am glad he is not an Auvergnat," growled the dwarf. "We should have +all had fleas." + +A shell burst very near, and a bitter odor of explosives came swirling +through the doorway. A fragment of the shell casing struck a window +above us, and a large piece of glass fell by the doorway and broke into +splinters. The first fire was dying down, but two others were burning +briskly. The soldiers waited for the end of the bombardment, as they +might have waited for the end of a thunderstorm. + +"Tiens--here comes the shrapnel," exclaimed the Burgundian. And he +slammed the door swiftly. + +A high, clear whistle cleaved the flame-lit sky, and about thirty small +shrapnel shells burst beyond us. + +"They try to prevent any one putting out the fires," said the Burgundian +confidentially. "They get the range from the light of the flames." + +Another dreadful rafale (volley) of shrapnel, at the rate of ten or +fifteen a minute, came speeding from the German lines. + +"They are firing on the other house, now." + +"Who puts out the fires?" + +"The territorials who police and clean up the town. Some of them live +two doors below." + +The Burgundian pointed down the garden to a door opening, like our own, +on to an area below the level of the street. Suddenly, a gate opening on +a back lane swung back, and two soldiers entered, one carrying the feet +and the other the shoulders of a third. The body hung clumsily between +them like a piece of old sacking. + +"Tiens--someone is wounded," said the Burgundian. "Go, thou, Badel, and +see who it is." + +The dwarf plodded off obediently. + +"It is Palester," he announced on his return, "the type that had the +swollen jaw last month." + +"What's the matter with him?" + +"He's been killed." + + + + + +Chapter IV + +La Forêt De Bois-Le-Pretre + + + +Beginning at the right bank of the Meuse, a vast plateau of bare, +desolate moorland sweeps eastward to the Moselle, and descends to the +river in a number of great, wooded ridges perpendicular to the +northward-flowing stream. The town of Pont-à-Mousson lies an apron of +meadowland spread between two of these ridges, the ridge of Puvenelle +and the ridge of the Bois-le-Prêtre. The latter is the highest of all +the spurs of the valley. Rising from the river about half a mile to the +north of the city, it ascends swiftly to the level of the plateau, and +was seen from our headquarters as a long, wooded ridge blocking the +sky-line to the northwest. The hamlet of Maidières, in which our +headquarters were located, lies just at the foot of Puvenelle, at a +point where the amphitheater of Pont-à-Mousson, crowding between the two +ridges, becomes a steep-walled valley sharply tilted to the west. + +The Bois-le-Prêtre dominated at once the landscape and our minds. Its +existence was the one great fact in the lives of some fifty thousand +Frenchmen, Germans, and a handful of exiled Americans; it had dominated +and ended the lives of the dead; it would dominate the imagination of +the future. Yet, looking across the brown walls and claret roofs of the +hamlet of Maidières, there was nothing to be seen but a grassy slope, +open fields, a reddish ribbon of road, a wreck of a villa burned by a +fire shell, and a wood. The autumn had turned the leaves of the trees, +seemingly without exception, to a leathery brown, and in almost all +lights the trunks of the trees were a cold, purplish slate. Such was the +forest which, battle-areas excepted, has cost more lives than any other +point along the line. The wood had been contested trench by trench, +literally foot by foot. It was at once the key to the Saint-Mihiel +salient and the city of Metz. + +The Saint-Mihiel salient--"the hernia," as the French call it--begins at +the Bois-le-Prêtre. Pivoting on The Wood, the lines turn sharply inland, +cross the desolate plateau of La Woevre, attain the Meuse at +Saint-Mihiel, turn again, and ascend the river to the Verdunois. The +salient, as dangerous for the Germans as it is troublesome for the +French, represents the limit of a German offensive directed against Toul +in October, 1914. That the French retreated was due to the fact that the +plateau was insufficiently protected, many of the regiments having been +rushed north to the great battle then raging on the Aisne. + +Only one railroad center lies in the territory of the salient, +Thiaucourt in Woevre. This pleasant little moorland town, locally famous +for its wine, is connected with Metz by two single-track railroad lines, +one coming via Conflans, and the other by Arnaville on the Moselle. At +Vilcey-sur-Mad, these lines unite, and follow to Thiaucourt the only +practicable railroad route, the valley of the Rupt (brook) de Mad. + +Thus the domination of Thiaucourt, or the valley of the Rupt de Mad, by +French artillery would break the railroad communications between the +troops keeping the salient and their base of supplies, Metz. And the +fate of Metz itself hangs on the control of the Bois-le-Prêtre. + +Metz is the heart of the German organization on the western front: the +railroad center, the supply station, the troop dépôt. A blow at Metz +would affect the security of every German soldier between Alsace and the +Belgian frontier. But if the French can drive the Germans out of the +Bois-le-Prêtre and establish big howitzers on the crest the Germans are +still holding, there will soon be no more Metz. The French guns will +destroy the city as the German cannon destroyed Verdun. + +When the Germans, therefore, retired to the trenches after the battles +of September and October, 1914, they took to the ground on the heights +of the Bois-le-Prêtre, a terrain far enough ahead of Thiaucourt and Metz +to preserve these centers from the danger of being shelled. On the crest +of the highest ridge along the valley, admirably ambushed in a thick +forest, they waited for the coming of the French. And the French came. + +They came, young and old, slum-dweller and country schoolmaster, rich +young noble and Corsican peasant, to the storming of the wood, upheld by +one vision, the unbroken, grassy slope that stretched from behind the +German lines to the town of Thiaucourt. In the trenches behind the slaty +trunks of the great ash trees, Bavarian peasants, Saxons, and +round-headed Wurttem-burgers, the olive-green, jack-booted Boches, +awaited their coming, determined to hold the wood, the salient, and the +city. + +A year later the Bois-le-Prêtre (the Priest Wood), with its perfume of +ecclesiastical names that reminds one of the odor of incense in an old +church, had become the Bois de la Mort (the Wood of Death). + +The house in which our bureau was located was once the summer residence +of a rich ironmaster who had fled to Paris at the beginning of the war. +If there is an architectural style of German origin known as the +"Neo-Classic," which affects large, windowless spaces framed in +pilasters of tile, and decorations and insets of omelet-yellow and +bottle-green glazed brick, "Wisteria Villa" is of that school. It stood +behind a high wall of iron spikes on the road leading from Maidières to +the trenches, a high, Germano-Pompeian country house, topped by a roof +rich in angles, absurd windows, and unexpected gables. There are huge, +square, French-roofed houses in New England villages built by local +richessîmes of Grant's time, and still called by neighbors "the Jinks +place" or the "Levi Oates place"; Wisteria Villa had something of the +same social relation to the commune of Maidières. Grotesque and ugly, it +was not to be despised; it had character in its way. + +Our social center was the dining-room of the villa. Exclusive of the +kitchen range, it boasted the only stove in the house, a queerly shaped +"Salamandre," a kind of Franklin stove with mica doors. The walls were +papered an ugly chocolate brown with a good deal of red in it, and the +borders, doors, and fireplace frame were stained a color trembling +between mission green and oak brown. The room was rectangular and too +high for its width. There were pictures. On each side of the fireplace, +profiles toward the chimney, hung concave plaques of Dutch girls. To the +left of the door was a yellowed etching of the tower of the château of +Heidelberg, and to the right a very small oil painting, in an ornate +gilt frame three inches deep, of a beach by moonlight. About two or +three hundred books, bound in boards and red leather, stood behind the +cracked glass of a bookcase in the corner; they were very "jeune fille," +and only the romances of Georges Ohnet appeared to have been read. The +thousand cupboards of the house were full of dusty knickknacks, old +umbrellas, hats, account-books, and huge boxes holding the débris of +sets of checkers, dominoes, and ivory chessmen. An enlarged photograph +of the family hung on the walls of a bedroom; it had been taken at +somebody's marriage, and showed the group standing on the front steps, +the same steps that were later to be blown to pieces by a shell. One saw +the bride, the groom, and about twenty relatives, including a boy in +short trousers, a wide, white collar, and an old-fashioned, fluffy bow +tie. Anxious to be included in the picture, the driver of the bridal +barouche has craned his neck forward. On the evidence of the costumes, +the picture had been taken about 1902. + +Our bureau in the cellar of Wisteria Villa was connected directly with +the trenches. When a man had been wounded, he was carried to the poste +de secours in the rear lines, and it was our duty to go to this trench +post and carry the patient to the hospital at the nearest rail-head. The +bureau of the Section was in charge of two Frenchmen who shared the +labor of attending to the telephone and keeping the books. + +A hundred yards beyond Wisteria Villa, at a certain corner, the +principal road to the trenches divided into three branches, and in order +to interfere as much as possible with communications, the Germans daily +shelled this strategic point. A comrade and I had the curiosity to keep +an exact record of a week's shelling. It must be remembered that the +corner was screened from the Germans, who fired casually in the hope of +hitting something and annoying the French. The cannons shelling the +corner were usually "seventy-sevens," the German quick-firing pieces +that correspond to the French "seventy-fives." + +Monday, ten shells at 6.30, two at 7.10, five at 11.28, twenty at +intervals between 2.15 and 2.45, a swift rafale of some sixteen at 4.12, +another rafale of twenty at 8, and occasional shells between 9 and +midnight. + +Tuesday, two big shells at mid-day. + +Wednesday, rafales at 9.14, 11, 2.18, 4.30, and 6.20. + +Thursday--no shells. + +Friday, twelve at intervals between 10.16 and 12.20. Solitary big shell +at 1.05. Another big shell at 3. Some fifteen stray shells between 5 and +midnight. + +Saturday--no shells. + +Sunday--About five shells an hour between 4 in the afternoon and +midnight. + +I give the number of shells falling at this corner as a concrete +instance of what was happening at a dozen other points along the road. +The fire of the German batteries was as capricious as the play of a +search-light; one week, the corner and three or four other points would +catch it, the next week the corner and another set of localities. And +there were periods, sometimes ten days to two weeks long, when hardly a +shell was fired at any road. Then, after a certain sense of security had +begun to take form, a rafale would come screaming over, blow a horse and +wagon to pieces, and leave one or two blue figures huddled in the mud. +But the French replied to each shell and every rafale, in addition to +firing at random all the day and a good deal of the night. There was +hardly a night that Wisteria Villa did not rock to the sound of French +guns fired at 2 and 3 in the morning. But the average day at +Pont-à-Mousson was a day of random silences. The war had all the +capricious-ness of the sea--of uncertain weather. There were hours of +calm in the day, during which the desolate silence of the front flooded +swiftly over the landscape; there were interruptions of great violence, +sometimes desultory, sometimes beginning, in obedience to a human will, +at a certain hour. The outbreak would commence with the orderliness of a +clock striking, and continue the greater part of the day, rocking the +deserted town with its clamor. Hearing it, the soldiers en repos would +say, talking of The Wood, "It sings (ça chante)," or, "It knocks (ça +tape) up there to-day." The smoke of the bursting shells hung over The +Wood in a darkish, gray-blue fog. But since The Wood had a personality +for us, many would say simply, "Listen to The Wood." + +The shell expresses one idea--energy. The cylinder of iron, piercing the +air at a terrific speed, sings a song of swift, appalling energy, of +which the final explosion is the only fitting culmination. One gets, +too, an idea of an unbending volition in the thing. After a certain time +at the front the ear learns to distinguish the sound of a big shell from +a small shell, and to know roughly whether or not one is in the danger +zone. It was a grim jest with us that it took ten days to qualify as a +shell expert, and at the end of two weeks all those who qualified +attended the funeral of those who had failed. Life at The Wood had an +interesting uncertainty. + +A quarter of a mile beyond the corner, on the slope of Puvenelle +opposite The Wood, stood Montauville, the last habitable village of the +region. To the south of it rose the wooded slopes of Puvenelle; to the +north, seen across a marshy meadow, were the slope and the ridge of the +Bois-le-Prêtre. The dirty, mud-spattered village was caught between the +leathery sweeps of two wooded ridges. Three winding roads, tramped into +a pie of mire, crossed the grassy slope of The Wood, and disappeared +into the trees at the top. Though less than a mile from the first German +line, the village, because of its protection from shells by a spur of +the Bois-le-Prêtre, was in remarkably good condition; the only building +to show conspicuous damage being the church, whose steeple had been +twice struck. It was curious to see pigeons flying in and out of the +belfry through the shell rents in the roof. Here and there, among the +uncultivated fields of those who had fled, were the green fields of some +one who had stayed. A woman of seventy still kept open her grocery shop; +it was extraordinarily dirty, full of buzzing flies, and smelled of +spilled wine. + +"Why did you stay?" I asked her. + +"Because I did not want to leave the village. Of course my daughter +wanted me to come to Dijon. Imagine me in Dijon, I, who have been to +Nancy only once! A fine figure I should make in Dijon in my sabots!" + +"And you are not afraid of the shells?" + +"Oh, I should be afraid of them if I ever went out in the street. But I +never leave my shop." + +And so she stayed, selling the three staples of the French front, +Camembert cheese, Norwegian sardines, and cakes of chocolate. But +Montauville was far from safe. It was there that I first saw a man +killed. I had been talking to a sentry, a small young fellow of +twenty-one or two, with yellow hair and gray-blue eyes full of +weariness. He complained of a touch of jaundice, and wished heartily +that the whole affaire--meaning the war in general--was finished. He was +very anxious to know if the Americans thought the Boches were going to +win. Some vague idea of winning the war just to get even with the Boches +seemed to be in his mind. I assured him that American opinion was +optimistic in regard to the chances of the Allies, and strolled away. +Hardly had I gone ten feet, when a "seventy-seven" shell, arriving +without warning, went Zip-bang, and, turning to crouch to the wall, I +saw the sentry crumple up in the mud. It was as if he were a rubber +effigy of a man blown up with air, and some one had suddenly ripped the +envelope. His rifle fell from him, and he, bending from the waist, +leaned face down into the mud. I was the first to get to him. The young, +discontented face was full of the gray street mud, there was mud in the +hollows of the eyes, in the mouth, in the fluffy mustache. A chunk of +the shell had ripped open the left breast to the heart. Down his sleeve, +as down a pipe, flowed a hasty drop, drop, drop of blood that mixed with +the mire. + +Several times a day, at stated hours, the numbers of German missiles +that had fallen into the trenches of the Bois-le-Prêtre, together with +French answers to them, would be telephoned to headquarters. The soldier +in charge of the telephone was an instructor in Latin in a French +provincial university, a tall, stoop- shouldered man, with an +indefinite, benevolent smile curiously framed on thin lips. Probably +very much of a scholar by training and feeling, he had accepted his +military destiny, and was as much a poilu as anybody. During his leisure +hours he was busy writing a "Comparison of the Campaign on the Marne and +the Aisne with Caesar's battles against the Belgian Confederacy." He had +a paper edition of the Gallic Wars which he carried round with him. One +day he explained his thesis to me. He drew a plan with a green pencil on +a piece of paper. + +"See, mon ami," he exclaimed, "here is the Aisne, Caesar's Axona; here +is Berry-au-Bac; here was Caesar, here were the invaders, here was +General French, here Foch, here Von Kluck. Curious, isn't it--two +thousand years afterward?" His eyes for an instant filled with dreamy +perplexity. A little while later I would hear him mechanically +telephoning. "Poste A--five 'seventy-seven' shells, six mines, twelve +trench shells; answer--ten 'seventy-five' shells, eight mines, eighteen +trench shells; Poste B--two 'seventy-seven' shells, one mine, six +grenades; answer--fifteen 'seventy-five' shells; Poste C--one 'two +hundred and ten' shell, fifty mines; answer--sixty mines; Poste D--" + +At Dieulouard I had entered the shell zone; at Pont-à-Mousson, I crossed +the borders of the zone of quiet; at Montauville began the last +zone--the zone of invisibility and violence. Civilian life ended at the +western end of the village street with the abruptness of a man brought +face to face with a high wall. Beyond the village a road was seen +climbing the grassy slope of Puvenelle, to disappear as it neared the +summit of the ridge in a brown wood. It was just an ordinary hill road +of Lorraine, but the fact that it was the direct road to the trenches +invested this climbing, winding, silent length with extraordinary +character. The gate of the zone of violence, every foot of it bore some +scar of the war, now trivial, now gigantic--always awesome in the power +and volition it revealed. One passed from the sight of a brown puddle, +scooped in the surface of the street by an exploding shell, to a view of +a magnificent ash tree splintered by some projectile. It is a very rare +thing to see a sinister landscape, but this whole road was sinister. I +used to discuss this sinister quality with a distinguished French artist +who as a poilu was the infirmier, or medical service man, attached to a +squad of engineers working in a quarry frequently shelled. In this +frightful place we discussed la qualité du sinistre dans l'art (the +sinister in art) as calmly as if we were two Parisian critics sitting on +the benches of the Luxembourg Gardens. As the road advanced into the +wood, there was hardly a wayside tree that had not been struck by a +shell. Branches hung dead from trees, twigs had been lopped off by stray +fragments, great trunks were split apart as if by lightning. "Nature as +Nature is never sinister," said the artist; "it is when there is a +disturbance of the relations between Nature and human life that you have +the sinister. Have you ever seen the villages beyond Ravenna overwhelmed +by the bogs? There you see the sinister. Here Man is making Nature +unlivable for Man." He stroked his fine silky beard meditatively--"This +will all end when the peasants plant again." As we talked, a shell, +intended for the batteries behind, burst high above us. + +Skirting the ravine, now wooded, between Puvenelle and the +Bois-le-Prêtre, the road continued westward till it emerged upon the +high plateau of La Woevre; the last kilomètre being in full view of the +Germans entrenched on the ridge across the rapidly narrowing, rising +ravine. Along this visible space the trees and bushes by the roadside +were matted by shell fire into an inextricable confusion of destruction, +and through the wisps and splinters of this ruin was seen the ridge of +the Bois-le-Prêtre rapidly attaining the level of the moor. At length +the forest of Puvenelle, the ravine, and the Bois-le-Prêtre ended +together in a rolling sweep of furzy fields cut off to the west and +north by a vast billow of the moor which, like the rim of a saucer, +closed the wide horizon. Continuing straight ahead, the Puvenelle road +mounted this rise, dipped and disappeared. Halfway between the edge of +the forest of Puvenelle and this crest stood an abandoned inn, a +commonplace building made of buff-brown moorland stone trimmed with red +brick. Close by this inn, at right angles to the Puvenelle road, another +road turned to the north and likewise disappeared over the lift in the +moor. At the corner stood a government signpost of iron slightly bent +back, bearing in gray-white letters on its clay-blue plaque the +legend--Thiaucourt, 12 kilomètres Metz, 25 kilomètres. + +There was not a soul anywhere in sight; I was surrounded with evidences +of terrific violence--the shattered trees, the shell holes in the road, +the brown-lipped craters in the earth of the fields, the battered inn; +but there was not a sign of the creators of this devastation. A +northwest wind blew in great salvos across the mournful, lonely plateau, +rippling the furze, and brought to my ears the pounding of shells from +behind the rise. When I got to this rim a soldier, a big, blond fellow +of the true Gaulois type with drooping yellow mustaches, climbed slowly +out of a hole in the ground. The effect was startling. I had arrived at +the line where the earth of France completely swallows up the army. This +disappearance of life in a decor of intense action is one of the most +striking things of the war. All about in the surface of the earth were +little, square, sooty holes that served as chimneys, and here and there +rectangular, grave-like openings in the soil showing three or four big +steps descending to a subterranean hut. Fifty feet away not a sign of +human life could be distinguished. Six feet under the ground, framed in +the doorway of a hut, a young, black-haired fellow in a dark-brown +jersey stood smiling pleasantly up at us; it was he who was to be my +guide to the various postes and trenches that I had need to know. He +came up to greet me. + +"Better bring him down here," growled a voice from somewhere in the +earth. "There have been bullets crossing the road all afternoon." + +"I am going to show him the Quart-en-Réserve first." + +The Quart-en-Réserve (Reserved Quarter) was the section of the +Bois-le-Prêtre which, because of its situation on the crest of the great +ridge, had been the most fiercely contested. We crept up on the edge of +the ridge and looked over. An open, level field some three hundred yards +wide swept from the Thiaucourt road to the edges of the Bois-le-Prêtre; +across this field ran in the most confused manner a strange pattern of +brown lines that disappeared among the stumps and poles of the haggard +wood to the east. To the northwest of this plateau, on the road ahead of +us, stood a ruined village caught in the torment of the lines. Here and +there, in some twenty or thirty places scattered over the scarred +plateau, the smoke of trench shells rose in little curling puffs of +gray-black that quickly dissolved in the wind. + +"The Quart is never quiet," said my guide. "It is now half ours, half +theirs." + +Close to the ground, a blot of light flashed swifter than a stroke of +lightning, and a heavier, thicker smoke rolled away. + +"That is one of ours. We are answering their trench shells with an +occasional 'one hundred and twenty." + +"How on earth is it that everybody is not killed?" + +"Because the regiment has occupied the Quart so long that we know every +foot, every turn, every shelter of it. When we see a trench shell +coming, we know just where to go. It is only the newcomers who get +killed. Two months past, when a new regiment occupied the Quart during +our absence en repos, it lost twenty-five men in one day." + +The first trench that I entered was a simple trench about seven feet +deep, with no trimmings whatsoever, just such a trench as might have +been dug for the accommodation of a large water conduit. We walked on a +narrow board walk very slippery with cheesy, red-brown mire. From time +to time the hammer crash of a shell sounded uncomfortably near, and bits +of dirt and pebbles, dislodged by the concussion, fell from the wall of +the passage. The only vista was the curving wall of the long +communication trench and the soft sky of Lorraine, lit with the pleasant +sunlight of middle afternoon, and islanded with great golden-white cloud +masses. My guide and I might have been the last persons left in a world +of strange and terrible noises. The boyau (communication trench) began +to turn and wind about in the most perplexing manner, and we entered a +veritable labyrinth. This extraordinary, baffling complexity is due +primarily to the fact that the trenches advance and retreat, rise and +fall, in order to take advantage of the opportunities for defense +afforded by every change in the topography of the region. I remember one +area along the front consisting of two round, grassy hills divided by a +small, grassy valley whose floor rose gently to a low ridge connecting +the two heights. In this terrain the defensive line began on the first +hill as a semicircle edging the grassy slopes presented to the enemy, +then retreated, sinking some forty feet, to take advantage of the +connecting link of upland at the head of the ravine, and took +semicircular form again on the flat, broad summit of the second hill. In +the meadows at the base of these hills a brook flowing from the ravine +had created a great swamp, somewhat in the shape of a wedge pointing +outward from the mouth of the valley. The lines of the enemy, edging +this tract of mire, were consequently in the shape of an open V. Thus +the military situation at this particular point may be pictorially +represented by a salient semicircle, a dash, and another salient +semicircle faced by a wide, open V. Imagine such a situation complicated +by offensive and counter-offensive, during which the French have seized +part of the hills and the German part of the plain, till the whole +region is a madman's maze of barbed wire, earthy lines, trenches,--some +of them untenable by either side and still full of the dead who fell in +the last combat,--shell holes, and fortified craters. Such was something +of the situation in that wind-swept plain at the edge of the +Bois-le-Prêtre. I leave for other chapters the account of an average day +in the trenches and the story of the great German attack, preferring to +tell here of the general impressions made by the appearance of the +trenches themselves. Two pictures stand out, particularly, the dead on +the barbed wire, and the village called "Fey au Rats" at night. + +"The next line is the first line. Speak in whispers now, for if the +Boches hear us we shall get a shower of hand-grenades." + +I turned into a deep, wide trench whose floor had been trodden into a +slop of cheesy, brown mire which clung to the big hobnailed boots of the +soldiers. Every foot or so along the parapet there was a rifle slit, +made by the insertion of a wedge-shaped wooden box into the wall of +brownish sandbags, and the sentries stood about six feet apart. The +trench had the hushed quiet of a sickroom. + +"Do you want to see the Boches? Here; come, put your eye to this rifle +slit." + +A horizontal tangle of barbed wire lay before me, the shapeless gully of +an empty trench, and, thirty-five feet away, another blue-gray tangle of +barbed wire and a low ripple of the brownish earth. As I looked, one of +the random silences of the front stole swiftly into the air. French +trench and German trench were perfectly silent; you could have heard the +ticking of a watch. + +"You never see them?" + +"Only when we attack them or they attack us." + +An old poilu, with a friendly smile revealing a jagged reef of yellow +teeth, whispered to me amiably:-- + +"See them? Good Lord, it's bad enough to smell them. You ought to thank +the good God, young man, that the wind is carrying it over our heads." + +"Any wounded to-day?" + +"Yes; a corporal had his leg ripped up about half an hour ago." + +At a point a mile or so farther down the moor I looked again out of a +rifle box. No Man's Land had widened to some three hundred feet of +waving furze, over whose surface gusts of wind passed as over the +surface of the sea. About fifty feet from the German trenches was a +swathe of barbed wire supported on a row of five stout, wooden posts. So +thickly was the wire strung that the eye failed to distinguish the +individual filaments and saw only the rows of brown-black posts filled +with a steely purple mist. Upon this mist hung masses of weather-beaten +blue rags whose edges waved in the wind. + +"Des camarades" (comrades), said my guide very quietly. + +A month later I saw the ruined village of Fey-en-Haye by the light of +the full golden shield of the Hunters' Moon. The village had been taken +from the Germans in the spring, and was now in the French lines, which +crossed the village street and continued right on through the houses. +"The first village on the road to Metz" had tumbled, in piles and mounds +of rubbish, out on a street grown high with grass. Moonlight poured into +the roofless cottages, escaping by shattered walls and jagged rents, and +the mounds of débris took on fantastic outlines and cast strange +shadows. In the middle of the village street stood two wooden crosses +marking the graves of soldiers. It was the Biblical "Abomination of +Desolation." + +Looking at Fey from the end of the village street, I slowly realized +that it was not without inhabitants. Wandering through the grass, +scurrying over the rubbish heaps, running in and out of the crumbling +thresholds were thousands and thousands of rats. + +Across the bright sky came a whirring hum, the sound of the motors of +aeroplanes on the way to bombard the railroad station at Metz. I looked +up, but there was nothing to be seen. The humming died away. The bent +signpost at the corner of the deserted moorland road, with its arrow and +its directions, somehow seemed a strange, shadowy symbol of the +impossibility of the attainment of many human aspirations. + + + + +Chapter V + +The Trenches In The "Wood Of Death" + + + +So great has been the interest in the purely military side of the +struggle that one is apt to forget that the war is worth study as the +supreme occupation of many great nations, whose every energy, physical, +moral, and economic, has been put to its service, and relentlessly +tested in its fiery furnace. A future historian may find the war more +interesting, when considered as the supreme achievement of the +industrial civilization of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, than +as a mere vortex in the age-old ocean of European political strife. +There is something awe-inspiring in the spectacle of all the continuous +and multitudinous activity of a great nation feeding, by a thousand +channels, a thousand rills, to the embattled furrows of the zone of +violence. + +By a strange decree of fate, a new warfare has come into being, +admirably adapted to the use and the testing of all our faculties, +organizations, and inventions--trench warfare. The principal element of +this modern warfare is lack of mobility. + +The lines advance, the lines retreat, but never once, since the +establishment of the present trench swathe, have the lines of either +combatant been pushed clear out of the normal zone of hostilities. The +fierce, invisible combats are limited to the first-line positions, +averaging a mile each way behind No Man's Land. This stationary +character has made the war a daily battle; it has robbed war of all its +ancient panoply, its cavalry, its uniforms brilliant as the sun, and has +turned it into the national business. I dislike to use the word +"business," with its usual atmosphere of orderly bargaining; I intend +rather to call up an idea more familiar to American minds--the idea of a +great intricate organization with a corporate volition. The war of +to-day is a business, the people are the stockholders, and the object of +the organization is the wisest application of violence to the enemy. + +To this end, in numberless secteurs along the front, special +narrow-gauge railroad lines have been built directly from the railroad +station at the edge of the shell zone to the artillery positions. To +this end the trenches have been gathered into a special telephone system +so that General Joffre at Chantilly can talk to any officers or soldiers +anywhere along the great swathe. The food, supplies, clothing, and +ammunition are delivered every day at the gate of the swathe, and calmly +redistributed to the trenches by a sort of military express system. + +Only one thing ever disturbs the vast, orderly system. The bony fingers +of Death will persist in getting into the cogs of the machine. + +The front is divided, according to military exigencies, into a number of +roughly equal lengths called secteurs. Each secteur is an administrative +unit with its own government and its own system adapted to the local +situation. The heart of this unit is the railroad station at which the +supplies arrive for the shell zone; in a normal secteur, one military +train arrives every day bringing the needed supplies, and one hospital +train departs, carrying the sick and wounded to the hospitals. The +station at the front is always a scene of considerable activity, +especially when the train arrives; there are pictures of old poilus in +red trousers pitching out yellow hay for the horses, commissary officers +getting their rations, and artilleurs stacking shells. + +The train not being able to continue into the shell zone, the supplies +are carried to the distributing station at the trenches in a convoy of +wagons, called the ravitaillement. Every single night, somewhere along +the road, each side tries to smash up the other's ravitaillement. To +avoid this, the ravitaillement wagons start at different hours after +dark, now at dusk, now at midnight. Sometimes, close by the trenches on +a clear, still night, the plashing and creaking of the enemy's wagons +can be heard through the massacred trees. I remember being shelled along +one bleak stretch of moorland road just after a drenching December rain. +The trench lights rising over The Wood, three miles away, made the wet +road glow with a tarnished glimmer, and burnished the muddy pools into +mirrors of pale light. The ravitaillement creaked along in the darkness. +Suddenly a shell fell about a hundred yards away, and the wagons brought +up jerkily, the harnesses rattling. For ten minutes the Germans shelled +the length of road just ahead of us, but no shell came closer to us than +the first one. About thirty "seventy-seven" shells burst, some on the +road, some on the edges of the fields; we saw them as flashes of +reddish-violet light close to the ground. In the middle of the mêlée a +trench light rose, showing the line of halted gray wagons, the +motionless horses, and the helmeted drivers. The whole affair passed in +silence. When it was judged that the last shell had fallen, whips +cracked like pistol shots, and the line lumbered on again. + +The food came to us fresh every day in a freight car fitted up like a +butcher's shop, in charge of a poilu who was a butcher in civilian life. +"So many men--so many grammes," and he would cut you off a slice. There +was a daily potato ration, and a daily extra, this last from a list ten +articles long which began again every ten days, and included beans, +macaroni, lentils, rice, and cheese. The French army is very well and +plenteously fed. Coffee, sugar, wine, and even tea are ungrudgingly +furnished. These foods are taken directly to the rear of the trenches +where the regimental cooks have their traveling kitchens. Once the food +is prepared, the cooks--the beloved cuistots--take it to the trenches in +great, steaming kettles and distribute it to the men individually. As +for clothing, every regiment has a regimental tailor shop and supply of +uniforms in the village where they go to repos. I have often seen the +soldier tailor of one of the regiments, a little Alsatian Jew, sewing up +the shell rents in a comrade's greatcoat. He had his shop in a pleasant +kitchen, and used to sit beside the fire sewing as calmly as an old +woman. + +The sanitary arrangements of the trenches are the usual army latrines, +and very severe punishments are inflicted for any fouling. + +If a man is wounded, the medical service man of his squad (infirmier), +or one of the stretcher-bearers (brancardiers), takes him as quickly as +possible to the regimental medical post in the rear lines. If the trench +is getting heavily shelled, and the wound is slight, the attendant takes +the man to a shelter and applies first aid until a time comes when he +and his patient can proceed to the rear with reasonable safety. At this +rear post the regimental surgeon cleans the wound, stops the bleeding, +and sends for the ambulance, which, at the Bois-le-Prêtre, came right +into the heart of the trenches by sunken roads that were in reality +broad trenches. The man is then taken to the hospital that his condition +requires, the slightly wounded to one hospital, and those requiring an +operation to another. The French surgical hospitals all along the front +are marvels of cleanliness and order. The heart of each hospital is the +power plant, which sterilizes the water, runs the electric lights, and +works the X-ray generator. Mounted on an automobile body, it is always +ready to decamp in case the locality gets too dangerous. You find these +great, lumbering affairs, half steamroller, half donkey-engine, in the +courtyards of old castles, schools, and great private houses close by +the front. + +The first-line trenches, in a position at all contested, are very apt +still to preserve the hurried arrangement of their first plan, which is +sometimes hardly any plan at all. It must be admitted that the Germans +have the advantage in the great majority of places, for theirs was the +first choice, and they entrenched themselves, as far as possible, along +the crests of the eastern hills of France, in a line long prepared for +just such an exigency. It has been the frightfully difficult task of the +Allies, these two years, not only to hold the positions at the foot of +these hills, in which they were at a tactical disadvantage, all their +movements being visible to the Boches on the crests above them, but also +to attack an enemy entrenched in a strong position of his own choosing. +To-day at one point along the line, the French and Germans may share the +dominating crest of a position, at another point, they may be equally +matched, and at another, such as Les Eparges, the French, after fearful +losses, have carried the coveted eminence. One phase of the business of +violence is the work of the military undertaker attached to each +secteur, who writes down in his little red book the names of the day's +dead, and arranges for the wooden cross at the head of each fresh grave. +Every day along the front is a battle in which thousands of men die. + +The eastern hills of France, those pleasant rolling heights above +Rheims, Verdun, and old, provincial Pont-à-Mousson, have been literally +gorged with blood. It being out of the question to strengthen or rectify +very much the front-line trenches close to the enemy, the effort has +taken place in the rear lines. Wherever there is a certain security, the +rear lines of all the important strategic points have been converted +into veritable subterranean fortresses. The floor plan of these trenches +is an adaptation of the military theory of fortification--with its +angles, salients, and bastions--to the topography of the region. The +gigantic concrete walls of the bomb-proof shelters, the little forts to +shelter the machine guns, and the concrete passages in the rear-line +trenches will appear as heavy and massive to future generations as Roman +masonry appears to us. There are, of course, many unimportant little +links of the trench system, upon whose holding nothing depends and for +whose domination neither side cares to spend the life of a single +soldier, that have only an apology for a second position. The war needs +the money for the preparation of important places. At vital points there +may be the tremendously powerful second line, a third line, and even a +fourth line. The region between Verdun and the lines, for instance, is +the most fearful snarl of barbed wire, pits, and buried explosives that +could be imagined. The distance would have to be contested inch by inch. + +The trench theory is built about the soldier. It must preserve him as +far as possible from artillery and from an infantry attack. The defenses +begin with barbed wire; then come the rifles and the machine guns; and +behind them the light artillery, the "seventy-fives," and the heavy +artillery, the "one hundred and twenties," "two hundred and twenties," +and, now, an immense howitzer whose real caliber has been carefully +concealed. To take a trench position means the crossing of the +entanglements of No Man's Land under fire from artillery, rifles, and +machine guns, an almost impossible proceeding. An advance is possible +only after the opposing trenches have been made untenable by the +concentration of artillery fire. The great offensives begin by blowing +the first lines absolutely to pieces; this accomplished, the attacking +infantry advances to the vacated trenches under the rifle fire of those +few whom the terrible deluge of shells has not killed or crazed, works +toward the strong second position under a concentrated artillery fire of +the retreating enemy as terrible as its own, fights its way heroically +into the second position, and stops there. The great line has been bent, +has been dented, but never broken. An offensive must cover at least +twenty miles of front, for if the break is too narrow the attacking +troops will be massacred by the enemy artillery at both ends of the +broken first lines. If the front lines are one mile deep, the artillery +must put twenty-five square miles of trenches hors de combat, a task +that takes millions of shells. By the time that the first line has been +destroyed and the troops have reached the second line, the shells and +the men are pretty well used up. A great successful offensive on the +western front is theoretically possible, given millions of men, but +practically impossible. Outside of important local gains, the great +western offensives have been failures. Champagne was a failure, the +Calais drive was a failure, Verdun was a failure, and the drive on the +Somme has only bent the lines. The Germans may shorten their lines +because of a lack of men, but I firmly believe that neither their line +nor the Allies' line will ever be broken. What will be the end if the +Allies cannot wrest from Germany, Belgium and that part of northern +France she is holding for ransom--to obtain good terms at the peace +congress? Is Germany slowly, very slowly going under, or are we going to +witness complete European exhaustion? Whatever happens, poor, mourning, +desolated France will hold to the end. + +In localities where no great offensive is contemplated, and the business +of violence has become a routine, the object of the commander is to keep +the enemy on the qui-vive, demoralize him by killing and wounding his +soldiers, and prevent him from strengthening his first lines. Relations +take on the character of an exchange; one day the French throw a +thousand mines (high-explosive trench shells) into the German lines, and +the next day the Germans throw a thousand back. The French smash up a +village where German troops are en repos; while it is being done, the +Germans begin to blow a French village to pieces. In the trenches the +individual soldiers throw grenades at each other, and wish that the +whole tiresome business was done with. They have two weeks in the +trenches and two weeks out of them in a cantonment behind the lines. The +period in the trenches is divided between the first lines and the rear +lines of the first position. Often on my way to the trenches at night I +would pass a regiment coming to repos. Silent, vaguely seen, in broken +step the regiment passed. Sometimes a shell would come whistling in. + +There was one part of the Bois-le-Prêtre region upon which nothing +depended, and the war had there settled into the casual exchange of +powder and old iron that obtains upon two thirds of the front. At the +entrance to this position, in the shadow of a beautiful clump of ash +trees, stood the rustic shelters of the regimental cooks. From behind +the wall of trees came a terrifying crash. The war-gray, iron field +kitchen, which the army slang calls a contre-torpilleur (torpedo-boat +destroyer), stood in a little clearing of the wood; there was nothing +beautiful to the machine, which was simply an iron box, two feet high +and four feet square, mounted on big wheels, and fitted with a high oval +chimney. A halo of kitcheny smell floated about it, and the open door of +its fire-box, in which brands were burning furiously, and a jet of vapor +from somewhere, gave it quite the appearance of an odd steam engine. +Beside the contre-torpilleur stood the two cooks, both unusually small +in stature. One was about thirty-two or three years old, chunky, and +gifted with short, strong, hairy arms; the other was much slighter, +younger, and so juvenile of face that his downy mustache was almost +invisible. I knew these men very well; one, the older, was a farmhand in +a village of Touraine, and the other, an errand boy in a bookbinding +works at Saint-Denis. The war had turned them into regimental cooks, +though it was the older man who did most of the cooking, while the boy +occupied himself with gathering wood and distributing the food. The +latter once confessed to me that when he heard that Americans were +coming to the Bois-le-Prêtre, he had expected to see Indians, and that +he and his comrades had joked, half in jest, half in earnest, about the +Boches going to lose their scalps. The other was famous for an episode +of the July attacks: cornered in the trench by a Boche, he had emptied +his kettle of hot soup over the man's head and finished him off with a +knife. They waved friendlily at me. The farmhand, in particular, was one +of the pleasantest fellows who ever breathed; and still fond, like a +true good man of Touraine, of a Rabelaisian jest. + +The road now entered the wood, and continued straight ahead down a +pleasant vista of young ash trees. Suddenly a trench, bearing its name +in little black, dauby letters on a piece of yellow board the size of a +shingle, began by the side of the forest road, and I went down into it +as I might have gone down cellar. The Boyau Poincaré--such was its +title--began to curve and twist in the manner of trenches, and I came +upon a corner in the first line known as "Three Dead Men," because after +the capture of the wood, three dead Germans were found there in +mysterious, lifelike attitudes. The names of trenches on the French +front often reflect that deep, native instinct to poetry possessed by +simple peoples--the instinct that created the English ballads and the +exquisite mediaeval French legends of the saints. Other trench names +were symbolic, or patriotic, or political; we had the "Trench of the +Great Revenge," the "Trench of France," the "Trench of Aristide" +(meaning Briand), and the "Boulevard Joffre." + +Beyond "Les Trois Morts," began the real lines of the position, and as I +wound my way through them to the first lines, the pleasant forest of +autumnal branches thinned to a wood of trees bare as telegraph poles. It +had taken me half an hour to get from the cook's shelters to the first +lines, and during that time I had not heard one single explosion. In the +first trench the men stood casually by their posts at the parapet, their +bluish coats in an interesting contrast to the brown wall of the trench. +Behind the sentries, who peered through the rifle slits every once in a +while, flowed the usual populace of the first-line trench, passing as +casually as if they were on a Parisian sidewalk, officers as miry as +their men, poilus of the Engineer Corps with an eye to the state of the +rifle boxes, and an old, unshaven soldier in light-brown corduroy +trousers and blue jacket, who volunteered the information that the +Boches had thrown a grenade at him as he turned the corner "down +there"--"It didn't go off." So calm an atmosphere pervaded the cold, +sunny, autumnal afternoon that the idea "the trenches" took on the +proportions of a gigantic hoax; we might have been masqueraders in the +trenches after the war was over. And the Germans were only seventy-five +feet away, across those bare poles, stumps, and matted dead brown +leaves! + +"Attention!" + +The atmosphere of the trench changed in a second. Every head in sight +looked up searchingly at the sky. Just over the trees, distinctly seen, +was a little, black, cylindrical package somersaulting through the air. +In another second everybody had calculated the spot in which it was +about to land, and those whom it threatened had swiftly found shelter, +either by continuing down the trench to a sharp turn, running into the +door of an abri (shelter), or simply snuggling into a hole dug in the +side of the trench. There was a moment of full, complete silence between +the time when everybody had taken refuge and the explosion of the trench +shell. The missile burst with that loud hammer pound made by a +thick-walled iron shell, and lay smoking in the withered leaves. + +"It begins--it begins," said an old poilu, tossing his head. "Now we +shall have those pellets all afternoon." + +An instant after the burst the trench relaxed; some of the sentries +looked back to see where the shell had fallen, others paid no attention +to it whatsoever. Once again the quiet was disturbed by a muffled boom +somewhere ahead of us, and everybody calculated and took refuge exactly +as before. The shells began to come, one on the heels of the other with +alarming frequency; hardly had one burst when another was discovered in +the air. The poilus, who had taken the first shells as a matter of +course, good-naturedly even, began to get as cross as peevish +schoolboys. It was decidedly too much of a good thing. Finally the order +was given for every one except the sentinels, who were standing under +the occasional shelters of beams and earth bridged across the trench, to +retire to the abris. I saw one of the exposed sentinels as I withdrew, a +big, heavily built, young fellow with a face as placid as that of a farm +animal; his rifle leaned against the earth of the trench, and the shadow +of the shelter fell on his expressionless features. The next sentinel +was a man in the late thirties, a tall, nervous soldier with a fierce, +aggressive face. + +The abri to which we retired was about twenty-five feet long and eight +feet wide, and had a door at either end. The hut had been dug right in +the crude, calcareous rock of Lorraine, and the beams of the roof were +deeply set into these natural walls. Along the front wall ran a corridor +about a foot wide, and between this corridor and the rear wall was a +raised platform about seven feet wide piled with hay. Sprawled in this +hay, in various attitudes, were about fifteen men, the squad that had +just completed its sentry service. Two candles hung from the massive +roof and flickered in the draughts between the two doors, revealing, in +rare periods of radiance, a shelf along the wall over the sleepers' +heads piled with canteens, knapsacks, and helmets. In the middle of the +rock wall by the corridor a semicircular funnel had been carved out to +serve as a fireplace, and at its base a flameless fire of beautiful, +crumbling red brands was glowing. This hearth cut in the living rock was +very wonderful and beautiful. Suddenly a trench shell landed right on +the roof of the abri, shaking little fragments of stone down into the +fire on the hearth. The soldiers, who sat hunched up on the edge of the +platform, their feet in the corridor, gave vent to a burst of anger that +had its source in exasperation. + +"This is going too far."--"Why don't they answer?"--"Are those dirty +cows (the classic sales vaches) going to keep this up all afternoon?" + +"Really, now, this is getting to be a real nuisance." Suddenly two forms +loomed large in the left doorway, and the stolid sentry of whom I have +spoken limped in on the arm of an infirmier. Voices murmured in the +obscurity, "Who is wounded?"--"Somebody wounded?" And dreamy-eyed ones +sat up in the straw. The stolid one--he could not have been much over +twenty-one or two--sat down on the edge of the straw near the fireplace, +his face showing no emotion, only a pallor. He had a painful but not +serious wound; a small fragment of iron, from a shell that had fallen +directly into the trench, had lodged in the bones of his foot. He took +off his big, ugly shoe and rested the blood-stained sock on the straw. +Voices like echoes traveled the length of the shelter--"Is it thou, +Jarnac?"--"Art thou wounded, Jarnac?" "Yes," answered the big fellow in +a bass whisper. He was a peasant of the Woevre, one of a stolid, +laborious race. + +"The lieutenant has gone to the telephone shelter to ring up the +batteries," said the infirmier. "Good," said a vibrant, masculine voice +somewhere in the straw. + +A shell coming toward you from the enemy makes a good deal of noise, but +it is not to be compared to the noise made by one's own shells rushing +on a slant just over one's head to break in the enemy's trenches +seventy-five feet away. A swift rafale of some fifty "seventy-five" +shells passed whistling like the great wind of the Apocalypse, which is +to blow when the firmament collapses. Looking through the rifle slit, +after the rafale was over, I could see puffs of smoke apparently rising +out of the carpet of dead leaves. The nervous man, the other sentry, +held up his finger for us not to make the slightest noise and +whispered,-- + +"I heard somebody yell." + +"Where?" + +"Over there by that stump." + +We strained our ears to catch a sound, but heard nothing. + +"I heard the yell plainly," replied the sentry. + +The news seemed to give some satisfaction. At any rate, the Germans +stopped their trench shells. The quiet hush of late afternoon was at +hand. Soon the cook came down the trench with kettles of hot soup. + +Five months have passed since I last saw the inhabitants of this abri, +the tenants of the "Ritz-Marmite." How many are still alive? What has +happened to this fine, brave crowd of Frenchmen, gentlemen all, bons +camarades? I have seen them on guard in a heavy winter snowstorm, when +the enemy was throwing grenades which, exploding, blew purplish-black +smudges on the snow; I have seen them so bemired in mud and slop that +they looked like effigies of brownish earth; I have watched them wading +through communication trenches that were veritable canals. And this is +the third year of the war. + +The most interesting of the lot mentally was a young Socialist named +Hippolyte. He was a sous-lieutenant of the Engineers, and had quarters +of his own in the rear of the trenches, where one was always sure to +find books on social questions lying round in the hay. When the war +began he was just finishing his law course at the University of +Montpellier. A true son of the South, he was dark, short, but well +proportioned, with small hands and feet. The distinguishing features of +his countenance were his eyes and mouth--the eyes, eloquent, alert, +almost Italian; the mouth, full, firm, and dogmatic. The great orators +of the Midi must have resembled him in their youth. He was a Socialist +and a pacifist à outrance, continuing his dream of universal fraternity +in the midst of war. His work lay in building a tunnel under the +Germans, by which he hoped to blow part of the German trenches, Teutons +and all, sky-high. + +The tunneï (sape) began in the third line, at a door hi the wall of the +trench strongly framed in wooden beams the size of railroad ties. At +occasional intervals along the passage the roof was reinforced by a +frame of these beams, so that the sape had the businesslike, +professional look of a gallery in a coal mine. Descending steeply to a +point twelve feet beyond the entrance, it then went at a gentle incline +under No Man's Land, and ended beneath the German trenches. It was the +original intention to blow up part of the German first line, but it +being one day discovered that the Germans were building a tunnel +parallel to the French one, it was decided to blow up the French safe so +that the explosion would spend its force underground, and cause the +walls of the German tunnel to cave in on its makers. I happened to see +the tunnel the morning of the day it was blown up. The French had +stopped working for fear of being overheard by the Germans. It was a +ticklish situation. Were the Germans aware of the French tunnel? If so, +they would blow up their own at once. Were they still continuing their +labor? The earth of the French might burst apart anyminute and rain down +again in a dreadful shower of clods, stones, and mangled bodies. + +Alone, quiet, at the end of the passage under the German lines sat an +old poilu, the sentinel of the tunnel. He was an old coal miner of the +North. The light of a candle showed his quiet, bearded face, grave as +the countenance of some sculptured saint on the portico of a Gothic +church, and revealed the wrinkles and lines of many years of labor. The +sentinel held a microphone to his ears; the poles of it disappearing +into the wall of damp earth separating us from the Boches. + +Hippolyte whispered, "You hear them?" + +The old man nodded his head, and gave the microphone to his officer. I +saw Hippolyte listen. Then, without a word, he handed it to me. All that +I could hear was a faint tapping. + +"The Boches," whispered Hippolyte. + +The French blew up the sape early in the afternoon, at a time when they +felt sure the Germans were at work in their tunnel. I saw the result the +next day. A saucer-shaped depression about twenty-five feet in diameter, +and perhaps two feet deep, had appeared in No Man's Land. Even the +stumps of two trees had sunk and tilted. + +It was Hippolyte who had turned on the electricity. I once talked the +matter over with him. He became at once intense, Latin, doctrinaire. + +"How do you reconcile your theories of fraternity to what you have to +do?" + +"I do not have to reconcile my theories to my office; I am furthering my +theories." + +"How so?" + +"By combating the Boches. Without them we might have realized our idea +of universal peace and fraternity. Voilà l'ennemi! The race is a +poisonous race, serpents, massacreurs! I wish I could smother as many of +them every day as I did yesterday." + +During my service I did not meet another soldier whose hatred of the +Germans was comparable to that of this advocate of universal love. + +I left the trenches just at dusk. Above the dreadful depression in No +Man's Land shone a bronzy sky against which the trees raised their +haggard silhouettes. There was hardly a sound in the whole length of The +Wood. A mist came up making haloes round the rising winter stars. + + + + +Chapter VI + +The Germans Attack + + +The schoolmaster (instituteur) and the schoolmistress (institutrice) of +Montauville were a married couple, and had a flat of four rooms on the +second story of the schoolhouse. The kitchen of this fiat had been +struck by a shell, and was still a mess of plaster, bits of stone, and +glass, and a fragment had torn clear through the sooty bottom of a +copper saucepan still hanging on the wall. In one of the rooms, else +quite bare of furniture, was an upright piano. Sometimes while stationed +at Montauville, I whiled away the waits between calls to the trenches in +playing this instrument. + +It was about nine o'clock in the morning, and thus far not a single call +had come in. The sun was shining very brightly in a sky washed clear by +a night of rain, the morning mists were rising from the wood, and up and +down the very muddy street walked little groups of soldiers. I drew up +the rickety stool and began to play the waltz from "The Count of +Luxembourg." In a short time I heard the sound of tramping on the stairs +voices. In came three poilus--a pale boy with a weary, gentle expression +in his rather faded blue eyes; a dark, heavy fellow of twenty-five or +six, with big wrists, big, muscular hands, and a rather unpleasant, +lowering face; and a little, middle-aged man with straightforward, +friendly hazel eyes and a pointed beard. The pale, boyish one carried a +violin made from a cigar box under his arm, just such a violin as the +darkies make down South. This violin was very beautifully made, and +decorated with a rustic design. I stopped playing. + +"Don't, don't," cried the dark, big fellow; "we haven't heard any music +for a long time. Please keep on. Jacques, here, will accompany you." + +"I never heard the waltz," said the violinist; "but if you play it over +for me once or twice, I'll try to get the air--if you would like to have +me to," he added with a shy, gentle courtesy. + +So I played the rather banal waltz again, till the lad caught the tune. +He hit it amazingly well, and his ear was unusually true. The dark one +had been in Canada and was hungry for American rag-time. "'The Good Old +Summer Time'--you know that? 'Harrigan'--you know that?" he said in +English. The rag-time of "Harrigan" floated out on the street of +Montauville. But I did not care to play things which could have no +violin obligato, so I began to play what I remembered of waltzes dear to +every Frenchman's heart--the tunes of the "Merry Widow." "Sylvia" went +off with quite a dash. The concert was getting popular. Somebody wanted +to send for a certain Alphonse who had an occarina. Two other poilus, +men in the forties, came up, their dark-brown, horseshoe beards making +them look like brothers. Side by side against the faded paper on the +sunny wall they stood, surveying us contentedly. The violinist, who +turned out to be a Norman, played a solo--some music-hall fantasy, I +imagine. The next number was the ever popular "Tipperaree," which every +single poilu in the French army has learned to sing in a kind of +English. Our piano-violin duet hit off this piece even better than the +"Merry Widow." I thanked Heaven that I was not called on to translate +it, a feat frequently demanded of the American drivers. The song is +silly enough in the King's English, but in lucid, exact French, it sinks +to positive imbecility. + +"You play, don't you?" said the violinist to the small bearded man. + +"A little," he replied modestly. + +"Please play." + +The little man sat down at the piano, meditated a minute, and began to +play the rich chords of Rachmaninof's "Prelude." He got about half +through, when Zip-bang! a small shell burst down the street. The dark +fellow threw open the French window. The poilus were scurrying to +shelter. The pianist continued with the "Prelude." + +Zip-bang! Zip-bang! Zshh--Bang--Bang. Bang-Bang! + +The piano stopped. Everybody listened. The village was still as death. +Suddenly down the street came the rattle of a volley of rifle shots. +Over this sound rose the choked, metallic notes of a bugle-call. The +rifle shots continued. The ominous popping of machine guns resounded. +The village, recovering from its silence, filled with murmurs. Bang! +Bang! Bang I Bang! went some more shells. The same knowledge took +definite shape in our minds. + +"An attack!" + +The violinist, clutching his instrument, hurried down the stairs +followed by all the others, leaving the chords of the uncompleted +"Prelude" to hang in the startled air. Shells were popping +everywhere--crashes of smoke and violence--in the roads, in the fields, +and overhead. The Germans were trying to isolate the few detachments en +repos in the village, and prevent reinforcements coming from Dieulouard +or any other place. To this end all the roads between Pont-à-Mousson and +the trenches, and the roads leading directly to the trenches, were being +shelled. + +"Go at once to Poste C!" + +The winding road lay straight ahead, and just at the end of the village +street, the Germans had established a tir de barrage. This meant that a +shell was falling at that particular point about once every fifty +seconds. I heard two rafales break there as I was grinding up the +machine. Up the slope of the Montauville hill came several of the other +drivers. Tyler, of New York, a comrade who united remarkable bravery to +the kindest of hearts, followed close behind me, also evidently bound +for Poste C. German bullets, fired wildly from the ridge of The Wood +over the French trenches, sang across the Montauville valley, lodging in +the trees of Puvenelle behind us with a vicious tspt; shells broke here +and there on the stretch leading to the Quart-en-Réserve, throwing the +small rocks of the road surfacing wildly in every direction. The French +batteries to our left were firing at the Germans, the German batteries +were firing at the French trenches and the roads, and the machine guns +rattled ceaselessly. I saw the poilus hurrying up the muddy roads of the +slope of the Bois-le-Prêtre--vague masses of moving blue on the brown +ways. A storm of shells was breaking round certain points in the road +and particularly at the entrance to The Wood. I wondered what had become +of the audience at the concert. Various sounds, transit of shells, +bursting of shells, crashing of near-by cannon, and rat-tat-tat-tat! of +mitrailleuses played the treble to a roar formed of echoes and +cadences--the roar of battle. The Wood of Death (Le Bois de la Mort) was +singing again. + +That day's attack was an attempt by the Germans to take back from the +French the eastern third of the Quart-en-Réserve and the rest of the +adjoining ridge half hidden in the shattered trees. At the top of the +plateau, by the rise in the moorland I described in the preceding +chapter, I had an instant's view of the near-by battle, for the focus +was hardly more than four hundred yards away. There was a glimpse of +human beings in the Quart--soldiers in green, soldiers in blue--the very +fact that anybody was to be seen there was profoundly stirring. They +were fighting in No Man's Land. Tyler and I watched for a second, +wondering what scenes of agony, of heroism, of despair were being +enacted in that dreadful field by the ruined wood. + +We hurried our wounded to the hospital, passing on our way detachments +of soldiers rushing toward The Wood from the villages of the region. +Three or four big shells had just fallen in Dieulouard, and the village +was deserted and horribly still. The wind carried the roar of the attack +to our ears. In three quarters of an hour, I was back again at the same +moorland poste, to which an order of our commander had attached me. +Montauville was full of wounded. I had three on stretchers inside, one +beside me on the seat, and two others on the front mudguards. And The +Wood continued to sing. From Montauville I could hear the savage yells +and cries which accompanied the fighting. + +Half an hour after the beginning of the attack, the war invaded the sky, +with the coming of the German reconnoitering aeroplanes. One went to +watch the roads leading to The Wood along the plateau, one went to watch +the Dieulouard road, and the other hovered over the scene of the combat. +The sky was soon dotted with the puffs of smoke left by the exploding +shells of the special anti-aircraft "seventy- fives." These puffs +blossomed from a pin-point of light to a vaporous, gray-white puff-ball +about the size of the full moon, and then dissolved in the air or blew +about in streaks and wisps. These cloudlets, fired at an aviator flying +along a certain line, often were gathered by the eye into arrangements +resembling constellations. The three machines were very high, and had a +likeness to little brown and silver insects. + +The Boche watching the conflict appeared to hang almost immobile over +the Quart. With a striking suddenness, another machine appeared behind +him and above him. So unexpected was the approach of this second +aeroplane that its appearance had a touch of the miraculous. It might +have been created at that very moment in the sky. The Frenchman--for it +was an aviator from the parc at Toul, since killed at Verdun, poor +fellow--swooped beneath his antagonist and fired his machine gun at him. +The German answered with two shots of a carbine. The Frenchman fired +again. Suddenly the German machine flopped to the right and swooped +down; it then flopped to the left, the tail of the machine flew up, and +the apparatus fell, not so swiftly as one might expect, down a thousand +feet into The Wood. When I saw the wreckage, a few days afterwards, it +looked like the spilt contents of â waste-paper basket, and the +aviators, a pilot and an observer, had had to be collected from all over +the landscape. The French buried them with full military honors. + +Thanks to the use of a flame machine, the Germans succeeded in regaining +the part of the ridge they had lost, but the French made it so hot for +them that they abandoned it, and the contested trenches now lie in No +Man's Land. All that night the whole Wood was illuminated, trench light +after trench light rising over the dark branches. There would be a +rocket like the trail of bronze-red powder sparks hanging for an instant +in the sky, then a loud Plop! and the French light would spread out its +parachute and sail slowly down the sky toward the river. The German +lights (fusées éclairantes), cartridges of magnesium fired from a gun +resembling a shotgun, burned only during their dazzling trajectory. At +midnight the sky darkened with low, black rain clouds, upon whose +surface the constant cannon fire flashed in pools of violet-white light. +Coming down from the plateau at two in the morning, I could see sharp +jabs of cannon fire for thirty miles along the front on the other side +of the Moselle. + +Just after this attack a doctor of the army service was walking through +the trenches in which the French had made their stand. He noticed +something oddly skewered to a tree. He knocked it down with a stone, and +a human heart fell at his feet. + +The most interesting question of the whole business is, "How do the +soldiers stand it?" At the beginning of my own service, I thought +Pont-à-Mousson, with its ruins, its danger, and its darkness, the most +awful place on the face of the earth. After a little while, I grew +accustomed to the décor, and when the time came for me to leave it, I +went with as much regret as if I were leaving the friendliest, most +peaceful of towns. First the décor, growing familiar, lost the keener +edges of its horror, and then the life of the front--the violence, the +destruction, the dying and the dead--all became casual, part of the +day's work. A human being is profoundly affected by those about him; +thus, when a new soldier finds himself for the first time in a trench, +he is sustained by the attitude of the veterans. Violence becomes the +commonplace; shells, gases, and flames are the things that life is made +of. The war is another lesson in the power of the species to adapt +itself to circumstances. When this power of adaptability has been +reinforced by a tenacious national will "to see the thing through," men +will stand hell itself. The slow, dogged determination of the British +cannot be more powerful than the resolution of the French. Their +decision to continue at all costs has been reached by a purely +intellectual process, and to enforce it, they have called upon those +ancient foundations of the French character, the sober reasonableness +and unbending will they inherit from Rome. + +And a new religion has risen in the trenches, a faith much more akin to +Mahomet than to Christ. It is a fatalism of action. The soldier finds +his salvation in the belief that nothing will happen to him until his +hour comes, and the logical corollary of this belief, that it does no +good to worry, is his rock of ages. It is a curious thing to see +poilus--peasants, artisans, scholars--completely in the grip of this +philosophy. There has been a certain return to the Church of Rome, for +which several reasons exist, the greatest being that the war has made +men turn to spiritual things. Only an animal could be confronted with +the pageant of heroism, the glory of sacrifice, and the presence of +Death, and not be moved to a contemplation of the fountain-head of these +sublime mysteries. But it is the upper class which in particular has +returned to the Church. Before the war, rationalist and genial skeptic, +the educated Frenchman went to church because it was the thing to do, +and because non-attendance would weaken an institution which the world +was by no means ready to lay aside. This same educated Frenchman, +brought face to face with the mystery of human existence, has felt a +real need of spiritual support, and consequently returned to the Church +of his fathers. + +The religious revival is a return of upper-class prodigals to the fold, +and a rekindling of the chilled brands of the faith of the amiably +skeptical. The great mass of the nation has felt this spiritual force, +but because the mass of the nation was always Catholic, nothing much has +changed. I failed to find any trace of conversions among the still +hostile working men of the towns, and the bred-in-the-bone Socialists. +The rallying of the conservative classes about the Cross is also due to +the fact that the war has exposed the mediocrity and sterile windiness +of the old socialistic governments; this misgovernment the upper classes +have determined to end once they return from the trenches, and +remembering that the Church of Rome was the enemy of the past +administrations, cannot help regarding her with a certain friendliness. +But this issue of past misgovernment will be fought out on purely +secular grounds, and the Church will be only a sympathizer behind the +fray. The manner in which the French priests have fought and died is +worthy of the admiration of the world. Never in the history of any +country has the national religion been so closely enmeshed in the +national life. The older clergy, as a rule, have been attached to the +medical services of the front, serving as hospital orderlies and +stretcher-bearers, but the younger priests have been put right into the +army and are fighting to-day as common soldiers. There are hundreds of +officer-priests--captains and lieutenants of the regular army. + +But the real religion of the front is the philosophy of Mahomet. Life +will end only when Death has been decreed by Fate, and the Boches are +the unbelievers. After all, Islam in its great days was a virile faith, +the faith of a race of soldiers. + + + + +Chapter VII + +The Town In The Trenches + + + +At the beginning of the war the German plan of campaign was to take +France on the flank by marching through Belgium, and once the success of +this northern venture assured, strike at the Verdun-Belfort line which +had baffled them in the first instance. Had they not lost the battle of +the Marne, this second venture might have proved successful, for the +body of the French army was fighting in the north, and the remaining +troops would have been discouraged by the capture of Paris. On the eve +of the battle of the Marne the campaign seeming to be well in hand in +the north, a German invasion of Lorraine began, one army striking at the +defenses of the great plateau which slopes from the Vosges to the +Moselle, and the other attempting to ascend the valley of the river. It +was this second army which entered Pont-à-Mousson. + +Immediately following the declaration of hostilities the troops who had +been quartered in the town were withdrawn, and the town was left open to +the enemy who, going very cautiously, was on his way from Metz. For +several weeks in August, this city, almost directly on the frontier, saw +no soldiers, French or German. It was a time of dramatic suspense. The +best recital of it I ever heard came from the lips of the housekeeper of +Wisteria Villa, a splendid, brave French woman who had never left her +post. She was short, of a clear, tanned complexion, and always had her +hair tightly rolled up in a little classic pug. She was as fearless of +shells as a soldier in the trenches, and once went to a deserted +orchard, practically in the trenches, to get some apples for Messieurs +les Américains. When asked why she did not get them at a safer place, +she replied that she did not have to pay for these apples as the land +belonged to her father! Her ear for shells was the most accurate of the +neighborhood, and when a deafening crash would shake the kettles on the +stove and rattle the teacups, she could tell you exactly from what +direction it had come and the probable caliber. I remember one morning +seeing her wash dishes while the Germans were shelling the corner I have +already described. The window over the sink opened directly on the +dangerous area, and she might have been killed any minute by a flying +eclat. Standing with her hands in the soapy water, or wiping dry the +hideous blue-and-white dinner service of Wisteria Villa, she never even +bothered to look up to see where the shells were landing. Two +"seventy-sevens" went off with a horrid pop; "Those are only +'seventy-sevens,'" she murmured as if to herself. A fearful swish was +next heard and the house rocked to the din of an explosion. "That's a +'two hundred and ten'--the rogues--oh, the rogues!" she exclaimed in the +tone she might have used in scolding a depraved boy. + +At night, when the kitchen was cleared up, she sat down to write her +daily letter to her soldier son, and once this duty finished, liked +nothing better than a friendly chat. She knew the history of +Pont-à-Mousson and Montauville and the inhabitants thereof by heart; she +had tales to tell of the shrewdness of the peasants and diverting +anecdotes of their manners and morals. These stories she told very well +and picturesquely. + +"The first thing we saw was the President's poster saying not to be +alarmed, that the measures of military preparation were required by +circumstances (les événements) and did not mean war. Then over this bill +the maire posted a notice that in case of a real mobilization (une +mobilisation sérieuse) they would ring the tocsin. At eleven o'clock the +tocsin rang, oh, la la, monsieur, what a fracas! All the bells in the +town, Saint-Martin, Saint-Laurent, the hôtel de ville. Immediately all +our troops went away. We did not want to see them go. 'We shall be back +again,' they said. They liked Pont-à-Mousson. Such good young fellows! +The butcher's wife has heard that only fifty-five of the six hundred who +were here are alive. They were of the active forces (de l'active). A +great many people followed the soldiers. So for two weeks we were left +all alone, wondering what was to become of us. And all the time we heard +frightful stories about the villages beyond Nancy. On the nth of August +we heard cannon for the first time, and on the 12th and the 14th we were +bombarded. On the 4th of September, at five o'clock in the evening, the +bells began to ring again. Everybody ran out to find the reason. Les +Allemands--they were not then called Boches--were coming. Baoum! went +the bridge over the Moselle. Everybody went into their houses, so that +the Germans came down streets absolutely deserted. I peeked from my +window blind. The Boches came down the road from Norroy, les Uhlans, the +infantry--how big and ugly they all were. And their officers were so +stiff (raide). They were not like our bons petits soldats Français. In +the morning I went out to get some bread. + +"'Eh là, good woman' (bonne femme), said a grand Boche to me. + +"'What do you want?' said I. + +"'Are there any soldats français in the town?' said the Boche. + +"'How should I know?' I answered. + +"'You do not want to tell, good woman.' + +"'I do not know.' + +"'Are there any francs-tireurs (civilian snipers) in this town?' + +"'Don't bother me; I'm going for some bread.' + +"During the night all the clocks had been changed to German time. Many +of the Boches spoke French. There were Alsatians and Lorrains who did +not like the fracas at all. Yes, the Boches behaved themselves all right +at Pont-à-Mousson--there were some vulgarities (grossièretés). One of +the soldiers, a big blond, went down the street wearing an ostrich +feather hat and a woman's union suit and chemise. It was a scandale. But +uncle laughed to kill himself; he was peeping out through the blinds. +Right in front of my door were ten cannon, and all the street was full +of artillery. Well we had four days of this, hearing never a word from +the French side. + +"On the night of the 9th I heard a good deal of noise, and somebody woke +up the Boches sous-officiers who were quartered in a house across the +street. I saw lights and heard shouts. I was peeping out of my window +all the time. The dark street filled with soldiers. I saw their officers +lashing them to make them hurry. They harnessed the artillery horses to +the guns, and at four o'clock in the morning there was not a single +Boche in Pont-à-Mousson. They had all gone away in the night, taking +with them the German flag on the city hall. You know, monsieur, on the +night of the 9th they received news of the battle of the Marne. + +"For five days more we saw neither Français nor Boches. Finally some +French dragoons came down the road from Dieulouard, and little by little +other soldiers came too. But, hélas, monsieur, the Boches were waiting +for them in the Bois-le-Prêtre." + +Such was the way that Pont-à-Mousson did not become Mussenbruck. The +episode is an agreeable interlude of decency in the history of German +occupations, for that atrocities were perpetrated in Nomény, just across +the river, is beyond question. I have talked with survivors. At +Pont-à-Mousson everything was orderly; six miles to the east, houses +were burned over the heads of the inhabitants, and women and children +brutally massacred. + +I best remember the little city as it was one afternoon in early +December. The population of 17,000 had then shrunk to about 900, and +only a little furtive life lingered in the town. My promenade began at +the river-bank by the wooden footbridge crossing from the shore to the +remaining arches of the graceful eighteenth-century stone bridge blown +up in September, 1914. There is always something melancholy about a +ruined bridge, perhaps because the structure symbolizes a patient human +victory over the material world. There was something intensely tragic in +the view of the wrecked quarter of Saint-Martin, seen across the deep, +greenish, wintry river, and in the great curve of the broad flood +sullenly hurrying to Metz. At the end of the bridge, ancient and gray, +rose the two round towers of the fifteenth-century parish church, with +that blind, solemn look to them the towers of Notre Dame possess, and +beyond this edifice, a tile-roofed town and the great triangular hill +called the Mousson. It was dangerous to cross the bridge, because German +snipers occasionally fired at it, so I contented myself with looking +down the river. Beyond the Bois-le-Prêtre, the next ridge to rise from +the river was a grassy spur bearing the village of Norroy on its back. +You could see the hill, only four kilomètres away, the brown walls of +the village, the red roofs, and sometimes the glint of sunlight on a +window; but for us the village might have been on another planet. All +social and economic relations with Norroy had ceased since September, +1914, and reflecting on this fact, the invisible wall of the trenches +became more than a mere military wall, became a barrier to every human +relation and peaceful tie. + +A sentry stood by the ruined bridge, a small, well-knit man with +beautiful silver-gray hair, blue eyes, and pink cheeks; his uniform was +exceptionally clean, and he appeared to be some decent burgher torn from +his customary life. I fell into conversation with him. He recollected +that his father, a veteran of 1870, had prophesied the present war. + +"'We shall see them again, the spiked helmets (les casques à pointe),' +said my father--'we shall see them again.' + +"'Why?' I asked him. + +"'Because they have eaten of us, and will be hungry once more.'" + +The principal street of the town led from this bridge to a great square, +and continued straight on toward Maidières and Montauville. The +sidewalks around this square were in arcades under the houses, for the +second story of every building projected for seven or eight feet over +the first and rested on a line of arches at the edge of the street. To +avoid damage from shells bursting in the open space, every one of these +arcades, and there were perhaps a hundred all told, had been plugged +with sandbags, so that the square had an odd, blind look. A little life +flickered in the damp, dark alleys behind these obstructions. There was +a tobacco shop, kept by two pretty young women whom the younger soldiers +were always jollying, a wineshop, a tailorshop, and a bookstore, always +well supplied with the great Parisian weeklies, which one found later in +odd corners of shelters in the trenches. Occasionally a soldier bought a +serious book when it was to be found in the dusty files of the +"Collection Nelson"; I remember seeing a young lieutenant of artillery +buying Ségur's "Histoire de la Grande Armée en 1812," and another taking +Flaubert's "Un cœur simple." But the military life, roughly lived, and +shared with simple people, appears to make even the wisest boyish, and +after a while at the front the intellect will not read anything +intellectual. It simply won't, perhaps because it can't. The soldier +mind delights in rough, genial, and simple jokes. A sergeant, whom I +knew to be a distinguished young scholar in civilian life, was always +throwing messages wrapped round a stone into the German trenches; the +messages were killingly funny, amiably indecent, and very jejune. +Invariably they provoked a storm of grenades, and sometimes epistles in +the same vein from the Boches. In spite of the vicious pang of the +grenades, there was an absurd "Boys-will-be-boys" air to the whole +performance. Conversation, however, did not sink to this boyish level, +and the rag-tag and bob-tail of one's cultivation found its outlet in +speech. + +At the end of this street was the railroad crossing, the passage à +niveau, and the station in a jungle of dead grass and brambles. Like the +bridge, its rustiness and weediness was a dreadful symbol of the +cessation of human activity, and the blue enamel signpost lettered in +white with the legend, "Metz--32 kilomètres," was another reminder of +the town to which the French aspired with all the fierce intensity of +crusaders longing for Jerusalem. It was impossible to get away from the +omnipresence of the name of the fated city--it stared at you from +obscure street corners, and was to be found on the covers of printed +books and post-cards. I saw the city once from the top of the hill of +the Mousson; its cathedral towers pierced the blue mists of the brown +moorlands, and it appeared phantasmal and tremendously distant. Yet for +those towers countless men had died, were dying, would die. A French +soldier who had made the ascent with me pointed out Metz the much +desired. + +"Are you going to get it?" I asked. "Perhaps so," he replied gravely. +"After so many sacrifices." (Après tant de sacrifices.) He made no +gesture, but I know that his vision included the soldiers' cemetery at +the foot of the Mousson hill. It lay, a rust-colored field, on the steep +hillside just at the border of the town, and was new, raw, and dreadful. +The guardian of the cemetery, an old veteran of 1870, once took me +through the place. He was a very lean, hooped-over old man with a big, +aquiline nose, blue-gray eyes framed in red lids, and a huge, +yellowish-white mustache. First he showed me the hideous picture of the +civilian cemetery, in which giant shells had torn open the tombs, hurled +great sarcophagi a distance of fifty feet, and dug craters in the rows +of graves. Though the civilian authorities had done what they could to +put the place in order, there were still memories of the disturbed dead +to whom the war had denied rest. Coming to the military cemetery, the +guardian whispered, pointing to the new mounds with his rustic cane, "I +have two colonels, three commandants, and a captain. Yes, two colonels" +(deux colonels). Following his staff, my eye looked at the graves as if +it expected to see the living men or their effigies. Somewhat apart lay +another grave. "Voilà un colonel boche," said the sexton; "and a +lieutenant boche--and fifty soldats boches." + +The destroyed quarter of Pont-à-Mousson lay between the main street and +the flank of the Bois-le-Prêtre. The quarter was almost totally +deserted, probably not more than ten houses being inhabited out of +several thousand. The streets that led into it had grass growing high in +the gutters, and a velvety moss wearing a winter rustiness grew packed +between the paving-stones. Beyond the main street, la rue Fabvrier went +straight down this loneliness, and halted or turned at a clump of +wrecked houses a quarter of a mile away. Over this clump, slately-purple +and cold, appeared the Bois-le-Prêtre, and every once in a while a puffy +cloud of greenish-brown or gray-black would float solemnly over the +crests of the trees. This stretch of la rue Fabvrier was one of the most +melancholy pictures it was possible to see. Hardly a house had been +spared by the German shells; there were pock-marks and pits of shell +fragments in the plaster, window glass outside, and holes in walls and +roofs. I wandered down the street, passing the famous miraculous statue +of the Virgin of Pont-à-Mousson. The image, only a foot or two high and +quite devoid of facial expression, managed somehow to express emotion in +the outstretched arms, drooping in a gesture at once of invitation and +acceptance. A shell had maculated the wall on each side and above the +statue, but the little niche and canopy were quite untouched. The heavy +sound of my soldier boots went dump! clump! down the silence. + +At the end of the road, in the fields on the slope, a beautiful +eighteenth-century house stood behind a mossy green wall. It was just +such a French house as is the analogue of our brick mansions of Georgian +days; it was two stories high and had a great front room on each side of +an entry on both floors, each room being lighted with two +well-proportioned French windows. The outer walls were a golden brown, +and the roof, which curved in gently from the four sides to central +ridge, a very beautiful rich red. The house had the atmosphere of the +era of the French Revolution; one's fancy could people it with soberly +dressed provincial grandees. A pare of larches and hemlocks lay about +it, concealing in their silent obscurity an artificial lake heavily +coated with a pea-soup scum. + +Beyond the house lay the deserted rose-garden, rank and grown to weeds. +On some of the bushes were cankered, frozen buds. In the center of the +garden, at the meeting-point of several paths, a mossy fountain was +flowing into a greenish basin shaped like a seashell, and in this basin +a poilu was washing his clothes. He was a man of thirty-eight or nine, +big, muscular, out-of-doors looking; whistling, he washed his gray +underclothes with the soap the army furnishes, wrung them, and tossed +them over the rose-bushes to dry. + +"Does anybody live in this house?" + +"Yes, a squad of travailleurs." + +A regiment of travailleurs is attached to every secteur of trenches. +These soldiers, depending, I believe, on the Engineer Corps, are +quartered just behind the lines, and go to them every day to put them in +order, repair the roads, and do all the manual labor. Humble folk these, +peasants, ditch-diggers, road-menders, and village carpenters. Those at +Pont-à-Mousson were nearly all fathers of families, and it was one of +the sights of the war most charged with true pathos to see these +gray-haired men marching to the trenches with their shovels on their +shoulders. + +"Are you comfortable?" + +"Oh, yes. We live very quietly. I, being a stonemason and a carpenter, +stay behind and keep the house in repair. In summer we have our little +vegetable gardens down behind those trees where the Boches can't see +us." + +"Can I see the house?" + +"Surely; just wait till I have finished sousing these clothes." + +The room on the ground floor to the left of the hallway was imposing in +a stately Old-World way. The rooms in Wisteria Villa were rooms for +personages from Zola; this room was inhabited by ghosts from the pages +of Balzac. It was large, high, and square; the walls were hung with a +golden scroll design printed on ancient yellow silk; the furniture was +of some rich brown finish with streaks and lusters of bronzy yellow, and +a glass chandelier, all spangles and teardrops of crystal, hung from a +round golden panel in the ceiling. Over a severe Louis XVI mantel was a +large oil portrait of Pius IX, and on the opposite wall a portrait head +of a very beautiful young girl. Chestnut hair, parted in the fashion of +the late sixties, formed a silky frame round an oval face, and the +features were small and well proportioned. The most remarkable part of +the countenance were the curiously level eyes. The calm, +apart-from-the-world character of the expression in the eyes was in +interesting contrast to the good-natured and somewhat childish look in +the eyes of the old Pope. + +"Who lived here?" + +"An old man (un vieux). He was a captain of the Papal Zouaves in his +youth. See here, read the inscription on the portrait--'Presented by His +Holiness to a champion (défenseur) of the Church.'" + +"Is he still alive?" + +"He died three months ago in Paris. I should hate to die before I see +how the war is going to end. I imagine he would have been willing to +last a bit longer." + +"And this picture on the right, the jeune fille?" + +"That was his daughter, an only child. She became a nun, and died when +she was still young. The old man's gardener comes round from time to +time to see if the place is all right. It is a pity he is not here; he +could tell you all about them." + +"You are very fortunate not to have been blown to pieces. Surely you are +very near the trenches." + +"Near enough--yes, indeed. A communication trench comes right into the +cellar. But it is quiet in this part of The Wood. There is a regiment of +old Boches in the trenches opposite our territorials, fathers of +families (pères de familles), just as they are. We fire rifles at each +other from time to time just to remember it is war (c'est la guerre). We +share the crest together here; nothing depends on it. What good should +we do in killing each other? Besides it would be a waste of shells." + +"How do you know that the Boches opposite you are old?" + +"We see them from time to time. They are great hands at a parley. The +first thing they tell you is the number of children they have. I met an +old Boche not long ago down by the river. He held up two fingers to show +that he had two children, put his hand out just above his knee to show +the height of his first child, and raised it just above his waist to +show the height of the second. So I held up five fingers to show him I +had five children, when the Lord knows I have only one. But I did not +want to be beaten by a Boche." + +A sound of voices was heard beneath us, and the clang of the shovels +being placed against the stone walls of the cellar. + +"Those are the travailleurs. The sergeant will be coming in and I must +report to him. Good-bye, American friend, and come again." + +A melancholy dusk was beginning as I turned home from the romantic +house, and the deserted streets were filling with purplish shadows. The +concussion of exploding shells had blown almost all the glass out of the +windows of the Church of St. Laurent, and the few brilliant red and +yellow fragments that still clung to the twisted leaden frames reminded +me of the autumn leaves that sometimes cling to winter-stricken trees. +The interior of the church was swept and garnished, and about twenty +candles with golden flames, slowly waving in the drafts from the ruined +windows, shone beneath a statue of the Virgin. There was not another +soul in the church. A terrible silence fell with the gathering darkness. +In a little wicker basket at the foot of the benignant mother were about +twenty photographs of soldiers, some in little brassy frames with spots +of verdigris on them, some the old-fashioned "cabinet" kind, some on +simple post-cards. There was a young, dark Zouave who stood with his +hand on an ugly little table, a sergeant of the Engineer Corps with a +vacant, uninteresting face, and two young infantry men, brothers, on the +same shabby finger-marked post-card. Pious hands had left them thus in +the care of the unhappy mother, "Marie, consolatrice des malheureux." + +The darkness of midnight was beginning at Pont-à-Mousson, for the town +was always as black as a pit. On my way home I saw a furtive knife edge +of yellow light here and there under a door. The sentry stood by his +shuttered lantern. Suddenly the first of the trench lights flowered in +the sky over the long dark ridge of the Bois-le-Prétre. + + + + +Chapter VIII + +Messieurs Les Poilus De La Grande Guerre + + + +The word "poilu," now applied to a French soldier, means literally "a +hairy one," but the term is understood metaphorically. Since time +immemorial the possession of plenty of bodily hair has served to +indicate a certain sturdy, male bearishness, and thus the French, long +before the war, called any good, powerful fellow--"un véritable poilu." +The term has been found applied to soldiers of the Napoleonic wars. The +French soldier of to-day, coming from the trenches looking like a +well-digger, but contented, hearty, and strong, is the poilu par +excellence. + +The origin of the term "Boche," meaning a German, has been treated in a +thousand articles, and controversy has raged over it. The probable +origin of the term, however, lies in the Parisian slang word "caboche," +meaning an ugly head. This became shortened to "Boche," and was applied +to foreigners of Germanic origin, in exactly the way that the +American-born laborer applies the contemptuous term "square-head" to his +competitors from northern Europe. The word "Boche" cannot be translated +by anything except "Boche," any more than our word "Wop," meaning an +Italian, can be turned into French. The same attitude, half banter, half +race contempt, lies at the heart of both terms. + +When the poilus have faced the Boches for two weeks in the trenches, +they march down late at night to a village behind the lines, far enough +away from the batteries to be out of danger of everything except +occasional big shells, and near enough to be rushed up to the front in +case of an attack. There they are quartered in houses, barns, sheds, and +cellars, in everything that can decently house and shelter a man. These +two weeks of repos are the poilus' elysium, for they mean rest from +strain, safety, and comparative comfort. The English have behind their +lines model villages with macadam roads, concrete sidewalks, a water +system, a sewer system, and all kinds of schemes to make the soldiers +happy; the French have to be contented with an ordinary Lorraine +village, kept in good order by the Medical Corps, but quite destitute of +anything as chic as the British possess. + +The village of cantonnement is pretty sure to be the usual brown-walled, +red-roofed village of Lorraine clumped round its parish church or +mouldering castle. In such a French village there is always a hall, +usually over the largest wineshop, called the "Salle de Fêtes," and this +hall serves for the concert each regiment gives while en repos. The +Government provides for, indeed insists upon, a weekly bath, and the +bathhouse, usually some converted factory or large shed, receives its +daily consignments of companies, marching up to the douches as solemnly +as if they were going to church. Round the army continues the often busy +life of the village, for to many such a hamlet the presence of a +multitude of soldiers is a great economic boon. Grocery-shops, in +particular, do a rushing business, for any soldier who has a sou is glad +to vary the government menu with such delicacies as pâtés de foie gras, +little sugar biscuits, and the well- beloved tablet of chocolate. + +While the grocery-man (l'épicier) is fighting somewhere in the north or +in the Argonne, madame l'épicière stays at home and serves the +customers. At her side is her own father, an old fellow wearing big +yellow sabots, and perhaps the grocer's son and heir, a boy about twelve +years old. Madame is dressed entirely in black, not because she is in +mourning, but because it is the rural fashion; she wears a knitted +shoulder cape, a high black collar, and moves in a brisk, businesslike +way; the two men wear the blue-check overalls persons of their calling +affect, in company with very clean white collars and rather dirty, +frayed bow ties of unlovely patterns. Along the counter stand the +poilus, young, old, small, and large, all wearing various fadings of the +horizon blue, and helmets often dented. "Some pâté de foie gras, madame, +s'il vous plaît." "Oui, monsieur." "How much is this cheese, maman?" +cries the boy in a shrill treble. In the barrel-haunted darkness at the +rear of the shop, the old man fumbles round for some tins of jelly. The +poilu is very fond of sweets. Sometimes swish bang! a big shell comes in +unexpectedly, and shopkeepers and clients hurry, at a decent tempo, to +the cellar. There, in the earthy obscurity, one sits down on empty +herring-boxes and vegetable cases to wait calmly for the exasperating +Boches to finish their nonsense. There is a smell of kerosene oil and +onions in the air. A lantern, always on hand for just such an emergency, +burns in a corner. "Have you had a bad time in the trenches this week, +Monsieur Levrault?" says the épicière to a big, stolid soldier who is a +regular customer. + +"No, quite passable, Madame Champaubert." + +"And Monsieur Petticollot, how is he?" + +"Very well, thank you, madame. His captain was killed by a rifle grenade +last week." + +"Oh, the poor man." + +Crash goes a shell. Everybody wonders where it has fallen. In a few +seconds the éclats rain down into the street. + +"Dirty animals," says the voice of the old man in the darkest of all the +corners. + +Madame Champaubert begins the story of how a cousin of hers who keeps a +grocery-shop at Mailly, near the frontier, was cheated by a Boche +tinware salesman. The cellar listens sympathetically. The boy says +nothing, but keeps his eyes fixed on the soldiers. In about twenty +minutes the bombardment ends, and the bolder ones go out to ascertain +the damage. The soldier's purchases are lying on the counter. These he +stuffs into his musette, the cloth wallet beloved of the poilu, and +departs. The colonel's cook comes in; he has got hold of a good ham and +wants to deck it out with herbs and capers. Has madame any capers? While +she is getting them, the colonel's cook retails the cream of all the +regimental gossip. + +These people of Lorraine who have stayed behind, "Lorrains," the French +term them, are thoroughly French, though there is some German blood in +their veins. This Teuton addition is of very ancient date, being due to +the constant invasions which have swept up the valley of the Moselle. +This intermingling of the races, however, continued right up to 1870, +but since then the union of French and German stock has been rare. It +was most frequent, perhaps, during the years between 1804 and 1850, when +Napoleon's domination of the principalities and states along the Rhine +led to a French social and commercial invasion of Rhenish Germany, an +invasion which ended only with the growth of German nationalism. The +middle classes in particular intermarried because they were more apt to +be engaged in commerce. But since 1870, two barriers, one geographic +--annexed Lorraine, and one intellectual--hatred, have kept the +neighbors apart. The Lorrain of to-day, no matter what his ancestors +were, is a thorough Frenchman. These Lorrains are between medium height +and tall, strongly built, with light, tawny hair, good color, and a +brownish complexion. + +The poilus who come to the village en repos are from every part of +France, and are of all ages between nineteen and forty-five. I remember +seeing a boy aged only fourteen who had enlisted, and was a regular +member of an artillery regiment. The average regiment includes men of +every class and caste, for every Frenchman who can shoulder a gun is in +the war. Thus the dusty little soldier who is standing by Poste A, may +be So-and-So the sculptor, the next man to him is simple Jacques who has +a little farm near Bourges, and the man beyond, Emile, the notary's +clerk. It is this amazing fraternity that makes the French army the +greatest army in the world. The officers of a regiment of the active +forces (by l'armée active you are to understand the army actually in the +garrisons and under arms from year to year) are army officers by +profession; the officers of the reserve regiments are either retired +officers of the regular army or men who have voluntarily followed the +severe courses in the officers' training-school. Thus the colonel and +three of the commandants of a certain regiment were ex-officers of the +regular army, while all the other officers, captains, lieutenants, and +so forth, were citizens who followed civilian pursuits. Captain X was a +famous lawyer, Captain B a small merchant in a little known provincial +town, Captain C a photographer. Any Frenchman who has the requisite +education can become an officer if he is willing to devote more of his +time, than is by law required, to military service. Thus the French army +is the soul of democracy, and the officer understands, and is understood +by, his men. The spirit of the French army is remarkably fraternal, and +this fraternity is at once social and mystical. It has a social origin, +for the poilus realize that the army rests on class justice and equal +opportunity; it has a mystical strength, because war has taught the men +that it is only the human being that counts, and that comradeship is +better than insistence on the rights and virtues of pomps and prides. +After having been face to face with death for two years, a man learns +something about the true values of human life. + +The men who tramp into the village at one and two o'clock in the morning +are men who have for two weeks been under a strain that two years of +experience has robbed of its tensity. But strain it is, nevertheless, as +the occasional carrying of a maniac reveals. They know very well why +they are fighting; even the most ignorant French laborer has some idea +as to what the affair is all about. The Boches attacked France who was +peacefully minding her own business; it was the duty of all Frenchmen to +defend France, so everybody went to the war. And since the war has gone +on for so long, it must be seen through to the very end. Not a single +poilu wants peace or is ready for peace. And the French, unlike the +English, have continually under their eyes the spectacle of their +devastated land. Yet I heard no ferocious talk about the Germans, no +tales of French cruelty toward German prisoners. + +Nevertheless, a German prisoner who had been taken in the Bois-le-Prêtre +confessed to me a horror of the French breaking through into Germany. +Looking round to see if any one was listening, he said in English, for +he was an educated man--"Just remember the French Revolution. Just +remember the French Revolution. God! what cruelties. You remember +Carrier at Nantes, don't you, my dear sir? All the things we are said to +have done in Belgium--" But here the troop of prisoners was hurried to +one side, and I never saw the man again. An army will always have all +kinds of people in it, the good, the bad, the degenerate, the depraved, +the brutal; and these types will act according to their natures. But I +can't imagine several regiments of French poilus doing in little German +towns what the Germans did at Nomeny. The backbone of the French army, +as he is the backbone of France, is the French peasant. In spite of De +Maupassant's ugly tales of the Norman country people, and Zola's studies +of the sordid, almost bestial, life of certain unhappy, peasant +families, the French peasant (cultivateur) is a very fine fellow. He has +three very good qualities, endurance, patience, and willingness to work. +Apart from these characteristics, he is an excellent fellow by himself; +not jovial, to be sure, but solid, self-respecting, and glad to make +friends when there is a chance that the friendship will be a real one. +He does not care very much for the working men of the towns, the +ouvriers, with their fantastic theories of universal brotherhood and +peace, and he hates the deputé whom the working man elects as he hates a +vine fungus. A needless timidity, some fear of showing himself off as a +simpleton, has kept him from having his just influence in French +politics; but the war is freeing him from these shackles, and when peace +comes, he will make himself known: that is, if there are any peasants +left to vote. + +Another thing about the peasantry is that trench warfare does not weary +them, the constant contact with the earth having nothing unusual in it. +A friend of mine, the younger son of a great landed family of the +province of Anjou, was captain of a company almost exclusively composed +of peasants of his native region; he loved them as if they were his +children, and they would follow him anywhere. The little company, almost +to a man, was wiped out in the battles round Verdun. In a letter I +received from this officer, a few days before his death, he related this +anecdote. His company was waiting, in a new trench in a new region, for +the Germans to attack. Suddenly the tension was relieved by a fierce +little discussion carried on entirely in whispers. His soldiers appeared +to be studying the earth of the trench. "What's the trouble about?" he +asked. Came the answer, "They are quarreling as to whether the earth of +this trench would best support cabbages or turnips." + +It is rare to find a French workman (ouvrier) in the trenches. They have +all been taken out and sent home to make shells. + +The little group to which I was most attached, and for whose hospitality +and friendly greeting I shall always be a debtor, consisted of Belin, a +railroad clerk; Bonnefon, a student at the École des Beaux-Arts; Magne, +a village schoolmaster in the Dauphiné; and Grétry, proprietor of a +butcher's shop in the Latin Quarter of Paris. Belin and Magne had +violins which they left in the care of a café-keeper in the village, and +used to play on them just before dinner. The dinner was served in the +house of the village woman who prepared the food of these four, for +sous-officiers are entitled to eat by themselves if they can find any +one kind enough to look after the cooking. If they can't, then they have +to rely entirely on the substantial but hardly delicious cuisine of +their regimental cuistot. However, at this village, Madame Brun, the +widow of the local carpenter, had offered to take the popotte, as the +French term an officer's mess. We ate in a room half parlor, half +bedchamber, decorated exclusively with holy pictures. This was a good +specimen menu--bread, vermicelli soup, apple fritters, potato salad, +boiled beef, red wine, and coffee. Of this dinner, the Government +furnished the potatoes, the bread, the meat, the coffee, the wine, and +the condiments; private purses paid for the fritters, the vermicelli, +and the bits of onion in the salad. Standing round their barns the +private soldiers were having a tasty stew of meat and potatoes cooked by +the field kitchen, bread, and a cupful of boiled lentils (known in the +army as "edible bedbugs"), all washed down with the army pinard, or red +wine. + +This village in which the troops were lodged revealed in an interesting +way the course of French history. Across the river on a rise was a cross +commemorating the victory of the Emperor Jo vin over the invading +Germans in 371, and sunken in the bed of the Moselle were still seen +lengths of Roman dikes. The heart of the village, however, was the +corpse of a fourteenth-century castle which Richelieu had dismantled in +1630. Its destiny had been a curious one. Dismantled by Richelieu, +sacked in the French Revolution, it had finally become a kind of +gigantic mediaeval apartment house for the peasants of the region. The +salle d'honneur was cut up into little rooms, the room of the seigneur +became a haymow, and the cellars of the towers were used to store +potatoes in. About twenty little chimneys rose over the old, dilapidated +battlements. A haymow in this castle was the most picturesque thing I +ever saw in a cantonment. It was the wreck of a lofty and noble +fifteenth-century room, the ceiling, still a rich red brown, was +supported on beautiful square beams, and a cross-barred window of the +Renaissance, of which only the stonework remained, commanded a fine view +over the river. The walls of the room were of stone, whitewashed years +before, and the floor was an ordinary barn floor made of common planks +and covered with a foot of new, clean hay. In the center of the southern +wall was a Gothic fireplace, still black and ashy within. On the corners +of this mantel hung clusters of canteens, guns were stacked by it, and a +blue overcoat was rolled up at its base. An old man, the proprietor of +the loft, followed us up, made signs that he was completely deaf, and +traced in the dust on the floor the date, 1470. + +The concerts were held in the "Salle de Fêtes," a hall in which, during +peace time, the village celebrates its little festivals. It was an ugly, +bare shed with a sloping roof resting on iron girders painted clay +white, but the poilus had beautified it with a home-made stage and +rustic greenery. The proscenium arch, painted by Bonnefon, was +pearl-gray in color and decorated with panels of gilt stripes; and a +shield showing the lictor's rods, a red liberty cap and the letters "R. +F." served as a headpiece. The scenery, also the work of Bonnefon, +represented a Versailles kind of garden full of statues and very watery +fountains. There was no curtain. Just below the stage a semicircle of +chairs had been arranged for the officers of the regiment, and behind +these were wooden benches and a large space for standing room. By the +time the concert was supposed to begin, every bench was filled, and +standing room was at a premium. Suddenly there were cries of "Le +Colonel," and everybody stood up as the fine-looking old colonel and his +staff took their places. The orchestra, composed of a pianist, a few +violinists, and a flute-player, began to play the "Marseillaise." When +the music was over, and everybody decently quiet, the concert began. + +"Le Camarade Tollot, of the Théâtre des Variétés de Paris will recite +'Le Dernier Drapeau,'" shouted the announcer. Le Camarade Tollot walked +on the stage and bowed, a big, important young man with a lion's mane of +dark hair. Then, striking an attitude, he recited in the best French, +ranting style, a rhymed tale of a battle in which many regiments charged +together, flags flying. One by one the flags fell to the ground as the +bearers were cut down by the withering fire of the enemy; all save one +who struggled on. It was a fine, old-fashioned, dramatic +"will-he-get-there-yes-he-will-he-falls" sort of thing. "Il tombe," said +le Camarade Tollot, in what used to be called the "oratorical +orotund"--"il tombe." There was a full pause. He was wounded. He rose +staggering to his feet. All the other flags were down. He advanced--the +last flag (le dernier drapeau) reached the enemy--and died just as his +comrades, heartened by his courage, had rallied and were charging to +victory. A tremendous storm of applause greeted the speaker, who favored +us with the recital of a short, sentimental poem as an encore. + +The next number was thus announced: "Le Camarade Millet will sound, +first, all the French bugle-calls and then the Boche ones." Le Camarade +Millet, a big man with a fine horseshoe beard, stood at the edge of the +stage, said, "la Charge français" and blew it on the bugle; then "la +Charge boche," and blew that. "La Retraite français--La Retraite boche," +etc. Another salvo of applause was given to le Camarade Millet. + +"Le Camarade Roland." + +Le Camarade Roland was about twenty-one or two years old, but his eyes +were old and wise, and he had evidently seen life. He was dark-haired +and a little below medium height. The red scar of a wound appeared just +below his left ear. After marking time with his feet, he began a kind of +patter song about having a telephone, every verse of which ended, "Oh, +la la, j'ai le téléphone chez moi" (I've a telephone in my house). "I +know who is unfaithful now--who have horns upon their brow," the singer +told of surprising secrets and unsuspected affaires de cœur. The silly, +music-hall song may seem banal now, but it amused us hugely then. "Le +Camarade Duclos." + +"Oh, if you could have seen your son, My mother, my mother, Oh, if you +could have seen your son, With the regiment"--sang Camarade Duclos, +another old-eyed youngster. There was amiable adventure with an amiable +"blonde" (oh, if you could have seen your son); another with a "jolie +brune" (oh, ma mère, ma mère); and still another leçon d'amour. The +refrain had a catchy lilt to it, and the poilus began humming it. + +"Le Camarade Salvatore." + +The newcomer was a big, obese Corsican mountaineer, with a pleasant, +round face and brown eyes. He advanced quietly to the side of the stage +holding a ten-sou tin flute in his hand, and when he began to play, for +an instant I forgot all about the Bois-le-Prêtre, the trenches, and +everything else. The man was a born musician. I never heard anything +more tender and sweet than the little melody he played. The poilus +listened in profound silence, and when he had finished, a kind of sigh +exhaled from the hearts of the audience. + +There followed another singer, a violinist, and a clown whose song of a +soldier on furlough finished with these appreciated couplets:-- + +"The Government says it is the thing To have a baby every spring; So +when your son Is twenty-one, He'll come to the trenches and take papa's +place. So do your duty by the race." + +In the uproar of cheers of "That's right," and so on, the concert ended. + +The day after the concert was Sunday, and at about ten o'clock that +morning a young soldier with a fluffy, yellow chin beard came down the +muddy street shouting, "le Mouchoir, le Mouchoir." About two or three +hundred paper sheets were clutched tightly in his left hand, and he was +selling them for a sou apiece. Little groups of poilus gathered round +the soldier newsboy; I saw some of them laughing as they went away. The +paper was the trench paper of the Bois-le-Prêtre, named the "Mouchoir" +(the handkerchief) from a famous position thus called in the Bois. The +jokes in it were like the jokes in a local minstrel show, puns on local +names, jests about the Boches, and good-humored satire. The spirit of +the "Mouchoir" was whole-heartedly amateur. Thus the issue which +followed a heavy snowfall contained this genuine wish:-- + +"Oh, snow, Please go, Leave the trench Of the French; Cross the band Of +No Man's Land To where the Boche lies. Freeze him, Squeeze him, Soak +him, Choke him, Cover him, Smother him, Till the beggar dies." + +This is far from an exact translation, but the idea and the spirit have +been faithfully preserved. The "Mouchoir" was always a bit more +squeamish than the average, rollicking trench journal, for it was issued +by a group of medical service men who were almost all priests. Indeed, +there were some issues that combined satire, puns, and piety in a +terrifying manner. Its editors printed it in the cellar of the church, +using a simple sheet of gelatine for their press. + +I wandered in to see the church. The usual number of civilians were to +be seen, and a generous sprinkling of soldiers. Through the open door of +the edifice the sounds of a mine-throwing competition at the Bois +occasionally drifted. The abbé, a big, dark man of thirty-four or five, +with a deep, resonant voice and positive gestures, had come to the +sermon. + +"Brethren," said he, "in place of a sermon this morning, I shall read +the annual exposition of our Christian faith" (exposition de la foi +chrétienne). He began reading from a little book a historical account of +the creation and the temptation, and so concise was the language and so +certain his voice that I had the sensation of listening to a series of +events that had actually taken place. He might have been reading the +communiqué. "Le premier homme was called Adam, and la première femme, +Eve. Certain angels began a revolt against God; they are called the bad +angels or the demons." (Certains anges se sont mis en revolte contre +Dieu; il sont appelles les mauvais anges ou les démons.) "And from this +original sin arrives all the troubles, Death to which the human race is +subjected." Such was the discourse I heard in the church by the trenches +to the accompaniment of the distant chanting of The Wood. + +Going by again late in the afternoon, I saw the end of an officer's +funeral. The body, in a wooden box covered with the tricolor, was being +carried out between two files of muddy soldiers, who stood at attention, +bayonets fixed. A peasant's cart, a tumbril, was waiting to take the +body to the cemetery; the driver was having a hard time con-trolling a +foolish and restive horse. The colonel, a fine-looking man in the +sixties, came last from the church, and stood on the steps surrounded by +his officers. The dusk was falling. + +"Officiers, sous-officiers, soldats. + +"Lieutenant de Blanchet, whose death we deplore, was a gallant officer, +a true comrade, and a loyal Frenchman. In order that France might live, +he was willing to close his eyes on her forever." + +The officer advanced to the tumbril and holding his hand high said:-- + +"Farewell--de Blanchet, we say unto thee the eternal adieu." + +The door of the church was wide open. The sacristan put out the candles, +and the smoke from them rose like incense into the air. The tumbril +rattled away in the dusk. My mind returned again to the phrases of the +sermon,--original sin, death, life, of a sudden, seemed strangely +grotesque. + +It would be hard to find any one more courteous and kind than the French +officer. A good deal of the success of the American Ambulance Field +Sections in France is due to the hospitality and bon acceuil of the +French, and to the work of the French officers attached to the Sections. +In Lieutenant Kuhlman, who commanded at Pont-à-Mousson, every American +had a good friend and tactful, hard-working officer; in Lieutenant Maas, +who commanded at Verdun, the qualities of administrative ability and +perfect courtesy were most happily joined. + +The principal characteristic of the French soldier is his +reasonableness. + + + + +Chapter IX + +Preparing The Defense Of Verdun + + + +Every three months, if the military situation will allow of it and every +other man in his group has likewise been away, the French soldier gets a +six days' furlough. The slips of paper which are then given out are +called feuilles de permission, and the lucky soldier is called a +permissionnaire. When the combats that gave the Bois-le-Prêtre its +sinister nickname began to peter out, the poilus who had done the +fighting were accorded these little vacations, and almost every +afternoon the straggling groups of joyous permissionnaires were seen on +the road between the trenches and the station. The expression on the +faces was never that of having been rescued from a living hell; it +expressed joy and prospect of a good time rather than deliverance. + +When I got my permission, a comrade took me to the station at a certain +rail-head where a special train started for Paris, and by paying extra I +was allowed to travel second class. I shall not dwell on the journey +because I did not meet a single human being worth recording during the +trip. At eight at night I arrived in Paris. So varied had been my +experiences at the front that had I stepped out into a dark and deserted +city I should not have been surprised. The poilu, when he sees the city +lights again, almost feels like saying, "Why, it is still here!" Many of +them look frankly at the women, not in the spirit of gallant adventure, +but out of pure curiosity. In spite of the French reputation for roguish +licentiousness, the sex question never seems to intrude very much along +the battle-line, perhaps because there is so little to suggest it. +Certainly conversation at the front ignores sex altogether, and speech +there is remarkably decent and clean. Of course, when music-hall songs +are sung at the concerts, the other sex is sometimes more than casually +mentioned. It is the comic papers which are responsible for the myth +that the period of furlough is spent in a Roman orgy; this is, of +course, true of some few, but for the great majority the reverse rules, +and une permission is spent in a typically French way, paying formal +calls to the oldest friends of the family, being with the family as much +as possible, and attending to such homely affairs as the purchase of +socks and underclothes. In the evening brave Jacques or Georges or +François is visited by all his old cronies, who gather round the hero +and ask him questions, and he is solemnly kissed by all his relatives. +One evening is sure to be consecrated to a grand family reunion at a +restaurant. + +I determined to observe, during my permission, the new France which has +come into being since the outbreak of the war, and the attitude of the +French toward their allies. I knew the old France pretty well. Putting +any ridiculous ideas of French decadence aside, the France of the last +ten years did not have the international standing of an older France. +The Delcassé incident had revealed a France evidently untaught by the +lesson of 1870, and if the Moroccan question ended in a French victory, +it was frankly won by getting behind the petticoats of England. The +nation was unprepared for war, torn by political strife, and in a +position to be ruthlessly trampled on by the Germans. The France of +1900-13 is not a very pleasant France to remember. + +For one thing, the bitter strife aroused by the breaking of the +Concordat and the seizure of the property of the Church was slowly +crystallizing into an icy hatred, the worst in the world, the hatred of +a man who has been robbed. The Church Separation Law may have been right +in theory, and with the liberal tendencies of the reformers one may have +every sympathy, but the fact remains that the sale and dispersion of the +ecclesiastical property passed in a storm of corruption and graft. +Properties worth many thousands of dollars were juggled among political +henchmen, sold for a song, and sold again at a great profit. Even as the +Southerners complain of the Reconstruction rather than of the Civil War, +so do the French Catholics complain, not of the law, but of its +aftermath. The Socialist- Labor Party exultant, the Catholic Party +wronged and revengeful, and all the other thousand parties of the French +Government at one another's throats, there seemed little hope for the +real France. The tragedy of the thing lay in the fact that this disunion +and strife was caused by the excess of a good quality; in other words, +that the remarkable ability of every Frenchman to think for himself was +destroying the national unity. + +Meanwhile, what was the state of the army and navy? + +The Minister of War of the radicals who had triumphed was General André, +a narrow, bigoted doctrinaire. The force behind the evil work of this +man can be hardly realized by those who are unfamiliar with the passion +with which the French invest the idea. There are times when the French, +the most brilliant people in the world as a nation, seem to lack mental +brakes--when the idea so obsesses them, that they become fanatics,--not +the emotional, English type of fanatic, but a cold, hard-headed, +intellectual Latin type. The radical Frenchman says, "Are the Gospels +true?" "Presumably no, according to modern science and historical +research." "Then away with everything founded on the Gospels," he +replies; and begins a cold-blooded, highly intellectual campaign of +destruction. Thus it is that the average French church or public +building of any antiquity, whether it be in Paris or in an obscure +village, has been so often mutilated that it is only a shadow of itself. +France is strewn with wrecks of buildings embodying disputed ideas. And +worst of all, these buildings were rarely sacked by a mob; the +revolutionary commune, in many cases, paying laborers to smash windows +and destroy sculpture at so much a day. + +André believed it his mission to extirpate all conservatism, whether +Catholic or not, from the army. In a few short months, by a campaign of +delation and espionage, he had completely disorganized the army, the +only really national institution left in France. Officers of standing, +suspected of any reactionary political tendency, were discharged by the +thousand; and officers against whom no charge could be brought were +refused ammunition, even though they were stationed at a ticklish point +on the frontier. At the same time a like disorganization was taking +place in the navy, the evil genius of the Marine being the Minister +Camille Pelletan. + +Those who saw, in 1912, the ceremonies attendant on the deposition of +the bones of Jean Jacques Rousseau in the Pantheon were sick at heart. +Never had the Government of France sunk so low. The Royalists shouted, +the extreme radicals hooted, and when the carriage of Fallières passed, +it was seen that humorists had somehow succeeded in writing jocose +inscriptions on the presidential carriage. The head of the French +nation, a short, pudgy man, the incarnation of pontifying mediocrity, +went by with an expression on his face like that of a terrified, +elderly, pink rabbit. The bescrawled carriage and its humiliated +occupant passed by to an accompaniment of jeering. Everybody--parties +and populace--was jeering. The scene was disgusting. + +The election of Poincaré, a man of genuine distinction, was a sign of +better times. Millerand became Minister of War, and began the +reorganization of the army, thus making possible the victory of the +Marne. But a petty intrigue led by a group of radicals caused the +resignation of this minister at a time when the First Balkan War +threatened to engulf Europe. The maneuver was inexcusable. Messimy, an +attaché of the group who had led the attack, took Millerand's place. +When the war broke out, Messimy was invited to make himself scarce, and +Millerand returned to his post. Thanks to him, the army was as ready as +an army in a democratic country can be. + +The France of 1915-16 is a new France. The nation has learned that if it +is to live it must cease tearing itself to pieces, and all parties are +united in a "Holy Union" (l'Union Sacrée). Truce in the face of a common +danger or a real union? Will it last? Alarmists whisper that when the +war is over, the army will settle its score with the politicians. Others +predict a great victory for the radicals, because the industrial classes +are safe at home making shells while the conservative peasants are being +killed off in the trenches. Everybody in France is saying, "What will +happen when the army comes home?" There is to-day only one man in France +completely trusted by all classes--General Joffre, and if by any chance +there should be political troubles after the war, the army and the +nation will look to him. + +The French fully realize what the English alliance has meant to them, +and are grateful for Engish aid. As the titanic character of England's +mighty effort becomes clearer, the sympathy with England will increase. +Of course one cannot expect the French to understand the state of mind +which insists upon a volunteer system in the face of the deadliest and +most terrible foe. The attitude of the English to sport has rather +perplexed them, and they did not like the action of some English +officers in bringing a pack of hounds to the Flanders front. It was +thought that officers should be soldiers first and sportsmen afterward, +and the knowledge that dilettante English officers were riding to hounds +while the English nation was resisting conscription and Jean, Jacques, +and Pierre were doing the fighting and dying in the trenches, provoked a +secret and bitter disdain. + +But since the British have got into the war as a nation, this secret +disdain has been forgotten, and the poilu has taken "le Tommie" to his +heart. + +I heard only the friendliest criticism of the Russians. + +It is a rather delicate task to say what the French think of the +Americans, for the real truth is that they think of us but rarely. Our +quarrel with Germany over the submarines interested them somewhat, but +this interest rapidly died away when it became evident that we were not +going to do anything about it. They see our flag over countless charity +dépôts, hospitals, and benevolent institutions, and are grateful. The +poilu would be glad to see us in the fray simply because of the aid we +should bring, but he is reasonable enough to know that the United States +can keep out of the mêlée without losing any moral prestige. The only +hostile criticism of America that I heard came from doctrinaires who saw +the war as a conflict between autocracy and democracy, and if you grant +that this point of view is the right one, these thinkers have a right to +despise us. But the Frenchman knows that the Allies represent something +more than "virtue-on-a-rampage." + +In Lyons I saw a sight at once ludicrous and pathetic. Two little +dragoons of the class of 1917, stripling boys of eighteen or nineteen at +the most, walked across the public square; their uniforms were too large +for them, the skirts of their great blue mantles barely hung above the +dust of the street, and their enormous warlike helmets and flowing +horse-tails were ill-suited to their boyish heads. As I looked at them, +I thought of the blue bundles I had seen drying upon the barbed wire, +and felt sick at the brutality of the whole awful business. The sun was +shining over the bluish mists of Lyons, and the bell of old Saint-Jean +was ringing. Two Zouaves, stone blind, went by guided by a little, fat +infirmier. At the frontier, the General Staff was preparing the defense +of Verdun. + +One great nation, for the sake of a city valueless from a military point +of view, was preparing to kill several hundred thousand of its citizens, +and another great nation, anxious to retain the city, was preparing +calmly for a parallel hecatomb. There is something awful and dreadful +about the orderliness of a great offensive, for while one's imagination +is grasped by the grandeur and the organization of the thing, all one's +faculties of intellect are revolted by the stark brutality of death en +masse. + +Early in February we were called to Bar-le-Duc, a pleasant old city some +distance behind Verdun. Several hundred thousand men were soon going to +be killed and wounded, and the city was in a feverish haste of +preparation. So many thousand cans of ether, so many thousand pounds of +lint, so many million shells, so many ambulances, so many hundred +thousand litres of gasoline. Nobody knew when the Germans were going to +strike. + +During the winter great activity in the German trenches near Verdun had +led the French to expect an attack, but it was not till the end of +January that aeroplane reconnoitering made certain the imminence of an +offensive. As a first step in countering it, the French authorities +prepared in the villages surrounding Bar-le-Duc a number of dépôts for +troops, army supplies, and ammunition. Of this organization, Bar-le-Duc +was the key. The preparations for the counter-attack were there +centralized. Day after day convoys of motor-lorries carrying troops +ground into town and disappeared to the eastward; big mortars mounted on +trucks came rattling over the pavements to go no one knew where; and +khaki-clad troops, troupes d'attaque, tanned Marocains and chunky, +bull-necked Zouaves, crossed the bridge over the Ornain and marched +away. At the turn in the road a new transparency had been erected, with +VERDUN printed on it in huge letters. Now and then a soldier, catching +sight of it, would nudge his comrade. + +On the 18th we were told to be in readiness to go at any minute and +permissions to leave the barrack yard were recalled. + +The attack began with an air raid on Bar-le-Duc. I was working on my +engine in the sunlit barrack yard when I heard a muffled Pom! somewhere +to the right. Two French drivers who were putting a tire on their car +jumped up with a "Qu'est-ce que c'est que ça?" We stood together looking +round. Beyond a wall on the other side of the river great volumes of +brownish smoke were rolling up, and high in the air, brown and silvery, +like great locusts, were two German aeroplanes. + +"Nom d'un chien, il y'en a plusieurs," said one of the Frenchmen, +pointing out four, five, seven, nine aeroplanes. One seemed to hang +immobile over the barrack yard. I fancy we all had visions of what would +happen if a bomb hit the near-by gasoline reserve. Men ran across the +yard to the shelter of the dormitories; some, caught as we were in the +open, preferred to take a chance on dropping flat under a car. A +whistling scream, a kind of shrill, increasing shriek, sounded in the +air and ended in a crash. Smoke rolled up heavily in another direction. +Another whistle, another crash, another and another and another. The +last building struck shot up great tongues of flame. "C'est la gare," +said somebody. Across the yard a comrade's arm beckoned me, "Come on, +we've got to help put out the fires!" + +The streets were quite deserted; horses and wagons abandoned to their +fate were, however, quietly holding their places. Faces, emotionally +divided between fear and strong interest, peered at us as we ran by, +disappearing at the first whistle of a bomb, for all the world like +hermit-crabs into their shells. A whistle sent us both scurrying into a +passageway; the shell fell with a wicked hiss, and, scattering the +paving-stones to the four winds, blew a shallow crater in the roadway. A +big cart horse, hit in the neck and forelegs by fragments of the shell, +screamed hideously. Right at the bridge, the sentry, an old territorial, +was watching the whole scene from his flimsy box with every appearance +of unconcern. + +Not the station itself, but a kind of baggage-shed was on fire. A hose +fed by an old-fashioned seesaw pump was being played on the flames. +Officials of the railroad company ran to and fro shouting unintelligible +orders. For five minutes more the German aeroplanes hovered overhead, +then slowly melted away into the sky to the south-east. The raid had +lasted, I imagine, just about twenty minutes. + +That night, fearing another raid, all lights were extinguished in the +town and at the barracks. Before rolling up in my blankets, I went out +into the yard to get a few breaths of fresh air. Through the night air, +rising and falling with the wind, I heard in one of the random silences +of the night a low, distant drumming of artillery. + + + + +Chapter X + + + +The Great Days of Verdun + +The Verdun I saw in April, 1913, was an out-of-the-way provincial city +of little importance outside of its situation as the nucleus of a great +fortress. There were two cities--an old one, la ville des évêques, on a +kind of acropolis rising from the left bank of the Meuse, and a newer +one built on the meadows of the river. Round the acropolis Vauban had +built a citadel whose steep, green-black walls struck root in the mean +streets and narrow lanes on the slopes. Sunless by-ways, ill-paved and +sour with the odor of surface drainage, led to it. Always picturesque, +the old town now and then took on a real beauty. There were fine, +shield-bearing doorways of the Renaissance to be seen, Gothic windows in +greasy walls, and here and there at a street corner a huddle of +half-timbered houses in a high contrast of invading sunlight and +retreating shade. From the cathedral parapet, there was a view of the +distant forts, and a horizontal sweep of the unharvested, buff-brown +moorlands. + +"Un peu morte," say the French who knew Verdun before the war. The new +town was without distinction. It was out of date. It had none of the +glories that the province copies from Paris, no boulevards, no grandes +aertères. Such life as there was, was military. Rue Mazel was bright +with the gold braid and scarlet of the fournisseurs militaires, and in +the late afternoon chic young officers enlivened the provincial +dinginess with a brave show of handsome uniforms. All day long squads of +soldiers went flick! flack! up and down the street and bugle-calls +sounded piercingly from the citadel. The soldiery submerged the civil +population. + +With no industries of any importance, and becoming less and less of an +economic center as the depopulation of the Woevre continued, Verdun +lived for its garrison. A fortress since Roman days, the city could not +escape its historic destiny. Remembering the citadel, the buttressed +cathedral, the soldiery, and the military tradition, the visitor felt +himself to be in a soldier's country strong with the memory of many +wars. + +The next day, at noon, we were ordered to go to M------, and at 12.15 we +were in convoy formation in the road by the barracks wall. The great +route nationale from Bar-le-Duc to Verdun runs through a rolling, +buff-brown moorland, poor in villages and arid and desolate in aspect. +Now it sinks through moorland valleys, now it cuts bowl-shaped +depressions in which the spring rains have bred green quagmires, and +now, rising, leaps the crest of a hill commanding a landscape of +ocean-like immensity. + +Gray segments of the road disappear ahead behind fuzzy monticules; a +cloud of wood-smoke hangs low over some invisible village in a fold of +the moor, and patches of woodland lie like mantles on the barren slopes. +Great swathes of barbed wire, a quarter of a mile in width, advancing +and retreating, rising and falling with the geographical nature of the +defensive position, disappear on both sides to the horizon. And so thick +is this wire spread, that after a certain distance the eye fails to +distinguish the individual threads and sees only rows of stout black +posts filled with a steely, purple mist. + +We went though several villages, being greeted in every one with the +inevitable error, Anglais! We dodged interminable motor-convoys carrying +troops, the poilus sitting unconcernedly along the benches at the side, +their rifles tight between their knees. At midnight we arrived at +B------, four miles and a half west of Verdun. The night was clear and +bitter cold; the ice-blue winter stars were westering. Refugees tramped +past in the darkness. By the sputtering light of a match, I saw a woman +go by with a cat in a canary cage; the animal moved uneasily, its eyes +shone with fear. A middle-aged soldier went by accompanying an old woman +and a young girl. Many pushed baby carriages ahead of them full of +knick-knacks and packages. + +The crossroad where the ambulances turned off was a maze of beams of +light from the autos. There was shouting of orders which nobody could +carry out. Wounded, able to walk, passed through the beams of the lamps, +the red of their bloodstains, detached against the white of the +bandages, presenting the sharpest of contrasts in the silvery glare. At +the station, men who had died in the ambulances were dumped hurriedly in +a plot of grass by the side of the roadway and covered with a blanket. +Never was there seen such a bedlam! But on the main road the great +convoys moved smoothly on as if held together by an invisible chain. A +smouldering in the sky told of fires in Verdun. + +From a high hill between B------and Verdun I got my first good look at +the bombardment. From the edge of earth and sky, far across the +moorlands, ray after ray of violet-white fire made a swift stab at the +stars. Mingled with the rays, now seen here, now there, the +reddish-violet semicircle of the great mortars flared for the briefest +instant above the horizon. From the direction of this inferno came a +loud roaring, a rumbling and roaring, increasing in volume--the sound of +a great river tossing huge rocks through subterranean abysses. Every +little while a great shell, falling in the city, would blow a great hole +of white in the night, and so thundering was the crash of arrival that +we almost expected to see the city sink into the earth. + +Terrible in the desolation of the night, on fire, haunted by specters of +wounded men who crept along the narrow lanes by the city walls, Verdun +was once more undergoing the destinies of war. The shells were falling +along rue Mazel and on the citadel. A group of old houses by the Meuse +had burnt to rafters of flickering flame, and as I passed them, one +collapsed into the flooded river in a cloud of hissing steam. + +In order to escape shells, the wounded were taking the obscure by-ways +of the town. Our wounded had started to walk to the ambulance station +with the others, but, being weak and exhausted, had collapsed on the +way. They were waiting for us at a little house just beyond the walls. +Said one to the other, "As-tu-vu Maurice?" and the other answered +without any emotion, "II est mort." + +The 24th was the most dreadful day. The wind and snow swept the heights +of the desolate moor, seriously interfering with the running of the +automobiles. Here and there, on a slope, a lorry was stuck in the slush, +though the soldier passengers were out of it and doing their best to +push it along. The cannonade was still so intense that, in intervals +between the heavier snow-flurries, I could see the stabs of fire in the +brownish sky. Wrapped in sheepskins and muffled to the ears in knitted +scarves that might have come from New England, the territorials who had +charge of the road were filling the ruts with crushed rock. Exhaustion +had begun to tell on the horses; many lay dead and snowy in the frozen +fields. A detachment of khaki-clad, red-fezzed colonial troops passed +by, bent to the storm. The news was of the most depressing sort. The +wounded could give you only the story of their part of the line, and you +heard over and over again, "Nous avons reculés." A detachment of cavalry +was at hand; their casques and dark-blue mantles gave them a crusading +air. And through the increasing cold and darkness of late afternoon, +troops, cannons, horsemen, and motor-trucks vanished toward the edge of +the moor where flashed with increasing brilliance the rays of the +artillery. + +I saw some German prisoners for the first time at T---, below Verdun. +They had been marched down from the firing-line. Young men in the +twenties for the most part, they seemed even more war-worn than the +French. The hideous, helot-like uniform of the German private hung +loosely on their shoulders, and the color of their skin was unhealthy +and greenish. They were far from appearing starved; I noticed two or +three who looked particularly sound and hearty. Nevertheless, they were +by no means as sound-looking as the ruddier French. + +The poilus crowded round to see them, staring into their faces without +the least malevolence. At last--at last--voilà enfin des Boches! A +little to the side stood a strange pair, two big men wearing an odd kind +of grayish protector and apron over their bodies. Against a near-by wall +stood a kind of flattish tank to which a long metallic hose was +attached. The French soldiers eyed them with contempt and disgust. I +caught the words, "Flame-throwers!" + +I do not know what we should have done at Verdun without Lieutenant +Roeder, our mechanical officer. All the boys behaved splendidly, but +Lieutenant Roeder had the tremendously difficult task of keeping the +Section going when the rolling-stock was none too good, and fearful +weather and too constant usage had reduced some of the wagons to wrecks. +It was all the finer of him because he was by profession a +bacteriologist. Still very young, he had done distinguished work. Simply +because there was no one else to attend to the mechanical department, he +had volunteered for this most tiresome and disagreeable task. There is +not a single driver in Section II who does not owe much to the friendly +counsel, splendid courage, and keen mind of George Roeder. + +A few miles below Verdun, on a narrow strip of meadowland between the +river and the northern bluffs, stood an eighteenth-century château and +the half-dozen houses of its dependents. The hurrying river had flooded +the low fields and then retreated, turning the meadows and pasturages to +bright green, puddly marshes, malodorous with swampy exhalations. Beyond +the swirls and currents of the river and its vanishing islands of +pale-green pebbles, rose the brown, deserted hills of the Hauts de +Meuse. The top of one height had been pinched into the rectangle of a +fortress; little forests ran along the sky-line of the heights, and a +narrow road, slanting across a spur of the valley, climbed and +disappeared. + +The château itself was a huge, three-story box of gray-white stone with +a slate roof, a little turret en poivrière at each corner, and a +graceless classic doorway in the principal façade. A wide double gate, +with a coronet in a tarnished gold medallion set in the iron arch-piece, +gave entrance to this place through a kind of courtyard formed by the +rear of the château and the walls of two low wings devoted to the +stables and the servants' quarters. Within, a high clump of dark- green +myrtle, ringed with muddy, rut-scarred turf, marked the theoretical +limits of a driveway. Along the right-hand wall stood the rifles of the +wounded, and in a corner, a great snarled pile of bayonets, belts, +cartridge-boxes, gas-mask satchels, greasy tin boxes of anti-lice +ointment, and dented helmets. A bright winter sunlight fell on walls +dank from the river mists, and heightened the austerity of the +landscape. Beyond a bend in the river lay the smoke of the battle of +Douaumont; shells broke, pin-points of light, in the upper fringes of +the haze. + +The château had been a hospital since the beginning of the war. A heavy +smell of ether and iodoform lay about it, mixed with the smell of the +war. This effluvia of an army, mixed with the sharper reek of +anaesthetics, was the atmosphere of the hospital. The great rush of +wounded had begun. Every few minutes the ambulances slopped down a miry +byway, and turned in the gates; tired, putty-faced hospital attendants +took out the stretchers and the nouveaux clients; mussy bundles of blue +rags and bloody blankets turned into human beings; an overworked, +nervous médecin chef shouted contradictory orders at the brancardiers, +and passed into real crises of hysterical rage. + +"Avancez!" he would scream at the bewildered chauffeurs of the +ambulances; and an instant later, "Reculez! Reculez!" + +The wounded in the stretchers, strewn along the edges of the driveway, +raised patient, tired eyes at his snarling. + +Another doctor, a little bearded man wearing a white apron and the red +velvet képi of an army physician, questioned each batch of new arrivals. +Deep lines of fatigue had traced themselves under his kindly eyes; his +thin face had a dreadful color. Some of the wounded had turned their +eyes from the sun; others, too weak to move, lay stonily blinking. +Almost expressionless, silent, they resigned themselves to the +attendants as if these men were the deaf ministers of some inexorable +power. + +The surgeon went from stretcher to stretcher looking at the diagnosis +cards attached at the poste de secours, stopping occasionally to ask the +fatal question, "As-tu craché du sang?" (Have you spit blood?) A thin +oldish man with a face full of hollows like that of an old horse, +answered "Oui," faintly. Close by, an artilleryman, whose cannon had +burst, looked with calm brown eyes out of a cooked and bluish face. +Another, with a soldier's tunic thrown capewise over his naked torso, +trembled in his thin blanket, and from the edges of a cotton and +lint-pad dressing hastily stuffed upon a shoulder wound, an occasional +drop of blood slid down his lean chest. + +A little to one side, the cooks of the hospital, in their greasy aprons, +watched the performance with a certain calm interest. In a few minutes +the wounded were sorted and sent to the various wards. I was ordered to +take three men who had been successfully operated on to the barracks for +convalescents several miles away. + +A highway and an unused railroad, both under heavy fire from German guns +on the Hauts de Meuse, passed behind the château and along the foot of +the bluffs. There were a hundred shell holes in the marshes between the +road and the river, black-lipped craters in the sedgy green; there were +ugly punches in the brown earth of the bluffs, and deep scoops in the +surface of the road. The telephone wires, cut by shell fragments, fell +in stiff, draping lines to the ground. Every once in a while a shell +would fall into the river, causing a silvery gray geyser to hang for an +instant above the green eddies of the Meuse. A certain village along +this highway was the focal point of the firing. Many of the houses had +been blown to pieces, and fragments of red tile, bits of shiny glass, +and lumps of masonry were strewn all over the deserted street. + +As I hurried along, two shells came over, one sliding into the river +with a Hip! and the other landing in a house about two hundred yards +away. A vast cloud of grayish-black smoke befogged the cottage, and a +section of splintered timber came buzzing through the air and fell into +a puddle. From the house next to the one struck, a black cat came +slinking, paused for an indecisive second in the middle of the street, +and ran back again. Through the canvas partition of the ambulance, I +heard the voices of my convalescents. "No more marmites!" I cried to +them as I swung down a road out of shell reach. I little knew what was +waiting for us beyond the next village. + +A regiment of Zouaves going up to the line was resting at the crossroad, +and the regimental wagons, drawn up in waiting line, blocked the narrow +road completely. At the angle between the two highways, under the four +trees planted by pious custom of the Meuse, stood a cross of thick +planks. From each arm of the cross, on wine-soaked straps, dangled, like +a bunch of grapes, a cluster of dark-blue canteens; rifles were stacked +round its base, and under the trees stood half a dozen clipped-headed, +bull-necked Zouaves. A rather rough-looking adjutant, with a bullet head +disfigured by a frightful scar at the corner of his mouth, rode up and +down the line to see if all was well. Little groups were handing round a +half loaf of army bread, and washing it down with gulps of wine. + +"Hello, sport!" they cried at me; and the favorite "All right," and +"Tommy!" + +The air was heavy with the musty smell of street mud that never dries +during winter time, mixed with the odor of the tired horses, who stood, +scarcely moving, backed away from their harnesses against the +mire-gripped wagons. Suddenly the order to go on again was given; the +carters snapped their whips, the horses pulled, the noisy, lumbering, +creaky line moved on, and the men fell in behind, in any order. + +I started my car again and looked for an opening through the mêlée. + +Beyond the cross, the road narrowed and flanked one of the southeastern +forts of the city. A meadow, which sloped gently upward from the road to +the abrupt hillside of the fortress, had been used as a place of +encampment and had been trodden into a surface of thick cheesy mire. +Here and there were the ashes of fires. There were hundreds of such +places round the moorland villages between Verdun and Bar-le-Duc. The +fort looked squarely down on Verdun, and over its grassy height came the +drumming of the battle, and the frequent crash of big shells falling +into the city. + +In a corner lay the anatomical relics of some horses killed by an +air-bomb the day before. And even as I noted them, I heard the muffled +Pom! Pom! Pom! of anti-aircraft guns. My back was to the river and I +could not see what was going on. + +"What is it?" I said to a Zouave who was plodding along beside the +ambulance. + +"Des Boches--crossing the river." + +The regiment plodded on as before. Now and then a soldier would stop and +look up at the aeroplanes. + +"He's coming!" I heard a voice exclaim. + +Suddenly, the adjutant whom I had seen before came galloping down the +line, shouting, "Arrêtez! Arrêtez! Pas de mouvement!" + +A current of tension ran down the troop with as much reality as a +current of water runs down hill. I wondered whether the Boche had seen +us. + +"Is he approaching?" I asked. + +"Yes." + +Ahead of me was a one-horse wagon, and ahead of that a wagon with two +horses carrying the medical supplies. The driver of the latter, an +oldish, thick-set, wine-faced fellow, got down an instant from his +wagon, looked at the Boche, and resumed his seat. A few seconds later, +there sounded the terrifying scream of an air-bomb, a roar, and I found +myself in a bitter swirl of smoke. The shell had fallen right between +the horses of the two-horse wagon, blowing the animals to pieces, +splintering the wagon, and killing the driver. Something sailed swiftly +over my head, and landed just behind the ambulance. It was a chunk of +the skull of one of the horses. The horse attached to the wagon ahead of +me went into a frenzy of fear and backed his wagon into my ambulance, +smashing the right lamp. In the twinkling of an eye, the soldiers +dispersed. Some ran into the fields. Others crouched in the wayside +ditch. A cart upset. Another bomb dropped screaming in a field and +burst; a cloud of smoke rolled away down the meadow. + +When the excitement had subsided, it was found that a soldier had been +wounded. The bodies of the horses were rolled over into the ditch, the +wreck of the wagon was dragged to the miry field, and the regiment went +on. In a very short time I got to the hospital and delivered my +convalescents. + +My way home ran through the town of S------, an ugly, overgrown village +of the Verdunois, given up to the activities of the staff directing the +battle. The headquarters building was the hôtel de ville, a large +eighteenth-century edifice, in an acre of trampled mud a little distance +from the street. Before the building flowed the great highway from +Bar-le-Duc to Verdun; relays of motor lorries went by, and gendarmes, +organized into a kind of traffic squad, stood every hundred feet or so. +The atmosphere of S------at the height of the battle was one of calm +organization; it would not have been hard to believe that the +motor-lorries and unemotional men were at the service of some great +master-work of engineering. There was something of the holiday in the +attitude of the inhabitants of the place; they watched the motor show +exactly as they might have watched a circus parade. + +"Les voilà," said somebody. + +A little bemedaled group appeared on the steps of the hôtel de ville. +Dominating it was Joffre. Above middle height, silver-haired, elderly, +he has a certain paternal look which his eye belies; Joffre's eye is the +hard eye of a commander-in-chief, the military eye, the eye of an Old +Testament father if you will. De Castelnau was speaking, making no +gestures--an old man with an ashen skin, deep-set eye and great hooked +nose, a long cape concealed the thick, age-settled body. Poincaré stood +listening, with a look at once worried and brave, the ghost of a sad +smile lingering on a sensitive mouth. Last of all came Pétain, the +protégé of De Castelnau, who commanded at Verdun--a tall, square-built +man, not un-English in his appearance, with grizzled hair and the sober +face of a thinker. But his mouth and jaw are those of a man of action, +and the look in his gray eyes is always changing. Now it is speculative +and analytic, now steely and cold. + +In the shelter of a doorway stood a group of territorials, getting their +first real news of the battle from a Paris newspaper. I heard "Nous +avons reculé--huit kilomètres--le général Pétain--" A motor-lorry +drowned out the rest. + +That night we were given orders to be ready to evacuate the château in +case the Boches advanced. The drivers slept in the ambulances, rising at +intervals through the night to warm their engines. The buzz of the +motors sounded through the tall pines of the château park, drowning out +the rumbling of the bombardment and the monotonous roaring of the flood. +Now and then a trench light, rising like a spectral star over the lines +on the Hauts de Meuse, would shine reflected in the river. At intervals +attendants carried down the swampy paths to the chapel the bodies of +soldiers who had died during the night. The cannon flashing was +terrific. Just before dawn, half a dozen batteries of "seventy-fives" +came in a swift trot down the shelled road; the men leaned over on their +steaming horses, the harnesses rattled and jingled, and the cavalcade +swept on, outlined a splendid instant against the mortar flashes and the +streaks of day. + +On my morning trip a soldier with bandaged arm was put beside me on the +front seat. He was about forty years old; a wiry black beard gave a +certain fullness to his thin face, and his hands were pudgy and short of +finger. When he removed his helmet, I saw that he was bald. A bad cold +caused him to speak in a curious whispering tone, giving to everything +he said the character of a grotesque confidence. + +"What do you do en civil?" he asked. + +I told him. + +"I am a pastry cook," he went on; "my specialty is Saint-Denis apple +tarts." + +A marmite intended for the road landed in the river as he spoke. + +"Have you ever had one? They are very good when made with fresh cream." +He sighed. + +"How did you get wounded?" said I. + +"Éclat d'obus," he replied, as if that were the whole story. After a +pause he added, "Douaumont--yesterday." + +I thought of the shells I had seen bursting over the fort. + +"Do you put salt in chocolate?" he asked professionally. + +"Not as a rule," I replied. + +"It improves it," he pursued, as if he were revealing a confidential +dogma. "The Boche bread is bad, very bad, much worse than a year ago. +Full of crumbles and lumps. Dégoûtant!" + +The ambulance rolled up to the evacuation station, and my pastry cook +alighted. + +"When the war is over, come to my shop," he whispered benevolently, "and +you shall have some tartes aux pommes à la mode de Saint-Denis with my +wife and me." + +"With fresh cream?" I asked. + +"Of course," he replied seriously. + +I accepted gratefully, and the good old soul gave me his address. + +In the afternoon a sergeant rode with me. He was somewhere between +twenty-eight and thirty, thick-set of body, with black hair and the +tanned and ruddy complexion of outdoor folk. The high collar of a +dark-blue sweater rose over his great coat and circled a muscular +throat; his gray socks were pulled country-wise outside of the legs of +his blue trousers. He had an honest, pleasant face; there was a certain +simple, wholesome quality about the man. In the piping times of peace, +he was a cultivateur in the Valois, working his own little farm; he was +married and had two little boys. At Douaumont, a fragment of a shell had +torn open his left hand. + +"The Boches are not going to get through up there?" + +"Not now. As long as we hold the heights, Verdun is safe." His simple +French, innocent of argot, had a good country twang. "But oh, the people +killed! Comme il y a des gens tués!" He pronounced the final s of the +word gens in the manner of the Valois. + +"Ça s'accroche aux arbres," he continued. + +The vagueness of the ça had a dreadful quality in it that made you see +trees and mangled bodies. "We had to hold the crest of Douaumont under a +terrible fire, and clear the craters on the slope when the Germans tried +to fortify them. Our 'seventy-fives' dropped shells into the big craters +as I would drop stones into a pond. Pauvres gens!" + +The phrase had an earth-wide sympathy in it, a feeling that the +translation "poor folks" does not render. He had taken part in a strange +incident. There had been a terrible corps-à-corps in one of the craters +which had culminated in a victory for the French; but the lieutenant of +his company had left a kinsman behind with the dead and wounded. Two +nights later, the officer and the sergeant crawled down the dreadful +slope to the crater where the combat had taken place, in the hope of +finding the wounded man. They could hear faint cries and moans from the +crater before they got to it. The light of a pocket flash-lamp showed +them a mass of dead and wounded on the floor of the crater--"un tas de +mourants et de cadavres," as he expressed it. + +After a short search, they found the man for whom they were looking; he +was still alive but unconscious. They were dragging him out when a +German, hideously wounded, begged them to kill him. + +"Moi, je n'ai plus jambes," he repeated in French; "pitié, tuez-moi." + +He managed to make the lieutenant see that if he went away and left +them, they would all die in the agonies of thirst and open wounds. A +little flickering life still lingered in a few; there were vague râles +in the darkness. A rafale of shells fell on the slope; the violet glares +outlined the mouth of the crater. + +"Ferme tes yeux" (shut your eyes), said the lieutenant to the German. +The Frenchmen scrambled over the edge of the crater with their +unconscious burden, and then, from a little distance, threw +hand-grenades into the pit till all the moaning died away. + +Two weeks later, when the back of the attack had been broken and the +organization of the defense had developed into a trusted routine, I went +again to Verdun. The snow was falling heavily, covering the piles of +débris and sifting into the black skeletons of the burned houses. +Untrodden in the narrow streets lay the white snow. Above the Meuse, +above the ugly burned areas in the old town on the slope, rose the +shell-spattered walls of the citadel and the cathedral towers of the +still, tragic town. The drumming of the bombardment had died away. The +river was again in flood. In a deserted wine-shop on a side street well +protected from shells by a wall of sandbags was a post of territorials. + +To the tragedy of Verdun, these men were the chorus; there was something +Sophoclean in this group of older men alone in the silence and ruin of +the beleaguered city. A stove filled with wood from the wrecked houses +gave out a comfortable heat, and in an alley-way, under cover, stood a +two-wheeled hose cart, and an old-fashioned seesaw fire pump. There were +old clerks and bookkeepers among the soldier firemen--retired gendarmes +who had volunteered, a country schoolmaster, and a shrewd peasant from +the Lyonnais. Watch was kept from the heights of the citadel, and the +outbreak of fire in any part of the city was telephoned to the shop. On +that day only a few explosive shells had fallen. + +"Do you want to see something odd, mon vieux?" said one of the pompiers +to me; and he led me through a labyrinth of cellars to a cold, deserted +house. The snow had blown through the shell-splintered window-panes. In +the dining-room stood a table, the cloth was laid and the silver spread; +but a green feathery fungus had grown in a dish of food and broken +straws of dust floated on the wine in the glasses. The territorial took +my arm, his eyes showing the pleasure of my responding curiosity, and +whispered,-- + +"There were officers quartered here who were called very suddenly. I saw +the servant of one of them yesterday; they have all been killed." + +Outside there was not a flash from the batteries on the moor. The snow +continued to fall, and darkness, coming on the swift wings of the storm, +fell like a mantle over the desolation of the city. + + +The End + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Volunteer Poilu, by Henry Sheahan + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VOLUNTEER POILU *** + +***** This file should be named 12330-8.txt or 12330-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/3/12330/ + +Produced by A. Langley + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/old/12330-8.zip b/old/old/12330-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5c761ff --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/12330-8.zip diff --git a/old/old/12330.txt b/old/old/12330.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..954936a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/12330.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5064 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Volunteer Poilu, by Henry Sheahan + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Volunteer Poilu + +Author: Henry Sheahan + +Release Date: May 12, 2004 [EBook #12330] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VOLUNTEER POILU *** + + + + +Produced by A. Langley + + + + +A VOLUNTEER POILU + +by Henry Sheahan + + + + +To Professor Charles Townsend Copeland of Harvard University + +Dear Copey, + +At Verdun I thought of you, and the friendly hearth of Hollis 15 seemed +very far away from the deserted, snow-swept streets of the tragic city. +Then suddenly I remembered how you had encouraged me and many others to +go over and help in any way that we could; I remembered your keen +understanding of the Epic, and the deep sympathy with human beings which +you taught those whose privilege it was to be your pupils. And so you +did not seem so far away after all, but closer to the heart of the war +than any other friend I had. + +I dedicate this book to you with grateful affection after many years of +friendship. + +Henry + + + + + +Topsfield, September, 1916 + +Preface + +I have ventured to call this book A Volunteer Poilu principally because +we were known to the soldiers of the Bois-le-Pretre as "les Poilus +Americains." Then, too, it was my ambition to do for my comrades, the +French private soldiers, what other books have done for the soldiers of +other armies. The title chosen, however, was more than complimentary; it +was but just. In recognition of the work of the Section during the +summer, it was, in October, 1915, formally adopted into the French army; +a French officer became its administrative head, and the drivers were +given the same papers, pay, and discipline as their French comrades. + +I wish to thank many of my old friends of Section II, who have aided me +in the writing of this book. + +HENRY SHEAHAN + + + + +Contents + +I. THE ROCHAMBEAU S'EN VA-T-EN GUERRE + +I A war-time voyage--The Rochambeau--Loading ammunition and food +supplies--Personalities on board--The dyestuffs agent--The machine +lathes man--The Swede from Minnesota who was on his way to the Foreign +Legion--His subsequent history--The talk aboard--The French officer--His +philosophy of war--Ernest Psichari--Arrival at Bordeaux--The Arabs at +the docks--The convalescent soldiers-- Across La Beauce--The French +countryside in war-time. + + +II. AN UNKNOWN PARIS IN THE NIGHT AND RAIN. + +Paris, rain, and darkness--The Gardens of the Tuileries--The +dormitory--The hospital at night--Beginning of the Champagne +offensive--The Gare de la Chapelle at two in the morning--The +wounded--The Zouave stretcher-bearers--The Arabs in the abandoned +school--Suburban Paris at dawn--The home of the deaconesses. + + +III. THE GREAT SWATHE OF THE LINES + +Nancy--The porter's story--Getting to the front--What the phrase "the +front" really means--The sense of the front--The shell zone--The zone of +quiet--My quarters in the shelled house--The fire shells--Bombarded at +night--Death of the soldier fireman. + + +IV. LA FORET DE BOIS-LE-PRETRE + +Le Bois-le-Pretre--Description--History--Les Glycines, "Wisteria +Villa"--The Road to the trenches--At the trenches--The painter's idea of +"le sinistre dans l'art"--The sign post--The zone of violence--The +Quart-en-Reserve--The village caught in the torment of the lines--The +dead on the barbed wire--"The Road to Metz." + + +V. THE TRENCHES IN THE "WOOD OF DEATH." + +The Trenches--Organization--Nature of the war--Food, shelters, clothing, +ammunition, etc.--A typical day in the trenches--Trench shells or +"crapouilots"--In the abri--The tunnel--The doctrinaire lieutenant of +engineers. + + +VI. THE GERMANS ATTACK + +The piano at Montauville--An interrupted concert--At the Quart--The +battle for the ridge of the Wood--Fall of the German +aeroplane--Psychology of the men in the trenches--Religion in the +trenches-- + + +VII. THE TOWN IN THE TRENCHES + +Poor old "Pont"--Description of the town--A civilian's story--The house +of the Captain of the Papal Zouaves--Church of St. Laurent--The Cemetery +and its guardian. + + +VIII. MESSIEURS LES POILUS DE LA GRANDE GUERRE + +En repos--A village of troops--Manners and morals--The concert--journal +of the Bois-le-Pretre--Various poilus. + + +IX. PREPARING THE DEFENSE OF VERDUN + +En permission--State of France--The France of 1905 and the France of +1915--The class of 1917--Bar-le-Duc--The air raid--Called to Verdun. + + +X. THE GREAT DAYS OF VERDUN + +Verdun in 1912--Verdun on the night of the first great attack--The +hospital--The shelled cross road--The air shell--The pastry cook's +story--The cultivateur of the Valois and the crater at Douaumont--The +pompiers of Verdun--"Do you want to see an odd sight?"--Verdun in storm +and desolation. + + + + + + +A Volunteer Poilu + +Chapter I + +The Rochambeau S'en Va-t-en Guerre + +Moored alongside a great two-storied pier, with her bow to the land, the +cargo and passenger boat, Rochambeau, of the Compagnie Generale was +being loaded with American supplies for the France of the Great War. A +hot August sun struck spots and ripples of glancing radiance from the +viscous, oily surface of the foul basin in which she lay inert; the air +was full of sounds, the wheezing of engines, the rattling of cog-checks, +and the rumble of wheels and hoofs which swept, in sultry puffs of noise +and odor, from the pavements on the land. Falling from the exhausts, a +round, silvery-white cascade poured into the dark lane between the wharf +and the deck, and sounded a monotonous, roaring underchord to the +intermingled dins. At the sun-bathed bow, a derrick gang lowered bags of +flour into the open well of the hold; there were commands in French, a +chugging, and a hissing of steam, and a giant's clutch of dusty, +hundred-kilo flour-bags from Duluth would swing from the wharf to the +Rochambeau, sink, and disappear. In some way the unfamiliar language, +and the sight of the thickset, French sailor-men, so evidently all of +one race, made the Rochambeau, moored in the shadow of the sky-scrapers, +seem mysteriously alien. But among the workers in the hold, who could be +seen when they stood on the floor of the open hatchway, was a young, +red-headed, American longshoreman clad in the trousers part of a suit of +brown-check overalls; sweat and grime had befouled his rather foolish, +freckled face, and every time that a bunch of flour-bags tumbled to the +floor of the well, he would cry to an invisible somebody--"More +dynamite, Joe, more dynamite!" + +Walking side by side, like ushers in a wedding procession, two of the +ship's officers made interminable rounds of the deck. Now and then they +stopped and looked over the rail at the loading operations, and once in +low tones they discussed the day's communique. "Pas grand' chose" +(nothing of importance), said he whom I took to be the elder, a bearded, +seafaring kind of man. "We have occupied a crater in the Argonne, and +driven back a German patrol (une patrouille Boche) in the region of +Nomeny." The younger, blond, pale, with a wispy yellow mustache, +listened casually, his eyes fixed on the turbulence below. The derrick +gang were now stowing away clusters of great wooden boxes marked the +Something Arms Company. "My brother says that American bullets are +filled with powder of a very good quality" (d'une tres bonne qualite), +remarked the latter. "By the way, how is your brother?" asked the +bearded man. "Very much better," answered the other; "the last fragment +(eclat) was taken out of his thigh just before we left Bordeaux." They +continued their walk, and three little French boys wearing English +sailor hats took their places at the rail. + +As the afternoon advanced, a yellow summer sun, sinking to a level with +the upper fringes of the city haze, gave a signal for farewells; and +little groups retired to quieter corners for good-byes. There was a good +deal of worrying about submarines; one heard fragments of +conversations--"They never trouble the Bordeaux route"--"Absolutely +safe, je t'assure"; and in the accents of Iowa the commanding advice, +"Now, don't worry!" "Good-bye, Jim! Good-bye, Maggie!" cried a rotund, +snappy American drummer, and was answered with cheery, honest wishes for +"the success of his business." Two young Americans with the same +identical oddity of gait walked to and fro, and a little black +Frenchman, with a frightful star-shaped scar at the corner of his mouth, +paraded lonelily. A middle-aged French woman, rouged and dyed back to +the thirties, and standing in a nimbus of perfume, wept at the going of +a younger woman, and ruined an elaborate make-up with grotesque +traceries of tears. "Give him my love," she sobbed; "tell him that the +business is doing splendidly and that he is not to buy any of Lafitte's +laces next time he goes to Paris en permission." A little later, the +Rochambeau, with slow majesty, backed into the channel, and turned her +bow to the east. + +The chief interest of the great majority of her passengers was +commercial; there were American drummers keen to line their pockets with +European profits; there were French commis voyageurs who had been +selling articles of French manufacture which had formerly been made by +the Germans; there were half-official persons who had been on missions +to American ammunition works; and there was a diplomat or two. From the +sample trunks on board you could have taken anything from a pair of +boots to a time fuse. Altogether, an interesting lot. Palandeau, a +middle-aged Frenchman with a domed, bald forehead like Socrates or +Verlaine, had been in America selling eau-de-cologne. + +"Then you are getting out something new?" I asked. + +"Yes, and no," he answered. "Our product is the old-fashioned +eau-de-cologne water with the name 'Farina' on it." + +"But in America we associate eau-de-cologne with the Germans," said I. +"Doesn't the bottle say 'Johann Maria Farina'? Surely the form of the +name is German." + +"But that was not his name, monsieur; he was a Frenchman, and called +himself 'Jean Marie.' Yes, really, the Germans stole the manufacture +from the French. Consider the name of the article, 'eau-de-cologne,' is +not that French?" + +"Yes," I admitted. + +"Alors," said Palandeau; "the blocus has simply given us the power to +reclaim trade opportunities justly ours. Therefore we have printed a new +label telling the truth about Farina, and the Boche 'Johann Maria' is +'kapout.'" + +"Do you sell much of it?" + +"Quantities! Our product is superior to the Boche article, and has the +glamour of an importation. I await the contest without uneasiness." + +"What contest?" + +"When Jean Marie meets Johann Maria--apres la guerre," said Palandeau +with a twinkle in his eye. + +In the deck chair next to mine sat a dark, powerfully built young Iowan +with the intensely masculine head of a mediaeval soldier. There was a +bit of curl to the dark-brown hair which swept his broad, low forehead, +his brown eyes were devoid of fear or imagination, his jaw was set, and +the big, aggressive head rested on a short, muscular neck. He had been a +salesman of machine tools till the "selling end" came to a standstill. + +"But didn't the munitions traffic boom the machine-tool industry?" I +asked. + +"Sure it did. You ought to have seen what people will do to get a lathe. +You know about all that you need to make shells is a machine lathe. You +can't get a lathe in America for love or money--for anything"--he made a +swift, complete gesture--"all making shells. There isn't a junk factory +in America that hasn't been pawed over by guys looking for lathes--and +my God! what prices! Knew a bird named Taylor who used to make water +pipes in Utica, New York--had a stinking little lathe he paid two +hundred dollars for, and sold it last year for two thousand. My firm had +so many orders for months ahead that it didn't pay them to have +salesmen--so they offered us jobs inside; but, God, I can't stand indoor +work, so I thought I'd come over here and get into the war. I used to be +in the State Cavalry. You ought to have seen how sore all those Iowa +Germans were on me for going," he laughed. "Had a hell of row with a guy +named Schultz." + +Limping slightly, an enormous, grizzled man approached us and sat down +by the side of the ex-machinist. Possibly a yellow-gray suit, cut in the +bathrobe American style, made him look larger than he was, and though +heavily built and stout, there was something about him which suggested +ill health. One might have thought him a prosperous American business +man on his way to Baden-Baden. He had a big nose, big mouth, a hard eye, +and big, freckled hands which he nervously opened and closed. + +"See that feller over there?" He pointed to a spectacled individual who +seemed lost in melancholy speculation at the rail--"Says he's a Belgian +lieutenant. Been over here trying to get cloth. Says he can't get it, +the firms over here haven't got the colors. Just think of it, there +isn't a pound of Bernheim's blue in the whole country!" + +"I thought we were beginning to make dyes of our own," said the Iowan. + +"Oh, yes, but we haven't got the hang of it yet. The product is pretty +poor. Most of the people who need dyes are afraid to use the American +colors, but they've got to take what they can get. Friend of mine, Lon +Seeger, of Seeger, Seeger & Hall, the carpet people in Hackensack, had +twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of mats spoiled on him last week by +using home dyes." + +The Belgian lieutenant, still standing by the rail, was talking with +another passenger, and some fragments of the conversation drifted to our +ears. I caught the words--"My sister--quite unexpected--barely +escaped--no doubt of it--I myself saw near Malines--perfectly +dreadful--tout-a-fait terrible." + +"Twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of mats all spoiled, colors ran, +didn't set, no good. This war is raising the devil with the United +States textiles. Maybe the Germans won't get a glad hand when they come +back. We hear that they're going to flood the market with good, +low-priced dyes so as to bust up the new American plants. Haven't you +heard them hollerin' for tariff protection? I'm going over to look up a +new green dye the French are getting out. We hear it's pretty good +stuff. What are you boys doing, looking for contracts?" + +The Iowan replied that he hoped to get into an English cavalry regiment, +and I mentioned the corps I had joined. + +"Well, don't get killed," exclaimed the dye-stuffs agent paternally, and +settled down in his chair for a nap. + +It was the third day out; the ocean was still the salty green color of +the American waters, and big, oily, unrippled waves were rising and +falling under the August sun. From the rail I saw coming toward us over +the edge of the earth, a small tramp steamer marked with two white +blotches which, as the vessel neared, resolved themselves into painted +reproductions of the Swedish flag. Thus passed the Thorvald, carrying a +mark of the war across the lonely seas. + +"That's a Swedish boat," said a voice at my elbow. + +"Yes," I replied. + +A boy about eighteen or nineteen, with a fine, clear complexion, a downy +face, yellow hair, and blue eyes, was standing beside me. There was +something psychologically wrong with his face; it had that look in it +which makes you want to see if you still have your purse. + +"We see that flag pretty often out in Minnesota," he continued. + +"What's your name?" I asked. + +"Oscar Petersen," he answered. + +"Going over to enlist?" I hazarded. + +"You bet," he replied--and an instant later--"Are you?" + +I told him of my intention. Possibly because we were in for the same +kind of experience he later became communicative. He had run away from +home at the age of fourteen, spent his sixteenth year in a reform +school, and the rest of his time as a kind of gangster in Chicago. I +can't imagine a more useless existence than the one he revealed. At +length he "got sick of the crowd and got the bug to go to war," as he +expressed it, and wrote to his people to tell them he was starting, but +received no answer. "My father was a Bible cuss," he remarked +cheerfully,--"never got over my swiping the minister's watch." + +A Chicago paper had printed his picture and a "story" about his going to +enlist in the Foreign Legion--"popular young man very well known in +the--th ward," said the article. He showed me, too, an extraordinary +letter he had received via the newspaper, a letter written in pencil on +the cheapest, shabbiest sheet of ruled note-paper, and enclosing five +dollars. "I hope you will try to avenge the Lusitania," it said among +other things. The letter was signed by a woman. + +"Do you speak French?" I asked. + +"Not a word," he replied. "I want to be put with the Americans or the +Swedes. I speak good Swedish." + +Months later, on furlough, I saw in a hospital at Lyons a college +classmate who had served in the Foreign Legion. "Did you know a fellow +named Petersen?" I asked. + +"Yes, I knew him," answered my friend; "he lifted a fifty-franc note +from me and got killed before I could get it back." + +"How did it happen?" + +"Went through my pockets, I imagine." + +"Oh, no, I meant how did he get killed?" "Stray shell sailed in as we +were going through a village, and caught him and two of the other boys." + +"You must not make your friend talk too much," mumbled an old Sister of +Charity rather crossly. + +The two young men with the same identical oddity of gait were salesmen +of artificial legs, each one a wearer and demonstrator of his wares. The +first, from Ohio, had lost his leg in a railroad accident two years +before, and the second, a Virginian with a strong accent, had been done +for in a motor-car smashup. One morning the man from Ohio gave us a kind +of danse macabre on the deck; rolling his trouser leg high above his +artificial shin, he walked, leaped, danced, and ran. "Can you beat +that?" he asked with pardonable pride. "Think what these will mean to +the soldiers." Meanwhile, with slow care, the Virginian explained the +ingenious mechanism. + +Strange tatters of conversation rose from the deck. "Poor child, she +lost her husband at the beginning of the war"--"Third shipment of +hosses"--"I was talking with a feller from the Atlas Steel +Company"--"Edouard is somewhere near Arras"; there were disputes about +the outcome of the war, and arguments over profits. A voluble French +woman, whose husband was a pastry cook in a New York hotel before he +joined the forces, told me how she had wandered from one war movie to +another hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband, and had finally seen +"some one who resembled him strongly" on the screen in Harlem. She had a +picture of him, a thin, moody fellow with great, saber whiskers like +Rostand's and a high, narrow forehead curving in on the sides between +the eyebrows and the hair. "He is a Chasseur alpin," she said with a +good deal of pride, "and they are holding his place for him at the +hotel. He was wounded last month in the shoulder. I am going to the +hospital at Lyons to see him." The day's sunset was at its end, and a +great mass of black clouds surged over the eastern horizon, turning the +seas ahead to a leaden somberness that lowered in menacing contrast to +the golden streaks of dying day. The air freshened, salvos of rain fell +hissing into the dark waters, and violet cords of lightning leaped +between sea and sky. Echoing thunder rolled long through unseen abysses. +In the deserted salon I found the young Frenchman with the star-shaped +scar reading an old copy of "La Revue." He had been an officer in the +Chasseurs-a-pied until a fearful wound had incapacitated him for further +service, and had then joined the staff of a great, conservative Parisian +weekly. The man was a disciple of Ernest Psichari, the soldier mystic +who died so superbly at Charleroi in the dreadful days before the Marne. +From him I learned something of the French conception of the idea of +war. It was not uninteresting to compare the French point of view with +the German, and we talked late into the night while the ship was +plunging through the storm. An article in the review, "La Psychologie +des Barbares," was the starting-point of our conversation. + +"You must remember that the word 'barbarian' which we apply to the +Germans, is understood by the French intellectually," said he. "Not only +do German atrocities seem barbarous, but their thought also. Consider +the respective national conceptions of the idea of war. To the Germans, +war is an end in itself, and in itself and in all its effects perfect +and good. To the French mind, this conception of war is barbaric, for +war is not good in itself and may be fatal to both victor and +vanquished." (He spoke a beautiful, lucid French with a sort of military +preciseness.) + +"It was Ernest Psichari who revealed to us the raison d'etre of arms in +modern life, and taught us the meaning of war. To him, war was no savage +ruee, but the discipline of history for which every nation must be +prepared, a terrible discipline neither to be sought, nor rejected when +proffered. Thus the Boches, once their illusion of the glory of war is +smashed, have nothing to fall back on, but the French point of view is +stable and makes for a good morale. Psichari was the intellectual leader +of that movement for the regeneration of the army which has saved +France. When the doctrines of pacificism began to be preached in France, +and cries of 'A bas l'armee' were heard in the streets, Psichari showed +that the army was the only institution left in our industrialized world +with the old ideals and the power to teach them. Quand on a tout dit, +the military ideals of honor, duty, and sacrifice of one's all for the +common good are the fundamentals of. character. Psichari turned this +generation from a generation of dreamers to a generation of soldiers, +knowing why they were soldiers, glad to be soldiers. The army saved the +morale of France when the Church had lost its hold, and the public +schools had been delivered to the creatures of sentimental doctrinaire +government. Was it not a pity that Psichari should have died so young?" + +"Did you know him?" I asked. + +"Yes; I saw something of him in Africa. The mystery of the East had +profoundly stirred him. He was a dark, serious fellow with something of +the profile of his grandfather, Ernest Renan. At Charleroi, after an +heroic stand, he and every man of his squad died beside the guns they +served." + +Long after, at the Bois-le-Pretre, I went to the trenches to get a young +sergeant. His friends had with clumsy kindness gathered together his +little belongings and put them in the ambulance. "As tu trouve mon +livre?" (Have you found my book?) he asked anxiously, and they tossed +beside the stretcher a trench-mired copy of Psichari's "L'Appel des +Armes." + +One morning, just at dawn, we drew near a low, sandy coast, and anchored +at the mouth of the great estuary of the Gironde. A spindly lighthouse +was flashing, seeming more to reflect the sunlight from outside than to +be burning within, and a current the color of coffee and cream with a +dash of vermilion in it, went by us mottled with patches of floating +mud. From the deck one had an extraordinary view, a ten-mile sweep of +the strangely colored water, the hemisphere of the heavens all of one +greenish-blue tint, and a narrow strip of nondescript, sandy coast +suspended somehow between the strange sea and unlovely sky. At noon, the +Rochambeau began at a good speed her journey up the river, passing +tile-roofed villages and towns built of pumice-gray stone, and great +flat islands covered with acres upon acres of leafy, bunchy vines. There +was a scurry to the rail; some one cried, "Voila des Boches," and I saw +working in a vineyard half a dozen men in gray-green German regimentals. +A poilu in a red cap was standing nonchalantly beside them. As the +Rochambeau, following the channel, drew incredibly close to the bank, +the Germans leaned on their hoes and watched us pass, all save one, who +continued to hoe industriously round the roots of the vines, ignoring us +with a Roman's disdain. "Comme ils sont laids" (How ugly they are), said +a voice. There was no surprise in the tone, which expressed the expected +confirmation of a past judgment. It was the pastry cook's voluble wife +who had spoken. The land through which we were passing, up to that time +simply the pleasant countryside of the Bordelais, turned in an instant +to the France of the Great War. + +Late in the afternoon, the river, slowly narrowing, turned a great bend, +and the spires of Bordeaux, violet-gray in the smoky rose of early +twilight, were seen just ahead. A broad, paved, dirty avenue, with the +river on one side and a row of shabby houses on the other, led from the +docks to the city, and down this street, marching with Oriental dignity, +came a troop of Arabs. There was a picture of a fat sous-officier +leading, of brown-white rags and mantles waving in the breeze blowing +from the harbor, of lean, muscular, black-brown legs, and dark, +impassive faces. "Algerian recruits," said an officer of the boat. It +was a first glimpse at the universality of the war; it held one's mind +to realize that while some were quitting their Devon crofts, others were +leaving behind them the ancestral well at the edges of the ancient +desert. A faint squeaking of strange pipes floated on the twilight air. + +There came an official examination of our papers, done in a businesslike +way, the usual rumpus of the customs, and we were free to land in +France. That evening a friend and I had dinner in a great cafe opening +on the principal square in Bordeaux, and tried to analyze the difference +between the Bordeaux of the past and the Bordeaux of the war. The ornate +restaurant, done in a kind of Paris Exhibition style, and decorated with +ceiling frescoes of rosy, naked Olympians floating in golden mists and +sapphire skies, was full of movement and light, crowds passed by on the +sidewalks, there were sounds--laughter. + +"Looks just the same to me," said my friend, an American journalist who +had been there in 1912. "Of course there are more soldiers. Outside of +that, and a lack of taxicabs and motorcars, the town has not changed." + +But there was a difference, and a great difference. There was a terrible +absence of youth. Not that youth was entirely absent from the tables and +the trottoirs; it was visible, putty-faced and unhealthy-looking, afraid +to meet the gaze of a man in uniform, the pitiable jeunesse that could +not pass the physical examination of the army. Most of the other young +men who bent over the tables talking, or leaned back on a divan to smoke +cigarettes, were strangers, and I saw many who were unquestionably +Roumanians or Greeks. A little apart, at a corner table, a father and +mother were dining with a boy in a uniform much too large for him;--I +fancied from the cut of his clothes that he belonged to a young squad +still under instruction in the garrisons, and that he was enjoying a +night off with his family. Screened from the rest by a clothes rack, a +larky young lieutenant was discreetly conversing with a "daughter of +joy," and an elderly English officer, severely proper and correct, was +reading "Punch" and sipping red wine in Britannic isolation. Across the +street an immense poster announced, "Conference in aid of the Belgian +Red Cross--the German Outrages in Louvain, Malines, and +Liege--illustrated." + +We finished our dinner, which was good and not costly, and started to +walk to our hotel. Hardly had we turned the corner of the Place, when +the life of Bordeaux went out like a torch extinguished by the wind. It +was still early in the evening, there was a sound of an orchestra +somewhere behind, yet ahead of us, lonely and still, with its shops +closed and its sidewalks deserted, was one of the greater streets of +Bordeaux. Through the drawn curtains of second stories over little +groceries and baker-shops shone the yellow light of lamps. What had +happened to the Jean, Paul, and Pierre of this dark street since the war +began? What tragedies of sorrow and loneliness might these silent +windows not conceal? And every French city is much the same; one notices +in them all the subtle lack of youth, and the animation of the great +squares in contrast to the somber loneliness of streets and quarters +which once were alive and gay. At the Place de l'Opera in Paris, the +whirlpool of Parisian life is still turning, but the great streets +leading away from the Place de l'Etoile are quiet. Young and old, +laborer and shopkeeper, boulevardier and apache are far away holding the +tragic lines. + +The next morning at the station, I had my first glimpse of that mighty +organization which surrounds the militaire. There was a special entrance +for soldiers and a special exit for soldiers, and at both of these a +long file of blue-clad poilus waited for the countersigning of their +furlough slips and military tickets. The mud of the trenches still +stained the bottom edges of their overcoats, and their steel helmets +were dented and dull. There was something fine about the faces +collectively; there was a certain look of tried endurance and perils +bravely borne. I heard those on furlough telling the names of their home +villages to the officer in charge,--pleasant old names, Saint-Pierre aux +Vignes, La Tour du Roi. + +A big, obese, middle-aged civilian dressed in a hideous greenish suit, +and wearing a pancake cap, sat opposite me in the compartment I had +chosen. There was a hard, unfriendly look in his large, fat-encircled +eyes, a big mustache curved straight out over his lips, and the short +finger nails of his square, puffy fingers were deeply rimmed with dirt. +He caught sight of me reading a copy of an English weekly, and after +staring at me with an interest not entirely free from a certain +hostility, retreated behind the pages of the "Matin," and began picking +his teeth. Possibly he belonged to that provincial and prejudiced +handful to whom England will always be "Perfidious Albion," or else he +took me for an English civilian dodging military service. The French +press was following the English recruiting campaign very closely, and +the system of volunteer service was not without its critics. +"Conscription being considered in England" (On discute la conscription +en Angleterre), announced the "Matin" discreetly. + +It was high noon; the train had arrived at Angouleme, and was taking +aboard a crowd of convalescents. On the station platform, their faces +relentlessly illumined by the brilliant light, stood about thirty +soldiers; a few were leaning on canes, one was without a right arm, some +had still the pallor of the sick, others seemed able-bodied and hearty. +Every man wore on the bosom of his coat about half a dozen little +aluminum medals dangling from bows of tricolor ribbon. "Pour les +blesses, s'il vous plait," cried a tall young woman in the costume and +blue cape of a Red-Cross nurse as she walked along the platform shaking +a tin collection box under the windows of the train. + +To our compartment came three of the convalescents. One was a sturdy, +farmhand sort of fellow, with yellow hair and a yellow mustache--the +kind of man who might have been a Norman; he wore khaki puttees, brown +corduroy trousers, and a jacket which fitted his heavy, vigorous figure +rather snugly. Another was a little soul dressed in the "blue horizon" +from head to foot, a homely little soul with an egg-shaped head, +brown-green eyes, a retreating chin, and irregular teeth. The last, +wearing the old tenue, black jacket and red trousers, was a good-looking +fellow with rather handsome brown eyes. Comfortably stretched in a +corner, the Norman was deftly cutting slices of bread and meat which he +offered to his companions. Catching sight of my English paper, all three +stared at me with an interest and friendliness that was in psychological +contrast to the attitude of the obese civilian. + +"Anglais?" asked the Norman. + +The civilian watched for my answer. + +"Non--Americain," I replied. + +"Tiens," they said politely. + +"Do you speak English?" asked the homely one. + +"Yes," I answered. + +The Norman fished a creased dirty letter and a slip of paper from his +wallet and handed them to me for inspection. + +"I found them in a trench we shared with the English," he explained. +"These puttees are English; a soldier gave them to me." He exhibited his +legs with a good deal of satisfaction. + +I examined the papers that had been given me. The first was a medical +prescription for an anti-lice ointment and the second an illiterate +letter extremely difficult to decipher, mostly about somebody whom the +writer was having trouble to manage, "now that you aren't here." I +translated as well as I could for an attentive audience. "Toujours les +totos," they cried merrily when I explained the prescription. A spirit +of good-fellowship pervaded the compartment, till even the suspicious +civilian unbent, and handed round post-card photographs of his two sons +who were somewhere en Champagne. Not a one of the three soldiers could +have been much over twenty-one, but they were not boys, but men, serious +men, tried and disciplined by war. The homely one gave me one of his +many medals which he wore "to please the good Sisters"; on one side in +an oval of seven stars was the Virgin Mary, and on the other, the +determined features of General Joffre. + +Just at sundown we crossed the great plain of La Beauce. Distant +villages and pointed spires stood silhouetted in violet-black against +the burning midsummer sky and darkness was falling upon the sweeping +golden plain. We passed hamlet after hamlet closed and shuttered, though +the harvests had been gathered and stacked. There was something very +tragic in those deserted, outlying farms. The train began to rattle +through the suburbs of Paris. By the window stood the Norman looking out +on the winking red and violet lights of the railroad yard. "This Paris?" +he asked. "I never expected to see Paris. How the war sets one to +traveling!" + + + + +Chapter 2 + +An Unknown Paris in the Night and Rain + + + +It was Sunday morning, the bells were ringing to church, and I was +strolling in the gardens of the Tuileries. A bright morning sun was +drying the dewy lawns and the wet marble bodies of the gods and +athletes, the leaves on the trees were falling, and the French autumn, +so slow, so golden, and so melancholy, had begun. At the end of the +mighty vista of the Champs Elysees, the Arc de Triomphe rose, brown and +vaporous in the exhalations of the quiet city, and an aeroplane was +maneuvering over the Place de la Concorde, a moving speck of white and +silver in the soft, September blue. From a near-by Punch and Judy show +the laughter of little children floated down the garden in outbursts of +treble shrillness. "Villain, monster, scoundrel," squeaked a voice. +Flopped across the base of the stage, the arms hanging downwards, was a +prostrate doll which a fine manikin in a Zouave's uniform belabored with +a stick; suddenly it stirred, and, with a comic effect, lifted its +puzzled, wooden head to the laughing children. Beneath a little Prussian +helmet was the head of William of Germany, caricatured with Parisian +skill into a scowling, green fellow with a monster black mustache turned +up to his eyes. "Lie down!" cried the Zouave doll imperiously. "Here is +a love pat for thee from a French Zouave, my big Boche." And he struck +him down again with his staff. + +Soldiers walked in the garden,--permissionnaires (men on furlough) out +for an airing with their rejoicing families, smart young English +subalterns, and rosy-fleshed, golden-haired Flemings of the type that +Rubens drew. But neither their presence nor the sight of an occasional +mutile (soldier who has lost a limb), pathetically clumsy on his new +crutches, quite sent home the presence of the war. The normal life of +the city was powerful enough to engulf the disturbance, the theaters +were open, there were the same crowds on the boulevards, and the same +gossipy spectators in the sidewalk cafes. After a year of war the +Parisians were accustomed to soldiers, cripples, and people in mourning. +The strongest effect of the war was more subtle of definition, it was a +change in the temper of the city. Since the outbreak of the war, the +sham Paris that was "Gay Paree" had disappeared, and the real Paris, the +Paris of tragic memories and great men, had taken its place. An old +Parisian explained the change to me in saying, "Paris has become more +French." Deprived of the foreigner, the city adapted itself to a taste +more Gallic; faced with the realities of war, it exchanged its +artificiality for that sober reasonableness which is the normal attitude +of the nation. + +At noon I left the garden and strolled down the Champs Elysees to the +Porte Maillot. The great salesrooms of the German motor-car dealers had +been given by the Government to a number of military charities who had +covered the trade signs with swathes and rosettes of their national +colors. Under the banner of the Belgians, in the quondam hop of the +Mercedes, was an exhibition of leather knickknacks, baskets, and dolls +made by the blind and mutilated soldiers. The articles--children's toys +for the most part, dwarfs that rolled over and over on a set of parallel +bars, Alsatian lasses with flaxen hair, and gay tops--were exposed on a +row of tables a few feet back from the window. By the Porte Maillot, +some of the iron saw-horses with sharpened points, which had formed part +of the barricade built there in the days of the Great Retreat, lay, a +villainous, rusty heap, in a grassy ditch of the city wall; a few stumps +of the trees that had been then cut down were still visible, and from a +railroad tie embedded in the sidewalk hung six links of a massive chain. +Through this forgotten flotsam on the great shore of the war, the quiet +crowds went in and out of the Maillot entrance to the Bois de Boulogne. +There was a sense of order and security in the air. I took a seat on the +terrace of a little restaurant. The garcon was a small man in the +fifties, inclined to corpulence, with a large head, large, blue-gray +eyes, purplish lips, and blue-black hair cut pompadour. As we watched +the orderly, Sunday crowds going to the great park, we fell into +conversation about the calmness of Paris. "Yes, it is calm," he said; +"we are all waiting (nous attendons). We know that the victory will be +ours at the finish. But all we can do is to wait. I have two sons at the +front." He had struck the keynote. Paris is calmly waiting--waiting for +the end of the war, for victory, for the return of her children. + +Yet in this great, calm city, with its vaporous browns and slaty blues, +and its characteristic acrid smell of gasoline fumes, was another Paris, +a terrible Paris, which I was that night to see. Early in the afternoon +a dull haze of leaden clouds rose in the southwest. It began to rain. + +In a great garret of the hospital, under a high French roof, was the +dormitory of the volunteers attached to the Paris Ambulance Section. At +night, this great space was lit by only one light, a battered electric +reading-lamp standing on a kind of laboratory table in the center of the +floor, and window curtains of dark-blue cambric, waving mysteriously in +the night wind, were supposed to hide even this glimmer from the eyes of +raiding Zeppelins. Looking down, early in the evening, into the great +quadrangle of the institution, one saw the windows of the opposite wing +veiled with this mysterious blue, and heard all the feverish unrest of a +hospital, the steps on the tiled corridors, the running of water in the +bathroom taps, the hard clatter of surgical vessels, and sometimes the +cry of a patient having a painful wound dressed. But late at night the +confused murmur of the battle between life and death had subsided, the +lights in the wards were extinguished, and only the candle of the night +nurse, seen behind a screen, and the stertorous breathing of the many +sleepers, brought back the consciousness of human life. I have often +looked into the wards as I returned from night calls to the station +where we received the wounded, and been conscious, as I peered silently +into that flickering obscurity, of the vague unrest of sleepers, of the +various attitudes assumed, the arms outstretched, the upturned throats, +and felt, too, in the still room, the mystic presence of the Angel of +Pain. + +It was late at night, and I stood looking out of my window over the +roofs of Neuilly to the great, darkened city just beyond. From somewhere +along the tracks of the "Little Belt" railway came a series of piercing +shrieks from a locomotive whistle. It was raining hard, drumming on the +slate roof of the dormitory, and somewhere below a gutter gurgled +foolishly. Far away in the corridor a gleam of yellow light shone from +the open door of an isolation room where a nurse was watching by a +patient dying of gangrene. Two comrades who had been to the movies at +the Gaumont Palace near the Place Clichy began to talk in sibilant +whispers of the evening's entertainment, and one of them said, "That war +film was a corker; did you spot the big cuss throwing the grenades?" +"Yuh, damn good," answered the other pulling his shirt over his head. It +was a strange crew that inhabited these quarters; there were idealists, +dreamers, men out of work, simple rascals and adventurers of all kinds. +To my right slept a big, young Westerner, from some totally unknown +college in Idaho, who was a humanitarian enthusiast to the point of +imbecility, and to the left a middle-aged rogue who indulged in secret +debauches of alcohol and water he cajoled from the hospital orderlies. +Yet this obscure and motley community was America's contribution to +France. I fell asleep. + +"Up, birds!" + +The lieutenant of the Paris Section, a mining engineer with a +picturesque vocabulary of Nevadan profanity, was standing in his pajama +trousers at the head of the room, holding a lantern in his hand. "Up, +birds!" he called again. "Call's come in for Lah Chapelle." There were +uneasy movements under the blankets, inmates of adjoining beds began to +talk to each other, and some lit their bedside candles. The chief went +down both sides of the dormitory, flashing his lantern before each bed, +ragging the sleepy. "Get up, So-and-So. Well, I must say, Pete, you have +a hell of a nerve." There were glimpses of candle flames, bare bodies +shivering in the damp cold, and men sitting on beds, winding on their +puttees. "Gee! listen to it rain," said somebody. "What time is it?" +"Twenty minutes past two." Soon the humming and drumming of the motors +in the yard sounded through the roaring of the downpour. + +Down in the yard I found Oiler, my orderly, and our little Ford +ambulance, number fifty-three. One electric light, of that sickly yellow +color universal in France, was burning over the principal entrance to +the hospital, just giving us light enough to see our way out of the +gates. Down the narrow, dark Boulevard Inkerman we turned, and then out +on to a great street which led into the "outer" boulevard of De +Batignolles and Clichy. To that darkness with which the city, in fear of +raiding aircraft, has hidden itself, was added the continuous, pouring +rain. In the light of our lamps, the wet, golden trees of the black, +silent boulevards shone strangely, and the illuminated advertising +kiosks which we passed, one after the other at the corners of great +streets, stood lonely and drenched, in the swift, white touch of our +radiance. Black and shiny, the asphalt roadway appeared to go on in a +straight line forever and forever. + +Neither in residential, suburban Neuilly nor in deserted Montmartre was +there a light to be seen, but when we drew into the working quarter of +La Chapelle, lights appeared in the windows, as if some toiler of the +night was expected home or starting for his labor, and vague forms, +battling with the rain or in refuge under the awning of a cafe, were now +and then visible. From the end of the great, mean rue de La Chapelle the +sounds of the unrest of the railroad yards began to be heard, for this +street leads to the freight-houses near the fortifications. Our +objective was a great freight station which the Government, some months +before, had turned into a receiving-post for the wounded; it lay on the +edge of the yard, some distance in from the street, behind a huddle of +smaller sheds and outbuildings. To our surprise the rue de La Chapelle +was strewn with ambulances rushing from the station, and along two sides +of the great yard, where the merchandise trucks had formerly turned in, +six or seven hundred more ambulances were waiting. We turned out of the +dark, rain-swept city into this hurly-burly of shouts, snorting of +engines, clashing of gears, and whining of brakes, illuminated with a +thousand intermeshing beams of headlights across whose brilliance the +rain fell in sloping, liquid rods. "Quick, a small car this way!" cried +some one in an authoritative tone, and number fifty-three ran up an +inclined plane into the enormous shed which had been reserved for the +loading of the wounded into the ambulances. + +We entered a great, high, white-washed, warehouse kind of place, about +four hundred feet long by four hundred feet wide, built of wood +evidently years before. In the middle of this shed was an open space, +and along the walls were rows of ambulances. Brancardiers +(stretcher-bearers; from brancard, a stretcher) were loading wounded +into these cars, and as soon as one car was filled, it would go out of +the hall and another would take its place. There was an infernal din; +the place smelled like a stuffy garage, and was full of blue gasoline +fumes; and across this hurly-burly, which was increasing every minute, +were carried the wounded, often nothing but human bundles of dirty blue +cloth and fouled bandages. Every one of these wounded soldiers was +saturated with mud, a gray-white mud that clung moistly to their +overcoats, or, fully dry, colored every part of the uniform with its +powder. One saw men that appeared to have rolled over and over in a +puddle bath of this whitish mud, and sometimes there was seen a sinister +mixture of blood and mire. There is nothing romantic about a wounded +soldier, for his condition brings a special emphasis on our human +relation to ordinary meat. Dirty, exhausted, unshaven, smelling of the +trenches, of his wounds, and of the antiseptics on his wounds, the +soldier comes from the train a sight for which only the great heart of +Francis of Assisi could have adequate pity. + +Oiler and I went through an opening in a canvas partition into that part +of the great shed where the wounded were being unloaded from the trains. +In width, this part measured four hundred feet, but in length it ran to +eight hundred. In two rows of six each, separated by an aisle about +eight feet wide, were twelve little houses, about forty feet square, +built of stucco, each one painted a different color. The woodwork of the +exterior was displayed through the plaster in the Elizabethan fashion, +and the little sheds were clean, solidly built, and solidly roofed. In +one of these constructions was the bureau of the staff which assigned +the wounded to the hospitals, in another was a fully equipped +operating-room, and in the others, rows of stretcher-horses, twenty-five +to a side, on which the wounded were laid until a hospital number had +been assigned them. A slip, with these hospital numbers on it, the names +of the patients, and the color of the little house in which they were to +be found, was then given to the chauffeur of an ambulance, who, with +this slip in hand and followed by a number of stretcher-bearers, +immediately gathered his patients. A specimen slip might run thus--"To +Hospital 32, avenue de Iena, Paul Chaubard, red barraque, Jules Adamy, +green barraque, and Alphonse Fort, ochre barraque." + +To give a French touch to the scene, this great space, rapidly filling +with human beings in an appalling state of misery, as the aftermath of +the offensive broke on us, was decorated with evergreen trees and shrubs +so that the effect was that of an indoor fair or exhibition; you felt as +if you might get samples of something at each barraque, as the French +termed the little houses. To the side of these there was a platform, and +a sunken track running along the wall, and behind, a great open space +set with benches for those of the wounded able to walk. Some fifty +great, cylindrical braziers, which added a strange bit of rosy, fiery +color to the scene, warmed this space. When the wounded had begun to +arrive at about midnight, a regiment of Zouaves was at hand to help the +regular stretcher-bearers; these Zouaves were all young, "husky" men +dressed in the baggy red trousers and short blue jacket of their classic +uniform, and their strength was in as much of a contrast to the weakness +of those whom they handled as their gay uniform was in contrast to the +miry, horizon blue of the combatants. There was something grotesque in +seeing two of these powerful fellows carrying to the wagons a dirty blue +bundle of a human being. + +With a piercing shriek, that cut like a gash through the uproar of the +ambulance engines, a sanitary train, the seventh since midnight, came +into the station, and so smoothly did it run by, its floors on a level +with the main floor, that it seemed an illusion, like a stage train. On +the platform stood some Zouaves waiting to unload the passengers, while +others cleared the barraques and helped the feeble to the ambulances. +There was a steady line of stretchers going out, yet the station was so +full that hardly a bit of the vast floor space was unoccupied. One +walked down a narrow path between a sea of bandaged bodies. Shouldering +what baggage they had, those able to walk plodded in a strange, slow +tempo to the waiting automobiles. All by themselves were about a hundred +poor, ragged Germans, wounded prisoners, brothers of the French in this +terrible fraternity of pain. + +About four or five hundred assis (those able to sit up) were waiting on +benches at the end of the hall. Huddled round the rosy, flickering +braziers, they sat profoundly silent in the storm and din that moved +about them, rarely conversing with each other. I imagine that the +stupefaction, which is the physiological reaction of an intense +emotional and muscular effort, had not yet worn away. There were fine +heads here and there. Forgetful of his shattered arm, an old fellow, +with the face of Henri Quatre, eagle nose, beard, and all, sat with his +head sunken on his chest in mournful contemplation, and a fine-looking, +black-haired, dragoon kind of youth with the wildest of eyes clung like +grim death to a German helmet. The same expression of resigned fatalism +was common to all. + +Sometimes the chauffeurs who were waiting for their clients got a chance +to talk to one of the soldiers. Eager for news, they clustered round the +wounded man, bombarding him with questions. + +"Are the Boches retreating?" + +"When did it begin?" + +"Just where is the attack located?" + +"Are things going well for us?" + +The soldier, a big young fellow with a tanned face, somewhat pale from +the shock of a ripped-up forearm, answered the questions good-naturedly, +though the struggle had been on so great a scale that he could only tell +about his own hundred feet of trench. Indeed the substance of his +information was that there had been a terrible bombardment of the German +lines, and then an attack by the French which was still in progress. + +"Are we going to break clear through the lines?" + +The soldier shrugged his shoulders. "They hope to," he replied. + +Just beyond us, in one of the thousand stretchers on the floor, a small +bearded man had died. With his left leg and groin swathed in bandages, +he lay flat on his back, his mouth open, muddy, dirty, and dead. From +time to time the living on each side stole curious, timid glances at +him. Then, suddenly, some one noticed the body, and two +stretcher-bearers carried it away, and two more brought a living man +there in its place. + +The turmoil continued to increase. At least a thousand motor-ambulances, +mobilized from all over the region of Paris, were now on hand to carry +away the human wreckage of the great offensive. Ignorant of the ghastly +army at its doors, Paris slept. The rain continued to fall heavily. + +"Eh la, comrade." + +A soldier in the late thirties, with a pale, refined face, hailed me +from his stretcher. + +"You speak French?" + +I nodded. + +"I am going to ask you to do me a favor--write to my wife who is here in +Paris, and tell her that I am safe and shall let her know at once what +hospital I am sent to. I shall be very grateful." + +He let his shoulders sink to the stretcher again and I saw him now and +then looking for me in the crowd. Catching my eye, he smiled. + +A train full of Algerian troops came puffing into the station, the +uproar hardly rising above the general hubbub. The passengers who were +able to walk got out first, some limping, some walking firmly with a +splendid Eastern dignity. These men were Arabs and Moors from Algeria +and Tunisia, who had enlisted in the colonial armies. There was a great +diversity of size and racial type among them, some being splendid, big +men of the type one imagines Othello to have been, some chunkier and +more bullet-headed, and others tall and lean with interesting aquiline +features. I fancy that the shorter, rounder-skulled ones were those with +a dash of black blood. The uniform, of khaki-colored woolen, consisted +of a simple, short-waisted jacket, big baggy trousers, puttees, and a +red fez or a steel helmet with the lunar crescent and "R.F." for its +device. We heard rumors about their having attacked a village. Advancing +in the same curious tempo as the French, they passed to the braziers and +the wooden benches. Last of all from the train, holding his bandaged arm +against his chest, a native corporal with the features of a desert +tribesman advanced with superb, unconscious stateliness. As the +Algerians sat round the braziers, their uniforms and brown skins +presented a contrast to the pallor of the French in their bedraggled +blue, but there was a marked similarity of facial expression. A certain +racial odor rose from the Orientals. + +My first assignment, two Algerians and two Frenchmen, took me to an +ancient Catholic high school which had just been improvised into a +hospital for the Oriental troops. It lay, dirty, lonely, and grim, just +to one side of a great street on the edge of Paris, and had not been +occupied since its seizure by the State. Turning in through an enormous +door, lit by a gas globe flaring and flickering in the torrents of rain, +we found ourselves in an enormous, dark courtyard, where a half-dozen +ambulances were already waiting to discharge their clients. Along one +wall there was a flight of steps, and from somewhere beyond the door at +the end of this stair shone the faintest glow of yellow light. + +It came from the door of a long-disused schoolroom, now turned into the +receiving-hall of this strange hospital. The big, high room was lit by +one light only, a kerosene hand lamp standing on the teacher's desk, and +so smoked was the chimney that the wick gave hardly more light than a +candle. There was just enough illumination to see about thirty Algerians +sitting at the school desks, their big bodies crammed into the little +seats, and to distinguish others lying in stretchers here and there upon +the floor. At the teacher's table a little French adjutant with a trim, +black mustache and a soldier interpreter were trying to discover the +identity of their visitors. + +"Number 2215," (numero deux mille deux cent quinze), the officer cried; +and the interpreter, leaning over the adjutant's shoulder to read the +name, shouted, "Mehemet Ali." + +There was no answer, and the Algerians looked round at each other, for +all the world like children in a school. It was very curious to see +these dark, heavy, wild faces bent over these disused desks. + +"Number 2168" (numero deux mille cent soixante huit), cried the +adjutant. + +"Abdullah Taleb," cried the interpreter. + +"Moi," answered a voice from a stretcher in the shadows of the floor. + +"Take him to room six," said the adjutant, indicating the speaker to a +pair of stretcher-bearers. In the quieter pauses the rain was heard +beating on the panes. + +There are certain streets in Paris, equally unknown to tourist and +Parisian--obscure, narrow, cobble-stoned lanes, lined by walls +concealing little orchards and gardens. So provincial is their +atmosphere that it would be the easiest thing in the world to believe +one's self on the fringe of an old town, just where little bourgeois +villas begin to overlook the fields; but to consider one's self just +beyond the heart of Paris is almost incredible. Down such a street, in a +great garden, lay the institution to which our two Frenchmen were +assigned. We had a hard time finding it in the night and rain, but at +length, discovering the concierge's bell, we sent a vigorous peal +clanging through the darkness. Oiler lifted the canvas flap of the +ambulance to see about our patients. + +"All right in there, boys?" + +"Yes," answered a voice. + +"Not cold?" + +"Non. Are we at the hospital?" + +"Yes; we are trying to wake up the concierge." + +There was a sound of a key in a lock, and a small, dark woman opened the +door. She was somewhat spinstery in type, her thin, black hair was +neatly parted in the middle, and her face was shrewd, but not unkindly. + +"Deux blesses (two wounded), madame," said I. + +The woman pulled a wire loop inside the door, and a far-off bell +tinkled. + +"Come in," she said. "The porter will be here immediately." + +We stepped into a little room with a kind of English look to it, and a +carbon print of the Sistine Madonna on the wall. + +"Are they seriously wounded?" she asked. + +"I cannot say." + +A sound of shuffling, slippered feet was heard, and the porter, a small, +beefy, gray-haired man in the fifties, wearing a pair of rubber boots, +and a rain-coat over a woolen night-dress, came into the room. + +"Two wounded have arrived," said the lady. "You are to help these +messieurs get out the stretchers." + +The porter looked out of the door at the tail-light of the ambulance, +glowing red behind its curtain of rain. + +"Mon Dieu, what a deluge!" he exclaimed, and followed us forth. With an +"Easy there," and "Lift now," we soon had both of our clients out of the +ambulance and indoors. They lay on the floor of the odd, stiff, little +room, strange intruders of its primness; the first, a big, heavy, +stolid, young peasant with enormous, flat feet, and the second a small, +nervous, city lad, with his hair in a bang and bright, uneasy eyes. The +mud-stained blue of the uniforms seemed very strange, indeed, beside the +Victorian furniture upholstered in worn, cherry-red plush. A middle-aged +servant--a big-boned, docile-looking kind of creature, probably the +porter's wife--entered, followed by two other women, the last two +wearing the same cut of prim black waist and skirt, and the same pattern +of white wristlets and collar. We then carried the two soldiers upstairs +to a back room, where the old servant had filled a kind of enamel +dishpan with soapy water. Very gently and deftly the beefy old porter +and his wife took off the fouled, blood-stained uniforms of the two +fighting men, and washed their bodies, while she who had opened the door +stood by and superintended all. The feverish, bright-eyed fellow seemed +to be getting weaker, but the big peasant conversed with the old woman +in a low, steady tone, and told her that there had been a big action. + +When Oiler and I came downstairs, two little glasses of sherry and a +plate of biscuits were hospitably waiting for us. There was something +distinctly English in the atmosphere of the room and in the demeanor of +the two prim ladies who stood by. It roused my curiosity. Finally one of +them said:-- + +"Are you English, gentlemen?" + +"No," we replied; "Americans." + +"I thought you might be English," she replied in that language, which +she spoke very clearly and fluently. "Both of us have been many years in +England. We are French Protestant deaconesses, and this is our home. It +is not a hospital. But when the call for more accommodations for the +wounded came in, we got ready our two best rooms. The soldiers upstairs +are our first visitors." + +The old porter came uneasily down the stair. "Mademoiselle Pierre says +that the doctor must come at once," he murmured, "the little fellow (le +petit) is not doing well." + +We thanked the ladies gratefully for the refreshment, for we were cold +and soaked to the skin. Then we went out again to the ambulance and the +rain. A faint pallor of dawn was just beginning. Later in the morning, I +saw a copy of the "Matin" attached to a kiosk; it said something about +"Grande Victoire." + +Thus did the great offensive in Champagne come to the city of Paris, +bringing twenty thousand men a day to the station of La Chapelle. For +three days and nights the Americans and all the other ambulance squads +drove continuously. It was a terrible phase of the conflict to see, but +he who neither sees nor understands it cannot realize the soul of the +war. Later, at the trenches, I saw phases of the war that were +spiritual, heroic, and close to the divine, but this phase was, in its +essence, profoundly animal. + + + + +Chapter III + +The Great Swathe of the Lines + + + +The time was coming when I was to see the mysterious region whence came +the wounded of La Chapelle, and, a militaire myself, share the life of +the French soldier. Late one evening in October, I arrived in Nancy and +went to a hotel I had known well before the war. An old porter, a man of +sixty, with big, bowed shoulders, gray hair, and a florid face almost +devoid of expression, carried up my luggage, and as I looked at him, +standing in the doorway, a simple figure in his striped black and yellow +vest and white apron, I wondered just what effect the war had had on +him. Through the open window of the room, seen over the dark silhouette +of the roofs of Nancy, shone the glowing red sky and rolling smoke of +the vast munition works at Pompey and Frouard. + +"You were not here when I came to the hotel two years ago," said I. + +"No," he answered; "I have been here only since November, 1914." + +"You are a Frenchman? There was a Swiss here, then." + +"Yes, indeed, I am Francais, monsieur. The Swiss is now a waiter in a +cafe of the Place Stanislas. It is something new to me to be a hotel +porter." + +"Tiens. What did you do?" + +"I drove a coal team, monsieur." + +"How, then, did you happen to come here?" + +"I used to deliver coal to the hotel. One day I heard that the Swiss had +gone to the cafe to take the place of a garcon whose class had just been +called out. I was getting sick of carrying the heavy sacks of coal, and +being always out of doors, so I applied for the porter's job." + +"You are satisfied with the change." + +"Oh, yes, indeed, monsieur." + +"I suppose you have kinsmen at the front." + +"Only my sister's son, monsieur." + +"In the active forces?" + +"No, he is a reservist. He is a man thirty-five years of age. He was +wounded by a shrapnel ball in the groin early in the spring, but is now +at the front again." + +"What does he do en civil?" + +"He is a furniture-maker, monsieur." + +He showed no sign of unrest at my catechizing, and plodded off down the +green velvet carpet to the landing-stage of the elevator. In the street +below a crowd was coming out of the silky white radiance of the lobby of +a cinema into the violet rays thrown upon the sidewalk from the +illuminated sign over the theater door. There are certain French cities +to which the war has brought a real prosperity, and Nancy was then one +of them. The thousands of refugees from the frontier villages and the +world of military officials and soldier workmen mobilized in the +ammunition factories had added to the population till it was actually +greater than it had been before the war, and with this new population +had come a development of the city's commercial life. The middle class +was making money, the rich were getting richer, and Nancy, hardly more +than eighteen or nineteen miles from the trenches, forgot its danger +till, on the first day of January, 1916, the Germans fired several +shells from a giant mortar or a marine piece into the town, one of which +scattered the fragments of a big five-story apartment house all over +Nancy. And on that afternoon thirty thousand people left the city. + +The day on which I was to go across the great swathe of the front to the +first-line trenches dawned cool and sunny. I use the word "swathe" +purposely, for only by that image can the real meaning of the phrase +"the front" be understood. The thick, black line which figures on the +war-maps is a great swathe of country running, with a thousand little +turns and twists that do not interfere with its general regularity, from +the summits of the Vosges to the yellow dunes of the North Sea. The +relation of the border of this swathe to the world beyond is the +relation of sea to land along an irregular and indented coast. Here an +isolated, strategic point, fiercely defended by the Germans, has +extended the border of the swathe beyond the usual limits, and villages +thirteen and fourteen miles from the actual lines have been pounded to +pieces by long-range artillery in the hope of destroying the enemy's +communications; there the trenches cross an obscure, level moor upon +whose possession nothing particular depends, and the swathe narrows to +the villages close by the lines. This swathe, which begins with the +French communications, passes the French trenches, leaps "No Man's +Land," and continues beyond the German trenches to the German +communications, averages about twenty-two miles in width. The territory +within this swathe is inhabited by soldiers, ruled by soldiers, worked +by soldiers, and organized for war. + +Sometimes the transition between civilian life and the life of the +swathe is abrupt, as, for instance, at Verdun, where the villages beyond +the lines have been emptied of civilian inhabitants to make room for the +soldiery; but at other times the change is gradual and the peasants +continue to work fields almost in the shadow of the trenches. Since the +line of trenches was organized by the Germans only after a series of +engagements along the front, during which the battle-line oscillated +over a wide territory, the approach to the swathe is often through a +region of desolated villages sometimes far removed from the present +trenches. Such is the state of affairs in the region of the Marne, the +Argonne, and on the southern bank of the Moselle. Moss-overgrown and +silent, these villages often stand deserted in the fields at the +entrance to the swathe, fit heralds of the desolation that lies beyond. + +Imagine, then, the French half of the swathe extending from the edge of +the civilian world to the barbed-wire entanglements of No Man's Land. +Within this territory, in the trenches, in the artillery positions, in +the villages where troops are quartered (and they are quartered in every +village of the swathe), and along all the principal turns and corners of +the roads, a certain number of shells fall every twenty-four hours, the +number of shells per locality increasing as one advances toward the +first lines. There are certain disputed regions, that of Verdun in +particular, where literally the whole great swathe has been pounded to +pieces, till hardly one stone of a village remains on another, and +during the recent offensive in the Somme the British are said to have +systematically wiped out every village, hamlet, and road behind the +German trenches to a depth of eighteen miles. Yet, protected from rifle +bullets and the majority of shells by a great wooded hill, the +inhabitants of M------, one mile from the lines of the Bois-le-Pretre, +did a thriving business selling fruit to the soldiers, and I once saw an +old peasant woman, who was digging potatoes in her garden when a small +shell burst about two hundred feet from her, shake her fist toward the +German lines, mutter something, and plod angrily home to her cellar. +There are rarely any children close to the trenches, but in villages +that are only occasionally shelled, the school is open, and the class +hurries to the cellar at the first alarm. + +The lieutenant of the American Section, a young Frenchman who spoke +English not only fluently, but also with distinction, came to Nancy to +take me to the front. It was a clear, sunny morning, and the rumble of +the commercial life of Nancy, somewhat later in starting than our own, +was just beginning to be heard. Across the street from the +breakfast-room of the hotel, a young woman wearing a little black cape +over her shoulders rolled up the corrugated iron shutter of a +confectioner's shop and began to set the window with the popular +patriotic candy boxes, aluminum models of a "seventy-five" shell tied +round with a bow of narrow tricolor ribbon; a baker's boy in a white +apron and blue jumpers went by carrying a basket of bread on his head; +and from the nearby tobacconist's, a spruce young lieutenant dressed in +a black uniform emerged lighting a cigarette. At nine in the morning I +was contemplating a side street of busy, orderly, sunlit Nancy; that +night I was in a cellar seeking refuge from fire shells. + +"Please give me all your military papers," said my officer. I handed +over all the cards, permits, and licenses that had been given me, and he +examined them closely. + +"Allons, let us go," he said to his chauffeur, a young soldier wearing +the insignia of the motor-transportation corps. + +"How long does it take us to get to the lines, mon lieutenant?" + +"About an hour. Our headquarters are thirty kilometres distant." + +The big, war-gray Panhard began to move. I looked round, eager to notice +anything that marked our transition from peace to war. Beyond the Nancy, +built in the Versailles style by the exiled Stanislaus, lay the +industrial Nancy which has grown up since the development of the iron +mines of French Lorraine in the eighties. Through this ugly huddle we +passed first: there were working men on the sidewalks, gamins in the +gutters,--nothing to remind one of the war. + +"Halt!" + +At a turn in the road near the outskirts of the city, a sentry, a small, +gray-haired man, had stepped out before the car. From the door of a +neighboring wineshop, a hideous old woman, her uncombed, tawny yellow +hair messed round her coarse, shiny face, came out to look at us. + +"Your papers, please," said a red-faced, middle-aged sergeant wearing a +brown corduroy uniform, who, walking briskly on enormous fat legs, had +followed the sentry out into the street. The lieutenant produced the +military permit to travel in the army zone--the ordre de mouvement, a +printed form on a blue sheet about the size of a leaf of typewriter +paper. + +"Pass," said the sergeant, and saluted. The sentry retired to his post +on the sidewalk. At the door of the wineshop the woman continued to +stare at us with an animal curiosity. Possibly our English-like uniforms +had attracted her attention; the French are very curious about les +Anglais. Over the roof of an ugly row of working men's barracks, built +of mortar and trimmed with dingy brick, came the uproar of a great +industry, the humming clang of saws, the ringing of iron on iron, and +the heart-beat thump of a great hammer that shook the earth. In a vast, +detached building five great furnaces were crowned with tufts of pinkish +fire, workmen were crossing the cindery yard dragging little carts and +long strips of iron, and a long line of open freight cars was being +emptied of coal. + +"They are making shells," said the lieutenant in the tone that he might +have said, "They are making candy." + +Another sentry held us up at the bridge where the road crosses the +Moselle as it issues from the highlands to the southwest. + +Beyond the bridge, running almost directly north to Metz, lay the +historic valley of the Moselle. Great, bare hills, varying between seven +hundred and a thousand feet in height, and often carved by erosion into +strange, high triangles and abrupt mesas, formed the valley wall. The +ground color of the hills was a warm buff-brown with a good deal of +iron-red in it, and the sky above was of a light, friendly blue. A +strange, Egyptian emerald of new wheat, a certain deep cobalt of cloud +shadows, and a ruddy brownness of field and moor are the colors of +Lorraine. Here and there, on the meadows of the river and the steep +flanks of the hills, were ancient, red-roofed villages. Across the +autumnal fields the smoke and flame of squalid Pompey loomed strangely. + +There were signs of the war at Marbache, fourteen kilometres from Nancy, +slight signs, to be sure, but good ones--the presence of a military +smithy for the repair of army wagons, several of which stood by on rusty +wheels, and a view of some twenty or thirty artillery caissons parked +under the trees. But it was at B------, sixteen kilometres from Nancy, +and sixteen from the lines, that I first felt the imminence of the war. +The morning train from Nancy had just stopped, to go no farther for fear +of shells, and beyond the station the tracks of the once busy Nancy-Metz +railroad advanced, rusty, unused, and overgrown with grass, into the +danger zone. Far behind now lay civilian Pompey, and Marbache shared by +soldiers and civilians. B------was distinctly a village of the soldiery. +The little hamlet, now the junction where the wagon-trains supplying the +soldiery meet the great artery of the railroad, was built on the banks +of a canal above the river. The color of these villages in Lorraine is +rather lovely, for the walls of the houses, built of the local +buff-yellow stone and ferrous sand, are of a warm, brown tone that goes +well with the roofs of claret-red tile and the brown landscape. A +glorious sky of silvery white cloud masses, pierced with sunlight and +islanded with soft blue, shone over the soldier village. There were no +combatants in it when we passed through, only the old poilus who drove +the wagons to the trenches and the army hostlers who looked after the +animals. There were pictures of soldier grooms leading horses down a +narrow, slimy street between brown, mud-spattered walls to a +drinking-trough; of horses lined up along a house wall being briskly +curry-combed by big, thick-set fellows in blousy white overalls and blue +fatigue caps; and of doors of stables opening on the road showing a +bedding of brown straw on the earthen floor. There was a certain stench, +too, the smell of horse-fouled mud that mixed with that odor I later was +able to classify as the smell of war. For the war has a smell that +clings to everything miltary, fills the troop-trains, hospitals, and +cantonments, and saturates one's own clothing, a smell compounded of +horse, chemicals, sweat, mud, dirt, and human beings. At the guarded +exit of the village to the shell zone was a little military cemetery in +which rows of wooden crosses stood with the regularity of pins in a +paper. + +Two kilometres farther on, at Dieulouard, we drew into the shell zone. A +cottage had been struck the day before, and the shell, arriving by the +roof, had blown part of the front wall out into the street. In the +facade of the house, to the left of a door hanging crazily on its +hinges, an irregular oval hole, large enough to drive a motor-car +through, rose from the ground and came to a point just below the +overhang of the roof. The edges of the broken stone were clean and new +in contrast to the time-soiled outer wall of the dwelling. + +A pile of this clean stone lay on the ground at the outer opening of the +orifice, mixed with fragments of red tiles. + +"They killed two there yesterday," said the lieutenant, pointing out the +debris. + +The village, a farming hamlet transformed by the vicinity of a great +foundry into something neither a village nor a town, was full of +soldiers; there were soldiers in the streets, soldiers standing in +doorways, soldiers cooking over wood fires, soldiers everywhere. And +looking at the muddy village-town full of men in uniforms of blue, old +uniforms of blue, muddy uniforms of blue, in blue that was blue-gray and +blue-green from wear and exposure to the weather, I realized that the +old days of beautiful, half-barbaric uniforms were gone forever, and +that, in place of the old romantic war of cavalry charges and great +battles in the open, a new, more terrible war had been created, a war +that had not the chivalric externals of the old. + +After Dieulouard began the swathe of stillness. + +Following the western bank of the canal of the Moselle the road made a +great curve round the base of a hill descending to the river, and then +mounted a little spur of the valley wall. Beyond the spur the road went +through lonely fields, in which were deserted farmhouses surrounded by +acres of neglected vines, now rank and Medusa-like in their weedy +profusion. Every once in a while, along a rise, stood great burlap +screens so arranged one behind the other as to give the effect of a +continuous line when seen from a certain angle. + +"What are those for?" + +"To hide the road from the Germans. Do you see that little village down +there on the crest? The Boches have an observatory there, and shell the +road whenever they see anything worth shelling." + +A strange stillness pervaded the air; not a stillness of death and +decay, but the stillness of life that listens. The sun continued to +shine on the brown moorland hills across the gray-green river, the world +was quite the same, yet one sensed that something had changed. A village +lay ahead of us, disfigured by random shells and half deserted. Beyond +the still, shell-spattered houses, a great wood rose, about a mile and a +half away, on a ridge that stood boldly against the sky. Running from +the edge of the trees down across an open slope to the river was a +brownish line that stood in a little contrast to the yellower grass. +Suddenly, there slowly rose from this line a great puff of grayish-black +smoke which melted away in the clear, autumnal air. + +"See," said our lieutenant calmly, with no more emotion than he would +have shown at a bonfire--"those are the German trenches. We have just +fired a shell into them." + +Two minutes more took us into the dead, deserted city of Pont-a-Mousson. +The road was now everywhere screened carefully with lengths of +light-brown burlap, and there was not a single house that did not bear +witness to the power of a shell. The sense of "the front" began to +possess me, never to go, the sense of being in the vicinity of a +tremendous power. A ruined village, or a deserted town actually on the +front does not bring to mind any impression of decay, for the intellect +tends rather to consider t\& means by which the destruction has been +accomplished. One sees villages of the swathes so completely blown to +pieces that they are literally nothing but earthy mounds of rubbish, and +seeing them thus, in a plain still fiercely disputed night and day +between one's own side and the invisible enemy, the mind feels itself in +the presence of force, titanic, secret, and hostile. + +Beyond Pont-a-Mousson the road led directly to the trenches of the +Bois-le-Pretre, less than half a mile away. But the disputed trenches +were hidden behind the trees, and I could not see them. Through the +silence of the deserted town sounded the muffled boom of shells and +trench engines bursting in the wood beyond, and every now and then +clouds of gray-black smoke from the explosion would rise above the brown +leaves of the ash trees. The smoke of these explosions rose straight +upwards in a foggy column, such as a locomotive might make if, halted on +its tracks somewhere in the wood, it had put coal on its fires. + +With the next day I began my service at the trenches, but the war began +for me that very night. + +A room in a bourgeois flat on the third floor of a deserted apartment +house had been assigned me. It was nine o'clock, and I was getting ready +to roll up in my blankets and go to sleep. Beneath the starlit heavens +the street below was black as pitch save when a trench light, floating +serenely down the sky, illuminated with its green-white glow the curving +road and the line of dark, abandoned, half-ruinous villas. There was not +a sound to be heard outside of an occasional rifle shot in the trenches, +sounding for all the world like the click of giant croquet balls. I went +round to the rear of the house and looked out of the kitchen windows to +the lines. A little action, some quarrel of sentries, perhaps, was going +on behind the trees, just where the wooded ridge sloped to the river. +Trench light after trench light rose, showing the disused railroad track +running across the un-harvested fields. Gleaming palely through the +French window at which I was standing, the radiance revealed the +deserted kitchen, the rusty stove, the dusty pans, and the tarnished +water-tap above the stone sink. The hard, wooden crash of grenades broke +upon my ears. + +My own room was lit by the yellow flame of a solitary candle, rising, +untroubled by the slightest breath of wind, straight into the air. A +large rug of old-rose covered the floor, an old-rose velvet canopy +draped a long table, hanging down at the corners in straight, heavy +creases, and the wallpaper was a golden yellow with faint stripes of +silvery-gray glaze. By the side of the wooden bed stood a high cabinet +holding about fifty terra-cotta and porcelain figurines, shiny +shepherdesses with shiny pink cheeks, Louis XV peasants with rakes on +their shoulders, and three little dogs made of a material the color of +cocoa. The gem of the collection was an eighteenth-century porcelain of +a youth and a maid sitting on opposite sides of a curved bench over +whose center rose a blossoming bush. The youth, dressed in black, and +wearing yellow stockings, looked with an amorous smile at the girl in +her gorgeous dress of flowering brocade. + +A marbly-white fireplace stood in the corner, overhung by a great Louis +XV mirror with a gilt frame of rich, voluptuous curves. On the mantel +lay a scarf of old-rose velvet smelling decidedly musty. Alone, apart, +upon this mantel, as an altar, stood a colored plaster bust of Jeanne +d'Arc, showing her in the beauty of her winsome youth. The pale, girlish +face dominated the shadowy room with its dreamy, innocent loveliness. + +There came a knock at the door, and so still was the town and the house +that the knock had the effect of something dramatic and portentous. A +big man, with bulging, pink cheeks, a large, chestnut mustache, and +brown eyes full of philosophic curiosity, stood in the doorway. The +uniform that he was wearing was unusually neat and clean. + +"So you are the American I am to have as neighbor," said he. + +"Yes," I replied. + +"I am the caporal in charge of the depot of the engineers in the +cellar," continued my visitor, "and I thought I'd come in and see how +you were." + +I invited him to enter. + +"Do you find yourself comfortable here, son?" + +"Yes. I consider myself privileged to have the use of the room. Have a +cigarette?" + +"Are these American cigarettes?" + +"Yes." + +"Your American tobacco is fine, son. But in America everybody is a +millionaire and has the best of everything--isn't that so? I should like +to go to America." + +"A Frenchman is never happy out of France." + +Comfortably seated in a big, ugly chair, he puffed his cigarette and +meditated. + +"Perhaps you are right," he admitted. "We Frenchmen love the good +things, and think we can get them in France better than anywhere else. +The solid satisfactions of life--good wine--good cheese." He paused. +"You see, son, all that (tout ca) is an affair of mine--in civilian life +(dans le civil) I am a grocer at Macon in Bourgogne." + +For a little while we talked of Burgundy, which I had often visited in +my student days at Lyons. There came another pause, and the Burgundian +said:-- + +"Well, what do you think of this big racket (ce grand fracas)?" + +"I have not seen enough of it to say." + +"Well, I think you are going to get a taste of it to-night. I heard our +artillery men (nos artiflots) early this morning firing their long-range +cannon, and every time they do that the Boches throw shells into +Pont-a-Mousson. I have been expecting an answer all day. If they start +in to-night, get up and come down cellar, son. This house was struck by +a shell two weeks ago." + +The shadowy, candlelit room and the dark city became at his words more +mysterious and hostile. The atmosphere seemed pervaded by some obscure, +endless, dreadful threat. It was getting toward ten o'clock. + +"Is this the only room you have? I have never been in this suite." + +"No, there is another room. Would you like to see it?" + +He followed me into a small chamber from which everything had been +stripped except a bedside table, a chair, and a crayon portrait of a +woman. The picture, slightly tinted with flesh color, was that of a +bourgeoise on the threshold of the fifties, and the still candle-flame +brought out in distinct relief the heavy, obese countenance, the hair +curled in artificial ringlets, and the gold crucifix which she wore on +her large bosom. The Burgundian's attention centered on this picture, +which he examined with the air of a connoisseur of female beauty. + +"Lord, how ugly she is!" he exclaimed. "She might well have stayed. Such +an old dragon would have no reason to fear the Boches." And he laughed +heartily from his rich lips and pulled his mustache. + +"Don't forget to hurry to the cellar, son," he called as he went away. + +At his departure the lonely night closed in on me again. Far, far away +sounded the booming of cannon. + +I am a light sleeper, and the arrival of the first shell awakened me. +Kicking off my blankets, I sat up in bed just in time to catch the swift +ebb of a heavy concussion. A piece of glass, dislodged from a broken +pane by the tremor, fell in a treble tinkle to the floor. For a minute +or two there was a full, heavy silence, and then several objects rolled +down the roof and fell over the gutters into the street. It sounded as +if some one had emptied a hodful of coal onto the house-roof from the +height of the clouds. Another silence followed. Suddenly it was broken +by a swift, complete sound, a heavy boom-roar, and on the heels of this +noise came a throbbing, whistling sigh that, at first faint as the sound +of ocean on a distant beach, increased with incredible speed to a +whistling swish, ending in a HISH of tremendous volume and a roaring, +grinding burst. The sound of a great shell is never a pure bang; one +hears, rather, the end of the arriving HISH, the explosion, and the +tearing disintegration of the thick wall of iron in one grinding +hammer-blow of terrific violence. On the heels of this second shell came +voices in the dark street, and the rosy glow of fire from somewhere +behind. More lumps, fragments of shell that had been shot into the air +by the explosion, rained down upon the roof. I got up and went to the +kitchen window. A house on one of the silent streets between the city +and the lines was on fire, great volumes of smoke were rolling off into +the starlit night, and voices were heard all about murmuring in the +shadows. I hurried on my clothes and went down to the cellar. + +The light of two candles hanging from a shelf in loops of wire revealed +a clean, high cellar; a mess of straw was strewn along one wall, and a +stack of shovels and picks, some of them wrapped in paper, was banked +against the other. In the straw lay three oldish men, fully clad in the +dark-blue uniform which in old times had signaled the Engineer Corps; +one dozed with his head on his arm, the other two were stretched out +flat in the mysterious grossness of sleep. A door from the cellar to a +sunken garden was open, and through this opening streamed the intense +radiance of the rising fire. At the opening stood three men, my visitor +of the evening, a little, wrinkled man with Napoleon III whiskers and +imperial, and an old, dwarfish fellow with a short neck, a bullet head, +and close-clipped hair. Catching sight of me, the Burgundian said:-- + +"Well, son, you see it is hammering away (ca tape) ce soir." + +Hearing another shell, he slammed the door, and stepped to the right +behind the stone wall of the cellar. + +"Very bad," croaked the dwarf. "The Boches are throwing fire shells." + +"And they will fire shrapnel at the poor bougres who have to put out the +fires," said the little man with the imperial. + +"So they will, those knaves," croaked the dwarf in a voice entirely free +from any emotion. "That fire must be down on the Boulevard Ney," said +the bearded man. + +"There is another beginning just to the right," said the Burgundian in +the tone of one retailing interesting but hardly useful information. + +"There will be others," croaked the dwarf, who, leaning against the +cellar wall, was trying to roll a cigarette with big, square, fumbling +fingers. And looking at a big, gray-haired man in the hay, who had +turned over and was beginning to snore, he added: "Look at the new man. +He sleeps well, that fellow" (ce type la). + +"He looks like a Breton," said the man with the imperial. + +"An Auvergnat--an Auvergnat," replied the dwarf in a tone that was meant +to be final. + +The soldier, who had just been sent down from Paris to take the place of +another recently invalided home, snored on, unconscious of our scrutiny. +The light from the fires outside cast a rosy glow on his weather-worn +features and sparse, silvery hair. His own curiosity stirred, the +corporal looked at his list. + +"He came from Lyons," he announced. "His name is Alphonse Reboulet." + +"I am glad he is not an Auvergnat," growled the dwarf. "We should have +all had fleas." + +A shell burst very near, and a bitter odor of explosives came swirling +through the doorway. A fragment of the shell casing struck a window +above us, and a large piece of glass fell by the doorway and broke into +splinters. The first fire was dying down, but two others were burning +briskly. The soldiers waited for the end of the bombardment, as they +might have waited for the end of a thunderstorm. + +"Tiens--here comes the shrapnel," exclaimed the Burgundian. And he +slammed the door swiftly. + +A high, clear whistle cleaved the flame-lit sky, and about thirty small +shrapnel shells burst beyond us. + +"They try to prevent any one putting out the fires," said the Burgundian +confidentially. "They get the range from the light of the flames." + +Another dreadful rafale (volley) of shrapnel, at the rate of ten or +fifteen a minute, came speeding from the German lines. + +"They are firing on the other house, now." + +"Who puts out the fires?" + +"The territorials who police and clean up the town. Some of them live +two doors below." + +The Burgundian pointed down the garden to a door opening, like our own, +on to an area below the level of the street. Suddenly, a gate opening on +a back lane swung back, and two soldiers entered, one carrying the feet +and the other the shoulders of a third. The body hung clumsily between +them like a piece of old sacking. + +"Tiens--someone is wounded," said the Burgundian. "Go, thou, Badel, and +see who it is." + +The dwarf plodded off obediently. + +"It is Palester," he announced on his return, "the type that had the +swollen jaw last month." + +"What's the matter with him?" + +"He's been killed." + + + + + +Chapter IV + +La Foret De Bois-Le-Pretre + + + +Beginning at the right bank of the Meuse, a vast plateau of bare, +desolate moorland sweeps eastward to the Moselle, and descends to the +river in a number of great, wooded ridges perpendicular to the +northward-flowing stream. The town of Pont-a-Mousson lies an apron of +meadowland spread between two of these ridges, the ridge of Puvenelle +and the ridge of the Bois-le-Pretre. The latter is the highest of all +the spurs of the valley. Rising from the river about half a mile to the +north of the city, it ascends swiftly to the level of the plateau, and +was seen from our headquarters as a long, wooded ridge blocking the +sky-line to the northwest. The hamlet of Maidieres, in which our +headquarters were located, lies just at the foot of Puvenelle, at a +point where the amphitheater of Pont-a-Mousson, crowding between the two +ridges, becomes a steep-walled valley sharply tilted to the west. + +The Bois-le-Pretre dominated at once the landscape and our minds. Its +existence was the one great fact in the lives of some fifty thousand +Frenchmen, Germans, and a handful of exiled Americans; it had dominated +and ended the lives of the dead; it would dominate the imagination of +the future. Yet, looking across the brown walls and claret roofs of the +hamlet of Maidieres, there was nothing to be seen but a grassy slope, +open fields, a reddish ribbon of road, a wreck of a villa burned by a +fire shell, and a wood. The autumn had turned the leaves of the trees, +seemingly without exception, to a leathery brown, and in almost all +lights the trunks of the trees were a cold, purplish slate. Such was the +forest which, battle-areas excepted, has cost more lives than any other +point along the line. The wood had been contested trench by trench, +literally foot by foot. It was at once the key to the Saint-Mihiel +salient and the city of Metz. + +The Saint-Mihiel salient--"the hernia," as the French call it--begins at +the Bois-le-Pretre. Pivoting on The Wood, the lines turn sharply inland, +cross the desolate plateau of La Woevre, attain the Meuse at +Saint-Mihiel, turn again, and ascend the river to the Verdunois. The +salient, as dangerous for the Germans as it is troublesome for the +French, represents the limit of a German offensive directed against Toul +in October, 1914. That the French retreated was due to the fact that the +plateau was insufficiently protected, many of the regiments having been +rushed north to the great battle then raging on the Aisne. + +Only one railroad center lies in the territory of the salient, +Thiaucourt in Woevre. This pleasant little moorland town, locally famous +for its wine, is connected with Metz by two single-track railroad lines, +one coming via Conflans, and the other by Arnaville on the Moselle. At +Vilcey-sur-Mad, these lines unite, and follow to Thiaucourt the only +practicable railroad route, the valley of the Rupt (brook) de Mad. + +Thus the domination of Thiaucourt, or the valley of the Rupt de Mad, by +French artillery would break the railroad communications between the +troops keeping the salient and their base of supplies, Metz. And the +fate of Metz itself hangs on the control of the Bois-le-Pretre. + +Metz is the heart of the German organization on the western front: the +railroad center, the supply station, the troop depot. A blow at Metz +would affect the security of every German soldier between Alsace and the +Belgian frontier. But if the French can drive the Germans out of the +Bois-le-Pretre and establish big howitzers on the crest the Germans are +still holding, there will soon be no more Metz. The French guns will +destroy the city as the German cannon destroyed Verdun. + +When the Germans, therefore, retired to the trenches after the battles +of September and October, 1914, they took to the ground on the heights +of the Bois-le-Pretre, a terrain far enough ahead of Thiaucourt and Metz +to preserve these centers from the danger of being shelled. On the crest +of the highest ridge along the valley, admirably ambushed in a thick +forest, they waited for the coming of the French. And the French came. + +They came, young and old, slum-dweller and country schoolmaster, rich +young noble and Corsican peasant, to the storming of the wood, upheld by +one vision, the unbroken, grassy slope that stretched from behind the +German lines to the town of Thiaucourt. In the trenches behind the slaty +trunks of the great ash trees, Bavarian peasants, Saxons, and +round-headed Wurttem-burgers, the olive-green, jack-booted Boches, +awaited their coming, determined to hold the wood, the salient, and the +city. + +A year later the Bois-le-Pretre (the Priest Wood), with its perfume of +ecclesiastical names that reminds one of the odor of incense in an old +church, had become the Bois de la Mort (the Wood of Death). + +The house in which our bureau was located was once the summer residence +of a rich ironmaster who had fled to Paris at the beginning of the war. +If there is an architectural style of German origin known as the +"Neo-Classic," which affects large, windowless spaces framed in +pilasters of tile, and decorations and insets of omelet-yellow and +bottle-green glazed brick, "Wisteria Villa" is of that school. It stood +behind a high wall of iron spikes on the road leading from Maidieres to +the trenches, a high, Germano-Pompeian country house, topped by a roof +rich in angles, absurd windows, and unexpected gables. There are huge, +square, French-roofed houses in New England villages built by local +richessimes of Grant's time, and still called by neighbors "the Jinks +place" or the "Levi Oates place"; Wisteria Villa had something of the +same social relation to the commune of Maidieres. Grotesque and ugly, it +was not to be despised; it had character in its way. + +Our social center was the dining-room of the villa. Exclusive of the +kitchen range, it boasted the only stove in the house, a queerly shaped +"Salamandre," a kind of Franklin stove with mica doors. The walls were +papered an ugly chocolate brown with a good deal of red in it, and the +borders, doors, and fireplace frame were stained a color trembling +between mission green and oak brown. The room was rectangular and too +high for its width. There were pictures. On each side of the fireplace, +profiles toward the chimney, hung concave plaques of Dutch girls. To the +left of the door was a yellowed etching of the tower of the chateau of +Heidelberg, and to the right a very small oil painting, in an ornate +gilt frame three inches deep, of a beach by moonlight. About two or +three hundred books, bound in boards and red leather, stood behind the +cracked glass of a bookcase in the corner; they were very "jeune fille," +and only the romances of Georges Ohnet appeared to have been read. The +thousand cupboards of the house were full of dusty knickknacks, old +umbrellas, hats, account-books, and huge boxes holding the debris of +sets of checkers, dominoes, and ivory chessmen. An enlarged photograph +of the family hung on the walls of a bedroom; it had been taken at +somebody's marriage, and showed the group standing on the front steps, +the same steps that were later to be blown to pieces by a shell. One saw +the bride, the groom, and about twenty relatives, including a boy in +short trousers, a wide, white collar, and an old-fashioned, fluffy bow +tie. Anxious to be included in the picture, the driver of the bridal +barouche has craned his neck forward. On the evidence of the costumes, +the picture had been taken about 1902. + +Our bureau in the cellar of Wisteria Villa was connected directly with +the trenches. When a man had been wounded, he was carried to the poste +de secours in the rear lines, and it was our duty to go to this trench +post and carry the patient to the hospital at the nearest rail-head. The +bureau of the Section was in charge of two Frenchmen who shared the +labor of attending to the telephone and keeping the books. + +A hundred yards beyond Wisteria Villa, at a certain corner, the +principal road to the trenches divided into three branches, and in order +to interfere as much as possible with communications, the Germans daily +shelled this strategic point. A comrade and I had the curiosity to keep +an exact record of a week's shelling. It must be remembered that the +corner was screened from the Germans, who fired casually in the hope of +hitting something and annoying the French. The cannons shelling the +corner were usually "seventy-sevens," the German quick-firing pieces +that correspond to the French "seventy-fives." + +Monday, ten shells at 6.30, two at 7.10, five at 11.28, twenty at +intervals between 2.15 and 2.45, a swift rafale of some sixteen at 4.12, +another rafale of twenty at 8, and occasional shells between 9 and +midnight. + +Tuesday, two big shells at mid-day. + +Wednesday, rafales at 9.14, 11, 2.18, 4.30, and 6.20. + +Thursday--no shells. + +Friday, twelve at intervals between 10.16 and 12.20. Solitary big shell +at 1.05. Another big shell at 3. Some fifteen stray shells between 5 and +midnight. + +Saturday--no shells. + +Sunday--About five shells an hour between 4 in the afternoon and +midnight. + +I give the number of shells falling at this corner as a concrete +instance of what was happening at a dozen other points along the road. +The fire of the German batteries was as capricious as the play of a +search-light; one week, the corner and three or four other points would +catch it, the next week the corner and another set of localities. And +there were periods, sometimes ten days to two weeks long, when hardly a +shell was fired at any road. Then, after a certain sense of security had +begun to take form, a rafale would come screaming over, blow a horse and +wagon to pieces, and leave one or two blue figures huddled in the mud. +But the French replied to each shell and every rafale, in addition to +firing at random all the day and a good deal of the night. There was +hardly a night that Wisteria Villa did not rock to the sound of French +guns fired at 2 and 3 in the morning. But the average day at +Pont-a-Mousson was a day of random silences. The war had all the +capricious-ness of the sea--of uncertain weather. There were hours of +calm in the day, during which the desolate silence of the front flooded +swiftly over the landscape; there were interruptions of great violence, +sometimes desultory, sometimes beginning, in obedience to a human will, +at a certain hour. The outbreak would commence with the orderliness of a +clock striking, and continue the greater part of the day, rocking the +deserted town with its clamor. Hearing it, the soldiers en repos would +say, talking of The Wood, "It sings (ca chante)," or, "It knocks (ca +tape) up there to-day." The smoke of the bursting shells hung over The +Wood in a darkish, gray-blue fog. But since The Wood had a personality +for us, many would say simply, "Listen to The Wood." + +The shell expresses one idea--energy. The cylinder of iron, piercing the +air at a terrific speed, sings a song of swift, appalling energy, of +which the final explosion is the only fitting culmination. One gets, +too, an idea of an unbending volition in the thing. After a certain time +at the front the ear learns to distinguish the sound of a big shell from +a small shell, and to know roughly whether or not one is in the danger +zone. It was a grim jest with us that it took ten days to qualify as a +shell expert, and at the end of two weeks all those who qualified +attended the funeral of those who had failed. Life at The Wood had an +interesting uncertainty. + +A quarter of a mile beyond the corner, on the slope of Puvenelle +opposite The Wood, stood Montauville, the last habitable village of the +region. To the south of it rose the wooded slopes of Puvenelle; to the +north, seen across a marshy meadow, were the slope and the ridge of the +Bois-le-Pretre. The dirty, mud-spattered village was caught between the +leathery sweeps of two wooded ridges. Three winding roads, tramped into +a pie of mire, crossed the grassy slope of The Wood, and disappeared +into the trees at the top. Though less than a mile from the first German +line, the village, because of its protection from shells by a spur of +the Bois-le-Pretre, was in remarkably good condition; the only building +to show conspicuous damage being the church, whose steeple had been +twice struck. It was curious to see pigeons flying in and out of the +belfry through the shell rents in the roof. Here and there, among the +uncultivated fields of those who had fled, were the green fields of some +one who had stayed. A woman of seventy still kept open her grocery shop; +it was extraordinarily dirty, full of buzzing flies, and smelled of +spilled wine. + +"Why did you stay?" I asked her. + +"Because I did not want to leave the village. Of course my daughter +wanted me to come to Dijon. Imagine me in Dijon, I, who have been to +Nancy only once! A fine figure I should make in Dijon in my sabots!" + +"And you are not afraid of the shells?" + +"Oh, I should be afraid of them if I ever went out in the street. But I +never leave my shop." + +And so she stayed, selling the three staples of the French front, +Camembert cheese, Norwegian sardines, and cakes of chocolate. But +Montauville was far from safe. It was there that I first saw a man +killed. I had been talking to a sentry, a small young fellow of +twenty-one or two, with yellow hair and gray-blue eyes full of +weariness. He complained of a touch of jaundice, and wished heartily +that the whole affaire--meaning the war in general--was finished. He was +very anxious to know if the Americans thought the Boches were going to +win. Some vague idea of winning the war just to get even with the Boches +seemed to be in his mind. I assured him that American opinion was +optimistic in regard to the chances of the Allies, and strolled away. +Hardly had I gone ten feet, when a "seventy-seven" shell, arriving +without warning, went Zip-bang, and, turning to crouch to the wall, I +saw the sentry crumple up in the mud. It was as if he were a rubber +effigy of a man blown up with air, and some one had suddenly ripped the +envelope. His rifle fell from him, and he, bending from the waist, +leaned face down into the mud. I was the first to get to him. The young, +discontented face was full of the gray street mud, there was mud in the +hollows of the eyes, in the mouth, in the fluffy mustache. A chunk of +the shell had ripped open the left breast to the heart. Down his sleeve, +as down a pipe, flowed a hasty drop, drop, drop of blood that mixed with +the mire. + +Several times a day, at stated hours, the numbers of German missiles +that had fallen into the trenches of the Bois-le-Pretre, together with +French answers to them, would be telephoned to headquarters. The soldier +in charge of the telephone was an instructor in Latin in a French +provincial university, a tall, stoop- shouldered man, with an +indefinite, benevolent smile curiously framed on thin lips. Probably +very much of a scholar by training and feeling, he had accepted his +military destiny, and was as much a poilu as anybody. During his leisure +hours he was busy writing a "Comparison of the Campaign on the Marne and +the Aisne with Caesar's battles against the Belgian Confederacy." He had +a paper edition of the Gallic Wars which he carried round with him. One +day he explained his thesis to me. He drew a plan with a green pencil on +a piece of paper. + +"See, mon ami," he exclaimed, "here is the Aisne, Caesar's Axona; here +is Berry-au-Bac; here was Caesar, here were the invaders, here was +General French, here Foch, here Von Kluck. Curious, isn't it--two +thousand years afterward?" His eyes for an instant filled with dreamy +perplexity. A little while later I would hear him mechanically +telephoning. "Poste A--five 'seventy-seven' shells, six mines, twelve +trench shells; answer--ten 'seventy-five' shells, eight mines, eighteen +trench shells; Poste B--two 'seventy-seven' shells, one mine, six +grenades; answer--fifteen 'seventy-five' shells; Poste C--one 'two +hundred and ten' shell, fifty mines; answer--sixty mines; Poste D--" + +At Dieulouard I had entered the shell zone; at Pont-a-Mousson, I crossed +the borders of the zone of quiet; at Montauville began the last +zone--the zone of invisibility and violence. Civilian life ended at the +western end of the village street with the abruptness of a man brought +face to face with a high wall. Beyond the village a road was seen +climbing the grassy slope of Puvenelle, to disappear as it neared the +summit of the ridge in a brown wood. It was just an ordinary hill road +of Lorraine, but the fact that it was the direct road to the trenches +invested this climbing, winding, silent length with extraordinary +character. The gate of the zone of violence, every foot of it bore some +scar of the war, now trivial, now gigantic--always awesome in the power +and volition it revealed. One passed from the sight of a brown puddle, +scooped in the surface of the street by an exploding shell, to a view of +a magnificent ash tree splintered by some projectile. It is a very rare +thing to see a sinister landscape, but this whole road was sinister. I +used to discuss this sinister quality with a distinguished French artist +who as a poilu was the infirmier, or medical service man, attached to a +squad of engineers working in a quarry frequently shelled. In this +frightful place we discussed la qualite du sinistre dans l'art (the +sinister in art) as calmly as if we were two Parisian critics sitting on +the benches of the Luxembourg Gardens. As the road advanced into the +wood, there was hardly a wayside tree that had not been struck by a +shell. Branches hung dead from trees, twigs had been lopped off by stray +fragments, great trunks were split apart as if by lightning. "Nature as +Nature is never sinister," said the artist; "it is when there is a +disturbance of the relations between Nature and human life that you have +the sinister. Have you ever seen the villages beyond Ravenna overwhelmed +by the bogs? There you see the sinister. Here Man is making Nature +unlivable for Man." He stroked his fine silky beard meditatively--"This +will all end when the peasants plant again." As we talked, a shell, +intended for the batteries behind, burst high above us. + +Skirting the ravine, now wooded, between Puvenelle and the +Bois-le-Pretre, the road continued westward till it emerged upon the +high plateau of La Woevre; the last kilometre being in full view of the +Germans entrenched on the ridge across the rapidly narrowing, rising +ravine. Along this visible space the trees and bushes by the roadside +were matted by shell fire into an inextricable confusion of destruction, +and through the wisps and splinters of this ruin was seen the ridge of +the Bois-le-Pretre rapidly attaining the level of the moor. At length +the forest of Puvenelle, the ravine, and the Bois-le-Pretre ended +together in a rolling sweep of furzy fields cut off to the west and +north by a vast billow of the moor which, like the rim of a saucer, +closed the wide horizon. Continuing straight ahead, the Puvenelle road +mounted this rise, dipped and disappeared. Halfway between the edge of +the forest of Puvenelle and this crest stood an abandoned inn, a +commonplace building made of buff-brown moorland stone trimmed with red +brick. Close by this inn, at right angles to the Puvenelle road, another +road turned to the north and likewise disappeared over the lift in the +moor. At the corner stood a government signpost of iron slightly bent +back, bearing in gray-white letters on its clay-blue plaque the +legend--Thiaucourt, 12 kilometres Metz, 25 kilometres. + +There was not a soul anywhere in sight; I was surrounded with evidences +of terrific violence--the shattered trees, the shell holes in the road, +the brown-lipped craters in the earth of the fields, the battered inn; +but there was not a sign of the creators of this devastation. A +northwest wind blew in great salvos across the mournful, lonely plateau, +rippling the furze, and brought to my ears the pounding of shells from +behind the rise. When I got to this rim a soldier, a big, blond fellow +of the true Gaulois type with drooping yellow mustaches, climbed slowly +out of a hole in the ground. The effect was startling. I had arrived at +the line where the earth of France completely swallows up the army. This +disappearance of life in a decor of intense action is one of the most +striking things of the war. All about in the surface of the earth were +little, square, sooty holes that served as chimneys, and here and there +rectangular, grave-like openings in the soil showing three or four big +steps descending to a subterranean hut. Fifty feet away not a sign of +human life could be distinguished. Six feet under the ground, framed in +the doorway of a hut, a young, black-haired fellow in a dark-brown +jersey stood smiling pleasantly up at us; it was he who was to be my +guide to the various postes and trenches that I had need to know. He +came up to greet me. + +"Better bring him down here," growled a voice from somewhere in the +earth. "There have been bullets crossing the road all afternoon." + +"I am going to show him the Quart-en-Reserve first." + +The Quart-en-Reserve (Reserved Quarter) was the section of the +Bois-le-Pretre which, because of its situation on the crest of the great +ridge, had been the most fiercely contested. We crept up on the edge of +the ridge and looked over. An open, level field some three hundred yards +wide swept from the Thiaucourt road to the edges of the Bois-le-Pretre; +across this field ran in the most confused manner a strange pattern of +brown lines that disappeared among the stumps and poles of the haggard +wood to the east. To the northwest of this plateau, on the road ahead of +us, stood a ruined village caught in the torment of the lines. Here and +there, in some twenty or thirty places scattered over the scarred +plateau, the smoke of trench shells rose in little curling puffs of +gray-black that quickly dissolved in the wind. + +"The Quart is never quiet," said my guide. "It is now half ours, half +theirs." + +Close to the ground, a blot of light flashed swifter than a stroke of +lightning, and a heavier, thicker smoke rolled away. + +"That is one of ours. We are answering their trench shells with an +occasional 'one hundred and twenty." + +"How on earth is it that everybody is not killed?" + +"Because the regiment has occupied the Quart so long that we know every +foot, every turn, every shelter of it. When we see a trench shell +coming, we know just where to go. It is only the newcomers who get +killed. Two months past, when a new regiment occupied the Quart during +our absence en repos, it lost twenty-five men in one day." + +The first trench that I entered was a simple trench about seven feet +deep, with no trimmings whatsoever, just such a trench as might have +been dug for the accommodation of a large water conduit. We walked on a +narrow board walk very slippery with cheesy, red-brown mire. From time +to time the hammer crash of a shell sounded uncomfortably near, and bits +of dirt and pebbles, dislodged by the concussion, fell from the wall of +the passage. The only vista was the curving wall of the long +communication trench and the soft sky of Lorraine, lit with the pleasant +sunlight of middle afternoon, and islanded with great golden-white cloud +masses. My guide and I might have been the last persons left in a world +of strange and terrible noises. The boyau (communication trench) began +to turn and wind about in the most perplexing manner, and we entered a +veritable labyrinth. This extraordinary, baffling complexity is due +primarily to the fact that the trenches advance and retreat, rise and +fall, in order to take advantage of the opportunities for defense +afforded by every change in the topography of the region. I remember one +area along the front consisting of two round, grassy hills divided by a +small, grassy valley whose floor rose gently to a low ridge connecting +the two heights. In this terrain the defensive line began on the first +hill as a semicircle edging the grassy slopes presented to the enemy, +then retreated, sinking some forty feet, to take advantage of the +connecting link of upland at the head of the ravine, and took +semicircular form again on the flat, broad summit of the second hill. In +the meadows at the base of these hills a brook flowing from the ravine +had created a great swamp, somewhat in the shape of a wedge pointing +outward from the mouth of the valley. The lines of the enemy, edging +this tract of mire, were consequently in the shape of an open V. Thus +the military situation at this particular point may be pictorially +represented by a salient semicircle, a dash, and another salient +semicircle faced by a wide, open V. Imagine such a situation complicated +by offensive and counter-offensive, during which the French have seized +part of the hills and the German part of the plain, till the whole +region is a madman's maze of barbed wire, earthy lines, trenches,--some +of them untenable by either side and still full of the dead who fell in +the last combat,--shell holes, and fortified craters. Such was something +of the situation in that wind-swept plain at the edge of the +Bois-le-Pretre. I leave for other chapters the account of an average day +in the trenches and the story of the great German attack, preferring to +tell here of the general impressions made by the appearance of the +trenches themselves. Two pictures stand out, particularly, the dead on +the barbed wire, and the village called "Fey au Rats" at night. + +"The next line is the first line. Speak in whispers now, for if the +Boches hear us we shall get a shower of hand-grenades." + +I turned into a deep, wide trench whose floor had been trodden into a +slop of cheesy, brown mire which clung to the big hobnailed boots of the +soldiers. Every foot or so along the parapet there was a rifle slit, +made by the insertion of a wedge-shaped wooden box into the wall of +brownish sandbags, and the sentries stood about six feet apart. The +trench had the hushed quiet of a sickroom. + +"Do you want to see the Boches? Here; come, put your eye to this rifle +slit." + +A horizontal tangle of barbed wire lay before me, the shapeless gully of +an empty trench, and, thirty-five feet away, another blue-gray tangle of +barbed wire and a low ripple of the brownish earth. As I looked, one of +the random silences of the front stole swiftly into the air. French +trench and German trench were perfectly silent; you could have heard the +ticking of a watch. + +"You never see them?" + +"Only when we attack them or they attack us." + +An old poilu, with a friendly smile revealing a jagged reef of yellow +teeth, whispered to me amiably:-- + +"See them? Good Lord, it's bad enough to smell them. You ought to thank +the good God, young man, that the wind is carrying it over our heads." + +"Any wounded to-day?" + +"Yes; a corporal had his leg ripped up about half an hour ago." + +At a point a mile or so farther down the moor I looked again out of a +rifle box. No Man's Land had widened to some three hundred feet of +waving furze, over whose surface gusts of wind passed as over the +surface of the sea. About fifty feet from the German trenches was a +swathe of barbed wire supported on a row of five stout, wooden posts. So +thickly was the wire strung that the eye failed to distinguish the +individual filaments and saw only the rows of brown-black posts filled +with a steely purple mist. Upon this mist hung masses of weather-beaten +blue rags whose edges waved in the wind. + +"Des camarades" (comrades), said my guide very quietly. + +A month later I saw the ruined village of Fey-en-Haye by the light of +the full golden shield of the Hunters' Moon. The village had been taken +from the Germans in the spring, and was now in the French lines, which +crossed the village street and continued right on through the houses. +"The first village on the road to Metz" had tumbled, in piles and mounds +of rubbish, out on a street grown high with grass. Moonlight poured into +the roofless cottages, escaping by shattered walls and jagged rents, and +the mounds of debris took on fantastic outlines and cast strange +shadows. In the middle of the village street stood two wooden crosses +marking the graves of soldiers. It was the Biblical "Abomination of +Desolation." + +Looking at Fey from the end of the village street, I slowly realized +that it was not without inhabitants. Wandering through the grass, +scurrying over the rubbish heaps, running in and out of the crumbling +thresholds were thousands and thousands of rats. + +Across the bright sky came a whirring hum, the sound of the motors of +aeroplanes on the way to bombard the railroad station at Metz. I looked +up, but there was nothing to be seen. The humming died away. The bent +signpost at the corner of the deserted moorland road, with its arrow and +its directions, somehow seemed a strange, shadowy symbol of the +impossibility of the attainment of many human aspirations. + + + + +Chapter V + +The Trenches In The "Wood Of Death" + + + +So great has been the interest in the purely military side of the +struggle that one is apt to forget that the war is worth study as the +supreme occupation of many great nations, whose every energy, physical, +moral, and economic, has been put to its service, and relentlessly +tested in its fiery furnace. A future historian may find the war more +interesting, when considered as the supreme achievement of the +industrial civilization of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, than +as a mere vortex in the age-old ocean of European political strife. +There is something awe-inspiring in the spectacle of all the continuous +and multitudinous activity of a great nation feeding, by a thousand +channels, a thousand rills, to the embattled furrows of the zone of +violence. + +By a strange decree of fate, a new warfare has come into being, +admirably adapted to the use and the testing of all our faculties, +organizations, and inventions--trench warfare. The principal element of +this modern warfare is lack of mobility. + +The lines advance, the lines retreat, but never once, since the +establishment of the present trench swathe, have the lines of either +combatant been pushed clear out of the normal zone of hostilities. The +fierce, invisible combats are limited to the first-line positions, +averaging a mile each way behind No Man's Land. This stationary +character has made the war a daily battle; it has robbed war of all its +ancient panoply, its cavalry, its uniforms brilliant as the sun, and has +turned it into the national business. I dislike to use the word +"business," with its usual atmosphere of orderly bargaining; I intend +rather to call up an idea more familiar to American minds--the idea of a +great intricate organization with a corporate volition. The war of +to-day is a business, the people are the stockholders, and the object of +the organization is the wisest application of violence to the enemy. + +To this end, in numberless secteurs along the front, special +narrow-gauge railroad lines have been built directly from the railroad +station at the edge of the shell zone to the artillery positions. To +this end the trenches have been gathered into a special telephone system +so that General Joffre at Chantilly can talk to any officers or soldiers +anywhere along the great swathe. The food, supplies, clothing, and +ammunition are delivered every day at the gate of the swathe, and calmly +redistributed to the trenches by a sort of military express system. + +Only one thing ever disturbs the vast, orderly system. The bony fingers +of Death will persist in getting into the cogs of the machine. + +The front is divided, according to military exigencies, into a number of +roughly equal lengths called secteurs. Each secteur is an administrative +unit with its own government and its own system adapted to the local +situation. The heart of this unit is the railroad station at which the +supplies arrive for the shell zone; in a normal secteur, one military +train arrives every day bringing the needed supplies, and one hospital +train departs, carrying the sick and wounded to the hospitals. The +station at the front is always a scene of considerable activity, +especially when the train arrives; there are pictures of old poilus in +red trousers pitching out yellow hay for the horses, commissary officers +getting their rations, and artilleurs stacking shells. + +The train not being able to continue into the shell zone, the supplies +are carried to the distributing station at the trenches in a convoy of +wagons, called the ravitaillement. Every single night, somewhere along +the road, each side tries to smash up the other's ravitaillement. To +avoid this, the ravitaillement wagons start at different hours after +dark, now at dusk, now at midnight. Sometimes, close by the trenches on +a clear, still night, the plashing and creaking of the enemy's wagons +can be heard through the massacred trees. I remember being shelled along +one bleak stretch of moorland road just after a drenching December rain. +The trench lights rising over The Wood, three miles away, made the wet +road glow with a tarnished glimmer, and burnished the muddy pools into +mirrors of pale light. The ravitaillement creaked along in the darkness. +Suddenly a shell fell about a hundred yards away, and the wagons brought +up jerkily, the harnesses rattling. For ten minutes the Germans shelled +the length of road just ahead of us, but no shell came closer to us than +the first one. About thirty "seventy-seven" shells burst, some on the +road, some on the edges of the fields; we saw them as flashes of +reddish-violet light close to the ground. In the middle of the melee a +trench light rose, showing the line of halted gray wagons, the +motionless horses, and the helmeted drivers. The whole affair passed in +silence. When it was judged that the last shell had fallen, whips +cracked like pistol shots, and the line lumbered on again. + +The food came to us fresh every day in a freight car fitted up like a +butcher's shop, in charge of a poilu who was a butcher in civilian life. +"So many men--so many grammes," and he would cut you off a slice. There +was a daily potato ration, and a daily extra, this last from a list ten +articles long which began again every ten days, and included beans, +macaroni, lentils, rice, and cheese. The French army is very well and +plenteously fed. Coffee, sugar, wine, and even tea are ungrudgingly +furnished. These foods are taken directly to the rear of the trenches +where the regimental cooks have their traveling kitchens. Once the food +is prepared, the cooks--the beloved cuistots--take it to the trenches in +great, steaming kettles and distribute it to the men individually. As +for clothing, every regiment has a regimental tailor shop and supply of +uniforms in the village where they go to repos. I have often seen the +soldier tailor of one of the regiments, a little Alsatian Jew, sewing up +the shell rents in a comrade's greatcoat. He had his shop in a pleasant +kitchen, and used to sit beside the fire sewing as calmly as an old +woman. + +The sanitary arrangements of the trenches are the usual army latrines, +and very severe punishments are inflicted for any fouling. + +If a man is wounded, the medical service man of his squad (infirmier), +or one of the stretcher-bearers (brancardiers), takes him as quickly as +possible to the regimental medical post in the rear lines. If the trench +is getting heavily shelled, and the wound is slight, the attendant takes +the man to a shelter and applies first aid until a time comes when he +and his patient can proceed to the rear with reasonable safety. At this +rear post the regimental surgeon cleans the wound, stops the bleeding, +and sends for the ambulance, which, at the Bois-le-Pretre, came right +into the heart of the trenches by sunken roads that were in reality +broad trenches. The man is then taken to the hospital that his condition +requires, the slightly wounded to one hospital, and those requiring an +operation to another. The French surgical hospitals all along the front +are marvels of cleanliness and order. The heart of each hospital is the +power plant, which sterilizes the water, runs the electric lights, and +works the X-ray generator. Mounted on an automobile body, it is always +ready to decamp in case the locality gets too dangerous. You find these +great, lumbering affairs, half steamroller, half donkey-engine, in the +courtyards of old castles, schools, and great private houses close by +the front. + +The first-line trenches, in a position at all contested, are very apt +still to preserve the hurried arrangement of their first plan, which is +sometimes hardly any plan at all. It must be admitted that the Germans +have the advantage in the great majority of places, for theirs was the +first choice, and they entrenched themselves, as far as possible, along +the crests of the eastern hills of France, in a line long prepared for +just such an exigency. It has been the frightfully difficult task of the +Allies, these two years, not only to hold the positions at the foot of +these hills, in which they were at a tactical disadvantage, all their +movements being visible to the Boches on the crests above them, but also +to attack an enemy entrenched in a strong position of his own choosing. +To-day at one point along the line, the French and Germans may share the +dominating crest of a position, at another point, they may be equally +matched, and at another, such as Les Eparges, the French, after fearful +losses, have carried the coveted eminence. One phase of the business of +violence is the work of the military undertaker attached to each +secteur, who writes down in his little red book the names of the day's +dead, and arranges for the wooden cross at the head of each fresh grave. +Every day along the front is a battle in which thousands of men die. + +The eastern hills of France, those pleasant rolling heights above +Rheims, Verdun, and old, provincial Pont-a-Mousson, have been literally +gorged with blood. It being out of the question to strengthen or rectify +very much the front-line trenches close to the enemy, the effort has +taken place in the rear lines. Wherever there is a certain security, the +rear lines of all the important strategic points have been converted +into veritable subterranean fortresses. The floor plan of these trenches +is an adaptation of the military theory of fortification--with its +angles, salients, and bastions--to the topography of the region. The +gigantic concrete walls of the bomb-proof shelters, the little forts to +shelter the machine guns, and the concrete passages in the rear-line +trenches will appear as heavy and massive to future generations as Roman +masonry appears to us. There are, of course, many unimportant little +links of the trench system, upon whose holding nothing depends and for +whose domination neither side cares to spend the life of a single +soldier, that have only an apology for a second position. The war needs +the money for the preparation of important places. At vital points there +may be the tremendously powerful second line, a third line, and even a +fourth line. The region between Verdun and the lines, for instance, is +the most fearful snarl of barbed wire, pits, and buried explosives that +could be imagined. The distance would have to be contested inch by inch. + +The trench theory is built about the soldier. It must preserve him as +far as possible from artillery and from an infantry attack. The defenses +begin with barbed wire; then come the rifles and the machine guns; and +behind them the light artillery, the "seventy-fives," and the heavy +artillery, the "one hundred and twenties," "two hundred and twenties," +and, now, an immense howitzer whose real caliber has been carefully +concealed. To take a trench position means the crossing of the +entanglements of No Man's Land under fire from artillery, rifles, and +machine guns, an almost impossible proceeding. An advance is possible +only after the opposing trenches have been made untenable by the +concentration of artillery fire. The great offensives begin by blowing +the first lines absolutely to pieces; this accomplished, the attacking +infantry advances to the vacated trenches under the rifle fire of those +few whom the terrible deluge of shells has not killed or crazed, works +toward the strong second position under a concentrated artillery fire of +the retreating enemy as terrible as its own, fights its way heroically +into the second position, and stops there. The great line has been bent, +has been dented, but never broken. An offensive must cover at least +twenty miles of front, for if the break is too narrow the attacking +troops will be massacred by the enemy artillery at both ends of the +broken first lines. If the front lines are one mile deep, the artillery +must put twenty-five square miles of trenches hors de combat, a task +that takes millions of shells. By the time that the first line has been +destroyed and the troops have reached the second line, the shells and +the men are pretty well used up. A great successful offensive on the +western front is theoretically possible, given millions of men, but +practically impossible. Outside of important local gains, the great +western offensives have been failures. Champagne was a failure, the +Calais drive was a failure, Verdun was a failure, and the drive on the +Somme has only bent the lines. The Germans may shorten their lines +because of a lack of men, but I firmly believe that neither their line +nor the Allies' line will ever be broken. What will be the end if the +Allies cannot wrest from Germany, Belgium and that part of northern +France she is holding for ransom--to obtain good terms at the peace +congress? Is Germany slowly, very slowly going under, or are we going to +witness complete European exhaustion? Whatever happens, poor, mourning, +desolated France will hold to the end. + +In localities where no great offensive is contemplated, and the business +of violence has become a routine, the object of the commander is to keep +the enemy on the qui-vive, demoralize him by killing and wounding his +soldiers, and prevent him from strengthening his first lines. Relations +take on the character of an exchange; one day the French throw a +thousand mines (high-explosive trench shells) into the German lines, and +the next day the Germans throw a thousand back. The French smash up a +village where German troops are en repos; while it is being done, the +Germans begin to blow a French village to pieces. In the trenches the +individual soldiers throw grenades at each other, and wish that the +whole tiresome business was done with. They have two weeks in the +trenches and two weeks out of them in a cantonment behind the lines. The +period in the trenches is divided between the first lines and the rear +lines of the first position. Often on my way to the trenches at night I +would pass a regiment coming to repos. Silent, vaguely seen, in broken +step the regiment passed. Sometimes a shell would come whistling in. + +There was one part of the Bois-le-Pretre region upon which nothing +depended, and the war had there settled into the casual exchange of +powder and old iron that obtains upon two thirds of the front. At the +entrance to this position, in the shadow of a beautiful clump of ash +trees, stood the rustic shelters of the regimental cooks. From behind +the wall of trees came a terrifying crash. The war-gray, iron field +kitchen, which the army slang calls a contre-torpilleur (torpedo-boat +destroyer), stood in a little clearing of the wood; there was nothing +beautiful to the machine, which was simply an iron box, two feet high +and four feet square, mounted on big wheels, and fitted with a high oval +chimney. A halo of kitcheny smell floated about it, and the open door of +its fire-box, in which brands were burning furiously, and a jet of vapor +from somewhere, gave it quite the appearance of an odd steam engine. +Beside the contre-torpilleur stood the two cooks, both unusually small +in stature. One was about thirty-two or three years old, chunky, and +gifted with short, strong, hairy arms; the other was much slighter, +younger, and so juvenile of face that his downy mustache was almost +invisible. I knew these men very well; one, the older, was a farmhand in +a village of Touraine, and the other, an errand boy in a bookbinding +works at Saint-Denis. The war had turned them into regimental cooks, +though it was the older man who did most of the cooking, while the boy +occupied himself with gathering wood and distributing the food. The +latter once confessed to me that when he heard that Americans were +coming to the Bois-le-Pretre, he had expected to see Indians, and that +he and his comrades had joked, half in jest, half in earnest, about the +Boches going to lose their scalps. The other was famous for an episode +of the July attacks: cornered in the trench by a Boche, he had emptied +his kettle of hot soup over the man's head and finished him off with a +knife. They waved friendlily at me. The farmhand, in particular, was one +of the pleasantest fellows who ever breathed; and still fond, like a +true good man of Touraine, of a Rabelaisian jest. + +The road now entered the wood, and continued straight ahead down a +pleasant vista of young ash trees. Suddenly a trench, bearing its name +in little black, dauby letters on a piece of yellow board the size of a +shingle, began by the side of the forest road, and I went down into it +as I might have gone down cellar. The Boyau Poincare--such was its +title--began to curve and twist in the manner of trenches, and I came +upon a corner in the first line known as "Three Dead Men," because after +the capture of the wood, three dead Germans were found there in +mysterious, lifelike attitudes. The names of trenches on the French +front often reflect that deep, native instinct to poetry possessed by +simple peoples--the instinct that created the English ballads and the +exquisite mediaeval French legends of the saints. Other trench names +were symbolic, or patriotic, or political; we had the "Trench of the +Great Revenge," the "Trench of France," the "Trench of Aristide" +(meaning Briand), and the "Boulevard Joffre." + +Beyond "Les Trois Morts," began the real lines of the position, and as I +wound my way through them to the first lines, the pleasant forest of +autumnal branches thinned to a wood of trees bare as telegraph poles. It +had taken me half an hour to get from the cook's shelters to the first +lines, and during that time I had not heard one single explosion. In the +first trench the men stood casually by their posts at the parapet, their +bluish coats in an interesting contrast to the brown wall of the trench. +Behind the sentries, who peered through the rifle slits every once in a +while, flowed the usual populace of the first-line trench, passing as +casually as if they were on a Parisian sidewalk, officers as miry as +their men, poilus of the Engineer Corps with an eye to the state of the +rifle boxes, and an old, unshaven soldier in light-brown corduroy +trousers and blue jacket, who volunteered the information that the +Boches had thrown a grenade at him as he turned the corner "down +there"--"It didn't go off." So calm an atmosphere pervaded the cold, +sunny, autumnal afternoon that the idea "the trenches" took on the +proportions of a gigantic hoax; we might have been masqueraders in the +trenches after the war was over. And the Germans were only seventy-five +feet away, across those bare poles, stumps, and matted dead brown +leaves! + +"Attention!" + +The atmosphere of the trench changed in a second. Every head in sight +looked up searchingly at the sky. Just over the trees, distinctly seen, +was a little, black, cylindrical package somersaulting through the air. +In another second everybody had calculated the spot in which it was +about to land, and those whom it threatened had swiftly found shelter, +either by continuing down the trench to a sharp turn, running into the +door of an abri (shelter), or simply snuggling into a hole dug in the +side of the trench. There was a moment of full, complete silence between +the time when everybody had taken refuge and the explosion of the trench +shell. The missile burst with that loud hammer pound made by a +thick-walled iron shell, and lay smoking in the withered leaves. + +"It begins--it begins," said an old poilu, tossing his head. "Now we +shall have those pellets all afternoon." + +An instant after the burst the trench relaxed; some of the sentries +looked back to see where the shell had fallen, others paid no attention +to it whatsoever. Once again the quiet was disturbed by a muffled boom +somewhere ahead of us, and everybody calculated and took refuge exactly +as before. The shells began to come, one on the heels of the other with +alarming frequency; hardly had one burst when another was discovered in +the air. The poilus, who had taken the first shells as a matter of +course, good-naturedly even, began to get as cross as peevish +schoolboys. It was decidedly too much of a good thing. Finally the order +was given for every one except the sentinels, who were standing under +the occasional shelters of beams and earth bridged across the trench, to +retire to the abris. I saw one of the exposed sentinels as I withdrew, a +big, heavily built, young fellow with a face as placid as that of a farm +animal; his rifle leaned against the earth of the trench, and the shadow +of the shelter fell on his expressionless features. The next sentinel +was a man in the late thirties, a tall, nervous soldier with a fierce, +aggressive face. + +The abri to which we retired was about twenty-five feet long and eight +feet wide, and had a door at either end. The hut had been dug right in +the crude, calcareous rock of Lorraine, and the beams of the roof were +deeply set into these natural walls. Along the front wall ran a corridor +about a foot wide, and between this corridor and the rear wall was a +raised platform about seven feet wide piled with hay. Sprawled in this +hay, in various attitudes, were about fifteen men, the squad that had +just completed its sentry service. Two candles hung from the massive +roof and flickered in the draughts between the two doors, revealing, in +rare periods of radiance, a shelf along the wall over the sleepers' +heads piled with canteens, knapsacks, and helmets. In the middle of the +rock wall by the corridor a semicircular funnel had been carved out to +serve as a fireplace, and at its base a flameless fire of beautiful, +crumbling red brands was glowing. This hearth cut in the living rock was +very wonderful and beautiful. Suddenly a trench shell landed right on +the roof of the abri, shaking little fragments of stone down into the +fire on the hearth. The soldiers, who sat hunched up on the edge of the +platform, their feet in the corridor, gave vent to a burst of anger that +had its source in exasperation. + +"This is going too far."--"Why don't they answer?"--"Are those dirty +cows (the classic sales vaches) going to keep this up all afternoon?" + +"Really, now, this is getting to be a real nuisance." Suddenly two forms +loomed large in the left doorway, and the stolid sentry of whom I have +spoken limped in on the arm of an infirmier. Voices murmured in the +obscurity, "Who is wounded?"--"Somebody wounded?" And dreamy-eyed ones +sat up in the straw. The stolid one--he could not have been much over +twenty-one or two--sat down on the edge of the straw near the fireplace, +his face showing no emotion, only a pallor. He had a painful but not +serious wound; a small fragment of iron, from a shell that had fallen +directly into the trench, had lodged in the bones of his foot. He took +off his big, ugly shoe and rested the blood-stained sock on the straw. +Voices like echoes traveled the length of the shelter--"Is it thou, +Jarnac?"--"Art thou wounded, Jarnac?" "Yes," answered the big fellow in +a bass whisper. He was a peasant of the Woevre, one of a stolid, +laborious race. + +"The lieutenant has gone to the telephone shelter to ring up the +batteries," said the infirmier. "Good," said a vibrant, masculine voice +somewhere in the straw. + +A shell coming toward you from the enemy makes a good deal of noise, but +it is not to be compared to the noise made by one's own shells rushing +on a slant just over one's head to break in the enemy's trenches +seventy-five feet away. A swift rafale of some fifty "seventy-five" +shells passed whistling like the great wind of the Apocalypse, which is +to blow when the firmament collapses. Looking through the rifle slit, +after the rafale was over, I could see puffs of smoke apparently rising +out of the carpet of dead leaves. The nervous man, the other sentry, +held up his finger for us not to make the slightest noise and +whispered,-- + +"I heard somebody yell." + +"Where?" + +"Over there by that stump." + +We strained our ears to catch a sound, but heard nothing. + +"I heard the yell plainly," replied the sentry. + +The news seemed to give some satisfaction. At any rate, the Germans +stopped their trench shells. The quiet hush of late afternoon was at +hand. Soon the cook came down the trench with kettles of hot soup. + +Five months have passed since I last saw the inhabitants of this abri, +the tenants of the "Ritz-Marmite." How many are still alive? What has +happened to this fine, brave crowd of Frenchmen, gentlemen all, bons +camarades? I have seen them on guard in a heavy winter snowstorm, when +the enemy was throwing grenades which, exploding, blew purplish-black +smudges on the snow; I have seen them so bemired in mud and slop that +they looked like effigies of brownish earth; I have watched them wading +through communication trenches that were veritable canals. And this is +the third year of the war. + +The most interesting of the lot mentally was a young Socialist named +Hippolyte. He was a sous-lieutenant of the Engineers, and had quarters +of his own in the rear of the trenches, where one was always sure to +find books on social questions lying round in the hay. When the war +began he was just finishing his law course at the University of +Montpellier. A true son of the South, he was dark, short, but well +proportioned, with small hands and feet. The distinguishing features of +his countenance were his eyes and mouth--the eyes, eloquent, alert, +almost Italian; the mouth, full, firm, and dogmatic. The great orators +of the Midi must have resembled him in their youth. He was a Socialist +and a pacifist a outrance, continuing his dream of universal fraternity +in the midst of war. His work lay in building a tunnel under the +Germans, by which he hoped to blow part of the German trenches, Teutons +and all, sky-high. + +The tunnei (sape) began in the third line, at a door hi the wall of the +trench strongly framed in wooden beams the size of railroad ties. At +occasional intervals along the passage the roof was reinforced by a +frame of these beams, so that the sape had the businesslike, +professional look of a gallery in a coal mine. Descending steeply to a +point twelve feet beyond the entrance, it then went at a gentle incline +under No Man's Land, and ended beneath the German trenches. It was the +original intention to blow up part of the German first line, but it +being one day discovered that the Germans were building a tunnel +parallel to the French one, it was decided to blow up the French safe so +that the explosion would spend its force underground, and cause the +walls of the German tunnel to cave in on its makers. I happened to see +the tunnel the morning of the day it was blown up. The French had +stopped working for fear of being overheard by the Germans. It was a +ticklish situation. Were the Germans aware of the French tunnel? If so, +they would blow up their own at once. Were they still continuing their +labor? The earth of the French might burst apart anyminute and rain down +again in a dreadful shower of clods, stones, and mangled bodies. + +Alone, quiet, at the end of the passage under the German lines sat an +old poilu, the sentinel of the tunnel. He was an old coal miner of the +North. The light of a candle showed his quiet, bearded face, grave as +the countenance of some sculptured saint on the portico of a Gothic +church, and revealed the wrinkles and lines of many years of labor. The +sentinel held a microphone to his ears; the poles of it disappearing +into the wall of damp earth separating us from the Boches. + +Hippolyte whispered, "You hear them?" + +The old man nodded his head, and gave the microphone to his officer. I +saw Hippolyte listen. Then, without a word, he handed it to me. All that +I could hear was a faint tapping. + +"The Boches," whispered Hippolyte. + +The French blew up the sape early in the afternoon, at a time when they +felt sure the Germans were at work in their tunnel. I saw the result the +next day. A saucer-shaped depression about twenty-five feet in diameter, +and perhaps two feet deep, had appeared in No Man's Land. Even the +stumps of two trees had sunk and tilted. + +It was Hippolyte who had turned on the electricity. I once talked the +matter over with him. He became at once intense, Latin, doctrinaire. + +"How do you reconcile your theories of fraternity to what you have to +do?" + +"I do not have to reconcile my theories to my office; I am furthering my +theories." + +"How so?" + +"By combating the Boches. Without them we might have realized our idea +of universal peace and fraternity. Voila l'ennemi! The race is a +poisonous race, serpents, massacreurs! I wish I could smother as many of +them every day as I did yesterday." + +During my service I did not meet another soldier whose hatred of the +Germans was comparable to that of this advocate of universal love. + +I left the trenches just at dusk. Above the dreadful depression in No +Man's Land shone a bronzy sky against which the trees raised their +haggard silhouettes. There was hardly a sound in the whole length of The +Wood. A mist came up making haloes round the rising winter stars. + + + + +Chapter VI + +The Germans Attack + + +The schoolmaster (instituteur) and the schoolmistress (institutrice) of +Montauville were a married couple, and had a flat of four rooms on the +second story of the schoolhouse. The kitchen of this fiat had been +struck by a shell, and was still a mess of plaster, bits of stone, and +glass, and a fragment had torn clear through the sooty bottom of a +copper saucepan still hanging on the wall. In one of the rooms, else +quite bare of furniture, was an upright piano. Sometimes while stationed +at Montauville, I whiled away the waits between calls to the trenches in +playing this instrument. + +It was about nine o'clock in the morning, and thus far not a single call +had come in. The sun was shining very brightly in a sky washed clear by +a night of rain, the morning mists were rising from the wood, and up and +down the very muddy street walked little groups of soldiers. I drew up +the rickety stool and began to play the waltz from "The Count of +Luxembourg." In a short time I heard the sound of tramping on the stairs +voices. In came three poilus--a pale boy with a weary, gentle expression +in his rather faded blue eyes; a dark, heavy fellow of twenty-five or +six, with big wrists, big, muscular hands, and a rather unpleasant, +lowering face; and a little, middle-aged man with straightforward, +friendly hazel eyes and a pointed beard. The pale, boyish one carried a +violin made from a cigar box under his arm, just such a violin as the +darkies make down South. This violin was very beautifully made, and +decorated with a rustic design. I stopped playing. + +"Don't, don't," cried the dark, big fellow; "we haven't heard any music +for a long time. Please keep on. Jacques, here, will accompany you." + +"I never heard the waltz," said the violinist; "but if you play it over +for me once or twice, I'll try to get the air--if you would like to have +me to," he added with a shy, gentle courtesy. + +So I played the rather banal waltz again, till the lad caught the tune. +He hit it amazingly well, and his ear was unusually true. The dark one +had been in Canada and was hungry for American rag-time. "'The Good Old +Summer Time'--you know that? 'Harrigan'--you know that?" he said in +English. The rag-time of "Harrigan" floated out on the street of +Montauville. But I did not care to play things which could have no +violin obligato, so I began to play what I remembered of waltzes dear to +every Frenchman's heart--the tunes of the "Merry Widow." "Sylvia" went +off with quite a dash. The concert was getting popular. Somebody wanted +to send for a certain Alphonse who had an occarina. Two other poilus, +men in the forties, came up, their dark-brown, horseshoe beards making +them look like brothers. Side by side against the faded paper on the +sunny wall they stood, surveying us contentedly. The violinist, who +turned out to be a Norman, played a solo--some music-hall fantasy, I +imagine. The next number was the ever popular "Tipperaree," which every +single poilu in the French army has learned to sing in a kind of +English. Our piano-violin duet hit off this piece even better than the +"Merry Widow." I thanked Heaven that I was not called on to translate +it, a feat frequently demanded of the American drivers. The song is +silly enough in the King's English, but in lucid, exact French, it sinks +to positive imbecility. + +"You play, don't you?" said the violinist to the small bearded man. + +"A little," he replied modestly. + +"Please play." + +The little man sat down at the piano, meditated a minute, and began to +play the rich chords of Rachmaninof's "Prelude." He got about half +through, when Zip-bang! a small shell burst down the street. The dark +fellow threw open the French window. The poilus were scurrying to +shelter. The pianist continued with the "Prelude." + +Zip-bang! Zip-bang! Zshh--Bang--Bang. Bang-Bang! + +The piano stopped. Everybody listened. The village was still as death. +Suddenly down the street came the rattle of a volley of rifle shots. +Over this sound rose the choked, metallic notes of a bugle-call. The +rifle shots continued. The ominous popping of machine guns resounded. +The village, recovering from its silence, filled with murmurs. Bang! +Bang! Bang I Bang! went some more shells. The same knowledge took +definite shape in our minds. + +"An attack!" + +The violinist, clutching his instrument, hurried down the stairs +followed by all the others, leaving the chords of the uncompleted +"Prelude" to hang in the startled air. Shells were popping +everywhere--crashes of smoke and violence--in the roads, in the fields, +and overhead. The Germans were trying to isolate the few detachments en +repos in the village, and prevent reinforcements coming from Dieulouard +or any other place. To this end all the roads between Pont-a-Mousson and +the trenches, and the roads leading directly to the trenches, were being +shelled. + +"Go at once to Poste C!" + +The winding road lay straight ahead, and just at the end of the village +street, the Germans had established a tir de barrage. This meant that a +shell was falling at that particular point about once every fifty +seconds. I heard two rafales break there as I was grinding up the +machine. Up the slope of the Montauville hill came several of the other +drivers. Tyler, of New York, a comrade who united remarkable bravery to +the kindest of hearts, followed close behind me, also evidently bound +for Poste C. German bullets, fired wildly from the ridge of The Wood +over the French trenches, sang across the Montauville valley, lodging in +the trees of Puvenelle behind us with a vicious tspt; shells broke here +and there on the stretch leading to the Quart-en-Reserve, throwing the +small rocks of the road surfacing wildly in every direction. The French +batteries to our left were firing at the Germans, the German batteries +were firing at the French trenches and the roads, and the machine guns +rattled ceaselessly. I saw the poilus hurrying up the muddy roads of the +slope of the Bois-le-Pretre--vague masses of moving blue on the brown +ways. A storm of shells was breaking round certain points in the road +and particularly at the entrance to The Wood. I wondered what had become +of the audience at the concert. Various sounds, transit of shells, +bursting of shells, crashing of near-by cannon, and rat-tat-tat-tat! of +mitrailleuses played the treble to a roar formed of echoes and +cadences--the roar of battle. The Wood of Death (Le Bois de la Mort) was +singing again. + +That day's attack was an attempt by the Germans to take back from the +French the eastern third of the Quart-en-Reserve and the rest of the +adjoining ridge half hidden in the shattered trees. At the top of the +plateau, by the rise in the moorland I described in the preceding +chapter, I had an instant's view of the near-by battle, for the focus +was hardly more than four hundred yards away. There was a glimpse of +human beings in the Quart--soldiers in green, soldiers in blue--the very +fact that anybody was to be seen there was profoundly stirring. They +were fighting in No Man's Land. Tyler and I watched for a second, +wondering what scenes of agony, of heroism, of despair were being +enacted in that dreadful field by the ruined wood. + +We hurried our wounded to the hospital, passing on our way detachments +of soldiers rushing toward The Wood from the villages of the region. +Three or four big shells had just fallen in Dieulouard, and the village +was deserted and horribly still. The wind carried the roar of the attack +to our ears. In three quarters of an hour, I was back again at the same +moorland poste, to which an order of our commander had attached me. +Montauville was full of wounded. I had three on stretchers inside, one +beside me on the seat, and two others on the front mudguards. And The +Wood continued to sing. From Montauville I could hear the savage yells +and cries which accompanied the fighting. + +Half an hour after the beginning of the attack, the war invaded the sky, +with the coming of the German reconnoitering aeroplanes. One went to +watch the roads leading to The Wood along the plateau, one went to watch +the Dieulouard road, and the other hovered over the scene of the combat. +The sky was soon dotted with the puffs of smoke left by the exploding +shells of the special anti-aircraft "seventy- fives." These puffs +blossomed from a pin-point of light to a vaporous, gray-white puff-ball +about the size of the full moon, and then dissolved in the air or blew +about in streaks and wisps. These cloudlets, fired at an aviator flying +along a certain line, often were gathered by the eye into arrangements +resembling constellations. The three machines were very high, and had a +likeness to little brown and silver insects. + +The Boche watching the conflict appeared to hang almost immobile over +the Quart. With a striking suddenness, another machine appeared behind +him and above him. So unexpected was the approach of this second +aeroplane that its appearance had a touch of the miraculous. It might +have been created at that very moment in the sky. The Frenchman--for it +was an aviator from the parc at Toul, since killed at Verdun, poor +fellow--swooped beneath his antagonist and fired his machine gun at him. +The German answered with two shots of a carbine. The Frenchman fired +again. Suddenly the German machine flopped to the right and swooped +down; it then flopped to the left, the tail of the machine flew up, and +the apparatus fell, not so swiftly as one might expect, down a thousand +feet into The Wood. When I saw the wreckage, a few days afterwards, it +looked like the spilt contents of a waste-paper basket, and the +aviators, a pilot and an observer, had had to be collected from all over +the landscape. The French buried them with full military honors. + +Thanks to the use of a flame machine, the Germans succeeded in regaining +the part of the ridge they had lost, but the French made it so hot for +them that they abandoned it, and the contested trenches now lie in No +Man's Land. All that night the whole Wood was illuminated, trench light +after trench light rising over the dark branches. There would be a +rocket like the trail of bronze-red powder sparks hanging for an instant +in the sky, then a loud Plop! and the French light would spread out its +parachute and sail slowly down the sky toward the river. The German +lights (fusees eclairantes), cartridges of magnesium fired from a gun +resembling a shotgun, burned only during their dazzling trajectory. At +midnight the sky darkened with low, black rain clouds, upon whose +surface the constant cannon fire flashed in pools of violet-white light. +Coming down from the plateau at two in the morning, I could see sharp +jabs of cannon fire for thirty miles along the front on the other side +of the Moselle. + +Just after this attack a doctor of the army service was walking through +the trenches in which the French had made their stand. He noticed +something oddly skewered to a tree. He knocked it down with a stone, and +a human heart fell at his feet. + +The most interesting question of the whole business is, "How do the +soldiers stand it?" At the beginning of my own service, I thought +Pont-a-Mousson, with its ruins, its danger, and its darkness, the most +awful place on the face of the earth. After a little while, I grew +accustomed to the decor, and when the time came for me to leave it, I +went with as much regret as if I were leaving the friendliest, most +peaceful of towns. First the decor, growing familiar, lost the keener +edges of its horror, and then the life of the front--the violence, the +destruction, the dying and the dead--all became casual, part of the +day's work. A human being is profoundly affected by those about him; +thus, when a new soldier finds himself for the first time in a trench, +he is sustained by the attitude of the veterans. Violence becomes the +commonplace; shells, gases, and flames are the things that life is made +of. The war is another lesson in the power of the species to adapt +itself to circumstances. When this power of adaptability has been +reinforced by a tenacious national will "to see the thing through," men +will stand hell itself. The slow, dogged determination of the British +cannot be more powerful than the resolution of the French. Their +decision to continue at all costs has been reached by a purely +intellectual process, and to enforce it, they have called upon those +ancient foundations of the French character, the sober reasonableness +and unbending will they inherit from Rome. + +And a new religion has risen in the trenches, a faith much more akin to +Mahomet than to Christ. It is a fatalism of action. The soldier finds +his salvation in the belief that nothing will happen to him until his +hour comes, and the logical corollary of this belief, that it does no +good to worry, is his rock of ages. It is a curious thing to see +poilus--peasants, artisans, scholars--completely in the grip of this +philosophy. There has been a certain return to the Church of Rome, for +which several reasons exist, the greatest being that the war has made +men turn to spiritual things. Only an animal could be confronted with +the pageant of heroism, the glory of sacrifice, and the presence of +Death, and not be moved to a contemplation of the fountain-head of these +sublime mysteries. But it is the upper class which in particular has +returned to the Church. Before the war, rationalist and genial skeptic, +the educated Frenchman went to church because it was the thing to do, +and because non-attendance would weaken an institution which the world +was by no means ready to lay aside. This same educated Frenchman, +brought face to face with the mystery of human existence, has felt a +real need of spiritual support, and consequently returned to the Church +of his fathers. + +The religious revival is a return of upper-class prodigals to the fold, +and a rekindling of the chilled brands of the faith of the amiably +skeptical. The great mass of the nation has felt this spiritual force, +but because the mass of the nation was always Catholic, nothing much has +changed. I failed to find any trace of conversions among the still +hostile working men of the towns, and the bred-in-the-bone Socialists. +The rallying of the conservative classes about the Cross is also due to +the fact that the war has exposed the mediocrity and sterile windiness +of the old socialistic governments; this misgovernment the upper classes +have determined to end once they return from the trenches, and +remembering that the Church of Rome was the enemy of the past +administrations, cannot help regarding her with a certain friendliness. +But this issue of past misgovernment will be fought out on purely +secular grounds, and the Church will be only a sympathizer behind the +fray. The manner in which the French priests have fought and died is +worthy of the admiration of the world. Never in the history of any +country has the national religion been so closely enmeshed in the +national life. The older clergy, as a rule, have been attached to the +medical services of the front, serving as hospital orderlies and +stretcher-bearers, but the younger priests have been put right into the +army and are fighting to-day as common soldiers. There are hundreds of +officer-priests--captains and lieutenants of the regular army. + +But the real religion of the front is the philosophy of Mahomet. Life +will end only when Death has been decreed by Fate, and the Boches are +the unbelievers. After all, Islam in its great days was a virile faith, +the faith of a race of soldiers. + + + + +Chapter VII + +The Town In The Trenches + + + +At the beginning of the war the German plan of campaign was to take +France on the flank by marching through Belgium, and once the success of +this northern venture assured, strike at the Verdun-Belfort line which +had baffled them in the first instance. Had they not lost the battle of +the Marne, this second venture might have proved successful, for the +body of the French army was fighting in the north, and the remaining +troops would have been discouraged by the capture of Paris. On the eve +of the battle of the Marne the campaign seeming to be well in hand in +the north, a German invasion of Lorraine began, one army striking at the +defenses of the great plateau which slopes from the Vosges to the +Moselle, and the other attempting to ascend the valley of the river. It +was this second army which entered Pont-a-Mousson. + +Immediately following the declaration of hostilities the troops who had +been quartered in the town were withdrawn, and the town was left open to +the enemy who, going very cautiously, was on his way from Metz. For +several weeks in August, this city, almost directly on the frontier, saw +no soldiers, French or German. It was a time of dramatic suspense. The +best recital of it I ever heard came from the lips of the housekeeper of +Wisteria Villa, a splendid, brave French woman who had never left her +post. She was short, of a clear, tanned complexion, and always had her +hair tightly rolled up in a little classic pug. She was as fearless of +shells as a soldier in the trenches, and once went to a deserted +orchard, practically in the trenches, to get some apples for Messieurs +les Americains. When asked why she did not get them at a safer place, +she replied that she did not have to pay for these apples as the land +belonged to her father! Her ear for shells was the most accurate of the +neighborhood, and when a deafening crash would shake the kettles on the +stove and rattle the teacups, she could tell you exactly from what +direction it had come and the probable caliber. I remember one morning +seeing her wash dishes while the Germans were shelling the corner I have +already described. The window over the sink opened directly on the +dangerous area, and she might have been killed any minute by a flying +eclat. Standing with her hands in the soapy water, or wiping dry the +hideous blue-and-white dinner service of Wisteria Villa, she never even +bothered to look up to see where the shells were landing. Two +"seventy-sevens" went off with a horrid pop; "Those are only +'seventy-sevens,'" she murmured as if to herself. A fearful swish was +next heard and the house rocked to the din of an explosion. "That's a +'two hundred and ten'--the rogues--oh, the rogues!" she exclaimed in the +tone she might have used in scolding a depraved boy. + +At night, when the kitchen was cleared up, she sat down to write her +daily letter to her soldier son, and once this duty finished, liked +nothing better than a friendly chat. She knew the history of +Pont-a-Mousson and Montauville and the inhabitants thereof by heart; she +had tales to tell of the shrewdness of the peasants and diverting +anecdotes of their manners and morals. These stories she told very well +and picturesquely. + +"The first thing we saw was the President's poster saying not to be +alarmed, that the measures of military preparation were required by +circumstances (les evenements) and did not mean war. Then over this bill +the maire posted a notice that in case of a real mobilization (une +mobilisation serieuse) they would ring the tocsin. At eleven o'clock the +tocsin rang, oh, la la, monsieur, what a fracas! All the bells in the +town, Saint-Martin, Saint-Laurent, the hotel de ville. Immediately all +our troops went away. We did not want to see them go. 'We shall be back +again,' they said. They liked Pont-a-Mousson. Such good young fellows! +The butcher's wife has heard that only fifty-five of the six hundred who +were here are alive. They were of the active forces (de l'active). A +great many people followed the soldiers. So for two weeks we were left +all alone, wondering what was to become of us. And all the time we heard +frightful stories about the villages beyond Nancy. On the nth of August +we heard cannon for the first time, and on the 12th and the 14th we were +bombarded. On the 4th of September, at five o'clock in the evening, the +bells began to ring again. Everybody ran out to find the reason. Les +Allemands--they were not then called Boches--were coming. Baoum! went +the bridge over the Moselle. Everybody went into their houses, so that +the Germans came down streets absolutely deserted. I peeked from my +window blind. The Boches came down the road from Norroy, les Uhlans, the +infantry--how big and ugly they all were. And their officers were so +stiff (raide). They were not like our bons petits soldats Francais. In +the morning I went out to get some bread. + +"'Eh la, good woman' (bonne femme), said a grand Boche to me. + +"'What do you want?' said I. + +"'Are there any soldats francais in the town?' said the Boche. + +"'How should I know?' I answered. + +"'You do not want to tell, good woman.' + +"'I do not know.' + +"'Are there any francs-tireurs (civilian snipers) in this town?' + +"'Don't bother me; I'm going for some bread.' + +"During the night all the clocks had been changed to German time. Many +of the Boches spoke French. There were Alsatians and Lorrains who did +not like the fracas at all. Yes, the Boches behaved themselves all right +at Pont-a-Mousson--there were some vulgarities (grossieretes). One of +the soldiers, a big blond, went down the street wearing an ostrich +feather hat and a woman's union suit and chemise. It was a scandale. But +uncle laughed to kill himself; he was peeping out through the blinds. +Right in front of my door were ten cannon, and all the street was full +of artillery. Well we had four days of this, hearing never a word from +the French side. + +"On the night of the 9th I heard a good deal of noise, and somebody woke +up the Boches sous-officiers who were quartered in a house across the +street. I saw lights and heard shouts. I was peeping out of my window +all the time. The dark street filled with soldiers. I saw their officers +lashing them to make them hurry. They harnessed the artillery horses to +the guns, and at four o'clock in the morning there was not a single +Boche in Pont-a-Mousson. They had all gone away in the night, taking +with them the German flag on the city hall. You know, monsieur, on the +night of the 9th they received news of the battle of the Marne. + +"For five days more we saw neither Francais nor Boches. Finally some +French dragoons came down the road from Dieulouard, and little by little +other soldiers came too. But, helas, monsieur, the Boches were waiting +for them in the Bois-le-Pretre." + +Such was the way that Pont-a-Mousson did not become Mussenbruck. The +episode is an agreeable interlude of decency in the history of German +occupations, for that atrocities were perpetrated in Nomeny, just across +the river, is beyond question. I have talked with survivors. At +Pont-a-Mousson everything was orderly; six miles to the east, houses +were burned over the heads of the inhabitants, and women and children +brutally massacred. + +I best remember the little city as it was one afternoon in early +December. The population of 17,000 had then shrunk to about 900, and +only a little furtive life lingered in the town. My promenade began at +the river-bank by the wooden footbridge crossing from the shore to the +remaining arches of the graceful eighteenth-century stone bridge blown +up in September, 1914. There is always something melancholy about a +ruined bridge, perhaps because the structure symbolizes a patient human +victory over the material world. There was something intensely tragic in +the view of the wrecked quarter of Saint-Martin, seen across the deep, +greenish, wintry river, and in the great curve of the broad flood +sullenly hurrying to Metz. At the end of the bridge, ancient and gray, +rose the two round towers of the fifteenth-century parish church, with +that blind, solemn look to them the towers of Notre Dame possess, and +beyond this edifice, a tile-roofed town and the great triangular hill +called the Mousson. It was dangerous to cross the bridge, because German +snipers occasionally fired at it, so I contented myself with looking +down the river. Beyond the Bois-le-Pretre, the next ridge to rise from +the river was a grassy spur bearing the village of Norroy on its back. +You could see the hill, only four kilometres away, the brown walls of +the village, the red roofs, and sometimes the glint of sunlight on a +window; but for us the village might have been on another planet. All +social and economic relations with Norroy had ceased since September, +1914, and reflecting on this fact, the invisible wall of the trenches +became more than a mere military wall, became a barrier to every human +relation and peaceful tie. + +A sentry stood by the ruined bridge, a small, well-knit man with +beautiful silver-gray hair, blue eyes, and pink cheeks; his uniform was +exceptionally clean, and he appeared to be some decent burgher torn from +his customary life. I fell into conversation with him. He recollected +that his father, a veteran of 1870, had prophesied the present war. + +"'We shall see them again, the spiked helmets (les casques a pointe),' +said my father--'we shall see them again.' + +"'Why?' I asked him. + +"'Because they have eaten of us, and will be hungry once more.'" + +The principal street of the town led from this bridge to a great square, +and continued straight on toward Maidieres and Montauville. The +sidewalks around this square were in arcades under the houses, for the +second story of every building projected for seven or eight feet over +the first and rested on a line of arches at the edge of the street. To +avoid damage from shells bursting in the open space, every one of these +arcades, and there were perhaps a hundred all told, had been plugged +with sandbags, so that the square had an odd, blind look. A little life +flickered in the damp, dark alleys behind these obstructions. There was +a tobacco shop, kept by two pretty young women whom the younger soldiers +were always jollying, a wineshop, a tailorshop, and a bookstore, always +well supplied with the great Parisian weeklies, which one found later in +odd corners of shelters in the trenches. Occasionally a soldier bought a +serious book when it was to be found in the dusty files of the +"Collection Nelson"; I remember seeing a young lieutenant of artillery +buying Segur's "Histoire de la Grande Armee en 1812," and another taking +Flaubert's "Un coeur simple." But the military life, roughly lived, and +shared with simple people, appears to make even the wisest boyish, and +after a while at the front the intellect will not read anything +intellectual. It simply won't, perhaps because it can't. The soldier +mind delights in rough, genial, and simple jokes. A sergeant, whom I +knew to be a distinguished young scholar in civilian life, was always +throwing messages wrapped round a stone into the German trenches; the +messages were killingly funny, amiably indecent, and very jejune. +Invariably they provoked a storm of grenades, and sometimes epistles in +the same vein from the Boches. In spite of the vicious pang of the +grenades, there was an absurd "Boys-will-be-boys" air to the whole +performance. Conversation, however, did not sink to this boyish level, +and the rag-tag and bob-tail of one's cultivation found its outlet in +speech. + +At the end of this street was the railroad crossing, the passage a +niveau, and the station in a jungle of dead grass and brambles. Like the +bridge, its rustiness and weediness was a dreadful symbol of the +cessation of human activity, and the blue enamel signpost lettered in +white with the legend, "Metz--32 kilometres," was another reminder of +the town to which the French aspired with all the fierce intensity of +crusaders longing for Jerusalem. It was impossible to get away from the +omnipresence of the name of the fated city--it stared at you from +obscure street corners, and was to be found on the covers of printed +books and post-cards. I saw the city once from the top of the hill of +the Mousson; its cathedral towers pierced the blue mists of the brown +moorlands, and it appeared phantasmal and tremendously distant. Yet for +those towers countless men had died, were dying, would die. A French +soldier who had made the ascent with me pointed out Metz the much +desired. + +"Are you going to get it?" I asked. "Perhaps so," he replied gravely. +"After so many sacrifices." (Apres tant de sacrifices.) He made no +gesture, but I know that his vision included the soldiers' cemetery at +the foot of the Mousson hill. It lay, a rust-colored field, on the steep +hillside just at the border of the town, and was new, raw, and dreadful. +The guardian of the cemetery, an old veteran of 1870, once took me +through the place. He was a very lean, hooped-over old man with a big, +aquiline nose, blue-gray eyes framed in red lids, and a huge, +yellowish-white mustache. First he showed me the hideous picture of the +civilian cemetery, in which giant shells had torn open the tombs, hurled +great sarcophagi a distance of fifty feet, and dug craters in the rows +of graves. Though the civilian authorities had done what they could to +put the place in order, there were still memories of the disturbed dead +to whom the war had denied rest. Coming to the military cemetery, the +guardian whispered, pointing to the new mounds with his rustic cane, "I +have two colonels, three commandants, and a captain. Yes, two colonels" +(deux colonels). Following his staff, my eye looked at the graves as if +it expected to see the living men or their effigies. Somewhat apart lay +another grave. "Voila un colonel boche," said the sexton; "and a +lieutenant boche--and fifty soldats boches." + +The destroyed quarter of Pont-a-Mousson lay between the main street and +the flank of the Bois-le-Pretre. The quarter was almost totally +deserted, probably not more than ten houses being inhabited out of +several thousand. The streets that led into it had grass growing high in +the gutters, and a velvety moss wearing a winter rustiness grew packed +between the paving-stones. Beyond the main street, la rue Fabvrier went +straight down this loneliness, and halted or turned at a clump of +wrecked houses a quarter of a mile away. Over this clump, slately-purple +and cold, appeared the Bois-le-Pretre, and every once in a while a puffy +cloud of greenish-brown or gray-black would float solemnly over the +crests of the trees. This stretch of la rue Fabvrier was one of the most +melancholy pictures it was possible to see. Hardly a house had been +spared by the German shells; there were pock-marks and pits of shell +fragments in the plaster, window glass outside, and holes in walls and +roofs. I wandered down the street, passing the famous miraculous statue +of the Virgin of Pont-a-Mousson. The image, only a foot or two high and +quite devoid of facial expression, managed somehow to express emotion in +the outstretched arms, drooping in a gesture at once of invitation and +acceptance. A shell had maculated the wall on each side and above the +statue, but the little niche and canopy were quite untouched. The heavy +sound of my soldier boots went dump! clump! down the silence. + +At the end of the road, in the fields on the slope, a beautiful +eighteenth-century house stood behind a mossy green wall. It was just +such a French house as is the analogue of our brick mansions of Georgian +days; it was two stories high and had a great front room on each side of +an entry on both floors, each room being lighted with two +well-proportioned French windows. The outer walls were a golden brown, +and the roof, which curved in gently from the four sides to central +ridge, a very beautiful rich red. The house had the atmosphere of the +era of the French Revolution; one's fancy could people it with soberly +dressed provincial grandees. A pare of larches and hemlocks lay about +it, concealing in their silent obscurity an artificial lake heavily +coated with a pea-soup scum. + +Beyond the house lay the deserted rose-garden, rank and grown to weeds. +On some of the bushes were cankered, frozen buds. In the center of the +garden, at the meeting-point of several paths, a mossy fountain was +flowing into a greenish basin shaped like a seashell, and in this basin +a poilu was washing his clothes. He was a man of thirty-eight or nine, +big, muscular, out-of-doors looking; whistling, he washed his gray +underclothes with the soap the army furnishes, wrung them, and tossed +them over the rose-bushes to dry. + +"Does anybody live in this house?" + +"Yes, a squad of travailleurs." + +A regiment of travailleurs is attached to every secteur of trenches. +These soldiers, depending, I believe, on the Engineer Corps, are +quartered just behind the lines, and go to them every day to put them in +order, repair the roads, and do all the manual labor. Humble folk these, +peasants, ditch-diggers, road-menders, and village carpenters. Those at +Pont-a-Mousson were nearly all fathers of families, and it was one of +the sights of the war most charged with true pathos to see these +gray-haired men marching to the trenches with their shovels on their +shoulders. + +"Are you comfortable?" + +"Oh, yes. We live very quietly. I, being a stonemason and a carpenter, +stay behind and keep the house in repair. In summer we have our little +vegetable gardens down behind those trees where the Boches can't see +us." + +"Can I see the house?" + +"Surely; just wait till I have finished sousing these clothes." + +The room on the ground floor to the left of the hallway was imposing in +a stately Old-World way. The rooms in Wisteria Villa were rooms for +personages from Zola; this room was inhabited by ghosts from the pages +of Balzac. It was large, high, and square; the walls were hung with a +golden scroll design printed on ancient yellow silk; the furniture was +of some rich brown finish with streaks and lusters of bronzy yellow, and +a glass chandelier, all spangles and teardrops of crystal, hung from a +round golden panel in the ceiling. Over a severe Louis XVI mantel was a +large oil portrait of Pius IX, and on the opposite wall a portrait head +of a very beautiful young girl. Chestnut hair, parted in the fashion of +the late sixties, formed a silky frame round an oval face, and the +features were small and well proportioned. The most remarkable part of +the countenance were the curiously level eyes. The calm, +apart-from-the-world character of the expression in the eyes was in +interesting contrast to the good-natured and somewhat childish look in +the eyes of the old Pope. + +"Who lived here?" + +"An old man (un vieux). He was a captain of the Papal Zouaves in his +youth. See here, read the inscription on the portrait--'Presented by His +Holiness to a champion (defenseur) of the Church.'" + +"Is he still alive?" + +"He died three months ago in Paris. I should hate to die before I see +how the war is going to end. I imagine he would have been willing to +last a bit longer." + +"And this picture on the right, the jeune fille?" + +"That was his daughter, an only child. She became a nun, and died when +she was still young. The old man's gardener comes round from time to +time to see if the place is all right. It is a pity he is not here; he +could tell you all about them." + +"You are very fortunate not to have been blown to pieces. Surely you are +very near the trenches." + +"Near enough--yes, indeed. A communication trench comes right into the +cellar. But it is quiet in this part of The Wood. There is a regiment of +old Boches in the trenches opposite our territorials, fathers of +families (peres de familles), just as they are. We fire rifles at each +other from time to time just to remember it is war (c'est la guerre). We +share the crest together here; nothing depends on it. What good should +we do in killing each other? Besides it would be a waste of shells." + +"How do you know that the Boches opposite you are old?" + +"We see them from time to time. They are great hands at a parley. The +first thing they tell you is the number of children they have. I met an +old Boche not long ago down by the river. He held up two fingers to show +that he had two children, put his hand out just above his knee to show +the height of his first child, and raised it just above his waist to +show the height of the second. So I held up five fingers to show him I +had five children, when the Lord knows I have only one. But I did not +want to be beaten by a Boche." + +A sound of voices was heard beneath us, and the clang of the shovels +being placed against the stone walls of the cellar. + +"Those are the travailleurs. The sergeant will be coming in and I must +report to him. Good-bye, American friend, and come again." + +A melancholy dusk was beginning as I turned home from the romantic +house, and the deserted streets were filling with purplish shadows. The +concussion of exploding shells had blown almost all the glass out of the +windows of the Church of St. Laurent, and the few brilliant red and +yellow fragments that still clung to the twisted leaden frames reminded +me of the autumn leaves that sometimes cling to winter-stricken trees. +The interior of the church was swept and garnished, and about twenty +candles with golden flames, slowly waving in the drafts from the ruined +windows, shone beneath a statue of the Virgin. There was not another +soul in the church. A terrible silence fell with the gathering darkness. +In a little wicker basket at the foot of the benignant mother were about +twenty photographs of soldiers, some in little brassy frames with spots +of verdigris on them, some the old-fashioned "cabinet" kind, some on +simple post-cards. There was a young, dark Zouave who stood with his +hand on an ugly little table, a sergeant of the Engineer Corps with a +vacant, uninteresting face, and two young infantry men, brothers, on the +same shabby finger-marked post-card. Pious hands had left them thus in +the care of the unhappy mother, "Marie, consolatrice des malheureux." + +The darkness of midnight was beginning at Pont-a-Mousson, for the town +was always as black as a pit. On my way home I saw a furtive knife edge +of yellow light here and there under a door. The sentry stood by his +shuttered lantern. Suddenly the first of the trench lights flowered in +the sky over the long dark ridge of the Bois-le-Pretre. + + + + +Chapter VIII + +Messieurs Les Poilus De La Grande Guerre + + + +The word "poilu," now applied to a French soldier, means literally "a +hairy one," but the term is understood metaphorically. Since time +immemorial the possession of plenty of bodily hair has served to +indicate a certain sturdy, male bearishness, and thus the French, long +before the war, called any good, powerful fellow--"un veritable poilu." +The term has been found applied to soldiers of the Napoleonic wars. The +French soldier of to-day, coming from the trenches looking like a +well-digger, but contented, hearty, and strong, is the poilu par +excellence. + +The origin of the term "Boche," meaning a German, has been treated in a +thousand articles, and controversy has raged over it. The probable +origin of the term, however, lies in the Parisian slang word "caboche," +meaning an ugly head. This became shortened to "Boche," and was applied +to foreigners of Germanic origin, in exactly the way that the +American-born laborer applies the contemptuous term "square-head" to his +competitors from northern Europe. The word "Boche" cannot be translated +by anything except "Boche," any more than our word "Wop," meaning an +Italian, can be turned into French. The same attitude, half banter, half +race contempt, lies at the heart of both terms. + +When the poilus have faced the Boches for two weeks in the trenches, +they march down late at night to a village behind the lines, far enough +away from the batteries to be out of danger of everything except +occasional big shells, and near enough to be rushed up to the front in +case of an attack. There they are quartered in houses, barns, sheds, and +cellars, in everything that can decently house and shelter a man. These +two weeks of repos are the poilus' elysium, for they mean rest from +strain, safety, and comparative comfort. The English have behind their +lines model villages with macadam roads, concrete sidewalks, a water +system, a sewer system, and all kinds of schemes to make the soldiers +happy; the French have to be contented with an ordinary Lorraine +village, kept in good order by the Medical Corps, but quite destitute of +anything as chic as the British possess. + +The village of cantonnement is pretty sure to be the usual brown-walled, +red-roofed village of Lorraine clumped round its parish church or +mouldering castle. In such a French village there is always a hall, +usually over the largest wineshop, called the "Salle de Fetes," and this +hall serves for the concert each regiment gives while en repos. The +Government provides for, indeed insists upon, a weekly bath, and the +bathhouse, usually some converted factory or large shed, receives its +daily consignments of companies, marching up to the douches as solemnly +as if they were going to church. Round the army continues the often busy +life of the village, for to many such a hamlet the presence of a +multitude of soldiers is a great economic boon. Grocery-shops, in +particular, do a rushing business, for any soldier who has a sou is glad +to vary the government menu with such delicacies as pates de foie gras, +little sugar biscuits, and the well- beloved tablet of chocolate. + +While the grocery-man (l'epicier) is fighting somewhere in the north or +in the Argonne, madame l'epiciere stays at home and serves the +customers. At her side is her own father, an old fellow wearing big +yellow sabots, and perhaps the grocer's son and heir, a boy about twelve +years old. Madame is dressed entirely in black, not because she is in +mourning, but because it is the rural fashion; she wears a knitted +shoulder cape, a high black collar, and moves in a brisk, businesslike +way; the two men wear the blue-check overalls persons of their calling +affect, in company with very clean white collars and rather dirty, +frayed bow ties of unlovely patterns. Along the counter stand the +poilus, young, old, small, and large, all wearing various fadings of the +horizon blue, and helmets often dented. "Some pate de foie gras, madame, +s'il vous plait." "Oui, monsieur." "How much is this cheese, maman?" +cries the boy in a shrill treble. In the barrel-haunted darkness at the +rear of the shop, the old man fumbles round for some tins of jelly. The +poilu is very fond of sweets. Sometimes swish bang! a big shell comes in +unexpectedly, and shopkeepers and clients hurry, at a decent tempo, to +the cellar. There, in the earthy obscurity, one sits down on empty +herring-boxes and vegetable cases to wait calmly for the exasperating +Boches to finish their nonsense. There is a smell of kerosene oil and +onions in the air. A lantern, always on hand for just such an emergency, +burns in a corner. "Have you had a bad time in the trenches this week, +Monsieur Levrault?" says the epiciere to a big, stolid soldier who is a +regular customer. + +"No, quite passable, Madame Champaubert." + +"And Monsieur Petticollot, how is he?" + +"Very well, thank you, madame. His captain was killed by a rifle grenade +last week." + +"Oh, the poor man." + +Crash goes a shell. Everybody wonders where it has fallen. In a few +seconds the eclats rain down into the street. + +"Dirty animals," says the voice of the old man in the darkest of all the +corners. + +Madame Champaubert begins the story of how a cousin of hers who keeps a +grocery-shop at Mailly, near the frontier, was cheated by a Boche +tinware salesman. The cellar listens sympathetically. The boy says +nothing, but keeps his eyes fixed on the soldiers. In about twenty +minutes the bombardment ends, and the bolder ones go out to ascertain +the damage. The soldier's purchases are lying on the counter. These he +stuffs into his musette, the cloth wallet beloved of the poilu, and +departs. The colonel's cook comes in; he has got hold of a good ham and +wants to deck it out with herbs and capers. Has madame any capers? While +she is getting them, the colonel's cook retails the cream of all the +regimental gossip. + +These people of Lorraine who have stayed behind, "Lorrains," the French +term them, are thoroughly French, though there is some German blood in +their veins. This Teuton addition is of very ancient date, being due to +the constant invasions which have swept up the valley of the Moselle. +This intermingling of the races, however, continued right up to 1870, +but since then the union of French and German stock has been rare. It +was most frequent, perhaps, during the years between 1804 and 1850, when +Napoleon's domination of the principalities and states along the Rhine +led to a French social and commercial invasion of Rhenish Germany, an +invasion which ended only with the growth of German nationalism. The +middle classes in particular intermarried because they were more apt to +be engaged in commerce. But since 1870, two barriers, one geographic +--annexed Lorraine, and one intellectual--hatred, have kept the +neighbors apart. The Lorrain of to-day, no matter what his ancestors +were, is a thorough Frenchman. These Lorrains are between medium height +and tall, strongly built, with light, tawny hair, good color, and a +brownish complexion. + +The poilus who come to the village en repos are from every part of +France, and are of all ages between nineteen and forty-five. I remember +seeing a boy aged only fourteen who had enlisted, and was a regular +member of an artillery regiment. The average regiment includes men of +every class and caste, for every Frenchman who can shoulder a gun is in +the war. Thus the dusty little soldier who is standing by Poste A, may +be So-and-So the sculptor, the next man to him is simple Jacques who has +a little farm near Bourges, and the man beyond, Emile, the notary's +clerk. It is this amazing fraternity that makes the French army the +greatest army in the world. The officers of a regiment of the active +forces (by l'armee active you are to understand the army actually in the +garrisons and under arms from year to year) are army officers by +profession; the officers of the reserve regiments are either retired +officers of the regular army or men who have voluntarily followed the +severe courses in the officers' training-school. Thus the colonel and +three of the commandants of a certain regiment were ex-officers of the +regular army, while all the other officers, captains, lieutenants, and +so forth, were citizens who followed civilian pursuits. Captain X was a +famous lawyer, Captain B a small merchant in a little known provincial +town, Captain C a photographer. Any Frenchman who has the requisite +education can become an officer if he is willing to devote more of his +time, than is by law required, to military service. Thus the French army +is the soul of democracy, and the officer understands, and is understood +by, his men. The spirit of the French army is remarkably fraternal, and +this fraternity is at once social and mystical. It has a social origin, +for the poilus realize that the army rests on class justice and equal +opportunity; it has a mystical strength, because war has taught the men +that it is only the human being that counts, and that comradeship is +better than insistence on the rights and virtues of pomps and prides. +After having been face to face with death for two years, a man learns +something about the true values of human life. + +The men who tramp into the village at one and two o'clock in the morning +are men who have for two weeks been under a strain that two years of +experience has robbed of its tensity. But strain it is, nevertheless, as +the occasional carrying of a maniac reveals. They know very well why +they are fighting; even the most ignorant French laborer has some idea +as to what the affair is all about. The Boches attacked France who was +peacefully minding her own business; it was the duty of all Frenchmen to +defend France, so everybody went to the war. And since the war has gone +on for so long, it must be seen through to the very end. Not a single +poilu wants peace or is ready for peace. And the French, unlike the +English, have continually under their eyes the spectacle of their +devastated land. Yet I heard no ferocious talk about the Germans, no +tales of French cruelty toward German prisoners. + +Nevertheless, a German prisoner who had been taken in the Bois-le-Pretre +confessed to me a horror of the French breaking through into Germany. +Looking round to see if any one was listening, he said in English, for +he was an educated man--"Just remember the French Revolution. Just +remember the French Revolution. God! what cruelties. You remember +Carrier at Nantes, don't you, my dear sir? All the things we are said to +have done in Belgium--" But here the troop of prisoners was hurried to +one side, and I never saw the man again. An army will always have all +kinds of people in it, the good, the bad, the degenerate, the depraved, +the brutal; and these types will act according to their natures. But I +can't imagine several regiments of French poilus doing in little German +towns what the Germans did at Nomeny. The backbone of the French army, +as he is the backbone of France, is the French peasant. In spite of De +Maupassant's ugly tales of the Norman country people, and Zola's studies +of the sordid, almost bestial, life of certain unhappy, peasant +families, the French peasant (cultivateur) is a very fine fellow. He has +three very good qualities, endurance, patience, and willingness to work. +Apart from these characteristics, he is an excellent fellow by himself; +not jovial, to be sure, but solid, self-respecting, and glad to make +friends when there is a chance that the friendship will be a real one. +He does not care very much for the working men of the towns, the +ouvriers, with their fantastic theories of universal brotherhood and +peace, and he hates the depute whom the working man elects as he hates a +vine fungus. A needless timidity, some fear of showing himself off as a +simpleton, has kept him from having his just influence in French +politics; but the war is freeing him from these shackles, and when peace +comes, he will make himself known: that is, if there are any peasants +left to vote. + +Another thing about the peasantry is that trench warfare does not weary +them, the constant contact with the earth having nothing unusual in it. +A friend of mine, the younger son of a great landed family of the +province of Anjou, was captain of a company almost exclusively composed +of peasants of his native region; he loved them as if they were his +children, and they would follow him anywhere. The little company, almost +to a man, was wiped out in the battles round Verdun. In a letter I +received from this officer, a few days before his death, he related this +anecdote. His company was waiting, in a new trench in a new region, for +the Germans to attack. Suddenly the tension was relieved by a fierce +little discussion carried on entirely in whispers. His soldiers appeared +to be studying the earth of the trench. "What's the trouble about?" he +asked. Came the answer, "They are quarreling as to whether the earth of +this trench would best support cabbages or turnips." + +It is rare to find a French workman (ouvrier) in the trenches. They have +all been taken out and sent home to make shells. + +The little group to which I was most attached, and for whose hospitality +and friendly greeting I shall always be a debtor, consisted of Belin, a +railroad clerk; Bonnefon, a student at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts; Magne, +a village schoolmaster in the Dauphine; and Gretry, proprietor of a +butcher's shop in the Latin Quarter of Paris. Belin and Magne had +violins which they left in the care of a cafe-keeper in the village, and +used to play on them just before dinner. The dinner was served in the +house of the village woman who prepared the food of these four, for +sous-officiers are entitled to eat by themselves if they can find any +one kind enough to look after the cooking. If they can't, then they have +to rely entirely on the substantial but hardly delicious cuisine of +their regimental cuistot. However, at this village, Madame Brun, the +widow of the local carpenter, had offered to take the popotte, as the +French term an officer's mess. We ate in a room half parlor, half +bedchamber, decorated exclusively with holy pictures. This was a good +specimen menu--bread, vermicelli soup, apple fritters, potato salad, +boiled beef, red wine, and coffee. Of this dinner, the Government +furnished the potatoes, the bread, the meat, the coffee, the wine, and +the condiments; private purses paid for the fritters, the vermicelli, +and the bits of onion in the salad. Standing round their barns the +private soldiers were having a tasty stew of meat and potatoes cooked by +the field kitchen, bread, and a cupful of boiled lentils (known in the +army as "edible bedbugs"), all washed down with the army pinard, or red +wine. + +This village in which the troops were lodged revealed in an interesting +way the course of French history. Across the river on a rise was a cross +commemorating the victory of the Emperor Jo vin over the invading +Germans in 371, and sunken in the bed of the Moselle were still seen +lengths of Roman dikes. The heart of the village, however, was the +corpse of a fourteenth-century castle which Richelieu had dismantled in +1630. Its destiny had been a curious one. Dismantled by Richelieu, +sacked in the French Revolution, it had finally become a kind of +gigantic mediaeval apartment house for the peasants of the region. The +salle d'honneur was cut up into little rooms, the room of the seigneur +became a haymow, and the cellars of the towers were used to store +potatoes in. About twenty little chimneys rose over the old, dilapidated +battlements. A haymow in this castle was the most picturesque thing I +ever saw in a cantonment. It was the wreck of a lofty and noble +fifteenth-century room, the ceiling, still a rich red brown, was +supported on beautiful square beams, and a cross-barred window of the +Renaissance, of which only the stonework remained, commanded a fine view +over the river. The walls of the room were of stone, whitewashed years +before, and the floor was an ordinary barn floor made of common planks +and covered with a foot of new, clean hay. In the center of the southern +wall was a Gothic fireplace, still black and ashy within. On the corners +of this mantel hung clusters of canteens, guns were stacked by it, and a +blue overcoat was rolled up at its base. An old man, the proprietor of +the loft, followed us up, made signs that he was completely deaf, and +traced in the dust on the floor the date, 1470. + +The concerts were held in the "Salle de Fetes," a hall in which, during +peace time, the village celebrates its little festivals. It was an ugly, +bare shed with a sloping roof resting on iron girders painted clay +white, but the poilus had beautified it with a home-made stage and +rustic greenery. The proscenium arch, painted by Bonnefon, was +pearl-gray in color and decorated with panels of gilt stripes; and a +shield showing the lictor's rods, a red liberty cap and the letters "R. +F." served as a headpiece. The scenery, also the work of Bonnefon, +represented a Versailles kind of garden full of statues and very watery +fountains. There was no curtain. Just below the stage a semicircle of +chairs had been arranged for the officers of the regiment, and behind +these were wooden benches and a large space for standing room. By the +time the concert was supposed to begin, every bench was filled, and +standing room was at a premium. Suddenly there were cries of "Le +Colonel," and everybody stood up as the fine-looking old colonel and his +staff took their places. The orchestra, composed of a pianist, a few +violinists, and a flute-player, began to play the "Marseillaise." When +the music was over, and everybody decently quiet, the concert began. + +"Le Camarade Tollot, of the Theatre des Varietes de Paris will recite +'Le Dernier Drapeau,'" shouted the announcer. Le Camarade Tollot walked +on the stage and bowed, a big, important young man with a lion's mane of +dark hair. Then, striking an attitude, he recited in the best French, +ranting style, a rhymed tale of a battle in which many regiments charged +together, flags flying. One by one the flags fell to the ground as the +bearers were cut down by the withering fire of the enemy; all save one +who struggled on. It was a fine, old-fashioned, dramatic +"will-he-get-there-yes-he-will-he-falls" sort of thing. "Il tombe," said +le Camarade Tollot, in what used to be called the "oratorical +orotund"--"il tombe." There was a full pause. He was wounded. He rose +staggering to his feet. All the other flags were down. He advanced--the +last flag (le dernier drapeau) reached the enemy--and died just as his +comrades, heartened by his courage, had rallied and were charging to +victory. A tremendous storm of applause greeted the speaker, who favored +us with the recital of a short, sentimental poem as an encore. + +The next number was thus announced: "Le Camarade Millet will sound, +first, all the French bugle-calls and then the Boche ones." Le Camarade +Millet, a big man with a fine horseshoe beard, stood at the edge of the +stage, said, "la Charge francais" and blew it on the bugle; then "la +Charge boche," and blew that. "La Retraite francais--La Retraite boche," +etc. Another salvo of applause was given to le Camarade Millet. + +"Le Camarade Roland." + +Le Camarade Roland was about twenty-one or two years old, but his eyes +were old and wise, and he had evidently seen life. He was dark-haired +and a little below medium height. The red scar of a wound appeared just +below his left ear. After marking time with his feet, he began a kind of +patter song about having a telephone, every verse of which ended, "Oh, +la la, j'ai le telephone chez moi" (I've a telephone in my house). "I +know who is unfaithful now--who have horns upon their brow," the singer +told of surprising secrets and unsuspected affaires de coeur. The silly, +music-hall song may seem banal now, but it amused us hugely then. "Le +Camarade Duclos." + +"Oh, if you could have seen your son, My mother, my mother, Oh, if you +could have seen your son, With the regiment"--sang Camarade Duclos, +another old-eyed youngster. There was amiable adventure with an amiable +"blonde" (oh, if you could have seen your son); another with a "jolie +brune" (oh, ma mere, ma mere); and still another lecon d'amour. The +refrain had a catchy lilt to it, and the poilus began humming it. + +"Le Camarade Salvatore." + +The newcomer was a big, obese Corsican mountaineer, with a pleasant, +round face and brown eyes. He advanced quietly to the side of the stage +holding a ten-sou tin flute in his hand, and when he began to play, for +an instant I forgot all about the Bois-le-Pretre, the trenches, and +everything else. The man was a born musician. I never heard anything +more tender and sweet than the little melody he played. The poilus +listened in profound silence, and when he had finished, a kind of sigh +exhaled from the hearts of the audience. + +There followed another singer, a violinist, and a clown whose song of a +soldier on furlough finished with these appreciated couplets:-- + +"The Government says it is the thing To have a baby every spring; So +when your son Is twenty-one, He'll come to the trenches and take papa's +place. So do your duty by the race." + +In the uproar of cheers of "That's right," and so on, the concert ended. + +The day after the concert was Sunday, and at about ten o'clock that +morning a young soldier with a fluffy, yellow chin beard came down the +muddy street shouting, "le Mouchoir, le Mouchoir." About two or three +hundred paper sheets were clutched tightly in his left hand, and he was +selling them for a sou apiece. Little groups of poilus gathered round +the soldier newsboy; I saw some of them laughing as they went away. The +paper was the trench paper of the Bois-le-Pretre, named the "Mouchoir" +(the handkerchief) from a famous position thus called in the Bois. The +jokes in it were like the jokes in a local minstrel show, puns on local +names, jests about the Boches, and good-humored satire. The spirit of +the "Mouchoir" was whole-heartedly amateur. Thus the issue which +followed a heavy snowfall contained this genuine wish:-- + +"Oh, snow, Please go, Leave the trench Of the French; Cross the band Of +No Man's Land To where the Boche lies. Freeze him, Squeeze him, Soak +him, Choke him, Cover him, Smother him, Till the beggar dies." + +This is far from an exact translation, but the idea and the spirit have +been faithfully preserved. The "Mouchoir" was always a bit more +squeamish than the average, rollicking trench journal, for it was issued +by a group of medical service men who were almost all priests. Indeed, +there were some issues that combined satire, puns, and piety in a +terrifying manner. Its editors printed it in the cellar of the church, +using a simple sheet of gelatine for their press. + +I wandered in to see the church. The usual number of civilians were to +be seen, and a generous sprinkling of soldiers. Through the open door of +the edifice the sounds of a mine-throwing competition at the Bois +occasionally drifted. The abbe, a big, dark man of thirty-four or five, +with a deep, resonant voice and positive gestures, had come to the +sermon. + +"Brethren," said he, "in place of a sermon this morning, I shall read +the annual exposition of our Christian faith" (exposition de la foi +chretienne). He began reading from a little book a historical account of +the creation and the temptation, and so concise was the language and so +certain his voice that I had the sensation of listening to a series of +events that had actually taken place. He might have been reading the +communique. "Le premier homme was called Adam, and la premiere femme, +Eve. Certain angels began a revolt against God; they are called the bad +angels or the demons." (Certains anges se sont mis en revolte contre +Dieu; il sont appelles les mauvais anges ou les demons.) "And from this +original sin arrives all the troubles, Death to which the human race is +subjected." Such was the discourse I heard in the church by the trenches +to the accompaniment of the distant chanting of The Wood. + +Going by again late in the afternoon, I saw the end of an officer's +funeral. The body, in a wooden box covered with the tricolor, was being +carried out between two files of muddy soldiers, who stood at attention, +bayonets fixed. A peasant's cart, a tumbril, was waiting to take the +body to the cemetery; the driver was having a hard time con-trolling a +foolish and restive horse. The colonel, a fine-looking man in the +sixties, came last from the church, and stood on the steps surrounded by +his officers. The dusk was falling. + +"Officiers, sous-officiers, soldats. + +"Lieutenant de Blanchet, whose death we deplore, was a gallant officer, +a true comrade, and a loyal Frenchman. In order that France might live, +he was willing to close his eyes on her forever." + +The officer advanced to the tumbril and holding his hand high said:-- + +"Farewell--de Blanchet, we say unto thee the eternal adieu." + +The door of the church was wide open. The sacristan put out the candles, +and the smoke from them rose like incense into the air. The tumbril +rattled away in the dusk. My mind returned again to the phrases of the +sermon,--original sin, death, life, of a sudden, seemed strangely +grotesque. + +It would be hard to find any one more courteous and kind than the French +officer. A good deal of the success of the American Ambulance Field +Sections in France is due to the hospitality and bon acceuil of the +French, and to the work of the French officers attached to the Sections. +In Lieutenant Kuhlman, who commanded at Pont-a-Mousson, every American +had a good friend and tactful, hard-working officer; in Lieutenant Maas, +who commanded at Verdun, the qualities of administrative ability and +perfect courtesy were most happily joined. + +The principal characteristic of the French soldier is his +reasonableness. + + + + +Chapter IX + +Preparing The Defense Of Verdun + + + +Every three months, if the military situation will allow of it and every +other man in his group has likewise been away, the French soldier gets a +six days' furlough. The slips of paper which are then given out are +called feuilles de permission, and the lucky soldier is called a +permissionnaire. When the combats that gave the Bois-le-Pretre its +sinister nickname began to peter out, the poilus who had done the +fighting were accorded these little vacations, and almost every +afternoon the straggling groups of joyous permissionnaires were seen on +the road between the trenches and the station. The expression on the +faces was never that of having been rescued from a living hell; it +expressed joy and prospect of a good time rather than deliverance. + +When I got my permission, a comrade took me to the station at a certain +rail-head where a special train started for Paris, and by paying extra I +was allowed to travel second class. I shall not dwell on the journey +because I did not meet a single human being worth recording during the +trip. At eight at night I arrived in Paris. So varied had been my +experiences at the front that had I stepped out into a dark and deserted +city I should not have been surprised. The poilu, when he sees the city +lights again, almost feels like saying, "Why, it is still here!" Many of +them look frankly at the women, not in the spirit of gallant adventure, +but out of pure curiosity. In spite of the French reputation for roguish +licentiousness, the sex question never seems to intrude very much along +the battle-line, perhaps because there is so little to suggest it. +Certainly conversation at the front ignores sex altogether, and speech +there is remarkably decent and clean. Of course, when music-hall songs +are sung at the concerts, the other sex is sometimes more than casually +mentioned. It is the comic papers which are responsible for the myth +that the period of furlough is spent in a Roman orgy; this is, of +course, true of some few, but for the great majority the reverse rules, +and une permission is spent in a typically French way, paying formal +calls to the oldest friends of the family, being with the family as much +as possible, and attending to such homely affairs as the purchase of +socks and underclothes. In the evening brave Jacques or Georges or +Francois is visited by all his old cronies, who gather round the hero +and ask him questions, and he is solemnly kissed by all his relatives. +One evening is sure to be consecrated to a grand family reunion at a +restaurant. + +I determined to observe, during my permission, the new France which has +come into being since the outbreak of the war, and the attitude of the +French toward their allies. I knew the old France pretty well. Putting +any ridiculous ideas of French decadence aside, the France of the last +ten years did not have the international standing of an older France. +The Delcasse incident had revealed a France evidently untaught by the +lesson of 1870, and if the Moroccan question ended in a French victory, +it was frankly won by getting behind the petticoats of England. The +nation was unprepared for war, torn by political strife, and in a +position to be ruthlessly trampled on by the Germans. The France of +1900-13 is not a very pleasant France to remember. + +For one thing, the bitter strife aroused by the breaking of the +Concordat and the seizure of the property of the Church was slowly +crystallizing into an icy hatred, the worst in the world, the hatred of +a man who has been robbed. The Church Separation Law may have been right +in theory, and with the liberal tendencies of the reformers one may have +every sympathy, but the fact remains that the sale and dispersion of the +ecclesiastical property passed in a storm of corruption and graft. +Properties worth many thousands of dollars were juggled among political +henchmen, sold for a song, and sold again at a great profit. Even as the +Southerners complain of the Reconstruction rather than of the Civil War, +so do the French Catholics complain, not of the law, but of its +aftermath. The Socialist- Labor Party exultant, the Catholic Party +wronged and revengeful, and all the other thousand parties of the French +Government at one another's throats, there seemed little hope for the +real France. The tragedy of the thing lay in the fact that this disunion +and strife was caused by the excess of a good quality; in other words, +that the remarkable ability of every Frenchman to think for himself was +destroying the national unity. + +Meanwhile, what was the state of the army and navy? + +The Minister of War of the radicals who had triumphed was General Andre, +a narrow, bigoted doctrinaire. The force behind the evil work of this +man can be hardly realized by those who are unfamiliar with the passion +with which the French invest the idea. There are times when the French, +the most brilliant people in the world as a nation, seem to lack mental +brakes--when the idea so obsesses them, that they become fanatics,--not +the emotional, English type of fanatic, but a cold, hard-headed, +intellectual Latin type. The radical Frenchman says, "Are the Gospels +true?" "Presumably no, according to modern science and historical +research." "Then away with everything founded on the Gospels," he +replies; and begins a cold-blooded, highly intellectual campaign of +destruction. Thus it is that the average French church or public +building of any antiquity, whether it be in Paris or in an obscure +village, has been so often mutilated that it is only a shadow of itself. +France is strewn with wrecks of buildings embodying disputed ideas. And +worst of all, these buildings were rarely sacked by a mob; the +revolutionary commune, in many cases, paying laborers to smash windows +and destroy sculpture at so much a day. + +Andre believed it his mission to extirpate all conservatism, whether +Catholic or not, from the army. In a few short months, by a campaign of +delation and espionage, he had completely disorganized the army, the +only really national institution left in France. Officers of standing, +suspected of any reactionary political tendency, were discharged by the +thousand; and officers against whom no charge could be brought were +refused ammunition, even though they were stationed at a ticklish point +on the frontier. At the same time a like disorganization was taking +place in the navy, the evil genius of the Marine being the Minister +Camille Pelletan. + +Those who saw, in 1912, the ceremonies attendant on the deposition of +the bones of Jean Jacques Rousseau in the Pantheon were sick at heart. +Never had the Government of France sunk so low. The Royalists shouted, +the extreme radicals hooted, and when the carriage of Fallieres passed, +it was seen that humorists had somehow succeeded in writing jocose +inscriptions on the presidential carriage. The head of the French +nation, a short, pudgy man, the incarnation of pontifying mediocrity, +went by with an expression on his face like that of a terrified, +elderly, pink rabbit. The bescrawled carriage and its humiliated +occupant passed by to an accompaniment of jeering. Everybody--parties +and populace--was jeering. The scene was disgusting. + +The election of Poincare, a man of genuine distinction, was a sign of +better times. Millerand became Minister of War, and began the +reorganization of the army, thus making possible the victory of the +Marne. But a petty intrigue led by a group of radicals caused the +resignation of this minister at a time when the First Balkan War +threatened to engulf Europe. The maneuver was inexcusable. Messimy, an +attache of the group who had led the attack, took Millerand's place. +When the war broke out, Messimy was invited to make himself scarce, and +Millerand returned to his post. Thanks to him, the army was as ready as +an army in a democratic country can be. + +The France of 1915-16 is a new France. The nation has learned that if it +is to live it must cease tearing itself to pieces, and all parties are +united in a "Holy Union" (l'Union Sacree). Truce in the face of a common +danger or a real union? Will it last? Alarmists whisper that when the +war is over, the army will settle its score with the politicians. Others +predict a great victory for the radicals, because the industrial classes +are safe at home making shells while the conservative peasants are being +killed off in the trenches. Everybody in France is saying, "What will +happen when the army comes home?" There is to-day only one man in France +completely trusted by all classes--General Joffre, and if by any chance +there should be political troubles after the war, the army and the +nation will look to him. + +The French fully realize what the English alliance has meant to them, +and are grateful for Engish aid. As the titanic character of England's +mighty effort becomes clearer, the sympathy with England will increase. +Of course one cannot expect the French to understand the state of mind +which insists upon a volunteer system in the face of the deadliest and +most terrible foe. The attitude of the English to sport has rather +perplexed them, and they did not like the action of some English +officers in bringing a pack of hounds to the Flanders front. It was +thought that officers should be soldiers first and sportsmen afterward, +and the knowledge that dilettante English officers were riding to hounds +while the English nation was resisting conscription and Jean, Jacques, +and Pierre were doing the fighting and dying in the trenches, provoked a +secret and bitter disdain. + +But since the British have got into the war as a nation, this secret +disdain has been forgotten, and the poilu has taken "le Tommie" to his +heart. + +I heard only the friendliest criticism of the Russians. + +It is a rather delicate task to say what the French think of the +Americans, for the real truth is that they think of us but rarely. Our +quarrel with Germany over the submarines interested them somewhat, but +this interest rapidly died away when it became evident that we were not +going to do anything about it. They see our flag over countless charity +depots, hospitals, and benevolent institutions, and are grateful. The +poilu would be glad to see us in the fray simply because of the aid we +should bring, but he is reasonable enough to know that the United States +can keep out of the melee without losing any moral prestige. The only +hostile criticism of America that I heard came from doctrinaires who saw +the war as a conflict between autocracy and democracy, and if you grant +that this point of view is the right one, these thinkers have a right to +despise us. But the Frenchman knows that the Allies represent something +more than "virtue-on-a-rampage." + +In Lyons I saw a sight at once ludicrous and pathetic. Two little +dragoons of the class of 1917, stripling boys of eighteen or nineteen at +the most, walked across the public square; their uniforms were too large +for them, the skirts of their great blue mantles barely hung above the +dust of the street, and their enormous warlike helmets and flowing +horse-tails were ill-suited to their boyish heads. As I looked at them, +I thought of the blue bundles I had seen drying upon the barbed wire, +and felt sick at the brutality of the whole awful business. The sun was +shining over the bluish mists of Lyons, and the bell of old Saint-Jean +was ringing. Two Zouaves, stone blind, went by guided by a little, fat +infirmier. At the frontier, the General Staff was preparing the defense +of Verdun. + +One great nation, for the sake of a city valueless from a military point +of view, was preparing to kill several hundred thousand of its citizens, +and another great nation, anxious to retain the city, was preparing +calmly for a parallel hecatomb. There is something awful and dreadful +about the orderliness of a great offensive, for while one's imagination +is grasped by the grandeur and the organization of the thing, all one's +faculties of intellect are revolted by the stark brutality of death en +masse. + +Early in February we were called to Bar-le-Duc, a pleasant old city some +distance behind Verdun. Several hundred thousand men were soon going to +be killed and wounded, and the city was in a feverish haste of +preparation. So many thousand cans of ether, so many thousand pounds of +lint, so many million shells, so many ambulances, so many hundred +thousand litres of gasoline. Nobody knew when the Germans were going to +strike. + +During the winter great activity in the German trenches near Verdun had +led the French to expect an attack, but it was not till the end of +January that aeroplane reconnoitering made certain the imminence of an +offensive. As a first step in countering it, the French authorities +prepared in the villages surrounding Bar-le-Duc a number of depots for +troops, army supplies, and ammunition. Of this organization, Bar-le-Duc +was the key. The preparations for the counter-attack were there +centralized. Day after day convoys of motor-lorries carrying troops +ground into town and disappeared to the eastward; big mortars mounted on +trucks came rattling over the pavements to go no one knew where; and +khaki-clad troops, troupes d'attaque, tanned Marocains and chunky, +bull-necked Zouaves, crossed the bridge over the Ornain and marched +away. At the turn in the road a new transparency had been erected, with +VERDUN printed on it in huge letters. Now and then a soldier, catching +sight of it, would nudge his comrade. + +On the 18th we were told to be in readiness to go at any minute and +permissions to leave the barrack yard were recalled. + +The attack began with an air raid on Bar-le-Duc. I was working on my +engine in the sunlit barrack yard when I heard a muffled Pom! somewhere +to the right. Two French drivers who were putting a tire on their car +jumped up with a "Qu'est-ce que c'est que ca?" We stood together looking +round. Beyond a wall on the other side of the river great volumes of +brownish smoke were rolling up, and high in the air, brown and silvery, +like great locusts, were two German aeroplanes. + +"Nom d'un chien, il y'en a plusieurs," said one of the Frenchmen, +pointing out four, five, seven, nine aeroplanes. One seemed to hang +immobile over the barrack yard. I fancy we all had visions of what would +happen if a bomb hit the near-by gasoline reserve. Men ran across the +yard to the shelter of the dormitories; some, caught as we were in the +open, preferred to take a chance on dropping flat under a car. A +whistling scream, a kind of shrill, increasing shriek, sounded in the +air and ended in a crash. Smoke rolled up heavily in another direction. +Another whistle, another crash, another and another and another. The +last building struck shot up great tongues of flame. "C'est la gare," +said somebody. Across the yard a comrade's arm beckoned me, "Come on, +we've got to help put out the fires!" + +The streets were quite deserted; horses and wagons abandoned to their +fate were, however, quietly holding their places. Faces, emotionally +divided between fear and strong interest, peered at us as we ran by, +disappearing at the first whistle of a bomb, for all the world like +hermit-crabs into their shells. A whistle sent us both scurrying into a +passageway; the shell fell with a wicked hiss, and, scattering the +paving-stones to the four winds, blew a shallow crater in the roadway. A +big cart horse, hit in the neck and forelegs by fragments of the shell, +screamed hideously. Right at the bridge, the sentry, an old territorial, +was watching the whole scene from his flimsy box with every appearance +of unconcern. + +Not the station itself, but a kind of baggage-shed was on fire. A hose +fed by an old-fashioned seesaw pump was being played on the flames. +Officials of the railroad company ran to and fro shouting unintelligible +orders. For five minutes more the German aeroplanes hovered overhead, +then slowly melted away into the sky to the south-east. The raid had +lasted, I imagine, just about twenty minutes. + +That night, fearing another raid, all lights were extinguished in the +town and at the barracks. Before rolling up in my blankets, I went out +into the yard to get a few breaths of fresh air. Through the night air, +rising and falling with the wind, I heard in one of the random silences +of the night a low, distant drumming of artillery. + + + + +Chapter X + + + +The Great Days of Verdun + +The Verdun I saw in April, 1913, was an out-of-the-way provincial city +of little importance outside of its situation as the nucleus of a great +fortress. There were two cities--an old one, la ville des eveques, on a +kind of acropolis rising from the left bank of the Meuse, and a newer +one built on the meadows of the river. Round the acropolis Vauban had +built a citadel whose steep, green-black walls struck root in the mean +streets and narrow lanes on the slopes. Sunless by-ways, ill-paved and +sour with the odor of surface drainage, led to it. Always picturesque, +the old town now and then took on a real beauty. There were fine, +shield-bearing doorways of the Renaissance to be seen, Gothic windows in +greasy walls, and here and there at a street corner a huddle of +half-timbered houses in a high contrast of invading sunlight and +retreating shade. From the cathedral parapet, there was a view of the +distant forts, and a horizontal sweep of the unharvested, buff-brown +moorlands. + +"Un peu morte," say the French who knew Verdun before the war. The new +town was without distinction. It was out of date. It had none of the +glories that the province copies from Paris, no boulevards, no grandes +aerteres. Such life as there was, was military. Rue Mazel was bright +with the gold braid and scarlet of the fournisseurs militaires, and in +the late afternoon chic young officers enlivened the provincial +dinginess with a brave show of handsome uniforms. All day long squads of +soldiers went flick! flack! up and down the street and bugle-calls +sounded piercingly from the citadel. The soldiery submerged the civil +population. + +With no industries of any importance, and becoming less and less of an +economic center as the depopulation of the Woevre continued, Verdun +lived for its garrison. A fortress since Roman days, the city could not +escape its historic destiny. Remembering the citadel, the buttressed +cathedral, the soldiery, and the military tradition, the visitor felt +himself to be in a soldier's country strong with the memory of many +wars. + +The next day, at noon, we were ordered to go to M------, and at 12.15 we +were in convoy formation in the road by the barracks wall. The great +route nationale from Bar-le-Duc to Verdun runs through a rolling, +buff-brown moorland, poor in villages and arid and desolate in aspect. +Now it sinks through moorland valleys, now it cuts bowl-shaped +depressions in which the spring rains have bred green quagmires, and +now, rising, leaps the crest of a hill commanding a landscape of +ocean-like immensity. + +Gray segments of the road disappear ahead behind fuzzy monticules; a +cloud of wood-smoke hangs low over some invisible village in a fold of +the moor, and patches of woodland lie like mantles on the barren slopes. +Great swathes of barbed wire, a quarter of a mile in width, advancing +and retreating, rising and falling with the geographical nature of the +defensive position, disappear on both sides to the horizon. And so thick +is this wire spread, that after a certain distance the eye fails to +distinguish the individual threads and sees only rows of stout black +posts filled with a steely, purple mist. + +We went though several villages, being greeted in every one with the +inevitable error, Anglais! We dodged interminable motor-convoys carrying +troops, the poilus sitting unconcernedly along the benches at the side, +their rifles tight between their knees. At midnight we arrived at +B------, four miles and a half west of Verdun. The night was clear and +bitter cold; the ice-blue winter stars were westering. Refugees tramped +past in the darkness. By the sputtering light of a match, I saw a woman +go by with a cat in a canary cage; the animal moved uneasily, its eyes +shone with fear. A middle-aged soldier went by accompanying an old woman +and a young girl. Many pushed baby carriages ahead of them full of +knick-knacks and packages. + +The crossroad where the ambulances turned off was a maze of beams of +light from the autos. There was shouting of orders which nobody could +carry out. Wounded, able to walk, passed through the beams of the lamps, +the red of their bloodstains, detached against the white of the +bandages, presenting the sharpest of contrasts in the silvery glare. At +the station, men who had died in the ambulances were dumped hurriedly in +a plot of grass by the side of the roadway and covered with a blanket. +Never was there seen such a bedlam! But on the main road the great +convoys moved smoothly on as if held together by an invisible chain. A +smouldering in the sky told of fires in Verdun. + +From a high hill between B------and Verdun I got my first good look at +the bombardment. From the edge of earth and sky, far across the +moorlands, ray after ray of violet-white fire made a swift stab at the +stars. Mingled with the rays, now seen here, now there, the +reddish-violet semicircle of the great mortars flared for the briefest +instant above the horizon. From the direction of this inferno came a +loud roaring, a rumbling and roaring, increasing in volume--the sound of +a great river tossing huge rocks through subterranean abysses. Every +little while a great shell, falling in the city, would blow a great hole +of white in the night, and so thundering was the crash of arrival that +we almost expected to see the city sink into the earth. + +Terrible in the desolation of the night, on fire, haunted by specters of +wounded men who crept along the narrow lanes by the city walls, Verdun +was once more undergoing the destinies of war. The shells were falling +along rue Mazel and on the citadel. A group of old houses by the Meuse +had burnt to rafters of flickering flame, and as I passed them, one +collapsed into the flooded river in a cloud of hissing steam. + +In order to escape shells, the wounded were taking the obscure by-ways +of the town. Our wounded had started to walk to the ambulance station +with the others, but, being weak and exhausted, had collapsed on the +way. They were waiting for us at a little house just beyond the walls. +Said one to the other, "As-tu-vu Maurice?" and the other answered +without any emotion, "II est mort." + +The 24th was the most dreadful day. The wind and snow swept the heights +of the desolate moor, seriously interfering with the running of the +automobiles. Here and there, on a slope, a lorry was stuck in the slush, +though the soldier passengers were out of it and doing their best to +push it along. The cannonade was still so intense that, in intervals +between the heavier snow-flurries, I could see the stabs of fire in the +brownish sky. Wrapped in sheepskins and muffled to the ears in knitted +scarves that might have come from New England, the territorials who had +charge of the road were filling the ruts with crushed rock. Exhaustion +had begun to tell on the horses; many lay dead and snowy in the frozen +fields. A detachment of khaki-clad, red-fezzed colonial troops passed +by, bent to the storm. The news was of the most depressing sort. The +wounded could give you only the story of their part of the line, and you +heard over and over again, "Nous avons recules." A detachment of cavalry +was at hand; their casques and dark-blue mantles gave them a crusading +air. And through the increasing cold and darkness of late afternoon, +troops, cannons, horsemen, and motor-trucks vanished toward the edge of +the moor where flashed with increasing brilliance the rays of the +artillery. + +I saw some German prisoners for the first time at T---, below Verdun. +They had been marched down from the firing-line. Young men in the +twenties for the most part, they seemed even more war-worn than the +French. The hideous, helot-like uniform of the German private hung +loosely on their shoulders, and the color of their skin was unhealthy +and greenish. They were far from appearing starved; I noticed two or +three who looked particularly sound and hearty. Nevertheless, they were +by no means as sound-looking as the ruddier French. + +The poilus crowded round to see them, staring into their faces without +the least malevolence. At last--at last--voila enfin des Boches! A +little to the side stood a strange pair, two big men wearing an odd kind +of grayish protector and apron over their bodies. Against a near-by wall +stood a kind of flattish tank to which a long metallic hose was +attached. The French soldiers eyed them with contempt and disgust. I +caught the words, "Flame-throwers!" + +I do not know what we should have done at Verdun without Lieutenant +Roeder, our mechanical officer. All the boys behaved splendidly, but +Lieutenant Roeder had the tremendously difficult task of keeping the +Section going when the rolling-stock was none too good, and fearful +weather and too constant usage had reduced some of the wagons to wrecks. +It was all the finer of him because he was by profession a +bacteriologist. Still very young, he had done distinguished work. Simply +because there was no one else to attend to the mechanical department, he +had volunteered for this most tiresome and disagreeable task. There is +not a single driver in Section II who does not owe much to the friendly +counsel, splendid courage, and keen mind of George Roeder. + +A few miles below Verdun, on a narrow strip of meadowland between the +river and the northern bluffs, stood an eighteenth-century chateau and +the half-dozen houses of its dependents. The hurrying river had flooded +the low fields and then retreated, turning the meadows and pasturages to +bright green, puddly marshes, malodorous with swampy exhalations. Beyond +the swirls and currents of the river and its vanishing islands of +pale-green pebbles, rose the brown, deserted hills of the Hauts de +Meuse. The top of one height had been pinched into the rectangle of a +fortress; little forests ran along the sky-line of the heights, and a +narrow road, slanting across a spur of the valley, climbed and +disappeared. + +The chateau itself was a huge, three-story box of gray-white stone with +a slate roof, a little turret en poivriere at each corner, and a +graceless classic doorway in the principal facade. A wide double gate, +with a coronet in a tarnished gold medallion set in the iron arch-piece, +gave entrance to this place through a kind of courtyard formed by the +rear of the chateau and the walls of two low wings devoted to the +stables and the servants' quarters. Within, a high clump of dark- green +myrtle, ringed with muddy, rut-scarred turf, marked the theoretical +limits of a driveway. Along the right-hand wall stood the rifles of the +wounded, and in a corner, a great snarled pile of bayonets, belts, +cartridge-boxes, gas-mask satchels, greasy tin boxes of anti-lice +ointment, and dented helmets. A bright winter sunlight fell on walls +dank from the river mists, and heightened the austerity of the +landscape. Beyond a bend in the river lay the smoke of the battle of +Douaumont; shells broke, pin-points of light, in the upper fringes of +the haze. + +The chateau had been a hospital since the beginning of the war. A heavy +smell of ether and iodoform lay about it, mixed with the smell of the +war. This effluvia of an army, mixed with the sharper reek of +anaesthetics, was the atmosphere of the hospital. The great rush of +wounded had begun. Every few minutes the ambulances slopped down a miry +byway, and turned in the gates; tired, putty-faced hospital attendants +took out the stretchers and the nouveaux clients; mussy bundles of blue +rags and bloody blankets turned into human beings; an overworked, +nervous medecin chef shouted contradictory orders at the brancardiers, +and passed into real crises of hysterical rage. + +"Avancez!" he would scream at the bewildered chauffeurs of the +ambulances; and an instant later, "Reculez! Reculez!" + +The wounded in the stretchers, strewn along the edges of the driveway, +raised patient, tired eyes at his snarling. + +Another doctor, a little bearded man wearing a white apron and the red +velvet kepi of an army physician, questioned each batch of new arrivals. +Deep lines of fatigue had traced themselves under his kindly eyes; his +thin face had a dreadful color. Some of the wounded had turned their +eyes from the sun; others, too weak to move, lay stonily blinking. +Almost expressionless, silent, they resigned themselves to the +attendants as if these men were the deaf ministers of some inexorable +power. + +The surgeon went from stretcher to stretcher looking at the diagnosis +cards attached at the poste de secours, stopping occasionally to ask the +fatal question, "As-tu crache du sang?" (Have you spit blood?) A thin +oldish man with a face full of hollows like that of an old horse, +answered "Oui," faintly. Close by, an artilleryman, whose cannon had +burst, looked with calm brown eyes out of a cooked and bluish face. +Another, with a soldier's tunic thrown capewise over his naked torso, +trembled in his thin blanket, and from the edges of a cotton and +lint-pad dressing hastily stuffed upon a shoulder wound, an occasional +drop of blood slid down his lean chest. + +A little to one side, the cooks of the hospital, in their greasy aprons, +watched the performance with a certain calm interest. In a few minutes +the wounded were sorted and sent to the various wards. I was ordered to +take three men who had been successfully operated on to the barracks for +convalescents several miles away. + +A highway and an unused railroad, both under heavy fire from German guns +on the Hauts de Meuse, passed behind the chateau and along the foot of +the bluffs. There were a hundred shell holes in the marshes between the +road and the river, black-lipped craters in the sedgy green; there were +ugly punches in the brown earth of the bluffs, and deep scoops in the +surface of the road. The telephone wires, cut by shell fragments, fell +in stiff, draping lines to the ground. Every once in a while a shell +would fall into the river, causing a silvery gray geyser to hang for an +instant above the green eddies of the Meuse. A certain village along +this highway was the focal point of the firing. Many of the houses had +been blown to pieces, and fragments of red tile, bits of shiny glass, +and lumps of masonry were strewn all over the deserted street. + +As I hurried along, two shells came over, one sliding into the river +with a Hip! and the other landing in a house about two hundred yards +away. A vast cloud of grayish-black smoke befogged the cottage, and a +section of splintered timber came buzzing through the air and fell into +a puddle. From the house next to the one struck, a black cat came +slinking, paused for an indecisive second in the middle of the street, +and ran back again. Through the canvas partition of the ambulance, I +heard the voices of my convalescents. "No more marmites!" I cried to +them as I swung down a road out of shell reach. I little knew what was +waiting for us beyond the next village. + +A regiment of Zouaves going up to the line was resting at the crossroad, +and the regimental wagons, drawn up in waiting line, blocked the narrow +road completely. At the angle between the two highways, under the four +trees planted by pious custom of the Meuse, stood a cross of thick +planks. From each arm of the cross, on wine-soaked straps, dangled, like +a bunch of grapes, a cluster of dark-blue canteens; rifles were stacked +round its base, and under the trees stood half a dozen clipped-headed, +bull-necked Zouaves. A rather rough-looking adjutant, with a bullet head +disfigured by a frightful scar at the corner of his mouth, rode up and +down the line to see if all was well. Little groups were handing round a +half loaf of army bread, and washing it down with gulps of wine. + +"Hello, sport!" they cried at me; and the favorite "All right," and +"Tommy!" + +The air was heavy with the musty smell of street mud that never dries +during winter time, mixed with the odor of the tired horses, who stood, +scarcely moving, backed away from their harnesses against the +mire-gripped wagons. Suddenly the order to go on again was given; the +carters snapped their whips, the horses pulled, the noisy, lumbering, +creaky line moved on, and the men fell in behind, in any order. + +I started my car again and looked for an opening through the melee. + +Beyond the cross, the road narrowed and flanked one of the southeastern +forts of the city. A meadow, which sloped gently upward from the road to +the abrupt hillside of the fortress, had been used as a place of +encampment and had been trodden into a surface of thick cheesy mire. +Here and there were the ashes of fires. There were hundreds of such +places round the moorland villages between Verdun and Bar-le-Duc. The +fort looked squarely down on Verdun, and over its grassy height came the +drumming of the battle, and the frequent crash of big shells falling +into the city. + +In a corner lay the anatomical relics of some horses killed by an +air-bomb the day before. And even as I noted them, I heard the muffled +Pom! Pom! Pom! of anti-aircraft guns. My back was to the river and I +could not see what was going on. + +"What is it?" I said to a Zouave who was plodding along beside the +ambulance. + +"Des Boches--crossing the river." + +The regiment plodded on as before. Now and then a soldier would stop and +look up at the aeroplanes. + +"He's coming!" I heard a voice exclaim. + +Suddenly, the adjutant whom I had seen before came galloping down the +line, shouting, "Arretez! Arretez! Pas de mouvement!" + +A current of tension ran down the troop with as much reality as a +current of water runs down hill. I wondered whether the Boche had seen +us. + +"Is he approaching?" I asked. + +"Yes." + +Ahead of me was a one-horse wagon, and ahead of that a wagon with two +horses carrying the medical supplies. The driver of the latter, an +oldish, thick-set, wine-faced fellow, got down an instant from his +wagon, looked at the Boche, and resumed his seat. A few seconds later, +there sounded the terrifying scream of an air-bomb, a roar, and I found +myself in a bitter swirl of smoke. The shell had fallen right between +the horses of the two-horse wagon, blowing the animals to pieces, +splintering the wagon, and killing the driver. Something sailed swiftly +over my head, and landed just behind the ambulance. It was a chunk of +the skull of one of the horses. The horse attached to the wagon ahead of +me went into a frenzy of fear and backed his wagon into my ambulance, +smashing the right lamp. In the twinkling of an eye, the soldiers +dispersed. Some ran into the fields. Others crouched in the wayside +ditch. A cart upset. Another bomb dropped screaming in a field and +burst; a cloud of smoke rolled away down the meadow. + +When the excitement had subsided, it was found that a soldier had been +wounded. The bodies of the horses were rolled over into the ditch, the +wreck of the wagon was dragged to the miry field, and the regiment went +on. In a very short time I got to the hospital and delivered my +convalescents. + +My way home ran through the town of S------, an ugly, overgrown village +of the Verdunois, given up to the activities of the staff directing the +battle. The headquarters building was the hotel de ville, a large +eighteenth-century edifice, in an acre of trampled mud a little distance +from the street. Before the building flowed the great highway from +Bar-le-Duc to Verdun; relays of motor lorries went by, and gendarmes, +organized into a kind of traffic squad, stood every hundred feet or so. +The atmosphere of S------at the height of the battle was one of calm +organization; it would not have been hard to believe that the +motor-lorries and unemotional men were at the service of some great +master-work of engineering. There was something of the holiday in the +attitude of the inhabitants of the place; they watched the motor show +exactly as they might have watched a circus parade. + +"Les voila," said somebody. + +A little bemedaled group appeared on the steps of the hotel de ville. +Dominating it was Joffre. Above middle height, silver-haired, elderly, +he has a certain paternal look which his eye belies; Joffre's eye is the +hard eye of a commander-in-chief, the military eye, the eye of an Old +Testament father if you will. De Castelnau was speaking, making no +gestures--an old man with an ashen skin, deep-set eye and great hooked +nose, a long cape concealed the thick, age-settled body. Poincare stood +listening, with a look at once worried and brave, the ghost of a sad +smile lingering on a sensitive mouth. Last of all came Petain, the +protege of De Castelnau, who commanded at Verdun--a tall, square-built +man, not un-English in his appearance, with grizzled hair and the sober +face of a thinker. But his mouth and jaw are those of a man of action, +and the look in his gray eyes is always changing. Now it is speculative +and analytic, now steely and cold. + +In the shelter of a doorway stood a group of territorials, getting their +first real news of the battle from a Paris newspaper. I heard "Nous +avons recule--huit kilometres--le general Petain--" A motor-lorry +drowned out the rest. + +That night we were given orders to be ready to evacuate the chateau in +case the Boches advanced. The drivers slept in the ambulances, rising at +intervals through the night to warm their engines. The buzz of the +motors sounded through the tall pines of the chateau park, drowning out +the rumbling of the bombardment and the monotonous roaring of the flood. +Now and then a trench light, rising like a spectral star over the lines +on the Hauts de Meuse, would shine reflected in the river. At intervals +attendants carried down the swampy paths to the chapel the bodies of +soldiers who had died during the night. The cannon flashing was +terrific. Just before dawn, half a dozen batteries of "seventy-fives" +came in a swift trot down the shelled road; the men leaned over on their +steaming horses, the harnesses rattled and jingled, and the cavalcade +swept on, outlined a splendid instant against the mortar flashes and the +streaks of day. + +On my morning trip a soldier with bandaged arm was put beside me on the +front seat. He was about forty years old; a wiry black beard gave a +certain fullness to his thin face, and his hands were pudgy and short of +finger. When he removed his helmet, I saw that he was bald. A bad cold +caused him to speak in a curious whispering tone, giving to everything +he said the character of a grotesque confidence. + +"What do you do en civil?" he asked. + +I told him. + +"I am a pastry cook," he went on; "my specialty is Saint-Denis apple +tarts." + +A marmite intended for the road landed in the river as he spoke. + +"Have you ever had one? They are very good when made with fresh cream." +He sighed. + +"How did you get wounded?" said I. + +"Eclat d'obus," he replied, as if that were the whole story. After a +pause he added, "Douaumont--yesterday." + +I thought of the shells I had seen bursting over the fort. + +"Do you put salt in chocolate?" he asked professionally. + +"Not as a rule," I replied. + +"It improves it," he pursued, as if he were revealing a confidential +dogma. "The Boche bread is bad, very bad, much worse than a year ago. +Full of crumbles and lumps. Degoutant!" + +The ambulance rolled up to the evacuation station, and my pastry cook +alighted. + +"When the war is over, come to my shop," he whispered benevolently, "and +you shall have some tartes aux pommes a la mode de Saint-Denis with my +wife and me." + +"With fresh cream?" I asked. + +"Of course," he replied seriously. + +I accepted gratefully, and the good old soul gave me his address. + +In the afternoon a sergeant rode with me. He was somewhere between +twenty-eight and thirty, thick-set of body, with black hair and the +tanned and ruddy complexion of outdoor folk. The high collar of a +dark-blue sweater rose over his great coat and circled a muscular +throat; his gray socks were pulled country-wise outside of the legs of +his blue trousers. He had an honest, pleasant face; there was a certain +simple, wholesome quality about the man. In the piping times of peace, +he was a cultivateur in the Valois, working his own little farm; he was +married and had two little boys. At Douaumont, a fragment of a shell had +torn open his left hand. + +"The Boches are not going to get through up there?" + +"Not now. As long as we hold the heights, Verdun is safe." His simple +French, innocent of argot, had a good country twang. "But oh, the people +killed! Comme il y a des gens tues!" He pronounced the final s of the +word gens in the manner of the Valois. + +"Ca s'accroche aux arbres," he continued. + +The vagueness of the ca had a dreadful quality in it that made you see +trees and mangled bodies. "We had to hold the crest of Douaumont under a +terrible fire, and clear the craters on the slope when the Germans tried +to fortify them. Our 'seventy-fives' dropped shells into the big craters +as I would drop stones into a pond. Pauvres gens!" + +The phrase had an earth-wide sympathy in it, a feeling that the +translation "poor folks" does not render. He had taken part in a strange +incident. There had been a terrible corps-a-corps in one of the craters +which had culminated in a victory for the French; but the lieutenant of +his company had left a kinsman behind with the dead and wounded. Two +nights later, the officer and the sergeant crawled down the dreadful +slope to the crater where the combat had taken place, in the hope of +finding the wounded man. They could hear faint cries and moans from the +crater before they got to it. The light of a pocket flash-lamp showed +them a mass of dead and wounded on the floor of the crater--"un tas de +mourants et de cadavres," as he expressed it. + +After a short search, they found the man for whom they were looking; he +was still alive but unconscious. They were dragging him out when a +German, hideously wounded, begged them to kill him. + +"Moi, je n'ai plus jambes," he repeated in French; "pitie, tuez-moi." + +He managed to make the lieutenant see that if he went away and left +them, they would all die in the agonies of thirst and open wounds. A +little flickering life still lingered in a few; there were vague rales +in the darkness. A rafale of shells fell on the slope; the violet glares +outlined the mouth of the crater. + +"Ferme tes yeux" (shut your eyes), said the lieutenant to the German. +The Frenchmen scrambled over the edge of the crater with their +unconscious burden, and then, from a little distance, threw +hand-grenades into the pit till all the moaning died away. + +Two weeks later, when the back of the attack had been broken and the +organization of the defense had developed into a trusted routine, I went +again to Verdun. The snow was falling heavily, covering the piles of +debris and sifting into the black skeletons of the burned houses. +Untrodden in the narrow streets lay the white snow. Above the Meuse, +above the ugly burned areas in the old town on the slope, rose the +shell-spattered walls of the citadel and the cathedral towers of the +still, tragic town. The drumming of the bombardment had died away. The +river was again in flood. In a deserted wine-shop on a side street well +protected from shells by a wall of sandbags was a post of territorials. + +To the tragedy of Verdun, these men were the chorus; there was something +Sophoclean in this group of older men alone in the silence and ruin of +the beleaguered city. A stove filled with wood from the wrecked houses +gave out a comfortable heat, and in an alley-way, under cover, stood a +two-wheeled hose cart, and an old-fashioned seesaw fire pump. There were +old clerks and bookkeepers among the soldier firemen--retired gendarmes +who had volunteered, a country schoolmaster, and a shrewd peasant from +the Lyonnais. Watch was kept from the heights of the citadel, and the +outbreak of fire in any part of the city was telephoned to the shop. On +that day only a few explosive shells had fallen. + +"Do you want to see something odd, mon vieux?" said one of the pompiers +to me; and he led me through a labyrinth of cellars to a cold, deserted +house. The snow had blown through the shell-splintered window-panes. In +the dining-room stood a table, the cloth was laid and the silver spread; +but a green feathery fungus had grown in a dish of food and broken +straws of dust floated on the wine in the glasses. The territorial took +my arm, his eyes showing the pleasure of my responding curiosity, and +whispered,-- + +"There were officers quartered here who were called very suddenly. I saw +the servant of one of them yesterday; they have all been killed." + +Outside there was not a flash from the batteries on the moor. The snow +continued to fall, and darkness, coming on the swift wings of the storm, +fell like a mantle over the desolation of the city. + + +The End + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Volunteer Poilu, by Henry Sheahan + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VOLUNTEER POILU *** + +***** This file should be named 12330.txt or 12330.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/3/12330/ + +Produced by A. Langley + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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